And Then I...

I am so tired tonight. I should not be writing. This can only end in disaster.

I left off after returning to my motel room on Thursday night. Friday morning I woke up early (for me) for the second day in a row. After checking out, I headed over to where I used to work, and there I met James, Tom, and Albert, three great guys. It was fun to catch up with them. We went over to Mitsuwa— an Asian market— for lunch. I had a pork cutlet curry (brown, Japanese style) while the other guys all had noodles (ramen). I wish I had gone for the noodles too as I'm always looking for a new place that serves tasty noodles. After eating we wandered through the supermarket portion, and I bought several little pokémon figures, which I later decided that I ddin't need and gave away. One of the side effects of being unemployed is having no desk on which to display cool tchotchkes.  /pout

Leaving them back where *they* work at 1 PM, I then headed down to the Irvine Spectrum to kill some time. Pooka wasn't home all afternoon and Gary wouldn't be home until 7 PM or so. I can admit that I was desperately close to buying an Apple Touch after wandering through the Apple store, but I held back because the coolest featire of the Touch— live, wireless internet access— requires a subscription. I didn't want an on-going fee. But damn is the Touch a sweet piece of tech. (If you're not sure what it is, it's the iPhone without the phone. All the other functionality and form factor is identical.)

In fact, I wandered the Spectrum up and down, even spending time in GameStop, and emerged from the mall with my wallet in tact. However, an interesting idea occured to me— an idea which I'll need to mull over for some time. I wandered through the store selling over-priced and unbearable adorable puppies, and I realized I could get a dog. The reason I've never considered getting a dog before is that we're not supposed to have pets, per my landlady. But, in the last six months or so, a few of my neighbors have acquired small dogs without consequence. Discarding that barrier, getting a small house dog seems do-able. I grew up with dogs, and have missed their presence as an adult. It would only require a serious cleaning and re-model of my apartment to make the idea feasible even. The thought of being able to share my days at home with a dog, is a strongly attractive one. So, we'll have to see what happens in the coming days.

FYI: Price is a huge factor, but my first choice in a dog would be a French Bulldog.

I eventually got to meet up with Gary and Pooka and see their new house. They live in an ultra-new tract in Irvine, and their house is stunning. The kitchen alone is easily two-thirds the size of my entire apartment. Dinner was at the nearby Buca di Beppo, where I am never let down.

Today I was up again at a ridiculously early hour for the third day in a row— 8:30 AM today! I spent a casual day with Pat. We had lunch a visited a few of our favorite stores— Toys 'R' Us, Barnes & Noble, and the local comic store. I bought some magazines and couple packs of Warcraft miniatures. We spent the rest of the afternoon flicking through the channels, and when Lisa returned it was dinner at Black Angus for her Mother's birthday. All in all, a great day.

Now I'm ready for sleep!

Until next time.

"It is in human nature to relax, when not compelled by personal advantage or disadvantage."— Goethe

Party Hardly!

I am not the reason parties were invented.

I just got in from attending Bill Word's 50th birthday party. I don't recall describing Bill in this blog before. He is, hands down, the top producer of comedy in Orange County, if not in all Southern California. You can't begin to count all the comics that have come through and performed in one or more of his shows. In addition to staging one or more open mic shows every week, Bill is also constantly rotating through his three big shows: California's Funniest Female (held annually), Orange County's Funniest Person (held annually), and the Ultimate Laff-Down (held between the other shows). Each is a multi-week contest with cash prizes, and every comic to hit the scene in the last ten years in SoCal has been in one or more of them. (I competed a few times in opening rounds of the Laff-Down.) To put it simply, there are a helluva lot of comics out there who owe Bill thanks for stage time and advice. I am proud to count him as both mentor and friend.

Every year Bill holds a party for his birthday. In the past it's always been a roast, and up until 2 years ago, only women comics were invited to perform. I was ecstatic to be invited two years ago when Bill opened up the roast to all comics. The down side of staging a show for his birthday, though, is that Bill always ends up working the show as well. I suppose it's the producer's bane— he is happiest when his shows are run his way. Since this was a milestone birthday, Bill opted to skip the show this year and just have a big get-together with as many people as possible.

I had a great time seeing a lot of comics that I worked with during my time on stage. There must have been 60 - 70 people there when I took off. I knew about 20% of them personally and maybe another 10% by name or reputation. There was a lot of great talent in that room.

Unfortunately, I am not a party person. Lord, I have tried to be one over the years. Sometimes, like tonight, I even forget how horrible I am at parties until I've been there an hour or so. I'm sure those who know me well enough or long enough to have been to a few parties with me will agree. I seem to have been born without the party instinct. I can walk up to someone, shake hands, exchange heartfelt greetings, and within 60 seconds we'll both have those awkward stares, until (usually) the other person begs himself or herself off to go get another beer or something. Tonight, at one point, I even managed to break an entire group up into silence, followed by dissipation. Honestly I feel what it must be like to be a uniformed cop and walk into a roomful of people having a good time.

But, despite this effect, I did enjoy the party, and it was only after leaving that I grew melancholy— a mood which is lightened by me writing about all this.  :-)

OK, short post tonight. Until next time!

"The great advantage of being a writer is that you can spy on people. You're there, listening to every word, but part of you is observing. Everything is useful to a writer, you see— every scrap, even the longest and most boring of luncheon parties."— Graham Greene

Blogger On the Go!

You would think with last night's double-post that I would take tonight off. Not so, fearless reader!

I have just booked a bunch of flights for my next vacation. This one will be a bit more complicated than my previous ones. On 03 MAR I'm leaving out of Ontario and flying to Philadelphia. There I am meeting with a friend from way, way back in my past— Russell— whom I have not seen since late 1977. As he is also recently unemployed, we decided it would be fun to spend some time together. His folks still live in New Jersey, where we were friends and went to the same school together for a few years. Russell has since settled in Atlanta but is currently staying with his folks. I'll join them for a few days and I expect we'll probably spend a day or two exploring New York City as well as some time wandering about the old New Jersey haunts.

From New Jersey then we'll drive down to Atlanta. His sister and my brother are both in North Carolina, she in Asheville and he in Raleigh. I expect along the way we will visit with one or both of them. Then I'll stay a few days in Atlanta. My next scheduled flight is on 12 MAR, from Atlanta to Raleigh, where I'll stay with my brother's family for a long weekend, returning back home on the 16 MAR.

I managed to book all three flights, with taxes blah blah blah, for less than $350. There are some great airfares right now if you're up to some travel.

I also booked a motel in Westminster for tomorrow night and reserved a car rental through the weekend. Tomorrow night is the 50th birthday party for my dear friend Bill Word, comedy producer extraordinaire. I have been looking forward to tomorrow night for the last month, since the party was announced. Not only will it be a great chance to see Bill again, but it will afford me the opportunity to catch up with many of my comic friends.

I'm staying in Orange County on Friday to have lunch with some friends where I *used* to work, and then I hope to spend Friday evening with Gary and Pooka. I haven't seen Gary and Pooka for months and I miss them so much! I hope everything works out as planned.

I don't want to upset anyone getting near the end of the post and wondering where the sarcasm went so I'll add this: I drove over to Wal-Mart this evening to pick up a few necessities. It was 10:30 PM and the store is open until Midnight. When I got there I found the store under physical reconstruction. What had been the Men's Clothing section was boarded off and there was the constant din of power tools coming from inside. The noise was inescapable and echoed throughout the store. I found the items I was looking for and hurried to the registers so I could leave with some of my hearing still intact. However, when I got to the front, I discovered that all the self-checkout lanes were closed and only two cashiers were open. There were 10+ groups of people in each line already. I picked one and stood there for about three minutes, during which time neither line moved except to grow longer. Frustrated and deafened, I gave up. I actually took the time to replace my items from the shelves where I'd got them— a fact which I'm sure will go unappreciated— and walked out. It's not like I experience any enjoyment when shopping at Wal-Mart to begin with, but this shit really makes me mad. If the store is open, the store should be run as if it's open. If you can't manage to run the store that way due to reconstruction or some other reason, then close the store for those few hours.

I know, I'm already expecting too much if I expect Wal-Mart to give a shit.

Until next time.

"I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move."— Robert Louis Stevenson

Dr Taselove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Charge

As I write this, some guy got tasered outside my house about 25 minutes ago.

10:00 - 10:05: I'm working on my computer and I begin to hear a loud voice outside in the street. At first I can only hear one voice, and it has that husky low quality of someone who is very drunk or someone who has a real mad on against the world and is convinced that everyone is against him. I can hear him shouting without being able to hear his words. I live immediately on the SW corner of a 4-way intersection, and I can tell from the volume that he is shouting from no more than 50 feet down one of the streets.

10:05 - 10:15: The shouting voice is going on at length and I can occasionally hear other quieter voices trying to calm him down. I can't hear their words, but their tones suggest that's what they're attempting to do. The loud voice that started it all keeps going on this whole time though. I begin to hear other voices shouting as well and suspect some neighbors have begun to contribute by telling them all to shut up. Mr Loud keeps right on going though.

10:15 - 10:20: I turn off the light in my living room and open my front door a crack. I've already thought about calling the police, but given my history with them, I don't feel comfortable doing so. Besides, with the neighbors pitching in, I'm fairly certain that one of them has already done so. I can't actually see anyone down the two street lengths visible from my door. Then, just as I'm opening the door wider to get a better look, I see a local deputy cruise up from the east. His spotlight comes on and sweeps the street and once past my door. At this point I close the door.

10:20 - 10:25: I hear a stern voice and the loud voice for no more than two minutes. Then I hear running feet and a loud pop— not gunshot loud, but champagne loud. I go to the door again and open it a crack. This time I can see the deputy's cruiser on the north-bound street, about 20 feet past the intersection, pointed north. Immediately in front of the cruiser I can see the feet of someone on the ground. The deputy is walking back and forth, watching the guy on the ground and also watching two other guys about 10 feet farther on. They are doubled over from their sprint but moving around a bit. From my door I can tell they are making the deputy nervous. Within 30 seconds or so, another figure comes walking back into the headlights, panting loudly. The deputy is shouting at the figure on the ground to stay down at first, then he changes it to a question, asking the figure if he's going to stay down. The figure on the ground, who is obviously the loud guy, begins to moan rather than answer. I hear at least one other guy at this point begin to exhort the horizontal figure to stay down or he'll get tasered again. I want to keep watching because I am nervous for the deputy. He is alone and has had to taser one guy already. Every time the deputy says anything, he seems to stumble over his words, as if he's not sure how to proceed. There are three other guys walking around over whom he has no control. I hear him tell the others to move to the side of the street where he can see them. At that point I hear another cruiser drive up so I close my door again.

10:25 - 10:45: Over the next few minutes I hear at least a third cruiser pull up, if not a fourth as well. I can no longer make out any distinct words, but I hear the loud moaning throughout. At some point I hear the heavy diesel engine of a fire truck pull up. The last time I hear the loud voice, it sounds like he says "Don't let them take me," but I can't be certain of that. A few minutes after he disappears, most of the cruisers leave, and it's quiet. Since there is no talking whatsoever, I'm assuming that all the other guys got taken in as well. I look out my door one last time and see the lights of a sole cruiser with no other activity. A few minutes later that car leaves as well.

Sometimes I really love my neighborhood...

Left Over Bits

Just a collection of odds and ends tonight.

The latest storm has blown its way through and the only event yet to mark its passage is for my persistent gopher to burrow his way out into my driveway. It's my personal version of waiting for the fat lady to sing. A few months ago I discovered a very deep hole at the edge of my concrete sidewalk and gravel-covered dirt driveway. At first I thought the water had been left on too long and had found a subterranean passage to follow, as the local handyman has a habit of leaving the water run for long periods. But, I soon saw that the same handyman was coming along periodically and scraping more dirt into the mouth of the hole. (Though, there is certainly not enough dirt to fill the hole's depth.) Within a day or two of it being covered over, the hole would re-appear, surrounded my suspiciously fresh looking soil. This has been going on for a few months now, and the odd thing is there are no other gopher holes in my front lawn, nor are there any along the street. Wherever this persistent gopher is visiting me from, he is coming from a considerable distance.

Aside from enjoying this battle of wills as any detached observer might, I do occasionally worry that I might step in or dangerously near the hole in the dark. I would doubtlessly break something if I did as my leg could easily sink past my knee if there were nothing to stop the downward motion.

This reminds me of the time, many years ago now, when a former roommate of mine in a slightly different location waged his own war with one or more gophers in the front lawn. Out of deference, I'll refrain from mentioning his name. He ended up waging his war with a sword— an honest-to-god sharp-edged and sharp-pointed sword! With the determination and patience of a cat, my friend won that war and blooded his sword.

This afternoon I drove over to the post office to purchase a single stamp for a letter. I still have one correspondent that I write to only via physical letters, and this weekend I finished my latest missive. Arriving at the post office I discovered a big note plastered to the front of the stamp machine announcing (in paraphrase), "As of February 17th, this machine will no longer be in service. For your convenience, stamps are available for purchase at Ralph's grocery market." I can only wonder at the factors which resulted in this decision. With the USPS having recently faced the first internal lay-offs in its history, wouldn't *more* automation be called for? Now, rather than buy a stamp, stick it on the envelope, and dump the envelope in the bin—  a series of events costing me a minute's time— I had to join the line of seven or eight people inside, which cost me 10 to 15 minutes. I applaud this recent USPS change and its effort to maintain the single longest string of bad decisions in American history.

I did, however, pick up a sheet of the lovely new Lunar New Year stamps.

Until next time.

"In the immortal words of Jean Paul Sartre, 'Au revoir, gopher.'"— Bill Murray as Carl Speckler in Caddyshack

You. Me. Gorilla.

Alright, time to talk about the 800-pound gorilla in the room. In case you're not sure what that's about, here's your

*** GAY CONTENT WARNING ***

If you're not comfortable with gay content, now would be a good time to jump over to The Onion and read something funny.

Ever since I started writing this blog, I have wanted to write some posts that contain higher-than-normal gay content. I have refrained from doing so largely because there are a lot of friends that I haven't come out to yet. That is, I believe most of my friends already know this about me, but there are a lot of people with whom I haven't had specific 'coming out events'. I hope my gay and lesbian friends can agree with me on this: The first three or four times you come out to people you love, it's very special. The next three or four times it's a comfort issue— that is, life would just be easier if these people knew. After that, it's a fucking chore. There have been several posts on this blog in which I have mentioned the gay thing without going into any detail and that's mostly been so the people who didn't know for sure could figure it out. Think of it like one of Reverend Moon's mass weddings: If I never told you personally, then today is your special day. Get ready to throw your bouquet!

So I'm bringing all this up because I want to rant about a few things tonight.

I'm not comfortable in most bars, gay or straight. I like a quiet piano bar, where you can sit at a table and talk to someone. But, if you have to yell across the table and every fifteen minutes some guy stumbles into you and sloshes beer on your clothes then walks off with a "Sorry, Dude."— well, that's just not my bar. So, without the bar scene, I use the online world to meet men. Admittedly, it's a sad second-place way to meet someone. But, at the end of the night, I don't have to wash the beer smell out of my shirts.

If you've never tried to meet someone online— and I imagine this is true in the straight world as well— you're really missing out. You're missing out on the highest concentration of losers. Anywhere. And I realize that I have to enumerate myself in that group. I have done some 'flake' things over the years, but on the whole I try to behave well.

Take, for instance, my most recent encounter. I posted an ad on CraigsList, and a seemingly nice guy wrote back. We exchanged several emails over the next few nights and agreed on a lunch meeting. Now, over the course of this email exchange, this guy never asked about a physical description of myself, nor was there any discussion of swapping pictures. This is highly circumspect behavior! Usually 'stats' are exchanged by the second or third email— and that's generally when I lose my emailers' interest as big is *not* beautiful in the gay world. If the guy on the other end doesn't ask about me, I generally assume his self-image is as low as mine. But, this time around I got the feeling there was something he was hiding, and I suspected age. So, without him asking, I sent a picture of myself. He said he didn't have one to send back, but, in his opinion, he was a few pounds heavier than I and a few years older. Long story short, when we met for lunch, he was at least two decades older than I. Lunch was miserable for me, and I have not spoken with him since. I'm not interested dating a man twenty years my senior or twenty years my junior. There's no connection there.

Tonight I had my Trillian up for a short while. (Trillian can chat in AIM, Yahoo, ICQ, and MSN all in one interface. Very handy.) Almost immediately I got a chat pop-up from some guy I cut off about a year ago. This guy and I had chatted a few times over the course of a few weeks and seemed to share some mutual interests. But, getting him to say anything was like pulling teeth. His big thing is to stay 'invisible' so he can see who's online without them seeing him. So, at any given time, his chat box might pop-up without one knowing in advance that he was online. When doing so, his initial outburst was usually "?" or "Hi". If I didn't answer within a minute or so, he would say something like "You don't want to talk to me?" If I responded that I was cool with talking to him, another minute or two would pass before he got even more bent. After a few conversations I figured out what was going on so I started toying with him. I would only send back a comment the same length as his and opening no subject for a conversation. That really got to him. He was popping up out of nowhere, volunteering no topic to discuss, and expecting me to drop everything I was doing to initiate the conversation myself. I called him on it one night, about a year ago, and explained why he wasn't getting anything from me in return, and he got pissed off and dropped offline. Thankful, I didn't see him for about six months, but sometime ago he started dropping his little "?" comments again. Sometimes I might even get "???". I just close the conversation box now. But, tonight, I really wanted to send back a nasty response asking him how many times I have to ignore him before he'll figure it out.

The other online goofball who bugs me is a man whom I started chatting with about 2½ years ago now. We seemed to really hit it off and quickly agreed that we should get together and meet each other. He lives in L.A. so it seemed like a real possibility... until I started to ask him when we should meet. (Remember, he said he was gung-ho on the idea of meeting as well.) At first I would hear things like "Well, I'm going up north to visit someone and won't be back for a few weeks." So, I'd wait a few weeks, and we'd chat online, both of us very much into it. Then the subject would come up again, and his excuse would be something like "Well, things are really crazy at work right now." Maybe I'm stupid for letting this go on for so long, but even after umpteen excuses, we could chat for hours online. There's no way he was hanging around online for so long and chatting with me so often without an interest on his part. It's just that his interest falls short of meeting face to face. Frankly, I have to guess that he has lied about his life and doesn't want me to find out. So, he keeps putting things off. Finally, a few weeks ago, I called him on it and asked why he keeps stalling. I asked him to explain what was preventing us from getting together. His response was that he didn't see anything wrong and that things just haven't worked out. That's when I decided I was done with him. I've put in my time. So, when he popped up a chat window tonight, I just logged out. I didn't feel up to getting all emotional with him tonight. I'll explain all to him soon.

Well, I could go on, but I should save something for future posts. The online world isn't all bad. I have had some good encounters as well. I met my one and only super-brief relationship online, and I have had a fun sporadic sexual relationship with one of LAPD's finest after meeting him online. But I suppose I'm just bragging now.  :-D

Until next time.

"It is explained that all relationships require a little give and take. This is untrue. Any partnership demands that we give and give and give and at the last, as we flop into our graves exhausted, we are told that we didn't give enough."— Quentin Crisp