I think I gave notice at my evil, soul-sucking part-time job today. I’m not really sure I meant to yet; it just sort of happened, almost by accident. It’s probably for the best, but it does add a certain urgency to my quest for a career. Mainly because I probably won’t quite be able to make ends meet until I find some sort of replacement.

The preferred replacement would be a larger chunk of freelance work. Need a website? Need porn stories? Need a bitter and sometimes sarcastic columnist? I’m open to other things, although I think my age and girth have pretty much ruled out prostitution or modeling.

Resume?

And no, I can’t offer insight on why I’m leaving my current job, because I’m not entirely sure if I’ve left it yet.

Plans for the weekend:

• Eradicate this cold I seem to have caught.
• Entertain Duncan and Rick (arriving Saturday) and maybe convince them that they need a very well-paid houseboy who can cook grits.
• Update Bottles.
• Have sex. Maybe even with another person. Volunteers solicited.

Another minor miracle: an entertaining Saturday night out on Folsom Street.

It was not entertaining in the sense of “I met the boy of my dreams and we fucked like whores all night”, although that would indeed have been pleasant. It was just nice that I ran into several friends I hadn’t seen in a very long time, including Barry (whose name you’re not expected to know) and Bringdown (who will remain nameless, faceless, and always enticingly bitter).

And I didn’t get drunk. That was a bonus too, albeit an expected one, and one you may not believe from my bad sentence structure this morning.

The downside was my visit to Hole in the Wall, the bar which used to be my favorite on the entire planet. It has all of a sudden turned into absolutely the creepiest place on earth. It’s like watching the voyage of the damned. There were, I’d estimate, about fifteen people there at 1:00 tonight. I’m guessing that five of them will have OD’ed and arrived at the emergency room by the time I type this. The rest, are no doubt, still sitting there staring into space. The place was just plain scary and it’s been that way every time I’ve stopped in lately. It’s a shame.

On brighter fronts, someone loves me. He’s in Richmond, Virginia. Why does no one in my own time zone ever love me?

I’m going to bed.

So sometimes when I’m feeling even more lethargic than usual (which is a pretty frightening thing), I pop in some random video from my collection and realized that I’ve taped some strange shit over the years.

Tonight’s choice was MTV’s “Buzz Weekend” from sometime in 1992. It featured significant chunks of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Live. There were moments from when Steve Isaacs was still adorable and still a VJ, and (maybe strangest of all) an entire episode of “MTV Sports” with Dan Cortese (remember him?) and Marky Mark, not to mention special skateboarding guests The Beastie Boys.

I sure enjoyed those “grunge years”. It was one of the only times in my life when scruffy long-haired boys were in the mainstream rather than (pardon the expression) the other stream. And of course, you all know that scruffy long-haired boys are my favorite flavor.

The music was pretty good too, if a bit uneven. It’s a pity the final result was the complete corporatization and homogenization of “alternative” which followed shortly after, about the time Singles was released. Even so, I liked it too, just because it’s the only movie I’ve ever seen which had a city planner as its main character.

Funny. This started out as a journal entry about how Jim Morrison was the sexiest rock star ever. Look where it went. Well, he was, anyhow. Maybe I’ll write about that tomorrow…

Thanksgiving Day. Appropriately, it’s cold, gray, and autimnal in San Francisco. All in all, I’d say I’m being treated to roughly the same weather I’d be experiencing if I were at home with Mom and Dad. The only difference is the lack of fallen leaves all over the streets and the grass. Of course, there’s not really any grass here to be covered anyway.

Perhaps the greatest thing about Thanksgiving Day in the city is the fact that I managed to park right at my front door last night. A minor miracle. And, were I to give up this prime space, I might actually get it again later today.

I’m not really going to sit here all day. Dan, Jamie, and I are going out in search of a charming Denny’s in another area code later this afternoon. Could be Sacramento or Santa Cruz or just Pacifica, depending on the traffic. And then we might go to K-mart.

Thanksgiving has never been a holiday I celebrate very festively. My one concession was baking a pan of brownies last night, which did impress several of my friends, oddly enough. I usually save most of my domesticity for Christmas. I’m not sure why, given my lack of any particularly active Christianity.

I’m actually going into my miserable part-time job for a hour or two tomorrow, having negotiated an hourly rate for this favor which rivals that of some doctors or lawyers, but still doesn’t quite compare with most auto mechanics.

But for now, I’m watching Bewitched. I’m thankful to be watching Bewitched.