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Mid-life Crisis

Another one of those troublesome sleepless nights. Excuse me while I think out loud. I think I’m having a mid-life crisis. I’ll be 35 next month. I’m entitled.

I don’t like my life right now. Not one bit. It’s boring, I feel really stressed, and I’m not accomplishing much of anything. I’m living in an apartment I can’t really afford in a city which increasingly annoys me. I have no social life to speak of, which wouldn’t bother me if I were using my time alone productively, but I’m not. I have a part-time job and I do some freelance work (neither of which I really envision ever completely paying the bills). And I’m smoking way too much.

This is not a whine, nor a plea for comforting pats on the back. It’s just a statement of fact. I need to be doing something radically different. It’s very possible that I also need to be living someplace radically different.

Give me a little leeway. I’m trying to work out a life plan here.

First and foremost, it’s time to consider the unthinkable: the fact that I should get a real, normal full-time job. It’s been two and a half years since I’ve had one, and I’ve finally realized that all this spare time is a large part of what’s keeping me from getting anything done.

Again, please hold the “you do a great web site which entertains many people” email. This kind of ego boost is alwys welcome, of course, but it’s not really what I need right now. Tonight is more of a “swift kick in the butt” kind of evening. Specific job offers, of course, would be quite appropriate at this point. Even if I don’t accept them, they might offer an idea what I should be doing next.

At this point, I’ll also request there be no email of the “you should be a writer” or “you should be a web designer” sort. I KNOW I should be one or the other (or maybe even something else completely unrelated). What I’m looking for here is specifics rather than general advice. But thanks all the same.

I’m still thinking out loud. I’m not really even looking for feedback necessarily, although there has to be a headhunter or a career counselor somewhere out there.

I know a little about a lot of subjects, but I fear I don’t know enough about any one single subject to be particularly marketable. Take web design: I’m good at it, I make fast, great-looking pages, and I can organize large amounts of information really well. But I’m not really a programmer. I have absolutely no interest in ever becoming more of a programmer than I am. And that’s becoming a big weakness. I’m also not cut out to let freelance and contract work be my only source of income.

I like to write. I’m even fairly good at it, some have said. I might even be able to edit, if pushed. But how do I go about doing these things? The problem is, of course, that I’m in a bit of a hurry. Anyone out there starting a magazine about urban culture and history and looking for someone who can write a column and create your web site? Hell…I’ll even make the damned coffee…

I have lots of interests and a well of knowledge on a number of subjects, none of which really translate into any sort of job that I can identify. I manage people well, I’m pretty good at organizing projects, and I love doing research. There’s got to be a job in there somewhere, but I’m damned if I know what it is.

I’ll stop for now, but I reserve the right to continue tomorrow on the subjects of San Francisco, my social life, and the fact that I haven’t had actual sex in an actual bed in a really long time. Or maybe I’ll just skip it…

Cranky, and a Road Trip?

Summer has arrived in San Francisco. I hate it.

It’s been hotter than hell (which means it might have hit 80 in the city today). There’s been no fog. I’m not a fan of the never-ending sunshine. I’m also cranky because I can’t sleep with the windows open. This, of course, is due to construction of the new yuppie slum across the street. The sound of hammers and saws is not my idea of bliss at 7AM.

So my apologies for being completely out of touch for the past few days (whether by phone, email, or web). I’ve been rather obsessively working on a project which would no doubt bore everyone else to tears, so I won’t even get into it now.

This would be about the point where I realize I have absolutely nothing to say tonight. So what I’m going to do is include a list of cities which make up an early potential version of the Planet SOMA 1999 Fall Road Trip and ask for opinions and comments:

  • Reno, Nevada
  • Boise, Idaho
  • Butte, Montana
  • Calgary, Alberta
  • Edmonton, Alberta
  • Spokane, Washington
  • Seattle, Washington
  • Vancouver, British Columbia
  • Grant’s Pass, Oregon

For you newbies, check out the 1997 and 1998 versions of this trip and note that this year’s version includes lots of uncharted territory where I don’t know many people. If you want to give me a home, show me cool things, warn me how horrible someplace is, or suggest I scarp the whole list and stat over again, let me know.

Cool. That filled up some space…

Friday Afternoon Naughtiness

Just color me tickled pink (or brown). There is once again Count Chocula in my world. Newcomers, of whom there seem to be quite a few this week, may not understand how much I LIVE for Count Chocula. Problem is, the stuff isn’t sold in California. No place in the whole damned state, it seems. I have to smuggle it in from Vegas, Minnesota, North Carolina, or wherever else I happen to be at the moment.

Until this week’s notice from Grant, that is, that boxes could be had for $1.79 at the local dented cans and overstock outlet. I often find odd store brand merchandise from southern institutions like Piggly Wiggly or Winn-Dixie there as well. I have four boxes of the chocolate and marshmallow concoction now. That should last me a while.

While I’m not too old to enjoy the therapeutic powers of Count Chocula, I am DEFINITELY too damned old to be bar hopping and slutting around in the middle of the day. My first trip to My Place on a Friday afternoon proved most illuminating. Most fun I’ve had in a dark bar on a sunny afternoon in quite some time. I usually hate bars in the afternoon; the idea sort of gives me the willies.

But there was the cutest bunch of boys there you ever did see. There was my guest Mickey, a digital friend from San Diego who was getting his first taste of Folsom Street sleaze. There was Scottie, an accommodating little nymphette from Santa Cruz. There was Brian (with whom I have a past which he seems to have forgotten). And there was Johnny from North Dakota and his boyfriend from Texas or wherever.

Somehow, my life is really only decadent when I have company. I’m sure Mickey came out of this thinking that things are always this sleazy and sexy for me, but I can’t remember the last time I came twice in one afternoon (with an audience no less).

Beginner’s luck, of course. If I went back next Friday afternoon, not a damned thing would happen. Maybe I just wanted to show off for my guest. Either way, I was beat afterwards. My nap later in the evening turned into a coma which lasted until this morning. And I only had three beers…

But now I have Count Chocula. All is well…

18 June 1999

Fine. Just fine.

1 April 1999: My April Fool’s page (which is no longer here because the search engines took it a wee bit too seriously), results in close to 100 happy, smiling email responses within 24 hours.

17 June 1999: In an interview on another site, I strip butt-ass nekkid for the whole friggin’ world to see, and almost no one has a thing to say about it.

If I were a more sensitive soul, I might be hurt by this (lack of) reaction, but I’ll just look on it as a cue to stick with the sarcastic writing and abandon that modeling career I’ve been fantasizing about for so long.

Dick now stuffed securely back into jeans. Where were we?

Hectic, nasty week. That is to say, I guess, that business is good. But a little sleep added to the mix might have been nice too. Credit the fine folks at PG&E with last night’s insomnia. They worked directly (and noisily) right outside my front window until well after midnight. Doing what? I’m not exactly sure.

And a hectic weekend coming up, with work, the possibility of meeting an email acquaintance for the first time, and one J’Tao in town. Not to mention that Simpsons marathon. There’s also the likelihood of accompanying Sarah on a quest for Vinnie Barbarino in San Mateo, which is a whole other story…

Right now I’m going to bed. Do not wake me for ten hours.

When the World Saw My Weenie

 

So I was going to babble on about how annoying I find the term “wellness” and about the new Sony Metreon complex in my neighborhood. Feel free to read what I’d completed so far.

But that was before. Before the world saw my weenie.

Those damned folks at Nightcharm. They were so nice. They interviewed me. They reviewed my site. They even put me on the cover. And then they turned around and a published a still photo from a personal home video that Pamela Anderson, Tommy Lee, Brett Michaels, Dr. Laura Schlesinger, and I made in 1994.

It had been such a special and private moment between the five of us. Brett sang “Talk Dirty to Me”. Dr. Laura was behaving in a strangely non-bigoted fashion. Tommy was tied up so he couldn’t hit anyone. And the stories Pam told about those lifeguards!

And now, Nightcharm has ruined it all for me. I may never listen to Poison or watch “Baywatch” again. I may cry.

Is anyone buying this? I didn’t think so. Oh well. I stand exposed…

It’s kind of fun, actually…

Cartoons and Interviews

There comes a point when you start looking forward to different sorts of amusement on the weekend. The hell with going out, getting drunk, and maybe picking up some freak. I’m planning to park myself in front of the TV for the Simpsons marathon on UPN44-Digital45-Cable12 (catchy moniker, no?).

Why is it that “The Simpsons” never gets old, even when repeated three times a day?

And then there’s “South Park”. Now there’s something that got old really fast. All the same, there’s something hard to resist about the title of the new movie: “Bigger, Longer, and Uncut”. Hmmm…

Seems I have absolutely nothing of any importance to babble about today, so I’ll stop. Maybe I’m just “all talked out” after doing a very, ummm, “revealing” interview for another web site yesterday. I’m such an exhibitionist. But more about that when it goes live. Maybe. Depends on how remorseful (or embarrassed) I feel…

For now, I’m going to do some work, read the paper, laugh at whatever Willie Brown had to say today (about anything…it’s all funny…), and maybe watch a nice porn video before going to bed.

Visit from Duncan

Duncan’s come and gone now. We didn’t go to Fresno. This is probably a good thing, both for us and for Fresno…

Big highlights included dinner at Tad’s (which won’t be an option on his next visit), a visit to some friends in Sunnyvale (which is more fun than it sounds like), and one of our famous long, aimless drives (this one involving San Francisco to Oakland via the San Mateo Bridge).

On Friday night, we hit “Butt Pirates of the Carribean” at Josie’s Cabaret and Juice Joint. I can’t recommend this highly enough (and I won’t try ‘cuz it’s late and I’m sleepy).

 

And tonight was the down home dinner for five at my house. While I’ve never claimed to be particularly “butch”, I’ve occasionally been accused of it… generally by those who have never watched me prepare dinner for several people.

Tonight marked my first experimental attempt at entertaining since I found myself living alone. Maybe that explains the hyperactive Martha Stewart mode I went into this weekend. I vacuumed. I cleaned the toilet. I mopped the kitchen floor. I baked a cake. From scratch. And that was all on the day BEFORE my dinner guests were to arrive.

The background is thus: my friend Duncan was visiting from Charlotte. I thought a little dinner would be a nice way for him to meet some of my friends here, as well a get a chance to hang out with some people we both know. Of course, I went hardcore into my Mom imitation. It wasn’t a hard mode to get into. I’ve found myself getting frighteningly domestic lately anyway.

 

So I baked a cake. And cooked a pork roast. And made a pot of collards. Since Duncan doesn’t like collards, I made squash too. And biscuits (OK…I used the canned kind…). And iced tea. Sarah brought macaroni and cheese. Dan brought salad. And with everything spread out in the kitchen, it was frighteningly reminiscent of the big extended family dinners my mom throws for me when I come home. The only things missing were the congealed salad and the devilled eggs. And a dining room table…

I broke out the sputnik cake plates and the cool toothpick dispenser given to me by Bob in Indianapolis. I cut lemons and made extra ice. And after dinner (this is the clencher) we watched HOME MOVIES. I fussed and cooked and cleaned and I coudn’t possibly have enjoyed it more.

 

And then, when it was over, I washed every single damned dish before I could go to bed. At 1AM, my kitchen was spotless. What’s happening to me?

Now it’s back to Charlotte for Duncan and back to the boring day to day for me (and presumably for the rest of the aforementioned cast members).

And no, I still haven’t gotten around to the email…

Habits

My friend Rae is about to leave on a major road trip as she moves to Chicago. I’m jealous. She’s excited. We shared our respective emotions several times today. We never spoke in person; everything was said via email or voice mail. I’m not sure if this is good or bad.

Bad habits I’ve obtained since I became “wired”:

  • File extensions: Being a Mac supremacist, I’ve never really had to deal with them on a regular basis. But since the internet is a Unix environment (despite what Bill Gates may believe), I’ve had to start. Now I add file extensions to anything I’m working on. It’s like a curse.
  • Saying “directory” rather than “folder”, even when I’m talking to another person using another Mac.
  • Giving out my email address rather than my phone number in bars. This just seems wrong somehow.
  • Using my video camera as a glorified still camera and shooting things more with the assumption that they’ll be used on the site rather than watched on an actual TV.
  • Expecting printed books and newspapers to have a “search” button.

Good (and somewhat anachronistic) habits I’ve maintained:

  • Very rarely, if ever, using the term “wired”.
  • Reading newspapers: somehow the physical article still excites me in a major way.
  • Driving thousands of miles at a time and staying completely away from email for most of that time.
  • Used bookstores: there are still few things I love more.
  • KABL and the sounds of Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra, Astrid Gilberto, and Louis Prima while I work.
  • Avoiding chat rooms and IRC like the plague (except for that brief and unfortunate period in 1995).

Healthy balance or not? You be the judge. I really don’t care…

The Great Smoke-free Experiment of 1999

I gave up smoking for fourteen hours today and lived to tell about it.

I’m not sure what possessed me. I’ve been thinking about it for several weeks. So I let myself run out of cigarettes last night. I then managed to get through most of the morning without one. I held out until about 11:30.

It was quite unpleasant, although not quite as bad as I might have expected. I may try it again some time. Maybe I’ll attempt an entire day soon.

I’ve been smoking for over twenty years. I started in junior high, where it caused some problems. Smoking was legal at high schools in Greensboro back then, and that’s where I got really hooked. I’ve never been particularly apologetic about smoking, although I’ve generally tried to be considerate about it. I draw the line, though, in my own home or car, or in bars.

I also draw the line here at Planet SOMA. I’d like to think that if I were to quit smoking, I’d never become a self-righteous asshole like this guy who had the audacity to tell me not to feature pictures of myself smoking on the site.

Anyway, given my chemically-deprived state last night, I didn’t answer much email (I know…I promised…I’m sorry…) I’m not making any promises about tonight either. I also have not added my rally pictures. I may not do so. I fear the time has passed. All the same, feel free to browse the SF Weekly’s admission of responsibility…

8 June 1999

Extremely busy and hectic weekend. My apologies to anyone who’s waiting for me to answer email. Tomorrow, I promise…

Sunday’s “Stop the Hate” rally in the Mission was indeed the put-on I’d imagined. Mind you, it was a serious event and serious issues were discussed and publicized. Essentially, though, it was a brilliant piece of street theatre.

Duncan’s here, I’m playing tourguide, and I’ll have somthing more interesting to say soon. Maybe…