Menu Close

Uncategorized

Off to Fresno

Took a road trip this weekend and didn’t even take the camera. It was kind of nice for a change, although taking the camera wasn’t really an option anyway, since I haven’t gotten it fixed yet.

I just love Fresno, and I’ve yet to find anyone who really agrees with me on this one. It’s such a strange place, physically and psychologically.

I’ll restate the basics first: Fresno is (I believe) the largest American city not served by an Interstate or US highway. There are no VHF television stations there. Test marketing and surveys are often done here because Fresno is apparently one of the most typically American cities to be found.

Which is surprising to me, simply because I find Fresno so very odd. While progress has moved northward, the southern and middle sections of the city has remained virtually unchanged physically (although the demographics have changed considerably). Fresno is like a lab, possibly the best place around to study the history of urban development since the 1950s.

Downtown Fresno was deserted by traditional business decades ago, but Fulton Street bustles with local, largely Latino-owned shops and restaurants. Old department stores have been transformed into bazaars selling electronics and counterfeit Nikes. The former Safeway on Ventura Street looks exactly as it did in 1965 (avocado, orange, and purple interior intact), the only changes being a new sign out front and a large map of Mexico above the meat department.

Old shopping centers from the 1950s flank the wide boulevards, set at approximately one-mile intervals. These centers often house some of the same stores they did on opening day. The clientele has changed, but the stores opted to adapt rather than to flee.

The economic malaise which has gripped Fresno and much of the Central Valley over the past few decades has allowed much of the inner city to look just the way I remember cities looking when I was a kid. Malls and “big box” stores are not in evidence (although they do exist in the northern part of town). The Baskin-Robbins in the dying Manchester Center still has simulated wood paneling. There are still local supermarket chains and drug stores.

Sadly, I must admit, too many of the Denny’s have been converted into the terrifically annoying faux 1950s “Denny’s Diner” concept, which looks like some sort of “laverne and Shirley”-inspired nightmare. We are not amused.

Maybe it’s just comforting in a strange way. More tomorrow, including queer bars, strange radio stations, and the drive-in I finally managed to eat at over five trips and six years…

Today in History

Glad everyone got a little chuckle out of the regular guys. Good response to that one, which proves (once again) that people never respond to what you think they will.

Turns out the wording on my contact page has given some people the impression that I don’t necessarily read all my email. This is not true. I read everything; it’s the responses that I’m treating a little too casually these days. I’d love to say it’s getting better, but it’s not. Which is sad.

Eighteen years ago today, I met my friend Jeff in a public toilet. We’d met before, but this time I realized that neither of us was really there to take a piss.

Seventeen years ago today, I had a first encounter with someone I believed to be a really nice guy. We had nasty sex in my grandmother’s house (I was house-sitting). Didn’t see him again until sixteen years ago tomorrow, and that second reunion started a very unpleasant 1984. I looked at the coincidence involving the dates as a sign that this was something good. Now I realize that said coincidence was merely unfortunate.

Fifteen years ago today, I was in Raleigh, crying my eyes out, but we covered that a few months back.

Thirteen years ago today, I was developing a crush on a skate rat who later invaded my home for several weeks. He was cute as a bug’s ear, but h only liked girls.

Twelve years ago today, some friends did a Culture Club song in drag. it was pretty good.

Not that any of this really means anything, and not that anything particularly significant happened today, but this time of year is one of those which has historically produced events which seemed worthy of journal entries at the time.

Not this year, though, I guess…

Favorite Forks and Regular Guys

I have a favorite fork. You underprivileged souls with nicely matching silverware sets might find that concept a little foreign. I understand. It would be quite difficult to have a favorite fork when all your forks look alike.

My silverware, though, is — well, let’s call it “eclectic”. It’s been acquired through trips to various thrift stores. None of it is particularly noteworthy, with the exception of one set, of which I have about three settings. All the pieces have little sputniks on them. I love little sputniks; I even have saucers with little sputniks.

I have a favorite spoon, too. It’s an ice cream parlor spoon, so it’s bigger than usual. It’s great for cereal. Do you have a favorite fork or a favorite spoon?

Do you think these regular guys do?

Interesting site that last one, huh? Don’t get me wrong; I think it’s great that they have a group dedicated to sports and “guy stuff”. But my god, could they use the word “masculine” a few more times? Sounds a little like a penis size contest to me, although they make it clear the group is not at all about sex.

I’m not into sports, and therefore I guess I’m not masculine. But that’s OK. It’s not something I really aspire to anyway. I think, though, that if I were forming a group of my fellow sodomites who were into sports, I’d refer to it as “a group of sodomites who are into sports”, rather than a group of “masculine men”. I guess all the sissy sports fans I’ve known wouldn’t be welcome.

Nor would I. And that’s OK too. Trust me on this one.

Non-masculine things I’ve done today:

  • Yelled “where’s my damned trivet” while cooking dinner.
  • Crossed my legs in the unmanly knee over knee fashion.
  • Admitted publicly (in front of, gasp, women and heterosexuals) that, until last night’s news, I didn’t even know that Tennessee HAD a pro football team.
  • Addressed two of my houseplants by name.
  • Discussed my silverware online.

No, I don’t fear “masculinity” because it’s “threatening”. I fear it because I have no earthly idea what it’s supposed to be (and I don’t particularly care).

Here’s the Story

Damn, do I feel old…

It was thirty years ago this week that the Brady Bunch made its primetime debut on ABC. And I remember watching it that first year. I almost never missed it. The few times I did usually involved a trip to the brand new mall in Burlington. I was usually grumpy the whole time.

The number one song in America on this important date in American history was “Sugar Sugar” by the Archies. It was a bubblegum universe, to be sure. No Vietnam, civil rights issues, or junkies in sight.

At one point, by the time I was 11 or 12 (a year or two after the Bradys had moved into syndication heaven), I remember catching upto four episodes a day. Must have been a special slice of heaven for my mom and dad.

Unrelated…

  • I had a job interview last week. Imagine my delight at not being asked one single question which started with something like “you are trapped on a desert island with two rubber bands and a piece of gum…”
  • Why did I pick the hottest day in two months to hover over the stove making gumbo?
  • Am I some sort of freak? My voice never cracked when it was changing.
  • Yes, that last rhetorical question was inspired by the Brady Bunch marathon I’m watching.

Happy Monday.

30 August 1999

No. I don’t, actually…

But I do confess that I have now tried canned collards and much to my surprise found them to be passably good. I’m a little embarrassed to admit this.

I’m even more embarrassed to admit that this is the most exciting thing I could write about, despite a five day absence from my little blue, yellow, and white corner of the world. Let’s just say it’s been a low-key week.

I actually got a lot done. On Thursday, I helped give birth to a brand new bouncing baby website. That’s always fun, especially when they bring beer.

I’ve also been working on a little project of my own, which is nowhere near completion, but you can give it a sneak peek if you like. Be forewarned that it’s in progress and may not work too well. If you check it out and have anything to contribute, please give me a yell.

Other than that, I’ve been doing absolutely nothing of much interest and finding it pretty damned pleasant, thank you. I promise to be more interesting soon, and (once again) to try and catch up on the email this week.

Happy Birthday, Jeff


1985: Jeff at age 6

My friend Jeff in North Carolina turns 20 today. That’s the age he’s giving. Who am I to argue? I’ve only known him since 1980, so I can’t really say for sure. A big old “happy birthday” anyhow, despite the fact that Jeff opted to pass the milestone in Myrtle Beach rather than San Francisco.

So I’m working my butt off this weekand finding very little time to do much with the site.

For those who are following closely, I have finally moved all the relevant phone lines and moved my office into its new home (thanks to Dan for the assist). Aside from the fact that I can now avoid working by looking out the big bay window, I can also hear it when the trash truck comes.

Ooops.

Having just returned from running my trash downstairs in my bathrobe, I’ll continue babbling about nothing now. OK…maybe I’ll babble about the cute garabage man who let me throw the bag into the truck all by myself. He smiled at me. Awww…

Mistake of the week: frozen chopped collards. Fear them.

Disappointment of the week: no flowers on Secretaries Day.

Frightening sight of the week: the phone tree in my basement as I tried to figure out what line went where.

Randomly Saturday

Random thoughts generated by a short attention span on a Saturday morning:

  • Eggo frozen waffles really ARE better than store brands.
  • Obsessively cleaning one’s apartment for the first time in over six years can result in the discovery of a surprising amount of money.
  • Supposing I wrote stories about what a hot college jock I am. Think I could make any money selling my dozen recently-unearthed pairs of old shoes at one of those foot fetish sites?
  • Some idiot just called me (on the phone) trying to “get the website for San Francisco city guides”. I have no idea what he was talking about. I have even less idea how he got my number.
  • Does anyone remember the mystical and magical show called “Night Flight” which used to run on the USA Network before said cable channel became flat out useless?
  • Speaking of the old videotape I’m watching from 1988: does anyone else find it a huge injustice that Dusty Springfield will never sing again but that the Pet Shop Boys probably will?
  • I am convinced that the lead singer of the New Radicals does not really sing. He’s merely an adorable boy who’s lip synching to previously unreleased World Party songs.
  • Will I ever have a boyfriend who has a washer and dryer in his home?
  • One more time: why does it cost 25-50 cents more to sell a gallon of gas in northern California than anywhere else in the country (or even the state)? And why is milk twice as expensive here in the largest dairy-producing state? And why is it impossible to buy a decent tomato here?

Pride

Break out the tank tops, the rainbow flags, the freedom rings, the pecs, and the drugs. Gay Day is coming to San Francisco. Market Street will be magically converted into a giant disco. This is the weekend every gay commercial institution in the city lives for. There will be dance clubs running pretty much twenty-four hours a day, gay pride massage specials, and attractive four-color flyers all over town showing the buff disco boys and rainbow colors (that’s ink…not skin…) which are the absolute definition of “Gay San Francisco”.

Big fuckin’ deal.

OK…I’ll admit that Pride Weekend is no more or less commercialized than any other major urban street fair. I can get past the fact that two of the biggest sponsors are breweries and a third is a distillery (although an email correspondent quips “don’t fags ever buy GROCERIES?”). I can ignore the bars and businesses along the parade route which suddenly sprout heretofore unseen rainbow flags for the weekend. They’re seizing an opportunity to make a quick buck, whic not a bad thing in itself.

I’m not even worried about the “freak show” the media will portray. Frankly, they usually showcase a level of humor and diversity of thought which is often sadly underplayed in the actual monotony of the parade. Contrary to popular belief, the parade is neither a celebration of perversion nor a demonstration of strength and diversity. It’s not really anything but a long and usually boring procession of bar floats, politicians, and “people with labels”.

So what is this “pride” thing anyway? I know it’s an unpopular notion, but is one’s sexual orientation anything to be proud of, per se? Granted, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, either. Nor to be hidden. But does “being gay” automatically confer a sense of community on those to whom it happens? I don’t think so. Frankly, I find that I have very little in common with my “community”; maybe I missed the ceremony…

Yes, it is true that gay people are discriminated against every day and in many ways. Equal rights legislation and a change in prejudiced attitudes are absolutely necessary. But, contrary to the “groupthink” inherent to the SF parade, gay white men are not the most oppressed group on the face of the planet. Especially not in San Francisco. And let’s face it: Pride Weekend here (and in New York and Los Angeles) is largely about professional gay white men.

Perhaps in some smaller cities and towns, there’s some validity to the notion of a gay parade to promote a sense of visibility and community. But in San Francisco, the whole event is about throwing a big party and showing off how beautiful and buff and out and gay we all are. And making a buck.

I’m in favor of partying, although Pride Weekend doesn’t provide a lot of opportunities which are to my liking. I’m usually in favor of making a buck too. But let’s not delude ourselves into thinking that this thing has anything much to do with “community”.

So celebrate on…just make sure you know WHAT you’re celebrating.

Random Updates

Just for today, I’m not going to rant or rave about much of anything! The only thing on the agenda is an update of what’s going on in my life at this point in time, in case anyone cares…

A few carefully lit fires — no pun intended — have started getting a bit of reaction out of my insurance company in relation to the pile of ashes which used to be my car. I’m expecting a settlement any day now. I think informing them that they’d be paying for a rental repalcement of my choosing until I have a check in hand may have helped a bit.

No job yet, but so far I’m pretty much convinced that giving Kinko’s the heave-ho was quite the right thing to do. Today was especially convincing; the yuppie slimebags were as annoying as usual. Yesterday I taught an Internet class at one of the outlying San Francisco stores. I was amazed at how different the neighborhood atmosphere was. People were actaully smiling and walking down the street at a normal pace. No one had the perpetually constipated look of the Financial Distrist corporate automatons. It was really nice. It’s a sad thing that so many people let work rule their lives to the point of making them such unbearable substitutes for human beings. Note to the Financial District crowd: take a Valium or at least take a break once in a while!

Side note: a rumor is floating about that Kinko’s is advertising on Pat Robertson’s Family Channel (formerly the Christian Broadcasting Network). I cannot confirm this rumor. Has anyone seen commercials on this highly offensive, rabidly anti-gay and pro-enforced childbirth network? If so, please let me know, and I’ll keep you informed of how my complaints are received.

Had dinner last night with my ex David at the new IHOP South of Market. It is, without question, the creepiest IHOP atmosphere I’ve ever seen. It’s in the basement of an old commercial building and is just too damned well-lit and pastel-tinted. It’s located next to Moscone Convention Center, but the crowd seems to be more “downtown drug dealer” than “conventioneer executive”, although one middle-class mother with teen-age son was inside and looked a little horrified when David and I began discussing watersports. Denny’s is scheduled to open a few doors down very soon. Should be fun to watch.

Ran into Ron, a guy I “went out” with a few times, at lunch today and found out that his band (which was one of two whose debuts I attended recently, the other being Lucifag) is fizzling. We did the “lost your number…give me a call” routine. I never know when that’s meant sincerely or not (sometimes I really DO mean it); we did have fun…

Speaking of bands, I’ll be seeing The Third Sex at Faster Pussycat tonight. It’ll be kinda cool seeing a band on the midwestern end of a tour and then at home on the same tour. Love them…they’re great. (Note: missed ’em…the show moved…found out too late…hate life…)

As for the weekend, I’m geeting back together with this guy named Rob who I recently met in a dark back corner somewhere. He’s terminally cute, fun, shares some of my perversions, and is a pretty danged OK kinda guy, despite being from L.A. He follows orders well, and he scores major points for suggesting — without prompting — Jack in the Box as a food stop on the way back to his apartment Sunday night. More points added for being suitably worshipful about Planet SOMA…I’ll work on pictures soon.

Mom and Dad’s anniversary yesterday. Forty-seven years. Scary. I somehow doubt I’ll have a relationship last quite that long.

Gotta run now…food calls.

Thanks for checking in…

Sex, Love, and Relationships

When I was coming out at age 17, a major theme in my writing was that sex and love were essentially the same thing…there was (and could be) no difference between the two. “How can you be with someone if there’s no love?”, I asked. “How can gay men be so promiscuous?” “Sex without love is meaningless.” I was very young and idealistic. I was later to find that sex and love were not necessarily related in any way.

As I aged, I began taking to heart the 70’s texts which were the only ones available in the Greensboro Public Library . Gay relationships did not need to “ape” heterosexual marriage. A relationship not based in total freedom and mired in jealousy and suspicion is invalid from the onset. Queers are free to develop new concepts where love is concerned. Even now, I don’t disagree; I’ve developed a whole lifestyle based on divorcing the concept of sex and love. It has suited me well for many years.

Or has it? Sometimes I think I have rendered myself incapable of having a relationship based on love, trust, and (assorted gods forbid) monogamy. I tell myself repeatedly that this is not what I want.

I spent a lot of time alone as a kid, and I’ve continued doing so as an adult. In junior high and — to a lesser extent –high school, I was not what you would describe as popular. Most of my weekends were spent alone, reading, driving around aimlessly, and immersed in thought. A positive result of this is that I’ve become quite comfortable with my own company. I don’t need someone around in order to complete every little activity like eating, going to a movie, traveling, etc. In fact, I often prefer to do many of these things alone. Unfortunately, the experience has also left some of my critical social skills a bit lacking.

Also, I am selfish by nature — blame it on being an only child if you like — and I often see myself as totally unwilling to commit myself to another person. This is not necessarily a bad thing, because I shouldn’t expect anyone else to do the same for me. But there’s a paradox here. Sometimes I do find myself willing to commit, and then I expect the return, which is often not forthcoming.

Is it any wonder the longest “relationship” of my life lasted a scant six months? It’s a very unusual thing when i find myself willing to commit to a relationship, and when I do this, I tend to expect a more than satisfactory return on my emotional investment. If I’m going to suffer and pine away, I want the other person to suffer and pine away just as much. If I’m going to break all my own rules and get completely “hooked”, I expect the same in return. No wonder things get so strange; life and relationships just don’t work that way.

Of course, communication is a big factor. I often complain that “I don’t know where I stand”. I think this is a pretty universal problem; there is precious little actual communication in most relationships. In my case, I realize that it stems from my inability to let myself show traces of vulnerability by actually admitting how involved I am. So how can I fault someone else for not doing the same thing? Also, I have a big fear of screwing things up by over-analyzing and of scaring other people off by “talking about it too much”, even though I realize I’m screwing up even more by NOT talking. Maybe I’m too worried about causing the other person problems to pay attention to the wear and tear I’m exposing myself to.

Why can’t sex just be sex? What’s wrong with a series of “fuck buddies” with whom you may also share friendship, but not necessarily traditional “love”? I’ve always thought I’d grow old with a few good, non-sexual friends and get my urges taken care of on the side. I have really high standards for the people I call my “friends”; very few manage to make it for the long haul. But what happens when someone meets these standards and there’s also a “romantic” connection? Is it time to re-evaluate the concept that the people I really like and the people I have sex with should be completely separate? Is it not possible that I’m not always after “the wrong boy”?

Obviously I have a lot on my mind right now, and while this current round of analysis may have been triggered by a specific scenario, it’s a pattern I often ponder, and obviously worry about as well. Boys will continue to come and go, but will I allow myself to keep them around for a while?