I have been dumped. I finally got to talk to Matt today, it went something like this:
C: I haven't heard from you in a few days, what's up?
M: Um, [pause] we have a situation.
C: Um, what's the situation?
M: Do you remember what you did to me?
C: What, are you talking about Saturday when I called you and told you about making out with the dog?
M: Uh yeah! That is what I am talking about. Charlie, that really disturbed me-
C: I'm sorry-
M: Don't be sorry, I am just, I'm just really disturbed and find you unattractive now, I just - that really turned me off and I can't say I find you attractive right now.
C: Um
M:
C: Okay, so what does this mean? Am we not going to talk anymore?
M: No, no, no, I mean, yeah, I am sure we will see each other around, and I guess we'll talk then.
C:Um..
M: Yeah, but I really don't have time to talk right now, I have to go meet Kevin for dinner.
C: Bye?
My body felt this break-up when I was reading Wojnarowicz talk about carressing his lover's bodies. I got butterflies in my stomach just reading this stuff, thinking back to time spent curled up next to Matt's body, running my fingers along his spine. That is when I feel this. I also feel it listening to song #2 on the Destroyer album Bonnie mailed me. For this reason, I have been listening to this song on repeat. These is something heartbreakingly beautiful about memories of bodies that you no longer have access to. That is why I read these sad things and listen to these sad things, and think of moments in bed together, because it is a pain, a pang that is laced with the slightest bit of pleasure at the recollection of these things. I am glad for the experiences and equally glad for the memories of them.
I am just sad that it had to end so abruptly. Things have a habit of doing that and I am trying to take as much from this experience as possible and to not under any conditions get bitter about the situation. In the time spent with him, I learned that I do possess these capacities, an ability to have feelings of a certain type towards others, a generousity of spirit (I don't want to say love, but that type of feeling, a warmness towards others). I have become receptive towards touch. I am beyond grateful for these things. It depresses me however that it ended for such a silly reason, and ended with such a kind person who lived so close. But I am learning so many things, this is life, my friends, and I am doing the best I can, trying to learn, trying to be honest, and to love without restraint, and some days, I even think that I am successful. Oddly enough, today is one of these.
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
I am officialy (well, at least according to the NY Press, whatever that means), "officialy" more loathsome than not only Drew Barrymore, Abe Foxman, Bud Selig, and Eric Alterman, but more loathsome than even Joan Rivers. Sadly, the Hilton Sisters are appearantly just a little more loathsome than Strand employees.
29. Strand Staffers
SLAVING AT A used bookshop may be a nobler vocation than trading pork bellies, but is it too much to ask that someone make eye contact through his or her Elvis Costello glasses? Is it unreasonable to expect the occasional acknowledgement of a customer's presence? Do new employees take classes to learn how to display utter contempt? Screw the Strand and its narrow aisles and indecipherable shelving practices and overpriced used books and staff of petulant clerks. They can ram all eight miles of books up their mopey asses. Next to them, the people at Barnes & Noble are downright motherly.
(From The Fifty Most Loathsome New Yorkers)
While that does make me happy, as does the nice package I got from Bonnie yesterday with CD's that I am listening to, there is still this Matt not calling me thing creating a sadness that is dueling with these happy things. Guess which one is winning? I'll give you a hint: It is not being more loathsome than Fifty Cent. Will he call today? And no, not Fifty Cent, but that boy.
29. Strand Staffers
SLAVING AT A used bookshop may be a nobler vocation than trading pork bellies, but is it too much to ask that someone make eye contact through his or her Elvis Costello glasses? Is it unreasonable to expect the occasional acknowledgement of a customer's presence? Do new employees take classes to learn how to display utter contempt? Screw the Strand and its narrow aisles and indecipherable shelving practices and overpriced used books and staff of petulant clerks. They can ram all eight miles of books up their mopey asses. Next to them, the people at Barnes & Noble are downright motherly.
(From The Fifty Most Loathsome New Yorkers)
While that does make me happy, as does the nice package I got from Bonnie yesterday with CD's that I am listening to, there is still this Matt not calling me thing creating a sadness that is dueling with these happy things. Guess which one is winning? I'll give you a hint: It is not being more loathsome than Fifty Cent. Will he call today? And no, not Fifty Cent, but that boy.
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
I do not know if I actually have a reason to be sad or not, if I am actually being brushed off, but the possibility that I am is making me sad. The last time I talked to Matt was Saturday night when I told him he should come out to those parties. He said he might later. I called after fleeing Sterling's to tell him that I was going home, told him about the dog, and about running away. As I mentioned he did sound disturbed about the dog. Something along the lines of "Charlie, what? Don't tell me this now. I don't want to hear this. We'll talk tomorrow."
So I waited Sunday for him to call. He did not. I waited most of Monday, yesterday, before giving in around ten o'clock and I got his answering machine, which I thought was odd since he always has his phone on him. He did not call me back at all last night which is where the sadness started. Today, I waited and waited for him to call me back, constantly checking my phone to see if there were any new messages. At nine, I called and did not leave a message. Same thing at around ten. At work, I was so sad, trying to think of why perhaps he might not be calling me, could he really be that disgusted by the dog story? Does he just not like me anymore? Or is he really busy getting ready for his show this Friday? All questions which I threw around to myself and to Joe when he would listen to me mope. He thankfully convinced me not to call anymore, to just chill out and wait. I took the subway home, sad, and while walking up the stairs out of the subway towards my house, I heard that distinctive ring tone letting me know that I had a message. Excited, I dialed it up, and heard that it was Matt's phone number, and waited nervousely to hear what he would say in the message.
Hi Charlie, This is Matt, Call me back.
That was it, but he said hi and not hey, said call me back and not give me a call back. And he said it so dryly, which was the most troubling part, his bouncy optimism could not be found in any of those words. Normally he does not leave as curt messages either. It also seems oddly suspicious that he would call me right after I got off work, when he knew I would be on the subway.
I called him back, he did not pick up. I left a message, and then sulked off to La Bonita Bakery where I ordered a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich with mayonaisse, all that yummy fat to make me feel better. While I was waiting around for my food, I turned up my ringer to make sure that I would hear his call, but I sort of had a feeling that I was not going to recieve a call back from him in La Bonita, and I was right, and soon, I am going to go to bed feeling miserable and lonely and unwanted, and I have a feeling that he will not call me then either, and I really hope that I will not be right, but I think you guys know what will probably happen.
Tomorrow evening, I will try calling him again.
So I waited Sunday for him to call. He did not. I waited most of Monday, yesterday, before giving in around ten o'clock and I got his answering machine, which I thought was odd since he always has his phone on him. He did not call me back at all last night which is where the sadness started. Today, I waited and waited for him to call me back, constantly checking my phone to see if there were any new messages. At nine, I called and did not leave a message. Same thing at around ten. At work, I was so sad, trying to think of why perhaps he might not be calling me, could he really be that disgusted by the dog story? Does he just not like me anymore? Or is he really busy getting ready for his show this Friday? All questions which I threw around to myself and to Joe when he would listen to me mope. He thankfully convinced me not to call anymore, to just chill out and wait. I took the subway home, sad, and while walking up the stairs out of the subway towards my house, I heard that distinctive ring tone letting me know that I had a message. Excited, I dialed it up, and heard that it was Matt's phone number, and waited nervousely to hear what he would say in the message.
Hi Charlie, This is Matt, Call me back.
That was it, but he said hi and not hey, said call me back and not give me a call back. And he said it so dryly, which was the most troubling part, his bouncy optimism could not be found in any of those words. Normally he does not leave as curt messages either. It also seems oddly suspicious that he would call me right after I got off work, when he knew I would be on the subway.
I called him back, he did not pick up. I left a message, and then sulked off to La Bonita Bakery where I ordered a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich with mayonaisse, all that yummy fat to make me feel better. While I was waiting around for my food, I turned up my ringer to make sure that I would hear his call, but I sort of had a feeling that I was not going to recieve a call back from him in La Bonita, and I was right, and soon, I am going to go to bed feeling miserable and lonely and unwanted, and I have a feeling that he will not call me then either, and I really hope that I will not be right, but I think you guys know what will probably happen.
Tomorrow evening, I will try calling him again.
Monday, March 29, 2004
"losing the form in darkness"
Lately, I feel really ugly and don't like spending much time with people in face to face interactions. I don't make eye contact when I am with people. I try not to stand to close to them, and I shy away when I think people are looking closely at me, avert my head, fiddle with something. This is because my acne is "severe" and because I am aware of this and am going to see the dermatologist on Monday, and so because I hope to soon have this problem alleviated somewhat, right now, the current condition seems even more noticable, more unbearable, with some hoped for future looming, placing the current state in a stark contrast.
And tonight, perhaps because of this reason, perhaps because of others, I felt entirely comfortable in the dark night, wandering the streets of Williamsburg and Greenpoint. The streets were empty, all mine. There were sublime cloud formations moving quickly past the half full moon, or perhaps, in this condition, the half empty moon. And it reminded me of nights at the beach in Florida, how majestic the night sky looked over the ocean, how it appeared to be as just as large, if not more so, and so tonight I looked at this expansive sky that I had forgotten about, realized that I had forgotten how expansive this land is, these oceans are underneath it. That I have become very self-involved with this city and myself, and forgot how expansive it all is, how vast.
There is a very distinct thrill that is obtained by wandering Brooklyn streets at night alone, streets that are deserted, some that are competely dark, and having to check over your shoulder every once and a while just to make sure that whatever you hope is not there is not there. Then you can breathe out into the crisp night air and know that you are alone. Lonely, lonely, and best so. As WCW would say.
There is this passage in David Wojnarowicz's Close to the Knives, which I am reading right now, and which is quite excellent by the way - at work, on days when I show up, I am reading his diaries, In the Shadow of the American Dream, which are also really good, perhaps better, just because they are diaries and they have me excited about ways to enliven and experience life through the method of journal writing, giving things more meaning that way, infusing your life with poetry, and I will talk more about his diaries as I read more of them, but to the quote: "In loving him, I saw great hosues being erected that would soon slide into the waiting and stirring seas. I saw him freeing me from the silences of the interior life." (17)
That passage really struck me for its tenderness when I read it earlier this evening, that yes, that is what good sex is sometimes. However tonight, the night, its darkness allowed me to embrace the silences of the interior life, not having to worry about lights, and my bathroom mirror, and what other people are thinking. It was so liberating, and perhaps that was the reason I took the walk, to think. I have recently taken a few long walks at night, and tonight, thinking over the habit, I realized that it is exactly what my mother does. My mom is a pretty restless woman and cannot really sit around the house, cannot engage with other people very intimately, and she is always taking walks at night, long walks, and asking other people if they want to go. And lately, I am coming to realize how indeed lovely circutious walks without any destination are. It felt so good to breathe in that cold air, winter is not yet gone, to walk past houses in my neighborhood, seeing the Easter decorations put up on the houses on Hope Street, familiarizing myself with my surrounding area.
Before I took a walk, I got a call from this boy Chris. Chris is this really hot boy who djs at Metropolitian on Thursdays, and he wanted to know what I was doing tonight. I am not sure if it was just a friendly invite or if there was more to it. I told them that I wasn't going to go out but that I would call him in the future. I did not go out because I am broke and feeling outrageously insecure today. But the friendly attention that I have gotten in the past week makes me happy, and seems really odd, especially at this moment when I am probably the most ashamed/disgusted with my appearance since probably 10th grade, and man, 10th grade was a rough time as I am sure many of you know. I am currently going through a similar experience of self-defeating thoughts and behaviour that I am far too experienced and intelligent to engage in, but yet, which I still do nonetheless.
I have to go into work early tomorrow to pick up some extra hours since I called in sick today and have no sick days left and was going to try to pay my rent with this week's paycheck. I have to find a new job ASAP. My goal is to quit between May 7 (when I will have been there for a year and can collect two weeks vacation pay) and June 12 (my birthday, and if I am still working in a retail job at the age of 23, I will break down and cry). Or maybe I can get fired and collect unemployment. I did get stuff accomplished today. I cleaned dishes, finally found someone with a copy of my tax forms from the Best Western which were mailed out this afternoon, made a dentist appointment, looked for some jobs (did not apply yet), and read lots of Wojnarowicz.
And tonight, perhaps because of this reason, perhaps because of others, I felt entirely comfortable in the dark night, wandering the streets of Williamsburg and Greenpoint. The streets were empty, all mine. There were sublime cloud formations moving quickly past the half full moon, or perhaps, in this condition, the half empty moon. And it reminded me of nights at the beach in Florida, how majestic the night sky looked over the ocean, how it appeared to be as just as large, if not more so, and so tonight I looked at this expansive sky that I had forgotten about, realized that I had forgotten how expansive this land is, these oceans are underneath it. That I have become very self-involved with this city and myself, and forgot how expansive it all is, how vast.
There is a very distinct thrill that is obtained by wandering Brooklyn streets at night alone, streets that are deserted, some that are competely dark, and having to check over your shoulder every once and a while just to make sure that whatever you hope is not there is not there. Then you can breathe out into the crisp night air and know that you are alone. Lonely, lonely, and best so. As WCW would say.
There is this passage in David Wojnarowicz's Close to the Knives, which I am reading right now, and which is quite excellent by the way - at work, on days when I show up, I am reading his diaries, In the Shadow of the American Dream, which are also really good, perhaps better, just because they are diaries and they have me excited about ways to enliven and experience life through the method of journal writing, giving things more meaning that way, infusing your life with poetry, and I will talk more about his diaries as I read more of them, but to the quote: "In loving him, I saw great hosues being erected that would soon slide into the waiting and stirring seas. I saw him freeing me from the silences of the interior life." (17)
That passage really struck me for its tenderness when I read it earlier this evening, that yes, that is what good sex is sometimes. However tonight, the night, its darkness allowed me to embrace the silences of the interior life, not having to worry about lights, and my bathroom mirror, and what other people are thinking. It was so liberating, and perhaps that was the reason I took the walk, to think. I have recently taken a few long walks at night, and tonight, thinking over the habit, I realized that it is exactly what my mother does. My mom is a pretty restless woman and cannot really sit around the house, cannot engage with other people very intimately, and she is always taking walks at night, long walks, and asking other people if they want to go. And lately, I am coming to realize how indeed lovely circutious walks without any destination are. It felt so good to breathe in that cold air, winter is not yet gone, to walk past houses in my neighborhood, seeing the Easter decorations put up on the houses on Hope Street, familiarizing myself with my surrounding area.
Before I took a walk, I got a call from this boy Chris. Chris is this really hot boy who djs at Metropolitian on Thursdays, and he wanted to know what I was doing tonight. I am not sure if it was just a friendly invite or if there was more to it. I told them that I wasn't going to go out but that I would call him in the future. I did not go out because I am broke and feeling outrageously insecure today. But the friendly attention that I have gotten in the past week makes me happy, and seems really odd, especially at this moment when I am probably the most ashamed/disgusted with my appearance since probably 10th grade, and man, 10th grade was a rough time as I am sure many of you know. I am currently going through a similar experience of self-defeating thoughts and behaviour that I am far too experienced and intelligent to engage in, but yet, which I still do nonetheless.
I have to go into work early tomorrow to pick up some extra hours since I called in sick today and have no sick days left and was going to try to pay my rent with this week's paycheck. I have to find a new job ASAP. My goal is to quit between May 7 (when I will have been there for a year and can collect two weeks vacation pay) and June 12 (my birthday, and if I am still working in a retail job at the age of 23, I will break down and cry). Or maybe I can get fired and collect unemployment. I did get stuff accomplished today. I cleaned dishes, finally found someone with a copy of my tax forms from the Best Western which were mailed out this afternoon, made a dentist appointment, looked for some jobs (did not apply yet), and read lots of Wojnarowicz.
Sunday, March 28, 2004
What you desire and what you would actually allow to happen, or what you actually want to happen are not always the same thing. Desire is funny like that, and sometimes (often times?), it is better left as some erotic possibility, something unvocalized, not acted upon, in those nether regions of pleasure and sensation. I was thinking about this when I woke up a short while ago in a boy's shirt whose name I do not even know. And no, I did not do anything stupid - okay, I defintely did - but I did not do that.
Last night, I went to a few gallery openings with Christy, Niki, and Jessica, drank lots of beer and wine without regard to the effects of mixing the two, and don't remember much of what I saw except the Sabine Horning show at Tanya Bonakdar, which I really liked. I may talk about the show more later if I see it again. My thoughts are too unformulated right now and would sidetrack this attempt at narrative too much.
So yes, beer, wine, art and then plans to go to two parties in Brooklyn. And Niki and Jessica had people they wanted to see, so we splintered. Niki to see Ramsey. Jessica to see some rock and roll boy. Christy and I to our respective apartments to consume food, but all of us planned on meeting up at Sterling's party. I will fast forward and let you know that that did not happen, that Christy called me and said she was too tired, and the other two, God knows where they ended up last night but it was not at Sterling's.
I get home, make some food, answer my phone, and it is PKDB who says he wants to go to these parties. I was not that excited about attending them with PKDB and sort of regretted answering a phone number I did not recognize, but later when no one else I was supposed to go with showed up, I was very glad, very glad indeed for the company of Mr. PKDB. We went to some party off the Montrose stop where Dara's new band, The Party, made their official debut. Jessica's vocals were not loud enough and I could barely catch any of the lyrics. They sounded good though, and they did a fun cover of Duran Duran's "Hungry like the Wolf". After their set, I started talking to some boy that Dara introduced me to. And why Dara introduced me to this really hot homo now that I am with a boy, I do not know. But we talked, flirted out of control, and after complimenting each other's shirts, decided to trade shirts. I am now in an old Mickey Mouse shirt that is a little big on me, and he ended up with my favorite shirt in the world that was a little small on him. It is this blue button-down western shirt that I stole from Jamie. I don't know if I am going to get it back. Basically there were lots of innuendos and lots of non-innuendos exchanged. Comments like, "I thought Dara's roommate was going to be really nerdy and someone I wouldn't want to sleep with." I think that fits into the non-innuendo category. Lots of touching was occuring also. And then, Micky Mouse boy, PKDB, and I headed off to Sterling's party.
Walking back to the subway, I realized how out of control I was being and decided I needed to take it down a few notches. Mickey kept touching me on the way there, but I stopped returning these touches, and decided that I was not going to go home with this boy, that that would be wrong. We got to Sterling's party and I was doing my best to give Mickey cold body language, but I think I had flirted too much earlier for that too have any effect now. We hung around for a while, drinking beers, and I kept trying to think of how I could escape, and how much I knew that no one from that gallery group was going to make it out to Sterling's. I finally was up front with Mickey and told him that I was not going to go home with him, that I would feel bad. And he still kept hitting on me. I wanted to escape the party so bad, and was looking for an opportunity to flee.
I made out with some dog and it was really hot. This dog was really hyper and kept shoving his tongue down my throat, we kept bumping teeth. Mickey went to the bathroom, and PKDB and I ditched him and the party. We scurried down the stairs, out the building, and around the corner towards my house, leaving Mickey without even saying good-bye. In retrospect, I realize that was assholish to abandon some boy at a party where he did not know anyone, but hey, you do assholish things when you are drunk - and if I had not done that, I really think I may have ended up going home with him, so which assholish action would be more asshole? I think you know. I knew. And I just had to run away. And so I did. I picked up some fried chicken, called Matt, told him about the dog, about how hot it was, and he sounded pretty disgusted, which amused me a lot.
I went back to my house. PKDB came for some reason. I ate the chicken and wanted to go to bed so bad. PKDB just sat there on my couch talking about something or other, I kept closing my eyes in the hopes that PKDB would get the hint and leave and also because I really was starting to fall asleep. Finally he left, and I went to bed, so tired at only two. But that is what happens when you start drinking at six. The moral of this story: Make out with dogs and don't trade clothes with people you just met.
Last night, I went to a few gallery openings with Christy, Niki, and Jessica, drank lots of beer and wine without regard to the effects of mixing the two, and don't remember much of what I saw except the Sabine Horning show at Tanya Bonakdar, which I really liked. I may talk about the show more later if I see it again. My thoughts are too unformulated right now and would sidetrack this attempt at narrative too much.
So yes, beer, wine, art and then plans to go to two parties in Brooklyn. And Niki and Jessica had people they wanted to see, so we splintered. Niki to see Ramsey. Jessica to see some rock and roll boy. Christy and I to our respective apartments to consume food, but all of us planned on meeting up at Sterling's party. I will fast forward and let you know that that did not happen, that Christy called me and said she was too tired, and the other two, God knows where they ended up last night but it was not at Sterling's.
I get home, make some food, answer my phone, and it is PKDB who says he wants to go to these parties. I was not that excited about attending them with PKDB and sort of regretted answering a phone number I did not recognize, but later when no one else I was supposed to go with showed up, I was very glad, very glad indeed for the company of Mr. PKDB. We went to some party off the Montrose stop where Dara's new band, The Party, made their official debut. Jessica's vocals were not loud enough and I could barely catch any of the lyrics. They sounded good though, and they did a fun cover of Duran Duran's "Hungry like the Wolf". After their set, I started talking to some boy that Dara introduced me to. And why Dara introduced me to this really hot homo now that I am with a boy, I do not know. But we talked, flirted out of control, and after complimenting each other's shirts, decided to trade shirts. I am now in an old Mickey Mouse shirt that is a little big on me, and he ended up with my favorite shirt in the world that was a little small on him. It is this blue button-down western shirt that I stole from Jamie. I don't know if I am going to get it back. Basically there were lots of innuendos and lots of non-innuendos exchanged. Comments like, "I thought Dara's roommate was going to be really nerdy and someone I wouldn't want to sleep with." I think that fits into the non-innuendo category. Lots of touching was occuring also. And then, Micky Mouse boy, PKDB, and I headed off to Sterling's party.
Walking back to the subway, I realized how out of control I was being and decided I needed to take it down a few notches. Mickey kept touching me on the way there, but I stopped returning these touches, and decided that I was not going to go home with this boy, that that would be wrong. We got to Sterling's party and I was doing my best to give Mickey cold body language, but I think I had flirted too much earlier for that too have any effect now. We hung around for a while, drinking beers, and I kept trying to think of how I could escape, and how much I knew that no one from that gallery group was going to make it out to Sterling's. I finally was up front with Mickey and told him that I was not going to go home with him, that I would feel bad. And he still kept hitting on me. I wanted to escape the party so bad, and was looking for an opportunity to flee.
I made out with some dog and it was really hot. This dog was really hyper and kept shoving his tongue down my throat, we kept bumping teeth. Mickey went to the bathroom, and PKDB and I ditched him and the party. We scurried down the stairs, out the building, and around the corner towards my house, leaving Mickey without even saying good-bye. In retrospect, I realize that was assholish to abandon some boy at a party where he did not know anyone, but hey, you do assholish things when you are drunk - and if I had not done that, I really think I may have ended up going home with him, so which assholish action would be more asshole? I think you know. I knew. And I just had to run away. And so I did. I picked up some fried chicken, called Matt, told him about the dog, about how hot it was, and he sounded pretty disgusted, which amused me a lot.
I went back to my house. PKDB came for some reason. I ate the chicken and wanted to go to bed so bad. PKDB just sat there on my couch talking about something or other, I kept closing my eyes in the hopes that PKDB would get the hint and leave and also because I really was starting to fall asleep. Finally he left, and I went to bed, so tired at only two. But that is what happens when you start drinking at six. The moral of this story: Make out with dogs and don't trade clothes with people you just met.
Friday, March 26, 2004
Might I add that it is beautiful outside today. I opened the windows in our house last night, not because it is hot out yet, or even really warm, but I am ready to start things rolling. Hopefully, these windows will not go down until late fall. There are buds on the gingko tree that grows outside my window. I look forward to seeing those quirky leaves back outside my window. Today when I was walking around the city, I became aware that spring has a smell, that there are so many scents that cold weather suppresses. The smell of all the hot dog vendors fried food mixes so good with the spring air. I can't identify all the scents in the mix, but man, I can tell you that they smell great, that they make happy.
Also, I picked up the new copy of HX, and while Dara and I did not make it into the mag, a few other people did. If you want a handy visual to accompany this journal, you should pick it up. There is a picture of the Phoenix, the bar that is often mentioned here and its bartenders. You can imagine what my stories might actually look like. You could even cut out the figures and have them interact as I say they do. There is also a photo of Matt and Kevin, also often mentioned in here. And there is a photo of my mostly former obsession, Josh, who is no longer mentioned as frequently in here thanks to the entrance of Matt into this story. So yeah, page 19 of this week's HX is your visual guide to my life until the day I save enough pennies to buy a digital camera. It's cooler this way.
Also, I picked up the new copy of HX, and while Dara and I did not make it into the mag, a few other people did. If you want a handy visual to accompany this journal, you should pick it up. There is a picture of the Phoenix, the bar that is often mentioned here and its bartenders. You can imagine what my stories might actually look like. You could even cut out the figures and have them interact as I say they do. There is also a photo of Matt and Kevin, also often mentioned in here. And there is a photo of my mostly former obsession, Josh, who is no longer mentioned as frequently in here thanks to the entrance of Matt into this story. So yeah, page 19 of this week's HX is your visual guide to my life until the day I save enough pennies to buy a digital camera. It's cooler this way.
Niki arrived here last night around eleven. It was really nice to see this familiar face again in my apartment. We talked and downed some Milwaukee's Best, before going across the street to the insanely nice, insanely out of place apartment building that Trent lives in, and that Matt and Kevin were hanging out in. Matt met us as we were ascending the stairs and he had that look that people have when they are on drugs, far away eyes, clenched jaw, just a little scary looking. It was sort of odd to encounter him so fucked up while still relatively sober. The three of us then did some coke in an empty apartment, because as I said this complex is insanely out of place, and insanely expensive, and even though there are probably about twenty aparments in this building, Trent may very well be the only tenant. Matt is supposedly going to get a key so that we can hang out at Trent's nice pad since he is appearantly never there, which would be so cool. Cable!
We hung out in Trent's apartment, did more lines, talked about crap, drank some of Trent's Moet. The fact that this boy, that this space is right across the street from my dilapadated apartment is really funny to me. We then made our way to Metropolitian where we met up with PKDB, which was really funny, to encounter this New College person at my local homo bar. I drank countless beers, talked to many random people, and was there with Matt and Niki until they closed. The three of us went back to my apartment in the nice breezy SPRING weather. And is the sex that I have with Matt when we are both messed up more hot because I am too wasted to tell the difference, or is it really that much hotter, maybe less inhibitions, more wild. I don't know, but last night was nice. Matt is still passed out in my bed. I am about to go run some errands before going to see Tracey and the Plastics. And it's so nice out! God, this weather!
We hung out in Trent's apartment, did more lines, talked about crap, drank some of Trent's Moet. The fact that this boy, that this space is right across the street from my dilapadated apartment is really funny to me. We then made our way to Metropolitian where we met up with PKDB, which was really funny, to encounter this New College person at my local homo bar. I drank countless beers, talked to many random people, and was there with Matt and Niki until they closed. The three of us went back to my apartment in the nice breezy SPRING weather. And is the sex that I have with Matt when we are both messed up more hot because I am too wasted to tell the difference, or is it really that much hotter, maybe less inhibitions, more wild. I don't know, but last night was nice. Matt is still passed out in my bed. I am about to go run some errands before going to see Tracey and the Plastics. And it's so nice out! God, this weather!
Thursday, March 25, 2004
i went to the doctor, and guess what he told me?
Nothing that would make me call him a fool, in fact, just the opposite. I went to the doctor today, Dr. J. Engel, and it was the nicest trip to the doctor I have ever had. The waiting room was nice and classy with mod little glowing coffee tables, nicely painted purple walls, and cool paintings. All of this made me happy that I decided to pick a doctor a little out of the way just because he was listed as gay-friendly.
There wasn't that much waiting around the reception area, or even in his office. It was all relatively quick. It was still a visit to the doctor's though, there was still some waiting, just not much. He asked me about my diet, about my drinking habits, which I was embarrased to confess to, but which he non-obnoxiously asked if I was concerned about. And I said no. And he did not scowl. He was already recieving cool points, then he asked me if I was sexually active with girls or guys. I like boys, I demured. Then he asked about the frequency and type of sex I was having in a way that did not make me nervous or embarrased at all. He asked if I was having anal sex. I said no. And then he told me that when I do, if I do, make sure to use a condom. He gave a little lecture about how lots of young homos aren't using condoms because they never saw the ravagaes of AIDS, and that "sucking" (his funny term) was not going to get me HIV, that it might get me other things, but that if I engaged in anal sex to be sure to use a condom.
This may sound like a basic conversation people have with their doctor, but none of my doctors have ever asked about my sexual health which seems just plain stupid. Only once, when I wanted to get tested for basic STD's did a doctor ask me about my sexual health, and he did not seem so interested when I told him it was with boys. So the upfrontness of this doctor was really nice, made me really happy.
Some people occasionally joke around about what the hell is a gay friendly doctor or dentist, but this is what they are. Non-judgemental people who ask you these questions that factor pretty highly into your overall health.
When I dropped my underwear and got my testicles examined, he made a comment about my foreskin, saying I was lucky, and asked how I managed to still have one being born in the US. That made him even more nice in my book. And lately, the past couple times, I have played around with people they have asked me the same question, why I had my foreskin, and I guess I never realized how few men do have theirs, and I am curious to know why I am uncut. But, I don't think I am going to ask my mom about it the next time I talk to her. It might be weird, you know?
I also talked to him about my acne, which he said was severe, and wrote me a referral to go see an "excellent" dermatologist that I will have to only pay two dollars to go see! Go Strand health insurance! The word severe sort of made me sad just because sometimes I like to think that it is not horrible, but oh my god, it so is. This week it has been driving me crazy. I am literally uncomfortable when I have to interact with people, insecure of my acne, of my dry skin. I am so excited to go see the dermatologist. Not that I am excited that at 22, I still need to go deal with the same problems I was going to see the dermatologist when I was 15. Will it ever end? Am I going to be a senior and still be treated for acne? I then got some blood drawn to get tested for STD's. I weigh 150 and am 6 feet tall. Nice clean numbers.
But yeah, basically, Dr. Engel rocks and it was probably the most pleasant trip to the doctor I have ever had.
There wasn't that much waiting around the reception area, or even in his office. It was all relatively quick. It was still a visit to the doctor's though, there was still some waiting, just not much. He asked me about my diet, about my drinking habits, which I was embarrased to confess to, but which he non-obnoxiously asked if I was concerned about. And I said no. And he did not scowl. He was already recieving cool points, then he asked me if I was sexually active with girls or guys. I like boys, I demured. Then he asked about the frequency and type of sex I was having in a way that did not make me nervous or embarrased at all. He asked if I was having anal sex. I said no. And then he told me that when I do, if I do, make sure to use a condom. He gave a little lecture about how lots of young homos aren't using condoms because they never saw the ravagaes of AIDS, and that "sucking" (his funny term) was not going to get me HIV, that it might get me other things, but that if I engaged in anal sex to be sure to use a condom.
This may sound like a basic conversation people have with their doctor, but none of my doctors have ever asked about my sexual health which seems just plain stupid. Only once, when I wanted to get tested for basic STD's did a doctor ask me about my sexual health, and he did not seem so interested when I told him it was with boys. So the upfrontness of this doctor was really nice, made me really happy.
Some people occasionally joke around about what the hell is a gay friendly doctor or dentist, but this is what they are. Non-judgemental people who ask you these questions that factor pretty highly into your overall health.
When I dropped my underwear and got my testicles examined, he made a comment about my foreskin, saying I was lucky, and asked how I managed to still have one being born in the US. That made him even more nice in my book. And lately, the past couple times, I have played around with people they have asked me the same question, why I had my foreskin, and I guess I never realized how few men do have theirs, and I am curious to know why I am uncut. But, I don't think I am going to ask my mom about it the next time I talk to her. It might be weird, you know?
I also talked to him about my acne, which he said was severe, and wrote me a referral to go see an "excellent" dermatologist that I will have to only pay two dollars to go see! Go Strand health insurance! The word severe sort of made me sad just because sometimes I like to think that it is not horrible, but oh my god, it so is. This week it has been driving me crazy. I am literally uncomfortable when I have to interact with people, insecure of my acne, of my dry skin. I am so excited to go see the dermatologist. Not that I am excited that at 22, I still need to go deal with the same problems I was going to see the dermatologist when I was 15. Will it ever end? Am I going to be a senior and still be treated for acne? I then got some blood drawn to get tested for STD's. I weigh 150 and am 6 feet tall. Nice clean numbers.
But yeah, basically, Dr. Engel rocks and it was probably the most pleasant trip to the doctor I have ever had.
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
mccarren park pool
Think of how creepy that scene is in Pinocchio, right before he is turned into a jackass, and he is in that half-abandoned amusement park. I believe there is also a Simpsons episode that involved a creepy abandoned amusment park. And then of course, there are all those creepy scenes of general ghost towns in countless films. There is something very discomfiting about being in a physical space that used to contain so much energy, used to be filled with so many people as the remaining structures attest to - but now, it is deserted. The people are gone, possibly dead, and to see how lives, populations can shift just as easily as weather patterns, how nothing is really that stable, is a pretty disturbing sight. Another apt analogy to me seems to be the fiction of W.G. Sebald where some continental wanderer finds himself at places of his youth, only to find that they have been completely transformed by the shockwaves of change Europe experienced over the last century.
And while, I had never been to McCarren Park Pool while it was in operation, I know that at one time it was a bustling huge outdoor pool with a capacity of 7000. It was built in 1936 as a WPA project and closed in 1983 for silly reasons, and now it is fenced off in the NE corner of McCarren Park. Last night, I went for a long walk with Peter, and we found ourselves circling the fence peeking in, and eventually ignoring the "No Trespassing" and "Do Not Enter" signs and hopping the fence. The fence was high and I did not land so good, and once on the inside of the fence, it felt like we were in a haunted house. Slowly and quietly we walked around the site, walking inside the pool, knowing that at one time, it was filled with not only water but crowds and crowds of people in outdated bathing suits probably saying lots of outdated slang. You know, the type of people you see in black and white photos of Coney Island or Muscle Beach. And now there was graffiti all over the pool, weeds sprouting up, random clothes and blankets of people who have probably made this their home, and we were wary of encountering one of these people, worried that someone would kill us in this dark, spooky place.
We slowly, looking carefully around corners and behind us to make us there were no killers lurking in the dark, slowly climbed up the tower that stands over the entrance. At the top of the tower, there is a gorgeous view of Williamsburg and the Manhattan skyline, and also a view of how huge this pool is, how many bodies were probably splashing around down there. There were two stray shoes up in the tower that freaked me out, thinking that some serial killer had killed or tried to kill someone here and they lost a shoe in the scuffle. You know, the type of thinking that you do in the dark, in the woods, maybe even on lonely streets, but the exaggerated type of thinking that makes little kids so cool. We climbed down the tower and walked past the huge circular entrance underneath the tower where there is still a ticket-booth in the middle, albeit aged a lot by time and petty vandalism. And there was a flash where I was able to envision the crowds streaming through there, and then the shocking contrast with what I was also seeing, the current state of the place, wondering how change happens, or more correctly since I did not know how to formulate the question or what I would even want to ask, I was simply astounded by how much things change, all the time. The place is a total ghost town and it is so weird because it is in the middle of a really nice well-kept park in a nice neighborhood.
We hopped back over the fence. This time, I fell even harder. My hands still hurt today. I lost a button on my jacket. But man, the sights that I witnessed were so worth it, so beautiful, and man, I live for these experiences of beauty and adrenaline. I seek out things that somehow combine the two. Booze, loud rock, heights, drugs, trespassing, naked boys, ecstatic words, the good things in life.
And while, I had never been to McCarren Park Pool while it was in operation, I know that at one time it was a bustling huge outdoor pool with a capacity of 7000. It was built in 1936 as a WPA project and closed in 1983 for silly reasons, and now it is fenced off in the NE corner of McCarren Park. Last night, I went for a long walk with Peter, and we found ourselves circling the fence peeking in, and eventually ignoring the "No Trespassing" and "Do Not Enter" signs and hopping the fence. The fence was high and I did not land so good, and once on the inside of the fence, it felt like we were in a haunted house. Slowly and quietly we walked around the site, walking inside the pool, knowing that at one time, it was filled with not only water but crowds and crowds of people in outdated bathing suits probably saying lots of outdated slang. You know, the type of people you see in black and white photos of Coney Island or Muscle Beach. And now there was graffiti all over the pool, weeds sprouting up, random clothes and blankets of people who have probably made this their home, and we were wary of encountering one of these people, worried that someone would kill us in this dark, spooky place.
We slowly, looking carefully around corners and behind us to make us there were no killers lurking in the dark, slowly climbed up the tower that stands over the entrance. At the top of the tower, there is a gorgeous view of Williamsburg and the Manhattan skyline, and also a view of how huge this pool is, how many bodies were probably splashing around down there. There were two stray shoes up in the tower that freaked me out, thinking that some serial killer had killed or tried to kill someone here and they lost a shoe in the scuffle. You know, the type of thinking that you do in the dark, in the woods, maybe even on lonely streets, but the exaggerated type of thinking that makes little kids so cool. We climbed down the tower and walked past the huge circular entrance underneath the tower where there is still a ticket-booth in the middle, albeit aged a lot by time and petty vandalism. And there was a flash where I was able to envision the crowds streaming through there, and then the shocking contrast with what I was also seeing, the current state of the place, wondering how change happens, or more correctly since I did not know how to formulate the question or what I would even want to ask, I was simply astounded by how much things change, all the time. The place is a total ghost town and it is so weird because it is in the middle of a really nice well-kept park in a nice neighborhood.
We hopped back over the fence. This time, I fell even harder. My hands still hurt today. I lost a button on my jacket. But man, the sights that I witnessed were so worth it, so beautiful, and man, I live for these experiences of beauty and adrenaline. I seek out things that somehow combine the two. Booze, loud rock, heights, drugs, trespassing, naked boys, ecstatic words, the good things in life.
Monday, March 22, 2004
The sky looks so deceptively nice from in here, from the warm side of the windows, but I have read the weather, know that it is 27 degrees and really do not want to leave the house, but I called in sick yesterday, and there is no way that I can still have any sick days left. I spent a sexless night with Matt last night and it was nice. It was the first time we slept together without having sex, and this was because he had to wake up at seven something, but it still is nice that he wanted to spend the night anyways. That in fact makes me really happy.
I did a writing experiment yesterday that I am happy with, or at least more happy than with previous efforts. I will talk about more about my efforts at some future date when more experimenting has been done and when I do not have to leave for work.
This week promises some fun as it progresses. Niki is going to be staying with me this weekend. Arianna will also be here visiting Dara, as might Ena. It will be a crowded little house. PKDB (!?) will be in town and wants to hang out with me. Friday there is Tracy and the Plastics. That night, there is also the Fiery Furnaces who I had been wanting to see but will probably not end up getting to see now with all these people in town, but maybe. I am also going to the doctor on Friday and am oddly excited about this. Saturday, Dara's band will be making their debut, and then there is Sterling's b-day. And Matt sounded interested in all of these last night when I talked to him, so of course, there is also his company to look forward to. I have not looked so forward to a weekend in so long. I am counting down these days at work, and yeah, let's all sing it together, because we are all in the same boat, doing lame things with our precious time so we can do amazing things with the rest of our time: Everybody's working for the weekend. Yeah, yeah, yeah, and the crowd goes wild, and screams the chorus because it is too fucking true, and to say it in any other way besides a rocking song you can jump around to would be too depressing, would break all of our hearts, and so just keep singing.
I did a writing experiment yesterday that I am happy with, or at least more happy than with previous efforts. I will talk about more about my efforts at some future date when more experimenting has been done and when I do not have to leave for work.
This week promises some fun as it progresses. Niki is going to be staying with me this weekend. Arianna will also be here visiting Dara, as might Ena. It will be a crowded little house. PKDB (!?) will be in town and wants to hang out with me. Friday there is Tracy and the Plastics. That night, there is also the Fiery Furnaces who I had been wanting to see but will probably not end up getting to see now with all these people in town, but maybe. I am also going to the doctor on Friday and am oddly excited about this. Saturday, Dara's band will be making their debut, and then there is Sterling's b-day. And Matt sounded interested in all of these last night when I talked to him, so of course, there is also his company to look forward to. I have not looked so forward to a weekend in so long. I am counting down these days at work, and yeah, let's all sing it together, because we are all in the same boat, doing lame things with our precious time so we can do amazing things with the rest of our time: Everybody's working for the weekend. Yeah, yeah, yeah, and the crowd goes wild, and screams the chorus because it is too fucking true, and to say it in any other way besides a rocking song you can jump around to would be too depressing, would break all of our hearts, and so just keep singing.
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