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Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
Wed 11/13/2002
Nico is nothing more than an oversized chew toy.
It rained this past week. Not our usual misty, drizzly, barely there kind of rain, but a cold, wet, lasts for days downpour. Winter is in the air.
Even if it wasn�t getting cold, it feels cold because the sun is starting to set so early now. I dislike dark and cold. It makes me want to curl up under a blanket and sleep all day and night. It makes me want to ignore projects such as this journal.
Well, that's not true. Lately any excuse to put off writing an entry is a good one. But I somehow managed to put this together despite myself.
Here�s the entry proper:
The kitten is growing by leaps and bounds. When we first got her a couple of weeks ago, she could fit comfortably in the palm of my hand. Now less so, both because she is larger, and because of her �there is a huge world out there for me to explore, why should I just sit here?� attitude. My belief that she had a troublemaker streak in her has turned out to be correct.
Spanky D has decided that she is the great huntress of the house. Nothing is safe when she is around, not toys, not feet, not rolled up socks which have fallen to the floor, nor, to their great annoyance, the other two cats.
Needless to say, It�s a good thing that it�s cold enough at night for me to wear pajamas. I don�t mind the occasional nip at my nose, or her treating my hair as a chew toy. Other parts of my anatomy though...
Considering the John and I have been calling the kitten everything from spankers, to lil' bit, to stinky butt, it'll be amazing if she ever learns to respond to her name.
Some sort of training was held at the building I work in a couple of weeks ago. Normally this would just mean our too small parking lot would be filled to capacity. Strangely, this time it also meant that I got the cruise of death in an employee�s men's room.
I walked into the restroom, gave a brief nod to a man standing there, then went about my business. The man was a thirtyish, short, balding Filipino guy. When he saw me, his face lit up, he gave me a huge smile, and started talking.
I'm not built for toilet room socialization. I'm more of a get in and out kind of guy. He was the opposite it seems. He kept smiling and talking, and I just sort of ignored him. As politely as I could that is. After I was done, I left him standing at a handwash sink, still smiling, still saying things like "So you work here? In this Building? Gosh!"
I bought a bunch of daffodil bulbs which I will eventually have to make the effort to get into the ground. Whenever I look at bulb displays, I always look at tulips, but I don't bother to purchase any.
The one year I did, I kept them refrigerated, kept them away from ethylene producing fruits, I did everything I was supposed to do to get them to do well in Southern California. After all the time and effort I put into them, all they did was produce a few small, unhappy, short lived flowers. Not exactly worth all the trouble.
So I tend to concentrate on things that do well here without a ton of coddling. Things like daffodils (I'm a sucker for white or pale yellow diploids), crocuses (rarely flower again after the first year, but still cool), freesia's (which still smell like fruit loops to me), and bearded irises (which always remind me of my mothers garden).
My mom�s birthday was this past weekend. I was dutiful son and went to my folks for some food served with a hungry man sized portion of guilt. OK, maybe not all as bad as that, but the day was not totally without some angst, but then again, what visit home doesn�t?
This past weekend John and I saw the Deaf West Theatre production of Big River at the Mark Taper. The official site makes it seem gimmicky, which it wasn�t at all. It was in fact one of the better musicals I�ve seen in quite a while. Great talent. Great show.
Something which has made some people look at me funny when I tell them this. This usually leads into my explaining how the expressive nature of signing was used to good effect, and the use of hearing actors as the �voice� of deaf actors.
I doubt that I would ever be able to see a �normal� version of Big River now. There�s no way it could be as good.
I finally got around to watching Bowling for Columbine this past weekend as well. Nothing like going to and old grand theater (the rialto) in the rain to see a Michael Moore talks about guns flick. The movie was maybe a bit too heavy-handed in the sudden juxtaposition of humor and violence, but it was still very interesting. Disturbing as well.
The idea of fear being used to drive blind mass consumerism with an unfortunate side effect of violence is unsettling. It�s very likely true, but still, unsettling.
Not really caring one way or another about Marilyn Manson, I did not realize that he was intelligent and well spoken.
Far more so than Charlton Heston. Even with his health concerns, I would have assumed that the leader, the spokesperson, for a large and controversial organization like the nra would have had rote, simplistic, and ultimately uninformative answers to expected and routine questions memorized. I was wrong.
You could almost see the gears slowly turning in his head as he realized that he had just said that the high level of gun violence in the U.S. was due to our not being an all white nation.
Even now, I�m still shocked by that comment.
I guess I shouldn�t be.
more later,
nico
Music:
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Want:
better teeth
elsewhere:
Commercial Closet
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