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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.
Tuesday 08/26/2003
The state of the world: It sucks
I am a bad mood.
I am a sad mood.
I am bleagh.
Ever feel as if life were a wild, spinning ride that you can barely hold on to? Good for you. As for me, I have fallen off. I haven't hit pavement yet, instead I am in free fall, waiting with my eyes closed for the inevitable wet, painfull thud. In less melodramatic terms, I'm tired of not being able to get over this cold/flu thing which has me feeling worn, stretched and vaguely achy.
But who cares about that? Instead, aqui son ocho cosas de mi vida:
one:
A couple of weeks ago while working on a project with people from different government agencies, I spoke to a man in Spanish and explained to him in detail that he had been engaged in an illegal activity and needed to stop. Now. He put on a blank expression and said "No hablo Ingles." That is, "I do not speak English."
Matching his expression, I reminded him that we were both speaking Spanish. He frowned and said "oh."
two:
I've been avoiding mentioning the California gubernatorial recall election. I just don't feel up to it. If I were a better writer, I would write a well thought out, scathing editorial about the waste of time, resources, and money it is to try to recall a governor who has broken no law other than the commandment about "No democrat shall lead California."
Were I capable, I would have made a humorous observation about the CGI terminator actor candidate being attacked by his own party for being too liberal (read: moderate as far as everyone else is concerned). I would have made a dark comment on confusion reigning because no one has any real idea how the vote is supposed to proceed, and I would have ended with a sad, sarcastic comparison between the scapegoated governor "getting what he deserves for loosing all of our money," and a certain president who has accomplished something similar financially on a much grander scale, yet not receiving the same treatment. Fun what a war can do for your short term popularity.
If I could, I would have done all that and more, but I'm not, so instead here's my official comment on the entire recall thing. A teacher friend of mine once told me that at his school an English teacher is always elected teacher of the year. Everyone knows how the English department has managed to arrange for their faculty to rotate the award so that they all have the oportunity to have been and will be again teacher of the year, and everyone knows that no one ("in power") cares.
Each spring, a blank ballot is sent out and however gets the most nominations/votes wins the award. Simple sounding enough, and very democratic. Except that it is not, because the winner is decided before hand by a couple of English teachers who arrange for everyone in their department to vote in a mass block. Because they are the largest department on the campus, whoever these two want to win does so.
It doesn't matter that there are more nonEnglish teachers than English teachers, because none of the other smaller departments will cooperate with each other and their votes always get spread out too thinly to make a difference. It doesn't matter that there are more deserving teachers, because the award is no longer about being a talented teacher. The only thing that matters is that they win and will continue to do so.
three:
I've been working at the other field office with the views of the dirty alley and street people because they are currently understaffed. While I would normally not mind a change in venue, I'm not sure I really want to be there anymore. Last Wednesday, I looked up from my desk to see people running up the stairs and into the office. Some gang bangers chased a man into the building lobby and started beating him up. Most of the public in the lobby/waiting room (wisely) decided that they didn't want to be down there anymore, and fled. We all waited together until we received word from building security that everything was back to normal.
When I left the building that night, I saw that one of the front doors (glass) was smashed and walked by staff complaining that the gangbangers had run away before the police arrived. Even though it is in a supposedly "worse" neighborhood, things like this never happen at my regular office.
four:
John volunteered his photography services (for images for flyers and such) to a local HIV+ mens support group, so even though the front yard is still undone, I spent most of my free time last week getting the back yard photogenic for outdoorsy shots. It's always been a bit chaotic looking out back and after a month of being neglected because of the house painting, it's even worse than normal, so maintenance was needed anyway.
I had been considering putting some bamboo in the planting area between the two side patios, but after pricing nonspreading, clumping bamboo it turned out that nonevil bamboo is a rather pricey proposition. Luckily(?) The homo despot was having a sale on papyrus, so I switched plans and committed myself to some rather thirsty plants. Water greedy or not, they are very architectural and striking (even photogenic). Despite the boldness, or possibly because of it, they work well in our beat up back yard.
When I bought the plants, as usual, there were no shopping carts in front of the store or at the cart return areas. Instead shopping carts were scattered throughout the parking lot and it took me a while to track down one of the large flatbed carts that I needed. During my trek, I passed by a late twenties dad cursing loudly that there weren't any "F*CKING carts anywhere!" and yelling at his young son to keep up.
After spending money and loading my car, I took the cart to one of the return areas and nodded hello to an older woman doing the same. Leaving the lot, I drove by the same dad, who having finished loading his truck, shoved his shopping cart towards a largely empty part of the parking lot where day laborers were hanging out waiting for work.
I wonder if it occurred to the dad that he was responsible for the very condition he had been complaining about earlier. I wonder what lessons he was teaching his young son.
five:
I started taking zinc when I started feeling ill, but the tablets left me feeling nauseous, so I switched to the idea of overdosing on vitamin C, so I've been popping vitamins and drinking juice. This morning at work, one of the staff stopped to tell me that drinking fruit juice was one of the worse things for your body. The stuff is high in sugars and carbohydrates, andd is horrible. If I had to be drinking something, I should be drinking water. Feeling ill, I just nodded along as he rambled off his points, and ate his frozen three musketeers chocolate bar. Healthy people make me sick.
six:
I had lunch with Kristen this past Sunday at a pfchangs. Veggie lettuce wraps, pin noodle soup, lemon scallops, and brown rice. All very comforting and filling (and high in carbohydrates which would have sent Mr. fruit juice is evil into a tizzy). While eating and talking and talking and eating, I noticed two men (a tall salt and pepper haired anglo man and a short dark latino guy) at the table behind Kristen. Each time I glanced in their direction, they were silent and each was looking at his plate, or the ceiling, or a blank wall. Anywhere but each other. I almost decided that it was a bad date, but when they walked out after their meal was done, I noticed that they were wearing what may have been matching rings, so it was not quite a date gone wrong.
I find myself wondering if other people look at John and me when we eat out and if they waste time trying to decide if we are dating or married. Hopefully anyone doing so won't feel sad afterwards.
seven:
I had a vanity moment that day after lunch browsing and meandering through a barns n' noodles. Sitting at one of the couches was a very red haired man in his mid twenties with skin so painfully pale it looked as if he would get a sunburn by merely standing in front of a bare incandescent bulb. I was looking at him because he seemed so ill equipped to survive the fierce heat and sun we have been having here in Southern California lately, when I realized he was looking back at me and smiling.
His look was not one of lust and wild desire. It was more of a "hey you're cute, but I'm more interested in this book right now" sort of look, but any confirmation that I am correct in my sneaking suspicion that I am not unattractive is well appreciated. Besides it never hurts when a cute boy smiles at you.
eight:
I finally saw Whale Rider this weekend. It was a wholly beautiful movie. At it's most basic, the story deals with a Maori man agrevatingly incapable of seeing that his granddaughter is meant to be their peoples next leader because he cannot see past her gender. She is merely a girl and thus worthless to his plans and hopes. The story is as much about his journey as it is about hers.
Word of mouth for the film has been good, although one person I know didn't like it because it was "too slow." It did take it's time telling the story, but it did so purposely, leasurely establishing place and enforcing themes and images. Not a bad thing unless you want a manic, spastic action flick I guess. Reviews for the film have also been good, and have mentioned "fantasy" elements to the film where you do not know if events are real or not, which is a bit misleading. The story isn't fantastic, it's mythic. From the point of view of the movie, the tale of Pai and her grandfather is not fantasy, but rather a new strand in a long line of stories explaining and defining the Maori dating back to the origin of their people.
more later,
nico
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