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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 09/16/2003
Idiot, I can live with that.
Ever have gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe? Ever feel like you are the gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe? For assorted and mundane reasons, including a lack of sleep, I feel like the bits of crud stuck to the gum that is stuck to the bottom of a shoe; or maybe I feel like Christmas wrapping paper that has been torn and shredded to get to the more important present, then thrown out with the next mornings trash; or possibly like that moldy spot at the far back corner of the produce bin of your refrigerator that that sits there, taunting you because your cleaning skills are inadequate.
Whatever, I'll get over it. Here's the entry:
one:
At work last week, a woman lost her temper when I told her that I would send one of the staff to deal with her issues within the next three working days (as per policy). This wasn't good enough. She wanted her situation resolved now!
While yelling at me, she told me that her lawyer told her to lie so that my department would respond the same day, allowing her to get a document she needed for court the next day. Because I was making her wait like everyone else, I was obviously racist and should be fired.
two:
I forgot to mention in the last entry that John and I were at Barb and Deb's for a party a couple of weekends ago as the token Y chromosome holders. The party excuse this time was that a friend Dee, felt like making crawfish, red beans and rice, and "proper" cornbread; but couldn't fit everyone she wanted to invite into her small apartment. Having gone to grad school in the south, Deb was more than thrilled at the prospect of having crawfish "done right" in the convenience of her back yard.
So, I ate crawfish for the first time in my life. Actually, let me amend that, I ate a crawfish. One of the many ways that I am a bad Mexican is that I prefer my shrimp, shelled, veined, and not resembling the original live animal in any way or form. This appears to be true of other crustacean as well. Although my dislike may be mainly due to laziness. The taste wasn't bad, but it didn't seem quite worth all that effort to get rid of all the hard outer parts for only a little bit of meat.
I wasn't the only one unenthused by the prospect of snapping, tearing, and sucking out dead thing innards. Some of the crowd ate one or two to be polite, while others, including Deb were pleased as punch because that gave them even more crawfish to slurp down with abandon.
three:
A coworker at the office I've been stuck at the past few weeks tends to use his speaker phone when taking phone calls, which is how I overheard the following:
Coworker (with Russian accent): "Hello, this is the (government agency I work for), I am Richard, how can I help you?"
Loud Cranky Woman (with Jamaican accent speaking over the sound of very loud rap music, screaming kids, and a shower): "Is this the (government agency I work for)?"
C: "Yes, can I help you?"
LCW: "Is this the (government agency I work for)!"
C: "Yes, this is the (government agency I work for), How can I help you?"
LCW: "Look damn it! Is this the (government agency I work for) or not!"
C: "Yes it is. Ma'am, perhaps you can turn down the music so we can hear each other better?"
LCW: "WHAT! You can't order me around! I'll do what I want to! I don't work for you! Y t�s the other way �round! Now are you going to help me or am I going to have to call the mayors office on you! "
C: "Ma'am, what is it that you need?"
LCW: The sound of assorted cursing and yelling, directed both at my coworker and at someone else to get out of the #$@*'ing shower!
C: The sound of confused silence and people gathering around the doorway because of all the noise.
LCW: More cursing and the sound of something/someone (a child?) falling, followed by a kid screaming bloody murder.
C: "Hello?"
LCW: Even more cursing, something about the mayors office, channel 7, "get you fired," more screaming kids, more loud rap (the bitch ain't got pride? A ride? A hide?), all followed by the sound of a phone being slammed down hard.
four:
Last Friday night was the first play of the Geffin season, I Just Stopped by to See the Man. In the mid seventies, an English rock star seeks out his hero and inspiration, a dead blues man, who is not quite that dead. The rock star is played by Donovan Leitch of Hedwig fame who gave a good performance, but Clarence Williams, Link of the Mod Squad, is even better as the old not dead Blues man.
I enjoyed the play even though some of the imagery was a bit heavy handed. Subtle is not a word to use when you are reminded over and over that Blues is the devils music, and you have one character telling a story about meeting a mysterious figure, while another offers to make him a deal for anything he wants. Because of the play, I've taken to reminding John that the devil is a white man.
Hey, I�m entitled to my fun.
five:
The final issue of the second League of Extraordinary Gentlemen series is out, and being a geek boy, I bought it during an afternoon of hanging out with Kristen Sunday. The story is over, and assuming Allen Moore (the author) does in fact retire from comics, this is probably it for the league.
To bad that I wasn't impressed with this last issue, or in certain aspects this last story line (the Quatermain/Hawkins romance was kind of creepy), but it doesn't matter now, because it is over. The Martian War of the Worlds story is finally over, building up characters to make them interesting just so that they could be killed off is over, actual written fiction with actual words that you have to actually read at the back of the comic is over.
I just wished I cared. Oh well, the Hyde fighting giant Martian war machines scenes were interesting in a gruesome sort of way, to bad that wasn't enough to carry the whole book.
six:
After a couple months absence, I showed up at the Pasadena/west San Gabriel Valley GBLT potluck last week. Actually, it gots a new name now, Friends and Desserts, or something like that. I got to catch up with some old friends and hear some amusing teacher stories.
I found out that what was once Pasadena Pride (a defunct pride festival) has been revived (sort of) as an unofficial (and more manageable) pride picnic planned for this Sunday. It seems that I am under orders to show up so that I can be abused for my birthday. I think I may, then again, maybe not.
seven:
In yet another work telephone conversation, I wasted time sidestepping an argument with a man who wanted to speak to an employee who had the day off. He wanted me to agree with him that government employees did not deserve days off, because we were crooks, while I just wanted to get his name and phone number so that the employee "abusing" her sick leave could call him back the next day. After going around in circles for several minutes, he called me an idiot for not admitting the truth (that I abused my time off as well), and hung up.
Idiot. Not racist, not prejudiced, not someone with a vendetta, not a small man getting off on abusing my authority. Idiot. I can live with idiot.
more later,
nico
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