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.

<prior or next>

Not Depressed, Poor Memory, Dancing and Films With Very Poor Memory.

I'm not exactly depressed. I'm not exactly happy either. I feel like I've been hovering on the edge of falling into a deep funk lately. I guess there is no point to this intro other than I'm just riding out my "Bleagh" mood, hopefully I will feel better soon. Anyway, the weekend:

Friday 04/20/01:

Amazingly, John and I actually had the same day off. Most of it was spent running errands however, so it wasn't an overly spectacular kind of day. I don't remember if I've mentioned it in the journal before, but John is amateur photographer man. Which means that we went into WeHo that afternoon to show some photos to a guy who had modeled for John a while back.

Wes is a personal trainer and lives on probably the only street in West Hollywood where you don't need a parking pass to park. He is a nice guy and into the whole party circuit thing. Apparently the white party was really fun this year. To be honest, I had no idea when or where it was, but I spent that part of the conversation nodding my head and going Hmm and Wow allot.

I guess I had built some preconceptions for Wes when John told me about the personal trainer/gym job thing. I had been expecting someone more uh, "masculine." I should have known better, muscles do not keep someone from being a Big 'ol Queen. I'm sure he would be a fun to person to know, but I didn't really talk to him much that day. I actually spent most of the visit flipping through martha stewart magazines while Wes and John talked business.

Once all that was dealt with, John and I did the consumer thing at Virgin. I brought a CD that I can't remember the name of anymore and John went DVD happy and spent more money than I would have been comfortable spending on a bunch of different titles. I'll probably mention them as we work our way through them over the next several months. We spent the trip home talking about nonsense and nothing, which oddly, was very satisfying.

I've already forgotten what we did for dinner, but I do recall that afterwards we watched a fairly silly collection of gay themed shorts titled Boys Shorts (one of John's purchases from Virgin). I'm not sure why I'm using silly as an adjective, haphazard may be a better choice, then again probably not. A random collection of not that good and almost good would be a better description, or not.

The last film in the collection was the only one I found interesting. It dealt with a young mixed race gay teen living in Hong Kong who finds out that he is going to have to leave for school in England. Apparently that's a fate worse than death. I've already forgotten its title and I don't seem to be in a mood to go look it up, but it was good. Sort of.

Saturday 04/21/01:

I did not sleep very well the night before, which lead to me sleeping most of the afternoon away. Not a very efficient use of time or energy, but I guess I needed it. The nap did come in handy though, because that night Kristen and I went through with our outstanding threat to actually go out dancing.

It's obvious that she and I go out a lot, but what I haven't bothered to include here are the conversations that normally precede our jaunts. They generally follow the same pattern:

"What do you want to do?"

"I'm not sure. We could try to go dancing."

"Cool, oh, but I have to ______ on Sunday and can't stay out to late."

or "I'd love to, but this has been a week from hell and I'm totally exhausted."

or any of the other patented old fart excuses that we now have.

No excuses this time, so we went to the Suite down in Long Beach that night. It used to be a hang out of sorts for us a few years back. Considering that we haven't been there in ages, things were remarkably the same. The music was similar if not exactly identical and while the faces may have been different, the roles being played were still the same. There were the party girls celebrating a birthday, the "I'm a dancing diva who needs the entire floor dang it," the "I'm going to hold up this wall and nurse this drink all night long" wallflowers, the cute young dyke and her queer boy best friend dancing fiend couple (which Kristen and I used to be, ages ago, though nowhere as cute as these kids), the laughing while making fun of the sucky music/ obviously best friends couple (which Kristen and I are now), the go get a room already sex dancing couple and all the other sundry bar/dance club types. Well, at least the lesbian versions were there that night. Had we gone to a different place, things would have been the same, just more male.

Sunday 04/22/01:

John and I finally saw Memento. I've been wanting to see it for a few weeks now, but there's just something about films playing at the Rialto in South Pasadena. Whenever they show something I want to see, I never get around to actually seeing it. I'm exaggerating of course, but still.

The film was as good and confusing and troublesome as promised by all the brouhaha surrounding it. Which these days is a very rare feat.

No more entry, maybe more later,

nico

<prior or next>

� 2000-2007