|
30 May 2004
I got my car out of the shop. No needless drama. The catering
went well – it was the nicest wedding I’ve done in ages. A mellow (and appreciative) bride, for once, and pleasant
guests, all but one of whom got dressed up (for those of you who don’t live in northern California, that’s a rare
thing, especially for an outdoor, afternoon wedding). The lone jeans-and-t-shirt wearer was the bride’s stepbrother,
which is very telling. We did two meals for them — the formal dinner and then a late (10:30PM) supper. I was planning
to go to Sugar, but after 10 hours on my feet, Daddy’s only going to wash the smoke (from grilled lamb, chicken, and
beef) out of his hair and head to bed.
28 May 2004 So it was a fine day at work. It was
still sunny and bright when I left, so I took one of the old Milanese Peter Witt streetcars home. I did my good deed for the day and assured two big gals from Orlando that the F Line would, in
fact, take them to the Castro. I was still in a good mood until I got to the car repair shop and found it had closed early,
with Little Debbie II still inside. No car for the whole Memorial Day weekend! I guess I’ll be renting something tomorrow
morning. After my catering gig (a wedding in the Marin Headlands, not far from Black Sands Beach), I’ll have my first two full days off in months. Daddy needs a break.
26 May 2004
It’s always nice to see an old flame on billboards
around town. It’s the shopping cart ad for gay.com. Your Cunégonde is a lucky bitch.
Can I make it to Vancouver, Hong Kong, Rio, and New York
in the 11 weeks I have before school starts? I’m going to try. Vancouver is already lined up. Hong Kong is a possibility,
but it's contingent on many things out of my control. If I don't go to Hong Kong, I'll go to New York. Rio is still in the
running; I'll be coming back from Brazil the day before school starts.
23 May 2004
I was supposed
to cook something for Saturday, but I had to call my sister at 5 PM when I realized that I wouldn’t have time to make it to the grocery store. I
came home, got my outfit ready for Saturday, and went to bed. I missed the farmers’ market on Saturday in order to drive to
the exurbs of Sacramento, and I got completely lost a mile or so from my sister’s
house. It’s all new developments — every block looks the same. It was like a nightmare about being lost in the
woods. I couldn’t find any landmarks, and everything — every fake lake and every Little League game —
looks exactly the same, with the same SUVs parked in front of every perfect lawn. I thought I was going in a big circle. I
finally had to break down and call my sister (“Help. I’m on Laguna, I just passed a hospital and I see a freeway
in the distance.” She just laughed and said “Mom and Dad always say that you have an excellent sense of
direction. How could you get lost again?”). The baptism went well. I did my duties as godfather. My nephew was startled
by all the water—the Irish priest used big, double-handfuls on the poor little tyke, but he didn’t cry. I fudged
a little when I was asked to make the sign of the cross on his little forehead. Though I don’t consider myself to be
a Catholic anymore, I was pleased (and surprised) to hear the priest remind the non-Catholics in attendance about the
church’s rejection of the Doctrine of Grace, a truly hateful concept that has brought much suffering into the world.
I took a long nap after lunch, and drove home. I had planned to go out Saturday night, but I was snug in bed by 10:30.
Since I’m now doing two jobs, I worked all afternoon
on Sunday and barely made it to the gym. I made myself a nice pasta with pancetta and bok choy for dinner tonight.
I’ve been thinking that I won’t make it to Brazil
after all—the flights are too expensive. However, I got a call yesterday about something I had forgotten all about:
I’d said months ago that I’d be willing to go to Hong Kong in July with another private chef to cook for a week
for a wealthy family there. Hmmm. The wheels are turning. A free trip to Hong Kong and I’d earn a little money. Keep
your fingers crossed.
20 May 2004
I thought it was going to be a bad day, since I got off to a messy start.
My cellphone rings at 7:55AM. "Hi, Carl. Where are you?" "Well, I’m at home, why?" "Well, I’m here are the office…"
Ooops. I was supposed to be at the office at 8AM to let in a team of people who made a special trip from world headquarters.
Doh. I was only 25 minutes late, and that included the time it took me to reboard the Municipal Railway after I disembarked
one stop too early. And I didn’t fire anyone today, which is a good sign.
Advice please: what do you do when a friend’s new boyfriend is an old
trick of yours but your friend doesn’t know it? I thought by now that the trick would have said something, but it was
clear talking to my friend that he had no idea how I already knew his boyfriend. I think I’ll just keep my mouth shut.
I have no interest in the boyfriend, but since I know what he’s like in bed, I have a new insight into my friend’s
private life…
After the gym, B. and I went to see Kirk Maxson’s amazing metal foliage
at the gallery at CCAC. It’s the best piece of art I’ve seen in years. A wall of very delicate weeds made out
of thin sheets of copper and brass on tiny, wavering copper wire stems. Everything from full-grown plants to cotyledons.
Breathtaking.
18 May 2004
My mood has lifted. I love working downtown. We have lovely new offices,
all fitted out in high dot-com decor. One of my co-workers is an occassional accompanist to Spencer Day, the best jazz singer you haven't yet heard. I love taking the elevator downstairs and into People! Shops! Restaurants!
Activity! Places to go on foot! The farmer’s market at the Ferry Building! I bought a big bunch of campanula (aka Canterbury Bells) for the office after I walked my employer to the ferry. I hope they don’t look too funereal or cottagey.
I’ve joined a gym downtown. Lots of hotties, and more straight guys
than I’m used to, which will be nice. Skinny women at the gym: space hogs. You could move over, honey, and away from
the weight rack after your 50-rep sets with those 2.5lb weights.
On the way back from the gym a homeless guy about my age said to me, "Hello
Daddy! Oooh-weee! You look hot tonight!" Since my usual dating cohort has turned up nothing of interest, perhaps I should
try plowing new fields…
I won’t be moving anywhere in the fall. UCLA turned me down yesterday,
which paradoxically improved my mood even more. So I’m staying here.
Latest as-yet unhatched plan: to go to Vancouver for a long weekend in June
as a little birthday present for onself and a kind of adieu à la jeunesse.
16 May 2004
Tired. Stressed. Distracted. Can’t quite put my finger
on it. My job, my mother’s health, uncertainty about where I’ll be going to school next year, my finances, insomnia,
a lack of interest in dating, poor nutrition, breeders pissing all up and down my street this morning (the Bay-to-Breakers “race” runs through my neighborhood, and since I live on a side street, young heterosexuals pull down their shorts
and pee, already drunk at 8:30 AM. Isn’t this a good argument for choosing to be gay?).
I bought a flat of strawberries at the farmers’ market
yesterday. I hulled and macerated them in sugar last night. I made the jam this morning to the sound of helicopters covering the race and the unmelodious hollering of the spectators. The jam will be something
to look forward to next winter.
I had a very long and involved dream about Steve on Friday
night; we ran into each other by chance and fell into each others’ arms. He didn’t talk much. I wanted to know
what he had been up to, because we hadn’t talked since he...went away. I don’t think that I’ve had a Steve-never-died
dream in a long time. I don’t know if it’s the symptom or cause of my mood. I awoke before he told me where he’d
been these past seven or eight years.
12 May 2004
Crazily busy at work. I decided to break my newest habit
of leaving work, hitting the gym, and then coming home to work until 11 or so. Today I came home, worked for a few hours,
and then hit the gym. My therapist would be so proud of my efforts to get out
of this rut.
USC put me on their waiting list yesterday. I filled out
the form to decline their offer and will mail it back tomorrow. It was one of
my back-up schools in any case. However, it doesn’t bode well for my chances at UCLA. I didn’t think the photos of our
triumphant liberating army in action at Abu Ghraib would have such a huge impact. I hope we’ve reached the tipping point.
10 May 2004
Still here. Working like crazy. I cooked at the restaurant
Saturday (grilled lamb: rack, loin, and leg), and then Sunday I got up early, puttered around, hit the gym, and went home
to see my parents. My mother is at last out of the hospital. We had decided on short ribs, since my brother-in-law likes his
meat with “gravy.” I walked in the door with a big cast iron frying pan in one hand and the rest of the fixins
for dinner in the other. I put the pan on the stove to heat as I unpacked. I got the fonds de braise ready (mirepoix + tomato
+ diced pancetta) while I browned the short ribs. Messy and smoky. I got everything snug in the oven in about a half hour.
My dad kept asking why I refused the big aluminum baking dish (“Nasty metallic flavor” was my mantra.) He asked
the question again about an hour later when the braise bubbled over on to the floor of the oven and down the new cabinets.
Ooops. The sketch: brown the meat, nestle it flat on a bed of onions, carrot, celery, and leek (all diced but not too fine),
a little tomato, some herbs (I used fresh bay leaves, thyme, and parsley), add wine and beef stock to nearly submerge the
meat, cover tightly, and let it go in a moderate oven (325F/160C) for about 3-1/2 hours. Drain the sauce through a sieve,
pressing on the solids, skim, reduce, sieve again. Gently reheat the meat in the sauce. I made the rest of the dinner (chard,
fresh peas and spring onions, potato gratin), played with my nephew, ate dinner (with a nice pinot noir from Carneros), came
home, and fell into bed.
Either I have no time for love or else I’m diagnosable
as having attachment disorder, adult onset (it’s 313.89 for children in the DSM-IV). I even fit the criterion of having
a marked inability to exhibit appropriate selective attachments
(e.g., excessive familiarity with relative strangers [!] or lack of selectivity [!!] in choice of attachment figures)
which is just a clinical way of describing sleeping around
and having crushes on straight guys. I’ve been out of the closet for almost 20 years, and I’ve had a boyfriend
or another for less than a third of that time, so perhaps this is not surprising. I'm not sure when exactly I would see the
BF if I had one...
The good news is that I’m going to start working downtown
tomorrow. I can’t wait.
P.S. Todd's back.
5 - 5 - 2004
Tango-no-Sekku! Happy Boys’ Day!
Anyhow, I was
in an aimless melancholy yesterday. I couldn’t really concentrate on anything. I got nothing done at the office. After
work I headed to the gym at my usual time, 6:30. It was so crowded in the locker room that I couldn’t find an empty
locker or just a place to stand and wait for one. I even looked on the B side of the locker room. Nothing. I couldn’t
take it. I’ve come to hate Gold’s again, now that I’m going in the evening. I'm sick of those fags. I
snapped my purse shut, turned around, and walked out. I was back on my bike within about three minutes of my arrival at the
gym. It was still warm and sunny, so I headed down 16th, past the new UCSF buildings and down Illinois (I remember that neighborhood
a few years ago when stretches of it weren’t really paved). I rode all the way down to Islais Creek Channel, I turned down side streets to get to the water’s edge a few times, and then I came back through Dogpatch,
where I could imagine living in a few years. It was about an hour’s ride, and completely out of character for me. On
the way back, I stopped at Rainbow for some groceries (masa harina for cornbread), and got a call from my
sister. More bad news about my mother. I think I was having a premonition about it all day, which is why I was so restless.
More visits with the cardiologists today produced an explanation of the bad news: it’s not an imminent threat, just
something long-term, so that was kind of good news, or at least a procrastinating version of bad news. It also means that
I’m going to go to trade school here in the Bay Area; even if UCLA and NYU were to accept me, I’d turn them down.
In trying to find a good link to Islais Creek and Dogpatch,
I came across a wonderful site devoted to urban planning around the Bay Area. Check it out: San Francisco Cityscape.
3 May 2004
After interviewing a handful of attorneys Friday afternoon,
I took the rest of the day off. Since I’m going to have a position of responsibility, I'm going to have to dress the
part. I went to Crossroads on Market and got three dress shirts (a white and blue windowpane, a lavender one with French cuffs
(in case any of the new employees are wondering whether I’m a gay), and a grey Brooks Brothers number that I wore today),
and some nice grey pants, all for $45.84, which was coincidentally all the money I had on me. My pockets and my wallet were entirely empty, so I couldn’t even take the Municipal Railway home. I saw
my favorite Brazilian at the gym—he’d been on a trip home for the last few months. I missed him.
Saturday: the farmers’ market (turnips, sorrel, green
garlic), and then I worked at the restaurant and made a satisfying little potato-morel mushroom gratin.
I spent Sunday afternoon in the hospital visiting my mother,
who got moved out of the ICU and into a regular room. Her cardiologist almost had a myocardial infarction of his own when
he learned that in the past four days she had twice flown half-way around the world and had been traipsing up and down the
hills of Rome in her condition. She could have keeled over at any moment. I think we’re going to be celebrating Mother’s
Day in the hospital next week. I made it back to the city in record time, gathered up B. and walked with him down to El Rio (no line at 6:15), and
had a great time. It was packed with cute and friendly guys. I love that place on a warm day.
It’s hard to imagine anything more San Francisco than El Rio: live salsa bands, a patio, dancing under a lemon
tree, old people, young people, lesbians, straight folks, gay men, all ethnicities, a hokey raffle with door prizes, and heavy-duty
margaritas. We didn’t even try to catch up with the drinking; one Herradura margarita was enough for each of us. Tall
& Freckled was there, totally wasted, in a kind of endearing way. He was so drunk that his hair was all messed up. I ended
up in a long conversation with a flirty but argumentative Texan. I drove him home. We exchanged numbers in the car; I told
him I never call guys unless they call me first. This pissed him off even more. I think when we were walking to my car he
thought he was going to get some, so he was disappointed when I made no effort to find a parking place near his house. I had
no intention of having sex with him, since I don’t see the point of wasting my charms on a Republican.
|
