30 April 2003
Rob the intern had a scruffy beard today to match his scruffy head. I wanted to rest my hand on the back
of his neck. We were hard pressed at work, and I didn’t have much of a chance to talk to him. I think he’s straight.
Definitely not cruisy. If he were gay, he would have picked up why I am so interested in him. I hope I didn’t scare
him. Wouldn’t be the first time. It’s so unlike me to have crushes on straight guys. I gave that up years ago,
though I did end up sleeping with a few of them.
Re-met Sp. at the gym — this could be good and nasty.
Tired and sweaty, but I didn’t burn myself today. Progress. Perhaps I’ll actually make a little
money next month. A new moon tonight.
29 April 2003
I wish I hadn't called my landlord to see why he hadn't cashed my April rent check. He didn't even know it was missing.
28 April 2003
Fell in love today with the new intern. He's only here for a week. A writer from Brooklyn. Shaved head, wide shoulders,
smart, sexy, friendly, curious. Yum.
Perhaps there is a chink in the armor.
27 April 2003
Poule au pot for dinner tonight (and the next few days). A few cloves in the broth are always nice.
One of the simplest and best of all chicken recipes… A large deep saucepan…is essential, so
that there is plenty of room for a variety of vegetables and a good covering of water, or the broth will boil away and its
goodness be lost. [If you desire, stuff and brown the chicken.] Into the pan with the chicken, add carrots, a couple of [small]
turnips, an onion, a sliced leek, a piece of celery, and salt and pepper. Pour in boiling water to cover the bird and vegetables,
and when the water comes to the boil again, remove any scum which has risen to the top. Cover the pan and simmer very slowly
[until the bird is tender, about 60-90 minutes.] Forty or so minutes before serving, the vegetables, which have been cooking
in the pot and which, by now, are rather sodden and tasteless, can be removed and fresh ones added. Serve the chicken with
the vegetables all around and a sauce vinaigrette à l’oeuf (shallot vinaigrette to which is added the yolk and
chopped white of a three-minute boiled egg). [Serve it with fleur de sel. Buy and season the chicken a day in advance.]
--adapted from Elizabeth David’s French Provincial Cooking (1960)
I didn’t get much sleep last night. I was awakened by another dream about animals in the room with
me.
I had a great time as John’s photographer’s assistant last night. I flirted with his friend
B., whom I had met last year at one of John’s parties. He left the party with his boyfriend. He's smart, sexy, funny,
lively, Southern, a wiseass, a rapscallion, and probably a Type Seven. And he danced with all of the cropped top women at the club. Why can’t I go
out with someone like him?
It would be like dating a cat.
I think he’s single now. He must have signed a non-disclosure agreement about himself: he turned
away all my questions with a jest or an opaque banality.
26 April 2003
Daddy’s going out tonight. Took his nap. Feng-shui’d the romance corner. Changed the sheets.
Had a slug of Gran Centenario Añejo. Shaved the hairs on his chinny-chin-chin.
The Farmers’ Market at the Ferry Building wasn’t as bad as I feared. Though the aisles were
too narrow, and the layout doesn't take advantage of the water, it would be petulant to complain, given what it has to offer.
The PR has been excellent. Thousands of tourists were there today, along with my two pet peeves: strollers and amplified music.
C. & I went to Caffè Greco for cafezinhos afterward, as usual. A Hoffman hen, nettles, purple-top turnips, asparagus,
and strawberries for a Bavarian cream.
25 April 2003
Yesterday Scott sent me my Portuguese grammar book and a CD of his photos from our trip to Rio and São Paolo.
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| Rio |
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| The Santa Teresa steps in Rio |
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| São Paolo from the air |
24 April 2003
11 hours of work today. I’m tired, sticky with dried sweat, and manly smelling. My fingernails are
dirty, and I burned my forearm (again). The scars are so butch.
I had planned this morning that I would go out tonight (the Stud) after work, but now that I’m here,
my bed beckons. Perhaps Saturday. I doubt I'm going to Vancouver this weekend.
Finally received an e-mail from my sweet, young Brazilian lover. His birthday was yesterday. I think he
might be 23 now: “I’M MORE OLD THIS MONTH, MY BIRTHDAY WAS YESTERDAY
23, APRIL, SO IM FEELING AN OLDER MAN!” Shakespeare’s birthday too.
23 April 2003
Saw a grown woman with a stick chasing a man down Hayes Street this afternoon.
Dinner of dandelion greens dressed with lemon and oil, and a rice and lentil porridge with ginger and cracked
pepper (my spring liver tonic). I haven’t been able to enjoy ginger since a Ukrainian co-worker told me that ginger
smells to her like floor cleaner. It does. Sorry for ruining your next ginger crème brûlée.
I am turning into a hermit again. The world is my cloister, as Jeanine said.
Are most gay bloggers former Catholics? Forgive me father, for I have sinned.
Re-read the Razor’s Edge last night. I hadn’t realized how many of the images have stayed
with me, or rather, I had forgotten the origin of the images that have remained in suspended in my memory for the last twenty
years. It’s repetitious and one can see Maugham moving the stage scenery to suit his purposes, but still enjoyable.
I hope it finds its way into the hands of the soldiers returning from our latest triumph.
22 April 2003
Hooked up with S. on Sunday. Ran into him
by chance…didn’t recognize him: more muscles, a big tattoo, goatee. Still affecting a very butch look for someone
in finance. Uses barbed humor to deflect any intimacy. Thought that physical monogamy was necessary and possible in a
relationship.
Class tonight. Not used to having homework.
Glad to see that both Madonna and the little belly are having a little comeback.
Six-pack abs look so mid-‘90s, at least in San Francisco. Is it that the belly is coming back or that the average age
at the gym has increased? Big muscles without a sense of proportion: the American vice. LA is another story: thinner guys,
better proportions, but there is no chic there: perfect bodies, perfect hair, fancy clothes, but no sprezzatura: “When
I look in the mirror I see celebrity!”
Time for another feng shui cure in the apartment. Which corner first: romance
or finance? Haven’t had either since I’ve moved into this place. Suggestions?
Last Farmers’ Market on the Embarcadero Saturday. I’m apprehensive
about moving to the Ferry Building, but will try to keep an open mind. Tightening the requirement for locally produced food
can only be good. No more Niman Ranch meats, though.
Is it possible to recognize a dick out of context? Found that I’ve nuzzled
two and the boyfriend of a third at PenisBlog.
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