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30 August 2006
I have been having recurrent
daydreams of being a pirate or a stalwart mariner. I don’t know if it’s just an awakened memory from a past
life, or the influence of his aesthetic, or just a dissatisfaction with my chosen milieu.
In any case, this is the first
evening in ages in which the city is not shrouded in fog at sunset.
29 August 2006
I have indeed overscheduled and
overworked myself. It’s only Tuesday and I’m already burnt out.
I’m still looking for a
muse: A he-muse, not a she-muse, and someone whose presence in my life is an inspiration.
Is it possible or just wrong
to have a crush on a couple? I like them both . . . We'll see where this leads. As he used to say, I don't know if I want to have them or if I want to be them.
27 August 2006
Farmers’ market report:
sausages (duck and pork), handmade bacon, tomatoes, another flat of O’Henry peaches, pawpaws, Bronx Grapes, and some
lilies (whose color is unknown – they have yet to open).
I think I’m still avoiding
my scholastic duties. I worked six hours on Saturday and then ten hours today for a special celebration at the restaurant.
I cut myself early on (a gusher on my left thumb) but had no other accidents. The food was great. I got a bottle of olive
oil as a party favor, and Michael Tilson Thomas patted my lower back, quite unnecessarily, as he passed by me. We gays have
to look out for each other.
24 August 2006
Too many things going on. I’ve
overscheduled myself. I’m stuck in a very hard class that is going to be a struggle for the next fifteen fourteen
weeks. I’m envious of my peers who have already landed jobs. I just submitted eleven bids for on-campus interviews next
month (keep your fingers crossed for me). I did not leave myself much time to research and write proper cover letters or to
tweak my résumé. I’ve already fallen behind in my reading. And I did not make it to the gym, which is a breach of a
promise I made to myself.
A long day tomorrow: scheduling
problems with work, lots of homework for the hard class (haven’t finished the reading), a presentation, another class
(haven’t even started the reading), and a planning session.
I have become totally fascinated by The Sartorialist. Check it out, and then, if you're like me, go run to the mirror to see what's not working.
21 August 2006
What I need in my life right
now:
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Some good dark chocolate
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A little clarity on which classes
to take this semester
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A new pair of brown pants
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A new blackout window shade
for my bedroom
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A muse
19 August 2006
It’s August in San Francisco.
That means an extra blanket on the bed and a nice thick sweater if you’re going to try to have lunch outside.
School is going to kick my butt this year unless I cut back
on something. I just accepted two catering gigs in the next few weeks, so perhaps it's homework that's going to go.
I think I napped too long this
afternoon.
Farmers’ market report:
beef, a flat of O’Henry peaches, tomatoes, a Pullman loaf from della Fattoria, Bronx grapes (they taste like a cross
between Concord, Muscat, and Thompson Seedless), and orange lilies.
16 August 2006
Great post today at Joe.My.God on the subject of Madonna’s birthday and death. Go read it.
I had a little talk last night
with the pleasant young man about my coming unavailability once school starts. I hope I was clear enough. (Don’t eat at Gaylord’s Indian Restaurant in the Embarcadero Center. It wasn’t bad, but
you can eat twice as well for half the price if you are willing to forgo white tablecloths and a bud vase of semi-necrotic
carnations on each table.) We're now just going to see each other casually, as my schedule permits. We still haven't
had any touching, and I think I'd like to keep it that way. I am trying to follow A.'s advice and see the PYM's carnal interest
in my person as flattering, rather than a burden.
School starts tomorrow. I still
don’t know which classes I will be taking.
13 August 2006
I think I’m feeling a little
anomie. Summer’s end is closing in. I had my last trip yesterday. School
begins in earnest later this coming week.
| South Fork of the Yuba River |
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The pleasant young man and I
went to the Yuba River. I was looking forward to a three-hour drive with him as a way of getting to know each other better.
He was looking forward to it as a time to sort through a grocery bag full of catalogs and old magazines. (And I thought I was the king of avoidant behaviors). He was late, so we didn’t leave until an hour
after we had planned. The river was great. The water was warm, we ran into friends (or rather I ran into my friends), we swam,
clambered on big granite boulders, and dozed in the sun. On the way back, he continued sorting junk mail until it got too
dark. We had what probably was to him a shocking discussion: I said that I had no interest in going to eat a Chevy’s, Applebee’s, Olive Garden, or other chain restaurant—one of the advantages of living here, for me, it that I
don’t have to resort to generics. He was shocked. “What do you do for friend’s birthday parties?”
he asked. I explained that my friends would be insulted if one of us planned a birthday party for them at Chevy’s. A
long silence ensued. We had another similar discussion about miniature golf. Yes, I had done it. No, I had no interest in
“playing” miniature golf ever again. He’s a nice guy. Smart, driven, goal-oriented, funny, nice looking,
successful at his job, etc. etc. He's had long-term relationships, and I know he'd make someone a good boyfriend. But
not me.
Farmers’ market report:
O’Henry peaches (finally!), a chicken, orange and red plum tomatoes
(for sauce), summer squash of various sorts, grapes, and cream-colored lilies.
11 August 2006
O! Insomnia. Or rather, Early Morning Awakening: "Tendencies to anxiety, self-reproach, and self-punitive thinking, often magnified in the
morning, may contribute." School approaches. More anxiety dreams. I woke up at 4 a.m., couldn’t fall back
to sleep, so I read the first Tales of the City book. I must have read it a million times when it first came out. So many of the details are embedded in my worldview.
It’s now 11 a.m. The only
thing I have accomplished today is responding to a few e-mail messages, a quick reading of the comics, and
the preparation and consumption of cornmeal waffles with Canadian maple syrup.
I have a date tonight with the
pleasant young man. I think he wants a sleepover. I’m not so sure. It’s only our second date. What happened to
Chastity?
My therapist pointed out that
since Steve died (ten years ago) I’ve only dated guys about whom I feel ambivalent, at best. It's a defense mechanism
to keep myself from entanglements. I’d be happy to move on from that phase.
9 August 2006
A few photos from my trips.
Vancouver update: we went sailing on Monday. We paused off Stanley Park
to have a little skinny dip, and we swam all the way around the boat like dolphins (or in my case, like a hippo). After
a restorative ice cream, we biked over to the the South Granville Rise and had delicious Indian food at Vij's.
Tuesday dawned cloudy, so we returned the rented bikes early, took a pocket-sized ferry across False Creek, and did a little shopping at the Granville Island Market (maple syrup for me). We returned to Vij's for
a more casual lunch. I love Vancouver and can't wait to return.
| Vancouver skyline with Mount Baker |
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| Wreck Beach in Vancouver |
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| Fireworks in Vancouver |
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| Sailing in Vancouver |
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| Provincetown sunset |
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| Provincetown evening |
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| Provincetown moors |
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7 August 2006
We saw the delightfully homestyle Vancouver Gay parade yesterday. It was the usual mishmash of corporate
promotion and local groups. A typical contingent was a barely decorated pickup truck with a few people dancing on it and after
it. It was sweetly earnest in a way we don't have at home. The sidewalks were mobbed with locals and tourists of all
stripes. I saw a few of my Future Canadian Boyfriends along the way (only minor touching to report).
We retreated to Yaletown, had pizza, a nap, stroll, and then dinner. We went to Celebrities for a
beer and I went to bed. My companions were dirty stay-outs and didn't get back until 4 a.m. The scandal.
Today: Granville Island and some sailing.
6 August 2006
Howdy from glorious Vancouver. It's good to be back on the shores of the
Pacific. You can take the guy off the West Coast, but you can't take the West Coast out of the guy.
We got in at about 10:15 Friday night (after an atypically long wait in
customs). We went out on Davie Street in the Gay Village for drinks with our local friends. We saw more cute guys in one half-filled
bar (the Fountainhead) than I saw in a week in Provincetown. Guys my age who weren't 25-lbs overweight, who wore decent
and appropriate clothes and exercised now and then. Imagine that. We also stopped for a drink at 1181 Davie (chic and pretty).
P-Town, in retrospect and in comparision, seems to attract a wealthier but un-exercised or eating-disordered clientele,
but not much in between. I had to go to bed by midnight, which was 3:00 a.m. for me (I had been awake since 4:00 a.m. Boston
time).
Yesterday we splurged on a $60 breakfast in bed at our chic boutique hotel.
Mmmh. It will be nice to be a member of the bourgeoisie again. We rented bikes down the street, took the Sea Wall bike trail
up False Creek to English Bay, crossed over on Denman (with a stop for cupcakes, of course), and circumnavigated Stanley Park.
We then rode across the Burrard Street Bridge to Kitsilano and along the shore all the way to the University of British Columbia
(you can guess where this is going). We spent too long at the Museum of Anthropology (each thinking the other was deeply absorbed
in the collection). One of the worst and least informative museums I've ever been to. We then made it down the steps to Wreck
Beach, and never wanted to leave. As beaches go, it's not the most beautiful, but as beach scenes go, it's one of the best.
Naked old hippies, but lots of naked bronzed youth of both sexes and all persuasions, on a little strip of sand at the edge
of a forested cliff, and a view west to the Georgia Strait (? I think that's what we were looking at). What is it about the
West Coast that encourages people to take care of themselves? We had hamburgers cooked by a nearly naked lady and served by
a hyperactive naked Quebecois man, and washed them down with clandestinely sold Kokanee beers.
We dashed home, pedalling as fast as we could, showered, and changed and
headed over to our friends' boat. Like thousands of others, we headed to English Bay for the fireworks competition. Our hosts
cooked us a steak dinner on their little stove. I brought a bottle of rose (natch) to go with the corn chips and hummus
hors d'oeuvres.
After, we had a nice walk back across town and to bed. Today: the gym,
the gay Parade, a little beer drinking in the afternoon, and then . . .
3 August 2006
It
was hot yesterday and it's going to be hot again today.
I
can’t decide if my stomach ache came from eating something bad or from the mountain of fudge I had instead of lunch. Forty-one going on four. I see it, I want
it, I eat it.
I never made it to the gym. But I did have a nice expedition instead to Map, where I bought some lovely Birdwell
swim trunks (after trying on about 20—the sizes are absurdly small. I ended up buying a size 36 and cutting off the
tell-tale tag lest anyone ascertain my girth). I hung out again with the same Connecticut guys
as yesterday. We spent the afternoon at the pool at the Boatslip, which was pleasant enough. No damn bugs. We at “Rollwiches”
at Boxed Foods (delicious). I made a visit to a gallery (was he flirting with me?), and had a nice bike ride down Commercial Street. I stopped at the Red Inn and had a pre-sunset glass of Sancerre on the terrace.
Fisherman came up to the dock and warned us of an impending thunderstorm. We saw Cleopatra at the Crown & Anchor.
I cannot disrecommend it strongly enough. Pointless, overlong, and mediocre. Pizza followed, which restored my mood.
Today: a bike trip to Race Point, the beach at Herring Cove, and the ferry to hot Boston at 7:30 p.m.
2 August
2006
Another hot
day. I’m brown as a hazelnut. I spent the afternoon at the beach, where I met a group of nice guys from Connecticut. We swam and I helped them get over their inhibitions
so that they could skinnydip. I tagged along with them to a nice cocktail party at an old house high on a hill at the east
end of Commercial Street.
People don’t build porches like that anymore. I brought a bottle of rosé — which hardly anyone but me drank (perhaps
that accounts for my hangover this morning). I’m trying to bring Rosé Season to the East Coast, but it will be an uphill
battle. The beer selection here is bad (Corona, Bud, Sam Adams, etc. Heineken is about as exotic as it gets). Too many gays seem to favor the candy drinks to
the detriment of their figures . . .
No one told
me about all the damn bugs here. I’ve been bitten alive at the beach by greenhead flies and then by mosquitoes in the
evening. It’s hard to look dignified when I’m scratching myself like a dirty simian.
The local newspaper
is practically devoid of news. Yesterday, one of the stories worthy of the front page was the news that kids and pets could
die if left in a car on a hot summer day.
I see lots of
guys with their boyfriends here—more often than single guys, but I’m still not feeling very boyfriendly myself.
Something to think about on my bike ride today.
OK. Time to
get moving. I’ve had enough of the air conditioning and dreadful show tunes at this internet place.
1 August
2006
Where do people
come from that they tuck their T-shirts into their shorts? It has been bothering me for days. It’s not flattering on
anyone, even on the slim guy next to me in an Army-green ribbed tank-top who has spent the last 35 minutes on Manhunt, not
that I’m eavespeeping.
I think the
long bike ride yesterday was a way to burn off nervous energy. I spent the rest of the day lollygagging. I hung out by the
pool at the B place (what is it called? The one that hosts the Tea Dance every après-midi).
I was too sunburned for the beach. I took a lovely long walk in the West End. I had a good hamburger at the Blue Light. I saw Showgirls (mostly
uninspired). I had delicious ice cream at I Dream of Gelato. I read more South Wind
(Norman Douglas, 1921), and I started and finished Treason’s Island (one of the Aubrey-Maturin novels by Patrick O’Brien). A tremendous downpour last night woke me up, but it’s hazy-sunny and warm today. I had a nice bite
to eat at Far Land deli (highly recommended).
I shopped with John Waters at MAP (also recommended (the shop, as well as Mr. Waters)). Today: more postcards, the beach,
the gym?, Tea?, and clam chowder at the Lobster Pot, and so forth. Tomorrow: Race Point Beach?
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