Musings From Just Right of the Castro

2002-05-18T13:36:00.000-07:00

"Well, You Could Go This Way. . ."

Today I feel like the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz when he was "helping" Dorothy with which direction to take on the Yellow Brick Road. I could go this way. . .or that way. . .or maybe both ways (nah).

Considering the mistakes I made in coming to Reno (acts of desperation never end well) I'm doing a lot of research right now. One thing is for sure: there has to be better shopping where I am going than exists here. The one BIG mall isn't too bad, if you are looking for a stale Macy's, overpriced jewelry, or cheap shoes. Which, believe it or not, a lot of people here live for. If you clicked on the link, you'll notice the page shows one of the mall's "Breeder Pits," my name for the recessed areas where children lose all sense of control. You'll also see Meadowood described as the "dominant" mall in Northern Nevada. Park Lane is the submissive mall?

I need to remember no one comes to Reno to shop.

People have asked me what's the best view of Reno. "The skyline growing smaller in your rearview mirror," I tell them.

I can't wait for that view to appear.

2002-05-17T08:32:00.000-07:00

Time, What a Concept

My mother always said time has a way of getting past you before you know it. Looking around at the University of Nevada, Reno campus, I understand what she meant. When we first arrived in Reno the spring semester had not begun. It was early January and we had the run of the library and free internet access largely to ourselves and a few other lonely Reno souls.

Tomorrow is UNR's commencement. In so many ways it seems like I just got here. But in so many others it feels like a lifetime. Many of the people in my life right now, several of whom have been in and out of this town many times, maintain the city is dying. A victim of poor government planning, greedy casino owners, and the emergence of competition in the gambling world, known locally as "those damn Indian casinos."

California has a number of Indian casinos just over Donner Pass. The largest one has full "Vegas style" gaming, except for a Sportsbook and Off Track Betting which is still legal only in Nevada. The summer months may see the casinos through without problem, but come winter and everyone's money is on the Indian gaming halls. No need to wait to cross the pass in the snow, no chains required, just bring your nickles, quarters, luck and you are ready.

So it's time for a lot of things to change in Reno. UNR's best and brightest are entering into a dismal work market. The casino owners are licking their financial wounds. Change is in the air.

Even for me.

2002-05-15T15:36:00.000-07:00

Decisions

Feels good when you've made a decision and are ready to go forward with it. I've decided Reno has sucked the last of my life out of me and it's time soon to move on. The actual date has to be determined by a number of things out of my immediate control. Where am I off to? When I get there everyone will know.

It's nice to be off on an adventure without people baggage this time. The last few times I've moved I've had company. This time, solo, seems so much better.

It's time.

2002-05-13T08:07:00.000-07:00

Well it IS Monday After All

Just what I needed to see today to realize my life doesn't suck as bad as I thought it did. I could be "George" the troubled help desk technician that wrote the tortured message above. George's work is highlighted in today's Daily Diversion found on the left. My hole area doesn't receive external email messages either, so I don't know what the big deal is with this user.

Another week starts. Opportunity? Frustration? Relief? All will be experienced no doubt. But I have another chance to see what will happen.

How Could I Have Forgotten?

If it weren't for Philo I would have overlooked that May is National Masturbation Month. The good people at Good Vibrations are sponsoring a Masturbate-A-Thon, the proceeds of which go to a Women's program of some sort.

OK. . .

2002-05-10T08:16:00.000-07:00

Friday. . .So What?

When things are as up in the air as they are right now, Fridays have no special meaning whatsoever. Hopefully things will look up this next week. Job news, either positive or negative; assistance news, again positive or negative. If they are both negative, I'm not sure where this is going to go.

2002-05-09T08:24:00.000-07:00

Another Day

Too many people that I've grown to respect in the Blogging community are bidding adieu or taking vacations from the practice. First there was Ernie then Dooce.com, writer and photographer of superb talent pulled the plug.

This does get a little addictive. And, in the hands of the wrong type personality, could lead to personal ruin or frustration. Anything taken too seriously can have serious drawbacks. I love to cook. People have often asked why I don't do it professionally. My reason is simple: I enjoy doing it as a hobby, not as an vocation. I don't want to spoil the fun I have with cooking by having to do it under the pressure of paying rent, etc.

As my favorite author Adair Lara advised a graduation class, "find where you want to live. The work will find you."

I need to remember that.

2002-05-08T11:28:00.000-07:00

Who Knew?

Life could be so strange. I could easily get down right now, but I'm not letting myself fall into that trap. Finding things out, moving forward, making plans. I've decided one of the biggest things to get me out of a depression is to make some sort of plan. Work towards something other than what is in front of me at the moment. Sounds like avoidance, but it's really preservation. I need something to keep me going.

::-::-::-::-::-::-::-]

And who would have thought Reno would have a great mass transit system? It's clean, covers the entire city, efficient, 98 percent on time. Can't beat it. Now, you can beat some of the people who ride the bus, but that's another story.

2002-05-07T08:42:00.000-07:00

Just When You Think. . .

things are settling down. They flare up again. Lessons have been learned from the past, however, so I don't see this latest travail into possible self-hatred and destruction being as bad as the last. Considering that was my first experience with the homeless life, I think I did pretty well to escape. One the of the biggest lessons learned: don't befriend anyone. It will lead to nothing worthwhile.

Reno, fortunately, has a pretty good support network. (Those casinos and the taxes they bring in do have some benefit after all).

Who would have thought?

2002-05-06T15:46:00.000-07:00

Like Grabbing Mercury

Ever notice how some things just don't get done as easily as they should? Life, when you look at it in its most basic form is pretty simple stuff. You wake in the morning, sleep at night, grow or deteriorate (at least physically) during the whole process. Pretty simple.

Somehow, many of us, myself included, have managed to make the whole thing much more complicated than it has to be. When I saw this post from my friend Ernie at Little Yellow Different I knew things had gotten out of hand. Not to forget that my own life is in a huge mess right now, but when a stalwart like Ernie decides to take a powder, all I have to say is "hmmmmm. . . ."

One of my favorite films is "The Big Chill". It came out nearly 20 years ago, but its message about friendships, connections, etc., still rings true. I have countless favorite lines from the film, but one of the ones I love most is when Meg Tilly's character Chloe is asked if a particular person was happy. "I don't know," she replied, "I haven't met that many happy people." Another "hmmmmm.. . .."

Grabbing what you want out of life is indeed like grabbing mercury. Just when you think you have it cornered, it evades your grasp quickly. Instead of trying to grab what I think I want, I think I'm going to start taking what I get and seeing what I can do with it. Not a retreat, just a dose of reality. You can't count on people, or places, or things to make you happy. You really can't count of any of them for anything. Just go with what you know is, what you can grab with certainty, what will work at the time.

The rest will figure its way out.

2002-04-27T12:40:00.000-07:00

Where I Wish I Was

Somewhere within cuddling reach of this:

2002-04-27T12:33:00.000-07:00

2002-04-27T12:16:00.000-07:00

That's Reno For You

I have to stop saying that I don't find this place so bad when in actuality I can't stand the place. This town has the cultural sophistication of a Mitch Miller sing-a-long. If casinos are high art, then Reno is the Louvre. I believe it was Gertrude Stein who commented there was "no there" to Oakland. I shudder to think of what she could have conjured to describe this place.

Reno just is. It exists. It endures. What it doesn't seem to ever do is aspire. And when it does, it appears to fail. The situation has come from what happens when you mix old political families with big money and a populace seemingly consumed with their entrenched views. In short: nothing.

There are two major metropolitan areas in Nevada: Reno and Las Vegas. Each has prospered off gambling money. Makes sense. The casinos, however, pay (or do they) large sums in property and gaming taxes every year. Room tax alone in Reno is 12 percent. I don't know where the money goes, but it isn't for infrastructure. The roads are poorly planned, paved, and never seem to be maintained.

Approximately 10 years ago someone realized that families were coming to Las Vegas. They cleaned up the place, created incentives for growth (the price of which was Steve Winn), and made the place an inviting community. I'm sorry. I just can't say the same thing about Reno. It's not inviting, unless of course you want to drop a lot of cash.

Or you want to waste away. No thank you.

2002-04-26T08:58:00.000-07:00

Getting Clear

The current controversy over acceptable punishment of Catholic priests who abuse children under their authority has brought up some interesting side conversations. The one I find most repugnant is the curiosity of how many gay men enter the priesthood.

Somehow, and not really all that suprising, the American public has confused a sexual orientation with a sexual dysfunction. Once again gay men are having to defend themselves from the long-held public opinion of them as sexual predators, especially of underage boys.

As most gay men and their close friends know, nothing could be farther from the truth. Sexual dysfunction (and just that term alone begins a whole new debate) goes across all orientations.

Maybe what we should all be looking at here are some basic trusts these priests have breached. First, children are taught to respect and follow the word of their preists or religous leaders (this is how this happens). Second, parents don't always support the tales of abuse their children report to them (how it occurs again and again). Finally, the child's trust in any adult is compromised (why they don't say anything in the future because they've already been discounted).

Zero tolerance seems like a good idea, but how would you enforce it? Such a rule depends upon a policing of some sort, hard to do in the sanctity of a confessional or preist's office, not to forget such a rule goes against Catholic tradition of confession, repentance and absolution. Let priests marry? Again, confusion abound on what the real situation is. It's not a matter of priests needing a source of sexual release as it is a need for some priests to find a release for their dysfunction.

If only there were easy answers.

2002-04-14T12:39:00.000-07:00

Sunday Potpourri

Isn't this a nice way to begin a Sunday morning? If not, then consider this:

Yes, this is what weekends are made of, compliments of the ever faithful Abercrombie.

Got my first week in at the new job and did fairly well. It's somewhat of a "learn while you earn" atmosphere, which I'm accustomed to, but it's hard to find patience in people fresh from Peoria who are wondering why you can't make the computer work and there is a jackpot at the "Wheel of Fortune" slot machine just waiting for them. Oh, well, they endured the new airport security measures, they can endure me for ten minutes.

Getting used to, unfortunately, the purple coat. I've decided it's the casino's way of encouraging the fashion conscious to aspire to management positions. Managers can wear regular clothes, not uniforms.

Things are getting better, though are still not where they should be. We have a new goal to meet of getting into our own place, which makes me feel better. If I can land an additional part-time job this week, that will speed the process along considerably. Hopefully it will come true.

If not, we have other options.

2002-04-11T18:42:00.000-07:00

A Little Nostalgic

Forgive me for being a little sentimental, but I have to note that today is my late mother's birthday. Even though she's been gone for a little more than two years, I still find myself jarred into a panic come Valentine's Day remembering that Mom's birthday is just around the corner. . .what will I get her?

Mom lived to the blessed age of 84, a life allowing her to witness and experience many things: from the First World War (she always reminded me they didn't it call it that at the time, since there hadn't been a second world war), to the Great Depression, the popular rise of radio, WWII (prior to which she met my father), television, jet air travel, satellite communications, and something she first appreciated then truly loved: cable television.

I was blessed to grow up largely with the "mom" depicted in so many 1960s sitcoms. She was always in the kitchen when I came home from school (much to my shagrin on some occasions), she made my lunch, washed and ironed my clothes, chauffered me to where I needed to go -- sometimes on a moments (or whim's) notice. She could be both supportive and reprimanding within the same sentence and three vocal ranges.

When my Dad died during my senior year in high school, Mom and I coalesced into a "unit." My Dad, a good man but somewhat of a gambler, had left us a little shy on the inheritance side. We had to give up a lot and learn how to make do. For an indulged only child, I often found the task not only daunting, but defiable. I was a handful for a number of years, but we always pulled together when we needed to, she helping me when I needed it, and me helping her as she progressed in age. We went through breast cancer, a femur shattering fall (literally a replay of the "Help I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up" commercial), and just the oddities and challenges of aging.

For several years in the mid-to-late '90s we fell into a comfortable routine. I would come up every Saturday and grocery shop for her (fortunately she lived next to a Safeway), do household chores, and tend the container garden I had planted on her terrace, which she could see from her beloved Lazy-Boy recliner. (There was a time when I thought my Mom would find it easier to lose me than her recliner, her TV remote or her cable connection). Once a month I would cut her hair. I've never taken a lesson in hair styling, but I had watched my hair being cut many a time -- how difficult could it be? "After all," I would tell aghast friends who learned I sheared Mom's locks, "she doesn't get out much."

Cancer came into her life two times, and she succumbed to it the third time it called. Having been a smoker for more than 50 years (though quitting cold turkey at the time of her mastectomy and remaining off cigarettes for nearly ten years), lung cancer and a few other things were too much to fight.

And while I always found the right gift for her birthday, I realize today how many things she gave me: her wonderful sense of humor (especially an appreciation for the absurd), a love of books, of the outdoors, of how to entertain yourself simply (something only a Depression child can pass on), and a deep loyalty to one's friends.

I think she knows she's missed. But I hope she knows she's being remembered.

Welcome To My Wednesday

Not working a Monday to Friday, 9-to-5 existence is disconcerting at first. At first you feel as if you aren't part of the "regular" world (no one works on Saturday or Sunday). Then you take a job requiring other than a traditional schedule (if that even exists anymore) and soon it feels natural.

There are times I long for a regular work week again, and then I realize I have the luxury of a day off during the week. Time to be "off" when so many others are "on."

Today's part-time opportunity fell flat since they wanted me during the times I'm committed to the Atlantis. There are still other options. I have a feeling something will appear that will be right for the moment. It always seems to be that way.

One of the benefits at the Atlantis (Every Player's Paradise) is a free meal each day. Today was my first day to explore the delicacies awaiting me in the employee cafeteria. Believe me, the deal sounds better than it is, but it's also nothing to sneeze at. Employees receive one free meal a day from the offerings in the cafeteria. Essentially it's overstocked food from the buffet, so if the enchiladas aren't selling and we made too much rice. . .it goes to the employees! Choices du jour: Italian Pasta Salad, Salad Bar, Enchiladas, Tacos, Baked Potatoes, Beef Tips, Rice (white or spanish), bread, desserts. They will also make you food to order, for instance, a turkey and swiss on wheat, to go with your salad. Drinks are free all of the time. If you've eaten your free meal, you can still take advantage of the bounty, only it will cost you a little. For instance, a second sandwich is $2.00, an omlette, burger and fries, etc., the same amount. Thinking about it, that's a nice benefit.

Still have unfinished business with the marketing company we were working for (a paycheck for training and the first week) to collect. Hope that goes well. If not, then expect to hear some nasty things about a certain company here in the Great Basin.

Revenge can be a sweet thing.

2002-04-10T17:39:00.000-07:00

Where Now?

Today was my first day to be foisted onto the paying customers of the Atlantis. Nothing too horrendous. It takes time to learn the subtleties of any business and this one is no different. Casinos, I've discovered, attract a number of retirees and the elderly type folks, most of whom want to spend the least amount of time with me since I am a major barrier to their gambling.

Have an opportunity to pick up a part-time job tomorrow afternoon. That would make things work out pretty well. At least I would be closer to meeting some financial goals that I want to achieve.

Pressure continues from a friend in SF to just return to the City and admit this was an interesting, yet largely unrealized, experiment. While I find his appeals attractive (nice place to live in Pac Heights, a Lexus at my disposal, an allowance of some sort until I get myself established) I really don't know if I want to leave this place. While there are so many things about this area that I find repulsive, I also find some very nuturing aspects to life here. Extremes seem to be the currency of my life right now.

Maybe that's what it's supposed to be.

2002-04-09T19:31:00.000-07:00

Pass Go, Collect Ugly Purple Blazer

Worries about the drug test proved to be unfounded. As I knew, nothing illicit in this bloodstream. Though I normally run around 14 proof, they don't appear to be worried about after work carousing of the alcohol variety.

So today was my first day on the new job. Of course, I learn I have to wear a very bright purple blazer only described as Barney friendly. Underneath I get to wear a shirt that appears to be a castoff from the Aladdin movie. Collar-less, embroidered tuxedo style shirt. I desperately wanted to ask the Lesbian who assigned these duds to me where the curly toed shoes were. Rick believes the perfect accessory is a Fez. I'm thinking the Shriners have more taste.

Yeah. Life's good. At least there is a free meal each day to make up for this. I'm thinking the uniform is their way to encourage the fashionable to aspire to management positions. Apparently managers get to wear what they please as long as it's business style attire.

I can speak management.

2002-04-08T13:41:00.000-07:00

Distractions

Here I sit at the main library at the University of Nevada, Reno, my current and most reliable cyber connection. It's a beautiful campus, but it also has some of the most distractingly beautiful boys roaming around it most of the time. All it takes is a nice spring day like today for most of them to come out of hiding and parade themselves around campus. Ugh. . .I need to get to work.

Speaking of which, I still haven't heard the results of my drug test, which I'm sure is fine, but without the word from my future boss I can't go to work. Another source of frustration and distraction.

What to do. . .what to do?

2002-04-07T12:58:00.000-07:00

One Down. . .

And hopefully another to go. Landed the full-time job, now I'm just looking for something else in order to amass enough money to buy another life. If the drug test I took last week comes back clean (and why wouldn't it?, I don't have enough money to do anything illicit) I will be joining the front desk crew at the Atlantis Hotel and Casino here in Reno. It's a swing shift position, but that is OK because it will give me time during the day to take on a second job, or to further some of my other projects.

Health issues raised their ugly head (well, so to speak) again yesterday. Not what I was needing to happen at the time. Of couse, there is never a good time for this to happen, but yesterday was especially inconvenient. Really thought about packing in and going back to the Bay Area, but as Rick pointed out, there isn't necessarily anything better to go back to. I hate it when he is practical.

So Reno continues to get the best of my ambition. I am volunteering at A Rainbow Place the local Gay and Lesbian center, helping them with their fundraising activities. It gets me back into doing something I truly enjoy and will help them out as well.

Might as well be useful.

2002-04-04T15:39:00.000-08:00

And How Will You Be Paying For That Sir?

Interview number one for today went quite well. At this rate I may have a full-time and a part-time job by the end of the week.

Who would have thought?

2002-04-03T11:38:00.000-08:00

If I Talk About It, Will They Come?

Well, many are indeed. More interviews are scheduled, things are looking positive once again. As soon as we can afford to get the housing thing cleaned up it will be better for all involved. Just have to be patient on that one, it's going to take a couple of paychecks for that to happen. In the meantime, it's look, interview, look, interview, call people back, etc.

I have to remind myself that I have done this before, and even though I swore I would not find myself in the same position again, here I am. This time, however, a little less afraid, a lot more frustrated.

I'm missing San Francisco and yearning to be back there. Don't know if it's just the lure of a San Francisco summer, or the prospect of the heat of a Reno summer, maybe it's the lack of Peet's coffee and Noah's Bagels. I know what it's most likely to be: a sweltering 90 degree day here and the desire to see a huge bank of fog coming in from the ocean.

2002-04-02T17:36:00.000-08:00

Partly Cloudy With Afternoon Clearing

There, that proves it. I too could be a San Francisco area weatherman in the summer. Today is a better day. Got a new job, when they have openings, have another interview scheduled for later in the week. Progress is a good thing. (I just typo-ed that as a "god" thing -- hmmm. . .)

Getting settled is harder for me each time I have to do it. There's that awkward period when you aren't sure if you are doing the right or the wrong thing. I've long maintained that asking for forgiveness is easier than asking for permission. I'll have to keep that one going.

The mouse debaucle from yesterday was settled today, yet I had to take the test two more times. It really wasn't a mouse test as much as it was a reasoning test to understand just what the hell they wanted you to do with the damn thing. Seriously, if you have a hand (just one is all it takes) five fingers (some could argue less) the ability to move your arm in all directions, then you can operate a mouse. Place the cursor in front of the character you need to change (I still don't get that one -- you are going to have to highlight and delete or backspace to get rid of it anyway. Let's just say it went OK and I passed, passed the personal interview part and when an opening arrives. . .it's mine. In the meantime, more applications, more interviews, more fun. All of this does keep my mind off things.

Nothing wrong with that.

2002-04-01T16:10:00.000-08:00

So. . .Not a Good Day

Just one of those days. The kind when you get in the car and are about half of the way to where you should be when you discover that you shouldn't have even got up to go to the bathroom. Yeah, that's the type.

I have no ready reason to feel this way. Logically, things are going well. We have a safe and clean place to live with a wonderful person. Food in the cabinet. A job. But then it dawned on me this morning. I'm still not home. Home, for me, is where I can be where and when I want to be; to be dressed how I want; to do what I want to do when I want to, etc. I'm still not home. I'm living with someone else. And as grateful as I am for the opportunity to be there (I have to be that because of our underestimating of time, paychecks, etc., would have us out on the street), I'm still not comfortable. I haven't arrived yet.

I'm also not comfortable because I work with a group of people who think they know more than me. Most of these folks were shitting yellow when Jobs and Wozniak thought up the mouse. Today I had a woman tell me I didn't know how to use one. I think not. I'm as computer literate, if not more so, than most of the desk jockeys out there.

I knew a world when there were no personal computers, when your biggest decision was changing the font ball on your IBM Selectric from Prestige Elite to Courier or Letter Gothic. If anyone remembers the old Mag Card IBMs, then there's something to bear a cross and be tested for. A mouse? Please.

So I wasn't pleased to learn that I didn't know how to use said contraption. Especially from someone who obviously just learned it's what they previously thought was the "foot pedal" to their computer.

So where do I sit? Well, not in my own chair or one that I can even claim I pay for. That's bugging me for some reason. Eighteen months of not having my own stuff, using that of others (whether offered or just assumed), and a lack of personal space has taken it's toll. As I mentioned, we left the hotel because of bad planning on both our parts. I'm just as guilty (if that is the right word) of letting this happen. We got a little too big for our britches a little too fast, didn't plan things out, weren't strategic enough. Lesson learned.

Where do I go from here? There's not many choices. Checking out early today made a WHOLE lot of sense to me. Just can't go on like this, etc. I thought I came to Reno to make a new start. Maybe I came to Reno as a place to end it all.

Don't know just yet.

View O' The Day

Reno has a lot of them. This is just the last one I caught. Standing on a busy interestion corner waiting to cross, I hear a loud scraping sound as a car approaches. As the car turns through the intersection, I see it has the hose and handle of fueling pump from a gas station still attached to it's fill spout.

I can only wonder what the gas station looks like.

2002-03-31T14:52:00.000-08:00

2002-03-31T13:49:00.000-08:00

Same City, Different Setting

Well, we have made another step "upward" -- this time into a private residence. We left the hotel we had been living in for the safety and comfort of Rick's boyfriend, Jason's, house. It's a bit close quarters, but it's not bad and the price is certainly right, less than a 1/3 of what we were paying. Not a bad deal.

Of course, we probably aren't going to be able to stay together for very long -- three people living in a studio apartment can lead to the end of a friendship quite fast.

In any event, things are looking up. I hope they continue to.

2002-03-28T19:11:00.000-08:00

Some Things I Miss

I saw this photo of a Muni streetcar and suddenly I got homesick. Hmmm. . .

2002-03-28T16:59:00.000-08:00

And Have I Reached?. . .

Well, I knew life in the "boiler room" of a marketing research company wasn't going to be pretty, but I didn't think it would be down right ugly. A lot of unrest, it appears, lurks in every corner of this place. But, it's a paycheck and for that I am grateful. There are alternatives and not all of them are unsavory. We'll just have to see what happens.

I'm currently assigned to the Arbitron project. We call randomly selected numbers to see if we can place radio ratings diaries in homes. It's not a bad project. Arbitron is the leading provider of ratings for radio stations in the country. They are to radio what the Nielsen ratings are to television. And while I'm truly not selling anything to anyone, people are naturally suspicious that I want to part them from their money. Maybe it's all of those years doing fundraising telemarketing. I'm sure there is still subtly implying tone in my voice, kind of like a surgeon describing an operation, "and this is when I begin the wallet-ectomy. . ."

One of the cool aspects of the job is that I get to talk to people all over the US. I've spoken to rushed New Yorkers, retirees in Florida (I now know why those ballots got so fucked up), God-fearing Iowans (all of whom have blessed me with The Lord's abundant love), and resigned and depressed Alabamians (well, it is Alabama.

My favorite call today was to an 87-year-old man in Powell, Tennessee. He lived on Mount Hollar Road, a fact that somehow had escaped him from the time he moved there until now. Our coversation when something like this:

John: And may I confirm your mailing address?
Man: Way'll, I tell ya, I'm not sure what the address is, I'll have to go out and look at the post. Can ya hang on a minute?
John: Sir, all I need is your street address. (I didn't realize at the time he lived in a hollar, which in Tennessee means you literally "hollared" up the road to see if anyone was up in the valley. They don't consider the "road y'all walk up to the house" to be a street).
Man: Ah'll be rite back.
John: Sigh. . .if only I didn't need to pay rent

After five minutes he returns:

Man: OhKay. . .it's Tew Semen Nian (that translates to 2-7-9) Mount Holl-ar Road.
John: Thank you. Now, sir, can you promise me that you will return your diaries to me?
Man: Way'll I'll tell ya. If I don't die and I ain't too busy I'll see what I can do.
John: Thank you, sir.

I don't think I could ask for more.

2002-03-26T17:10:00.000-08:00

Inventories

How fast one's priorities change once full-time work starts. I've gone from fretting over no work to worry about acquiring too much. I have to say, however, that all things considered, I'd rather be in the place I am right now as to where I was one year ago. Every now and again it pays to take an inventory. See where you are, where you want to be, what you have to do to get there. Something AA taught me about and one of the things I took to heart.

When I look at my inventory today, I realize it's filled more with "wants" than "needs." In the past, I needed a job, a house, income to help me further myself. Today I have those things. My needs have become wants. I want a better place to live, a car to get to work, other ways to make money. Want, I believe is a better place to be. Need is a point of desperation. Want is a point of inspiration. After being down for a while and reduced to a life of need, I now see what it's like to want again. Want leads to goals, goals to aspirations, aspirations to realizations. Amazing what a little time will do to your perspective and sense of things.

Tomorrow is the "big test" at the new job. Pass this and you are in, until the next performance hurdle appears on the horizon. Pass this and the wants become bigger. Thankfully we have a boss who is committed to seeing us pass this test. She all but put it out in front of us today to absorb. Out of our group of eight I have a feeling someone won't make it, but I don't want to think about that. Bad karma or something like that.

Superstition aside, I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

2002-03-25T17:32:00.000-08:00

. . .And Another Door Opens

Today was the first day of the new job. In one short week I will become one of those people so many hate -- a telephone market research interviewer. Perhaps hated is a strong word, as we don't sell anything. We truly only garner information from individuals and then sell that to the companies who hire us. Still, the "being cursed at while being hung-up on" potential is extremely high. I've done it before, though, and can do it again. It's a job.

Still looking for something part-time to augment what I will be making in this new full time position. The opportunities are there, just have to capitalize on them. Trying to do some of the self-employed stuff and we'll see how that goes. I need to muster as much energy as I can over the next several months, show great endurance, inspiration, etc., and build up a cash bank for future growth.

Sounds easy, doesn't it?

2002-03-24T12:53:00.000-08:00

Oh, It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Springtime

Yes, I'm boy crazy right now. Surprising, however, this rice queen hadn't discovered this new addition to the SF Giants. He's worth looking at for a few innings.

He even has his own bats:

Now that is a Japanese basei-ball boyfriend-o!

2002-03-23T12:33:00.000-08:00

View From a Counter Stool

I've mentioned one of the best things about Reno is the cheap casino food. You can eat just about anything you want here for less than $15. If it's not the Steak and Lobster ($11.95) at the Eldorado, then you can get the Prime Rib platter at the Silver Legacy for $9.95. Don't even get me started on the buffets, all which reinforce my view that a waist is a terrible thing to mind.

The best deal, in my opinion, is the Ham 'n 99 cents deal at the Cal-Neva. The only place you can truly enjoy this, though, is at the counter. Sit in a booth and you miss the prismatic show surrounding you. The counter affords you closeness to fellow diners (often a detriment when those next to you are not keen on hygiene, or who have been at a slot machine for 12-hours straight), a view of the amazingly talented and diverse kitchen staff (cooking spaghetti, breakfast, and corned beef at 7:15 a.m. is a talent), and time to marvel at the wait staff: individuals who can juggle coffee cups, toast orders, vats of butter, multiple coffee urns, cocktail orders, and a myriad of plates of cooked food with uncanny precision and accuracy.

The counter also affords you the opportunity to receive advice from people who have seen life's truly hard edge. From gambling tips I can't/don't want to understand (I only know how to put money in a slot machine and watch it disappear), to advice on matters amorous (never get involved with a woman who is married to two different guys at the same time-- yes, it was said to me), to automotive observations (the 1980 quarter-ton F-250 Ford truck is the best you can ever buy). I've found that I never have to ask for advice at the counter, it's always eagerly shared.

If nothing else, the Cal-Neva gives me a sense of balance in this often seemingly out-of-whack world. I eat a wonderful breakfast for the grand total of $1.07, garner often interesting tid-bits of world wisdom, and realize that my life is just not only not bad, but pretty good.

Sometimes it takes a different perspective to realize what's important.

2002-03-22T08:25:00.000-08:00

Randomly Expressed Points Of View

Time off, as you can see, gives me greater opportunities to post. As I mentioned in my last message, I'm infatuated with Tom Haynes of CNN. He toasts my bread, scrambles my eggs, slices my melon, lights up my life. I think you get it. If only he were on the air at a more respectable hour. Of course, I've never met the man and probably never will. If I were to, you can be sure I would either utter incomprehensible noises ("ugh. . .duh. . .woah") or something breathtakingly vapid ("Me think you pretty man.")

Time has also given me opportunity to catch up on my reading, paying particular attention to the local newspapers. Sunday's San Francisco Chronicle got my blood racing with three stories: the enlistment of Phil Sheldon, a Pat Robertsonian gay hating political consultant by California gubernatorial hopeful Bill Simon; the announcement of W's plan to allocate $37.7 billion (yes, BILLION) to Tom Ridge's Homeland Defense budget; and finally, news that AIDS infection among Hispanic men on the California-Mexico border has grown to 57 percent.

I wish I were still a registered voter in California just to vote for Gray Davis, although I'm not convinced he's the best person for the job. Where do these Bob Jones University alumni wanna-be's like Simon and Sheldon come from? I've often said the louder the complaint, the bigger the closet. Quite honestly, I don't want Sheldon in the club.

You have to weigh the last two stories with considerable amazement. Our leader (W) justifies entrusting a $37.5 billion dollar budget to a man who believes he is above reporting to Congress, while ignoring the impact $3,700 worth of condoms and safe sex instruction might have in a known San Diego hotbed of AIDS transmission. Hmmm.

Who sets these priorities?

2002-03-20T09:15:00.000-08:00

My New Idol

He's Tom Haynes, a CNN reporter who did a short stint on Headline News. He could read the phone book, the fine print on a contract, hell, even the words on the tag you aren't supposed to remove from a mattress and I would be in total slack-jawed attention. He is, in short, perfect.

2002-03-20T07:42:00.000-08:00

Gayer Than Springtime

OK, at 11:46 this morning it's officially spring. And it feels as such here in Reno. The temps actually went above 60 yesterday, warranting shorts and making one think of sandals. This also means that in a few short weeks I'll be complaining about the summer heat.

At least the good weather hits while I can enjoy it. I'm off this week before starting the new job. A time to do some writing, some blogging, some napping, or doing nothing at all. It's up to me. I'm still getting used to not having to worry excessively about the future. Perhaps that will never go away, which might not be a bad thing. Always good to be on top of your game. We are seriously talking about permanent housing, personal mobility devices, etc. Trappings I abandoned in the past for a variety of justifications. For some reason, however, it seems right for right now. So we go with it.

Who knows where it will all go. At times that makes me as nervous as an Afghani woman with a Dr.'s appointment and all of her burkas at the dry cleaners, but I also have a feeling everything will be OK.

I'm going with that.

2002-03-19T12:15:00.000-08:00

Your Indulgence Please. . .

Those of you who read this will notice a change in appearance. Spring is the time of change and so time to change the 'blog as well.

You'll notice that some of the links have gone away, but will replaced soon. Change is good.

Yes it is.

2002-03-19T08:09:00.000-08:00

A Rail Runs Through It

The honeymoon with Reno may have run its course. While I'm still liking the slower pace, some things are beginning to annoy me. Top of the list: the train tracks that run right through the middle of downtown.

Maybe there was a time here when there was a "good" and "bad" side of the tracks. Today there are equal sides, both of which suffer from "raillock" each time a passenger or freight train passes through town. I'm sure the rail line was the life blood of this town before there were SUV laden Bay Area gamblers coming up here. And the line still serves as a fast escape west or east via Amtrak's "California Zephyr" service. The rest of the time, however, it's just plain annoying. I've waiting some 15 minutes for trains to pass through town, longer if the roulette table bound blue hairs are having trouble detraining. Just turn the car off and wait. Sip some coffee. Read a book. OK. . .life here is slower.

On a positive note, I did get the job I applied for here in town. Thinking a job here would allow for a little extra sleep time in the morning proved to be an error. I will have to rise a full hour earlier than I did to leave for Squaw to be at work on time. The good news is I will get off early in the afternoon. I don't start for another week, so I'll have more chances to post, perhaps even change the layout of this continuing little on-line tome. The new jobs also leaves time for perhaps a part-time evening/weekend job to amass more wealth. I'm actually talking about renting a larger apartment. . .gasp. . .perhaps even a house. Could it be I'm settling down? Uncertain at the moment, but that is how it feels.

And it feels good.

2002-03-11T07:53:00.000-08:00

A Little Light at the End of The Tunnel

Job opportunities are appearing, which is good news. I'm optimistic about one opportunity and others appear every week. Things for the most part are good.

Nothing significant on my mind today. Leaving Squaw has me feel a little sad and somewhat nostalgic. This is the first job I have had in a while that I am leaving on my terms. I will miss many of the people, but not the policies of the corporation. Entering one of those "as one door closes another opens" periods always makes me a little nervous. Who know what the next room will bring.

We'll find out soon.

2002-03-03T12:46:00.000-08:00

As The Snow Melts

So do the jobs. Yes, these are the days of our lives. Spring looks like it will make an early call to the Sierra, a bit earlier than we anticipated. Jobs are in jeopardy, resumes are busily being sent, and we are remembering the intricacies of a job search. This time, however, we have some inside information, thanks to Rick's ever vigilant S.O., Jason. Apparently people here don't respond well to emails, etc. You have to call them. All the time. Day and Night. OK. . .

Looks like I will be leaving Squaw officially on March 15th. It's the end of the pay period, and if there isn't any significant snow soon, the end of a few other jobs up there, I have a feeling. It's been fun. Not as much fun at times as I would like. The people we've working with have been wonderful, but there have been times of great frustration. Squaw's not, what we like to call, an "inviting" atmosphere. In short, they really don't know what to do with the queers other than find amusement in them. And while Rick and I can be quite amusing at times, we don't find lack of family benefits, the refusal to acknowledge gay couples (who by the way, spend more than $3500 for season passes), or the outright use of the word "fag" by senior managers to describe us, an inviting atmosphere. Go figure. In fact, go to Alpine Meadows.

Vitriol aside, I've enjoyed working there. But I just can't condone somethings anymore. I couldn't fly on United when it couldn't get it's shit together regarding domestic partner benefits. I couldn't drink Coors beer -- who would want to anyway? I don't know if I can come back to Squaw.

Sometimes you have to take a stand.

2002-02-25T18:50:00.000-08:00

Taking Stock

Have probably used that title before, but it fits today and this is my blog so here we go.

We found out a couple of days ago that we live roughly one and a half blocks from what is referred to as a "rescue mission" (read: homeless shelter.) Four months has not softened the images or memories of Rick and I leaving the shelter in San Jose, often looking at the apartments and hotels in the neighborhood and feeling a combination of anger, jealousy and envy that others had a life that we so desperately were seeking. This revelation is sobering because I now live in that place: the place where good people who had jobs and made money live. I have heat, a bed, blankets, a refrigerator with food I want to eat, and most important: a job that pulls me out of bed each morning so I can continue to provide for myself.

I don't know that I'm doing this thought justice right now, but it feels like I have to get it out, so continue with me.

We've been acquiring things lately. First there were cell phones, which with my current health condition were really considered a necessity. Then came another paycheck (what a realization -- we are going to have money. Again!). More food was acquired, rent was paid (on time), we bought some additional dishes, some cooking things, a belt, a shirt here and there. We now are the proud owners of a pawn shop stereo. I bought a bathroom rug. I'll be paying back some personal loans (in full) soon. I haven't felt this way in a while. We really are settling in here and to this new life. Things are working out -- though we do still hit some life speed bumps now and then. This may just work.

When you've dug a hole for yourself and you know you are in deep, there are times you question if you'll ever see the sun again. I know I was there and think Rick was too. For whatever reason, things seem to be working out right now. We are both optimistic. After many years we both are beginning to believe we can make positive changes in our lives.

We both know, however, just how delicate the balance is. Every time we look down the street and see the men queued in line for a free dinner, to receive clothes, to attend a meeting, we remember it wasn't too long ago we were in the same que, just 200 miles west. We also know just how easy it could be to be back in that place, to eat what we were given rather than what we wanted. To search for used clothing that fits. To shore up hope that tomorrow would bring an end to it all. Those memories keep us going and keep us thankful.

And that's enough for right now.

2002-02-22T08:21:00.000-08:00

Late. . .Again

It's dawned on me that most towns have their own soundtracks. New York is an ecletic symphony, New Orleans most definetely Jazz, and Reno. . .well, Reno is cheesy '80s and early '90s music delivered over bad speakers outside casinos and in parking lots. It's a go home, sit in your underwear, drink cheap red wine and eat Doritos while singing along to Eric Carmen kind of town. "Never gonna fall in love again. . .

Can't really keep up with this page, the job, the commute and the on-going health problems. Hopefully we will soon have enough cash to splurge on a used laptop that we can commute/pute from home on, but until then I'm hostage to the local university and public library schedules. I'm not complaining, however. Beats no connectivity at all.

Took stock this last week and realized things aren't that bad. Employed. Housed. Clothed. Fed. Just get over this lingering illness thing and I'll be set. For the moment. So much has happened that when no shoes hits the floor for a while I just sit and wait for one to fall.

2002-02-11T11:35:00.000-08:00

The View From Here

Not feeling particularly clever, inspired, brilliant, or any of those things today. The tolls of chemo paid visit for most of the evening and I spent more time than I need to in the bathroom.

I haven't posted for two days in a row for a while, so I didn't want the opportunity to pass. This "blogging" community is a curious one. People who I probably wouldn't talk to in Safeway I correspond with regularly, have invited into my home, and share personal secrets with. I guess it's like a chat room, only more.

What's on my mind today: my health, or lack thereof; the oncoming spring and how it will impact my job situation; the nagging feeling that something's going to happen in Salt Lake City and that it won't be pretty. I am old enough to tell the stories of Munich and how we watched blurry satellite images of terrorists and athletes on balconies and listened to the scratchy voice of Jim McKay as he relayed the unfolding story. Now that we try to predict what we once couldn't think about, is there anything "unthinkable" anymore?

I don't know.

2002-02-10T12:54:00.000-08:00

Just Another Manic Sunday

Well, what a week it has been. Things went south (literally) last week as my worst fears were confirmed over the health problems I have been experiencing. Looks like six weeks of chemotherapy, however, will make me better. Good news is that I won't loose any hair (I haven't been growing this Chia pet for 45 years for nothing) and the short-term prognosis is good.

I don't know what I would have done throughout this without Rick. As life often happens inconveniently, he was out on a date the night I got the news. I spent a long night imagining the worst, but when I got in touch with him the next morning, he and his friends were right there to help. Stalwart hardly describes how he has been since. Charles Schultz, the creater of Peanuts, wrote a book titled, "Happiness is a Warm Puppy." Happiness really is a warm hug from a caring friend. Fortunately, Rick is one of the best huggers I know.

I can't really say how I feel right now. It's something like my reaction post September 11th, when I learned my former partner of eight years had died in the WTC. I felt paralized, detached, defeated. Part of me want to receed right now -- wait for the clouds to move on. I know that won't work. I'm also like the lion who want to find solitude to lick his wounds. Instead, I'm seeking out people and places. Finding life and a pace therein. Not easy when your mortality hangs before your face each week in a IV bag.

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On to happier things. I have long been a fan of the movie "A Beautiful Thing," a film Rick had never seen until Bravo rebroadcast it a few weeks ago. Can't recommend this film enough to anyone. It's a great story about love and hope.

We all need that.

2002-02-03T12:28:00.000-08:00

Random Acts of Thought

Here it is Super (Stupor) Bowl Sunday (the Monday following will be a national holiday before I see the grave, I promise you). Seems like the kind of day to catch up on thoughts that can't quite take up a full space but need expressing nonetheless. Here we go:

Journalist Hostages. I can't think of anything since 9/11 that has shaken me as much as this. For decades journalists covering wars, disasters, etc., have been given a kind of "seen and endured" indulgence by even the most hard hearted. They have been shielded observers and recorders; the means of a record of action. Daniel Pearl's kidnapping and possible murder just brings home how different the world is post 9/11.

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Inland Living. I've probably written too much so far about acclimating to life in Reno. It recently dawned on me, however, just why this has been so far front brain: I've never lived "inland." Except for one brief and memory-less year on the east coast, I have lived on a coast, albeit 40 miles from the actual ocean. There is something about being on the edge of a continent that changes a person's perspective. Even though I couldn't go to the beach each day, I knew it was within an hour's drive. Here I have desert on one side and a formidable mountain range on the other. This will take some getting used to.

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Super Bowl Sunday and the Betting World. Well, here in Reno you see a lot of things. On a day like this, you see a lot of bettors, betting drunks, and just plain drunks. I believe in reincarnation. I also believe you live each life to learn a lesson. My last life must have been my "don't ever gamble" life, because there is nothing I find appealing about a casino except for the cheap food. Casinos, I've learned, have special areas called "sports books" -- places where you can bet on sporting events ranging from high school girls field hockey to, well, the Super Bowl. Let's just say today they are packed. ]

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Queer As Folk. Well, this one could be an entire post. Devoted readers here will know I was sans television, especially the cable variety, for a number of months due to wicked ways, rehabilitation, and homelessness. Our new digs brought with it Showtime and the Queer as Folk television show so many people had told me about. "You have to see it," I was told. "You'll love it -- it's just so your lifestyle, so honest, so real." These comments, coming largely from straight people not only increased my suspicision that I would like it, but fueled my doubt as to how "real" it was.

I don't know if I could ever express just how disappointed and disgusted I was after viewing the program. Disgusted because it portrays gay men as sexually obessed beings who frequent clubs with casual sex rooms, characters seeking meaningless relationships with whom they take home, and a cast of self-absorbed individuals who care little about anyone or anything. I'm disgusted because the writers of the show are somewhat accurate.

Not every gay man is sprung directly from the brow of the latest issue of GQ. Not every gay man, whether they live in Pittsburgh, PA, or Pittsburgh, CA, lives in a charmingly furbished loft. Not every gay man wears Kenneth Cole, Prada, Armani, et.al. Not every gay man seeks out dance clubs as their primary social outlet, nor do they take home a man from same as though it were decreed as part of the Homestead Act.

Your reaction to my reaction has to be tempered. I am a 45-year-old gay white male who, thankfully, survived the first waves of AIDS as it ravished San Francisco. Though I swore I would never be a "remember the old days" sort of person, I think these old days deserve a recall. From 1985 to early 1987, my partner and I attended no less than 52 funerals. It's not hard to do the math and understand that's approximately one every 2.5 weeks. Some were close friends, some were not. Talk to people who lived in the Castro in the late '70s and early '80s, however, and everyone was "family." A good friend of mine, David Ford, commented the largest galvanizing event for gay men at the time (circa 1986) was funerals. As cliched as it sounds, I'm glad it's Pottery Barn sales and brunch.

QAF's portrayals have done more to damage gay acceptance to further it. You'll note that I didn't use the word "rights" in the last sentence. I have rights. What I seek, and need as a gay man: acceptance to live a productive and lucrative life within a society that casts no aspersions on my private actions. To have my partner's and my relationship civically acknowledged. To be able to raise a child, whether it be through adoption or invitro, without fear of anticipated perversion or other alterior motives. Simply, to be a participating family, however that it structured, within the society I live in. The best thing QAF has done, I believe, is give Sharon Gless a job. God I loved "Cagney and Lacey."

I told you this could have been a whole post.

2002-02-01T07:45:00.000-08:00

Settling In

Ten Signs You Are Settling in to Life in Reno:

1. Never worry about finding quarters for laundry.
2. A little "hair of the dog" available 24x7.
3. No worries about what to wear to Opera or Symphony openings.
4. San Francisco television news just seems to fit.
5. Circular bus routes eliminate fear of getting lost on public transit.
6. You appreciate the subtleties of the Eldorado's Buffet over the Peppermill's.
7. You know to go to Fallon to buy a car.
8. No one stays at the Sundowner. Ever.
9. Bowling takes on a particular appeal.
10. You forget what Nordstrom's is really like. (Well, that one is a stretch).

Life is taking on a certain routine and settled in nature. We know where the grocery stores are, how to get to the mall, where to wash our clothes. A few more anchors and I'll stop feeling like one of those seedlings kindergartners plant styrofoam cups: just enough roots to stay upright, but come along a stiff breeze. . .

We are still computing challenged. I've discovered people up here know about the Internet, understand its purpose, but many still regard it as some strange animal hiding under a rock. They are willing to poke at it to get a response, but they can live it without connectivity. Coming from an area where T1 connection are as plentiful as nickel slot machines here, I'm finding a lack of connection somewhat frustrating.

Reno, I've come to believe, is an acquired taste. At work, people will ask where I live and when I tell them I get a response that ranges from pity to abhorance. For Lake Tahoans, Reno says you are either too poor or too sober to live "on the lake." Lake Tahoe, for the most part, is an enclave of tony or well-heeled San Franciscans who took to the place like the Mormons claimed Salt Lake. The bones of the Donner party were barely sun-bleached when the first San Francicans decided to "summer" on Tahoe's shores.

So Reno fits right now. Rick has lined up a couple of part-time jobs that will lessen the impace of reduced hours at Squaw as the season declines. I'm still unsure of what to do. I think a full-time position here would be a good transition, but not sure what it should be. What do I want to do when I grow up?

Why does that question keep coming up?

2002-01-25T15:59:00.000-08:00

Couldn't Resist

Been a long time since I published any skin. Thanks to the A&F folks for the promise of a wonderful spring.

2002-01-25T08:54:00.000-08:00

Fixin' To Get Ready

One of my favorite Texan-isms. Says a lot about my frame of mind lately. Some recent health problems borught up a whole lot of just plain unadulterated shit into my head. Two weeks ago I had a hugely unpleasant hemorraghing incident which introduced me to the rigors of Reno emergency health care and social services in one fell swoop.

The long and the short is I will live. It took a tortuous two weeks to learn that, however, and much hand-wringing, etc. My "situation" could have been the precursor to something far more serious than I was, or probably ever will be, prepared for: cancer. It's not cancer, however, just something almost as bad, one of those things that "happens to people my age." I now live in a world where my health, or decline of my health, will be explained simply by my years. "Well at your age. . .

Lovely. I've now entered that time of my life where I will be hanging onto the news reports about colon cancer, prostate check-ups, stool softeners, and the like. Depends can't be far behind. No pun intended.

With this latest round out of the way, I'm resolved to make life in Reno work, at least for the forseable future. (When I write that I wonder if the future is ever not forseable, but that's a topic for another day).

Rick has been industrious and used contacts to land himself at least one part-time job with the promise of another by week's end. I will be hitting the bricks today to try to use this charm and smooth-talk for good. It's worked in the past, I'm sure it will again. Perhaps illness is a waystation for life. A chance to take leave of the here-and-now and take stock. Worked for me. I've been complacent, satisfied, truthfully unmotivated. I've been fixin' to get ready for far too long now.

I'm ready.

2002-01-14T09:40:00.000-08:00

Just Right of the Castro

Reno gay life is taking shape. We are discovering there is a "here" here. There's even a Borders Books, Bed Bath & Beyond, and a decent coffeehouse called Java Jungle. The later is within easy walking distance to the apartment, and is frequented by a variety of GLBT or just plain caffeine-starved folk.

So far I haven't made too many "new guy in town" faux paux, except for a particularly embarassing bus incident involving the payment of a large sum of money in the fare box and my naive assumption I would receive a day pass in return. Note to the Citifare folks: consider selling day passes somewhere other than King Tut's tomb. I've also found, after considerable searching, the nearest Safeway (I could not continue without the Safeway Club Card and "Buy One Get One Free" opportunities).

Our roommate situation worked itself out Saturday afternoon and now there are just two of us living here. Some things defy logical explanations and this is one of those situations. Suffice it to say Rick and I are now much more at ease and ready to build individual lives here. New employment remains on the list. We still have our Squaw jobs, but are on the lookout for something that will keep us in the area.

Surprisingly, Reno has somewhat of a gentle pace. While casinos abound, it doesn't have the hectic nature of Vegas, or the desolation of Winnemucca. Our neighborhood (known locally as The Riverwalk) is a pleasant to stroll, slowly gentrifying, somewhat eclectic blend of old neighborhood bars and trendy boutiques. One thing I am still getting used to is seeing slot machines in just about every structure short of public restrooms. The lack of them in the later is probably due to some strange state law that was hotly debated in the local paper.

2002-01-12T10:38:00.000-08:00

Here We Go Again

Well, life in Reno is beginning to take shape. What shape, I'm not sure, just shape. We have discovered and visited most of the gay establishments, partaken the significant buffets, subscribed to the daily paper. I'm sure there are locals who have not done as much.

In short, Reno is not a bad place to live. Transient, like D.C., but I'm used to that. Dirty, like D.C., but I'm used to that, too. We are currently working out the roommate situation, which should be resolved by the end of this weekend.

Our newest challenge is one Rick and I unfortunately know too well: new jobs. Snow melts, and with it, our current positions. Though Squaw Valley has year-round operations, they diminish their staff considerably in the "off" season. At this point we are not extemely distressed, just aware of our impending desperation (come early April we'll most likely be filling out unemployment forms). Since we have both done desperation to such an excellent level in the past, I'm sure we will rise the occasion once again.

So how is life really like in Reno, you might ask? Well, the gay population is here and thriving. Actually, it's better organized than I would have hoped. There are bars and then there are NICE bars. One of our favorites, so far, is the Patio. It's well lit, frequented by clean, nice, people, and not the kind of place you would be afraid to take a first date. Rick has taken up pool, once again, and is become quite the "cue queen" of Reno. He'll be upset when he reads this, but he's heard worse!

2002-01-04T10:41:00.000-08:00

Another Change

Change used to frighten me, now I look at it as an expected avocation. The latest change concerns residence. We are now denizens of Reno, Nevada ("The Biggest Little City in the World"). The hostel became a bit too hostile to manage, so we took advantage of housing with a corporate discount. So far, so good.

We are living in a converted hotel/casino two blocks from the main gaming drag in Reno. The hotel is a bit on the tired side, but from what I hear from locals, it's vastly improved from its former life as a full-time flophouse and part-time brothel. For us it provides a greater sense of independence, something neither Rick nor I have been privy to in a long time.

The move brings us closer to civilization as well. Though Squaw Valley is charming, it's distant. We now have access to the internet again, thanks to the University of Nevada at Reno. We have newspapers to buy, good coffee to drink at trendy coffee bars, and movie theaters close at hand. A gay community exists here, something we haven't been close to since leaving the Bay Area. Queers seek their own kind and Rick and I have felt like exiles since leaving San Jose.

We arrived New Year's evening, an appropriate time to begin anew. So far things are working out well. Transporation to work is free and as far as we can tell, dependable. Our greatest problem right now is finding a laundrymat.

2002 looks good.

2001-12-28T11:35:00.000-08:00

Absent But Not Forgotten

OK, it's been a while since I have posted anything, but not because I have not been at a loss for words. The employment dam finally burst and we are working a little more than full time at the resort.

Getting used to the rural lifestyle has also taken a bit longer than we thought it would. Schedules are now falling into place, places are easier to locate, we are falling into step with the pace here. Christmas came and went so fast we hardly noticed.

All in all things are good. Learning the intricacies of ski resort life, however, takes time. We are at the mercy of the weather gods for our livelihood, which is sometimes disconcerting.

The New Year now looms and it looks promising. Both Rick and I believe this is a good place to stay for a while, a least through the winter and mid-spring.

2001-11-30T11:42:00.000-08:00

A Watched Sky Never Snows

We are still waiting for enough snow for full time work. Though a paycheck would come in handy any time now, we are learning a lot while we wait for the gods to come through. At the hostel, Americans like Rick and I are among the minority. We are surrounded by South Africans, Australians, and New Zealanders. It's quite an interesting and unexpected cultural education. If you are interested, the South African men we have met are some of the most beautiful I've ever seen. It's like living in an Abercrombie catalog.

We are also experiencing some of the frustrations from Silicon Valley. High prices, low employment, and something we didn't expect to find: thievery. Yes, it's here too. This time a precious commodity: food. While the manager of the hostel is taking care of the culprits, we still have to watch ourselves and protect our belongings. Naive to expect different, I guess.

New friendships and cultural education abound, however. The ski industry is interesting. We are already thinking about post-season plans. A return to the Bay Area and a, hopefully, rebounding economy, or staying up here for summer employment.

Possibilities.

2001-11-28T14:05:00.000-08:00

The Weather Outside Is Frightful. . .

OK, so living in the mountains does bring a whole new set of considerations. Instead of having access to just about everything when we want it, we now wait "until we go into town." Hmmm. . .maybe there were some things that were worth the time in Silicon Valley.

Our work situation is not consistent at the moment. We are waiting for more snow, promised for the end of the day today if the next "big storm" does what it is supposed to do. Quite honestly, I am finally beginning to settle into the place. While I am not keen on the current living situation, a hostel, even it has some redeeming qualities.

2001-11-20T10:23:00.000-08:00

High On A Mountain Top

There's no snow. Not what we were expecting, but what we are living with. We've actually changed jobs since coming up here, I'm now in Guest Services and Rick is in Marketing. We both are feeling somewhat better about that.

The weather is cold, but no snow. We are slowly getting used to the country life. There really is such a thing as "going into town" (the closest is five miles away), and seeing the Milky Way for the first time in a while the other night was spectacular.

The biggest adjustment has been the lack of computing accessibility. I'm composing this at the local library, where I get 30 minutes per day. OK, so there were some good points to San Jose.

From today on, I'll only be able to post weekly. But, it will still be worth reading, I promise. The saga remains: two gay men building a new life, only this time to scenery reminiscent of "The Sound of Music."

2001-11-13T10:05:00.000-08:00

Is It Real?

I'm still not believing that what happened yesterday is real. There have been so many nights I have dreamt that Rick and I were on our way that I'm not going to believe this until we are up there, in the hostel, sleeping when we want to, etc.

I don't want to sound ungrateful for what I've received over the past 13 weeks. I am very grateful. A warm, dry, safe place to sleep is something I will never take for granted again. And as much as we have desperately wanted to get out of here, there are things I will miss. There are the people who have been important to us. Some of the greatest generosity I have received has come from people who have had little to spare or give.

Phrases such as "we won't forget" or "this will never happen again" easily play into my language right now. Truth is, I may forget some of this because it wasn't particularly pleasant. I will remember what I want to and what I need to so the second phrase holds true. But what I have learned from life is you can't predict what will happen. I've learned that one of the greatest myths of homelessness (one I held for many years) is that people choose to be this way. Some do, no question. Others find themselves on a slippery slope into a demoralizing and often humaneless existence. Whatever the reason, once you are there it's a cycle that is extremely hard to break.

Tomorrow we board an Amtrak train to Truckee, the closest station to the resort. The trip will take approximately 5 hours as the train gradually climbs out of the valley and into the Sierra.

Symbolic, huh?

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For those who are interested, curious, etc., I've added a link to the left of the web cam in Squaw Village.

2001-11-12T16:37:00.000-08:00

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

"There are some things swinging a cat by the tail teaches you that you can't learn any other way." -- Mark Twain

As I start to write this, I almost can't believe it. This morning we left San Jose at 2 a.m. and drove up to the Squaw Valley ski resort for a 7:30 a.m. interview. We were delighted to be offered jobs. It's a change of venue, a change of focus, and finally a sense that something is going right. I think the first two things are important for both of us right now. Our friend James, another resident at the shelter was key in making this happen for us. He was hired last week and suggested we come up there. His boss liked us and the rest is history waiting to happen. Let's just say it will be an interesting way to spend the winter.

As desperate as we have been over the past few weeks, there is a little twinge of sadness in leaving. We have made some wonderful friends there -- people who have helped us out when we were down. As the quote above mentions, we had to go this route in order to learn some valuable lesson.

We aren't out of the woods, though. This job is not a big money maker, but it is full-time and there are some respectable benefits re: food and clothing discounts. I'm not a big skier, but even I know the gratis full season lift ticket is not to be ignored. We actually will be in a similar living situation to begin with, but without the restrictions of the shelter. We hope to find a shared housing situation within a month. We won't be frittering our money away on needless stuff or adventures because there isn't a whole lot to do up there that isn't ski related.

So our world will now be filled with boardbitches, snowhunks, and skistuds. Hmmmm, I smell a boyfriend in the air. I've likened this move as the second season of a TV show. Somewhat like Laverne and Shirley -- if there had been a serio-comic version -- when they left Milwaukee for California. Some of the same old characters, but new ones to make the plots interesting. At the very least, Rick and I have a new audience for our schtick.

The day was a mix of emotions, however. We learned about the American Airlines crash just as we arrived into Tahoe. The first news reports we heard were sketchy -- the plane was arriving, not departing, the type of plane was in question, etc. -- but the underlying theme was there: it's not over. Upon hearing the news a knot formed in my stomach. No matter how much we rail against it, terrorism is a hands-down winner. My life will not be the same no matter how much I try to push ahead "normally." I can't board an airplane the same way, I can't fly in peace, I can't even open the mail anymore without second, third, fourth thoughts. Though it looks like the accident was just that, we can't hear news as such without an emotional toll.

Then we learned of the passing of Carrie Donovan, the "Old Navy" lady ("I'm MAD about fleece!"). CNN's article described her as a "fashionista" whose home "on New York City's Upper East Side had red walls, red furnishings and leopard carpeting, and she sprinkled her speech with French phrases." This just confirms what I always suspected. Drag Queen. Big Ole Miss Thang (BOMT). You'd have to go to England to find a bigger Queen.

Not that there's any problem with that. No. Not at all.

2001-11-11T08:48:00.000-08:00

Subtleties

Something I've learned to appreciate lately. When my life is filled with so many black and white absolutes, it's hard to notice or appreciate the less obvious things.

One of my favorite columnists is Adair Lara. Her straightforward and meaningful style has a distinct elegance. One of my favorite columns you can read here at the S.F. Chronicle page. Adair appreciates the subtleties life brings, in fact she wrote a book about savoring such moments, "Slowing Down in a Speeded-up World." She asked her readers to write in and let her know what they did to find a little peace each day in their lives.

There is a resident at the shelter who has taken on the task of running the kitchen. He is no different from any of the other residents, in that he gets no payment for his daily "chore." He rises each day at 4 and goes to bed most nights after 11. Occasionally there is time for a nap during the day, but the majority of his time is spent in the kitchen. He coordinates the serving of meals (on an average day 450 people eat there), intake of food donations, and deals with the volunteers from outside organizations that serve food. He could easily just put stuff out, but John always takes it a step further. Is there enough to drink, is there bread, will there be enough salad? Questions he often can't answer himself, but at least he thinks about them. He adds an element of respect to what can be a humiliating situation for some. No one leaves the area hungry, unless the food is gone. You wouldn't always know it from looking at the chaos that often descends upon the kitchen, but John takes on this task because it is how he finds his peace in the world. Feeding people and providing service nurtures his soul.

Subtle. Important.

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Tomorrow we are off early to interview for the out of area jobs, so probably no time for a post. A full report on Tuesday.

2001-11-10T10:20:00.000-08:00

Come Saturday Morning

The title to a song in one of the first "dirty" movies I ever saw: "The Sterile Cuckoo." It starred Liza Minelli and was rated "R" (scandalous at the time) because it contained a scene of pre-marital sex and Liza spouting "rough" language. Truly nothing by contemporary standards. Any episode of Will and Grace is far more risque.

My thoughts are somewhat scattered this morning (by now you've probably noticed -- using a 32-year-old Liza Minelli film as a lead -- what was I thinking?). A job opportunity looms on the horizon but it comes with a price tag: leaving the area. Not far. But far enough. Part of me says this would be a good thing. The Valley is getting me down and things aren't looking up for full-time, permanent employment. Part of me says, you moved back here to make it work, so do it. I'm no Don Quixote though folks, and right now it seems the more I search, the more I tilt. This job would take us away for a little while, we can make plans and plant seeds for after the first of the year. Everyone says it will be better then. As a friend of Rick's says, "when what you are doing doesn't work, try something different." I think we will.

I'm not mentioning any more specifics at this time because I'm from the school that maintains the more you talk about something in the planning stage the greater chance you'll jinx it. Rest assured, however, it will be fodder (however it turns out) for a future post.

In one of my former lives I worked for a software company that required me to travel roughly 90 percent. I loved it, but the job coincided with my mother's health problems, so I couldn't maintain that pace and take care of her. It gave me a lot of opportunities to see the country (Sioux City, South Dakota; Limoni, Iowa; Troy, New York; Georgetown, Texas -- places where Comfort Inn is always ready to serve you). I became quite well acquainted with the airline magazines, particularly United's "Hemisphere's". They used to have a regular fiction column called "The View From Seat 23A" or some such thing. The stories revolved around the person sitting in that seat. Kind of clever.

I'm thinking about doing the same type of piece, only my mode of transport will be the city bus. I'm certainly well versed now in the bus routes throughout the Valley. Rick and I are have become somewhat reluctant bus aficionados. We've even named the side mounted seats on the VTA buses "the fag seats" because a) you look good sitting in them and, b) we all know it's about how you look. Since they are seats that can be folded up to accommodate wheelchair passengers, we are always quick to release them to someone who needs access. We also realize it's about doing the right thing. Then you really look good.

But we have seen some interesting things. And certainly interesting people. There are stories there, I know there are. For example, the 22 line, which runs from Menlo Park on the peninsula to the east side of San Jose, is the lifeline of the mass transit world in the Valley. It runs 24x7 and has been dubbed a "rolling hotel" by the local newspaper. Folks who can't get into a shelter ride the bus all night. Changing from one to another as the reach the end of the line. A one way stretch takes approximately 1.5 hours, so people sleep in those increments until the morning comes. Some continue to ride all day. It strikes me as a metaphor for something.

Life maybe?

2001-11-09T08:46:00.000-08:00

Have I Ever Told Myself How Lucky I Am?

Well, sometimes. Yesterday brought it all home. There was a major "housecleaning" at the shelter. The rules, which everyone knows, states that you have to have a job to be in this program. They ask you to fill out an employment verification sheet and put it on file. Somehow mine got misplaced. (I've learned now who to give things there to and who not).

When I came in last night after work, my name was off the list and I appeared to have been discharged. Were it not for Rick and one of the night staff members who liked me, last night I would have stayed at the Highway 87 Hyatt, also known as under the bridge.

There were some folks who fell victim to the purge. A couple of them have no idea where to go or what to do. They will find other shelters, not as nice, drug riddled, theft rife. But they will survive. One thing I have noticed about the lot of people I am with right now: they are survivors. They don't eat barbecued rats or live grubs, but they do get by ingeniously.

Even with a job this can't last forever. We are going to have to move on. A friend at the shelter is going to Squaw Valley to work the ski season. That would be fun and I'm thinking about it. You can make some pretty decent money up there and it's truly seasonal. Give you some time to get something else lined up. We'll see.

Otherwise, Friday is just that. Another day. There is no closure to this week from today. Uncertainly abounds and we have to remain vigilant.

I'm used to that.

2001-11-08T09:30:00.000-08:00

It's Still Baghdad By The Bay

Herb Caen, one of the S.F. Chronicle's most beloved columnists coined that nickname for San Francisco. After my trip up there yesterday it's still true. Rick said I needed to get out of the south bay for a while and he was right. Or was he? I spent the afternoon and better part of the evening up there and it made me long to return. It was almost unfair (as if we have a right to expect a fair life) to have to come back down to the shelter.

Before I left for DC I had become jaded with the City. Any more jaded and you could have put me in the window at Tom Wing's -- a local Asian jeweler. After yesterday I began to appreciate what I had left. Smug defines a lot of us in this area. We know the area's one of the nicest in the country. Returning to the shelter humbled me, but it also steeled my resolve to get the hell out of there -- soon. I need to get my life going again at any cost. Well, just about any.

The calendar reveals it's exactly two weeks until Thanksgiving. Don't know what I'm thinking about that at the moment. The thought of being in the shelter on a major holiday repulses me, but there are so many other worse options. It was cold last night. I could have been huddled under a bridge. (For those of you who don't believe me: people really do live under bridges. They are usually doing or selling drugs, but they are there).

So life continues at the moment with a background theme of "it could be worse." Little consolation at times. It's all I've got right now.

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Today's diversion (look to the right) will appeal to the truly sick minds out there. Rick actually has a subscription to this publication. I read it because I need to know the about the comings and goings of Bat Boy, the miracle of the mini-mermaid found in a can of tuna, and the latest fashion accessory: the flatulence muffler. Go on. Check it out. You know you want to.

2001-11-07T08:14:00.000-08:00

I Am, Therefore I Think

Got a haircut last night. Gay Boy's Regular. After swearing I would not let a clipper jockey loose on my hair, I couldn't stand it any longer and let a fellow resident shear me. It really had to be done. My hair had gotten so long I was in serious jeopardy of losing my card. Rick was embarrassed to be seen with me. The guy didn't do a bad job. It's not exactly the type of cut I have gotten in the past, but that was then. That was also $45 with a tip. That type of hair luxury will have to wait.

Working the focus group thing again tonight. An easy $100 for an hour and a half of my time talking about auxiliary power supply units. Riveting. Plus I get an afternoon in San Francisco. That's not bad.

More later as it develops.

2001-11-06T14:02:00.000-08:00

Happy 31st Birthday to Ethan

2001-11-06T08:52:00.000-08:00

Oh, The Places I've Seen, The Things I've Learned

Here it is, Tuesday, known by Rick and I as "Holy Hot Dog Day." Members of a local Pentecostal church come to the shelter on Tuesday and Thursday and serve hot dogs (with all the "fixings'" -- they really do know what homeless people like to eat). We dubbed the day "holy" because they lead the group in prayer before serving the food. That was, until someone against prayer made a stink and now it's just hot dogs. But "Holy Hot Dog Day" has a nice ring to it, so it's staying.

For shelter food, today's lunch is widely known in homeless circles as a "don't miss." You see, not only does today's lunch feature something resembling a real meal, it comes complete with chips and soda. That's a find. You learn these things when you are "out there." For instance, I know never again to go to Salvation Army to eat (really old food). And, even though the United Methodist Church serves lunch, you know not to go on Thursday, because it's the same thing that will be served for dinner at the shelter I'm staying at. The night everyone has on their calendars is Saturday night. The Buddhists come to the shelter to dish up generous portions of chow mein, spring rolls, fried rice, salad, soda, soup. I wonder if I will ever be able to have an intelligent conversation about a restaurant again. Somehow I don't think measuring the food on it's freshness as in, "those donuts were only three days old," would go over well.

Strange the things I've learned over the past few months. Not only can I tell you where to find the best meal, I know which of the job banks has the best offerings, where to look for new donated clothing, and how to arrange for a deeply discounted monthly bus pass. My vocabulary has grown quite a bit as well.

I entered a residential alcohol and drug treatment program in late May. I was one of the few there who had come in voluntarily. Most were there to avoid jail or prison terms. Until then I thought only James Cagney called a prison "the joint" or "the pen." One man shared a story of being "violated" by his parole officer -- yikes! I had never heard phrases like "so that's how it is, huh?" or "it's all good. Don't trip." I've managed to keep most of this out of my personal vernacular. But at times you have to speak the language of the locals to gain a level of trust. When I first came into the shelter, some folks thought I was an undercover agent. Believe me, even the most dedicated undercover cop wouldn't want to do this duty.

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More job opportunities on the horizon. My current job appears very uncertain at the moment. I think my luck played itself out over the first couple of weeks. Maybe my calling voice is not as convincing as it once was. Telemarketing requires a skin of tempered steel. The hang-ups, the "go aways", the just plain obstinate. I always thought it was quaint that many young Chinese couples had their parents living with them. The return of the extended family. My telemarketing experience has changed my perception. I now know that young Chinese, who are usually fluent in English, let their Mandarin or Cantonese-only speaking parents answer the phone to confound telemarketers. I've had too many conversations now with elderly Chinese men whose only response to my statements and questions has been "Annngh?"

This morning Rick proclaimed his ability to assume a position as a Human Resources Manager. I was a bit taken aback since I haven't heard of his expertise in this area. There would be a reason: he has none. But on second thought, a plethora of health insurance forms, a company picnic, a few recognition certificates and doo-dads, maybe a safety video. . .you are in there. I see him as Catbert, the evil H.R. Director in the Dilbert comic strip.

Maybe it will work.

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The irreverence and wit of The Onion, only daily. Check out one of my favorite e-newsletters: SF Gate Morning Fix. It's written by a tortured soul at the San Francisco Chronicle and the only place you'll find stories on "The Tragic Side Of Insane Transvestite Dermatologists."

As the author's subscription copy reads: Hie thee to the Gate's newsletters page , honeychile. It's free. It's easy. It's one of those deeply satisfying sensations you recognize as being essential to the overall well-being of your various glands.

2001-11-05T15:13:00.000-08:00

"What would bother the Taliban more than seeing a gay woman in a suit surrounded by Jews?"
-- Ellen DeGeneres during the 53rd Emmy Awards

2001-11-05T08:40:00.000-08:00

Blessings

One of Rick's best qualities is reminding me at times how blessed both of us are to have certain people currently in our lives. He's right. We have both mutual and independent friends who are caring, loyal, concerned, and loving. When either of us starts to grouse about temporary inconveniences or problems, we remind the other of what we really have. Sometimes it works.

I've been thinking a lot lately about giving to people. Not necessarily charity, but simple kindness. We both do things around the shelter to help the community, but often it's what we do for individuals that is most meaningful. Often, skills and abilities we take for granted are seen by others as gifts. Knowing how to write a resume, a cover letter, to solve a software or hardware problem for another person can often change their lives. I don't mean to make this sound profound. It's not. But being aware of when and how you can help someone can be significant.

Last summer I was living in Washington D.C. Every afternoon in June and July the sky would begin to darken around 3:30 p.m. and the most spectacular thunderstorms would unfold. Having grown up in California, I was in awe most of the time, thoroughly enjoying "the show." After about two weeks, though, rain is just rain.

Union Station in the District is a magnet for homeless people. Even though I wasn't one of them, I would go to the station after work to meet friends for a drink. I remember one afternoon my friends stood me up and I went outside to witness that afternoon's storm. The panhandlers were in full force. By that time I was skilled at deflecting their pleas with a curt "No, I don't have any spare change." As I was walking along the covered walkway, I noticed an elderly woman, laden with plastic bags from the local pharmacy, scurrying through the crowd. I couldn't hear what she was asking people, but I was sure she was hitting folks up for money. She approached me and asked, "can you spare $1.10." Before she was finished with the sentence I had delivered my pat line and was moving down the sidewalk.

I continued walking, but I felt bad. Here was an older woman asking for money and I was, in true high-alcoholic fashion, guarding every cent I had for another drink. I had plenty of money on me, had I spent all I had on wine I would have been dead. I stopped and turned around. She was now nearly at the end of the promenade, feverishly looking for a kind soul. Then I started to think. She wasn't like the other beggars -- she asked for a specific amount. Then the amount clicked: it was one-way bus fare. Then the brain cells finally clicked in: she didn't have a way to get home.

Here it was, nearly 7:00 p.m., rain coming down in sheets, and she didn't know how she was going to get home. I started walking back down the promenade. By the time I reached her she was looking frantic. "You need bus fare, don't you?," I asked, holding out five one dollar bills. "How did you know?," she asked. I can't remember if I said anything. She blessed me and hurried off to her waiting bus.

One of the reasons I had moved to DC was to take a vacation from the Bay Area and some bad memories of my mother's lengthy illness and recent death. I found myself thinking of her that afternoon as I watched the woman leave Union Station. I thought how much I would have appreciated a stranger helping my mother if she were stranded during a rainstorm one afternoon. I realized that I wasn't blessed because I gave the woman the money, but because I knew to do it.

Here's to hoping I never forget.

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I worked for a woman who used to call everything we did "a work in progress." It drove me nuts at the time, but start working on a page like this and I have a new appreciation of the saying. Some of the links aren't complete, just yet, so now you are warned. I'm changing things as I see fit, adding as I please, hoping that it's entertaining and informative.

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Today we continue on the job search road. One of the pitfalls of being "out of society" is not being front brain on holidays. Neither Rick or I realized today is Veteran's Day until I noticed the traffic was much lighter this morning. It screwed up Rick's plans -- something he'll get over and move on from. Things will happen tomorrow, too.

2001-11-04T13:24:00.000-08:00

I Am The Bubble. . .

I didn't go to church today. Stomach upset, Montezuma's revenge, whatever, kept me otherwise occupied today. Rick went ahead and went to church. We attend the Center for Spiritual Enlightenment here in San Jose. I discovered the Center while I was in rehab. The congregation is about one-third people in recovery, one-third spiritually inclined, and one-third curious. The center's approach touches all major religous/spiritual schools of thought, including Buddhism, Taoism, Zen, Christianity, etc. The services include music, meditation, a message, and chanting. Yes, chanting. Not my favorite thing to do, but some of them are quite amusing. One of the more recent ones included the line "I am the bubble, make me the sea." OK.

I do enjoy the church and Rev. O'Brien is a wise woman. But chanting?

It's not easy work being the bubble. A friend of Rick's and mine here at the shelter thought the Bubble chant was hilarious. It was fodder for many a joke and jibe for weeks. I've never really felt like the Bubble, certainly not the sea. I see myself more today as foam.

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Planning strategy for this next week. Job search, retention, etc. Thinking about doing some volunteer training here at the shelter -- things like MS Office applications. Would be good for me to keep my hand in things and would help around here.

2001-11-03T10:55:00.000-08:00

Certainly Uncertain

Where to start? At the best things are fuzzy right now. A fog has settled in and I'm trying to make my way through. Don't know if it has been there for the past few weeks and I just haven't noticed, or if I didn't want to. Things that seemed certain now are less so. Things that I was told were real don't appear to be so at all. I guess that's life. Don't bank or count on anyone but yourself. Trust others and you get hurt.

Last week checking out seemed like a possibility. One bourbon, one scotch, one beer, several prescription medications. Won't know what hit you. Still seems like the way to go.

I live in such a simple dimension right now, it's hard to believe things can be this complicated. I need basic things: shelter, food, transportation, friendship. Well, two out of three aren't bad. As my friend Wendy used to say when talking about relationships, ". . .if I wanted conversation I'd get a parrot." Where are those classified ads. . .

Can't really muster more than this for today, which is OK. I'm actually surprised there are people out of my immediate realm reading this stuff (read: guestbooks are illuminating things).

OK, the boy is gratuitous. Sue me. He's one of the latest Abercrombie hotties.

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Just when I think nothing makes sense, I read something clear and to the point. The Editor of Abercombie and Fitch's Quarterly magazine, a publication renowned for its pandering qualities (you have to be older than 16 to buy it in the stores) to sell clothes, apparently has a conscience. Read the letter and see for yourself. I've often remarked how odd I found it that a clothing company's catalog contains pictures of naked people. Well, apparently they do think before making decisions. They already had a customer for life, but now one who doesn't feel as guilty.

2001-11-02T08:48:00.000-08:00

Holding Our Breath

Photo: Brad Templeton

And so the word comes yesterday afternoon. California may be the next target. I find announced terrorist attacks to be somewhat oxymoronic. I mean, isn't the bang most terrorists want from their buck the surprise angle? And one of four bridges in the state as the target? There are some people here who would pay to see San Diego-Coronado bridge destroyed. Now, the Golden Gate, that's another story. Don't mess with my bridge. If they want to have an impact on the west coast, I say kidnap Bob Hope.

I paid particular attention to the news yesterday, however. I have always been afraid of bridges. Not so much the structure itself, but the fact there is usually a deep body of water underneath it. (Yes, that would be a bridge.) I'm not big on any body of water, but add a large, somewhat intimidating metal structure to the scenairo and I'm out of there.

I don't plan to find myself close to any bridge over the next week. Fortunately I don't have to commute over one to support my livliehood. Some companies in San Fransisco have told employees to work from home today if they can. That's great for the white collar folk. If you live in Marin and sell bagels in the Financial District, however, a bridge is in your future.

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The end of another week and one where we are not, thankfully, worried about money. Though we could always have more -- and certainly find ways to spend it, today we have "enough."

Things weren't great yesterday. A series of mishaps put me over the edge. I was ready to call it quits -- jump ship -- sayonara, etc. Rick, fortunately, proved once again there is a God and got me through it. I guess admitting the difficulty we are both having with this helps. I just need to stay focused and patient. Not two of my greater attributes.

2001-11-01T08:18:00.000-08:00

November, Already

Photo from dooce.com

One of the truths of life: calendars don't lie. Here it is, November 1st and I'm not where I want to be, not as far along with my goals as I thought I would be, and reflecting upon my personal oath I would be out of the shelter by this time. I'm trying hard not to let it get me down, but it's not easy.

Even though things are looking better than they have in a long time, I'm still not where I want to be. So what to do? Get busy again. Rick and I are committed to keeping each other accountable for our actions and progress (or lack thereof).

Rick went to the Castro last night with an old friend to watch the Halloween festivities. For him somewhat of a new experience. For me, nostalgia. Though the S.F. officials have tried their hardest to avert folks from the Castro on Halloween, fact is there are too few of them and way too many of us. I've likened Halloween as a "gay mardi gras." The gay community, especially in San Francisco, rarely needs license to celebrate (literally or figuratively). There are usually more straight people in the Castro on Halloween than gay. They come for the shock value, to gawk, to live out something in themselves they find there and no where else. Magic truly does happen in the Castro. The place transforms people. It is Lourdes for the disenfranchised, be they straight or gay.

Really working the focus group/study angle right now. Have a focus group scheduled for next week which will bring in rent money and then some, and a Stanford study on the burner which will bring in more than rent for a few weeks. The Stanford thing will hopefullly help me as well. It's a study on depression and I can use all of the help I can get on that front right now. Along with the job and the promise of other day time employment, a savings account is not far away. I just have to keep myself here and present and know it's not over yet. It will be. Just not yet.

Full moon madness continues.

2001-10-31T08:43:00.000-08:00

Hanging On. . .

Beautiful morning. Air fresh from the rains. Feeling of hope. We're actually able to hang on. Thanks to Dooce.com for the photograph

Little stir of craziness thanks to Halloween and the full moon. We don't feel quite as burdened as we have in the past few weeks. Things are actually beginning to look up. Our application blitz at the mall may just pay off.

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Today actually feels like spring -- one of those strange California experiences. If I were still in DC it would be cold. Spring like weather seems to bring out the most beautiful boys. Of course, neither Rick nor I are what you would call prime boyfriend material (PBFM) right now, but since we don't have our arms crossed over our chests we still look. It's God's will, I like to think.

There are many fine specimens right now at the shelter. We have some of the people there believing that we receive riches once we recruit a man "to the other side." If that were true, we would have been able to have built a city the size of Pittsburgh, fully furnished, by this time.

I actually had a friend from a "former life" convinced that gay men are "recertified" each year. Of course those of us born with cards know it's true. You have to keep up certain standards: number of brunches attended, "de riguer" magazine subscriptions up to date, vacationing at "select" locales, preferences in music, film, and culture. I need not explain this any further since after viewing so many weblogs, I'm convinced the medium is largely populated by gay men.

So, here it is, the middle of the week, a gorgeous day, and I'm feeling good. I wonder what will happen? Can't help but think that since so much has, and will continue to happen. I'm just hoping that for Rick and I it continues to go positive.

2001-10-30T08:34:00.000-08:00

"Don't Know Why. . ."

Only Lena Horne should be allowed to sing "Stormy Weather." It should be a law. The first real rains of the upcoming season hit early this morning and there is the promise of a major deluge before it is over. Rain paints a new picture for us.

Last night many of the faces I know from the shelter or the food programs were looking glum. You could feel a change of weather approaching. News reports were predicting a cold and wet storm for the area. For those who have kept praying for one more nice day, a further stretch to the Indian Summer we've been appreciating, worry grew. Though the reality turned to be far less dire than prognosticators warnings, wet is still wet. Suddenly "I'll just live under the bridge" becomes unthinkable.

I'm hoping the new positive spin we are on will continue into a place for us to live. The job hunt continues to today as we return completed applications to the places we visited yesterday. Yeah, I'm nervous and I can't help it, so why fight it. At least for the moment we have a place to live.

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Rick maintains every fag needs a sassy African American hag, so today's Diversion du jour is who I would choose to be mine. Check it out on the link at right.

2001-10-29T08:10:00.000-08:00

Let's Get Serious About This

Today we are putting out full effort on the job front. It's time to be serious about getting on with our lives; getting a new place to live; rediscovering what we want. If anyone can do this, it's Rick and I.

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We spent the morning at the local mall collecting applications at various retail establishments. At least the oncoming holiday season has improved the picture somewhat.

2001-10-28T11:03:00.000-08:00

Sunday, Sunday

For the past couple of years, this has been the most depressing day of the week for me. Sunday used to be one of my most predictable days. Coffee, Bagels, "This Week," Farmer's Market, brunch, laundry, a hike, grocery shopping, dinner, a movie, sex and then sleep. It was pretty simple and hit most of the major life groups that seemed important. Now, Sunday, like so many other days and so many other things, takes on the ownership of someone else.

We did laundry today. We had a good breakfast (thanks to John, the saint who runs our kitchen and looks out for all of us), but I was not in control. Did I want to sleep until 11? Yes. Did I want to do laundry at 8? No. Did I want to really do much of anything today? Not really. But I will because I have no other choice right now.

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2001-10-27T10:01:00.000-07:00

Pulling Free

I told Rick this morning our stay at the shelter was beginning to feel like a stationary orbit. There are times we resemble the Robinson's in the old "Lost in Space" series. Out of our normal place, faced with uncertainty and sometimes danger (real or imagined), and no fuel in our spaceship to take us back home. "Oh the pain, the pain. . ."

I hate to think it's something as basic as money that is the answer. Right now, though, it really is. More money would give us opportunities. We aren't seeing a goal, we just see what is. Goals require imagination and, though I hate to use the word, vision. I have to be able to create a vision of where I want to be and what I want my life to look like. I think I know it. I think Rick knows it too, but it's hard to sustain a vision when you know you will be pulled back into the reality of everyday.

I have to beleive that things will get better. I have no choice. If I continue to think things will stay the same, then I'm not exerting any influence over the outcome. Shame on me.

It pains me to see Rick burdened with some of this. Twenty-four year olds should not feel like they on Sisyphian adventures. But at 17 I was faced with the loss of a father to cancer, a mother with a "Mrs." degree, two car notes and a mortgage to pay. Maybe it was simpler because there were no choices at the time. I had to work because there was no failing. There were days I didn't know what to do except keep moving. Forward motion, in any direction, was OK. So I worked, I went to school, I studied, and I got more efficient. I found I even had time for a boyfriend. OK, it wasn't the best of relationships, but I maintained a momentum, I wasn't locked in place.

Today I need to find some lift. (No, I'm not going to sing that insipid Bette Midler song. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Bette -- I'm gay for chrissake, it's a law to love her -- but that song. . .) And I know it's got to come from me. I'll find it. I have before.

I will again.

2001-10-26T09:04:00.000-07:00

It's The End of The Week As We Know It

I can't think of much to say this morning. I used to equate Friday with a sense of release. Now Friday is just another day. There's really no end of the week right now. The end I seek is still out of reach. On Friday I used to take stock of the week. What had been accomplished, what not, what to do next. Was it a good week? Lately it's been hard to tell.

Friday used to be the beginning of something fun. Something fun, "in the day," often equated something destructive, personally. So, today, I'm glad Friday doesn't have the same meaning. Today Friday means I have the day off, I got paid, and unlike so many Fridays of late, neither Rick or I have ulcers building over whether we will have funds to stay where we are. Paychecks are wonderful things. Bosses who pay you once a week are Gods.

There is a "make do" scenario around the shelter that many people fall into. Rick and I once thought seriously about doing this until providence or sheer will always seemed to pluck us from the abyss once again.

A man pulls around to the shelter at 5:30 a.m. each day in a large panel van. He recruits guys to service paper routes. It's pretty much back-breaking, all day work. I consider it the modern day equivalent of ditch-digging - the fate my father said awaited me unless I did my Algebra homework. For their work they are paid $25 per day. You get cash the first day (the first one is on me. . .) and then the rest at the end of the week. A week's work is worth $125. That's about $4 per hour, below the minimum wage, but in California the minimum wage is a non-consideration anyway -- no one can live on a minimum wage job in the bay area.

This morning 11 men walked into the truck, each of them desperate to make the week's program fees to remain in the shelter. Their money is due at the end of the day today. Some will make it; some won't. Some will say "fuck it" and decide anything (at the moment) is better than schlepping papers around. They'll soon know how cold the November nights are, even in California.

As I watched the truck fill this morning, I said a prayer of thanks. Thanks that I didn't have to get on that truck. Thanks that Rick didn't. Thanks to my current boss who likes me and pays me a decent wage. Thanks that the problems that robbed me of my money for so long are not raging. Thanks that I can keep us safe for a while longer.

I guess it has been a good week.

2001-10-25T19:46:00.000-07:00

A Little Night Music

One of my favorite songs. A group Rick introduced to me.

Eve 6
Here's To The Night

2001-10-25T08:54:00.000-07:00

My Oh So Called Life

Things are looking better at the moment. My normally mercurial mood has been stable for the last 12 hours. What's happening?

I'm concerned I am becoming accustomed to this current lifestyle. What I originally hoped would be temporary is taking on a semi-permanence. Course correction needed now. I hear stories from others and wonder if my life will ever be that way again. This morning a friend related a tale of being taken out for dinner. To hear of a restaurant, where one can choose (not just be handed) what to eat, was almost amazing. Were I to have choices, I'm afraid of the ones I might make.

As you can see from the links I have on this page, I once new a more prosperous life. I won't say better because prosperity led me to some things I shouldn't have done. I was reckless with money, negligent of responsibility, and addicted to alcohol. Add to that mix an ailing elderly parent, an unfilling career, and a mentally and physically abusive personal relationship and the plot sickens quickly. Today I have to face and live with the aftermath. Consequence, I've learned, is a wicked master.

I don't intend to let this continue, however. My life is fulfilled today, but it comes from different sources than it did before. Today small gestures of kindness -- actions I would not have even thought about before -- are often transforming. Rick sums it up best: he serves food in the kitchen at the shelter every day because it is currently one of the few things he can do that is positive. His dilligence is inspiring. And as down as he can get, he is still there, ladeling soup or pouring juice or handing out sandwiches.

So will I go back to feeling fulfilled only when my boyfriend takes me to a $650 dollar a night resort or spends $200 on dinner? Yeah, I will. But I'll also feel that way when I helped improve someone's life.

2001-10-24T09:21:00.000-07:00

Wednesday. What Else Is There?

Nothing new except a new emotional low. Trying to think of alternatives, but few come to mind. None seem plausible. Caught in a spiral of having to survive here while wanting to be somewhere else. Relocating takes cash. Cash requires a job. A job (a real job) takes a miracle. I'm not seeing any of these on the agenda today.

It's evening now and things seem less dire than this morning. I realized today how much of this lifestyle I have assimilated. The shelter in itself, eating at churches and other shelters (One volunteer once prided himself to Rick that "he knew what the homeless like to eat." Apparently it's hotdogs. Lots of them. My low paying, no respect, does nothing for my self-esteem night job wasn't too horrible tonight. Though I hate the job, I like the guy I'm working for and he appears to like me. And, I get paid once a week.

2001-10-23T13:32:00.000-07:00

Another Day, Another Resume

Job hunting is now so serious that I'm almost frozen with fear of failure. Rick resorted last week to wearing a sandwich sign touting his availability as a Biz Dev Guru. He got some interest and the promise of some interviews. Not being able to claim gurudom of any sort, I am keeping with the tried and true. We are both tried and tired.

We currently live in a shelter/transitional housing facility. Beats the streets, but not by much. I used to live for the season. I had autumn plans, etc. The shelter has redefined my life so I now live by the week. Weekly is when our rent is due, no cash, no checks, no credit cards, just a money order please. My life is now colored by my ability, or sometimes lack of, to raise $45, a sum which used to be spent on a haircut.

And so how did I get this way you ask? A love of the grape and the grain. For Rick, a spiteful friend and a bit of a misspent youth. Cocaine really is God's way of telling you you make too much money (thanks, Robin Williams). Yes, we are getting something of what we deserve, but not this much for this long.

So this is where we live. Yeah, vacuous.

2001-10-22T10:25:00.000-07:00

What to say?

This starts what will be a series of musings on life not only on the west coast, but specifically in Silicon Valley. My friend Rick, a native New Yorker, calls the area "vacuous." That proves Rick to be a generous and almost polite New Yorker.

We are both looking for jobs. At 24, Rick has never known a world without readily accessible employment. He's been plucked from jobs at IPO parties in the same way apricots were once gathered in Sunnyvale, yet it was a harvest he savored in better jobs each time he was lured away. I, however, being the elder statesman (venerable as Rick likes to say) have known nothing other than the "send us your resume, we'll call you" approach, though I have often benefitted from not what I knew, but who. Today is different. We do a lot of emailing of resumes. We are learning to accept new frustrations as they arise. The "e-age" brings a new speed to rejection. No less painful, just faster.

Adding to this is our living situation: homeless (gay man is not meant to dwell in a shelter: too much linoleum); our financial situation: penniless (hard to buy those A&F gladrags); and our emotional situation: depressed and bemused (well, a lot of us have spent years to get there). When Rick's down, I bolster him, he likewise with me. Hard work in itself when the world looks bleak and the chill of the oncoming winter can be felt in the air. What to do. . .what to do? Like Blanche, we may find ourselves having to count upon the kindness of strangers.

We are staying afloat, albeit marginally. Part-time jobs, occasional paid focus groups, serendipitous employment sources currently provide. Things will get better I believe; I just don't know when.

This page will document our search. For those who happen across it, I hope they'll get a look at what two educated, talented, stylish, witty, yet unemployed, gay men (yes, I know that's redundant) do each day in Silicon Valley. We look for jobs in new ways: we take the current health of companies by counting the cars in parking lots once flush with luxury vehicles; we scan building directories looking for enticing names like "verioscopic.com;" we revise resumes we previously thought perfect; we walk into reception areas hoping to leave favorably lasting impressions with receptionists. We do it every day. We have to.

This is not a whine, it's a vent. There is a difference. This is a time like no other for many of us. Somewhere the frustrations have to come out. Otherwise, I make mad noises at unsuspecting public transit riders. And if I don't, Rick does.

John Doerr once emplored people interested in the new economy to "get themselves to the valley." (sic) I'm sure he still tells people to come -- he just doesn't expect them to stay, or work, with him right now.