The Devil finds work ...

for Idle Hands.

It's been a few months. Have been focused on living life rather than writing about it, but now there is a great pause.

A

Great

Big

Pause.

I was up at Cambridge on Sunday, trying to be my gracious self trying to get into grad school. 9 people for 4 slots. The entire pool narrowed to 9 people for 4 spots. I did what I could, and now I wait until March.

And there is nothing else to do but wait. I've turned down obligations and commitments to focus on the meeting, and now it's come and gone and I have only turned down obligations, or as the case is: no obligations.

So I surf. My nightly porn search ... reading dirty stories and taking my mind off of the bloated time. Tonight I found a delicious little blog about some kinky guy in Chicago chronicling his conquests. Of course it's fake, you know? Eritoca ...

though not always. Scrolling down, reading, my heart begins to sink. The stories sound plausible, and a fear pang: he's going to be on here. One of my good friends, a man I still have some dificulty sorting out old feelings for, is going to be on this blog. And, sure enough, as I bottom out the computer screen I come across his story.

The details are details I know. The details are private details he's shared with me. The details are the Chekovian oddities that describe this friend in perfect detail. The details are also horrifying, because I now have a frame of reference for the chronicler's life. I virtually know his other conquests. I see my friend's picture, edited to be sans head, glaring out from the screen. I recognize it. I also recognize the fatalism in the story, the same stubborn fatalism you hear in his voice when you talk to him on the phone or at coffee.

The story is old. The friendly acquaintance is in a relationship, and no longer buggering about ... or so I think. Now the question -- do I keep reading? It's an anonymous blog, chronicling conquests. My friend doesn't know it exists ... should I still keep tabs?

Given the proclivity, it was bound to happen eventually

I've been tagged ...

Bloggers must post these rules and provide eight random facts about themselves. In the post, the tagged blogger tags eight other bloggers and notify them that they have been tagged.

1.) I broke my nose as a child catching a ground ball while trying out for the "AA" baseball league. While I like group activities, sports have not always been one of them.

2.) I almost drowned in the shallow end of the high school swimming pool during a 400 medley relay. It was my first swim meet. My father made me join the team. Again ... sports have not always been among my strong suits.

3.) This sounds serious, but it isn't: I once, in a melodramatic teen-aged angst-filled fit of sorrow, tried to kill myself by overdosing on 1/2 bottle of Bayer aspirin and vitamin A tablets. I don't think that even qualifies as a cry for help, more just an embarrassing foray into stupid. FYI - we had no serious medications or painkillers to OD in my house back then ... so I used what I had available.

4.) I have hammer toes.

5.) I have a green thumb

6.) I have suitcases full of drag that I no longer use.

7.) I have pretty good control of my temper, but it is a bad temper.

8.) I am allergic to cats.

"Dude, this is New York ...

... we don't watch Oprah."

BOY was the Midwesterner taken aback at LaGuardia when she heard this come out of the TSA agent. The upstanding MidWestern lady in front of me at the security point at LGA was insistent there was nothing she couldn't take on the plane in her carryon, and then TSA agent pulled out a prepackaged hot chocolate kit-thing.

"Oh! That's from [blah blah blah], you know, Oprah's company!"

This prompted the TSA agent's response, dead-pan, gorgeous:

"Dude, this is New York, we don't watch Oprah."

The MidWesterner was speechless ... and holding up the line (which made me hate her a little bit).

I love New York.

It happened ...

Easter Sunday was surreal.

The day began with Mass, and then ...

my sister, my little sister, got engaged. My to-be brother-in-law, who I have not always gotten along with, did it perfectly. My sister, being a Cubs fan: Chris proposed via a memorial stone in the little plaza at Wrigley Field next to the Harry Carey statue on Addison & Sheffield. The whole thing was a surprise to my sister, and to the rest of the family (though he asked my father for her hand on Mardi Gras). Great way to begin the day!!!

I really am a MidWestern Blonde

We got out of THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND at about 10:45. Jay and I saw it at the Pavillion, over on Prospect Park West.

We turn the corner, and Jay ducks into the doorway of a closed restaurant to light his cigarette, and I put mine in my mouth, waiting -- Jay had only two matches, so I turn to him to watch him as he was going to light his first, and then mine.

"Can I have a cigarette?"

I turn around, and a lady is standing next to me, holding out her hand with a small black lighter clutched under her thumb -- seeing that most probably I could better afford to buy Jay another pack than this woman could buy one for herself, I give her the cigarette from between my lips, "Sure ... have mine."

"I'm pregnant, thanks a lot," and then she turns and starts walking.

I wish I could have seen the look on my face. I'm sure it was priceless.

I turn to Jay, who is staring at the tiny flame. I fumble for his Parliaments to pull out the last one. "Did you hear what she said?"

"Who? The crazy lady?"

"She asked for a cigarette, I gave one to her, and then she said she was pregnant."

"She looked crazy."

While Jay and I are talking and walking we look up and see that the lady is standing at the corner waiting for us. Both of us start looking for a way to avoid her: we're walking around a rather busy traffic circle and crossing into the circle was not an option ... and reverseing direction was, well, not an option either as we wanted to go to the bar that lay around the circle.

"This street scares me ... I don't want to go around the corner," says the lady. "Will you take me?"

NOW, this lady is probably (hopefully) in her mid thirties. She was slouched over, wearing clean jeans and warm downy-looking black jacket, and carrying a little bag. She didn't look particularly threatening, but she did sound crazy. The whole pregnant/cigarette thing. Plus, she said, "This dark street scares me. I don't want to walk alone."

Again, I can sympathize, but we were in part of the historic section of Prospect Park, on a rather busy traffic circle that had brownstone lined streets feeding into it ... streets that had a lamp post at about every 30 feet. So it wasn't dark, it was just nighttime.

"Sorry, but we're headed this way," says Jay, pointing towards the vague general direction of the bar. I start to pull away from Jay a bit, to go help the lady, and Jay starts walking, taking me with him.

"I feel kinda' sorry for her," I say.

Jay looks at me: "Dude. She was eating the cigarette."

My response: "Ohhh ... do you think that if a pregnant woman ate a cigarette it would still harm the baby?"

Responsibiliwhaa?

A blog that I read with some regularity eferenced my "Cloying" entry ... so now I feel I should be a more dutiful blogger as LEGIONS of gay men will now be avid readers (I mean, why wouldn't they?)

So to my fellow gays: HELLO!

Also, this was a way to keep in touch with friends in DC and Chicago.
So to my friends who thought I wasn't blogging anymore: SURPRISE!

Quick update:

1.) Got a roommate. Allon. He's straight and Canadian. Studies art, has a girlfriend. All is well within Kensington Palace.

2.) Due to Allon's job needs, I now have cable, and internet phone and high-speed internet. I am now a member modern society.

3.) Great string of free theater attendance this week (fantastic seats to all, I might add!): COMPANY last night (great!); EDWARD SCISSORHANDS tonight (FUCKING great!) and MEN OF STEEL tomorrow (the jury is out).

Otherwise, things here are OK.

I've never had to do this before ...

Look for a roommate. Dave vacates this week, and I have a bedroom to fill come January 1.

So far, I've had a San Franciscan ESL teacher with whom I had poor internet communications ... a computer technician who worked all night, slept all day, and then blew off our scheduled showing of the apartment ...

a lovely cute young architect (to whome I offered the place) who now has a girlfriend that wants to move in with him ... who I have not met, and the prospect of living with a couple, gay or straight, gives me pause. So, we're going to try and meet this week.

That being said, I've renewed my search efforts. Today I got a reponse from someone who is a lactose intolerant vegan activist/artist/humanitarian ... who didn't leave their name in the e-mail. Should I be concerned? I think so. Plus he/she/it (I have a creeping suspician this is Surreal, in some wierd cosmic karmic joke) can only stay through May ... which may not be a bad thing ... but time will tell.

Ai yai yai. Have always had to move INTO places, never have had to have others move into mine ...

except for one time in college ... this Chinese girl, I can't remember her name, but she had a Chinese boyfriend, who was older, and I think there were relationship issues. It was a wierd summer.

I don't want a wierd Spring.

On the upside -- Santa was great to me, and I love my new headshots (already getting calls -- off of the un-re-touched .jpgs!)