Thanks to Cunégonde (with whom I am half in love but I'm old enough to be his ummm, much elder brother) I've discovered that I have a condition with a name. Early-morning-awakening insomnia. How cool is that? I have a condition. 4 am and I are very well acquainted. If I weren't so tired all the time I'd be excited.
Apparently bright-light therapy may help.
I had a date yesterday morning. He had suggested 10:30 at the Blue Rock cafe in Saratoga. I was really looking forward to it. I like this guy. A lot. He's handsome, clever and nice. I'd like to be his friend if nothing more.
I got up early, showered and shaved to look my best for the date. I changed my shirt three times before leaving to head down the freeway to Saratoga. I didn't want to seem too eager, so I took care not to be early. I showed up at the cafe at 10:30 on the dot. And he wasn't there. I went inside and ordered my coffee, expecting he'd be there any minute.
The service at the Blue Rock cafe really isn't very good. It took almost ten minutes for me to order and get my coffee, even though there was only one person ahead of me in the line.
When I finally got my coffee he still hadn't shown up. I went and found a table outside. Someone had left their newspaper behind so I glanced through it. I slowly drank my coffee. At 11:05, my coffee finished, I left.
I cried all the way home.
Will's been here since Friday evening. I made lasagna for dinner.
Have I mentioned Will yet?
Yesterday we got up late. I made French toast. Then we went out. I had the car washed, for the first time in at least seven months. It's nice and shiny now. Then we went to Ikea. All I needed were some butchers' hooks. But you can't go to Ikea and spend only two dollars. So shopping was indulged in. I bought: new dishes, red and white wine glasses, very big beer glasses, because he was complaining about how small my glasses were. And a little pan to boil eggs in. Then we went for a little walk on the Stanford campus and took pictures of the gay statue And went to see the Rodin sculputure court. Then to Target to buy him a belt.
While we were in PaloAlto we went into the bicycle store to get me some new handlebar tape. My money was taken by the cutest guy I have ever seen. Guess I'll have to go back there. I could buy a bike and then he can show me how it works. Maybe he'd like to correct my golf swing.
I went for a 20-mile bike ride in yesterday's 100° heat. It was our ALC training group reunion ride. Only 7 people showed up, out of 40 who had RSVPed. But my crush, Doug, was there. So I guess it was all worthwhile. Hot though. And not in a good way.
Did I mention that I've signed up to do The Ride again next year?
I went to Canada for my vacation. I spent a week in the bosom of my family. It was too hot to do much of anything. I went there to celebrate the twins' birthday; they turned 26. I grilled steaks on the barbecue and we had an ice-cream cake from Dairy Queen. I put up new light fixtures in my wife's house. My daughter's boyfriend helped me.
My sister turned 60 on Bastille Day, but I didn't see her. She was in San Antonio.
It was a crowded, rather rushed week. There were six of us staying in a three-bedroom townhouse. We had five notebook computers. Three digital cameras, two iPods. One cat.
I went to Costco three times: I was the only one who had a membership. I bought a new cycling jersey. It was on sale, but they only had one and it was a size too small for me. I bought it anyway. So I had better start that diet. And get back on the bike.
On Monday my daughter told us that she is getting married. On the coming Monday. She wanted it to be a secret. But the cat is out of the bag now.
Bob, of bob's yer uncle, has started a little writing exercise: every Tuesday he's going to post a piece that's exactly 200 words long. He posted his first piece today. It's not a challenge or anything, but it seemed like an interesting thing to do, especially when you are sitting at work with ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO. So I thought I'd try my hand:
200 Words
I rode my bicycle from San Francisco to Los Angeles. It was hard, but not as hard as you might think. After all, I had been training for almost a year.
I didn't ride alone. 1,839 other people rode with me. We had each raised at least $2,500 for AIDS treatment and research. Riding our bikes to Los Angeles was our reward.
The ride took seven days. We set off from the Cow Palace on Sunday and arrived in Los Angeles on Saturday.
The Cow Palace is not in fact in San Francisco: it is in Daly City. But it is right at the city limit; as soon as we cycled out of the Cow Palace we were in San Francisco. So we did ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles.
At night we camped.
On the sixth day of the ride, Friday, I spent much of the day crying. The physical effort had left me emotionally naked. I cried because I felt unbearably alone in the midst of a couple of thousand people. I hadn't expected that. I had been expecting a miracle to occur and change my life. There was no miracle.
But my life may have changed.
Justices Robert Smith,Susan Read and George Smith of the New York State Court of Appeals all agree that the primary purpose of marriage is to create a stable environment in which to rear children. Justice Read is 59, well past menopause. I trust she is not married, since her child-rearing days are over. Justices Smith and Smith are 62 and 69 respectively. They are both married; I assume that they have put aside the now barren women they married in their youths and have found themselves fertile young women in order to raise a second brood.
I don't understand. The Westboro Baptist Church claims to adhere strictly to the tenets of Calvinism, in particular to the 5 principles of TULIP: mankind is in a condition of depravity because of the original Fall; God chooses who will be saved; those whom God chooses to be saved cannot resist their salvation.
So I take it that, if you are a sinner, then God has chosen not to save you. Or not chosen you yet (but see below--God doesn't operate in real time). If and when God does choose you to be saved, then you will, whether you want to or not, cease to be a sinner. And there's nothing that you or anybody else can do about that.
So what does the Reverend Phelps and his flock think they are accomplishing by picketing funerals? Do they want us to change our ways? Why should they? Our behavior just shows that we haven't been chosen to be saved. And there is nothing that either we or they can do about that. They can't bring any sinners to redemption; only God can do that. So what is the point? Why spew hatred on us? You would have thought that they, as the chosen ones, would have pity and compassion for the rest of us sinners who are condemned to eternal damnation. And condemned, not because of anything we did or didn't do. No we are condemned just because God didn't choose us.
And there's nothing I can do to change God's mind. Because God has known from the beginning of time that he wasn't going to choose me. Makes you wonder why God bothered to create me in the first place. Guess he just decided to be mean to me.
Picked last for 5th grade baseball; picked last for eternity. Pretty much sucks, eh?
Today is the first spare the air day of the year. So I walked to work. Of course, that was inspired as much by CMT Peter's telling me ysterday that I should start walking more as by my concern for San Francisco's air quality.
It was a great massage last night. I could do with one of those every day for a couple of weeks. It ended with him showing me a pile of stretches I should do for my quads and my tight ass. Me watching and trying, butt naked. But I seem to have absolutely no modesty when it comes to being naked around other gay guys.
It's going to be hot walking home.
I booked a ticket today to go and see the kids on their birthday.
Bart Yates: Leave Myself Behind (Alex Awards (Awards))
Holden Caulfield comes out. At least that's the intention. But the kid doesn't speak like a 17-year-old. Despite that, this is a great book: funny, tender, absorbing mystery. I laughed, I cried.
Greg Lilly: Fingering The Family Jewels
A cute, light read.
Colm Toibin: The Master : A Novel
Have to think about this. It's much more of an extended character study than a novel. It has a beginning, a middle, and not really much of an end. I guess you have to admire the way he gts inside James's skin. But I left dissatisfied, not feeling that a conclusion had been reached. And novels need conclusions.
Margaret Atwood: Life Before Man
That was very heavy going. Mainly because I hated all the characters. A bit of a duty read.
James Baldwin: Giovanni's Room
Very short; barely more than a novella. It's a fascinating read (only a couple of hours). What's interesting is to observe how much has changed since the mid-1950s. It is hard for me now to fully comprehend and sympathize with the shame felt by the characters.
Saul Bellow: Adventures of Augie March, The (50th Anniv. Edition)
Couldn't finish it!
Yann Martel: Life of Pi
Brilliant story-telling. And I love the narrative device - reminds me of James Hilton.
Anthony Bourdain: Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly
I so don't want to be a chef anymore!
Augusten Burroughs: Dry : A Memoir
meh. Don't much care for alcoholics' memoirs.
Mark Merlis: An Arrow's Flight : A Novel
I do like Mark Merlis' writing. The concept of this is intriguing and the whole is very well executed. I'm not entirely sure about the end, however.
