Realm of the Shtupman I

Sunday

10.15.99

Yee-haw!

It's been ages since updating…there have been many things up in life recently, and many things that should bear discussion. However, I have a topic, and I intend to stick to it, damn it! First, so that you have a clue as to what I am thinking about, I'm listening to Gay.com radio. You may access it from their main page, and it magically appears in your RealPlayer thingie. Their topic is children in gay marriages. They happen…really! In fact, a few short hours ago, I had lunch with a fellow who has been with his bf for 19 years, and have an adopted 15-year-old son. It's an interesting topic, and one that I had not considered before. We all know that I do not have a great love of children, unless they are well behaved and proper. Therefore, when the child next to us at lunch began to misbehave, and I stated that I liked my children boiled, he said "You should ask me about this ring." He indicated a Cartier band on his finger that bore a strong resemblance to my own. That's when my faux pas was brought to light.

That's not the topic, though. My topic is this: Follow your damn instincts. I have a couple of things that I want to talk about on that matter, so with no further adieu….

I've maintained that if a person just leaves the big decisions to the cosmos, one can have a pleasant and simple existence. I try hard to live by these words…don't always succeed, but have to concede that the important life decisions that I've made by just cruising through, have always been good, and right.

For instance…a fellow was asking the collected group what it was that he had, and how he could be cured of his malady. Seems as though he had awakened one morning with a horrid rash on his shoulder. It looked like a zillion zits, and was sore as all hell. A friend close to him (my friend is many miles away) said, "You've been attacked by fire ants." I responded in proper fashion, and in my first version, I wrote "well, you could try this and that, but I think that you've got a herpes infection called shingles. See your doctor for an antiviral drug called acyclovir."

That was my first instinct. Do you think I sent that? Nope. I cut off the part about viral infection, thinking if I insinuate that he's got herpes, his chances of getting a date on Saturday night would be greatly diminished. So, I posted my message saying to apply menthol in alcohol and Benedryl to get rid of those nasty fire ant bites.

Next day, he comes back and says he's got shingles. Damn! I knew that but I didn't follow my instinct!

So, I was wrong. Had I done the right thing and followed my better thoughts, I would have offered correct response to his query.

That's where I am now. Following instinct and just shutting up. It didn't work out in another instance recently also, but I don't want to talk about that one, because it involves that awful work thing that I endure, and I'd rather not talk about work right now.

My puzzle at the moment is should I look towards a new job or just shut up and stay here. New job is on the mainland, and one that I don't know actually exists with my name on it. I think I can swing it, with some good connections that I have, but there are a lot of things that are just so uncertain.

The kick is-there's something inside me that says "go." I am at this moment trying to figure out if it's wanderlust that I have or if it's the "real thing." If it is real, that would effectively mean stepping out of my happy home here in Hawaii, (and by the way, things really are copacetic here) and waiting for RR and the other shoe to fall.

I'm rather more tempted to think it's wanderlust and dismiss it. However, I do have plans to visit some friends who live in the same town as proposed new job. They're "Internet buddies", and a couple of guys that I would like to get to know a bit better. I'm not disclosing the location as of yet, because I'd rather not, lest other instinct come into play.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch….

A few things have happened recently. First, I saw Miss Saigon, last week and have some definite opinions about that one. Exposition first, though. Picture this. I've had a rough day, and am coming home late.

I'm tired.

I'm slightly pissed.

RR greets me at the door, asking "Where have you been?"

Now, I'm really pissed. The day has just gone from bad to worserer. (I know it's not a legit word, but I like it.) The answer? "At work…where I've had a pisser of a day. Why do you ask?"

RR comes closer. Well, you have not much time to shower, and dress, because we're going to have a fabulous dinner from Strawberry Connection (the only place in town where you can buy foie gras) and then we're going to see Miss Saigon. Hurry up!"

Now, I'm pissed and annoyed. Frankly, it's about the last thing I had in mind for that night. Mental notes for y'all…don't surprise me. I don't like it. When the group of waiters came around my table one evening and started yelling/singing "happy birthday" at the top of their lungs, I quietly stood and walked out of the restaurant. I didn't come back. don't EVEN go there, girlfriend.

Anyway…on with my story….

I shower quickly, and throw on some clothes that don't make me look too stupid, and we're off. Thomas Square is the park that fronts the Blaisdell Concert Hall, the venue in town, and it has a certain reputation among certain circles. Men are frequently busted with their lips around penises, and there have been more than one murder committed in the restroom there. It is also about two blocks away from the police headquarters. RR's idea was to take a blanket and dine al fresco in the park. I disagreed, stating that Thomas Square was about the worst place in the known universe to pop a champagne cork.

We wound up parked on Young Street just outside of Linekona School. The work vehicle that RR has is a fairly nice Nissan van, with one of the seats removed. The remaining bench was folded down to make a table of sorts. We had just opened that tasty bottle of Piper Heisdeick, when we discovered that the seat wasn't actually a solid thing, and if one placed weight on one end of it, would move, throwing its contents in the general vicinity of where we were sprawled.

We reeked of the entire bottle, which exploded in the usual fashion when they are dropped. Undaunted, we ate our *fabulous* dinner, and set off to see the spectacle that was Miss Saigon. I honestly can't fault it on the whole. The sets were quite adequate; being made of a series of blinds that came and went at whim. They were well lit by a gazillion lighting instruments. Sound? I've given up on ever expecting to hear the voice of an actor again. Modern technology has annihilated the acoustically poor seat. CD quality sound from row A to row ZZ. In fact, you may as well be listening to your CD player. Could have saved $50. (uhh, we had comps, so we didn't even have that luxury.

The music was adequate. It reeked of it's sister play, Les Miserables, and the only songs that I found of any emotional value sounded as though they might have come from the Les Mis soundtrack.

I was, however, quite disappointed by the book. They should have called this thing "Madame Butterfly meets Les Mis in an Osterizer circa 1969 Vietnam. I was amazed at how they followed the plot of Madame Butterfly perfectly. To the point where I could effectively use my theatrical/operatic ESP and say, "Oh, she's going to say this now." *sigh*

I thought the ending sucked bigtime, and was a trite bit of fluff. I was totally emotionless throughout the thing, and in fact had another song from another musical running through my mind. The show was "Chorus Line" and the lyric went something like this:

Nothing.
I'm feeling nothing.
And Karp allowed it,
Which really made me burn!
They all felt something…
But I felt nothing,
Except the feeling
That this bullshit
Was absurd.

Other notable thing…I've never sat through a standing ovation before. It's an odd sensation, but I had the feeling that it was being done because someone felt it necessary. There was only one curtain call, and none of the "hana hou-ing" that accompanied the lengthy ovations that followed Phantom of the Opera or Les Miserables.

Enough! This opera has gone on long enough. You don’t realize it, but I've actually taken three days to come this far, and I could probably write for another three. I'll spare you, however. I'll finish my tale some other day. Au revoir, dears.

(Ed. note: I never did finish the story. A couple days after this post, the entire journal was taken down and replaced by a single screen that said "Pau. It's been a slice of heaven but it's now finished.")

10.3.99

Damn, I'm so NOT tired! I mean I'm supposed to be, but instead of fatigue, I feel energized as all hell. Go figure. I worked hard today, got a little sun-sick, and certainly did sweat more than my share, but I'm not the least bit tired. Hmm.

What's new here? Not much, I'm afraid. A friend passed news that a common acquaintance of ours had been the victim of a hate crime, which was disturbing to say the least. I just don't understand why people can't just let their fellow humans go through life without having to yell "Wake up faggot!" in the wee small hours of the morning. There's no calling for it, and I just don't get it. Then again, there are a lot of things that populate people's minds that I can't fathom, so I maybe ought to just stop trying.

Right now, I'm downloading dirty movies. What fun! What can I say…it passes the time.

Another thing that passes the time is talking on the phone, and that's what I did today. For FREAKING hours to the Hilo-boi, Derrick. Well, I never did convey the happenings of that last trip to Hilo, did I? Such a failure I've become recently…. Anyhoo, I did make a triumphant return to Hilo a week ago, after all the shit involved with the great Labour Day orgy (which I refer to as THE party,) It was a little odd, I have to admit, and D. did also. We both had a bit of trepidation about meeting, and there were all kinds of "so…are we going to do the nasty or what?" thoughts that were flying through the air. It was so bad at one point, that it even doused my appetite, and even nauseated me a bit. That's odd for me at this point in my life, for I thought that I had moved past the "This guy makes me feel all fluttery inside" stage in life. In retrospect, it was more "I wonder if we're gonna fuck?"

We didn't! Woo hoo!!!

In fact, we came together again, and shot the shit for several hours the next night, with no lusty thoughts at all. It's really cool, I think, and a new experience for me. After all, I've not gone from sex partner to friend with someone. Usually, it goes the other way…I'm a friend, and then we go and screw, and thus endeth the friendship. It's funny how people can be either friends or lovers, isn't it? I certainly can't vouch for the lives of others, but it seems as though that's how it works for mine. Of course, that makes straight friends all the more precious, because the spectre of even the most remote thought of sex is removed. (yeah, Mike, I'm talking about you!)

Well, tonight, I felt a need to make AT&T a little richer, so I called Derrick, and shot the shit with him for a couple of hours. I really like that guy, even if he worries about himself a bit much at times. He's concerned that he's going to wind up all lonely and old with no one to love him. I told him that it was balderdash. I threw my "don't sweat the big stuff, leave it up to the cosmos" theory at him. Whether it works for him is a point yet to be seen. I really think that everyone is thrown into my life (at least) for some reason. That's why Derrick is still there, not in the "lover" mode that he used to occupy, but now in the "friend" mode that he employs so well.

Meanwhile, on the CD:

At the end of the day,
I have myself to blame…
I'm just trippin….
You can buy your hair
If it won't grow.
You can pierce your nose
If he says so
You can buy all the make-up
That MAC can make.
But if you can't look inside you
And find out who am I to
Be in a position to make me
Feel so damn unpretty.

I love that song, on so many different levels. I have moments in my life when I feel unpretty, as we all do at one time or another. We wonder what it is that is wrong with us, when in fact there is nothing wrong with MYSELF, I just feel unlovely because "they" say I'm supposed to be that way. I've got one well-chosen phrase that was translated into French so it would sound more elegant:

FUCK LE MONDE

10.3.99

At the end of the day,
I have myself to blame…
I'm just trippin….
You can buy your hair
If it won't grow.
You can pierce your nose
If he says so
You can buy all the make-up
That MAC can make.
But if you can't look inside you
And find out who am I to
Be in a position to make me
Feel so damn unpretty.

9.19.99

Fuck me and call me Alice!

Sorry, after yesterday's revelation about starting each entry with an exclamation, I just couldn't resist doing it again.

One of the things that my friend Evan said in his emails was "I was wondering if I was ever going to have a long-term relationship with another guy, because I have never met someone who had one." Actually, I've heard that from many guys, and people are fairly universally amazed that RR and I have been together for as long as we have. I guess that in gay relationships, surviving into double-digit years is a rare thing.

Actually, it is rapidly becoming uncommon in straight ones too. I can't mention too many people that have been together as long as RR and I have. There is one friend who claims to have been together with his bf for 25 long ones, but I've got news for him, since his bf has been off diddling hairy Frenchmen for the last 10 some-odd years, they don't count.

For the benefit of all that might ask, the secret of staying together for so long:

Drink. A lot.

Seriously. The nifty thing about alcohol is that it makes good times better and bad times worse. In short, it intensifies emotion. Last night, we drank a fair amount and made pizza. I digress for a second. I make a killer pizza…there's a fabulous, simple crust recipe from Julia Childs, topped with a handmade sauce, perfect pepperoni, sausage, and of all things spinach. Add a liberal amount of alcohol, and you're on your way to lipemic serum land (blood plasma that has high amounts of fat in it is this disgusting yellowish, cloudy colour. We refer to it as lipemia, or in a less clinical statement, Captain Crisco, in homage to its appearance.)

That's what we did last night, but there was a twist. Whilst heating up the oven, there was an odd amount of smoke that was coming from the oven. We generally don't think too much about smoke and this oven, owing to it's advanced age and lack of modern convenience like a thermostat. (This gas-fired behemoth was constructed about 1910, I think, and is FULLY Y2K compliant)

Anyway, where there is smoke, there is fire, and this was the case. We had stupidly been storing paper bags in the space behind the stove, and their collective mass had finally reached the critical stage, and burst forth in sickly yellow flame. I emptied a small fire extinguisher kept near the stove for just such an occasion, RR standing on the sidelines telling me that it was out.

I told him to go fetch another fire extinguisher. A couple of minutes later, we had to resort to throwing water on the damn thing, and I, having swallowed a fair bit of smoke, had to crawl out and hack my left lung out. A good time was had by all.

Now, my collection of hard liquor bottles is covered in fine white powder from the first fire extinguisher, and the whole kitchen is trashed from the water thrown on the embers. The joint now smells of smoke and Pine-Sol (I've done a bit of tidying this morning) and of course my sweat from the night previous.

So, that's my secret. I can't leave the schmuck, no matter how much I sometimes I want to. He really is my best friend, and I never know what's going to happen next. There's always an element of excitement between us, and that keeps it young and vital. There is another thing that keeps me here, and that is the penalty of death. You see, dear RR has buried all of his former lovers, (And I do mean all of his ex's.) The running joke between us is "You leave, you die. Simple, no?" Gotcha, sweetheart.

Oh, yeah…on the CD as I write this morning is the recording of a friend whom I have not seen for a good many years, Sam Keli'iho'omalu. His first CD, Ola ka 'Oiwi* is just stunning. I'm not quite sure why I have such an attachment to Hawaiian music, but I do. To listen to such a pure, crisp voice is always a treat. After all, he does owe his great talent in part to tight BVD's.

*Translation: The Natives Endure

9.18.99

Oy.

I've just realized that I start nearly every entry with an exclamation. Funny, no? I don't think it too amusing, but rather an obvious fact.

This last week has had me thinking about my so-called life, and why I do the things that I do. There have been some little things that have guided me on this trippy little trip as well as some events that have modified opinions about things in general. I should have written them all down as I came across them, but I didn't so I'm just a bit addled now.

First, a blatant rip-off from a comrade in Austin TX. On the CD right here right now is The Proclaimers one decent CD, Sunshine on Leith:

I can tell the meaning of a word like serene
I got some O grades when I was sixteen
I can tell the difference between margarine and butter
I can say "Saskatchewan" without starting to stutter.

So, you say you've never heard of The Proclaimers? Saaad. I refer you to a cute Johnny Depp movie of several years ago called "Benny and Joon." Their tune, I'm gonna be (500 miles) was featured. It's a singsong and quite catchy tune sung with a STRONG Scottish accent by two way cute boiz. I picked it up in the bargain bin at Borders last week. I wasn't sure if I was ever going to see it again. Actually, last week, I cleaned my office (something that was way overdue, thank you) and I came across a tape single of that tune. I put it on the tape player, and came to a realization:

Magnetic tape will mold if given the proper environment.

Needless to say when I saw the red letters on the side of the jewel box at Borders, I was elated, and purchased it immediately. Big whoop, right? Right.

Now, I'm listening to it! It's amazing the power that eight little dollars and some change can have, isn't it?

I digress. I was talking about thinking about my life and what it means. It's fun to analyze your life, and to hold it up to the lives of others for the sake of comparison. Sometimes, your life looks normal and decent, other times; you shake your head and wonder how it is that you manage to survive. That, in a nutshell, is what I did last week, and the current reason for my recent silence.

I've also started to question my own mental stability. Not in that way, but from the standpoint of clinical diagnosis. You see, a friend of mine started on a natty drug regimen to equalize the amount of serotonin in his brain, and it has made me start to wonder if I would benefit from such therapy.

Serotonin is neat stuff. It's a chemical that decides how neurological signals are sent across the brain. You have too much, and the wrong signals are sent across, and too many objects are put into the conscious mind to be able to process it all. This results in a chaotic state in the brain, and in the mind as a whole, creates the mental condition that we call depression.

If you add a chemical to the brain that suppresses the amount of serotonin that is used by the brain, more simplistic thought comes to the forefront, and thus the patient is able to control the everyday ordinary events of the life.

With a smile.

Because it's easy!

That shit be called Prozac!!!!

However, that's not my problem. I'm not depressed. In fact, I read on, and through the help of table 189-2 in my handy little Merck Manual, I was able to determine that I was indeed not depressive.

That knowledge in hand, I moved on to determine exactly what it was that I am, and what pharmaceutical fix would be appropriate so I could march into Kaiser Permanente, demanding to be appropriately medicated.

Nothing fit really well, so I think I'll just roll along happily. I mean, I think I'm a tad manic, but in a benign rather nice way, and certainly not sufficiently to require the social repression that lithium salts and Depakote offer. I considered the bipolar disorders, but I don't think that my swings between "high" and "low" are driven by the subconscious. In fact, they are very much controlled by my personality. In fact, I turn the damn thing on when I get to work, and turn it off when I come home. RR recognized that immediately, and calls it "Work Bob." Thus, environmental factors rather than psychological ones control it.

Of course, there is yet another option…. I'm just as fucked up as the rest of the rest of you. I think its called being normal.

But you know what? Enough about me. Let's talk about you. Last week, I made a new friend. One who writes the most delicious naughty stories. He came out of the blue, and sent me these two HUUUUGE emails asking all manner of questions about the things that I had written in my journals. It's quite obvious that he's read the whole thing, and I have just one thing to say about that:

Kicks ass.

After all, the reason this thing is here is to have it read by people. Any time someone reads my words and comments about my thoughts (be it for good or bad,) it thrills me! In this so-called "Online Journal Community," that seems to be the thing that fuels our ability to publish these things: Feedback. When some bloke called Evan sends me a gazillion words of praise, what can I say besides "Take me to bed!!!"

Well, dears, there are a lot of other things that I wanted to discuss, but I have to act as if I have a life, and sign off. Besides, I just found my nuclear waste marble and want to go play with it. Yes, it is a marble produced by the US Department of Energy to show exactly how safe spent nuclear fuel can be. Your government is making children's toys from dead plutonium. Yee haw!

9.9.99

Well, isn't life just a kick in the rubber parts? A thing that we probably failed to mention about Derrick is his particular fondness for the movie, Torch Song Trilogy. I also have a strong affinity for that movie, but in a different way. D. likes it because it deals with unrequited love and the loss of true love when it isn't supposed to end so abruptly. I can't say that I actually like the movie from purely that standpoint, for I shall always remember it as the movie that my mother interrupted to inform me of the death of my grandfather.

That's the topic of this entry. Death.

In a conventional sense, I guess death indicated the cessation of life. It's the gurgle of that last breath from cyanotic lips, but in a more poetic way, death is a transitional thing. This mentioned because one who has read these words has become incensed and is threatening me with legal action if I do not remove all mentions of his name in this journal.

Nope.

Your threats are aimless. I have in the course of writing this thing not stated anything other than the purest truth. It's accurate, and when quotations are made, they are direct from the source.

Additionally, I really don't go out to piss people off. Sometimes, it might appear to be that way, but it's not the honest intention. Instead, I think of this journal as, well, a journalistic record. In a way, a history of some of the things that have shaped my life. Occasionally, some might not agree with that honest opinionated viewpoint, much in the same way that George W. would rather not have that cocaine thing mentioned.

There's a thing in religious doctrine called the Golden Rule. We all know it:

Do unto others as you would have done unto you.

It's not an overly complicated thing, and in fact it's pretty damn simple. You don't fuck with people; they don't fuck with you. You can also go to your grave a happy camper knowing that you've not caused anyone heartache.

Yeah, I'm not so stupid as to think that at one time or another we' all haven't inadvertently caused each other some grief. That's part of being human. When we do, it's easy enough…we say "Oops! Screwed up again! I'm very sorry. Allow me to retract my statement." It's called responsibility and its part of being adult.

That's my bitch of the day. You know-nobody forces you to read this thing. You've done it of your own volition. I certainly feel sorry for someone who has a gun held to his head and is being forced to read the ramblings of this wannabe Yiddish spouting occasional fool. That would just be terrible! However, it would be good for my hitcount, so see if you can't round up some friends….

So I guess the moral of the story is this: It's a nice day…go outside and play. Leave me alone unless you want to talk nicely, K?

And if you wanna be a bitch, I can most likely top you in the bitchy queen department. Life has given me much opportunity to practice. So there!

9.4.99

Hello all.

I think it was Rudyard Kipling who said "If you can keep your head while all around are loosing their own and blaming it on you…" Well, if that's true, then BROTHER, am I ever a man!

It's like this: Last night, I had one of the most bizarre evenings of my life. As previously mentioned, things were not exactly peachy-keen betwixt RR and I, but in our own way, we're working through some of the stupidity in an effort to either salvage this relationship or bit it a fond aloha.

Derrick has played a huge and significant role in this game. You remember him…I was playing kissy-face with him a while back, which nearly caused my initial divorce. Now, he's returned, not as my romantic interest, but as a curious "father confessor." Actually, it's quite cozy. We're fabulous friends, and he appears to have a sincere interest in maintaining this relationship that RR and I have. More than even myself, Derrick has maintained us and kept me at home here. Kind of a therapist, I guess. Pressing on….

Derrick meets this guy on the Internet, and decided to come to Honolulu to meet him and play with him over this long Labour Day weekend. Eh, cool. He wants to meet RR in person (they had only talked on the telephone previously,) and I was also interested in meeting this young man who had distracted my friend so.

A party was thrown together on the lanai with several of our close friends (both of who know the intimate details of both our marital strife and Derrick's interest in it,) and Derrick and Eric show up and begin to drink.

And drink.

And drink.

And crawl all over people, shoving tongues in various orifices. The entire thing was totally without moral fibre, and I couldn't believe what was going on. I mean, I've seen inebriates, and I was certainly among the ranks on this particular night, but I've never seen someone show up with their bf and attempt to seduce the entire party. It was too bizarre. I ranked it as one of the most awkward evenings of my life. A scene from the show: Eric comes up on my left, Derrick on my right. Eric starts nuzzling my neck, running his tongue around my earlobe. Derrick begins a nearly identical manouvre. Eric attempts to lick my tonsils, but is thwarted by the fact that I have pulled out of this crudity and looked at some very disapproving dinner guests.

Fuck. I was waiting for Harold Pinter to walk in at any second with a dead baby or some shit like that.

I could go on for days telling of this party. I could go on about how I pulled my thumb out of Eric's mouth, and I could tell you about the seductive way that Eric pulled his pants down for some gentle fondling by one of the amused gents.

But there is a reason that I am up at 4AM.

Seems that RR and D disappeared for quite a while, leaving me for idle chitchat with the others. Stoopid me was upstairs telling those assembled that I was not concerned. After all, I trusted RR and Derrick IMPLICITLY and there was less than any reason to doubt their intentions.

Well, after the good-nights were made, and RR and I were in bed, He said that Derrick had started to cry and said that he had fallen in love with him. He felt really, really awkward about that, and wished that it had never happened. I kissed him good night, and lay there in bed for nearly two hours before I got up and started reading The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall. At one point, RR came down and asked if I was ok.

"No, I'm not."

"Are you sick?"

"No, I feel SO fucking betrayed by Derrick."

He reaffirmed his commitment to me, and tried to make some lame "he was drunk, and maybe that's not what he meant" excuses, but you know what? The Princess just aint dancing with the prince anymore. Drunk is no excuse. You simply don't come to MY house, drink MY booze, fondle MY guests, and try to fuck MY husband. It's not proper.

"You're really upset about this, aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes I am."

8.31.99

Heya guys….

I think I gave y'all the wrong impression with the last entry. I was in a weird mood, as that day usually does to me.

Fact is things between RR and I are not all that bad. A couple of you kindly wrote out of concern, and I thank you. I guess my lust for the dramatic overwhelmed me a bit.

You see, if life with RR was as bad as I actually made it out to be, I would have left a long time ago. Instead of that, I am still here. Still here because I want to and because RR also wants me to be here. Those who know me well will acknowledge that I have a healthy pessimism attached to my persona. I think of it as healthy, a kind of "Hope for the best, but expect the worst" attitude. I don't think that's so bad. It assists in realism and tends to keep me focused. So, for that I'll make no apology.

Hope I've made myself abundantly clear on that matter. If not, feel free to apply for a clarification.

Today was odd. People came out of the freaking woodwork and felt compelled to come to my workplace. Not that I mind that, because I'm certainly not afraid of hard work, I just dislike it when there are only two of us and fifty-three of them. I was supposed to have a very short, cruise day on a mobile that was supposed to end at noon. I was looking forward to playing hooky and walking around CompUSA and lusting after things that I couldn't possibly afford. But NOOOO!!! I had to be NICE!

Here's the scoop. It's another "wolf-woman" story, so brace yourselves…

My friend called me yesterday, and asked if I would consider working switch assignments. I said "sure," without hesitation, cuz that's just the kind of guy that I am. She said that she had a doctor's appointment this afternoon and she had to switch to make it. That's when the story started to unfold. Seems the poor girl has conjunctivitis, (aka pinkeye) a HIGHLY contagious disease. She called our cuddly boss and said that the only appointment she could get was today at 2. There was a small growl, and she howled back "You need to make your doctor's appointments on your days off." Rather than help her, WW informed her that she should find someone (Maui) to switch with.

I told her that I would have said "fuck off…I'm calling in SICK! Cope with it!!!!"

What a happy dysfunctional place I work in….. Now, I'm off to Kona for a couple of days. Catch u on Saturday, if I survive.

8.29.99

The bitch is back, boys.

Promises are unkept, and for that I apologize. Today, however, I felt a need to reopen this part of my life, and make a comment for one very important reason:

One year ago, on this day, I decided to publish an online journal.

"Regrets? I've got a few. But then again, too few to mention," as one of my maligned friends who frequently quotes song lyrics sez. One regret that I have had recently is the lack of timely updates to this thing. That branches into the personal, however. Remember, I maintain the "Internet as Shrink" theory.

I still stick to that theory. Indeed, much has conspired since that rueful day in June when I lay my electronic pen aside for a few moments. Most important of which is in my personal life. RR and I are still on the rocks, much as he and I would rather not be. The problem? It's basic--communication. It seems that now and again, our lives fall into this cruise-control pattern, which is very pleasant, but hides a multitude of sins. Accusations are made, and incorrect assumptions are made. Feelings get hurt.

It's like one moment that we had. For lack of a better thing to do, we went out and had a drive around the island. Hours before, RR had asked me "If we were to break up, how would it happen?" An unanswerable question if ever there was one. I cannot even begin to fathom the separation of our stuffs, intermingled over the past 13 or so years. It, I guess, would have to be a negotiation process, but that's not what I wanted to talk about.

Our drive started with an arrow, and two letters. RR explained to me, "When you walk through this door next time, you will either be my "L" lover, or my "X" ex-lover. At the beginning, the arrow pointed toward the neutral, straight forward. He then pressed me to move it in the direction that I thought we were headed. I moved it to the "X." I explained, that this relationship had become too much to bear, that the other responsibilities that I had were too much to maintain with this over-talked out thing that we were trying to keep aflame for no particular reason than the fact that we had too many CD's.

He agreed. He then asked what it would take to change the arrow back to the L. I said, "I think things are copacetic right now, but I'm not willing to hang around until the pendulum swings back the other direction." He promised that good things were just around the corner, and there was not going to be a return to the 'bad' moments that had plagued us so recently. Arrow swings back to the "L."

I've a very pessimistic attitude about such things, however. Something tells me that I'm "Living in my own Private Idaho," biding the moments. Time will tell the answer, though. I'll tell you this much, though. A lot of the fears about leaving are gone. WAY GONE. I could turn on a heel and walk at a moment's notice. The events of the last month have truly hardened my heart, and strengthened my own sense of security.

~~~~

Another event has changed my outlook on a great many things. Remember I mentioned my friends ~ and ~? Well, I have to put my tail betwixt my legs and admit that I told them to just shut up and tell each other that they were in head over heels, unbelievable, absofuckinglutely wonderful love with each other. To cut that story short, one of them was; the other I think wanted to dip his wick and get over that awful virginity thing. They did meet, and for the time being, it sounded like heaven.

Then, the vacation ended, and my alter ego, ~ got dumped faster than a speeding bullet. It was a positively dreadful moment in that young man's life, and one that shouldn't have happened. I have some guilt, for it was I that introduced them in the first place, and I was also the one that pressed the issue. We go back to the "Regrets, I've had a few," for a moment. All along I had this gut feeling that there was something flaky about ~, and I even went so far as to ask him if his intentions toward ~ were honourable. "If they were not;" I told him, "If you break his heart, I'm going to rip off your head and shit down your throat."

The little prick even sent me an email saying "so I guess you can kill me now...because I've probably broken your little brother's heart…" Grrr. I've gotten over it, for the most part. He subconsciously taunts me with secretive little phrases that are aimed directly at ~, which irritate me beyond belief. His one today blew the roof off, and I told him to just fuck off. I probably shouldn’t have, given the high psychological charge of this day, but I'll tell you this much: I stand by my friends.

That's enuf for now. I don’t want to overwhelm myself on a day like today. I will leave you with a single thought…there is a beta of this site floating around in cyberspace. I know where it is, and am tweaking the last bits of code to make it work right. It REALLY kicks MondoDesiAss. So there!

6.18.99

Something epic for you:

Out of the mists of time,
Out of the ooze and slime
Out of the dreadful morning,
Out of the speechless dawning
Of the earth, I came.
And I will not go back.
The earth was void
And without form.
Darkness was upon
The face of the earth
THEN
Something happened….
The sea that thundered
On the azoic shore
Sheltered a living jelly.
Something lived at last
In the ancient ocean
Squirmed in the tidal pools,
Lived, grew, multiplied, evolved…
Lived.
Then after the unthinkable
Deliberation of the ages,
It crept out of the sea.
The moons came endlessly,
And endlessly passed the moons
And now giants walked the
Waking world….
Monsters! War in the rank swamp world.
Cheek by jowl,
Fang against living armor.
Then, back, back to the ooze
Descended the dinosaurs.
The monsters went back,
I will not go back.
Aeons came, and aeons went…
And I?
I was a bent and hairy thing
Savage and witless.
Fleeing through jungle trees
Living my lightless life,
Fighting my mindless strife
Mating and dying,
Dancing in jungle glades
With my brute brethren.
Howling at the moon
Ape that I was….
Then, I stood,
Rocked on my knuckles,
Thrust upon the earth,
And I stood.
The earth rocked to my roar.
My former comrades yellowed
Their fangs at me
And muttered their dim hate
For they knew that I was
Neither kin or comrade to them
Now, or evermore.
I hid in the hostile earth,
Fighting and fleeing
More hunted than hunting;
Sulking the sabre-toothed tiger
So that I could glean
For my belly what was left of the kill.
Now the flash of my bronze
Was in the wilderness.
The chink of my iron
And the thrum of my bowstring.
THEN…
Out of the cave I came,
Casting arrows before me
Over the earth I moved,
Wielding my fire
Brandishing my spear,
The shepherd's crook,
Crouching over skulls
Where I pounded my grain.
I put a shell on water,
Caught the wind in sails…
I sailed!
I hewed the mountains,
Put stone on stone…
I built!
Awed, I lifted my face to the stars,
And realized a mystery.
I fell on my knees and prayed
For in my brain there now
Kindled the awful knowledge of
The Plan,
And of the one who planned.
"And it came to pass, that when they were in the fields, Cain rose up against Abel and slew him.
"The lord said 'What hast thou done? The blood of thy brother cries unto me from the earth!'"
Thou shalt not kill.
Thou shalt not steal.
Thou shalt not bear false witness.
Thou shalt not have other gods before me.
Thou shalt not commit adultery.
And more….
And more….
And the word came down,
And the laws were ten.
These was the truth
For the race of men.
And Moses came down from the mountain,
So it was…
So it is written.
And still one came
From the ready jungle,
And spoke for the worth
And the immortality of men.
The pilot of the Galilean lake.
They called him "The Nazerean,"
They said…
But why?
Why does the blood cataract to the ocean?
And why is the sky red with the rage of nations?
Why the hatred and the hunger?
The wasting of the children?
The many scorning the few?
The scourging of the different?
Why the frailty that makes fear.
And the fear that makes arrogance?
Why all that suffocates the light
Within us that is the answer
To the plight of the patient grave worm.
And yet….
I AM NOT IN VAIN.
Out of the wilderness I came,
Beast into man
I've survived every holocaust
And ruin
And every terror of creation.
My flint and bronze
Lie scattered to the poles.
From the speechless caverns
To the kimmerage clays
I've dared and the
Wreckage of my daring
Is not all dust and folly.
I am man.
I am Plato and Socrates,
Michaelangelo, Galileo,
Beethoven, Curie, Dante,
Newton, Einstein, Shakespeare, Lincoln,
A man named King.
I reckon,
I rhyme and reason.
I fly, I sing
I have sent my caravels to the moon
And will yet send my frigates
To the stars.
I seek,
I fail,
And I will seek again.
I am no shuddering ape-thing now
I will not crouch upon the earth,
On my haunches in some
Atom-ordained cave,
Mumbling carrion bones.
I will not be jackal to the tiger again
I have outlived the cavern
And the claw.
I am a thing of order
And I know a different law
And another law
And a better prophesy for my kind
Than darkness and oblivion--
And I know the simple fault
That is yet within
I will antidote with
My reason
With my mercy
And with my love,
Until the physician
That I must be to me
Has healed himself.
For if I fail…
IF I FAIL….
My neck will bend again
To darkness,
And the glimmer
That I call my soul
And I and all my
Fearful wonders shall
Perish into the silence.
And my spirit walk ashamed
Among the ghosts of the dinosaurs.
A craven, failed and forgotten
Moment in the Plan.
BUT
I have traveled this far.
I have set my instruments on a promise.
Out of the mists of time,
Out of the ooze and slime
Out of the dreadful morning,
Out of the speechless dawning of the earth,
I came.
And I will not go back.

Who wrote it? I don’t recall. If anyone does know please let me know so that I might give him proper credit for his work.

I insert these words here to tell you that I am tired. I'm going to have a bit of a break to recharge and reassess the reasons for doing this.

For those who do not write a journal such as this, you do not understand, nor can you appreciate the great psychological energy that is required to produce these thoughts. Others might argue, but it is more than hit counts, and more than any commerciality that the Internet might place on it. It's my fucking life, sugar coated for your consumption. Don't loose sight of that.

Am I down? No, not really. In fact things in my life are going pretty well right now, which is quite a change compared to recent events. The need, whatever it was, to produce a page of thoughts per day, has waned.

So, to my friends, those who think they are friends, I bid you a fond au revoir.

One fond embrace, until we meet again….

Aloha oe.

6.7.99

Here we are again, a week later, and certainly no wiser, damn it! Right now, it feels like my life is running at 33 1/3 RPM, which is dandy for the long playing version, but just a bit slow for the hurley-burley that is life.

Since my updates seem to be coming weekly, I have too much to say, and generally lack the patience in which to say it. It's funny how that works. When I update daily or nearly daily, the words peel off my fingers, but when it is infrequent, I block. Hmm. We'll start with something mundane. Right now, I'm downloading a new version of RealPlayer which promises all kinds of nifty things that the current version lacks, including their new Jukebox beta. Thanks to all of the buttwipes who are most likely looking at dirty pictures, there is huge amount of web traffic slowing down the process. My fault, though. I usually do things like this at 11pm when most of the United States is asleep.

Well, that was mundane, wasn't it?

I am also not looking at flying toasters as my screensaver; I've enrolled in the SETI @Home project. The idea is that by combining the unused power of a zillion home CPUs, the search for extra-terrestrial intelligence can be sped up immeasurably. It's been an idea that has interested me for years, the thought that we are not alone in this universe, that there is someone out there looking at the heavens and wondering the same thing.

The amount of data that the thing processes is staggering. In fact, according to the SETI stats, they have accomplished in their first month of operation, nearly 100 years of computing. Indeed…My computer is no slouch, it runs at a decent speed, and it still has taken me nearly 60 hours to process my little packet of data from the Arecaibo Radiotelescope. Natch, I do not think that my little computer is going to be the one to discover extraterrestrial life, but the concept of altruism never has left.

Ran into something interesting on Medscape the other day, a sexually transmitted disease quiz written by one of the guys who authored an important paper a couple of years ago. In particular, I like the "Name that lesion" picture questions….oh, damn, I can't resist! Name this lesion (A hint…it looks a lot like something else, and though it looks painful, they don't hurt.)

Want the answer? Take the quiz, and see how well you do.

Your dick look like this? Take 2.4 Million units of Benzathine Penicillin G and call me in the morning.

I think enough of this for one day. I'll ring off now, and compose myself. As I shall be on island this week, I will relay stories about Hilo, Kauai, and Maui soon. Until then, bye bye and buy bonds.

5.31.99

(Decoration/Memorial Day)

Ugh.

I am so shagged out, I can’t even begin to describe it. I started out with a happy little trip to Hilo, which was quite pleasant, thank you…more about it later, and also have just returned from a pleasant little vacationette at the Hyatt Kauai Resort (also, more later) Now, I am facing a five day stint on Maui again. For those of you that have noticed my tardiness, thank you for noticing. I won't promice that my future days will hold more than twenty-four hours, but I shall attempt to make it look more like they do.

Lets see. Where shall we begin? My life has been really fuq'd recently, which as ever is a source of angst. It is nothing that I desire to broadcast over the Internet, though, so you'll have to wait until I feel better about myself, my lives, and my loves to do so.

RR has started to read my journals, which was kind of a surprise, because I thought he has been reading this thing all along. Well, in the thrill of reading them, he made some astute observations about my own life. Some of them were true, and others were fabrications, to be hashed out in later debate.

Later debate which nearly caused divorce.

However, this discussion was not necessarialy a bad thing, as we need to slap around our feelings and emotions every now and then to make sure that we are still living, breathing humans. Last week, I really wasn't sure what the hell it was that I wanted. Did I want to leave RR? Did I want to stay with RR? Did I want to run off to Hilo and be with Derrick? Did I want to be in Seattle and live the life of an artist in a garret? Did I just want to tear off my clothes and go running bareassed down the street? All of the above, actually.

In reality, now that the dust has settled somewhat, I have decided to take some of my own advice and talk. It's not pleasant for me to talk, I'm such a fucking introvert, internalizing everything. In fact, after one such conversation, RR said "I'd love to go on for hours listening to you breathe, but we've got things to do." Does that give you an idea of how my weekend has gone?

So, I blasted off to Hilo for three days to attempt to sort my life out. I actually made some headway in that department. I decided that I needed a friend in Derrick, not a lover (which believe me was the direction in which we were headed) I think we’re on level ground about that one, and for that I am deleriously happy. My feeble little mind is not broad enough to handle affairs. One lover is all that I can handle at any given moment.

That lover and I went off to Kauai for a whirliwnd trip to a magical place, the Kauai Hyatt resort. It's stunning, and we spent entirely too much money on cocktails in the paneled bar and basking in the sunlight slurping gin and tonic, but it was something that we both needed…to be alone, to be away and figure out what is all about to be in love. I'll admit that I had forgotten, and it is kind of nice to remember again.

As we speak, he's collapsed on my couch, nude, with his copy of Gardner McKay's latest novel clasped on his chest, recntly hosed down after our work party in the back yard. He's cute in his sleep, and I am just looking up at him and thinking "What a dolt I am…How could I want anything more than that guy on my couch?"

Indeed. How could I?

I'll check back with you lads next week. Send me some email…I never tire of hearing from you guys.

5.23.99

The font du Jour is called "Trebuchet." If it looks like a boring Arial, do us all a favour and go to the Microsoft page and download it. This thing is based on an ancient font face, but tweaked to read clearly on a monitor. What else could you hope for?

This entry is short for a very good reason. It is late, and I have to do the work thing tomorrow. Additionally, I am off to Hilo for four days in a vain attempt to try and figure out this soap opera that I call life. More details on that as I feel like publishing them.

Your homework assignment is to Get Real. It is a way cool movie, and I've been recommending it to anyone who will listen to my endless babbling. Since it has obvious gay/youth overtones, and that horrid Star Wars thing has eclipsed it, I feel a need to promote it. In fact, if the Yahoo stats are correct, the thing is playing in Honolulu and on 34 other screens nationwide. Guess I'm lucky!

I promise that I'll be more verbose soon. This weekend has been too epic to describe right here, right now.

5.16.99

Welcome to an exercise in improvisation. The "Page nouveau" is still light years away, but I've decided to reformat the journal anyway. There will eventually be nifty little buttons to navigate with and a floating thingie that drools down the side of the screen allowing you to move from point to point in relative ease.

-that is if I ever get my shit together.

In the mean time, you'll have to suffer through this improvisation.

I'm back from Kona, a quite pleasant trip, actually. Miles and miles of driving, which is a nice thing for me to do. We started out in Waimea, a sleepy little ranching town in the northwest corner of the Big Island, up in the clouds. As such, it was quiet, green, damp and cold. Made me yearn for the mainland again. I've identified certain things that make me groove, and cold weather is one of them. It exhilarates me…it also makes me want to crawl into bed with a nice warm body to cuddle the night away.

Day two was at Kohala High School, a place at the end of the world. As they say, it's not the end of the earth, but you can see it from there. Busy, busy, busy. I started feeling not so well, and attributed it to the omnipresent vog. A nice 75-mile drive back down to Kailua-Kona was just what I needed. As soon as I got back to the hotel, I lay down on the bed, kicked off my shoes, and thought about a ten-minute nap.

I rolled over and noticed that it was now 10pm. I didn't have dinner, didn't shower, just slept until 4 the next morning. I still felt tired. Go figure.

The last day we again worked our collective asses off, flying home late. The paycheck is going to look pretty; at least I hope it is going to look good. I only worked 4 days last week. I think I'm going to pay dearly for that in weeks to come, though.

Weather here has been hot and sucky in general, and thus the reason for a rather terse entry. RR has been sick with a bad cold that is moving down to his chest, so I've been avoiding him like the plagued person that he is. I can't afford illness right now. In fact, I'm hoping secretly that what I had in Kona was not allergy to vog, but a mini-version of the cold which now plagues him. That way, I've developed antibodies, and won't be sick!

It's a theory, at least.

There are scads of notes that I have scribbled into my notebooks, but I'm not in the proper mood to edit them right now. Too many things to do; too little time. Right now, I need more simplicity in my life, and the traditional things which are supposed to afford it are not fulfilling their goal. We persevere.

Coming soon:
A cute little story about moi and the Air Force form the archives of my mind
An even cuter story about two friends of mine who took my advice and are now MadlyTrulyDeeply in love with each other
A not so cute story about my fuqud up subconscious.

Me ke aloha pumehana….

5.10.99

We require a bit more discipline. Currently, nothing is moving at the rate that it should be, so I have had to revert to my old habit of writing down every little brain fart in my green steno pads (59c at Fisher…a bargain!)

There is unfortunately nothing to write about, so I offer mere babbles. (Yeah, yeah, I know…what else is new?)

My lesson for the day is this: Wash your hands. I am employed in a profession where I am constantly washing my fingers, to curb the spread of pathogens. Where do these pathogens come from? You. When I grab your grimy wrist to read your heart rate, when I grab your hand to assist you, I touch those disgusting things. Swear to god, some fingers have never met soap and water. Mind you, I'm not asking for the moon and sun, merely a little soap and a bit of friction. That's all! You may even blow bubbles if you like…it's all right!

(Notes from 6 May 99) I mentioned that I couldn't live in a city without proper public transportation recently. It's the absolute unmitigated truth. I honestly like the idea of using it. Why else would I have endured it for the last 10+ years if I didn't really feel that way? The most interesting point is the people that you meet. For instance, this morning, I am the only Caucasian to darken the door. In fact, if you take me, and two others out, the bus is filed to capacity with Filipinos. Since we appear to be the token other races, I'll attempt to describe us. First, the Hawaiian boy sitting across from me. He appears fairly typical of the "Dumb and proud of it" moke. That kind irritates me to no end. I'm not saying that every kid has to grow up and be a rocket scientist, just that every kid should know the basics.

The attitude abounds here, and it irritates me, though it is one of the lesser irritations. A strong union presence insures that these folk will be overcompensated for mediocrity in their nice service jobs. That irritates me more.

I mention this young man, because it is odd to see someone who is obviously not going to work out and about at 5AM. Secondly, he has a truly awful haircut, which is unfortunate, since Hawaiians are generally blessed with nice hair, wavy, thick, and shiny. This fool has chosen to retain a skullcap of hair pulled straight up into a topknot, giving his head an unpleasant fountain effect.

The third reason I notice this young man is his dress and accessories. He's dressed like a typical punk, with culotte-like "shorts" that hang off his ass in the back and are probably held up in front by the friction of his penis. More than that, there's a red bandanna in his back right pocket.

In the "not so good" old days, the cruising gayboi would advertise his sexual preferences using this intricate code of coloured bandannas in the back pockets. If worn on the left, you were dominant; on the right the recipient. Colour coding indicated the individual practice. It's been beauccoup years, so all I really remember are the really bad ones, brown, yellow, and red. (Shitting, pissing and fist fucking.)

Should the "hankie code" still be in effect, this young man wanted to have another drive his forearm into his bowel. *shudder* Rather, I think he would rather be at home and pound his future ex-wife into subservience and forget all about the fist fucking.

The remainder of my fellow bus flunkies are typical, nondescript Filipinos, with the exception of the "sour cunt" Japanese woman with the "helmet hair," an awful 1970-era bouffant with plenty of Aqua Net, and dyed a mousy brown.

I forget about the bald guy who is always so friendly, and sits next to me. Actually, he's not bald; he disguises the fact with the world's worst toupee. He's quite nice though.

Well, enough of my comrades on The Bus. I shall abandon them for a few days, for I shall be on the Big Island, playing in the Kohala district (That’s the northwest corner, also affectionately referred to as Kona. I'm hoping to have the chance to catch up on my HTML education in my single room, so I can devote some time to my redesign. (Really, honestly…it is coming along!)

Have a pleasant week, mon amis….

5.7.99

I am told this was written anonymously by a suicidal high school student. It comes from a posting from a news group that I'm an active member of--here goes:
(ed note--sorry about the all caps. It's something odd in the coding)
MY FATHER ASKED IF I AM GAY
I ASKED, "DOES IT MATTER?"
HE SAID "NO NOT REALLY."
I SAID "YES."
HE SAID "GET OUT OF MY LIFE."
I GUESS IT MATTERED.

MY BOSS ASKED IF I AM GAY
I ASKED, "DOES IT MATTER?"
HE SAID "NO NOT REALLY."
I TOLD HIM "YES."
HE SAID "YOU'RE FIRED, FAGGOT."
I GUESS IT MATTERED.

MY FRIEND ASKED IF I AM GAY
I SAID, "DOES IT MATTER?"
HE SAID "NOT REALLY"
I TOLD HIM "YES."
HE SAID, "DON'T CALL ME YOUR FRIEND"
I GUESS IT MATTERED.

MY LOVER ASKED, "DO YOU LOVE ME?"
I ASKED, "DOES IT MATTER?"
HE SAID "YES."
I TOLD HIM "I LOVE YOU."
HE SAID "LET ME HOLD YOU IN MY ARMS."
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE SOMETHING MATTERS.

MY GOD ASKED ME "DO YOU LOVE YOURSELF?"
I SAID, "DOES IT MATTER?"
HE SAID "YES."
I SAID, "HOW CAN I LOVE MY SELF? I AM GAY."
HE SAID, "THAT IS WHAT I MADE YOU,
NOTHING AGAIN WILL EVER MATTER."

5.5.99

Cinco de Mayo

Would somebody PLEEZE explain to me why we celebrate the day of Mexican Independence? We don't celebrate Bastille Day, or Canada Day, so why Cinco de Mayo?

¿Que?

No doubt you have noticed that I am not any closer to putting up my "new and improved" webpage. It's mildly frustrating. End of news update. Honestly, I'm not quite ready for what I've set out doing, so the process of learning HTML is somewhat hampered by that fact. Still, I persevere. Hang tight, dears.

I want to tell a little story about something that happened to me today. It will segue into another thing that happened 2 years ago, so you will find yet another entry that says absolutely nothing. You may wish to fast-forward to the bottom of this entry for an important request….

I like taking the bus. Some think that I ought to be institutionalized for my views in this matter, but I don’t think that I could exist in a city that did not have adequate public transportation. Funny, no?

Anyway, a fellow who obviously isn't all the way there upstairs comes up to me and asks for a cigarette. What pops into my mind? Ich rauche nicht (I don't smoke.) Huh? Deutsche?

Why, in the middle of Kalihi Valley, several thousand miles from Germany, do I pop up with a common phrase in that native tongue?

I speak no language fluently (English being a possible exception) and certainly, I don’t claim to be a speaker of German. Sure, I studied it in High School, with a semester of French, so I can muster needed phrases like "I can't see a movie this afternoon. Franz, I have to mow the lawn." I'm puzzled why it comes up so.

Then again, the persistence of memory is a marvelous thing. My memory of using a phrase in German reminded me of a trip that I took to Montréal a couple of years ago. The purpose of the trip was to attend the annual conclave of the Theatre Historical Society, who every year bounces around to see a dozen or so old theatres in cities around the country. (BTW, the Conclave this year is in Upstate New York. I would love to attend, but the finances see otherwise.)

I felt a need to separate from the camaraderie for a crawl through some of the museums of the city, so pressed on by my love of the macabre, I piled up the hill to Les Museé des Hôpitialieres (blah blah) de Hôtel Dieu. (Got that? Apologies for incorrect spelling and missing accent grave.) For those who cannot understand my botched French, this was a museum telling the story of the religious order that founded the first hospital in Montréal, the Hôtel Dieu.

It was also my first realization that everyone in North America does not speak English. Indeed, the very nice lady at the counter whose job it was to explain why the ugly heavy wooden circular staircase was so lovingly preserved in the foyer was not able to assist me, for she spoke no English.

…nor did anyone else in the building.

Cruising around on the busses through Montreal, I espied a bit of graffiti that kept showing up over and over again, "en Français, svp," reminding us that the Quebecois preferred to hear things in French rather than English. I took it as a symbol of bilinguistic ability, not as an indicator that there were some people who sincerely could not converse in my native tongue.

The story has a happy ending, though. The lady did speak a smidgen of German (see? I came back to it after all!) and was thus able to somewhat explain the hows any whys of this ugly stairwell (it was from the original hospital building, and apparently the lone survivor.)

Aah, the persistence of memory. A delightful thing, one that took me from Ich rauchen nicht to recollections of pub crawls through Ste-Catherine, and the lovely boys waving their heavy, uncircumcised dicks through the air in the strip bars.

If you should find yourself stuffing $5 notes into the socks of one of the lads there, do me a great favour and order a Manhattan. I took it upon myself to teach all of the bartenders how to toss a proper one. A pleasant and necessary duty.

*sigh.*

Speaking of disease transmission, do me a favour and help your fellow man out with a survey about Hepatitis B/C transmission. This questionnaire is completely anonymous and will only take a few minutes of your time. These things are very necessary if we are ever to try to discover where diseases are moving next. Thanks for your help.

5.1.99

"May Day is Lei Day in Hawaii…."

A local couple of singers, the Brothers Cazimero, made that declaration many moons ago, and have been reminding us of their presence at an annual concert at the Waikiki Shell every May First since.

Before I start on the bullshit, humdrum details of my existence on this planet, I'd like to share a thought that was communicated to me a couple of days ago:

I read your latest entry today. I know what you mean. School sucked. I often entertained pipe dreams of the school burning down so I could just go home. Of course pipe dreams never translated into pipe bombs. I don't know if we just held ourselves to higher standards, or something darker was going down with those boys in Colorado. When I think of suicide, I usually think of being all by myself first, not bumping off a herd of people I don't like. Christ, they might be there to haunt my fuckin' ghost forever! Bad to worse if you ask me. Why couldn't they just blow off steam like we did? Grab some squeezable girls and goof off, or grab no one and drive off into the night and talk of better things? Those times were bad, but we made the best of them. Somehow we always believed things would get better, and sure as shit, they always did. We learned mighty lessons Robert, I guess we should pass them on to our offspring before they off each other.

There, in "teal and mint" are the words that Mike sent along to me last week. He and I went through a lot of shit together in our formative years, with very few, if any people to guide us along, aside from our peers.

Quite a different attitude prevails now. You've most likely heard of my friends Arion and James. They are both 18, and up to their collective asses in the "High School Experience" in their own communities. I draw a great deal from their experience, and in turn, offer my sage advice when requested to do so. That is the one experience that the Internet offers that I wish were present when I was a kid. That ability to talk to some one who had "been there and done that," someone who was gay, and was willing to listen to the pain and misery that I was enduring. Now, seven hours after beginning this entry, I am ending it. Ironically, for a good portion of that time, I was talking to James, and later Arion. They are really remarkable young men, even if they think me a bit off at times.

What the hell…I think I'm a bit off at times. More soon. Now, sleep (5/2/99 0150)

4.27.99

Think of me.
You know that I'd be with you if I could.
I'd come around to see you once in a while,
Or if I ever need a reason to smile.
-And spend the night if you think I should.
--Todd Rundgren

I have been playing a lot of Todd recently. He takes me back to a "simpler time" that we all want to relive from time to time. His purple album, "Something/ Anything?" from which the above lyric comes, was worn down to a little vinyl platter by a big chunk of furniture that we called a "Hi-Fi" in the early 70's.

*gasp* it was 1972. Damn, I'm old. It hit #5 on the Billboard top 100 in 1973. Thank god for liner notes. If it weren't for notes, I would not remember anything.

That was a subtle segue to the next idea. A week ago, a couple of guys decided that they'd had enuf and walked into their alma mater, Columbine High School and proceeded to blast the thing into non-existence. All too easily, I remember the High School experience, and how it formed me into the adult that I later became.

I can't say it was particularly pleasant, being in high school. In fact, I didn't like it at all. I was a scrawny kid with glasses, who was just a tad too studious. In the popularity contest, I was a dead last.

The difference was that I really didn't care. I can even say that now without guilt and with fully intact hindsight.

The fact that Kevin Perry would whack me around because I was smart and he was dumber than dirt didn't bother me. I used to hang with a guy who had polio as a kid and was forced to wear braces. His role in my life was to reinforce the fact that I was really above all of the ignorance that abounded. I can never forget Bradley for that. I wish I knew where he was today…I'd call him up and say thanks.

Mike re-entered my life for my High School years (he has bounced in and out from time to time), and allowed me to escape to the thriving metropolis of Filer for "something totally different." In retrospect, it was kind of weird, Mike and my relationship. I was just starting to feel the blossoming of my homosexuality, and he and I used to double date with these two really cuute girls, who went to Filer HS, and thus had no knowledge of what a super-geek I was in school. They loved me for what I was, rather than public perception.

On the other end of Highway 93, in Twin Falls, things were totally insulated, and that's what bothers me so about the events in Colorado. That's because I've been there, and did that. No shit. I know a lot of people have stated that fact…most recently, Robb in his journal entry dated yesterday, discusses the angst that he had in his experience growing up.

It's kind of odd, but from the looks of it, our experiences were not too far off in the similarity scale, but with one very important difference. I really didn't care in that way that I was supposed to care. That, and I knew how to blow things up. Remember, dear ones, in the garage, I had a fully equipped chemistry lab, the brains, and an open charge account with a supply house. Had it become too great of a concern, I could quite easily see leveling Twin Falls High School and its student body.

Fortunately, whatever it was that drove these youngmen to do what they did failed to pique my interest.

Instead, I cried, and cried, and cried. In fact, thinking about it makes me feel depressed and very old. I look and say, "What has happened to the youth of today?" It is something that I'm sure my mother has said more than one time behind my back, and also something that I am sure that the current generation will be uttering in a short 20 years.

In fact, they might be saying it now….

On another subject (me!) My new page, which I have entitled "Page Nouveau", is moving forward slowly. That is one of the reasons that you have not seen my here as much as before. You will be pleased that it is actually looking good, and that I am actually pleased with the way that it is tuning out. A bit more time, please….

4.21.99

A very brief note before I'm off to Kauai for work (why else do I leave this rock for another?)

The primary reason that I've not made a new journal entry recently is that I have been devoting my time and energies to my "Page Nouveau." Believe it.... One day, you'll come here and be forwarded to somewhere in the empty void that is the Internet.

I'm excited about it. The program that I am using, Net Objects Fusion, has some nifty templates, which I am utilizing to their fullest. Sure, it gives a not exactly original appearance, but who gives a damn....it's easy. The primary stumbling block is the fact that this thing is created on fifty zillion pieces of software, and they don't all play well together. I'll get over it.

One thing that is new is the latest of the webrings, the new and great Desidonian ring. It consists of some really cool sights that if you are not looking at them on a regular basis, you should.

I promise I'll place it in a more prominent point in the universe soon. Remember the software conflicts I mentioned earlier? I gotta go to work now….

4.16.99

Okay.... The download of yesterday's entry didn't take, so here is it tonight, better or worse for wear. There were a coupe of things that I forgot to mention yesterday, so it's all the better that the thing wasn't posted.

First off, it's official. I'm going to return to my great homeland in late October/early November under the guise of attending the American Public Health Association annual meeting in Chicago (yeah...I know. I couldn't find a COLDER damn place in the universe to travel to.) Before venturing to ORD, I'm going to have a week basking in the early winter in my beloved and much-maligned Idaho, visiting old friends, a couple of new buds, and family. That trip has me excited, so I have something to work towards.

Why Chicago, and why November? Timing. Nobody in his right mind would dare to make that trip. That, and the fact that I've got a zillion miles expiring on United Airlines at the end of the year. My cars are going to be paid for courtesy of the Hilton Hotel Corporation, and their fabulous HHonors program. At the conclusion of this little trip, I should have no frequent flyer or frequent guest program points left that need to be taken care of, save my rapidly approaching round trip to Europe on Delta tickie.

Tonight, RR and I attended an organ concert at St. Andrew's Cathedral (Episcopalian.) It's as close to gothic architecture as we come in Honolulu, and it is the home to the largest organ in the state. Unfortunately, the organist is getting a little long in the tooth, so the fingers are not as nimble as they used to be, so there were a couple of notes that didn't echo the way they were supposed to. Still, though, I got to hear some old faves (Camille Saint-Saëns "Organ" adagio...such a nice piece of music) and a couple of César Franck ditties so that we would not forget what "good music" was supposed to sound like. As an encore, he played his greatest claim to fame, and the piece that he will be remembered for, his "Variations on 'Rubber Duckie.'" Yup, the Sesame Street tune, set to a 64 stop organ. It was cuuute.

Dear ones...I'm pleased to announce "the beginning of the end." NetFusion has arrived, and damned if I can't use it! A whole new world is opening up to me, including the ability to use that cryptic thing, FTP. You know what that means.... The delightful and timely end of my career on Geocities. I know that you will miss the pop-ups and the silly little watermark thing in the corner here, but as we say, "Get a life." Now, all I need is the time to learn how to use it and unleash its unique power. I'm even going to go so far as to post a small warning, use this URL:

3.15.99

Some of you are doing your taxes. Others of us are mourning the loss of a really incredible talent in the theatrical world, Anthony Newley. Why does his passing sadden me? I simply adored his ballsy voice that has been variously described as having "...a vebrato that you can throw a football through." His great song, "What Kind of Fool am I" has been running through my mind all day. Sadness.

I'm back elevating my foot again, damn it. Last night, I had a sudden desire to create mushroom cutlets with Mornay sauce (Hey, you can slather dogfood with Mornay sauce and it will be good.) The down side of this particular meal is the huge amount of cutting that is required. I was just re arranging things on the kitchen table to begin, when the damn thing fell over the falls and landed quite squarely on my great toe. Once again, my foot is purple and throbbing.

It has not been a very pleasant year for my podiatric health.

I'm looking at my foot again...it's propped up on the corner of my desk as it was when I sprained the hell out of it last month. I wonder why it doesn't bend like the other one does...maybe I broke the fucker. It's really odd...when I flex my toe, it doesn't bend at the joint, rather a point more proximal...there's supposed to be a bone there, not a joint. Damn. There's not much that can be done for a metatarsal fracture, so I'll suffer like the good martyr.

RR Has been acting queerly recently, so like the old saying goes, "If Momma aint happy, aint nobody happy." How does he act? Nothing that I'd like to go into publicly, but there is the matter of a four-page memo that he presented when I came back from my five-day stint on Maui. There is a lot of truth in the words that he committed to paper for my/our benefit, and it also brought to light that we really don't have relationship talks. I have to admit that the communication level has always been a bit lacking in the last several years.

I don't know, though. Every time we sit down and have a "talk" about "us" I feel really awkward, and embarrassed for some reason. I don't really have a reason to feel like that, but I do. As there are really no great surprises in our relationship, there also should be no great gaps in our conversation, but they exist. This leads us to some interesting points.

Trust. I like to trust people, and it makes me REALLY crazy when I can't trust someone. I tend to really give people the benefit of the doubt when it comes to trusting them. I think it makes this thing called life more bearable and easy. When I feel that I am not trusted, I'm irritated, and don't feel a great need to spend the hours with you. That happened a couple of days ago, when I had a day off, and was meeting a friend for lunch. RR had a preconceived thought that I was supposed to spend the entire day with him and nobody else. I on the other hand, wanted to be with a friend for a couple of hours. He made some catty comments like "I don't know when I'll see you again" and gave me an icy kiss good-bye. I was undaunted by his attitude, and left. As I was walking down the street in departure, he ran out the door and yelled, "Wait!" I returned to the garden gate. "I'm being a dick" What could I say? "Yes, you were." He apologized, and I went off to meet J. for our luncheon date. We had a pleasant repast and a long walk through Ala Moana Park.

That is one of the things that is creating disharmony in my life currently. Actually, it is a relatively minor thing, and not one that I would usually mention, but since it happened only 2 days ago, it seems noteworthy.

On a brighter note...Arion turns 18 tomorrow. Hau'oli la hanau! Finally, the boi in Washington is gonna be legal. Hope you get a lot of indecent prezzies from your future bf collection.....

Boy...I gotta re-do this thing. NetFusion is coming in the mail...soon! I am told that it will solve all of my web publishing nightmares. Maybe when I get a life....

4.13.99

Didja miss me, baby? As they say, Maui is pau and not a moment too soon. Actually, given the possibilities of genocide, it went remarkably well. We all were still smiling at each other at the end (which I did not expect,) and I must say that I was pleased by the generally civil way in which everyone maintained themselves.

Enuf of that...now the dirt (hehehe) (T) and I went off the first afternoon to the nudie beach after freezing our collective asses off at a school in Pukalani. For those who do not know where this fair town is, it is half way up the slope of the big-assed mountain, Haleakala. As such, it is cold, the winds blow the smoke from burning sugar cane fields through the room, and everyone is kinda grumpy.

Of course, members of the media recognize these simple things, and the next morning, I was splayed in glorious colour on the front page of the Maui News "skillfully sliding the needle in." I told them I wanted hazard pay for being subjected to such humiliation. Maybe I'll scan it for your later perusal...maybe not.

As previously mentioned, T and I went back to the nude beach at Makena. It really is a glorious place, so accessible yet so secluded. There were a couple of yummy things worth looking at, and I left T to look at them. I, on the other had, hiked across the lava fields to sit and watch the sun set as I had before. I was annoyed only by one nasty old fellow with sagging everything who just couldn't understand why I didn't want to throw my legs in the air and allow his wrinkled, syphilitic penis entry to my temple. If I ever get that way, just shoot me. Seriously.

T got lucky, and I heard about the grisly details all the way back into town. He also mentioned that there was the possibility that a friend of his was going to be in town and I might be on my own for one night. Naturally, I could care less, but when push came to shove, he didn't come home, and I actually didn't see him until the next morning, unshaven and looking fairly disreputable. This boy really does have a skewed version of life sometimes. There are various reasons why I say this, but even the anonymous position that I have given my friend doesn't allow me to break confidence, so I shan't.

We went to see a wonderful movie, after the advice of a donor, Life is Beautiful, the Roberto Bernigni flick. Actually, T didn't like it (I think the subtitles were a bit much for him,) but I thought it was absolutely fabulous, so I dragged RR to it tonight. He also didn't like it, but his reason for disliking it was based on the fact that his poor heart was dragged through the mud and thoroughly stomped upon. Funny, I didn't get that. Has my heart become so callused that I have become immune to the sadness of others? I thought that Life is Beautiful was more an inspirational "anything for the kid" kind of a movie. I left it feeling really good about life in general, without a tear in my eye. Yes, it was as good the second night as it was the first.

That brings us to Thursday night, the last one of our ordeal. Someone had organized a party that was thrown in our honour, so I, detesting such things unless being paid for my attendance, begged out. I wandered back down the road to Kihei and saw another movie, this time Shakespeare in Love. Eh. I could have lived without seeing it, though the boy who played "Will" Shakespeare was certainly easy on the eyes. There are several complaints that I could make about this movie, the first one being the business of Judi Dench winning an Oscar™ for her portrayal of QE I. She should have actually won an award for "Best Dressed Supporting Actress." Really! Did she have ten lines in the whole damn movie? "Love your hair...hope it wins!" Whaddya know. It did!

That was the Maui trip. There are a couple of things that have happened in my life since then, but they will have to wait. Tune in later for juicy details involving a four-page letter sent to me and some angst in my life recently. Right now, I'm too tired, any my week is just beginning to end.

Lastly, want an interesting diversion? This is a webcam site for a fellow named John Colombo in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. If you are lucky enough, you can see his muscular ass in his bed, but I think the most interesting feature is his diary. He has a nice honest no-bullshit style that really invites you into his mind. I think it's really quite refreshing. Here's the link.

4.3.99

There were a lot of things that I was going to talk about, but somehow, I just don't want to. There were a couple of changes that I have made namely to the "about me" section of this thing. As there seems to be a trend toward publishing Marcel Proust's questionnaire, I have updated my responses. There is also a horoscope that I got from astrology.net.

I've inherited a shrine, which I have set up directly to my left. Now, I'm in the market for a Buddha to install in it. I think of it as kind of a sad thing. Someone very old died, and the family had interest in only the accouterments in the shrine, but not the furniture itself. That's a shame, because it probably is near 100 years old, judging from the brasses and the quality of the reverse painted glass panels and tapestry pieces that have survived. Apparently, it is bad karma to sell religious articles such as this, and thus the reason I have ended up as its conservator.

Karma is an amazing thing. Nobody makes it through this life without being touched in one way or another. I'm going to describe an interesting thing that happened to me today, totally without the benefit of mentioning names. If you can figure it all out though the context, bully for you. First some history... A couple of months ago, you might remember an argument that I had with the creators of Netscape Communicator. It seems as though the fine folks at Microsoft actually did make a superior browser in their Internet Explorer, only I was too bull-headed to admit it.

With my abandonment of Netscape, I also left behind a huge number of my bookmarks (or favourites, if you prefer.) In fact, it was only though the magic of cut and paste that I was able to transfer the couple of bookmarks to IE. These two programs don't talk to each other unless absolutely necessary, much as it is in real life, I think. Also with that loss of bookmarks, a couple of friends fell by the wayside, much to my chagrin.

Well, for some reason, I felt compelled to go back to my old haunt, Nonags in an effort to upgrade my pop-up ad killing software. Instead of finding an effective popup killer, I instead found a program that would transfer bookmarks from Netscape to IE. I downloaded it and ran it, and was amazed at the number of places on the Internet that I used to haunt, but hadn't seen in quite a while.

I was cruising around for a while, when I read "A friend of mine from Hawaii sent me a storybook some months ago called The Little Prince. (Smile Bob J )" Feature the odds. I go looking at a site that I had not visited for many moons, only to read my name featured in a journal entry dated earlier that day. It's karma. Don't argue with the Omniomni, damn it! I immediately fired off an email to this person, apologizing for my lack of communication, and past transgressions. If things progress from that point, it was meant to be. If not, well, it's just the Omniomni's way of slapping me up side the head for bull-headedness.

On a completely different note, I watched "Brazil" on TV tonight. You haven't seen it? Do go and rent it, but only if you have a rational brain on your shoulders. It's a thinking man's movie on so many different levels. It's highly satirical, drawing from an Orwelian view of the future, and borrowing from every other movie that has had anything to do with social change. Best satire scene is toward the end of the movie. A direct rip-off of Sergei Eisenstein's Odessa steps scene from the movie "Potemkin," right down to the woman being shot through the eyeglasses, leaving her perambulator to bounce down the stairs, followed by goose-stepping huns. It's great.

In conclusion, I leave you with two quotes from the film:

"You're not going anywhere in that suit."

"We're all in it together, pal."
Pray for me whilst I'm in Maui, huh? Catch you next week.

3.30.99

Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their party.

As I told Robb, my life has slowly yet surely turned into a succession of song lyrics. As such, they are escaping via my subconscious and into my dreams. For instance, Sunday night, I had a work-related dream. I hate that. Don't I give them enough of my life without having to endure them in my sleep? I'm sure that someone could analyze the dream and come to the same conclusion that I have regarding their content. Basically, all of these dreams are telling me to either shit or get off the pot.

Sunday night's dream... This is a weird one. For some reason, my happy little organization decided to host a county fair-type thing, with each of the employees contributing some specialty for the rest of the blood bankers to ooh and awe at. My contribution? A pig. "My people" were, for the most part, farm people, so I know livestock. I can tell you exactly why pigs are not kosher (they eat their shit, and are thus unclean) and I can tell you that the 'V' shape of their mouth can remove quite a substantial chunk of flesh from the unwilling. Suffice to say I don't like swine in general. Here I was, though, accepting a cordon bleu for my efforts in porcine husbandry. The evil director of Human Resources (believe it or not, we actually still call it personnel. I call it HR, so people understand what the hell I'm saying) just kept gushing about how beautiful my pig was, what a lovely thing I had produced. Gag me.

Last night's contribution to dreamland was truly epic...in fact, a dream within a dream. The first part of this thing starts at work, most likely on a neighbour island blood drive in an old beat to hell hospital. I know it is a hospital, because there are old rusty iron lungs in the corner, and there are medical people about. However, it's a hospital with a kick-ass view of the ocean. There's a wall of glass that opens to the sea. It's quite pretty.

Anyway, I'm doing what I do best, interviewing a donor. I am having fun with this familiar person, cracking jokes and such. At the conclusion of my questioning, he says, gesturing to his arm, "When you do the phlebotomy, make sure..." I interrupt, "You can discuss that with the nurse that will be taking your donation today. She'll be glad to take care of you." I escort the donor to a bed, and collect all of the necessary equipment, realizing that there was nobody else in the room. I recant my previous statement, and proceed to do the fellow's phlebotomy. It goes well, so I excuse myself and go to the restroom. While I'm drumming my fingers on my thigh, I realize that I have left my donor on the bed with a needle in his arm. Oops! That's a BIG no-no. I make my way through a confusing maze of hallways until I get back to the room. I'm expecting to see a dead donor on the bed, but instead, I see no donor at all, just a whole pile of staff milling about in that way we do when there is nothing to do.

The charge nurse tells us all to take a dinner break. I look out the window, and say, "Emily, do you realize that it's only four o'clock in the afternoon? Why are you making a dinner break?" She explains that we are going to be busy in the next hour, and we might not have a chance to do it otherwise. I tell her that we are only scheduled to be working for another hour. Staff can eat at home later. She won't hear anything of it; I go off to soak my footsies in the water at the edge of the room.

Cut to the second part of the dream....

This is a sort of recurring dream that I have; though it is not a true recurring dream, only the plot recycles. We start with "Steve Stunning" driving up an impossibly steep parking structure ramp on a crotch rocket type motorcycle. At the top of the ramp, the ticket-spitter won't let him have a ticket to open the gate. An attendant with a red vest comes over (Oh, yeah...I dream in technicolour. I'm told that is unusual to do consistently) and opens the gate for him, explaining that motorcycles don't need a ticket, and he should park in the designated spot. He buzzes around looking for the elusive place, never quite finding it. There is an old car in a dark corner, and he is sad because it is leaking bright green antifreeze. One of the feral cats will drink it and get sick. They're just dumb animals, but nobody should die like that, he thinks.

There are some punkish youths in one corner of the garage, with a long dark weapon. Our hero goes over to these kids, and demands their gun. He says that he's going to make the escape, and he'll need it. Reluctantly, they give it up, and he presses up the ramp. There are some evil looking cops that give chase, but Steve has been here before, and is able to outrun them.

At the top of the ramp, there is a rusted out chain fence that he is able to open just as the cops start to shoot. In desperation, he jumps through the hole in the fence and lands on a bush at the bottom of the garage. There are two little girls playing in the dirt, They tell him to run before the cops get him. One of the little girls presses a scrap of paper into his hand. He runs away from the cops who are now in full pursuit.

After a long chase, he has escaped. It is now dark, and he stumbles upon a sleazy motel. The man won't give him a room, informing him that if he rents a room to the "privileged class," he'll be killed. The man is not without mercy, and shows the fellow to a garden shed with a thin futon in it. He stretches out on the mattress, and daydreams about how his family is being interrogated by the police for escaping from the "privileged class" and the embarrassment he has caused them. He looks at the scrap of paper that the little girl handed him. It says "Call Cheryl's mom for help." There is a number scrawled there also. Tomorrow, he thinks. Now to sleep...He has a dream....

That dream that he has is about me, having been sent on a dinner break, dangling my feet in the water in the middle of a blood drive at an old hospital. It's a continuation of the first dream. How very peculiar. I'll never know what happens, because my alarm went off at 4 AM.

Strange dreams these.... Just thought I'd share.

3.26.99

I'm opting for minty green now. After all, change is the only true evidence of life, right? Suure....

Right now, we're downloading IE5, leaving me with a mere 2 hours to complete this transaction and get out. Seems like forever, but to try and recount what happened in Hilo will take a little more than that. I talked, talked, and talked some more. Poor old Derrick must think that I am an absolute psycho. Both nights of my Hilo stay were spent with him, parked out at Onomea (which is one of the most beautiful places in the known universe) talking about everything. In all, it was quite therapeutic, but like I said, he has to think that anyone who would open up in the way that I did must be positively certifiable.

I probably am, so that's all right, nes pas?

I told Derrick that he scared me, and for a very good reason. He gave me an incredulous look and took a long drag off his cigarette. "How could I possibly scare you?" he inquired.

I told him... First, he knows me better than RR knows me, and in fact, I think better than I know myself. That fact, above all, is most unsettling. Every now and then, he pauses in conversation and comes up with an unsurprising revelation in my life, which can only make me scratch my head and wonder how. He's also too much like my soulmate. Our minds frequently work in tandem, which is a rare thing, I think. He told me at one point that my mind was very noisy, and that he could actually hear what I was thinking.

In all, I have to call it very unsettling. I mean how in the fuck can he know exactly what I am thinking when I am thinking it? It's almost like a parlour game from hell. Call it reincarnation or whatever you choose, but at some point in our past, this youngman and I must have shared a psyche or two. That's okay. He's like a brother that I never had...a brother with psychic ability.

You know, Hilo is really a fucking incredible town. (Can you count how many times I use the word fuck in this entry? Fuckin' A, man!) Hilo, in a lot of ways very closely resembles my own humble Twin Falls, Idaho where I was reared. Everybody knows everybody else. I could hardly mention a name without Derrick telling me a nice juicy story about their last meeting. On one hand, that kind of familiarity is quite pleasant, but then again, it can be overwhelming. With that kind of recognition comes a form of paranoia.

Generally, I think that paranoias are not very well founded, but the small town "Somebody's gonna see me if I do something naughty" can be overwhelming, I guess. I long ago handed the big details over to the "Omniomni," so I could care less what the mere mortals think, but I need to occasionally remember that some have to deal with the funny ideas of others. If you know me well, you are abundantly aware of the fact that I will most likely embrace you and kiss your cheek lightly when we meet or part. You think I care what the rest of the world thinks? Naah. Wanna call me a fag? I'll comment on your ability to recognize such fine details.

At 2:30 in the morning, in a dark parking lot in the front of the Naniloa Hotel in Hilo, when I decided that I knew Derrick well enough to say goodnight with a hug, he pulled away, and said "Remember, you are in Hilo." I smiled and walked away. When I got a few paces apart, I turned as he said, "I really had a great time tonight." Yeah, Derrick...I had a great time, too. Probably more than you'll ever know. I might call him this weekend and ask him if he thinks I'm a total psycho.

Only because I am enough of a psycho to do so.

Realm of the Shtupman I

Sunday

10.15.99

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