Mis-Fortunes

Do you remember a simpler time when fortune cookies used to give fortunes?

You know, you’d be waiting on your credit card, and you reach over to the bill tray to take the cookie to see what life had in store for you. And be rewarded too with “A situation you’ve been worry about is about to change.” Or maybe even a, “An unexpected source of income is headed your way.”

Not too bad a gift with purchase for those Walnut Prawns or Chow Fun. But lately, and ever so subtly – fortune cookies are now the bearers of lottery numbers and mediocre advice.

“You are great at multi-tasking.”
“A loved one is of the utmost importance to you right now.”
“You navigate complicated situations well.”

Okay…but where the hell is my fortune? Stop telling me things I know and give me the juicy stuff! I am broke as a joke, work a long day – and decide on take out rather than a simple grocery run…so I make the splurge. I’m gonna have this stuff for dinner tomorrow now too… All I want is a little mystery. A teaser for the next chapter in my life. A little glimpse into the gamble I should or shouldn’t take. I know it’s cheezy…but that little cookie brings you a window into your future. Not because its accurate, but because you’ll work your ass off to find that fortune or make it come true…

It’s not the same for you to give me an affirmation fortune cookie…shut the hell up.

I’m not sure if the seers and prophecy-bearers of the fortune cookie industry have died or gone on strike, but whoever is filling in really needs to get in tune with something.

They’re not advice cookies…

The New Horror

Remember when the most intense parts of horror movies were the soundtrack and terrified looks on actors’ faces? Back in the day when good plots were more important than gaudy gore?

Hollywood, and unfortunately the movie-going public has evolved in its taste for blood and gore. In these days of war, and increased media violence…we are of course desensitized to the gruesome and carnal realities of death. But I am truly disturbed by this latest edge on the drama/horror genre.

The “Saws”, and “Hostel”s, and “Captivity”s of today are glorifying more than just a genre…they’re pushing the limits of how far film should go…

Now horror films are about torture, about pushing people to the limit, about seeing just how realistic we can make bone crushing sounds…or re-create spatters of blood. It is not about the build up and suspense that the horror films of yester-year provided…but about the payoff in its most gruesome totality.

The “fatalities” and most outrageous and psychotic deaths of the video game worls have crossed over…and been greatly received…by fans of Hollywood. We love to see just how fast and deep the girl will dig in intestines to find the key to release herself…or how far the cannibals will go to set elaborate traps for tourists.

Sure, you might say its just good ole Movie Magic…but in a world where sickos are easier and easier to come by – where college shootings are rampant, where inner city as well as suburban violence are reaching new thresholds….is this escape from reality the most productive for our society?

I just get irritated when friends call me a wuss for not wanting to see the neat new ways Quentin Tarantino has created to dismember people. I’d rather go check out what’s up in the world of romantic comedy.

It might just be personal taste, but I don’t think the crazies of the world need ammo or ideas on how to be sadistic. And even moreso, I don’t think the sadistic minds of the scriptwriters need to be glorified with red carpets.

You might claim these movies are well done…with realistic special effects, great acting,and twisting plots. I say they are creative ways to bombard us with more violence and needless gore.

And I for one find myself more afraid of the audience that glorifies these films than the films themselves.

Why isn’t getting sick as an adult as much fun as when you were a kid?

I remember getting sick as a youngin’. Sitting at home on my couch – eating Soutffer’s French Break Pizza, watching 3-2-1 Contact and Reading Rainbow…with the whole world to myself while all the other losers were at work or school. The world was my crustless PB & Syrup sandwich…and it always stunk the day you awoke to find your worst nightmare had come true.

You were feeling better.

But now, as I’ve grown into a “work ethic”, as I’ve taken on jobs that actually mean something to me, and maybe the fact that my apartment is a cable and internet-less zone – being sick at home SUCKS!

So the throat sagas of 2007 began on an innocent enough night Friday, June 6. Out with my friend sipping a brew at the Parkway Lounge (reflecting none of the glory friends have told me of, incidentally). I started to feel the general onslaughts of a cold…and decided to call it an early night. IF I knew how long it would be before I had a taste of freedom again…I would have partied my ass off.

SO I awake Saturday morning to a fever, the general congestion, and scratchy throat.
I make a run to the store to pick up the usual supplies – OJ, some echinaecea, teas, soups, garlic, and so on. As I begin to douse them my body fights back. Sunday is when I know this is no ordinary cold…but a formidable foe. My week isn’t gonna be too pleasant.

Sunday I attempt to house hang with two of my dearest friends… in the hopes that their company and some fresh air will do me good. It didn’t. I got home Sunday night even worse, and woke up Monday morning preparing for what I thought was the beginning of the end.

Monday morning, the congestion had faded, but the throat was starting to flare. It was manageable so I focused on gargling salt water, popsicles, flushing myself with liquids, and rest. I also called the Piece-o-Shit hospital formerly known as Kaiser and set an appointment for Tuesday morning.

Tuesday morning, after being bossed and rushed around by a doctor barely more knowlegable than the 5 Nurse Practitioners I had to go through to get to him…I was told I most likely didn’t have strep throat (which i quite commonly DO have), and to just keep doing what I was doing…that doctor set into motion a chain of events that would change my week…forever.

Immediately as I got home with no more medicine that to “get rest” and keep “gargling my salt water”…my throat begins to swell. I catch a fever of 101. My tonsils are trying to rise up against me. No air is coming out, no food going in. Its death valley in there.

SO I sit in pain, and try to wait off my “virus” that the hospital can’t do anything about. And here I was excited because I was insured for the first time since I graduated college. Oh how the doctor let me down…

So now it was just me and the advice nurses…the sweet, I have to ask you every time you call if you moved, what your primary number is, and what you’re calling about…before we tell you the same thing….salt water and cold compresses.

When I finaly tired of them, there was another doctor appointment set for me. Friday morning…I was to go see another doctor who would just believe the last doctor and tell me not to worry about strep. From what he could tell of my protruding tonsils, and saliva, and huge canker sores over the back of my throat….I had viral tonsilitis.

Fun.

SO he sends me on my way with pain killer and a topical anesthetic that will numb me to pain so i can eat some.

IF only either of them worked…the anesthetic might as well been water. The pain killer made me sick and killed no pain. Kaiser was batting 1000.

Furiated with my lack of relief and &75 bucks spent on Kaiser (not to mention my attempts at home remedies) it was back to me and the advice nurses. And their repeated, recycled, and re-infuriating advice.

But then…one finally caught a clue…though I had tested negative for strep, there did seem to be something bacterial going on inside me. So I was prescribed amoxycilin and a stronger pain killer. I went in Saturday happy as hell (considering i couldn’t breathe or talk) to get a high shot of penicilin in my ass…and some child bubble gum flavor liquid doses of medicine. Maybe….I would finally feel better. And I have been…slowly but surely.

But only through the grace of the team of Kaiser folk…who get paid ridiculous amounts of money to almost learn helpful things….sorta.

And for the love and patience of my friends…who’s constant visits, backrubs, house cleaning help, popsicle runs, and movie lending….helped me stay sane when slepin, eating, or even crying wasn’t an option.

I knew I had a big family…I was just wrong when I thought they were all blood related.

Woot!

Looking Outside Your Self(Esteem)

If it’s called self-esteem, one would assume it comes from within yourself right? But why in these times of increased therapy, affirmations, omega 3s, and yoga – why is it still so hard to muster up some self-esteem in those moments when you really need it?

It’s always the same thing…friend comes your way feeling low. You spit out catch phrases and work your ass of to help them feel better, and they eventually do. But then when you’re low, you have some magical “Appreciation Repellant” that wards off every potential compliment or word of wisdom that comes at us.

Why is advice so easy to give to others, and so difficult to embrace for ourselves. Do we want to be right that bad? To prove that we are as hopeless, and full of despair as we project ourselves to be? Why aren’t we open to others proving us wrong? to the idea that we might be more bad-ass than we give ourselves credit for?

When will it be possible for us to bottle just a portion of that “New outfit, fresh haircut, money in my pocket, Friday night on the town” feeling -and transfer it to our “I just got dumped, bad breakout, Monday morning” vibe?

What’s with these ups and downs? But then I figure we’re all just some kind of drama queen in our own way – depending on the buttons we allow to be pushed. And when they get pushed…get out of our way. All that work we put into thinking positive about ourselves fades when we’re confronted with the slightest notion that one of our worst fears about ourselves might be true. Any reason to validate that we aren’t good in relationships, or we can’t trust, or we can’t forgive, or even worse…that we can’t change.

And if that is the case…if we do really feel that no one can fill this hole of guilt and shame we seem determined to carry, why do we continue to attempt to pour sunshine on our gloomy friends? Why can’t cries of “My life sucks!” be answered with “Yea, it does.”

Because we never want our friends to give up hope. We always strive for them to see the beauty in themselves that we see in them. And even though our kind words are met with walls of resistance, we keep it up…because when we’re hiding behind our walls, the last thing we need to feel is like someone gave up on us.

So maybe it’s not in vain after all…

Sex, is it worth it?

Sure it is, but when is enough enough? I know as a gay man I’m expected to give out the community dick on a regular basis, and I’ve been pretty okay with that. But recently, the pursuit of sex…the obsession with sex…this downright addiction to sex is taking an increasing toll on my life…and my orgasms.

Some first post I know…but the truth is I wanted to post this so it would be time I spent OUTSIDE of the internet chat rooms of the world. The innovation of cyber-meeting as a medium for those of us who are too afraid to be who we really are in person has open a gateway I wish I never had access to.

With rooms full of HungJock10+ and EagerBtm4u, ud think a guy was in heaven right? But when you meet HungJock only to find out that he’s 50 years old…still calls himself a “boy”…and has a thing for men with melanin – you wonder if the 5 hours you spent surfing on gay.com really paid off.

They didn’t.

But it’s hard to convince myself that I’m any better than he is, when I’m right back in the same room hoping for something better, someone better. Granted I’ve found every long-term relationship I’ve had online (sad to have that in writing); but I’ve also (since I was in my very tidy closet) been searching for more via the internet. Blame it on my Sagitarrius roots, blame it on my wandering eye, blame it on my libido – the results the same.

I search for sex…always on the lookout for one more enounter. And screw myself in the process. I stumble across the guy with more potential than a one night stand – and I make sure he knows I’m not looking for more. I have a random encounter with a guy I would never allow myself to be seen with i public (and im fairly un-shallow) and allow my body to go through with sex I realized I didn’t want when he opened the door.

Feeling at the mercy of my crotch really makes me wonder where my inner strength is. Friends tell me to embrace the slut within….that I don’t have to explain my freaky side to anyone.

But I do owe an explanation to myself don’t I? When I’m in those long showers, or those drives of shame. When I feel like nothing more than a Gigolo. It’s a hard spot to be in. Wanting to get in on my own Sexual Revolution, but wanting to exercise some “won’t power” too.

It’s rough finding that line and balance, So I go back to the chat rooms….and this time put up some fancy profile that says i’m “open” , or “looking for more”. But I know that I’m not. I’m closed and looking for one thing only. My next ex.

It’s a vicious cycle.