Archive for September, 2007


CQ’s Theme Song

This is definitely the anthem of 2007. It also has double meaning, since I also played the Scarecrow in a Stage Version of ‘The Wiz’. Though our high school version was the Broadway Play, not the Quincy Jones Motown remix with Diana Ross pretending she wasn’t a middle-aged Dorothy. My Scarecrow Song (I Was Born on the Day Before Yesterday) also wasn’t as cool as this one…but then again, I guess it’s okay to not have some things in common with Michael Jackson…


The Running Man



I think I might be in love with this shoe. Or maybe it’s what this shoe represents? My big ass feet have been the bane of my existence for some time. Going to foot locker to realize my only options were hiking boots and basketball shoes. What if I wanted some Steve Maddens? Or some sporty little Pumas? Too bad.

Ever since I really hit the fashion world, post private school, it has been a journey to shop. Always finding things I like now and then…taking forever to piece together a wardrobe. While all my friends were getting the clearance rack hook-ups, I was upset that shoes never seemed to go past 11.5 – unless I didn’t want them.

There would be a good deal here and there, at some random outlet or Big and Tall diamond in the ruff. But my wardrobe has never been able to be super versatile, since items for big guys are so f*cking expensive. So though I love clothes, I have always felt they were not so into me.

As much as I am an internet whore, I never realized the beauty or potential in online shopping. And even when I did – I couldn’t quite get it right. Playing post-it tag with the UPS, DHL, and FedEx guys of the world…never home at the right time, never ordering on the right day, never going to the site with the right shipping.

And then one day I started to notice everyone at work getting deliveries. Hmm. I would get excited over deliveries of easel pads, or markers, or digital cameras…all items for he program I work with. But when I saw Amazon.Com boxes bearing vitamins, hair care, DVDs, and video games – I started to wonder what I was missing. Why did cool stuff never come to me? Who were these secret admirers or loved ones of my co workers so generous and regular? Why didn’t I have an online wooer?

And then it clicked. Perhaps…I too…could order things online…and have them…delivered to me at…work? I guess that is where you typically are during business and delivery hours. But it also is a great treat and incentive in the middle of a long and stressful workday. An effective way to remind you of why you’re working, and how you need to keep it up. I am not sure why this concept was so difficult for me to wrap my head around, but when I finally got it, it was an E=MC2 moment for sure. Now combine that with the new knowledge from my evil twin’s brother that there is a site with shoes that go up into the 20 sizes? A 13 didn’t seem to be a big deal to him, or a few other people…who were already spreading the gospel of internet shopping.

How could I have been a fool for so long? Why hadn’t my blistered, size 12 forcing, awkward shaped feet seen the light?

Epiphanies are fun because they allow you to laugh at previous ignorance. And seeing how much time I spend on the internet, it forced me to realize just how I spend that time. Not looking for ways to maximize my paychecks, get myself the things I want or need, and see what’s going on in the world. I use the internet as kind of an impulse driven predator. I need to get over this chat/hook up phenomena – use the net what it’s for (like blogging?), and get back in the real world. That’s where I feel best – truly interacting with people. Living life. Seeing theatre. Working out. Taking a run around the lake. Having stories to bring back to the net, rather than depending on the net to give me stories.

So I hunted down the shoe you see here. Perfect for the current closet I have. Where blue and black tennis shoes are great, but my wardrobe is getting more heavily brown. And all I have are casual shoes for brown fits…I can never work the sporty angle. Yea, yea…I’m a gay for going this deep with it – but I’ll own it this time. These shoes are gonna open up outfit combos I hadn’t really seen before, and give me the flexibility to stretch out laundry days…now that is a big deal for ALL of us.

So props to my co-workers who make every month a holiday month. Props to the peoples of the word with body parts and shapes that don’t ft the mold of the mall mannequin. Props to the websites that have things in stock. And props to the internet, for being willing and able to go with my mindset….whether its gutter ball or productive. I’m just trying to play with the latter more often.


My Cake


I know sometimes it seemed I loved you less than you loved me.

But my love for you was ever present, just hard for you to see.

Because it came in spurts between my anxiety and your fears,

And made us question how life would look as we journeyed through the years.

But you strode ahead, determined, dedicated to make love work,

While I festered inside my inner thoughts, and drove myself bezerk.

But when we were together, just you and I, then everything would fade.

And we’d be reminded of the strong friendship that we’d made.

A friendship that tried to connect on the premise of something more.

But was better suited to keep itself the way it was before.

Because as much as you were ready to turn into a pair,

My selfishness and independence was not yet primed to share –

My everything.

But you deserve so much more than my most,

And that is not something too easy for me to boast.

That you gave your heart so very openly to me,

And I gave you mine wrapped so securely.

But into the same bond we went, unaware the stakes were not the same

And it is neither of us who come up on top, and I feel I’m to blame.

For wanting to have my cake and eat it too,

When all you want is someone to be true.

And I tried to be that man for you, but all I did was find,

That in monogamy I’m the petty and selfish kind.

And rather than be that nagging force – that drives you to the edge

I’d rather be supportive and true – and make the friendly pledge.

But friends can’t have what we had – when we shared our innermost selves…

And that is a book I’m not quite prepared to put back on the shelves,

But I can’t have my cake and eat it too,

Because as you’re friend I’d kill the man who did that to you.

But I’d kill the next one you’ll soon find, at least in my head…

Because his arrival will mean that I am truly dead.

That you have done what I always hoped you do

Move on to a man who loves the way you do.

And then, maybe we’ll be able to be friends again…

Making the days after tomorrow like they used to be back when…

We were un-titled and free and were turning into great friends

And we’ll have access to our love again.

But just friends, because anything more for me

Would just end up hurting you, and making me long to be free.

For you gave me a love that was ready to last,

And forced me to realize…stone cold and fast

That love, though something I exude with a might,

Is a process that I am still striving to get right.

And I have faith that one day I will succeed

But until then, how unfair of me to keep you from what you need.

So I’m pleading immature, and hoping you’ll amend

Because I can’t be your everything, but want to be your friend.


Total Eclipse of my Heart…


Until today, I had never been to the circus. But somehow I still feel that when I talk with friends about what they saw at Wringly Brothers, Barnum, and Bailey…their story will be very different from the one I am about to tell you.

Sol Niger, or Black Sun, referring to a lunar eclipse – was a Circo Zero production that left you feeling inspired, shocked, a little under-accomplished, and wondering if you had your senses violated a little bit. Kind of like sex, except the only people getting their darkly sensual groove on were the performers.

I was supposed to go Sunday, as the perfect ending to my “self-care” weekend. Get in touch with some live performance, since I am not doing any myself. But alas, ended up in a good conversation, with a cute guy…and last minute taxi cabs apparently had better things to do. So $25 later, and still having only seen DVDs I’ve seen a thousand times (I don’t have cable) – I decided that I would try again.

Enter Pay-What-You-Can night. Every broke person who wants to seem cultured’s dream. Except I forgot that you’re supposed to look broke if you want to justify paying a trifle. Showing up in your one nice club shirt probably makes you look like a jerk when you’re buying 3 tickets for $20. But hey, I had already given a donation, right?

Fortunately, some luscious co-workers decided to join me after an earnest plea at team meeting. Unfortunately, the whole Bay Area was there for Broke People’s night, so we couldn’t sit together. So it was even more awkward knowing I didn’t understand what was happening on stage, and the only people who I had access to bugging with my intrusive whispers…were across the theatre from me. I had to resort to groans and talking to myself. Sexy, right?

But it was a cool show. Combining dance, ritual movement, acrobatics, live singing and music, and puppetry – all the talent of 7 performers. Gifted pricks. 6 men and 1 woman. Two of which did amazing and quick movements with only the support of sketchy ropes and one small pulley system. The theme was “Black Sun”, and looking at life and its problems through obscure light (sounds like my life, kind of) instead of in the full brightness. Seeing things we don’t usually…and exploring the war and oil and power dynamics that make up the first through third worlds. That is about all I could tell you, because from there…everyone gets different meanings from every blessed segment. Abstract art – you never know if you’re the only one who doesn’t get it, or if you’re too deep for your own good.

But there was brilliant piano playing, shadow effects and ritual movement that made the hair on your neck stand up, seamless movement through mid air on ropes, and the core strength of a thousand personal trainers. There was one incredible monologue that started off with the theme from Annie, went through pop culture and history, and ended with “Total Eclipse of the Heart” – and it totally landed. What was it about? Couldn’t tell you. Could just tell you I liked it.

So the walk to Bart for me and my recently re-united comrades was eventful. Deciphering the meanings of the old woman character, or the repetitive motion on the trapeze. Wondering if the guy standing on the ball was the alter-ego of that other character? Or just showing off? Was that guy on stage really whistling? Or was it the soundtrack. Was it really hot in there? What were they doing with the lights? Was that chalk all over her legs? What was supposed to be projected on that guy’s face?

We figured out a great deal of the mysteries…or could at least defend theories we created. But there were still enough mysteries left behind to encourage you to see it one more time. Or at least invite friends, so you guys can compare themes.

But it was an awesome time. An awesome live display of personal expression, movement, and social commentary. And to be an artist trapped in a manager’s body? It was good for me to get back in touch with that part of myself. If nothing else, it inspired me to go do some crunches and core work. Because if a hot guy can swivel from a rope like that…where else is that type of stamina useful?



Caterpillar vs. Butterfly

It’s good to laugh at yourself every now and then…to figure out why you’re repeating the same patterns and not seeing different results, right? Well…what if you are?

I’ve been grumpily storming through life looking for the wrong kinds of human connection. The monogamous kind of guy for my un-monogamous lifestyle. The friends that always like to party when I want to chill at home. People who not as far along as I am, so I can feel good about myself. Seek the advice of people more experienced than me, so I can get pissed at feeling inferior and not take their input anyway. Searching out those types of people who I feel might compliment grandiose ideas I have of who I really am, when who I really am is me.

I’ve been trying to be honest with myself lately about how I come across in relationships to other people and to myself. As I roam through my cell phone address book looking for someone to call – and not finding that person. But I know some of these people would be there for me if I needed them. Why do I not call on them?

Sure, there’s the embarassment of whatever problem I’m facing at the time…or the insecurity they might not want to be bothered by someone with such a big mouth. There’s even the conceited potential that they might have some drama to deal with and need support too, and that’s not why I’m calling is it?

It’s a little bit ri-cock-u-lous that someone with my Ego could have my self-esteem. But I manage the contradiction fairly well I guess. A shallow, Sagittarius shell that fascinates and intrigues…only to later let down and disappoint. But this blog entry isn’t about me beating up on myself for making good first through fifth impressions and not being able to go deeper with meaningful relationships. It’s about me not being able to seize the opportunities when love does want to enter my life. It’s about me figuring out that I came out of the closet a long time ago, only to put myself away in another, even more lonely one.

I got an e-mail today from a cousin of mine. A cousin I used to be SOOOO tight with growing up. Well, after we got over hating each other for being the “other” good kid in a family of occasional misfits. This cousin and I had about as much fun as two Christian school going, choir singing, volunteering, A-getting cousins could have who lived around the corner from each other. I would trek reluctantly up Tiffany’s hill to walk with her to the bus stop for choir rehearsal Saturday mornings…just to meet her back Sunday, bright and early – wearing whatever God-awful color scheme the group had decided on for the performance of the day. Oh yes, performance. We didn’t just sing. We thought we should have been Kirk Franklin’s back-up choir. Exaltation was good.

But geeky choir memories aside, Tiffany and I were close. And as I recall, so were me and a few other friends and family that over the year have taken a back seat to my “exploration” and “discovery”. Not that loved ones like Tiffany aren’t supportive of my lifestyle. She loves me, and I know it. It’s that I’m embarassed of my lifestyle to those who knew me beforehand. And the conflict enters because I boast about my lifestyle to those who have met me post “come-out”. I have developed this whole new identity for myself, not having to reconcile it with my past and the core of who I am -unless its in vague conversations with my mom or brothers and sisters. But there are a hoard of cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and friends out there -all with no idea of who I really am.

I notice it when I visit my old church, getting asked “how college is going”, or “how long am I in town” by the Church Mothers who recognize me. I’ve lived in the Bay Area all my life, and graduated from San Francisco State University in 2005…I never left. I nod and smile that God is blessing me, and that much is true, but I know there is an image of me in these people that I don’t live up to.

I notice it when I am at a family barbecue, and everyone is adding to the family tree with marriage and babies. I have neither, and if I did…don’t know if my family would be welcome by my family. But I’m too scared to even find out.

I notice it as I learn about my co-workers – telling my saucy, hoe-licious stories to those interested, and pretending to live a life of random dignity to others.

I am never myself, yet always a part of myself…and that often leaves me on the couch, alone, typing blog posts about how no one really knows me…and hoping someone will read this and decide they do.

I want to go deeper in a relationship, but am not able to. Relationships have to live in the world, and that’s where I start to sabotage them. Everything is fine one-on-one, but get me in the world, and I’m going to be embarassed by you, knit-pick about your bothersome traits, and kill you with sarcasm and kindness. But when we’re alone…it’s all passion and love and something “more”. If a guy loves the closeness enough to withstand the crazy….I still find a way to sabotage it, by letting m y insecurities get the best of me. Or deciding once again that commitment isn’t for me. I’m not ready to settle down, but want to settle down, as long as I can be free. That contradiction is playing out so much in my life lately that I’m starting to just call it youth – or stupidity, which are two very different things.

Is this some internal homophobia? Or just a good helping of crazy? Determined to live my life by my standards – but to the extent of living it out alone? I lost my best friend to Australia, and am having trouble finding others to fill the void…and that’s kind of the problem. There is always that “one good friend” at the time. The one who is privy to be my partner in crime, while the other faithful acquaintances stand by on the lookout for cameo roles. I dig in with friends, and get tired of them….or ignore others because I’m too lazy for more than one friend, apparently. So when the time comes that I need to express a different part of myself, or I want a change of pace…I feel awkward calling anyone, because I’ve been Flakey McFlakerson.

And that’s when I start calling family. People I know have to at least pretend to be there for me. To love me unconditionally. What a concept. I can’t even love myself that much yet. And I play catch up. Not listening, and building on a relationship – but waiting to talk. Waiting to share my life updates and get help on my drama. Dare I say it…being selfish.

But like I said, it’s good to laugh at yourself, right? This closet is fun. I get to have everything my way, and people fit into it nicely. But I can’t help but wonder if I have really come out. Why I can only be a boyfriend to a boyfriend on my terms. When I continue not to tell my family unless people ask. How I put on macho and queer fronts depending on the audience. It’s still a marionette show, and I’m my own puppet. But if that was the case, why not just get with a girl and fake it?

Because at least this way I’m not lying to myself. I can handle being gay. But I’m not sure I can handle being gay to loved ones with spiritual beliefs, and personal convictions, and uncertainty. So I isolate myself….and go for months without talking to my lifelines – like Tiffany. I don’t speak out at a family picnic, in case I have that younger cousin who needs a role model. I ignore friends wanting to hang out, so I can hook up on the internet. I want so badly to prove gay stereotypes wrong…but I live them out daily. And this forces me into a life of solitude…as everyone else’s passes me by.

I should be participating fully in the moments that come my way, instead of skirting them and playing safe. Who am I protecting am I so afraid? If my family turned their back on me…would it be any different since I don’t talk to so many of them now anyway?

Maybe it’s out of respect for my heavily Christian family that I try to remain quiet. That I repress myself so much, and rage when i do party or go out. Maybe that’s the basis for this rigid extreme that has me either carrying a fake gospel, or squatting at a glory hole. It is draining to lead two lives – both in which you’re not happy. I think a professional might call that bi-polar.

But I guess despite all the work I do…encouraging others to be strong and stand proud, overcome obstacles, reach within for strength to beat odds – it’s all lip service. I won’t discount the good I’ve done or the people I’ve connected with. But I have a serious block going on from achieving my own freedom.

And unless I can accept that I will never be a caterpillar again, that I have served my time in a cocoon – I will never be able to build anything deeper. Not just with a man, but with my lifelines. My cousins, and friends, and people who are waiting for me to decide who I am. And will still be willing to love after I tell them.
I will never fly in this closet. And what is the point of having such beautiful wings, if I don’t intend to use them…?


Unicorn Tribute


Once upon a time there was a wonderful Unicorn named Denieal. And though all unicorns are special, Denieal had an even more spectacular kind of magic. For Denieal had the ability to show people who they really were. Now don’t mistake this feat for a simple one, reader. For rare is the one who is able to show us the parts of ourselves we often hide or are afraid to see. Honesty is the best policy, we all know. But what we don’t know…or at least admit reader, is that honesty is the hardest thing for humans to do. And that’s why unicorns like Denieal are so splendiferous.

Now reader, I know quite a bit about unicorns for I had the great pleasure of being close friends with one. Denieal was a beautiful unicorn. With vibrant red hair that took many fascinating forms and the smile of a thousand happinesses. We would laugh together at the dark and ironic beauty of the world. Comment on varieties of clothes, and how some people had the nerve to wear colors and sizes they should never have entertained. We fashioned magical unicorn sangria, and smoked the herbs of the world. We danced with the energy of a thousand tweekers. Oh yes reader, we danced. We did yoga booty ballet (unicorns love that). But probably most important of all – we called out the egos of the world.

You might not know this reader, but it is important to remember just how many people live their lives doing things they shouldn’t. Perpetrating people they are not. Living in the closet of their stupidity and fear because they imagine, and are probably right, that people won’t like or appreciate them. You have seen them in your neighborhood – wearing various skirts of random design over tattered jeans. You have seen them at your office – with the halitosis that would scare a thousand skunks. You have seen them on the street – in baby blue silk oriental patterned suits with bright orange top hats and kicks. These people are not your friends, reader. And they are very, very, contagious. Denieal and I hunt these villains daily, looking for any possible opportunity to make their transgressions known. Take note of that fact reader. If you ever run into one of these – we call them – Hasslehoffs – call it out, and they will disappear! And this was the eternal quest that Denieal the unicorn and I were on.

But being in a unicorn posse isn’t all sangria and laughs. Oh no. it means you too must submit to the highest levels of unicorn scrutiny – and be as scrutinizing of the unicorn itself. I am sad to say reader, that we all have a bit of Hasslehoff in us. And even unicorns themselves have been tainted by the Hasslehoff phenomena. So it is important that they find human allies. Ones that have been shown to possess natural Hasslehoff antibodies. These unsuspecting humans befriend unicorns, and are slowly trained to tap into their own magic. (All humans have magic, reader, but few are open enough to reach it.)

And that’s just what Denieal did for me. She showed me the truth about myself, allowed me to reflect some of her glory back to her, and helped me tap into my inner luscious-ness. And with that came strength, creativity, freedom, and faith. All these things were bestowed upon me by Denieal.

A lot of people don’t know this…but unicorns are extremely sharp-witted. Using saucy words like ‘erstwhile’ or ‘expunge’ (they have a gigantic vocabulary). Taking in every detail on the morning commute. Not only that, but they love playing with words – and creating new ones! We would make our own magical words together. A kind of unicorn-ebonics. Unicorn love ebonics. And chicken. And the color red. This may seem a random digression, but I am trying to give you conversation topics should you ever run into a unicorn, reader – so be patient. You might ask me, “long winded writer guy, won’t you share some unicorn-ebonics with us so we might talk to one?”. Is that right? Is that what you’re asking me in your lonely apartment as you roam through cyberspace pretending tomorrow will be more interesting? Well, no. I won’t. You wouldn’t understand it anyway. Every unicorn is different. I just happened to get a ghetto one.

But I loved her, and she loved me. And I loved her for loving me, and she loved me for loving her. And for two sarcastic, random, and left field souls…there was a lot of love going on, reader. And that’s what this story is about. Love. And maybe telling people that your ass is supposed to fill the biker shorts all the way….they’re not meant to be baggy. And as always, all good things come to an end. Denieal had to go. There were other parts of the world that need her magic. Other people who have to help stop the Hasslehof phenomena. And Denieal left me with a task. But even though I might have tapped into my magic – I can never utilize it to its full potential without its unicorn counterpart.

But I must press on. As Denieal spreads her Unicorn glory over other parts of the world, I must keep up with the Hasslehoffs in my hood. Calling out the bad hair days, and poor parenting that continues. Only, its lonely being the only one. So my eyes will definitely be on the lookout for glimpses of unicorn magic in my daily quest. And I will always be grateful to Denieal. Who opened my heart, my mind, and my potential to the idea that I was someone special…capable…and magical.

And reader, you only find a unicorn like that once in a lifetime.



September 2007
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