For You, Mom

Back when I was young, skinny and not disappointed with the rest of the world, my family and I used to go on vacation annually, somewhere on the East coast where the Atlantic ocean nipped into the state and was kept back by the intracoastal waterway. In these many harbor towns, fishing villages actually, we would appear like loud guests to a party, my brother and I still fighting from the backseat, my mother lighting another cigarette, and my father oblivious to it all except for the promise ahead of motoring his boat through the canals and into the ocean, the wind blowing back his hair and an ice cold beer never far from his fingertips.

We would pile out and immediately begin our assessment of the setup: pool...check, good, working A/C...check, other kids staying there...check. These were just the minimum requirements. If we were really lucky, there was a gameroom and restaurant/snackbar on premises. More often than not, the motel (yes, that's M-otel, we rarely stayed anywhere that had more than 2 floors) room would have a small kitchenette so that my mother could perform gymnastics while preparing a meal. I could see the disappointment on her face as she inventoried the pitiful kitchen setup: 2 old saucepans, a dirty baking sheet, percolator and a tiny, almost doll-like stove. A few cracked plates, mismatched glasses and silverware would round out the inventory. At least the refrigerator would be clean, the previous occupant only used it to keep beer cold. Usually the smell of sulfur from the water would permeate the place and we had to open the windows a while to air it out. But, all in all, the place would be clean and the cable worked on the TV.

Not long after we arrived, my brother and I would venture out to the pool. Usually, we would jump right in and I remember one time, being shocked that the water was not our beloved chlorinated spring water but some hideous, warm-like bathwater, SALT water pool. That meant no opening eyes under water and always feeling a little sticky and/or smelly. That was the worst pool, ever. Sometimes, there would be other kids there and before long, we were usually playing along with them. I remember when we were about 12 or 13 and there was a cute girl there. We spent most of the time showing off for her or just following her around. Eventually she came and talked to us. As usual, it was my brother she was interested in. Damn his blonde hair and perfect smile! I would usually shuffle away, dragging my hideous carcass with me and go inside and watch TV. Most of the day, it was just my brother and my mom and me. Dad was gone since 6:00 that morning and would be back around 1:00 or 2:00 only to take a nap until about 4:00 or 5:00 and then park himself in front of the TV with a beer. Sometimes he would come out to the pool and show off for us. His cannonball's into the deep end were legendary. And eventually, Mom would come out as well and so for a few hours, before dinnertime, it was just our little family together.

Just Hit Save

This is the second post I've started today. The first one died instantly when I accidentally hit refresh before I saved it. And then jumped around to another screen. And set it on fire....Ok, not that, but...

I was lamenting my lack of a laptop and how I would settle for a netbook, even though I secretly will always covet a MacBook. Oh well...

These days I have little say as to what I'm given. When you are living on someone else's dime, it's hard to make demands for nice, new shiny things. Right now, I'm holding out for a netbook, if not outright, then for my birthday in about 2 long months from now. In the meantime, I still have my MacMini and I guess I can use John's PC if I want to go to JavaBoys.

I'm still a little bummed about the newspaper debacle. I'm going to just chalk it up to experience and perhaps, a slightly fruity noggin'. I do remember calling my mom in the middle of it, crying like a silly baby, and she comforted me enough that I could move on. The thing is: I'm 40-something years old and I should be able to direct my life in the right direction. Not just drifting aimlessly and then panic when the waves get a little rough, but to make the right decisions when I need to. I should just stop, reconsider my options, perhaps get outside opinion and then proceed. There's no disgrace in changing my mind or backing out of something if I feel it's getting too confusing. The worst offense is to blindly move ahead and potentially cause all kinds of heartache.

Sometimes, it feels like I was on this road (life) and it suddenly swerved and I found myself in crazy town where the roads go nowhere and cars with square wheels abound. It's very much like bumper cars and I'm the one that can't move, and getting smacked right and left. Only occasionally, can I see the smooth, open highway that I should be on. I need to get back on that highway. I might have to push my car to get there but I can't give up.

When In Daytona

"Superman...I love you Superman...Do it to me Superman...Superman..."
These fine words are from an especially disposable song released sometime around 1978 or 1979. I remember when I first heard it as I was cruising in Daytona Beach one night, on my way to one of the most atrociously, tacky yet endearing gay bars I've ever seen. Whatever tackiness was there during the day while you walked on the beach or on the boardwalk, was there in spades at night. I adored going over to Daytona Beach at night.
It's long gone now, along with its open-air cousin, a "cruising bar" outside that catered to "rough" trade. For the life of me, I can't remember the names of these wonderful places but they were literally right downtown, just across the street from a motorcycle bar. The entertainment for the evening was the "lovely" Billie Boots, an ancient, yet legendary, drag queen who performed on a stage the size of my double bed at home. There was something decidedly bohemian about the whole thing and my memories are extremely fond.
Just down about half a block was an even nastier place with a couple of pool tables and one bar. I can't remember it's name either, but I'm sure I spent more than my fair share of time leaning against the wall, trying to get some attention. So anyway, back to where we started:
The highlight of this place was that they actually had rooms to rent upstairs and, yes, I did find out for myself one night, just how decrepit this crumbling, aging hotel/hostel was. This kid I had picked up for the night was staying there and so we went upstairs to a tiny room, in which an ancient iron bed was crammed into. The bathroom was down the hall. Needless to say, I didn't stay for pancakes the next morning. And yeah, the sex was just as forgetable.
If you didn't feel like going all the way down to the beach side, there was a bar right on US1 called The Zodiac. I remember it because the first time I cruised around the area, I remember seeing the tacky neon sign of a rocket ship. Maybe it was because I was used to neon in front of The Parliament House in Orlando, but something just clicked inside and I knew it was a gay bar. This place was more conventional as gay bars went. It of course had the lighted dance floor, a la Saturday Night Fever and the guys were generally the same as they were anywhere else. My batting average there was pretty good however, as I was motivated to not drive home after drinking all night. This is the place where I met little Bruce.
Bruce was an extremely sweet and cute kid from Canada, living down here in Florida on his parents' dime. We went out for a while and then he moved in with me while I was living out in the woods in my parents' cabin. It was all good, playing house and stuff until I realized he was boring the hell out of me. I wanted my wanderlust back and he had to go. There were tears and threats, but I got him out of the house. I did see him very occasionally in Orlando after that. He still looked yummy, and I even toyed with the idea of a snog or two with him, but he was still too angry at me for anything serious. Last I heard, he had moved back to Saskatchewa.
Unfortunately, his wouldn't be the only heart I would break. I still had Boston to inflict my special brand of "love" on. And this time there were two of them!

From here, you look great

It's the middle of the afternoon and I'm sitting at the downtown library, waiting for John to pick me up. He's picking up some sandwiches and will be here soon. I've been looking online at notebook computers and am strangely ok with a non-Apple product. I think at this time in the now tired war off Apple vs. The World, it's all about value and for me, that cool factor that Apple used to own. Netbooks, those diminutive PC appliances, are really all the rage, and I'm ready for one now. I've seen quite a few already and have my favorites. "But Jeff!" you say. "What about your love for all things Apple? The design, quality, apps?" I say, balderdash. These little babies have that "wow" factor that Apple used to have. Apple had a good chance at this market with the iTouch/iPhone but didn't grab people the same way that netbooks have. I think that Apple should have taken the iPod platform and perhaps made a teeny-tiny mac that it looks like Sony has already done for the PC. For a company that was famous for predicting and then capitalizing on trends in the PC world, this was a misstep. They focused too much on the iTouch, while a good product, is not really a computer/browser. I don't think people were really ready for a stand-alone device that does all the neat things that the iTouch does but doesn't really push the browser part. People were not ready for it. I think they were ready for a tiny PC. And anything Apple does now is going to look a little "me too". So what I think they should do is go ahead and make an awesome mini computer that blows the world away and then get back to polishing up what they've already accomplished. The iPhone was great, the iPod was great...perhaps they are still working on something, who knows? Here's how it plays with me. Currently, I am looking at computers again because the iBook is on its last legs. I would love a small, compact, yet usable computer. I've seen the netbooks and they are pretty damn good. Now, if I can just get old Grumpy to take me to the store so I can get my hands on one, that would be sweet.

Still in the Crap

So, we went to the Pride parade. (Is Pride supposed to be capitalized? Like The Vatican? or WingLoon Chinese?) Saw lots of nice floats, nice looking people and had a good time. However, I have nothing to write about or say. Either it didn't thrill me or I'm still so worked up about my publishing woes, I can't even think straight. I did get a handful of cheap, tacky trinkets thrown to me from the drag queens and stripper boys. By the way, where else would skanky little, cheap hustlers become almost celebrities in this gay world? The one float that stood out to me and I'm sure for others, was the "Wizard of Oz" float. Just your typical characters on a decorated platform with a drag queen Dorothy walking along, swinging her basket. That sentence alone says it all. It was held later in the day, so the heat wasn't so oppressive and afterward we had a nice dinner at the Thai restaurant which was right there in the center of it all. I'll bet they were licking their chops in anticipation for the bump in business. So, all in all, it was pretty good.
So, my little misunderstanding with the newspaper is over and done with and I'm just going to move on. The idea of writing for a newspaper is kind of cool, but I think I might view it more as a job...with money. I think it's time to practice a bit more, either with this blog or some of the other writing sites I subscribe to.
>> Someone here at the coffee shop has one of those wicked cute little Acer netbooks. Now that my trusty iBook has finally bit the dust (I believe), I think one of these babies just might be the ticket for me....<<
So anyway, my writing career is over before it even started. Which, given the odd way my life has gone up to now, does not surprise me. But I will not be deterred. There are still plenty of places online in which to practice my art. Perhaps someday, I'll get another opportunity to work in that publishing environment, which I think I would like very much.

Aw, shoot!

I'm currently in a state of mild panic, brought on by my own doing. I did contact the editor of that website and told him I would only be available for blog posting. So now, tomorrow begins Gay Pride here in Wilton Manors and in order to get something resembling a post, I'm going to have to go. Not that I really wanted to, because I gave that stuff up years ago. Yeah, yeah...show me another drag queen on a float or a bunch of hyper-masculine males wearing jeans and vests. Yawn... Maybe that's the angle to take the story..."Seen it, been there, done that. You got anything original?" Besides, I'm a little under the weather right now. So, poor me.

Oh, just pile it on...

I called the guy from that newspaper/website and told him I would not be able to submit anything for them because I really wasn't able to handle the deadlines, etc., because my brain is not yet working up to snuff. I wonder if it ever will. It's like I'm looking inside and I see some troubled soul with issues and surprise, surprise, it's me. I'm of course, a little bummed out because I thought this was an opportunity for me to break out of the hole I've dug for myself these last few years. I wonder if I've gotten so used to things a certain way, that anything out of the ordinary throws me for a loop. Once again, I'm surprised by yet another side effect of "the brain thing."

Without sounding all depressed and maudlin, my life lately really sucks. Primarily because my mother called angrily not too long ago and laid some edicts on the proper care and feeding of me. She would like me to get a job, however, quite frankly, that idea just terrifies me. The only thing I could probably do right now would pay barely above minimum wage which would mean that would be the level of my co-workers. Also, I'm sure the bossman will be a real peach. Mother doesn't think about that. All she sees is that I'm lounging at home eating bon-bons and sucking at the teat of my lover. Working in that type of environment (and I have) would drive me insane. Here I am some 47ish guy working with 19 year olds for the same crumbs. Oh yes. Can you say shoot me now?

Actually, my mind wandered a little while I was at the library. I imagined that I ran away and ended up somewhere in the midwest. No one knew where I was and certainly could not reach me. I figured I'd stay at some cheap motel for the time being until I got a job. (I know...ironic huh?)