Snow and the City

What happens in the minds of people when there comes a snow? All reason seems to escape them. The catalyst for this entry is mainly the shear volume of dog waste that is revealed in any one bank of melting snow. How does there being a snow storm mean that it is okay to leave your dog's waste behind? Is it because that in a few moments it will not be visible? If I consider the question, its the only reason that I can think of. And, it's not at all a good reason to stop what would normally be done if the snow were not falling. Normally, you would procure from your pocket, a little bag that you would use as a mitt to collect your dog's mess. After closing the bag by tying it in a knot, you would then carry it with you to the nearest trash receptacle. Wouldn't you?

The dog waste is just one loss of principal in the midst of a snow storm. Walking in the middle of the street during a snow storm is another strange occurrence. It doesn't seem to matter that you put yourself in grave danger by doing so. It is even more shocking to me the tone in which a pedestrian will exercise this function for the following three weeks or until the snow has melted.

I couldn't finish this rant without mentioning parking in the wake of a snow storm. The angles and distances from the curb in which people will leave their cars parked is ridiculous, and why ever would you believe that if you shoveled your car from a public parking space that somehow this space belongs to you? A client was seeking sympathy from me the other day after she found that when she had returned home from her errands somebody had occupied "her" space. I didn't indulge her. She settled down into my chair and I couldn't help but feel that maybe I had helped to change somebodies point of view.

This entry is really just a short little something that I needed to get off of my chest.

-R

Chinese New Year

Writing a blog isn't at all as easy I thought it would be. My problem is never that I haven't anything to write about. It's usually that I feel like nobody reads. Please, what is the point in writing if nobody is going to read? A good friend recently told me that if I'm a writer, I should write, regardless if anybody reads. So, I'm writing. It hasn't taken me any time to find that readers seem to like the rants. Entries like today's will get no traffic. People only seem to care when I have something clever to say or when I have a hair across my ass about something like children, local beauty, interiors, or maybe the random asshole that tries to run you down in a crosswalk. If we were meant to run for our very lives across Tremont Street, then it should be called a "crossrun", don't you think? Also, I still don't understand why women don't love to blow their men. But, I'm just talking... Since I've gone on a popular antidepressant, I haven't felt much like giving head myself. I'm going to ask my doctor to change that. It's just not normal for a gay man to feel this way.

I had my lunch with my buddy Hunter again today. The dining room was very busy because of the Chinese New Year. There was playing authentic music and a few servers were wearing gowns that appeared to have been bedazzled. I gave each of my favorite servers two dollars and they each thanked me with a bow for what they called "lucky money". I took my time with my tea today feeling happy that I never run into anybody that I know and I even said to Hunter that I felt liberated from having to sit together with people who dine to be seen by frequenting popular Southend restaurants. The kind that seem to taste the difference between a 12 year scotch and one that is aged 18. Here in Chinatown, there is no pretense and everybody seems to be themselves. I admire it. It's usually just the Chinese, a few Jews, and myself.

This last bit is just a side thought that hasn't much to do with what's above, but I like what I'm seeing and wanted to share. The Granary is nearly lost in the snow. When it's as covered over as it is, it receives few visitors. Narrow paths between the headstones are little walked. The whole scene is painfully poetic. Dead Yankees truly get to rest today. "Sun nien fai lok" John Hancock and James Otis. Samuel Adams and Paul Revere. "It's the year of the ox!".

-R

Inaugural Entry

This morning I had plans to post a very different entry. I didn't have much that I felt I could write about today's historical inauguration that wasn't already being said by all the pundits. My plan was to post a rant about how tiresome I think the use of the double entendre is in pop gay culture. But instead I stumbled upon something far more interesting and infinitely more appropriate to write about for today's blog entry.

After the ceremony, I made my way to the usual for Dim Sum and found that the city was nearly silent. The streets were empty and I was one of only three tables sitting in what is typically a decently busy dinning room. We all agreed that everybody was either at home or in their offices watching the events on television. After my lunch, I went to the bookstore to take one last look at what's available for 50% off in the rare books department. I came across an old issue of Harper's Weekly. Harpers was an American political magazine that featured both foreign and domestic news, fiction, essays on a variety of subjects, humor, and fashion. The copy that I came across was a year in review for the year 1861. An inaugural year, and the year that Abraham Lincoln was sworn into office (March 4, 1861). I sat down at the only place provided to browse a book that you're considering to purchase and began reading from a page dated March 16, 1861. There were illustrations depicting the parade from the White House to the U.S. Capitol. Also, there was illustrated pictures of Lincoln together with Buchanan in the Senate Chamber before he is to take his oath and give his Inaugural speech. I could read about Dred Scott and about current news from the seven states that had already succeeded before the Lincoln Inauguration. The controversies over the slave trade and the oncoming Civil War. The general feeling of a divided nation that isn't so unlike how Independents, Democrats, and Republicans feel today. I have had my own personal issues with the last eight years and do have new hope for the future of my own group of people, but in general, I feel that there is most definitely a collective exhale being taken, and feeling of unity that has come with this new Presidency.

This morning our First Lady, Michelle Obama, carried in her hand the Lincoln Bible, that until today has been housed in the Library of Congress. It is most likely on it's way back there now. It was the bible that President Lincoln used to take his Oath of office. I think that the symbolism used by the Obama Administration is pretty remarkable. I previously understood the importance of having the first black President installed into the White House, but I felt that I was personally missing the black experience. Having read in Harper's Weekly about the actual events that came to pass, presented to me within the social contexts of the period, really helped me to understand how enormously important today's Inauguration really was, and how far this nation has come. I also now feel my own personal connection and enhanced perspective on today's events.

Life is often so curious to me. Just this morning over coffee I had asked Brad to help me to understand the significance of the pomp being displayed for a man that has not yet taken office. How can we celebrate the success of something that has not yet come to pass? But the piece that I was missing I would later find on a dusty shelf within the pages of a period serial from 1861.

-R

My forehead moves!

This economy has just got to improve. This morning while I was shaving my face, I noticed that my forehead moves. I hate that. I am past due for a visit with Dr. Enzer, but until the economy recovers, Brad says that paralyzing and fluffing my face is the worst kind of extravagance. So, I guess my face is just going to have to suffer. I suppose if I have to get ugly in any town, Boston is the best place to do it. Btw, I beg you to discredit my theory if you truly believe that we as Bostonians make a huge effort to be sexy. (brushing your hair and putting on a clean oxford doesn't count). Also, this is the first time in my life that I have been concerned with how often I wear my favorite smell. I'm really going to have to make an effort to make this bottle last. Being conservative has never been one of my strengths, but I have to tell you, Brad rubs off on me more and more every day. If I have to endure a depression, I'm so happy that I'm doing it with Brad. I know that with him, I won't have to boil an old boot for dinner.

I went to the usual today for lunch. The girls were happy to see me and reminded me how empty the dinning room has been over the past few months. They work so hard and only receive a small portion of the money that we leave behind for a gratuity. I think that it's a shame because they're doing all the work by pushing those little hot carts around and wearing a much less attractive uniform than does the waiter. The waiter only seems to bring you tea and maybe a Diet Coke. I asked them if they were optimistic that things would change when Obama is installed. They didn't seem enthusiastic, but when I asked if they would have preferred McCain, they all burst out laughing and the carts began to move again, leaving me behind at my table.

I'm writing today from the Athenaeum. I arrived late, so I'm so happy that there is a place for me in the fifth floor reading room with a view of the Granary. Usually these spaces are already occupied by expired authors. Is it at all ironic that they're sitting with a view of a burial ground? Don't bite! I'm just asking. I'm usually the youngest person here and that isn't saying much as I'm 36.

I'm about to take a break and fetch a coffee or something with my friend Hunter. He's wandering around downtown somewhere right now. I asked him if he'd like to come inside, but he replied that he's too loud for the Athenaeum. It's okay though, I have a new book that I'm eager to explore just as soon as I return. It's called "Yankee Humor". I spent a small fortune on obtaining it for my collection. The Rare Books Department at the Brattle Bookshop is one of my favorite pastimes. I make a visit nearly every week. Taking into account that this book was most likely printed sometime in the 1870's, it's really not in great shape. I have older books that are in far better condition. But, I admire it's faded gilding and cracked leather. The type is small, but it has all of it's pages. So, I'm looking forward to spending the rest of my time here today reading a few chapters.

-R

Ants

I have cousins in Rome that I used to visit often when I was in my twenties. I sometimes went with my mother and other times with one of my brothers and his wife. But for some reason this one time I was visiting by myself. My cousins were very busy working during the day and couldn't entertain me. I wasn't at all disappointed because I love to be alone. Truly it was like having a flat in Rome all to myself. They had left to work before I woke up and I knew that dinner was served at 9pm every night, so the day was mine! No problem. I had been before so I knew what buses to take to get nearly anywhere that I wanted to go. I also love to walk so I wasn't afraid to walk from one square to the next. My cousins live on Via della Pisana, which is kind of a ways from Piazza Venezia. It's about a 20 minute bus ride down Gregorio Settimo. I took the bus to Venezia and decided I wanted to walk all the way up the Via del Corso to the Piazza del Popolo. I was trying to explore the city on foot and understand its geography. It was late May and the sun was oppressive. My forehead and forearms where black by the end of my visit. I'll never forget that sunny day approaching the square from between the twin churches of Santa Maria in Montesanto and Santa Maria dei Miracoli. To me they say "Bernini" but they were both begun by Carlo Rainaldi and finished by Bernini and Carlo Fontana. I love them. I wanted to go further beyond the Aurelian Walls toward Villa Borghese but how to come back from there on the bus wasn't clear to me so I choose to turn around and walk down Via del Babuino. I walked until I reached the Spanish Steps. Then I aimed myself for Quirinale, somehow missing it, and found myself wandering below until I emptied out at the begining of the Via Nazionale, a very short walk from Piazza Venezia. This walk had taken me all afternoon already, because I had stopped here and there for a cafe and something cold to drink and watch the Romans buzz past on their Vespas. I love that noise. Sometimes I hear that noise now in the Southend because it has become fashionable here to have one. I always catch my breath a little when somebody passes me by on one. It evokes thoughts of Rome.

It was probably 4pm now and the sun was still so hot. Coming down from the hill I had such a remarkable view of the city. Its building materials reflect the light unlike any other European city. With the exception of the monument to Vittorio Emmanuel II, the tones of the surrounding city are so warm. I stopped at the gates that led to Trajan's Market. Since it was still early and I wasn't visiting any bathhouses that day (like you haven't) I decided to go inside. I took my time to imagine the goings on of a busy Roman market. There were cats everywhere and I followed one down a dark narrow staircase back outside into the sun. If you have ever been here you know that there is a colossal semi circle with the ruins of arched stalls where Rome could come to buy fresh produce from all her provinces. I sat down on the steps to one of these stalls and admired the ancient mosaic floors. I sat there for a good ten minutes with my eyes closed and my face pointed into the sun. It felt so good to be where I was sitting.

When I opened my eyes I noticed that I was sitting next to a colony of ants. Being as curious as I am I stuck a piece of grass into the mouth of their home. I watched to see how long it would take for them to notice what I had done. This was one of those moments where I felt like I was one of the idiots that Gary Larson illustrates so well. My face looming over a colony of ants in Rome. I just sat there for maybe an hour watching them rejigger that blade of grass and carry it away down into the earth and out of my sight. I think it might have been one of the most relaxing moments of my entire life. We've all heard the expression "Stop and smell the roses", but this was for me, a sweeter experience.

RSVP?

Maybe a little over a year ago now, a new gay sat in my chair. He had just moved to Boston and from what I gathered, was lacking a circle of local friends. A goodlooking guy in his 40's he seemed kind of lonely so I thought he might both enjoy and benefit from spending a weekend with us at our house on the cape. There he would meet other gays and because Provincetown is so expensive he was mostly likely going to meet somebody his age. My thinking might have been flawed because I assumed he would want to meet somebody his age. For all I know, he might have been wild about twinks. But, I digress. After maybe a half dozen haircuts I felt that we had enough of a rapport that I could ask him to consider making the trip to the cape for the weekend. He seemed eager to join but wasn't very good at following up with a confirmation. Then, on the night before we were to depart for the cape he sent me an email saying that he had chosen not to come after all. Since the social calendar at the cape house is a busy one, we ask our guests to commit to a planned visit. Anybody who has ever hosted knows how disappointing it can be when you have prepared for your guests and then they crap out on you at the last possible moment. It's a waste of money that is spent on having extra food in the house and it's also very difficult to find anybody else to occupy the empty guestroom at so late an hour. The season is so short in New England and people have made their plans. I knew that this client had a weekend house of his own so I was shocked at his lack of consideration. It didn't take me anytime to compose a reply. I simply said "We make our choices" and clicked the send button.

I never heard from that client again. He did explain his reasons for choosing not to come, but I wasn't feeling much compassion for him since he had 8 weeks to have figured it all out. I would expect this sort of conduct from somebody in their 20's as they really would not have been in the position yet to understand the disappointment that comes in the wake of a last minute cancellation when you are a host. But, from somebody in their 40's who also owns a weekend house, was from where I am sitting, unacceptable.

Last night I went to the movies with my boyfriend and another gay couple to see Slumdog Millionaire. It was a pretty good movie, but I thought perhaps a little far fetched. Upon leaving the theatre we came across a group of friends that were waiting to see the next show. Standing there with that circle of friends was my former client. We were reintroduced and I went along with the charade. It was no doubt an uncomfortable moment, but I still had a bee in my bonnet over this past Summer's cancellation. I excused myself so that I could use the bathroom and hoped that when I returned the group would have disbanded. I felt conflicted because I really like and admire the new group of friends that he has found for himself. I'm not the sort of person to spend too much time flirting with resentment so I'm trying to reconcile how I feel about the whole event. The great thing about writing is that I sincerely feel better about the whole thing. I'm pretty certain that I'm over it now. I guess if I were to make any point with my little rant it would be to say that if you are ever graciously invited to anything, you might better RSVP early and seriously reconsider if you're cancelling at the last minute.

Geek Chic

It used to be that I would poke fun at people who wore vintage eyewear. I never enjoyed having to wear glasses and I just wanted them to go away. So, I would choose frames that were almost frameless. Vintage frames seemed to call attention to the fact that you wore glasses and I was uncomfortable with that. You might ask "Why didn't you get contacts?" and my answer would be that I did try wearing contact lenses for a few months. I found that my eyes were always irritated. I was constantly rinsing my lenses. Working in a salon your fingers are often covered in hair goop and lacquer. Little particles of hair can become airborne when a dryer is turned on.

This entry is probably a few months late but it's about another pop phenomenon that I think is called "Geek Chic". I'm afraid that I myself am guilty of having jumped on board sometime this past Summer. It made me instantly popular at Tea Dance. Since I'm getting older, I needed a new schtick because taking off my shirt isn't working any more. At least not on anybody younger than me. Most of the new generation of gays don't seem to care much about fitness. They seem happy to have soft bodies and cover it all up in Vineyard Vines. I suppose I'd put that on too if I hadn't seen it come around the last time (1984).

Anyways, the geek trend has been building for some time and I knew it had reached it's tipping point a few months back when I glanced up from my workout at the gym and there was a talented Mr. Ripley at every station. I work out at the BSC on Harrison Ave and let me tell you that the gays really know how to take something to it's limits. There was one of us who even carried a book as a prop and would proceed to open it and read between his sets. I thought it was transparent, but it seemed to cast a spell on a few friends. Whatever...

I don't think the eyewear trend is quite over yet and I'm glad because I've found that my clients will do anything I say when I'm wearing mine. In this economy you need all the help you can get!