Traveling

Still planning the fall road trip to Minneapolis, Chicago, Detroit, and points related and in between. I’ve narrowed down the dates to something in the neighborhood of 16 Oct.-4 Nov. My fantasy is that this will get me home before the weather gets really nasty, even in Wyoming.

Of course, another trip down Route 66 could be an option if the weather requires.

Current plans call a steamy replay of Vegas ’98 in Minneapolis with Erik (and without the slot machines), plus a few days each in Chicago and Detroit. I may actually arrive in town to see the old Hudson’s Department Store in downtown Detroit become rubble.

Could be a little jaunt down to Indianapolis as well.

And, just in case you were thinking of asking for a report, I didn’t go to the Folsom Street Fair Sunday. Rumor has it you can find pictures at Kweer.com. Enjoy…

Fair’s A-Comin’

Folsom Street Fair weekend has arrived. I’m having a hard time deciding if I should leave town Saturday or just wait and flee on the actual day of the event.

Decisions, decisions…

It’s been an incredibly busy week, both at the part-time job and on the web design side of things. My apologies to everyone to whom I owe email. I’m planning to try and catch up today before the exodus and before a possible afternoon “coffee moment” with my pal Mark. I offer no guarantees though, only more apologies if I don’t succeed.

I do, however, promise to write something a little more interesting than quickie journal entries in the next few days. OK…maybe “promise” is too strong a word…

Anybody got any information on weather conditions in the Wyoming Rockies in late October and early November?

RAM and Stuff

Dang…lots of new RAM is a truly magical thing…

My pet irrational annoyance of the day is the phrase “send me an email”. I’ll be quite happy to to send you some email. I ‘ll be glad to send you an email message. But I will not send you AN email. Nor will I go to the post office and send you a mail.

Just call me anal…

Still planning that Great Lakes tour of Michigan, Minnesota, and Chicago in the next few weeks. I’ve almost decided to drive there. Air travel in the 90’s is simply too much of a pain in the ass, and I love a good road trip. Anybody in Omaha or Cheyenne looking for a visit from a bouncing baby webamster? It’s been done before…

Smiley-face du jour goes to Paul in Charlotte, who’s just presented me with a free used Sun Sparcstation. My geek factor increases…

Last but not least, is anyone other than me really excited by the upcoming “All in the Family” marathon on Nick-at-Nite?

Ten Years Ago

Ten years ago this week I was just getting used to a new apartment in Charlotte NC (still the coolest apartment I’ve ever occupied and it rented for $250). I was thoroughly annoyed with fags. I was pondering the oddly disturbing fact that I was about to enter my mid-20s. I had recurring fantasies involving the Beastie Boys having their way with me. I was planning one of my first really major road trips, to Boston and New York with my friend Jeff.

This week in 1998, I’m pondering keeping an apartment in SF (which is about the same size and rents for more than $800) by myself when my roomie moves out. I’m thoroughly annoyed with fags. I’m pondering the less disturbing fact that I’m about to enter my mid-30s. I’d still probably do the Beastie Boys if the opportunity should arise. And I’m planning on Chicago and Minneapolis in the fall.

Yup…it’s birthday time once again. Two weeks from today yer humble host hits 34. I will have outlived Mama Cass and Jesus Christ. I will be the same age as my mother at the time of my birth. And in two short years it will be legal for me to be attracted to people half my age. My birthday will require a tremendous outpouring of support. A list of appropriate gifts is available upon request

Vegas Revisited

I really didn’t expect to be going back to Las Vegas anytime soon. The last trip was fun, but Vegas didn’t exactly rate among my favorite spots in the U.S. Enter one spiky-haired Minnesotan named Erik. Erik is not to be confused with any previously-mentioned Minnesotans within Planet SOMA. Erik convinced me that driving 500 miles into the desert to spend a weekend with someone I’d never met was a good idea. His subtle hints (over several months) as to how we might pass a good bit of our time were pretty enticing too.

Needless to say, I left town late. I made it to Bakersfield the first night. I slept (not much else to do there as I knew from a past visit). I woke up and drove through the increasingly hot Mojave Desert. 101 in Baker. But only 97 in Vegas. Aargh…

It’s always fun looking for someone you don’t really know in a crowded hotel lobby. Fortunately, Erik recognized me. We went to the room. There were naps. We ate. We made out. We hit a few bars. Repeat with a few variations for three days and you have the jist (jism?) of the trip. Don’t think for a moment, mind you, that this is a bad thing…

  

Of course, we didn’t spend ALL out time in the room. We took the Hoover Dam hardhat tour (where you get to keep the hardhat). There were the obligatory buffet moments. We also spent quality time in taxis with cynical drivers en route to and from bars. We hit Snicks, which was sleazy and empty, but remains one of my favorites from last year. We visited Angles, which has great chairs and too many well-coiffed customers. We snuck into (and out of) the Eagle in record time. And we were cruised by a cute boy in a striped shirt at Buffalo’s, but he somehow managed to activate both our freak sensors.

And then there was the Gipsy. my only “new” bar from this trip. Jeez, it sucked. This is the “beautiful people” bar. Translation: no one even remotely intersting to be seen, overpriced drinks, and really bad techodiscohouse drivel. A quick escape was called for, and my opinion of Vegas queer bars remains pretty damned low.

After lurking in bed until about 4 on Saturday (the original plan called for 6…or was it 7?), we hit the strip in search of rubber shirts and cute pirate boys at Treasure Island. Around this time, I discovered that I have become my father, patiently waiting outside mall stores. Malls scare me. Wayne Newton in a casino designed to resemble a mall (circa 1977) sacres me even more.

  

Best find of the weekend (aside from the realization that I CAN have sex with someone for five days in a row and not get bored with it) was pork chops and collard greens at the Motown Cafe in New York New York (the casino casino, not the city city). Other happy finds included gas which is about 35 cents per gallon cheaper than in San Francisco, the In and Out Burger, and (joy…rapture…) a supermarket which sells Count Chocula. I stocked up…

 

On Sunday, it was time to leave behind the room which housed several felonies and a view of the pink-domed Circus Circus Theme Park. Time to leave the cheap buffets, the prime rib, and the incredibly surreal world of the casinos. Time to leave the boy in the striped shirt, wherever he may have ended up. Time for a restful drive home. Or maybe not…

 

I never really considered Barstow, California a good place to buy tires until Sunday. It’s still not my first choice, but it seemed pretty damned convenient after realizing in the middle of the desert that my current had suddenly lost a good six-inch chunk of tread. Thank God for Wal-Mart. To hell with small-town Main Streets. When I needed cheap rubber, the corporate monster was there for me.

The overnight stop in Fresno proved uneventful. Seems we stumbled upon “Emperor/Empress Weekend” (read “bad drag”). I think Fresno works better for me when I’m there alone. On the other hand, Motel 6 sex can be fun…especially when the maid interrrupts just as you’re about to…ummm…

Now it’s back home for me. Anyone have a suggestion for the next adventure?

Home

I’m home again. I’m tired. I hate flying. I hate airplane food. I hate that I didn’t bring home any Cheerwine or barbecue. I hate that I have to go back to work tomorrow. I love that I got so much great mail while I was gone. I hate that it most likely won’t be answered for several days.

And I really love this article in MacWorld, only partially because it mentions me. But I’ll cease with the self-promotion and go to sleep now.

All in all. seeing Mom and Dad and the few friends I managed to hook up with was great. But (surprise) I still can’t recommend Greensboro as the happening vacation destination of the year…

Still plugging along working part time as an Administrative Assistant. It pays the rent while the freelance stuff begins to trickle in and while I continue trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up.

At the Airport

Charlotte/Douglas International Airport. After several false starts, I’d estimate that I now have about a 75% chance of getting on the next plane headed for San Francisco. And I am definitely ready to get home. I hate that I had to leave my mom feeling so bad. She was in worse shape this morning than yesterday. I also hate that I never caught up with my friends Duncan or Daniel in the strange and surreal crush.

Or Maybe Not

This fucking hospital has the smallest emergency waiting room I’ve ever seen. And I’m getting pretty experienced with emergency rooms as it seems I get to visit one every time I come home lately. This time it’s my mom who’s being examined. She tripped over a boat displayed in a mall in Fort Mill SC, while we were en route to the airport in Charlotte. Busted her nose, lip, and teeth. Litigation may beckon. Needless to say I missed my plane.

  … …

Jeez it sucks in this suburban nightmare hospital. Sick people are sitting on the floor because there are only about 16 seats. What the hell were they thinking? Guess I’ll just get a little cozier with the potted plant I’m suing as an armrest. Charlotte NC, the city that wishes it knew how…

Of course in keeping with the size of the waiting room, there’s only one phone which is perpetually in use. This place sucks. We’ve been here over two hours; they say it will be at least another hours before she can be seen. After all, she’s only bleeding profusely.

Four hours have now passed. I’m watching “X Files” and the cutest boy who ever lived across the room. I’d peg him as 18 or so, shoulder length stringy black hair. He’s a South Charlotte rich kid who doesn’t want to look the part. Dirty brown hiking boots, grass-stained slightly baggy jeans which still reveal a great butt. He hurt his arm playing football, I heard. Stunning. It was hard to concentrate on my mom with him in the room.

Turns out the delay is due to a five-car accident caused by a drunk speeding 15-year-old redneck kid who was running from the cops. It’s now five hours and counting.

Smoke break outside. I talked to the boy. I now crave him even more. He actually hurt his arm on his motorcycle (which his parents don’t know he owns). He’s 20 and goes to NC State. we shook hands. It was cool. Why is it that that (mainly in the south), straight boys are so much more interesting and appealing than fags?

My dad’s pissed about the accident and the wait at the hospital. They’re finally looking at my mom now. Time for a another cigarette. Less cute boy this time, but still adequate. I like these little suburban South Charlotte boys.

While talking to the obese 45-year-old repo man who showed me the scars from his five bypass operations, I noticed a woman in a wheelchair begin to scream and moan in pain. Maybe it’ll only take two or three hours for them to see her.

The good news is Mom’s nose probably isn’t broken. the bad news is that the treatment is the same whether it is or isn’t.