Home for the Holidays

So here I am, about to spend my second Christmas in a row at home in Greensboro.

Sitting in the waiting area with 90 minutes left before my flight. What a crazy 24 hours it’s been. I realized last night that I wouldn’t be receiving my ticket in time to make it home for Christmas. So one was sent to me on a plane from Charlotte at 11:00 this morning. I grabbed a $30 cab to the airport after doing ALL my Christmas shopping last night. I’m exhausted. And mildly hungover.

At least there’s cute boys to look at here. Most of them cuter even than the guy I chowed down on last night at My Place. He was cocky and shot all over my head and face. The onlookers were pleased.

It’d be nice to have a laptop on this trip, but I’m Ok using pen and paper for a week or so, although it’s a little strange getting used to writing prose in longhand again. I seem to be unsure which of my 7-8 different handwritings to use.

It must really suck traveling with children. I often wonder if I was as bad as rugrats today are. Actually, I think children were better behaved when I came along; parenting was more about teaching discipline and responsibility than “self-esteem” and “creativity”.

Scored First Class on the flight. It’s worth it!



Christmas Day. Gifts this morning and long drives this afternoon. My dad’s side of the family came over tonight, then I headed out to the Palms to hang out with Jeff and several ex-mistakes from my past, all of whom I managed to avoid.

Highlight of the evening: watching “King of the Hill” with a distant relative who could easily have qualified as a cast member.


After the festivities, we made the traditional drive downtown and around the city to see the lights. For all its bleakness during the day, I have to say downtown Greensboro came across pretty well when “wrapped” for Christmas.


Boxing Day

Had lunch with the Bosnian refugee family my mom has “adopted”. They’re really nice people, although there was a pretty significant language barrier. Why is it that children who were raised by non-American parents seem so much better behaved than those born and raised (and coddled and spoiled rotten) here? I guess I may have answered my own question…


Tonight, we headed next door to my aunt’s house. No badly behaved brats to complain about here either. I was relieved.

Museum and Snow

Today brought a visit to the Greensboro Historical Museum in the light snow. Just call this the “Greensboro History Tour” I guess, as that has seemed to be the running theme. Spent the rest of the afternoon shooting pictures around town for a new section of the web site (coming soon).


Tonight, I met my friend Taylor at New York Pizza. We first met on the Baltimore leg of the US Tour last fall, and an evening with Taylor is an always entertaining thing, from stories of Tennessee Williams to recollections of my hometown to comparisons of strange southern eccentricities.

Back to history, though. I seem to feel this need to collect my memories of the old hometown while I can still write them down and while they remain relatively fresh in my memory. I’m not really sure why, but I have a feeling it will seem even more important to me in my later years. I’ve always had a fascination with the history of almost anyplace I’ve lived. And Greensboro, boring as it may be, has an interesting history to be sure.

Nightmare on South Elm Street

Uneventful day. Hit Babylon tonight. It was annoying. I disappeared quickly. Why do people in queer bars here not seem to have lives outside the bars? Is it the fact that the closets are so full here or is it the fact that the bars have such a death grip on all queer socializing?

Wait. More Snow.


Note the steady decline in the weather forecasts.

Suddenly it’s snowing like crazy outside. About four inches on the ground so far and no end in sight. This is just a little disturbing since it seems unlikely to go away for the next few days either. I haven’t seen snow like this is years (six, to be exact). It’s very pretty. And it’s making me a little crazy since it’s forcing me to lurk about the house as the whole damned city seems to have closed in deference to the weather.


New Year’s Eve

Made a trip downtown and did some thrift store diving with no success whatsoever. Why is it I do so much shopping when I’m here? And why have I been so damned SLEEPY the whole time I’ve been home?


The bash, my mom 15 minutes later, and my first photo op of ’98.

Tonight’s New Year’s Eve celebration consisted of a coffee and Krispy Kreme Doughnuts toast at home with Mom and Dad, just like last year. Am I a party animal or what?

Welcome to 1998

New Year’s Day. Free black-eyed peas at the J&S Cafeteria. Spent the late part of the evening at the Palms with Jeff and an exceedingly frightening crowd. We watched “Family Affair”. Buffy and Jody were far cuter than any of the bar patrons.


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.