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Notes From A Vacation

As Nevermind noted in comments last night, my discussion of TV watching from my trip may seem "one sided and strange"... I suppose there's no point to mentioning that a blog is pretty much a one-sided affair (mine), but I agree, my tastes can be... strange.

I could go into the long, er, strange, history of how my Memorial Day trip came to be - there was a plan to travel to Salt Lake City which fell through over finances, and this was an alternative that fit the moment, and the planned companion - but that story takes too long and probably only matters to maybe 10 people (5 of whom don't read this blog, though I try to convince them, repeatedly).

In any case, the trip that was an odd combination of convenience, circumstance, and opportunity became an object lesson in understanding who I am and what I actually like... and don't. Like decorating programs. Herewith, with no determination to offend anyone, but a likelihood to offend or puzzle all, some notes for myself on what I like in a vacation:

• I don't like being stranded in the woods. That is, I really like to show up at places like the one I went with a car of my own and the opportunity to run to the store at my convenience, not others.
• I'd rather be at the ocean than at a lake, and at a beach rather than in the woods.
• I don't like the way "the woods" has become an extension of suburbia; this lakeside development amounted to a piece of gated suburbia for the second home set, giving "back to nature" a thoroughly commodified, managed air (the lake nearest us, as it turned out, had been drained and not refilled, which made yesterday's run to sunbathe a lost cause).
• I also don't love the way "the woods" has bcome an extension of a kind of suburbia where the most basic services are 30-40 minutes away.
• No more Wal-Marts. Ever.
• When you, as an individual, go on a trip with a couple, you are reminded, very quickly, that it's called "third wheel" for a reason.
• Apparently, though, dinner conversations about politics when everyone is interested are even fun with Republicans.
• I really must learn not to overpack.
• I need wifi; dialup will not do it, anymore.
• I am no longer a night person. Oh well.
• I agree one should leave a guest house much the way one found it... but there's clean, and then there's sterilized within an inch of its life.

I know, I know... who's ever going to want to invite Debbie Downer on another trip? A getaway is a getaway and one should be grateful to one's hosts. But I do think one should also know one's likes and dislikes enough to know when an offer may not be the right one. And so, though I feel like the girl who's unpacked her adjectives, I think I'm just chalking this one up to learning a little more about my own likes... and sticking up for them.

Morning McNuggets (Can I Even Say That?)

Comfort food for the beleaguered:

• Sure, you're gonna pick up the Times, see Nicholas Kristof, and grimace (I particularly love this graph: "Mrs. Clinton is more than 700,000 votes behind in the popular vote. With 10 states and territories still to vote, perhaps another six million votes could be cast if turnout is very high, by the count of Ben Smith at Politico.com." - which is so rife with the math problem, I could barely go on)... but try and follow it with the bemused, calmer take of my heroine Gail Collins, who offers this:
  • There isn’t a right or wrong to this argument — only strategy. Obama didn’t overexert himself to help find a way to let Michigan and Florida re-vote because it wasn’t to his advantage. And while ending the negativity would be nice, the Obamaites would mainly like to call a halt because they don’t want to risk something weird and undesirable happening.
• Meanwhile, the Times also reminds us that Deval Patrick is fizzling as Governor of Massachusetts, and asks him why, and he blames... Clinton supporters (well, okay, the Speaker of the State Assembly... a Clinton supporter)
• Or, check out Jerome Armstrong at My DD, who gives the grim assessment the Obama folks don't want to hear: that the Wright controversy, poorly handled, has hurt Obama's chances in the general election.
• And, for the moment, check out this discussion over at Ezra Klein, which has been surprisingly muted on the ultimate value of Harry Reid's astonishing comments from yesterday.
• You could of course be like RedStar (sunning herself at winter baseball in Florida), or Tom Watson (exploring the Jersey shore in winter), and simply take a break from it all. Seriously, you might need a nap, too, or you'll be seeing things.
• ... things like Ann Coulter actually making sense - and being mildly amusing - on the topic of Elliott Spitzer.
• Speaking of Ann... before we drift too far on the wave of self congratulatory praise the white liberal men gave themselves for Obama's speech, they - and you - might take note of the blowback from Ann, Jonah Goldberg and Bill Kristol... and remember what we're up against when we want to have the Conversation about Race.
• And in the "aw, shucks" file of the Hollywood Minute... JC Chasez relieves the minds of Gossip Girl (girl) fans everywhere. I mean it's got to be totally not true if he denies it. Right? ;)

What The Balto Saw

I prefer not to work on 9/11 - I think in our rush to "get back to normal," we've left the need to grieve, and remember, behind.

Since this is my first 9/11 anniversary with a blog (I spent last year's Labor Day debating whether starting with 9/11 postings was healthy), I want to give today over to remembering that day - first someone else's, then my own.

Although you know him as J in Baltimore, to me, he goes by many names.  I'm only slightly kidding. There's something fateful about the way the story of my 9/11 and his intertwine quite so much, and I am honored to present my best friend's recollections to you. My life's work, really, is convincing J to write more - he's better at it than I am, more gifted, more direct. My other task is to promote his work.  My own recollections will follow shortly.

I’d tried to vote in the primary election that morning.  I can’t remember if it was mayoral or something else.  They couldn’t find my name at the polling place even though I’d received the little yellow card in the mail with that address on it.   I was steamed; I went straight to work and up to my cubicle and called the election board to complain, ending my cranky voice-mail message with, “What is this, Florida!?!”

It was probably around 7:30 now, and I went back downstairs and outside for my morning glazed donut, diet soda (never really been a hot caffeine person), and cigarette breakfast (ahh, how I miss them still) near the water at the South Street Seaport.  In the three months since I’d started at Prudential, it was always calming for me to start the mornings this way, getting to see the sun gleam on the water, the sightseeing boaters preparing for their day, and the seafood houses already in the middle of theirs.

It was probably around 8:00 that I went up to officially start my work day, checking emails and voicemails, taking care of  a few things that had come over the department fax late from the night before.  It was a while later that a manager, John, another early starter, came out of his office and said, “Come see this.  The World Trade Center is on fire.” 

Let Love Be Your Energy

I have to admit, I don't love LA.

And yet... and yet. I do have to admit that the whole Southern California easygoing thing is getting to me. Each day dawns sunny and warm and beautiful, and that peaceful, easy feeling is hard to deny.

In some ways, I've always been at odds with my East Coast upbringing; I'm not really able to be quite as hard and tough as every situation calls for.  In many ways, I made a lousy New Yorker.  Sure, after thirteen years, I toughened up, but at heart I remain a bit squishy, a little sensitive (okay, maybe a lot sensitive).

The meeting I am at is tough.  Things can get contentious. People argue passionately for the things they believe in. And yet, here I sit, relaxed and calm and pretty content.  LA is getting to me.  All I can think is, let love rule.

If you're willing to change the world, let love be your energy. That's what I think. Or maybe it's just that I'm going native. :)

Country Roads, Take Me Home

Shhhh. Red is sleeping.

I am sitting in the kitchen of Red's Mom's house, a modern, open design situated on an inlet of the Long Island Sound (I took a picture of the view.  It's a quiet morning, and a beautiful one, too.

You'll be happy to know - at least I am happy to know - that I started running again this morning, a little jog down to the store for newspapers and back. Dr. T would be happy to know, and maybe, after the call last night where he asked me "so, what do you think about Karl Rove?" and I reminded him that it might help if he actually read what I wrote, perhaps we will have convinced him. 

Now I am sitting with my favorite coffee, catching up on the important stuff, while the dogs take a nap (officially, Red and I are dog-sitting.  This is perhaps not the ideal task to assign to two urban elites who look like they'd rather wear glove when handling animals). Still, not only do I have a view of the water, but I also have a view of Maggie, sleeping contentedly (which I also snapped).

As always, on a morning like this, the scent of the ocean in the air, the beach only 5 or 6 blocks away, I remember that this is, really, the life I want. Running along that country road, thinking of how I could write in the sun, watching the water, seemed like perfect bliss.  Take me home, down country roads (and with that, let's give a little shout out to John Denver, too).

Talk to ya in a bit.

The Improper Bostonian

I was hoping to post this morning, but raced off to a picnic/barbecue instead.  Which let's me bring up a new fashion item: the Proper Bathing Suit.

Being, well, me... one of the things I relished after college was the opportunity to go to the beach and wear scanty swimwear.  Yes, like many twinkie boys, I wanted to wear barely there Speedo-type swimsuits.  This is largely because when you are 22 and skinny with a dancer's body, you can wear anything.  Which, of course, I proceeded to do. The collection of Daisy Dukes, and International Male scanties I still have from that period still harbor a place of fondness in the back of my intimates drawer.  Nothing, and I mean nothing, from that period is wearable these days.

Still, as I got older, and replaced pure skinniness with a bit of muscle, I started wearing the slightly more decent version of the bikini (and by the way, I never wore a thong. That's jut nasty) - otherwise known as the man's square cut. I figure, if it was good enough for a man in 1947, it's good enough now.

Yet while those small pieces of lycra are fine for the all male (or gay and lesbian together) beach, they are not fine for mixed company, when children, relatives and the like are present.  J in Baltimore was very firm with me when I joined his family on vacation (he comes from a large brood, so they're used to company; me, not so much) - he said, "you must bring a proper bathing suit."

Despite his fears, I did know exactly what he meant.  The "proper bathing suit" is a pair of shorts, probably these days board shorts, which stop just above the knee, and fit loosely in the seat. They say "although I am shirtless, I am doing nothing overt to attract anyone to look at my crotch or ass."  Although, well, that's what everyone does, anyway (which is why most gay men do not wear a proper bathing suit when amongst our own).  That, really, is part of the joy of the beach.

So today, dressed in my Proper Bathing Suit, I joined my friends at the Lake and had a lovely time.  It was first real sunbathing of summer, and I had, really, missed it. It just makes me long for a day at the gay beach with an improper bathing suit to really work on those tan lines.

We Have Season In The Sun

The heat is pretty much unbearable, but that's not the big problem: my desk by the window puts my pooter in direct sunlight for much of the morning.  And so, I have to scramble (it's easier when I can simply put it aside and  head off to work) to get it out of harm's way each morning, and blog from somewhere else (usually, my bedroom).

Since I don't want to risk another disaster, I take this all very seriously.  But oh, this heat! Even in my bedroom, with just a fan to keep me company, it's brutal.  But I hate traveling to coffee shops and the like just for AC. (I was tempted even to just go to a lame summer blockbuster just to avoid the heat, but the prospect was just too depressing.)

I like summer, really I do.  But I like it, really, at the beach, where being hot and exposed to the sun has a purpose, and there's a handy ocean to keep you cooled off as needed. Summer in a city apartment... well, that's just a special kind of hell. We had joy, we had fun... sure, and then we went home, and it was just a lot of sweating. I can't bear it - anyone out there got a nice beach house to lend? Come on people... work with me, here. :) Can you bear to see a grown man cry?

The Space Between

So the frustrating thing is I can almost get a signal in my Aunt and Uncle's house from Redzone, but not enough to stay connected long enough to do anything.  All I need to do to get a decent signal - I kid you not - is go about 3 houses down to where the library is, and just sit outside.  Thank goodness the thunderstorms appear to have passed.

That's what I'm finding this vacation to be about - the distance you need to travel... and the space between things.

I didn't leave on time - I thought I could get out Friday after work, but exhaustion in the morning and a feeling that I was trying to do too much just took over.  I'm glad I waited, if only because I did some more housecleaning Saturday morning.

But I like to think the energy required for work - any work - is something I can just turn on and off.  Be at work, turn on the work stuff.  Be at home, turn on the writing stuff.  No down time.  No space between.

Food, Glorious Food

Okay, I just have to tell you... I just got back from my first meal of the day.  That's right, I didn't eat until 4:00 this afternoon.  You don't have to tell me it's unhealthy - though someone, I'm sure, will - lying in bed for 2 hours nearly comatose as all my energy evaporated was warning sign enough.

I've mentioned it before, but not in its own context - I have a hard time with diet.  I don't know that I was ever a "sensible" eater, but for a long time I didn't really worry about food.  I was thin by metabolism, and pretty much everything just went through me.  I was (and really still am) often rarely hungry, and I had to remind myself to eat.  If I didn't, I would get depressed and cranky.  It got to the point where I knew if I was miserable, it probably meant eat something.

But in the last 5 years or so, everything's just been haywire - I eat too much, I gained like 20 pounds, and I've had a hard time getting it off - except when I started Atkins, which as I say, I found worked like a charm, except for the art where I got bored.  I like the food at the 'bucks, but it's hard to make healthy choices there... and anyway, what do I know about healthy choices?  I'm not sure I am even really in favor of them. A lot of them - like even the recent trans-fats brouhaha - feel faddish and trendy, not based on actual health needs.

The truth is, I plan to go back on Atkins, soon - but in order to do that - due to this major mood swing you get during induction - I need my life to more settled than it is right now. Whether I start the gyn before that, or in tandem, I'm still debating.

So here I sit, a little fat, full, mildly content, able to put sentences together, finally, wondering, yet again, what to do. I'm not, really, asking for suggestions.  Observations, maybe. And no, I'm not going on Weight Watchers. No matter what you say.

Retail Therapy

So there I am, shopping in Lord & Taylor tonight, and for the third straight time, there's no one at the Men's Fragrance counter.  And I just keep wondering - is there some determined plan not to make a sale? I mean, I wander around the counter - the entire counter - and no one comes over... no one. I think it may be that it's supposed to be staffed by cosmetics, and the rest of them are downstairs, so maybe it's just not worth it.  But I'm so not a hard sale.  I don't want a lot of product descriptions (especially in fragrance where I prefer to just sniff some stuff and be done with it.  I don't need to know about top notes and lingering scents... I just like what smels nice.  And I see a lot of stuff that smells nice at this counter - Eternity ummer, Gucci Pour Homme, C&G Blue, Polo Double Black (although I sniffed Versace's new "Fraiche" and discovered that they still have the marker cornered on smelling like a high priced European Rent Boy).

So maybe, if some L&T exec is reading, they can call Burlington and ask Victoria why no one is staffing Men's Fragrance. I do these things for you... because I care, dear reader. ;)