Friday, September 30, 2005

Number Two Son's lament

"Number One Son" is already taken by his last job partner, who also happens to be Chinese. So he calls me his "Number Two Son." A reference to the old Charlie Chan detective movies, in the original cinematic context, "Number Two Son" was distinguished for humorous effect, demeaning and belittling . But it's his tongue-in-cheek, term of affection for me.

Big A, as he's known, he's the BF's namesake, he's his father.
A wise man with street smarts and experience, a loving man, a man who doesn't have a mean bone in his body, a body which betrays him now. A blur from the diagnosis to the operation, times were trying through chemo. I saw a proud man break. I was gutted, but we were hopeful.

The BF has been a rock, a good son. He's been there for "Dad", doing the little things to help his father's life maintain a semblance of normal. Like seeing that Dad's GF got her roses every Saturday morning. It was important and gratifying to Big A, knowing he got his girl flowers.

Since a recent PET scan found "spots," times have gotten progressively worse. The cancer persists and he isn't able to muster the physical strength to fight it. The doctors aren't treating him, they're managing his pain.

I've been supportive without becoming directly involved. I stepped back, hoping the children, besides the BF, would assist him. It took a serious turn of events for his other children to get involved. I believe that up until such time, they did not want "the buck" to be passed to them.

As close I'd grown to him, I assumed he'd rather have his children helping. A few times, I'd avoided seeing him, as I thought that I was preserving his dignity.

This was an error in judgement, on my part.

After speaking in depth, and for the first time, with the BF last night, I'm afraid to admit that I'm guilty of the same egregrious act. I'd ignored that I'm his "Number Two Son."

One son, avoids the whole situation and hasn't seen his father, spineless fuck. Go live in la-la land, escapist ingrate. I'll deal with you at a proper time.

Sigh.

My heart is heavy, but I keep a smile for Big A. He smiled wide for me when I saw him and I held his hand last night. I willed all of my strength into our contact, hoping I could impart it to him, maybe flush the cancer. If only it could be so simple. He said he loved me, my heart cracked again.

He looks better, now that he's got people watching him 24-7. Now it's a waiting game, but still, I'm hopeful.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

WYSIWYGing Fall 2005



Also known as, "Oh my gosh those fucking bleacher seats killed my ass so bad last night. Remind me to bring a pillow next time."

Last night's WYSIWYG was the kick-off show of the fall season. Now in it's third year, a big congrats to Chris, Andy and the WYSIWYG crew. Now joined by our very own Dagon as the WYSIWYG intern.

The topic was "FIRST, LAST and Insecurity. The World's Worst Roommates."

I enjoyed all the performances. Many, many highlights and good laughs. The heckler too, but he didn't know when to stop. Good thing Chris snatched the bottle from him.

However, the subject matter did become uneven at times and off-topic.

Why is it straight white male are such bad roommates?
And then I was trying to get this one guy off… wandering off topic.
He then shot in my eye… now leaving topic.
And then someone knocked and I had my boxers down… totally left topic.
So I pretended I was jerking off… topic? we don't need no stinkin' topic.
I opened the door to get hit by a water balloon. And that's why white straight guys are bad roommates. oh, back on topic.

Not harshing on that particular performance, I did like it alot.
Just wasn't always on topic.

Mantra to everyone…

Stay on topic.



As off-topic as it got, still very funny.

It was good to see Joe, Jase, Dagon and Aaron, who joined us after the show. Hope to do it some more. We hit the official WYSIWYG after-party at Company in the East Village, but after a few beers there, we headed off to the Phoenix for some more. I played responsible (yet again) as I needed to be up in the morning.

A great night with good peeps.

Wednesday Off

Just got in from a day of doing nothing. Aaahh. Freelancing has it's benefits. How absolutely sinful, right? Well, not really nothing per se, perhaps not a single productive thing. Er, maybe the physical therapist was productive. Ankle is healing nicely, thank you for asking. No pain or such, but best to continue getting therapy until I'm completely confident that it is rehabilitated. The gym could be considered productive too, but I enjoy it as an investment in me.

Let's re-phrase and say, I did nothing work-related. Yippee. Everyone should do that once in a while.

Highlight was lunch and catching up with K. She, her husband and I used to work together and they're some of people whom I still keep in touch with. They are good people. We had a nice, luxuriously long meal. Not completely by choice as our food server seemed to take forever but we had plenty of talking to do. K laid on me some great news and I'm really happy for her. True, I have preserved her anonymity, I'm not at liberty or compelled to say what it is. Blogs have a way of getting back to the wrong people. Dig?

In the course of our prolonged meal, other former co-workers happened to come to the same establishment, one's which I don't keep in touch with. As K and I left, I was obligated to be "nice" and say hello.. Amazing how genuine, a fake smile I could put on. I think I deserve an award.

Afterwards, I walked with K to Blood, Bath and Beyond. She needed a new iron.

We parted ways and I hit the Best Buy at 23rd Street to see if their selection varied from the SoHo store. A cursory stop at the robot store and I headed home.

Sigh.

I feel almost human.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Listen, Name It and Win - Part Deux

Neal's written another song.
Needs help naming it.
Listen and give it a name.
If your song name is picked, he'll reward you
with a $25 Gift Card to Best Buy.

Unconscious Dialogue

I hadn't seen him out in quite some time, but here he was before me, dancing. The music was inaudible, unimportant.

Noticing me, he glided over. Scooping each other up, we hugged and kissed. He tasted of liquor, like the first time we'd kissed. It was a friendship borne of seeing one another out all the time. At first, there was nothing overtly sexual or flirty. As we encountered each other time and again, an attraction grew until that first kiss. He'd said, "This has been a long time coming." I couldn't have agreed more. Now, like then, I drank him in, intoxicated by his presence.

Things blur for a moment and I lose track of him. No matter, I feel I'll see him again.

He re-emerges later, energetic and sober, suggesting we grab a bite. This catches me by surprise, pleasantly. While he's been cool when we've run into each other, it's never extended beyond the confines of a club. I welcome the opportunity to talk with him alone.

We end up chatting in some non-descript diner.

"I haven't seen you out. Where have you been?"
"I've been out. But I've been avoiding your friends."
"What? I don't understand… Why?"
"Because we failed." He says, sadly.

In that instance, I'm shocked by his frankness as well as elated that we can have an open, honest discussion.

I stammer a response, I don't even know what I'm saying. But I feel like I'm crumbling.
Reality slips, in the fluttering of consciousness.

I'm awake.

Damn.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Mental constipation.

I've got about 6 blog posts bouncing around in my head. Surprisingly, none are regarding robots or anime. Well, one has to do with video games and X-men, but I haven't touched that topic in a while. The problem is, I can't get myself to settle down and actually write any of them. Sure, I've got the titles made up in my head, but the words don't flow.

I've envious of people like Richard. He's got like three posts up before I'm even out of the bed. Perhaps I'm over-thinking each post, making them more daunting than they really are. I should try to remember K.I.S.S. Keep It Simple Stupid.

Easy enough for me to rattle off a laundry list of an evening's events, more like a newscast. Yawn. Writing something from my thoughts, my observations, I'm… stuck. Although, am I being hesitant? Why have I grown hesitant?

I have been going through the motions somewhat. Obligations to post, whether real or imaginary are not conducive to blogging well. I am imposing undue pressure upon myself. On the flip side, I've become reluctant to post about some of the things that are relevant to me. I'm aware that my predilections for posting about robots, anime and video games, is driving away readers. Sigh.
I'm censoring myself.

I have to remember, can't make everyone happy. Just me, which I forget more times than not.

That has helped me think some. I see some light.

Stay tuned. I'll break through soon.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

The Party Train rolls on.

Cruising along in AutoLove, over the crest of the Gowanus Expressway, the day was shaking off the fog of night. My sunglasses were locked in the glove box. I was thankful for the clouds. Through lingering sensations and fatigue, I focused my way home.

I was coming from Junior's Bedtime Story at the Roxy.


Last minute, I decided to go. It marks the beginning of yet another residence for Junior and of course, it wouldn't be a proper beginning if it weren't fraught with some drama. "Bedtime Story" would imply a link to Madonna. I hadn't thought of it until I read Junior's message board last night. but what's oft to happen is someone starts a rumor, like Madge will pop-up by. The likely result would be an onslaught of people, going to the Roxy, in hopes of being in her presence. Yeesh. Star struck queens. Terrible. But fortunately, I don't think anyone was fooled. Firstly, Madonna fell of a horse for pete's sake. Many bumps, bruises and broken bones, the last place I'd imagine her is in a club, being clawed at by a thousand, gaping fags. Secondly, maybe she hasn't forgiven Junior for "If Madonna Calls." Frankly, I think Junior and Madonna could give a shit at this point.

Anyway, on to the party.

I arrived around 1:00AM. The crowd was close to peak capacity. It never got crowded more so. I'm guessing, it's indicative of a usual Roxy night. Alas, it's a continuing trend with Junior. He's not a big draw unless it's a notable special or holiday event. Even at his residency at Discotheque, the regular weeks were ok, attendance-wise and would ramp up for something like "Tunnel Classics." His reputation for NOT turning it on regular weeks has caught up with him and it hurts him and his fans.

When I walked in, Junior was already on the decks and playing a decent track. As he crossed over into the next track, immediately, I was hearing things that would be indicative of the night. It was sloppy. Trust me, I can't beat match for shit, but the mix was sloppy. That or the song selection was a little too ambitious. The night ended up being a mixed bag, technically speaking. Junior was up to his old tricks with cut transitions as opposed to smooth ones. Needless to say, I had to defocus from Junior's mixing and on just listen to the music. Still, the track selection seemed uneven and inconsistent, making dancing, not smooth but very stutter-y and jumpy. He seemed to be throwing on whatever he felt like which didn't make for a silky smooth musical journey.

Madonna did not show, probably to the chagrin of some dancing queens, but Amanda LePore did do a little bit on the bed made up on the stage. Fun. Nothing more, nothing less. I hadn't realized it, until I read it a short while ago on the JVM message board, but it was Junior who'd jumped on stage to toss out some condoms, Trojans, a sponsor for the night.

Hmm… and the crowd? Well, plenty of familiar, cute faces but the usual cast of characters were notably absent. Lots and lots of Gaysians. Yes, I am one too, but I'm not "sticky." Most seem to be much to my annoyance. I'd decided to be and let be, with them, dance near me, crowd me, whatever. Just leave me my space. One of them got decidedly aggressive, but in the chicken shit passive way, rubbing and bumping into me. I'm guessing the look of death on this last transgression gave him sufficient cause to leave my vicinity.

In the end, I was ready to leave. I'm usually loathe to leave, something about not wanting to miss a thing, but I did. It was 6:54 AM when I got to the lot with AutoLove (no stress about parking. Whew). It was luxurious to drive home, 15 minutes as oppose to 1 hour on the train. Yep, this may be an ongoing trend.

On a scale of BLEECH to YOWZA, I give Junior's Bedtime Story a MEH.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

"Lost" again.



The fall TV season has officially started, at least for me. "Lost" is back. It's the only show I watched consistently last season and will probably be the only such show this season.

Still haven't caught "Lost"? Want to catch up? Let me direct you here.
You've got plenty of time before next week's episode to watch last season's 24 episodes. Block out the time. It is soo worth it.

SPOILERS AHEAD! You've been warned.

Last night's season premiere was heady. It threw so much at us.

It told us that, indeed, something is down the hatch. But not how? what? why? and while we know who, the why still exists. More questions, no answers. But it's becoming more apparent that "something" is at work and has been for a long time.

Kinda feels like a Dean Koontz novel.

We do get a sense of when this all began, from Jack's hairdo and Sarah's fiance's "Miami Vice" look. We know the transmission had been cycling for 16 years, so it feels about right.

Pet Peeve alert - Wardrobe could have done a better job of making Jack's sneakers, more of the time and less contemporary. Yes, I know, only I would catch that.

Talking out loud.
Sometimes, we can see our destiny, know our fate. We do our darndest to point it in the direction we'd like to go. But are they interwined? I'm a strong believer that there is no such thing as a coincidence. In the mysterious ether of circumstance, anything is possible.

"Lost" continues to make a great narrative with the flashbacks, explaining the experiences that shape our island castaways. We see what they're doing now, but we know why because of then.

Thanks to JustJared (via Towleroad), here's a few snippets that'll clue you in to some of the strange happenings of "Lost"s season premiere. Wicked cool.

And has anyone wondered why "Quaratine" is on the inside of the hatch?!?

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Richard

Ok, so I'm a little remiss in getting a post up about Richard.

A few weeks ago, I was on a robo-hunting expedition in Chinatown. You know I was desperate if I was in Chinatown. I'm not a self-loathing Asian but Chinatown is rank, crowded, dirty and if I have to see/hear another person do a snot shot, I'm going to flip out. Ew. Gross. Anyway, I'd headed to Wah-Kue on Mott Street. Sadly, it has become a non-descript cellphone store (Who'd da thunk?) I was close to Doyer Street and was reminded of Richard's childhood tales. I hadn't corresponded with him since our last debacle attempt at meeting. However, when I arrived home, I shot him an email, saying "Went near Doyer, thought of you. Let's meet for drinks and dim sum."
He responded a day later and thus set the wheels in motion for our fateful meeting.
Through a few emails, we eventually ruled out dim sum. It would have been novel but wholly unnecessary. We settled on Therapy for drinks, decidedly gayer, more apropos and comfortable for our meeting. We'd met, Wednesday of last week.
We'd failed to meet earlier this year at an organized blogger meeting because some of us were being typical homos and figured, "Nobody will arrive on time, so let's grab a bite." Well, nobody except Richard. Long short, he wasn't pleased with the lot of us that night and rightly so. To assure that there would be no repeat in the slightest, I tried very hard and succeeded at being on time.
I walked in to Therapy and realized, we'd never said where in the bar we'd meet. The upstairs was closed so that narrowed things down a bit. I looked around some, and spotted Richard, sitting at the end of the bar table, seemingly smiling at my confusion. He'd trimmed his beard but his face was unmistakable.
Over a few drinks, we got acquainted and talked about a lot: our blogs, fellow bloggers, current events, "walls", our lives, Doyer Street, his bad gay gene. We were all over the place but we kept it moving. It was a nice experience. The stimulating conversation helped me to clear up some of the cobwebs in my head and exercise it some on topics I generally don't talk much about, ie. politics. It does infuriate me so, but Richard is passionate about it.
We eventually grabbed a bite at one of his favorite restaurants, ViceVersa. Nice place, great italian food, aside from the errant mussel that decided to spray me with red sauce. Ugh. Richard had a good laugh. I was mortified. If only he knew how often I did that. Oops, guess he will now. More conversation ensued.
Time flies when you're having fun and before I knew it, it was about 11:00PM.
We parted and it was a fine time. I look forward to doing it again. Perhaps we'll throw in a few other bloggers into the mix or not.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Ultra.NY

I'd left the office, my city way point, around 2:45AM to head over to Crobar. Jumped back into the subway, getting only as far as 23rd and 8th.

Heard enroute to the subway:
"21. 29. what's the difference? I'm still legal."
Tsk, tsk. Straight kids and their logic. Don't know the context so I'm guessing, if you're 21 and using a fake ID with 29, you're an idiot.

Oh, to the two making out in the white Nissan Maxima (circa model year 2000) on Crosby Street, not romantic. Nope, not at all. Wouldn't even let him get to first base. But I guess you have to make do. Just be sure he gets the car home to mom.

Continuing…
I walked down 23rd Street, past the Westside Tavern (Hi, Snaxx, or whoever was left at 3:15AM in the morning) and cut up 10th Avenue, which was abuzz with activity at that time. Turned on to 28th Street and people milling around gave me the initial impression of a long line, but I was able to walk right up to the front, coming in 3rd in line. However, I still waited 15-20 minutes as they allowed all the list people in before me. Can't complain to the people working the door, since, they're working the door and can say " You're outta luck." and refuse you entrance. And the frenchies, that stood behind me and insisted on pushing their way up, ahead of me (yea, big whoop, so you were second in line now), PLEASE STOP PUSHING, YOU CHEESE EATING SURRENDER MONKEYS. Thanks.

Then I got blogsighted. As he passed me, he said, "EvilBuddha." Grinned and continued in. It took me a second to recognize him. It was Mike P. of Blather and Bosh! While I was still stuck in line. Mike was heading in on someone's list, more than likely, free-of-charge. Grumble. Grumble. Who does he know? After so many years of clubbing, I should be granted a seniority card or be tenured.

Eventually I got in and things started to fall into place.

The music was pumping but I could see it wasn't Danny on the turntables yet. I walked around and the place was a zoo. The surrounding areas, to the dancefloor, were near impossible to navigate. I managed to slip and weave my way through the crowd. Surprisingly, as I discovered the last time, the place to find a space to dance was in the middle of the dancefloor. Hrmph. straight crowds, they do more preening and posing than dancing. So convoluted.

Shortly, within two songs, Danny took over from Timo Maas and was throwing down some mean tech house. He was going big room sound again. But this time, I was able to sync up with him and actually enjoy his little journey. I'd run into my friend Indy, whom I hung around with for a bit, but eventually found Mike of B&B and danced around together for the most part thereafter. It was a blast to meet him and dance. with him. I would never have imagined, but then I did post I would be going. It was a pleasure to talk with someone that was very knowledgeable about the music. He says he's in the biz.

The musical journey was a fun one. I can't say I wanted to dance to all of Danny's tracks but I was grooving and moving to most of it. No trainspotting this time, wasn't in the mood. At one point, Mike and I were dancing in the Bamboo room, or whatever it's called, as the music was groovier there. Not as pounding as it was in the main room.

All in all, I did manage to sweat and sweat a lot. Of course, straight parties, I'm shy and not oft to doff my shirt, while others, who should really second guess their choice, do. Sigh, straight knuckleheads. There were a fair share of hot straight boys, or were they straight? I couldn't see if there was a strong representation from the "boys." But they're presence was felt. ie. the beefy bald guy who seemed to be stalking me and dancing near me. Funny, do I give off the gay vibe or did he assume with my dashing good looks and well-manicured demeanor I was gay? Ha.

Mike left well ahead of me. By the time I'd left I was exhausted, but I couldn't believe it was only 9:15AM. I was there for only about 5-5.5 hours. I guess the hard dancing made the time feel that much longer. I returned to my city way point and headed home thereafter. I walk away from this experience, thoroughly pleased.

Ultra - Journey in Pictures











Tuesday, September 13, 2005

It's here! It's here!



iPod nano!

I once thought, the iPod Shuffle was the perfect iPod, nice little package, aside from the missing screen, and low capacity. Well, looks like Apple got it right.

Purses and cigarette burns on my back*

*Thanks Robocub.

That's what I'm preparing to deal with, since I've decided to head to…



Skipping the outdoor, park portion of the party, seeing as I work like most normal people do till about 5-6:30PM.
Albeit, I'd had less than a spectacular time, the last time with Danny at Crobar (it was me, not him), I've got to focus on just getting into it and not have any over-inflated expectations. Tall order.
Here's also to hoping that it's the dance freaks rather than the "dressed-to-be-seen" straight boys and girls. The dance freaks are more congenial and fun-loving than the cracked out posers.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Pics

Been a while I posted pics of my mug. Some fanservice if you will. :)



Note to self: Natural light is terrible for iSights.












Better but a little washed out. Makes me look like I got too much color today.

Four Years Later

At the beach, Cheryl and her son played next to me. Haiden cooed as he ate sand dusted Cheerios from the blanket. I'd stopped talking and looked toward the sun and sky, the crystal clear sky. It was gorgeous, yet oddly disquieting.

Something fleeting, flashed in my mind. Was I forgetting something? It's important, what is it?

Oh, yes, the date, today's date.

"I can't believe it's been four years already," Cheryl said, sensing my thoughts.

No, I couldn't believe it either.

Four years ago today, I watched two towers fall, opening a hole in the sky. Four years ago today, NY changed.

Cheryl spoke again, about where she was when it'd happened. She was with her friend, Drew. On subsequent anniversaries, they'd text message each other to say, Thinking of you etc. This time, Cheryl mentioned she had thought to let it pass without acknowledgment. Alas, Drew did not and without fail, texted her to say,
"Thinking of you on this day."

I didn't bring up where I was that day. I'd told the story so many times. Late for work. Train re-routed to the Manhattan Bridge. Saw the burning towers. Walked down to City Hall from Canal Street, all the while thinking, I need to get to work. Short while later, sat on a fire hydrant, thinking There's no way I'd be working today. A sick crackling noise from above and the south tower fell. Spires of metal, crumpled like sand. People crying, woman falling to her knees, wailing "Oh lord, have mercy." People running. Cloud of debris giving chase. I was moving. Grabbing at people, helping them climb on to the Brooklyn Bridge walkway. Overtaken by smoke, I smell metal. I pull my shirt up to cover my mouth. All I see are eyes, fear-filled eyes. Is that what I look like? We walk in silence. About 20 minutes later, I've reached the other side of the bridge. I turn, in time to watch the north tower's antenna array wobble and disappear downwards. I point myself into Brooklyn and don't look back.

I hadn't forgotten. I would never let myself. I'd thought about this day, last week, last night and this morning. But for a moment, I was lost in a moment. Today couldn't have been further away from that day, four years ago. Thank goodness.

For Cheryl, it's easy to push the memory aside. She has new, more important priorities, namely Haiden, nearly pushing one. He was a hard fought battle and she is brimming with hope. She's changed.

No bundle of joy for me… yet. I imagine I'll change too.

And isn't that just it? We're always changing, reacting, growing. Perhaps I've surpassed the pinnacle of growth from Sept. 11, 2001. The pain is an old friend, he's hard to let go. I don't have to look back so often, to figure out where I'm supposed to go. I'm there.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Catching on the second go-round.

When I was a younger evilbuddha, around HS, Robotech was the big anime. Well, "anime" wasn't what it was known as, but it sure was one kick-ass cartoon. Anime, as it is now identified, was dubbed a short time later. A blend of action like I'd never seen before, with animated dogfights with airplanes, piloted by humans, transforming to robots, defending the earth in an all out war against attacking gargantuan aliens. Whew, say that three times fast. Unlike the American cartoons of the time, which were silly fodder to sell toys, Robotech, had a great deal more depth to it. Human struggles with war and alien lack of emotion and their eventual growth, I'd never seen the like in cartoons. Was this really for kids? I'd asked my younger self.

But who am I kidding? I loved the Mecha, the technical aspect of the show, the transforming airplanes and the big, armed-to-the-teeth robots, with guns a blazing and rockets glaring. It is probably because of Robotech, that my fondness for robots was firmly grounded. Sure, it started with Shogun Warriors (more to come on this) but this was where my obsession took hold.

Robotech, for all it's depth and storytelling, still pandered to the masses to buy their licensed products, toys and the like. While limited in the US, merchandise was plentiful and varied in China, Japan, essentially, the Far East and abroad, where Robotech, originally dubbed "Macross" was huge. All the products, you'd find in the states was imported therefore carried a significant price tag, mucho coin.

Younger evilbuddha was not very financially well-to-do. In other words, I scrimped and saved but to no avail. They were littered around Chinatown and on every opportunity I was there, I'd tried to steer my parents to Wah-Kue, a toy store on Mott Street. I had hopes that seeing my despair and anguish, they would choose to put me out of my misery by captitulating and buying them for me. However, the parentals were impossible to convince or connive into purchasing the prohibitively priced trinkets.

One such item, a holy grail of Robotech/Macross toys was the monstrous 1/55 scale Takatoku Armored Valkyrie GBP-1S.



It was the penultimate Robotech/Macross toy to me, woefully out of my reach at $75. I don't think I even asked for it, for not only would I have been resoundly rejected, I would be chastised and probably slapped upside the head for such a stupid thought.

Even now, this original escapes me at an even more prohibitive price of $800-1400 for one in C9+ (Box and Toy) pristine condition.

I left my childhood years without the Armored Valkyrie.

Of course, if you've been reading my blog, you'd know I hadn't left my childhood behind.

Always chasing a part of me that hadn't been completed, I'd only recently went hog wild acquiring items as an avid collector.

Yamato had released a 1/60 scale version of the GBP-1S.



Smaller and complete, a worthy acquisition, but it didn't quite measure to the enormity of the the 1/55 scale Takatoku. And NO, I'm not even entertaining the thought of acquiring an original.

But recent pictures I'd seen from various collector sites, taken at toy shows made me hopeful again.

Say hello to the 1/48 scale Yamato Macross VF-1J Valkyrie (recently acquired) w/ (soon to be available) GBP-1S Armor. Fucking SWEET!



Here's to having a childhood dream fulfilled.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Labor Day Wrap-up: Pleasure before Business

It was a gorgeous weekend for a holiday, fast becoming a rare occurrence for NY but most welcome. I'd already gotten the weekend to a great start with Friday night's activities, but I was looking forward to some downtime which on Saturday and Sunday.

Saturday
Comprised of not much of anything. Slept late and did next to nothing. I got some sun on the roof. I was really looking for that last summer tan, so I was going with the tanning oil to really burn it in. A sinful, afternoon nap after that was delectable.

My only outing(s) was to fuel up AutoLove. She was down to about 1/4 tank. My first foray, I discovered that much of the gas stations in the area were out of fuel. I gave up fast and returned home. Speaking with the BF, whom I partially blame for this situation, he suggested another gas station in a completely different direction, 5 blocks away. I walked over to determine if there was gas. Fortunately there was. I went back and grabbed AutoLove and paid an obscene $39.54 to fill up at a ridiculous $3.49 a gallon. Arrrggggh.

R-I-D-C-U-L-O-U-S. (Spoken a la Harry Potter.)

Thanks W, love what your war for oil is doing for us. And for your next trick, an exit strategy?

Moving on, the BF activities were extremely light Saturday. He'd figured I'd be ditching him and going out that evening, he'd made plans of his own for the whole day, which was fine by me. However, I'd made no plans but was contented to spend some quality ME time, scouring the web for Torrents of anime.

Sunday
It always starts with breakfast with the BF's father. He wasn't fairing so well, so it was short. We eventually headed out to SI to the BF's brother's house to while away the last holiday of the summer, hanging around the pool, taking in the sun (I'd only gotten a little color, if you could believe it yesterday) and sipping on margaritas.

It was very relaxing. I'd zonked out at one point laying flat on my back on the deck. Ah, the sun does knock me out.

We didn't fire up the grill. Everyone was all barbecued out. Instead, we sat down to a nice Sunday italian gravy dinner. In normal speak, pasta, tomato sauce with sausages and meatballs. Delicious. Hadn't had that in a long while. Tons of dessert was also to be had.

As the day progressed, I gotten some calls from my manager updating me on the situation at work.

2:00 PM - First call, all things are still normal, work will happen as planned. DRAT.

Despite the looming work on Monday, which was inevitable, I held some hope for possibly making it out Sunday night / Monday Morning for Alegria at Crobar. Robocub had gotten me giddy and whipped into a frenzy about going during the week. So I was very downtrodden when it was confirmed that I would most definitely be working.

7:00 PM Second Call - Seems that work was completely unready. I'd report for work on Monday… but at 6:00PM. Hmmmm…

I immediately made up my mind that I was going out to meet up with Robocub, whom I called instantly once my mind was made up, for Alegria. I'd get home early, maybe 10-ish and get some sleep and head out to work. Sure, I'd be a little tired but it had to be done.

I ran home, reserved a ticket online and went in for a disco nap.

Not much to report but Alegria was SOOOO much fun. Once I connected with Robocub, I settled in for some big, gay fun. The men were particularly good-looking and hot, freshly back in the city with a renewed verve. The energy was a bit manic at first, so much so that I couldn't seem to sync up but I eventually did and it was no-holds-barred good time. What a blast. The music was route for Alegria but I hadn't heard it in so long. I ended up staying till about 10 and headed home for so much needed rest before work.

Business
One word: T-I-R-E-D.

I'd slept some during Monday afternoon, enough to look and feel normal. But it wasn't enough. My manager called in the early afternoon to further inform me that work wasn't where it should be but I'd be going in at 7:30PM.

Driving in, the city was pretty empty, so parking and parking well weren't an issue. This was convenient seeing as I wasn't in the mood to ride a train in or out. I was mentally not in the head for it.

I'd guess that I'd sat around for three hours before work finally came down to me. From then, it was pretty time consuming and mind-numbing but welcome, to finally be accomplishing something. I worked till 5AM. Yes, it was gruesome amount of work. But nonetheless, it got done. I don't envy my manager, he stayed over night and just left at 2PM. That used to be me, but I'm glad it's not.

A great weekend, eventhough I was made to pay for it in the end.

Saturday, September 03, 2005

"Where would karaoke be without the Eighties?"

Not to be disheartened by the thought of work on Monday, I met up with Neal and his GF, Catherine, both in from CA for the Labor Day weekend and a few cohorts/friends, formerly co-workers: C, A and L. First destination was Wonjo in Korea Town (33rd Street bet. 5 and 6th) for some korean barbecue. Think Japanese hibachi-style, except you cook your own meat in the center of the table that has a charcoal grill. Good eats, if you're into kimchee and such. Pretty cheap too. On the minus side, we realized we all smelled like seared meat afterwards.

After a quick stop at E and C's hotel room (they're married, not to each other and they had a single full bed. Hmmm? Oh, and they're guys. Not that there's anything wrong with that but Hmmm?), whereupon Catherine pilfered some soaps and shower caps, we headed over to Muse, karaoke place on 27th Street between 6th and 7th.

After the first and previous time I'd done karaoke, the next day, I was dismissed from my job. The two incidents were unrelated but it did give me pause. But like last time, it was a blast.

We'd "sung" a bevy of songs. Out of the gate, I tried Curbside Prophet by Jason Mraz and I failed rather miserably. Funny, I usually can keep up when I'm listening to it on my iPod. I got self-conscious about my abilities there after, and thought, the perception of my own voice through my head is much different than what was being projected back at me. Eventually, I figured, more beers help my uneasiness, which they did.

Other songs, I'd picked and sang to:
Miami 2017 - Billy Joel
Photograph - Def Leppard (the on-screen words didn't come up at first, but myself, C and E were singing fairly well without them. Scary.)
Africa - Toto
Games People Play - Alan Parsons Project
Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting - Elton John
Heat of the Moment - Asia
Our House - Crowded House
Separate Ways - Journey
Mr. Brightside - The Killers (This was fun and Neal chose it for me. :) )

After that tracklist, I'm sure you understand why E made the quote that is the title of this post.

11:30PM - We left a little hoarse. Good times.

Friday, September 02, 2005

B_G F_O_PY D_NK_Y D__K!!!

_I_ _L_P__ _O__E_ _IC_!!!

Put them together and that's how I feel about having to work on Monday.

Stunned Silence

I've been mulling over what to blog about the past few days. A part of me wants to go about business as usual, keeping things light. But in the wake of Hurricane Katrina and the ensuing chaos, mayhem and despair in New Orleans, it's hard not to be affected.

At first, when I read about the Biloxi Mayor's quote of "This is our Tsunami," I thought the comparison vastly inappropriate. The loss of hundreds of thousands of lives in last years Indian ocean tsunami, surely couldn't compare to, maybe what I figured to be at most, 50 lives lost. A tragedy for certain but not equal. Call it American conceit but something of that magnitude couldn't possibly happen in MY backyard. We had so much more warning and we are infinitely better prepared to handle such things.

Hubris interrupted.

As Katrina passed and the destruction that lay in her wake became apparent, conceit turned to shock and disbelief, then to mind-numbing humility.

The shock hasn't warn off yet and has turned to anger. Anger that we have a president that doesn't seem to care. Sure, he cares for the camera but couldn't give a shit. His ratings are already in the toilet, what's the difference? Call the light of day, partisan propaganda, I don't care. Whatever politicizing and table turning helps you sleep at night. But this administration does not and seems to never have had, the American people in mind and continues to fail in this fact. (Links, thanks to PAYOR)

Sigh.

I'm exasperated just thinking about it. I'll go to the gym and blow off some steam.