Meditations in the Key of J

Chantal, being in town for about 5+1/2 minutes, as per usual, has departed once more for the other SLC. My time with her was of course far too brief, but at least El Loco Mexicano and I were able to see her off this morning after queueball was so good as to open his relaxing apartment to me and my friends for some hang-out time last night.

It's strange how some people have stayed with me through the years, while others have fallen (or have jumped headlong) by the wayside. I don't really regret losing touch with just about any of the latter group-- if I'd really wanted to retain their friendship, I would have made an effort to do so, after all. I only hope that all those whom I count among my closest confidants will eventually make their way to Seattle, once again or for the first time-- if I'm going to live anywhere in America, it's here, and the likelihood of getting all of my good buddies to move to, say, Amsterdam or Brussels or Geneva seems small at best.

Still, I myself am doing my damnedest to escape this earthly paradise once more-- however temporarily-- so I can hardly begrudge anyone else the need to spread their wings and see how high they can fly.

It seems to me that, at least in certain people, there lives within an instinctive aversion to a certain kind of comfort-- that to play it safe and do the sensible thing is deeply inimical to inner peace. By doing that which, by all rational material standards at least, should make us happy because secure, we can stifle some essential inner quality that only finds its true expression by dealing with a certain amount of adversity/chaos.

Call it the "Crucible Theory", perhaps.

El Loco Mexicano, another friend of ours, and I spent the best part of yesterday afternoon at Wade's in Bellevue, honing our post-apocalyptic survival skills. I didn't do too very badly for my first time out, imho-- even with the handguns, I got at least one bullseye per target, and I got four in a row with the rifle. A Walther, a Sig-Sauer, and a Glock were our pistols, though I don't remember the make of the rifle-- all 9MM, all very fancy-looking. I am now in a fairly good position to start holding up all my neighbors for their canned goods when civilization falls... or, at least, I would be if I were to actually buy a gun of my own, but that step is one I'm not nearly ready to take-- until things get really hairy, I don't think I much need one.

The Feared Foursome (queueball, driftwoodsun, priorysion, and I-- it's more apt than most of you can ever know) met up for an evening of... philosophy... and other hazards to one's mental health at B&O, a place that (unfortunately) is always expensive, but (fortunately) is always damn good at whatever one orders. We were joined by fivebyfive, up for a visit to the home country from LA. I am insanely jealous of him, if for no other reason than that he can dye his hair jet black and make it look good-- something I, alas, shall never be able to do.

The party stayed at B&O until around 1, whence we migrated to Charlie's after B&O's closing. I haven't stayed out so very late in such a very long time, and it is a testament to the stimulating nature of the company that I wasn't dead and buried by 2 AM.

I find myself considering the nature of sex in a new light-- something queueball said got me thinking. If I may paraphrase, "sex, much like good conversation, is just another way of relating to others; I've had all-night conversations that were fully as satisfying as any sex marathon."

The man himself said it better, of course, but I have trouble remembering oral quotes as opposed to written ones, so my poor attempt will have to do until he corrects me. However garbled, his point about the society of worthy individuals is well-taken; there are few higher joys in this life, it seems to me. I do still think that, in some cases, there is a crucial opportunity to enhance/deepen that society by the expression of physical affection, yet this is a step for which so few of us are ready, this "conversation" of both intellect and body. Is it worth the risk, then, to attempt to break down the strictures society has imposed on our thinking in such matters? Such action in this case would seem to lend itself too much to selfish motives. I have difficulty, when considering something so deeply personal, believing that I really know better than another person what is best for that person. My perfect world is my perfect world, and I cannot people it with unwilling colonists.

Regardless, the sensation of being around gay men whose brains are routinely high-functioning is the intellectual equivalent of a sublime mushroom trip. That is all.

I can't remember the last time I had such a long day. It was worth it, every second, but damn are my feet tired.

Quiche was baked and served without a hitch, to rave reviews from brunch attendees. Lazing about was done, then we went to watch a bit of the parade-- in attendance were, as previously mentioned, queueball, driftwoodsun, priorysion, and various others who shall for the nonce remain nameless. jilocasin actually agreed to come with me, but he left a little before noon.

We watched the parade for a while, then went back to the apartment for a bit, thence to Volunteer Park to check out the festivities-- driftwoodsun, priorysion and I having formed an ad hoc splinter group, the "Tall Brunets Brigade" or some such. Got caught in the crush, was blessed by one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence (and I didn't even have to blow a bishop!), then met up with the rest of the group and wandered back to Broadway for lunch/dinner at some Thai joint that turned out to be pretty damn good. During the meal, I was informed that I am, in point of fact, a sun bear. I don't think I'll ever really understand furries as long as I live.

We went back to the park, watched a little bit of the live entertainment, then queueball was good enough to give those of us who needed it a ride home.

I have little or nothing in common with most gay men, as is true of most people, but when I do click with them, as has never happened until recently, it's an experience rich beyond the telling of it. The love of comrades doth truly surpass the love of women.

And that's my Pride thought for the day.

jilocasin and I hung out with zeblith and his genetic other half last night, allowing me to recapture a tiny, pathetic scrap of that long-vanished undergraduate optimism and enthusiasm. Oh, and cherrysher, DUDE did we get robbed-- you should only see how nice the rooms are in their hall at the UW. All new, NICE furniture, carpeting, decent lighting, non-suicide-proof windows-- and that was in a double. The singles, I'm sure, would make me start weeping openly.

Tomorrow's the interview with Kaplan. I've decided to teach the interviewer the Cyrillic alphabet during the mock-teaching portion of it, because it's something I know and it's eminently logical and straightforward-- If I can learn it in fewer than four classes, anyone can. Still, I can't find it in me to be more than vaguely nervous about the whole affair-- as I mentioned to queueball recently, I think that standardized testing is a blight on the face of the American educational system, and being a part of the ridiculously overpriced industry that's grown up around it stirs within me a certain disquiet. Alas, they do pay well, and if nothing else, if I work for them I'll be helping some kids get into college, however minimally and bass-ackwardly. Everyone deserves a good education, even if his/her parents do have too much money, and if these hypothetical kids get me for a tutor, they'll work for every last scrap of their education. SLC taught me nothing if not how to be an academic hardass.

Что будет, будет.

"Christian conservatives loathe all forms of homo- and bisexuality, of course, but it is the gay man (singular; he's an archetype) who looms largest in their books and sermons and blogs and cell group meetings. Not, for the most part, as a figure of evil, but one to be almost envied. "The gay man" is the new seductress sent by Satan to tempt the men of Christendom. He takes what he wants and loves whom he will and his life, in the imagination of Christian men's groups, is an endless succession of orgasms, interrupted only by jocular episodes of male bonhomie. The gay man promises a guilt-free existence, the garden before Eve. He is thought to exist in the purest state of "manhood," which is boyhood, before there were girls."

--From "Sex as a Weapon", by Jeff Sharlet

I'm impressed. That's an explication of Christianity's (and hetero men's at large) hatred of homosexuality that I've never heard before-- though in a way, I've considered it myself. Straight men who feel insecure in their own version of masculinity hate gay men who seem to be happy in themselves, not riddled with guilt or baggage about their sexuality, kind of a "how dare these perverts get away with it?!" thing. I've certainly never seen it put so beautifully, though.

Also, anyone else think that his description of the Xtian men's movement sounds like a terrorist organization? Just wondering.

This is where "original sin" has landed us, boys and girls.