jadash's Blurty

Subject:	It's enough to make a crooken man go straight
Time:	6:20 pm.

So here I sit, celebrating all by myself. A fitting end to this summer, one where I made a great accomplishment, learned a few lessons, made a shitload of money, and became who I will become.

The champagne was cheap, but effective. I popped the bottle with just a little bit of cleaning left to do, but I am imagining that whatever is left will be done tomorrow morning at 3am when I have to get up. Surprising how I can put off things to the very very last minute. Still, the champagne was necessary.

Do I feel sad? Do I feel anxious? Do I feel hopeful? It’s very hard to tell.

Tomorrow morning, I fly back to Texas. Mom will pick me up, and drive me to my grandparents’ ranch. The following day, I will start back on my drive to Los Angeles, where I will finish out my last year of law school before moving back to LA.

Next week, not only will I have my 26th birthday, I also have to find a new apartment and hope to find a new car. Very exciting stuff.

Now that I think about it, I was worried when I accepted my offer here in NY that the future would be set in stone, my path firmly set, and any and all surprises left totally by the wayside. Yet, here I am, with no clue where I will be living or what my life will be like next year. It’s kind of nice – I thrive on solving these kinds of problems. I’ve gotten really good at starting over.

Yet next year, when I come back to NY, I will be building a career. Within 8 years, I hope to be a partner at this law firm that has given me so much. While the firm and the city may be set, the path I take is far from it. Prosecution or litigation? Still, more testing and deciding to go through. More stressing and comparing and figuring out what is best for me. This is the stuff that I am good at.

And still I see my family tomorrow. It’s hard for me to go back, knowing that for the foreseeable future I will be far away from them. Knowing that I will not be there as they get older, and sicker, and could use the friendly smile. Every night I still dream about them. Every night I dream that we are going somewhere far away, and I am driving, and we never seem to get where we are going. Every night, the places change, the particular family members change, and the car I am driving changes. Yet every night, I am driving, and responsible for getting them where they need to go.

Can I drive them from New York City?

So I got my offer. Of course I accepted on the spot. Law firms tend to be good-ole-boy, much like Texas. Law firms, especially in New York, tend to work your butt off with very little hope for meaningful participation. This one seems different. I hope they prove me right.

But, my best bud over the summer did not get an offer. She is going back to Chicago and looking for a job. She might not be in the city when all is said and done. After all they showed us, trying to get us to be one big, cohesive summer class, they take two of the sweetest (and one of the strangest) from us. The other person that I was really close to didn’t accept his offer on the spot. I kept trying to convince him to come back – I don’t think I could do this with just myself to keep confidences in.

But it got me thinking on the nature of my friendships and loves. Having moved around so much, I have had people touch my life. One or two of them no longer speak to me, due partly to my arrogance and their pride. CB and R, how I wish it didn’t have to be that way. T, what the hell ever happened between us? B, why won’t you just let me in? B, why him and not me?

And yet, as I sit here, I am not particularly lonely. The drunk calls haven’t started, and hell, the one person I’d most like to call doesn’t even have a phone, or so I’ve been told. It’s a Jim night. It’s me saying goodbye to my life for the past 3 months. I’ve grown accustomed to it – not only the money, but also the idea of progress – tangible movement forward, learning things, making a difference, putting the opposing party in their place for ever questioning the benevolent intentions of our clients. Now, it’s back to LA – back to hostile territory, somewhat irrelevant law school, commuting through LA traffic, and putting my life on hold for a year.

Fall will be dangerous – that is when Jim falls in love. This time, I don’t think I can afford to – not unless he’s near my age, really wants kids, can drive stick, and doesn’t mind moving to NY in the summer. Aaargh. Oh, and nice arms and dark eyes, while I’m at it. Sure, bound to happen.

It does suck that I’m surrounded by people getting married, having kids, and starting their Lives. I wonder if its just me. Then I spend the week with T, not really dating, but still sharing an apartment and enjoying the companionship that goes with seeing someone every morning and every evening. He doesn’t feel the same way about me, but at least my end of the equation is not broken. I may not be able to find someone who can support me, but at least I’m not the total problem.

So much for that. Tomorrow starts the big journey. Back to Mom, GMom, and GDad – back to Keith, the Little Gay Truck That Could (for another month, at least), back to Bill and Eric and WeHo and Westwood and Clea and Heather and expensive textbooks and lugging my laptop around. Another year of wacky law school.

Wish me luck – I’m off to watch my last sunset in NY for a while.
JaDaSh

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Subject:	huzzah for froofie coffee
Time:	9:01 pm.

Organic coffee. Does that mean that the whole thing is corn fed, home grown? Still, it’s only slightly more than Starbucks, has free wifi, and the staff is uber hot. Not at all bad for a Saturday evening.

So what to do tonight? I’m fighting the inborn hermit instincts and want to go out and do something. Yet, sitting in a bar seems pretty fucking pointless at this point. I could go see a movie by myself, but that might make me sadder than anything up until this point.

I went to dinner with T last night. It was an odd night – we were supposed to go to his family’s summer house this weekend, but circumstances conspired to make our plans otherwise. So instead we went out to dinner. He told me about his date this week. Praise the Lord, homeboy is dating. This means that this damn dance he always does around me could slow down a little bit. It’s hard to string someone along when you’re with someone else.

I couldn’t help but wonder why the dance was ever happening to begin with. If anything were to flat out happen, I highly doubt it would work out. Another case of not wanting what is in front of you and wanting what you cannot have? I make such a good American.

Speaking of which, I just ordered a new big ass phone. It slices, it dices, it juliens. It works as a modem for the computer (even though that might be considered by some a highly illegal hack – I should consider looking into it more before I set it up like that). It has a full keyboard, video/mp3 capabilities, SD slot that will work smashingly with my gigabyte cards I use for my camera and PSP. With the right gear, I could conceivably watch and control my TiVo with it ($150 for a sling box, $40 for a network adaptor for TiVo, $30 for the player for the phone), turn it into a GPS ($299 from Palm), and basically cure cancer. More phone than I could EVER need. Still, it’s better than car shopping or dreading the dating scene, so I consider it a healthy obsession. We’ll see if I can post from it…

I am thinking about getting a car when I get back to LA. This would be the least practical thing I have ever done. I have a vehicle, which has served me well for three years. (Holy shit. Three years with that icky truck? That makes it the longest I have stuck with a single vehicle.) And I’ll need a vehicle in LA, and mine is pretty old and unsafe. Still, once I come back to NY, a vehicle will be a pure luxury. I won’t need it, won’t hardly ever drive it. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to get to it more than three or four times a month.

BUT I may as well do something with this lawyer money.

BUT I won’t be able to drive hardly ever if I move here…hmmm….

Naw, that’s a small tradeoff. I like it here, the firm is pretty good, and the city has grown on me, more or less.

While walking with T last night, I told him about my predicament with aforementioned firm. For the first time in a long time, the possibilities have collapsed. The waveform is complete. I can see what my life is going to look like. It’s scary as hell.

I feel the pull of the unknown wanting to make me chunk this nice job offer and take my chances elsewhere. Clearly it’ll be better if I work in Austin/LA/Seattle/DC/Houston/Dallas/etc. No, it won’t. It’ll be just as good and just as bad but for different reasons.

T told me it meant that I was finally growing up. I hate it when people who are 43 tell me things like that. Still, the point is well taken.

When do we grow up? My parents arguably had to do it when pregnancy hit. No longer is the world a vast open plane with limitless possibilities. There is a path that you have to take, and you buckle down and do it as well as you can. You make a few mistakes, hate quite a bit of it, but love it nonetheless.

My situation is quite different. Every place I have gone has been totally voluntary – totally my own doing. Nothing to blame for the various stumbles except myself. If my life isn’t what I want it to be, I have exactly one person I can blame besides George Bush.

But now…

Now…

I’m going to do it. As I sit here in Think Coffee, drinking my organic coffee, I declare my intention to come here and follow through. I will deal with the heat and the noise and the people, and welcome the energy, variety, independence and cachet of living here in NY. My work will be hard, and will require some long hours. But I’ll have some great people to work with, and the stuff is really freaking interesting.

(It would probably be the worst possible career move to start hashing out work issues here – take that attorney/client privilege – but anyone who knows me in human form can feel free to ask for the details that I am allowed to give =^)

Along the lines of work, it was a trying week last week. In an effort to not blab all about my job online, I am now “the guy with the list” as called by the Head Guy at the law firm. Oh well, if you’re going to stick out, you may as well stick out because you have the cajones to do something, instead of the opposite. Wallflower isn’t really my style, anyway.

So now it’s the last week of the summer internship. I have to get two drafts finished tomorrow and be ready to get them proofed on Tuesday. Wednesday is an all-day beach affair. Thursday is cleaning the office and hopefully getting an offer. Friday is our last three hour lunch with open bar.

Then I have a week left here in NY. I don’t travel alone well – for some reason it always feels like there is a hot wind blowing into my eyes and they are horribly red and will start watering at any moment. I am hoping that I can actually force myself to get out and do some stuff. T suggested that I get out and see one neighborhood a day while I’m here. There are the classic destinations, like museums and parks and Empire State Building and such. I’d like to see a few sunsets from some beautiful places. I’d like to sun on the Big Gay Pier. I’d like to walk the Brooklyn bridge. I think that’s my list right there.

With any luck it’ll rain all morning enough to clear out the air by sunset, but I know what will likely happen is hazy morning and rainy afternoons, and HOT. Still, I’ll have plenty of time for perfect weather in LA. Perfect weather gets OLD. I’d like to stand in the rain a bit and remember what it feels like.

As to where I’m living in LA, I have no clue yet. What my social life will be like with only 9 months in the locale, I won’t even care to speculate. There’s always hope that a guy will come through for me. Or a new prince/doctor/lawyer/troubadour/knight (note: actor not listed) will sweep me off my feet. I won’t hold my breath.

-JaDaSh

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Subject:	like long division
Time:	11:17 pm.

There is an old saying that if you want to know who you should be with, you close your eyes. Think about whom you want to be with. Whoever pops into your head is the person you should be with.

While walking home from the fireworks tonight, I tried just such an exercise. No one popped in. The few choices that I ran through didn’t stick around too long. In the dark pit of the night I guess I’m still by myself. Still not as into the people that I struggle with in my daily life.

I can agonize about why this person or that person doesn’t want me. Why he can’t give me a phone number, an address, or ever stay over. Why the other told me that he travels alone because then he meets people that he can tell things to, then complains that he can never get a date in front of me. The other that calls me at the worst of times just to remind me of the fire that I could never hold in my hand – in a jar fireflies only last for one night.

This whole summer has been surreal. There is no basis, no frame of reference to examine the experience. I have just been having it.

There is no home. Where am I from? Where am I going?

Scottie came to visit me this weekend. Someone that really loves me. I enjoy spending time with him – he’s a fun person to talk to. But part of me always pushes him away – I can never quite figure out why. I could never let myself let him take care of me. I could never take all that he was offering. I could never move in, surrender to the peaceful home that he could provide.

Knowing that – knowing that I care for him but never quite let him take me on. That puts it all in perspective. The others – people that keep themselves at arm’s length and drive me nuts. I do that to him. I am no better and no worse than everyone else. We’re not bad people, we’re not lying in our emotions, we’re not trying to lead other people on. It’s just our instinct – we want to love certain people, but something keeps us from just letting go.

The only time in recent memory when I have let my real emotions out was at Uncle Tommy’s funeral. For two minutes, I stood under an elm tree with my brother and his wife. She was sad but didn’t quite understand. He and I started crying and just couldn’t stop. Not in each other’s arms, just near each other, a form of sadness that spread between us. I couldn’t stop crying. I was convulsing, nose running, shoulders shaking, tears threatening to wash my contacts out and leave me blind. The careful part of my presentation in public was temporarily pierced. It was an experience that has only rarely duplicated itself so far.

The previous time that I had let go was when I was breaking up with Brian. I was sobbing and just telling him everything that was wrong. Everything that didn’t fit. He was stunned because I had not said anything up until that point. Although in retrospect, I am not sure if what I said is what really happened or just something that I drummed up to justify not wanting to be with him anymore. Again, at some point I have justified everything so much in my head that when it comes out I am not sure if it is real or just the version that will make me seem justified in my actions.

Except at the funeral. There was no point to what I was doing. It wasn’t for sympathy – only my brother and his wife could see me, and if my mom or grandparents could see me it would only make them feel worse.

They had played Freebird as they lowered him into the ground. My mother was laying next to him as he breathed his last breath. When she showed up, she could tell that he finally relaxed and prepared for death. It was like his big sister was there and could take care of everything, she said. His last breath happened, he went very still, and she told me that it was like his soul was leaving his body. This is my mom who snickered in the back of church all throughout my childhood. Religion as a result of being the only thing that we can believe to get through the day?

He was buried in his golf clothes. His girlfriend is contesting the will. Mom not only has to deal with losing her baby brother at the age of 49 but with this woman who wants more than he was willing to give her. It’s not a great situation.

Ever since the funeral, I have had the same dream every night. I am with my family. We are trying to get somewhere far away. I am driving. Always, I am driving. The car is different, the family members are different, the destination is different and usually fictional. But I am always driving my family somewhere far away, and we rarely get to the destination.

Thus a bit of consternation about my life in New York City. There are no cars here. Hard to be in control when you have to wait on a subway train.

So my life here has been a mixed bag. I’ve been acting out in some ways which I know for sure I shouldn’t do. But I do them anyway. I know things but don’t always believe them.

Like Sunday, got drunk and went home with someone - mostly safe, but every time has that slight margin of iffyness that could result in a big life change. It’s scary. I’m very scared.

But like walking home from the fireworks alone, who do I tell this to? It seems like most people have somewhat of a vested interest in me, like there is no one to vent to. So I can continue to beat myself up, limit myself to one martini when out, and continue on whatever path I’m on.

So the big question now is – do I stay in NYC? I definitely am no more and no less happy here than I have been everywhere else. The problem is, it was a rough time for my family this year and I feel so far away from them. Even farther – life here is so distant and removed from life in TX. Still – I wasn’t happy in TX. I didn’t see them but on the holidays when I lived right by them. It’s just an excuse to not be happy where I am at. I am good at making those.

As I sit here, one of the aforementioned guys sends me a text message continuing the full force flirt that we have ongoing for several years now. He has a boyfriend – they are about to move in together. As I sit here, I recall that I left a boyfriend for him. And I realize that on some level I moved to NY just to be near T again. Sad sad pathetic boy that I am. I know better in my conscious mind that these were not great ideas. But. Damn movies, conditioning me that any and all of these dumb romantic gestures will pay off. But in reality it takes more than that. It takes someone living near you, who is open to a relationship, who is ready, willing, and able to be in constant contact, who is comfortable to be around and comfortable around you.

I have had people that have thrilled me to be around. I have dated people so handsome I marveled that they would like a schmuck like me. I have had amazing weeks spent with people that have erased all doubt that I could live with someone, share my life with someone, and be happy. I have looked into someone’s eyes and seen the look reflected back at me.

Then I have wondered why I only see them at certain times. Why they pull back when I invite them along to group functions. Why I can never contact or see them unless they set it up. Why if I’m supposedly involved with them I am spending so much time by myself.

So I got to experience unbearable flowing sadness at his funeral. Where is the unbearable happiness?

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Subject:	musings from a two hundred year old farm
Time:	11:16 pm.

So there are certain things that are only apparent when sitting behind the wheel of a car for hours at a time.

The first thing that came to me today was that I feel like I am not quite in my element in the summer position that I am now inhabiting.

The second thing that came to me was that I have never really been at home anywhere I have been so far. That leaves NY as just about as good as any place I have lived so far. Tangential friendships, almost relationships, almost life. Almost.

So what happens when it becomes real? What happens when that spark finally occurs? Does it even occur?

My parents were of the generation where things were pretty much dictated toward them. You stayed near your family, you had a family of your own, you raised your kids in an environment that you were used to and that you knew they would be okay in.

Where do I fit in?

I have found myself this week really yearning for Austin. Of all places. This is somewhere that I did not particularly feel at home in when I lived there. If I recall I actually dated someone who lived over 100 miles away. That is how not at home I actually felt there. Yet still I think about this city. It has become a sort of urban myth to myself. A place where I was once happy and could be happy again.

I’ll just have to face it – it is hard for me to sit still anywhere. Relationships are hard – both professional and personal. It is quite easy to pack it up and move on to the next town, hoping that things will magically work out. And yet I find myself knowing how futile it is to run away, and still running away. How fair is that to myself?

So what is the solution? I could stay in NY for the rest of my life. This job will probably pan out and give myself an out to work at. A place where I can be out and have a career and not be self conscious about things that have nothing to do with my career. There is stuff to do, there are people to like, there are place that I can call my own. So what is not to like?

I keep thinking back to the time that I am spending with my family out in west texas. We have the best time. We really bond together. Yet they know how hard it has been for me. They know that I have had difficulty being myself in Texas. They understand. Does that make it easier to be away from them?

Are we really meant to have these lifelong friends? Is it our family that is supposed to see us through?

I think that they might be the only people that I can count on sometimes. I see myself, interacting with all of these weird people. I see myself longing for some type of relationship where the other person can take care of the things that I need to be taken care of. Yet I know that the only people who have ever been that way toward me are my family. Mom. Tom. People that are far, far way right now. Yet here I sit. Is it selfishness? Is it reality? All I can do is keep on doing it.

Could I live in New York permanently? There are people everywhere. There is stuff to do all the time. Crowds. Events. Things that people distract themselves with. Is it even real? People that live here are fierce in how much they like the city. Yet how much of that is ingrained?

I am unsure. Everywhere has plusses and minuses. I want to find the slam dunk, but I fear that it doesn’t exist.

And don’t even get me started on guys. Part of the reason I am sitting up here typing is that I want the guy across the hall from me to walk up stairs, see me typing, and take an interest. How sad is that that the only time I can take time for myself is when I think it will attract the interest of the guy that I am interested in. I believe that makes me certifiably insane.

So Tim. Tim would be the perfect guy for me. He’s neurotic, cute, and easily adventurous.

But he’s like Brian. We have a great time when we are together, but being together is something that will rarely if ever happen. I waste so much time and energy contemplating how to get together. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder what he’s doing right now. All the while he is probably just thinking of the best way to avoid me.

He called me. Twice. We’re supposed to talk this weekend. I am part dreading it and part wanting to call him right now. What if the call means he has finally broken up with his guy and wants to get together with me? Even as I type that it sounds wrong. He’s not the boyfriend type – not for me anyway.

I am guessing that we all have the unattainable targets- people for whom we really dig but for some reason they never really were that into us. I know I definitely have been guilty of perpetuating that upon other people – going out with them, having a good time, letting them think that all is well, but all the while having a Brian or Tim in the back of my thinking.

Part of me wonders what I would do if I were to actually acquire either Brian or Tim. Hell, maybe I have already acquired their equivalent and didn’t even realize it. Once they actually became attainable then I didn’t want them that much. Maybe I have acquired him already and don’t even know it.

It’s a complicated life, that of the confused gen Y boy trying to figure out where to settle down. Birdie in the hand – for life’s rich demand – the insurgency began – and we missed it.

Could I stay in New York?

I was born in the back seat of a Mustang on a cold night in the hard rain and the very first song that the radio sang was I won’t be home no more.

I walk through the city in a dream state. Even right now, it all feels unreal. The work, the apartment, the guys I meet, the weekend in Massachusetts, the smell of the subway. It’s all slightly dreamy. My only problem is – when do I wake up? What ground state am I going back to?

It’s like when people ask me where I am from. That is a question I have no answer from. I have where I went to high school. I have where my family lives. I have where I work. I have where I went to law school. I have where my cat is. I have where my truck is.

Could I be from New York? Could I be one of the millions of people that call this place home? Could I give up what I know and move out here? Could I endure the snow? Could I give up owning a car? Could I give up being near my family? Could I get used to renting a tiny apartment for an exorbitant amount? Could I EVER master the sense of humor?

These and many other questions can be answered. I just have to listen for the answers.

Finally, while I am bitching, what the hell is up with Tim pushing away from me?

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Subject:	cup 1.5
Time:	9:45 am.

And so another bright and shiny week begins. It's approaching the end of my glorious unpaid internship. This is a good thing - I am betting that 10 weeks is optimal time to have a specific job. You get to know people as well as you are going to in a work environment, get vaguely preferential treatment such as first access and second helpings to cookies and leftover lunch meeting food, and get to escape before the limitations of your job really start to get you down.

I hit a big limitation yesterday. I am looking into legislation for both the state of California and the US Government to see if our office, a credible civil rights organization and one of the first hate-crime tracking places that has been around since the 1940s, would endorse specific bills. There is one bill that would make a huge impact on California. I invested maybe 20 or 30 man-hours in researching the bill. People on staff are backing this specific bill more than any others on our radar. My supervisor has worked directly with the bill's author to get some language that is more palatable for all of us. We pitch the bill at the meeting yesterday.

"Governor Schwarzenegger will never sign it. I don't think we should support something that has no chance."

"I don't think we should support so many bills - it waters down our endorsement on really important bills if we back something like this."

OKAY THEN. If you were going to dismiss this in 2 minutes, couldn't you have hinted that BEFORE I spent a week on it and we went through all of these meetings crafting strategy, wording, and legal advice on the outcome of the bill.

In other examples of something I will not miss in 2 weeks, people stand in the hall and yell down to one another. People arrive anywhere from 6am to 1pm and leave from 3pm till who knows (I leave at 3:30, being an early bird), which makes scheduling meetings a bit rough.

OH and I forgot about meetings! I like to call it the Dynamic Scheduling System. They will schedule a staff meeting at 9:30. I'll be sitting there at 9:30. People will wander up for the next 15 minutes or so, asking if we are having a staff meeting. Around 10am, the boss will wander in and ask if we have a staff meeting. For the next 5 minutes, his secretary wanders around gathering up people who grumble about the staff meeting that they never expected to have. That is the people that are there, that is. Those with the most important bits don't even show up until noon, well after the staff meeting, so various interns are thrown to the wolves to report on and field intense questions on things that they have only a passing familiarity with. Everyone grumbles about the lack of attendance, then they repeat the dance the next week.

Of course, this obscures the fact that my office does wonderful work in the community and has done so for over six decades. When there is a problem in a school, they call our office for help. The name means something in the community.

It's just that I am a tight ass by nature. I get this from Mom - I like things to be on time. I like for people to have done the things they said they would have done. Yeah, I goof off every once in a while (COUGH like now COUGH), but what I am asked to have done is done. I dress nicely, keep my voice down, keep a regular schedule, change the damn water bottle when the cooler runs empty, wipe up after my self in the kitchen, and address everyone in a proper manner and tone.

It's no wonder when my memoirs are written, there won't be too much written about my cavalier work style. My sex life, on the other hand, would take up volumes and make Mom keel over. Still, the way I roll my eyes when someone leaves a half-eaten burrito on top of the water cooler (that ran empty and they did not refill) will never make compelling miniseries fodder.

That's okay. Is work supposed to be interesting? Nope. It's supposed to earn you some money and give you a sense of achievement and accomplishment. And an excuse to wear silly shoes with tassles on them. And some time to blog. And a steady but miniscule supply of cheap pens. And free cookies. And a veritable cornucopia of different flavors of cheap coffee. And access to a copy machine for purely office related use, of course.

Okay, so maybe I'm just a delinquent but of a different shade. Hypocrisy sure is fun, and quite the American past-time. Ah, for small-time villany...

JaDaSh

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Subject:	more dumb quizzes
Time:	2:44 pm.

You Know You're From LA When...

You're driving on the 101 and see a clear cut definition of where the smog begins and ends

You go to a karaoke bar and battle with seven year old divas-in-training who are trying to steal your thunder

You're sitting in traffic for at least an hour at any given part of the day

You go to the beach and see that real lifeguards actually do look like the lifeguards from Baywatch

You see purple and gold and the word "Threepeat" on every corner

You begin to "lie" to your friends about where you are (i.e. "Yeah I'm like 20 minutes away") - when you know that it'll take you at least an hour to get there).

You eat a different ethnic food for every meal

You look around at the nice cars around you during traffic, thinking it'll be your favorite Laker or WB star.

You make a conscious choice to watch Jay Leno over David Letterman

You mourned for Tupac and not for Biggie

You know it's best not to be on the 405 at 4:05 pm.

Getting anywhere from point A to point B, no matter what the distance, takes about "twenty minutes".

You know what neighborhood someone lives in by the degree of damage incurred during the riots.

You've inadvertently learned Spanish.

You've got to bring the cat/plants in when it drops to 55 degrees.

In the "winter", you can go to the beach and ski at Big Bear on the same day.

You've bumped into a celebrity at El Pollo Loco.

You know what "sigalert", "PCH", and "the five" mean.

Your pizza delivery guy is also on contract with Warner Bros.

If your destination is more than 5 minutes away on foot, you're definitely driving.

You have a gym membership because it's mandatory.

Your TV show is interrupted by a police chase.

You can't fall asleep without the lull of a helicopter flying overhead.

When tourists ask where they can get souvenirs, you direct them to Venice Beach.

You know someone named Freedom, Rainbow, Persephone or Destiny.

You've trespassed through private property to get to the "Hollywood" sign.

You've partied in Tijuana at least once.

You know Hollywood has a "lake".

You don't stop at a STOP sign, you do a California Roll.

You've lost your car in the Century City Shopping Center parking lot.

You've ever bought oranges, flowers, cherries or peanuts on a freeway off-ramp.

You think that Venice is a beach.

You drive next to a Rolls Royce and don't notice.

You've started crossing a street and returned to the curb when the DON'T WALK sign started flashing.

You've never listened to NPR.

Calling your neighbors requires knowing their area code.

You have a favorite Thai restaurant.

You think Johnnny Rocket's is an accurate depiction of a diner.

You think Manhattan is a beach.

You eat pineapple on pizza.

You've been to Disneyland more times than Downtown.

When giving directions , you follow up with the phrase: "With/Without traffic."

You classify new people you meet by their Area Code. An "818" would never date a "562" and anyone from "323" or "213" is ghetto/second class. Best area code: "310."

Driving along, you see a high-speed police chase approaching in your rear view mirror. You don't panic or even flinch. Instead, you call your friends on your car phone and tell them you're on TV.

You know that if you drive two miles in any direction you will find a McDonald's or a Starbucks.

Your cell phone has left a permanant impression on the side of your head.

You never, ever go into the water at the Beach. You barely touch the sand.

Everyone you know has 3+ phone numbers. Home, Office, mobile, pager, two-way, voicemail.....

It is not unusual for your waitress at a restaurant to have blue streaked hair, a dragon tattoo and tounge piercing.

You are awakened in the middle of the night by a moderate earthquake. Your reply: "That ain't even a 5-pointer" and go back to sleep.

You think you are better than the people who live "Over the Hill". It don't matter which side of the hill you are currently residing, you are just better than them, for whatever reason.

You live 10 miles from work. It takes you 60 minutes to get home.

Walking out of Jamba Juice, you see that a movie is being shot on-location across the street.

You are not happy, or even slightly exited that there may be a movie star there. You just say, " They f*ckin better not be blocking my parking space."

You have to yell at your bank teller through a 2 inch thick wall of plexi-glass.

That last one goes for your local convienience store man, too.

You go to Las Vegas for a weekend getaway and the whole trip cost you $50.

You personally know at least 5 people with agents.

You personally know at least 3 people who have been in a movie or TV show.

You know what In N Out is and feel bad for all the other states because they don't have any.

You know that not everyone in Beverly Hills is a millionaire.

You know who the tinsel underwear dude in Venice Beach is.

You've done something on a street corner in an attempt to get money (i.e. sang, tap danced, told jokes).

You've gotten parking tickets from parking in the red zone in front of your house.

You say you live in LA when really you live in a subsection of a subsection of a subsection of southern LA.

Any major movie star is picking out the best portobello mushrooms next to you at the grocers and you don't notice.

The guy at 8:30 in the morning at Starbucks wearing the baseball cap and sunglasses who looks like George Clooney IS George Clooney.

You really can never be too rich or too thin.

The gym is packed at 3pm...on a workday.

The workday starts at 10am...or whenever you get out of your therapy session.

Any invitation comes with, "Starts at 8pm or as soon as you can get through traffic."

You have never met a waiter that wasn't really an "Actor."

You never go to a coffee house without a copy of a script - any script.

It's sprinkling and there's a report on every news station about "STORM WATCH '99"

You call 911 and they put you on hold.

You have to leave the big company meeting early because Billy Blanks himself is teaching the 4:30 tae-bo class.

The three hour traffic jam you just sat through wasn't caused by a horrific 9 car pile-up, but by everyone slowing to rubberneck at a lost shoe lying on the shoulder.

A nurse can look at you in all seriousness and ask, "you don?t drink or smoke, right?"

All the "cool gyms" allow pedestrians on the street a full-view of those working out. Literally, you can?t drive by Wilshire without staring into L.A. Fitness. Perhaps a new form of window shopping?

The hot seasonal party favor is a candied apple from Neiman's. The apples are called "Skinny Dippers."

The waitress asks if you'd like "carbs" in your meal.

Bars card. For real.

You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Los Angeles.

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Subject:	yay for the dumb quiz page!
Time:	2:43 pm.

You Know You're From Houston When...

You're on your way to work one February morning and suddenly you're trapped in a traffic jam caused by a chuck wagon and fifty horses -- with riders -- and you look around to see that everybody in the cars around you is wearing a cowboy hat.

The "farm-to-market" roads have seven lanes.

If you want to be a snob about your grocery shopping, you can go to a Randall's Flagship, a Kroger Signature, a Rice Epicurean, or soon, an HEB Central Market to buy bread and milk (but you have to dress up!)

You have to turn on the air conditioning in January, two days after a low of 29 degrees.

You have a Roach Story: You opened your flatware drawer to find a roach the size of the Taco Bell chihuahua. He stood up and looked you in the eye. You closed the drawer, bought new flatware -- and stored it in the oven.

When you see your neighbor dancing around the front yard, you don't think he's won the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes; you know he just stepped in a fire ant bed.

The name "Bud Adams" makes people snarl, and "Bum Phillips" doesn't mean a bad screwdriver.

"Luv ya Blue" still makes you smile, even if you did run the Oilers out of town.

You know that the Astrodome will always be the Eighth Wonder of the World.

You come to work in short-sleeves and walk out at noon to find that a "blue-tailed norther" has blown through, and the temperature has dropped 40 degrees in a matter of minutes.

Your neighbor's Christmas yard decorations look like a re-creation of the gunfight at the OK Corral, complete with a ten-foot tree decorated with boots and cowboy hats, and a Santa Claus who looks a lot like Wyatt Earp.

You wander into a section of town where you can't read the street signs because they're written in Asian characters instead of English, but you don't care because you can get great prices on fake designer merchandise there.

You go to an art festival on Westheimer and you're almost run down by two cross-dressers on roller blades, holding hands.

The "Killer Bees" are not stinging insects.

You hear everything but English spoken when you go to the Galleria to window-shop.

You know that "Dad gummit" has nothing to do with your father's failure to practice good dental hygiene.

You think "Y'all" is perfectly good usage if you're referring to more than one person.

For a Chili Cookoff, you'll use anything from armadillo to frog's legs, but you know that the only GOOD chili is made with chopped -- not ground -- beef, and it has NO beans and NO tomatoes.

Spring is not the season, Katy is not the lady, and 1960 is not the year.

Society matrons of "a certain age" still sport big hair, and faces that have gone east, west, and north rather than south.

You can leave your house, head out of town, and an hour later you still haven't left the city limits. (During rush hour, you haven't left your neighborhood.)

You've never seen I-45 in any condition other than under-construction -- and you've lived here for 20-30 years.

If the humidity is below 90 percent, it's a good hair day.

You know that "Clutch City" has nothing to do with automobile transmissions.

"The Dream" is not a fantasy.

The only real Mexican food is Tex-Mex.

A 747 with the Space Shuttle riding piggyback has actually flown low, right overhead, and nobody paid any attention to it.

You know that while saving you money, "Mattress Mac" has amassed more than the U.S. Treasury has.

You're happy to have beaten Los Angeles out of a football team, but you'd rather that they keep the title of "Smog Capital."

You see nothing unusual about an 80-something former sheriff's deputy who wears a white pompadour toupee and blue sunglasses, mispronounces names, allows televising of his frequent plastic surgeries, seems unnaturally obsessed with slime in the ice machine, and screams, "MAR-VIN ZIND-ler, EYE-witness news" into a television camera every night.

"Luv Ya Blue" still makes you smile, even if you did run the Oilers out of town.

You wander into a section of town where you can't read the street signs because they're written in Korean instead of English, but you don't care because you can get great prices on fake designer merchandise and great food.

You think y'all is a perfectly good word when you're referring to more than one person.

You see nothing unusual about an eighty-something former sheriff's deputy who wears a white pompadour toupee and blue sun-glasses, mispronounces names, allows televising of his frequent plastic surgeries, seems unnaturally obsessed with slime in the ice machine, and screams "MAR-VIN ZIND-ler, iiiiiiii-witness news" into a television.

You see your neighbor dancing around the front yard, and you don't think he's won the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes; you know that he just stepped in a fire ant bed.

You're on your way to work one FEBRUARY morning and suddenly you're trapped in a traffic jam caused by a chuck wagon and fifty horses with riders and you look around to see that everybody in the cars around you is wearing a cowboy hat.

You have to turn on the air conditioning in January, two days after a low of 29 degrees.

The name "Bud Adams" makes people snarl, and "Bum Phillips" doesn't mean a bad screwdriver.

You come to work in short sleeves and walk out at noon to find that a "blue-tailed norther" has blown through and the temperature has dropped 40 degrees in a matter of minutes.

You go to an art festival on Westheimer and you're almost run down by two hand- holding cross dressers on roller blades.

For a Chili Cookoff, you'll use anything from armadillo to frog's legs, but you know that the only GOOD chili is made with chopped (not ground)- beef, and it has NO beans and NO tomatoes.

You know that Spring is not the season, Katy is not the lady, and 1960 is not the year.

You know that Society matrons of "a certain age" still sport big hair and faces that have gone east, west, and north rather than south.

You can leave your house, head out of town, and an hour later you still haven't left the city limits (during rush hour, you haven't left your NEIGHBORHOOD).

You've never seen I-45 in any condition other than under construction, and you've lived here for 20-30 years.

You think that the humidity being below 90 percent makes it a GOOD hair day.

You know that "Clutch City" has nothing to do with automobile transmissions.

The Dream" is not a fantasy.

The only REAL Mexican food is Tex-Mex.

You've seen a 747 with a Space Shuttle riding piggyback flying low right overhead, and nobody paid any attention to it.

You know that while saving you money, "Mattress Mac" has amassed more than the U.S. treasury.

You're happy to have beaten Los Angeles out of a football team, but you'd rather they keep the title of "Smog Capital."

You know that the Astrodome will always be the 8th wonder of the world.

You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Houston.

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Subject:	Worst. Job. Ever.
Time:	10:12 am.

Q: Does the President stand by his pledge to fire anyone involved in the leak of a name of a CIA operative?

MR. McCLELLAN: Terry, I appreciate your question. I think your question is being asked relating to some reports that are in reference to an ongoing criminal investigation. The criminal investigation that you reference is something that continues at this point. And as I've previously stated, while that investigation is ongoing, the White House is not going to comment on it. The President directed the White House to cooperate fully with the investigation, and as part of cooperating fully with the investigation, we made a decision that we weren't going to comment on it while it is ongoing.

Q: Excuse me, but I wasn't actually talking about any investigation. But in June of 2004, the President said that he would fire anybody who was involved in this leak, to press of information. And I just want to know, is that still his position?

MR. McCLELLAN: Yes, but this question is coming up in the context of this ongoing investigation, and that's why I said that our policy continues to be that we're not going to get into commenting on an ongoing criminal investigation from this podium. The prosecutors overseeing the investigation had expressed a preference to us that one way to help the investigation is not to be commenting on it from this podium. And so that's why we are not going to get into commenting on it while it is an ongoing investigation, or questions related to it.

Q: Scott, if I could -- if I could point out, contradictory to that statement, on September 29th, 2003, while the investigation was ongoing, you clearly commented on it. You were the first one who said, if anybody from the White House was involved, they would be fired. And then on June 10th of 2004, at Sea Island Plantation, in the midst of this investigation is when the President made his comment that, yes, he would fire anybody from the White House who was involved. So why have you commented on this during the process of the investigation in the past, but now you've suddenly drawn a curtain around it under the statement of, "We're not going to comment on an ongoing investigation"?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, John, I appreciate the question. I know you want to get to the bottom of this. No one wants to get to the bottom of it more than the President of the United States. And I think the way to be most helpful is to not get into commenting on it while it is an ongoing investigation. That's something that the people overseeing the investigation have expressed a preference that we follow. And that's why we're continuing to follow that approach and that policy.

Now, I remember very well what was previously said. And at some point, I will be glad to talk about it, but not until after the investigation is complete.

Q: So could I just ask, when did you change your mind to say that it was okay to comment during the course of an investigation before, but now it's not?

MR. McCLELLAN: Well, I think maybe you missed what I was saying in reference to Terry's question at the beginning. There came a point when the investigation got underway when those overseeing the investigation asked that it would be their -- or said that it would be their preference that we not get into discussing it while it is ongoing. I think that's the way to be most helpful to help them advance the investigation and get to the bottom of it.

Q: Scott, can I ask you this; did Karl Rove commit a crime?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, David, this is a question relating to an ongoing investigation, and you have my response related to the investigation. And I don't think you should read anything into it other than we're going to continue not to comment on it while it's ongoing.

Q: Do you stand by your statement from the fall of 2003 when you were asked specifically about Karl and Elliott Abrams and Scooter Libby, and you said, "I've gone to each of those gentlemen, and they have told me they are not involved in this" -- do you stand by that statement?

MR. McCLELLAN: And if you will recall, I said that as part of helping the investigators move forward on the investigation we're not going to get into commenting on it. That was something I stated back near that time, as well.

Q: Scott, I mean, just -- I mean, this is ridiculous. The notion that you're going to stand before us after having commented with that level of detail and tell people watching this that somehow you decided not to talk. You've got a public record out there. Do you stand by your remarks from that podium, or not?

MR. McCLELLAN: And again, David, I'm well aware, like you, of what was previously said, and I will be glad to talk about it at the appropriate time. The appropriate time is when the investigation --

Q Why are you choosing when it's appropriate and when it's inappropriate?

MR. McCLELLAN: If you'll let me finish --

Q: No, you're not finishing -- you're not saying anything. You stood at that podium and said that Karl Rove was not involved. And now we find out that he spoke out about Joseph Wilson's wife. So don't you owe the American public a fuller explanation? Was he involved, or was he not? Because, contrary to what you told the American people, he did, indeed, talk about his wife, didn't he?

MR. McCLELLAN: David, there will be a time to talk about this, but now is not the time to talk about it.

Q: Do you think people will accept that, what you're saying today?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, I've responded to the question.

Go ahead, Terry.

Q: Well, you're in a bad spot here, Scott, because after the investigation began, after the criminal investigation was underway, you said -- October 10th, 2003, "I spoke with those individuals, Rove, Abrams and Libby, as I pointed out, those individuals assured me they were not involved in this." From that podium. That's after the criminal investigation began. Now that Rove has essentially been caught red-handed peddling this information, all of a sudden you have respect for the sanctity of the criminal investigation?

MR. McCLELLAN: No, that's not a correct characterization, Terry, and I think you are well aware of that. We know each other very well, and it was after that period that the investigators had requested that we not get into commenting on an ongoing criminal investigation. And we want to be helpful so that they can get to the bottom of this, because no one wants to get to the bottom of it more than the President of the United States. I am well aware of what was said previously. I remember well what was said previously. And at some point, I look forward to talking about it. But until the investigation is complete, I'm just not going to do that.

Q: Do you recall when you were asked --

Q: Wait, wait -- so you're now saying that after you cleared Rove and the others from that podium, then the prosecutors asked you not to speak anymore, and since then, you haven't?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, you're continuing to ask questions relating to an ongoing criminal investigation, and I'm just not going to respond any further.

Q: When did they ask you to stop commenting on it, Scott? Can you peg down a date?

MR. McCLELLAN: Back at that time period.

Q: Well, then the President commented on it nine months later. So was he not following the White House plan?

MR. McCLELLAN: John, I appreciate your questions. You can keep asking them, but you have my response.

Go ahead, Dave.

Q: We are going to keep asking them. When did the President learn that Karl Rove had had a conversation with the President -- with a news reporter about the involvement of Joseph Wilson's wife and the decision to send --

MR. McCLELLAN: I've responded to the questions.

Q: When did the President learn that Karl Rove had --

MR. McCLELLAN: I've responded to the questions, Dick.

Go ahead.

Q: After the investigation is completed, will you then be consistent with your word and the President's word that anybody who was involved would be let go?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, after the investigation is complete, I will be glad to talk about it at that point.

Q: And a follow-up. Can you walk us through why, given the fact that Rove's lawyer has spoken publicly about this, it is inconsistent with the investigation, that it compromises the investigation to talk about the involvement of Karl Rove, the Deputy Chief of Staff?

MR. McCLELLAN: Well, those overseeing the investigation expressed a preference to us that we not get into commenting on the investigation while it's ongoing. And that was what they requested of the White House. And so I think in order to be helpful to that investigation, we are following their direction.

Q: Scott, there's a difference between commenting on an investigation and taking an action --

MR. McCLELLAN: Go ahead, Goyal.

Q: Can I finish, please?

MR. McCLELLAN: You can come -- I'll come back to you in a minute ...

Carl, go ahead. I'll come to you, David, in a second.

Q: Does the President continue to have confidence in Mr. Rove?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, these are all questions coming up in the context of an ongoing criminal investigation. And you've heard my response on this.

Q: So you're not going to respond as to whether or not the President has confidence in his Deputy Chief of Staff?

MR. McCLELLAN: Carl, you're asking this question in the context of an ongoing investigation. And I would not read anything into it other than I'm simply not going to comment on an ongoing --

Q: Has there been -- has there been any change --

MR. McCLELLAN: -- investigation.

Q: Has there been any change or is there a plan for Mr. Rove's portfolio to be altered in any way?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, you have my response to these questions...

Now I'll go back to David. Go ahead.

Q: There's a difference between commenting publicly on an action and taking action in response to it. Newsweek put out a story, an e-mail saying that Karl Rove passed national security information on to a reporter that outed a CIA officer. Now, are you saying that the President is not taking any action in response to that? Because I presume that the prosecutor did not ask you not to take action, and that if he did, you still would not necessarily abide by that; that the President is free to respond to news reports, regardless of whether there's an investigation or not. So are you saying that he's not going to do anything about this until the investigation is fully over and done with?

MR. McCLELLAN: Well, I think the President has previously spoken to this. This continues to be an ongoing criminal investigation. No one wants to get to the bottom of it more than the President of the United States. And we're just not going to have more to say on it until that investigation is complete.

Q: But you acknowledge that he is free, as President of the United States, to take whatever action he wants to in response to a credible report that a member of his staff leaked information. He is free to take action if he wants to.

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, you're asking questions relating to an ongoing investigation, and I think I've responded to it...

Q: Scott, what was the President's interaction today with Karl Rove? Did they discuss this current situation? And understanding that Karl Rove was the architect of the President's win for the second term in the Oval Office, how important is Karl Rove to this administration currently?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, this is coming at it from --

Q: It has nothing to do with what you just said.

MR. McCLELLAN: This is still coming at the same question relating to reports about an ongoing investigation, and I think I've responded to it.

Q: Who is Karl Rove as it relates to this administration?

MR. McCLELLAN: Do you have questions on another topic?

Q: No, no, no, no. Who is Karl Rove as it relates to this current administration?

MR. McCLELLAN: I appreciate the question, April. I think I've responded...

Q: Scott, I think you're [receiving a] barrage today in part because we -- it is now clear that 21 months ago, you were up at this podium saying something that we now know to be demonstratively false. Now, are you concerned that in not setting the record straight today that this could undermine the credibility of the other things you say from the podium?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, I'm going to be happy to talk about this at the appropriate time. Dana, you all -- you and everybody in this room, or most people in this room, I should say, know me very well and they know the type of person that I am. And I'm confident in our relationship that we have. But I will be glad to talk about this at the appropriate time, and that's once the investigation is complete. I'm not going to get into commenting based on reports or anything of that nature.

Q: Scott, at this point, are we to consider what you've said previously, when you were talking about this, that you're still standing by that, or are those all inoperative at this point?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, you're still trying to come at this from a different angle, and I've responded to it.

Q: Are you standing by what you said previously?

MR. McCLELLAN: You've heard my response...

Q: When the leak investigation is concluded, does the President believe it might be important for his credibility, the credibility of the White House, to release all the information voluntarily that was submitted as part of the investigation, so the American public could see what the -- what transpired inside the White House at the time?

MR. McCLELLAN: This is an investigation being overseen by a special prosecutor. And I think those are questions best directed to the special prosecutor. Again, this is an ongoing matter; I'm just not going to get into commenting on it further at this time. At the appropriate time, when it's complete, then I'll be glad to talk about it at that point.

Q: Have you in the White House considered whether that would be optimum to release as much information and make it as open a process --

MR. McCLELLAN: It's the same type of question. You're asking me to comment on an ongoing investigation, and I'm not going to do that.

Q: I'm actually talking about the communication strategy, which is a little different.

MR. McCLELLAN: Understood. The President directed the White House to cooperate fully with the investigation. And that's what he expects people in the White House to do.

Q: And he would like to that when it is concluded, cooperate fully with --

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, I've already responded.

Go ahead.

Q: Scott, was it -- who in the investigation made this request of the White House not to comment further about the investigation? Was it Mr. Fitzgerald? Did he make the request of you --

MR. McCLELLAN: I mean, you can ask -- you can direct those questions to the special prosecutors. I think probably more than one individual who's involved in overseeing the investigation had expressed a preference that we not get into commenting on the investigation while it's ongoing. I think we all want to see the prosecutors get to the bottom of this matter. The President wants to see the prosecutors get to the bottom of this matter. And the way to help them do that is to not get into commenting on it while it is ongoing.

Q Was the request made of you, or of whom in the White House?

MR. McCLELLAN: I already responded to these questions...

Q: Yes, in your dealings with the special counsel, have you consulted a personal attorney?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, I'm just not going to say anything further. I expressed all I'm going to say on this matter from this podium.

Comments: Add Your Own.

Subject:	on life, death, and all that happens in between
Time:	9:25 am.

So he told me he was going to die. It's not a very fun concept to wrap your head around on a Friday night.

What's odd about the human mind is that while we only use 3% of our minds for cognitive thought, the other 97% has got to be doing something. I am convinced that my large Germanic head uses the mysterious bulk to avoid that which is extraordinary - to deal with this wondrous, thrilling, and violent world by making it more mundane and palatable. If life were a fresh, organic vegetable, my brain does the equivalent of boiling it in water for 30 minutes and adding 4 tablespoons of salt.

So I remember the details of what went through my head. I stared at the table. I noticed he was watching King of the Hill. I reached down and scratched the dog's head. It tried to lick me again. Mostly, I just looked down at the table in a mix of undefined embarassment, anger, and fear.

Next I did what I always do. I made some lame excuse to leave, and ran to my truck. Now for those of you who have heard the tales, I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with Keith (the little gay truck that could) in that I have never felt that this vehicle born of necessity is a very welcoming place. In a world of assigned roommates in university housing and omnipresent traffic, sometimes the closed cab of your pickup is all you have.

I drove home. I resolved to leave him. I played video games that night so I didn't have to think about it. I did leave him the next day, promising to stay in his life. It was during one of those promised visits that he talked me back to him. Now, we are back together, for all of the goodness and laughter and insanity and sweating and head-scratching that entails.

Still, during that time that I ran, he called an old source for comfort. His ex of 12 years, J, whom he had broken up with a year ago, was called in for emotional support. The visit was planned, the plans were made. He comes in tomorrow to stay with B for the weekend.

So now I sit on the horns of a dilemma. This guy has made very recent overtures to try and win B back. In fact, yesterday he called and said that it would be weird to come see B since B had moved on already. The obvious implicaiton of those remarks is that J hadn't. So this guy who knows my boyfriend better than I do and is not over him is coming in at an emotionally vulnerable time to comfort him in his time of need and staying in B's apartment.

All of this is my fault, though. If I had stayed there by his side throughout, none of this would be happening. I understand that my blip in steadfastness is understandable, and he has forgiven me as I have forgiven myself. Still, I must show some form of understanding for his houseguest this weekend. As such, I am not raising issue with the visitation. I am not objecting or even warning about it. I am, however, not participating. I will not accompany them on any of their planned excursions. I will wait out the weekend in my apartment.

B opined last night that he wishes sometimes that he could sever ties with the men he has loved, but that his heart will not let him just write someone out of his life. He was trying to evoke some sort of understanding agreement from him. I just sucked tea through a straw and stared at the table.

For me, you see, this kind of thing is bad news. I tried visiting with Dr. Love, and the tension was present and not entirely pleasant. He still had feelings for me, even made a few half-hearted moves on me. I had to put a distance in between us. That distance is painful, but necessary, until enough time has passed.

IF IT WERE ME, A YEAR AFTER A 12 YEAR RELATIONSHIP IS OVER IS NOT ENOUGH TIME TO MOVE TO THE HOUSEGUEST PHASE. Especially given that the ex has made very recent overtures and ended the relationship in a bad way (from what B had previously told me, when he wasn't trying to sell me on the friend qualities inherent in J, the guy actually had another man that he publicly held out as his boyfriend to his friends while they were still together. Ouch.)

But he is not me. That quality is the best and worst part of any relationship - it makes sex much more fun than vigorous self love, but makes these murky emotional waters so Titanic to navigate.

Am I worried that he will cheat on me? Not particularly - I have no idea what this guy looks like, but know he is 20+ years my senior (granted, B is 18 years older than me and still pretty damn hot). Even factoring in appearance and emotional context, I still don't really worry. If B strays, then it's better to know this now. My philosophy on man control is this: go ahead and cheat if you want to, but know that I WILL find out and I WILL be gone. It's saved me much stress and jealousy, not to mention costs of keeping a constant fleet of private investigators under my employ.

And what am I going to do this weekend? I'd rather not even talk to B on the phone. I'd love to go to the beach and get back on some groovy boogie board action, or maybe even some rollerblading. I need to finish up Final Fantasy VII again (in the 8-odd years that I've had it, I've only made it completely through once, with many attempts to pick it up again during a RPG doldrum falling by the wayside - I am determined that with the forthcoming video sequel, I WILL finish it now).

So will we make it? Probably. Will I be okay if we don't? Eventually. Will I miss his yippy-ass, emotionally stunted and needy dog for a few days? Not bloody likely.

So, onward to a weekend of continuous and vigorous self love. Take care, all ;)

-JaDaSh

Comments: Add Your Own.

Time:	10:00 pm.
Music:	Texarkana - R.E.M..

I have a candle that I keep beside my bed. Usually, the afternoon sun is enough to keep the wax warm enough to make the whole room fragrant. But it is now night; there is no sun. I strike a Blue Diamond and help things along.

If I was a drinker, nights like tonight would be far more interesting. You wouldn't find me sitting cross legged in a ragged camping chair in a pair of old basketball shorts, contemplating the world. I would be out and making an ass of myself. In the long run, I fear introspection may be far more dangerous. Still, at least I can sit and have a bowl of raisin bran while I type. It's hard to mix melancholy and fibre.

So as you can probably gather, I am back home from my trip to Texas. I am not sure what to take from it, but it was one of the most profound weeks I have had in some time. There was an overriding theme of the week - couplehood. What we do for each other, how we feel about each other, and what we do to make each other that much more real. As I cannot effectively break this down any other way, I will go couple by couple.

Reagan and Reed. "So, how long do you give them when he gets back?" Thanks Mom, the bastion of romanticism. Still, it is almost unreal to watch. Her apartment is messy, in typical Reagan fashion. A picture of them sits on her coffee table, taken at her wedding of which I was a part. She casually knocks it over reaching for the phone. "I watch WAY too much TV," she says. Apparently, the total is up around 6 or 7 hours a day. She just sits, waiting for the day when he will come back. What do we talk about? We complain a bit about the weather, discuss at least three times when he will be back, and finally settle in on discussion television shows that we loved this season. She reaches to push the cat off the table and knocks the picture down again. On the kitchen counter is a box of cookies that she baked him for valentine's day. Each layer of cookie is buffered by a layer of popcorn to cushion the cookies in transit and keep them fresh. It has been over 4 months since she baked them, but they were never sent, and they will not be thrown out.

GMom and GDad. It all comes down to the dog. "Here Maggie! Here Maggie! What a good girl! Now go lay down!!" We watch the dog eat cookies. We watch the walk backwards instead of turning around. We watch the dog whimper if it has to walk across bare tile. They laugh at the thing, and ask about how I am doing in LA. They will talk about anything, really, if it avoids talking about my uncle's cancer. My grandfather bought them all funeral plots last week under a big oak tree on a hill overlooking the Llano river. "Well I think we should be buried right here on our own land," she says, but my grandfather gets that sad look in his eyes and can't talk about it anymore. Still, we have tacos, and my grandpa buys me breakfast in town before I go. He tells me about her work on the local cancer benefit. Every year so far they had not met their $15,000 goal, but with her on board they hit over $21,000. My grandmother has lost her father and her brother at young ages. Her mother passed on back on the infamous 9/11 but had made my grandma cry on a regular basis for a few years before that. She has seen death before, but that doesn't make it easy, and she is not known for her quiet dignity when things get emotional. I get that from her. But he still makes her laugh and she still thinks his butt is cute. As he was paying for my breakfast, he got a brownie to go as a present for their 53rd anniversary, which was that day.

Lee and Mark. Sadly, I don't get to say much here, as I did not get to see either of them. "Don't be mad, Jamesey, but Mark had to have emergency oral surgery and I had to take him to the hospital. I am SOOOOOOOOOO sorry!" She apologized for having to take care of her husband. I had not seen her in over a year, and would probably not see her again for at least that long, if ever. Still, it's what has to be done. If we don't have our spouse, who do we have?

Michael and Scott. Nobody knows what goes on inside the walls of a bedroom. What we do know is that one of our favorite people in the world is dating someone whom to our knowledge has cheated on him, shuns good social graces, and tries his best to make sure you know that he is just as good as you are. "Yes, I do love him," my good friend says quietly as he looks at the table. This is not the friend I remember. It always makes me wonder, what on earth does he see in this guy? Whatever it is, it must be more important than his livelihood. Being alone is a scary place to be.

Josh and Sebastian. "You know, I am a grown man, and he has no right to get upset if I stay out late. I am not going to call him." At this point, I interject. You love him, I say. You don't really want to be out late, I say. Let's go home, I say. He frowns and eventually gives in. That bit of rebellion at the confines of love is quashed by reality. I stay at his place that night. Rather, their place. Sebastian had a house, a sense of decoration, and an immaculate back yard. Then, he got Josh. It struck me by how he didn't seem to fit into the house. I did not see a merger of sorts, but it appeared that Josh got annexed, much like an expensive rug or a new dog. They have three tiny dogs. He referred to them as the kids.

Katheryn and Steve. For three years we have seen the ups and downs of this group. This week, she had lost an earring that he had given her. She was going to spend $200 to replace them so that he would find out and would not be upset. He went on a trip with his friends without her and called halfway through, saying that he was never going anywhere without her again. They are about to buy a car together; she will get a family car, and when the debt is paid off he can get his Mustang. The house that they are building is almost done. His mom makes dirty jokes just to see how she will react. They plan on having two children, and he already has the names picked out. They have parts of their wedding picked out, yet no rings. These were the people that no one expected to stay together, and yet they appear to be the sanest and most tenable couple of us all. I actually got to see her by herself. She never has any illusions that I drive all that way to see him AND her. We sat on my mom's porch and talked about why we are here. She lost her first patient, I had to say goodbye to my grandfather. We talk for hours. I cry a bit when I try to vocalize what I am feeling at that moment.

Billanderic. I knew that things had definitely changed when I got a call to go pick up a battery for B for his truck. I drive over to pick him up, and E decides to come with us. My truck was designed by someone with a very pronounced sense of humor who put three seatbelts in it when clearly there is only room for two people. "You're coming? What, for moral support?" He brushes off my comment and climbs in. So, not only am I not allowed individual time, I am even squished into an uncomfortable position for over an hour to avoid such a situation. I am not upset, I know that I tend to couple up and disappear too, but since they moved away last week, it just makes me wish for more of those dumb times when I wasn't the Single Friend accompanying them on their date. I miss you guys - I hope all is well in the square state...

Tom and Telisa. They meet us out for lunch, them, myself, my mom, and her husband. We all have margaritas. We all get to tell stories about Tom when he was a kid, and Telisa and Kevin laugh at how weird he was. I never feel like I have many stories about myself, he was always the alpha male of the family. My contribution always amounts to complaining about the traffic or asking them to tell a certain story. On the center of my grandparent's mantle is a picture from their wedding, with her in the middle, tom and my grandparents on the right, and me and mom and her husband on the left. Three happy couples. And me. Damn right, I am jealous. But, that is one of those things that I will just have to accept with my situation, like my inability to run for politics, donate blood, adopt a child, get married, or walk straight after a romantic night at home. I love the guys but feel a bit left out.

Jim and Brian. So I get off the plane and head down to the baggage claim where he is going to pick me up. I get a brief smile and a quick hug. His father, whom I was supposed to meet, is no tthere with him. He decided to get an earlier flight, apparently. There is not much talking as he drives me home. He is really sick and had difficulty getting to the airport to pick me up. The warm, welcoming greeting I was excpecting and somewhat needing after an introspective week was not there. It worries me. Then again, I always worry too much when it comes to men. "I know you're looking for something, and you won't find it with him," Eric told me. It's been two months and one hell of a ride, that's for sure. But he says he loves me. He says that he knows I'm the one. I have taken care of him this week, taken him to the doctor, cooked him grilled cheese sandwiches, and picked up his dog's shit in a plastic bag at 7am. Still, we can go somewhere and he will walk in front of me and not next to me. He's a nice guy, but I am always a bit off kilter around him. Only time will tell how this all ends up.

As I sit here, the monitor light is drowning out my poor little candle. Time to turn this puppy off. Til we type again -

JaDaSh

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Subject:	Waltz Across Texas, Part I
Time:	11:47 pm.
Mood:	contemplative.
Music:	Afterglow - Travis.

I sit in the dark as a portly, elderly cat pets himself on my ankle. He is one of four beings in this house on California time. Always a mean and difficult creature during my childhood, this aged beast was named after a running back hero of my brother's choosing. Now, he looks at me through cataract filled eyes, no longer able to muster the strength to tear at my flesh, and remembers this guy who used to sneak him tuna. I am grateful for the recognition. I reach down and scratch him behind his ear. He repays the affection by drooling on my big toe.

So what brought me to this odd position? Southwest Airlines, home of the Lowered Expectations school of air travel. Because of their patented "herd seating" procedure, I ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor of a dimly lit LAX corridor for an hour, desperate to get a good seat, although not sure why. I saw people in line. I got in line. That netted me a window seat. On the whole, I consider the tradeoff in dignity was worth it. As I sat down, I reflected that perhaps my declaration of my own adulthood might have been a bit premature. After all, would the Queen of England have done that just to get a window seat? (Would she even like the window? I'd take her as more of an exit-row aisle kinda gal seeing as how her knees probably no longer bend and she could use the room.)

We roll out onto the runway and I look out onto the gloomy Los Angeles Tuesday. It strikes me that I have come a long way from the kid who could hardly get on a plane. Still, I have that instant sensation of fear just before takeoff. What if this really was THE trip where the wing fell off? Was I all paid out in the karma department? I say a quick prayer, feeling a bit of shame for the opportunistic nature of the timing. Still, I ask that I be safe and that I make it home to Brian.

I picture his face. I see the fluorescent glow of his neighbor's pool lights shining through his bedroom windows and leaving slats of pale light across his boyish features. Images like that write novels, score operas, and launch ships. For me, it launched my feelings of home. I settle back into the faux-leather of my seat.

The second best part about leaving LAX is that your flight goes out over the Pacific Ocean before you curve around and head East. You can make out the seagulls drifting lazily through the sky. You can see the point where the water begins to crest, the line being so distinct and definite that it is almost like it had decided to stop being all about the business of separating continents and start putting on a show for the people at the beach. I picture families pulling up on a fresh summer day, jumping out, running to the water and not minding how cold it is on their feet. I remember Dad taking us to the beach in Santa Monica when I was small. Oddly, he is taking us there in our blue minivan, which we did not have until we left and moved back to Texas. Apparently I made up the memory in my head from bits of dreams and retroactive wishful thinking woven together. Can I really be that schmaltzy? Time for a plane-nap.

So I doze off and miss the beverage service. It is amazing how that perks me up, the promise of a beverage that would cost 55 cents elsewhere. It is the highlight of the trip, wasted for a 20 minute catnap. I make a mental note to hit the Soda Fridge when I get back to Mom's. (I am sipping a Diet Coke from there even as I write this.)

So we fly to San Antonio first to change planes. I love staring down at the ground and wondering how they got everything so square. I see somewhere in West Texas where there are huge squares with circles of vegetation in the middle reaching from side to side. One of the big sprinklers on a pole in the middle of the square rotates around providing the needs for the crop of the moment. Never one to pass up a glass without fretting about its half-emptiness, I wonder what happens to the corners. Do you get a farming tax exemption for those too? Can we rent those out to hobos or migrant workers to live on? There's never any respect for the corners of the world; every orange has its peel that ends up in the trash can. I hope in the grand scheme of things I end up in the circle, especially given how thirsty I was after missing the Diet Coke.

As we descend into San Antonio, I look down. I recognize Cindy's house, and the big subdivision where George Strait lives. We pass over the big rock quarry where the Caterpillar machines blend into the surroundings like chameleons due to years and years of caked on dust. We pass over the mountain where I went hiking with that weird guy. We fly over where Reagan lives. I see the dam where Randolph tried to drive me up to see but we got lost en route. I see the evening sun casting everything in that trick nostalgic glow.

I feel a sudden sense of extreme remorse. I feel like I let this city down. Only two years here and gone. So many good memories. So many great friends. A decent job, a funny cat, a fantastic car, an apartment well matched to my character. Then, on a whim, gone.

We touch down and I go out and sit in the airport for a half hour, waiting for the next flight. I look around, hoping to see an old friend or business acquaintance. Nobody recognizes me, and I see no one of old. Am I having more false nostalgia, or is this real?

I call two of the four muskateers and alert them to my impending arrival. They promise to be there with bells on. I cannot wait to see them.

And we get underway to Houston. I get my beverage this time, but when they hand me the coffee, they announce it is time to put the trays up. I have to chug the coffee. Damn quick flights - I wish it would be as quick tomorrow when I turtle back through in whatever quasi-car Enterprise bestows on me. Look forward to my capsule car review later on.

I come off the plane and roll through the terminal door and out into....huh? Oh shit, did I book to the wrong Houston airport? I wander around in a near panic. I roll on out into the baggage claim and finally exhale; I recognize the hastily assembled and shoddy quality of the Hobby Airport of yore. I roll down the escalator and roll quickly over to the baggage area.

Mom is there. She looks older. Still a hottie, but definitely older. But she still speed walks to the truck and leaves me in the dust. She opens the back hatch and has to jump up to get the grab handle to close it. I simply reach up and grab the edge of the door. When did I get taller than her? Somehow in my mind she has always been bigger than me. I think she always will.

We make the drive home. The usual topics are covered: weather, traffic, crazy office help, finals, brother, grandmother, and boyfriend. Nothing grounbreaking on any front, but it doesn't have to be. It's your mom. Any change would just make it worse.

She drives me home to the home I never lived in. She tells me to put my bags in my room that I have never called my own. At least my favorite dish is waiting for me in the fridge, just 99 seconds of radiation away from drastic inhalation. I eat so much it hurts. I have two separate desserts. We watch part of a movie, get into politics, and her husband makes some trademark ethnic commentary. They go to bed. I am left with the cats.

She has brought home the safe I had stored in her attic at work so I can get my social security card from it. I open it, curious to see what is inside. There is a prom picture with the fake smile, head titled 30 degrees to port. There is six dollars in cash. There are fliers from registration for my first semester of undergrad. There is a ticket stub from when the boy who never loved me back came to visit. There is a card from the boy who I never loved back thanking me for the flowers. ATM receipts. An envelope I once received good news in. Bank statements from banks I used in high school. Clearly, the sign of a pack rat run amuck. I had forgotten how much it piled up when I stop moving for a bit, and I had this safe after three years in the same hovel, the longest I have ever lived in a single place and my first place on my own. I clean out and keep the 6 dollars, the pictures, and the articles on my high school exploits. A little dose of real memories for this trip couldn't hurt.

So here I sit. Emmitt has long since gotten bored and moved on to fall asleep inside of my fully packed suitcase, leaving fun little gray hairs all over my clothes and my allergies. I am stuck in a world that is and isn't mine, away from my comfort zone and surrounded by comforting relics of some stranger named James.

I need to go to bed before I start inventing fake ennui to go with those fake memories. Time for the irritatingly quiet suite to lull me to into joyful slumber. I should have imported some snoring to put me at ease...

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Time:

9:04 am.

Long time no type, I know, but circumstances have required that my attention reside elsewhere. Ah, the first semester of law school. That was fun. Enough of that!

Yeah, it was hard. Yeah, it required quite a bit of attention on my part. The funny thing is that it wasn’t as hard as I thought it could be. I mean, back when I worked as a programmer I had some long weekends getting PRISM up and running and trying to figure out why the high speed data archive code would lock up at random intervals. It wasn’t finding a needle in a haystack, it was finding a needle in the sun.

At UCLA, the biggest issue was getting used to all of the reading. Back at UT, I took so many science courses that all we ever had to do was figure out the trick or formula or command and that was it. Here, I have to read lengthy treatises on just what many purposes the high and mighty Restatement, Second, Contracts Section 90 can be used for.

(In case you’re wondering, the gist of Section 90 is that if you reasonably rely on something to your own detriment, that carries quite a bit of legal weight. So, if someone tells you to quit your job since he will give you a new one, even if you don’t get it in writing, if you do so and move to the new city and show up for work and they don’t put you to work, then you might be able to get some money out of them. Fun, no?)

So I carved my way through Civil Procedure, Criminal Law, and Contracts. Of all the three, Criminal Law was the most interesting. While I do not particularly relish repeatedly delving into the absolute depths of what humanity has to offer, I must say that a subject that everyone can get passionate about will definitely make for an interesting classroom discussion. Of course, going to UCLA puts me at a disadvantage in regards to other law schools; the population is so white-upper-middle-class that many issue such as racism and any cultural defense to crime tends to go more into hypothetical than realistic life experience.

Oh well, at least I got to be Token Gay. I had though that there would by a veritable rainbow cornucopia of boys out here, but law school has weeded them out considerably. I guess guys in my age bracket are too busy sniffing things, working out, having sex, or alternatively hiding behind a computer or a job. Lord knows I have hidden behind most of these at one point (although all I sniff are flowers), so I can’t blame them, but I wish there was a bit more of a brigade at hand. Hell, Texas had more homos in it. Do I need to go back there for solidarity?

I am actually on a flight back to Texas as we speak. It is December 23, and I just spent an instructive 4 early morning hours in the infamous airport, LAX. My flight left at 7:30am, so I scheduled a shuttle to come pick me up from the cemetery at 4:45am. At 5 I checked my paper from the shuttle company and found that sure enough the shuttle was supposed to be there at 4:45am. December 20, that is. Ugh.

Haul ass to Keith, haul ass down 405 to LAX, get there at 5:20. Leave Keith in a parking place for $11 a day. With taxes, that means I am down almost $100 for parking for 8 days, not to mention the unused $25 shuttle trip. I feel a bit stupid about this egregious loss of money, but if the worst thing that happens to me after all of this month is that I booked the wrong date for a shuttle, then I am okay.

Oh yes, my month. I had finals scheduled on December 10, 15, and 20. I roughed it through my final on the 10th, that of Civil Procedure. That was the toughest one; remembering all those awful little rules and having to expound upon freaky jurisdiction issues. Still, I made it, and started prepping for Criminal Law on the 15th.

On December 13, I got a call from my father. My grandfather had passed away the day before. The funeral was on the 15th. They said I didn’t have to come, but I could tell that with John still in Iraq and Tom still not talking to that side of the family, Dad was hurting for sons. I sat down and cried for a while mourning a guy who always greeted me with a smile, booked my flight, and cleared it with the law school to push my final back a week.

I make it in to Texas that Wednesday. The flight was incredibly smooth and everything went well. Dad’s wife picked me up at the airport and filled me in on what had been going down. Dad had been in and out of the hospital in the past month for chest pains. My grandfather (Papa) had been steadily going down hill. When my father was in the ER for the second time, they sent Papa home from the hospital and recommended hospice care; there was nothing else they could do for him. He lived on for about a week, everyone got to come by and say goodbye to him.

Everyone but me, of course. I hadn’t even thought about that before now. I didn’t get my last chance to say goodbye, even if that meant over the phone. Oh well, I can’t fault people for not thinking of little old me when they are about to lose their dad. Even with the emotional distance between myself and my dad, I don’t think I could remember to inform every person if someone told me he were dying. I’ll let that pass.

It was an open casket. Mom’s side has it right; there is no point in torturing everyone by doing that. The frail shell laying there wasn’t Papa. He never could sleep still in any case, that infamous family snore filling the living room shortly after every big family meal. I didn’t spend much time over by the casket, but I did love the fact that he was going to meet his maker in the same horn-rimmed glasses he has been wearing since the 60s. Even after everything else has biodegraded, those glasses will be hovering in the grand for eternity. That’s kind of cool.

Dad got up and gave a speech at the wake. It always amuses me how whenever anything bad happens in that family they look to him to take charge. Maybe it is because he is the oldest, although I think that his personality makes him take charge wherever he goes. I get that from him; always at the front of the room when something needs to be done. I forget how good it feels to find something you are happy about having inherited from your family.

One part of Dad’s speech was quite funny, and I’ll write it down now so I don’t forget it, and you may get a kick out of it. My stepmother, in addition to being a bit of a wet hen, always likes to ask questions about people and find out about their past. She once asked my grandfather if he had met any famous people in WWII when he was sailing around the Pacific. He said that one time, he and his buddy who was the intercom operator on the ship were feeling quite homesick. The found a good old recording of Patsy Cline and wanted to share it with the rest of the ship. They patch this old creaky player into the system and start cranking Patsy all across the aircraft carrier. After a few minutes, some general butts his head in and tells them to cut that shit off.

He thinks that guy may have been Admiral Nimitz.

So the funeral came and went, with me getting to see obscure relatives that I hadn’t seen since Dad’s wedding back in 2001. I was the oddity, finally having a story to tell about my life in CA. The million dollar question: when you’re done, where will you end up?

Heck if I know. LA has not grown on me. Dealing with LAX this morning, the lack of consideration of people in the whole state, and the high cost of everything (see airport parking) wears on you after a while. Of course, it has only been 4 months since I fled SA for a better life out here. Maybe my head has been in the sand a bit too much.

I did meet a great guy out here. We have gone on a few dates, and I spent the half night of sleep that I had wrapped up around him last night. He’s pretty remarkable, and the more I find out about him the more I want to know. Of course, I have only known him for a few weeks, so we’ll see where that comes out, but there is definitely hope.

And now that the awful first semester is over with at UCLA, maybe I can get out more and experience the life that LA has to offer. I have already become a regular at the church out here and made a few friends in the process (and met aforementioned guy). Now I just have to get comfortable with myself and my surroundings in the new place.

I have said this before, but the best and worst part about LA is that everyone leaves you alone. They won’t judge you or get in your face, but they aren’t going to interact with you any more than absolutely required. It’s the trade off that many people don’t like but I think that is because they don’t understand. There is a price to pay for living in a liberal city.

So can I do it? I have 2.5 more years to find out, and a few summer opportunities around the country to sample another state or two. So I have no rush, I simply have to sit back and enjoy the ride.

Which is what I should do now; they are bringing around my complimentary beverage. I’ll pull for some diet dr. pepper since it has been a while. They say that you shouldn’t have caffeinated beverages in flight since it dries you out even more and can lead to health problems. For once, however, I can relax and let myself give in. Yay vacation!

More later,
JaDaSh

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Time:

2:47 pm.

It's telling when you engage in an activity when you are lonely or extremely pissed off that you probably shouldn't be doing it.

Thus, we finally have the deletion of the gay.com account. So long cowboy_justice, we hardly knew ye. Yet, we are oddly sick of ye already. Go figure.

For someone wary of fast food, ordering fast dates did not seem entirely contradictory. Sadly, what I lack in intelligence and foresight I more than make up for in nausea right now at my adventures in online dating. We'll take that as a lesson learned, for this move at least.

So the love life in CA hasn't quite been everything I had hoped for. Dolph's Desert of Intimacy is not confined to Bexar county. Then again, expecting anything besides loneliness and horribly incompatible matches after leaving an amazing guy 1200 miles away is just asking for trouble.

So now it's time to start over. Done. And I shall reinstate the ban on guy issues. Fuck, I need to focus on the other joys of life, like grizzly murder.

Yep, my most emphatic moment thus far in law school came in my criminal law class. We were discussing ways for a defendant to get a charge for murder mitigated down to voluntary manslaughter. Sadly, in the precedents for American common law, this mitigation is easy to show if you are a guy and kill a guy who just so happen to hit on you.

We applied this in the case of Gwen Araujo, a pre-op transsexual who dressed female but possessed male genetalia. Some dumb high school kids had sex with this person, then killed her when they found out she was biologically male.

The professor asked us what we thought about this being mitigated down to voluntary manslaughter. Some idiot (who went to the same liberal undergrad as me, no less) raises his hand and says if he was having sex with someone who turned out to be a guy, he would definitely beat the shit out of them.

I exchange glances with the other gay guy in my section. He is so upset he can't even look up, much less talk. I make up my mind and shoot up my hand.

"I think this standard is inherently unfair. As a gay man, if I were to have sex with someone whom I thought was male but turned out to be female and I killed her, I would not get away with any mitigation. Thus, we are not mitigating a crime when the defendant is lied to about their partner's gender, we are mitigating killing someone who is male and transgendered because that is their fault and they should be punished. Can any justify that imbalance?"

No one could. The class was pretty silent for the rest of the week, in fact. One of the worst things that can happen when you out yourself to the 40 people you see at least three times daily is that no one says anything.

Thankfully, we had a class lunch at a prof's house that weekend and everything kind of smoothed over. That made me quite grateful.

While I am now That Guy, I have to remember that the reason that I moved out to CA was to avoid that being an issue. Sadly, these people I am in school with are also from places like I came from and it still matters to them. All I can do is be myself just as hard as I can and they'll come to appreciate me and everything about me, including whom I choose to lick.

Okay, rant over. Happy things.

Happy things about CA include E showing me Amoeba, a fantastic wonderland of used CDs. From this place, I was able to find Rhett's solo album, The Instigator. Very poppy, but also very charming. That boy can write a sugary love song and get away with it.

Also of note, Liz Phair's Whitechocolatespaceegg, an excellent CD for shaving. This was her last album before everyone accused her of "selling out" with 'Liz Phair', even though I can sense the natural progression in her music.

I'll get into REM's new album next entry. It's pretty damn good.

Til then, back to the grind.

-JaDaSh

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