News at 11: Lost Post Lost No Mo

And so, 11-11-11 came....and about the only unusual occurrence that impacted my corner of cyberspace was this particular entry, which didn't post. And I am quite certain the problem wasn't related to energy fields, government meddling or even Lisbeth Salander. The problem was ye olde operator error. If I had enough time on my hands and an all access pass to the Nixon Library I bet I could locate the 18 1/2 minutes missing on those tapes. By the way punsters, the machine the President used is called a 'Dictabelt'.

World of One-der 
First, some hysterical historical trivia: 
How many days difference there were between the Gregorian Calendar and its predecessor, the Julian?
(Julian as in Julius Caesar, he of the salad; hold the anchovies)

And what do you suppose the difference in minutes was between the Julian and the Solar calendar (within a half minute, for you purists)

Do you know the name of the Greek mountain/peninsula where the Julian Calendar is still used? An easiest-to-access-by-ferry peninsula where only males* over the age of 18 are allowed?

*you ed-ray e-thay art-pay about-ay monastic ife-lay, ight-ray?

I'm not sure what I was expecting to happen with all those 1's. For one, I'm open enough to the idea that sure, there are much greater forces in the universe than I could begin to conceive. And, while I'm perpetually running late to appointments, I don't expect other dimensions/worlds/time bands to be all on variations of Greenwich Mean Time, by no means.

I'm saying 'I' versus 'we' because I am only of one opinion. I wonder why I feel let down that the day would pass as most any day does. And I wasn't expecting disaster, being the type who looks for the silver lining in every cloud.

I mean, back in 1911, Oklahoma City's temperature went from 83 F in the morning to 17F that night, and they had a dust storm. This was part of a 'Great Blue Norther' with similar strange temperature drops, tornadoes and/or blizzards in Illinois, Indiana, Kansas, Missouri, Michigan, Ohio and...Wisconsin. There's that pesky state again. Has to be a coincidence.

I also learned a new word: Apophenia. I'll let you research the meaning yourselves but it's sort of the wet blanket answer to Synchronicity.  To me, it sounds like a town in Appalachia.

And that's the way it was, and is, and most likely will continue to be. In talks with my friends, many of us continue experiencing the same feelings: curiosity, uncertainty, but also validation and intuition that right now is where we are supposed to be. And that is ongoing. Thus, singling out an attractive looking date on a Gregorian calendar becomes a signpost in the journey forward.

King of No Media But His Own

I sometimes wonder what the fuck people are thinking (I realize I'm expecting a lot by expecting mental agility) when they broadcast their knock-off of Howard Stern shock-jockery to the world. It's one thing to fall asleep on cam, another to turn on the waterworks (been there myself) and still another to have four hot & horny men together on cam yet all absorbed in their individual iPads.

On this Black Friday night, I was a'roaming cyberspace and stumbled upon this studly looking, rather hirsute and seemingly white-as-oxford cloth-white man..whose cam subtitle stated he was in his 'crip'.

That's right:  'crip'.

Living in Los Angeles, I admit I'm square footage spoiled. But being rather oxford-cloth white myself, I'm proud to say I do know some slang, and call me crazy, I think he might have meant his 'crib'.
Given the price of real estate in the "three block radius' of Penn Station, maybe 'crip' is to a 'crib'  what a ''bachelor' apartment is to...the Palace at Versailles. Homeboy's in Manhattan after all. I won't pass on the address he gave out, I've a conscience.

His decorating choices of ferns and Judy Garland posters conjured up Quiche Lorraine & Mimosa brunches rather than soul food and Spike Lee movies. I forgave that: for in 10 minutes or less I learned the popularity, availability and current street value of the Wall Street and MOMA crowd's drugs o'choice. He told us that he likes going out and hauling heroin addicts back nto his crip and watching them. Watching them 'what' I never was quite clear on.

I'm not big on frank and foolish monologues from naked guys on cam about how the drug industry is run by 'idiots and Mongolians'. Mongolia? Wait til Colombia gets wind of that. Genghis Khan is back. No wonder there are those Mongolian joints in so many mall food courts now. Clearly a front.
Then again, I could have clicked off the editorial, and I did. Fifteen minutes later, I was right back where I started. Now, he was deep into getting a hook up, fingers working his iPhone at full throttle.  but announced how he feared being killed in his apartment. At least I think it was a fear. When I asked if he'd been watching Looking for Mr. Goodbar, he replied with something about being out of candy. Sigh.

It was clear that my mouthy dud of a stud was a prep schooled bachelor of a certain age. He'd elevate himself in my eyes if he dumped the arrogance and the use of Ebonics. Oh, and the cigarettes.  I still wouldn't be impressed, but then again, if I was so appalled at his schtick, why the heck was I watching him? 

Hopelessly Devoted to You...and you...and you

Fine. I'll admit it. Right here, in print: I am a silly romantic. I fall in love all the time. To be more specific: I fall in love with the 'concept' of love all the time. I'll try and clarify this.

Being someone who grew up with movies as a counterbalance to a rather strange home life, I guess I decided that the conflict between two people laid the groundwork for some hot fireworks in the sack later on. Not such a guarantee in reality. Yet hopelessly devoted to the concept.

I can trace this back to high school, and the boyfriend who broke my heart. I didn't help the situation either.

I look back now at the men I've fallen for while in the party circuit; Southern gentleman Ashley committed to another guy who loved him enough to leave the West Coast for the Deep South, yet Ashley wouldn't answer me when I asked if his love was as deep.

The drama with Mr. Big-Woods I've re-hashed here more often than there have been performances of South Pacific.  Those are the main two...and I broke my own heart in both cases and I have apologized for such childishness.

But, I continue on , determined not to lose hope. Because if I do: I'm a dead man.

A Stroke at Midnight with Prince Charmless

Having worked my way through most of Orange County, it was inevitable I'd find myself trending and trundling through another Southern California region, and with statistics just in, it's the coastal area roughly north of Malibu all the way north to the Hearst Castle.

I was on cam4.com watching another of the incredible looking men that gather there like wolves at a Shari Lewis convention ,when I got a private message. "Hot Profile! Where in LA are you?"
Now, that's nothing to get upset about, since for a period it was 'yo! wass up?' However, I recognized the screen name. It's often a curse having a photographic memory...and bitterness.. I replied:
"Biff, I've had this screen name for ever. You've hit me up off and on for over 3 years, always claiming you want to hook up, but either cancel or leave me in limbo every damn time."

Woe to those who catch me in a bad mood.

Biff, to his credit, apologized (sometimes that's all it takes) and suggested we segue to Skype to talk this out. I did, and once I'd cleared my chest of this old news, I was fine. Unlike my ex and a former assistant, I'd don't carry a Day by Day Guide to Transgressions Against Me that I can flip open and recite time, place, and grievance.

So, when Biff offered up his driving down to Hollywood for the weekend, I had no problem. Except that I had plans for Saturday, but they weren't set in stone. My cousin could find a hotel somewhere and I could see him another time. So what if he'd flown in to see me? Disneyland is 45 minutes away by car; my cousin could have much more fun by himself there.

My lack of immediate commitment though didn't set right with my well mannered cam pal. He expressed a wish that we could be together right then. No pro-blay-mo, I fired back. I'd hop in my car , cruise up the coastline and I'd see him in ninety minutes or less.

But he replied, he had to work the next day. And, what exactly was I going to do to him when he came down on Amtrak Saturday?
I should mention that Biff has a master's degree in masturbation. In my wildest dreams did I ever think a rendezvous would be more than a frat house style weenie roast.

Biff's lower half was off cam, but I know a steady hand when I see it moving. And I know the key words to fuel some jackass's jack off too.
"Oh, when you go to work, I'll just leave. I have other friends I can visit. And as for what will I do to you, I've no agenda, no menu and no clue what we'll do until we're together."


Biff started to squirm, and it took me a couple of minutes to figure out where this session was going. Then, he accused me of being hostile, secretive, weird, and......frightening.

Uh-huh. At least it was looking like I wouldn't be tapping my toes Saturday at Union Station wondering why he wasn't on the train that just arrived. But 'frightening'? That was a little lame. Perhaps because I wasn't feeling anything, including buying into his act was what unnerved him.

I suggested that, since it was late, we were both tired (sick and tired in my case) to sleep on it and touch base in a day or two.  Not one to let me get away with being pleasant , Biff continued his Sorry Wrong Number monologue until I waved at him, announced I was hanging up, and made good on that promise.

Marching towards Friday

Previously I was in a high cryptic mood.....11/11/11 is this Friday. Since my pondering, several amazing things happened in succession:

*A tenant for my long empty guest room materialized and moved in.
*My out of print novel is finally going into production as a December 2011 release....exactly 4 years after my original publisher merged and closed the fiction lines.
*I encountered online some of the nicest men I've met in a long time, and a few of the old jerks.
 *I meditated on the topic of service and feel at least I  have a hand drawn map to start with.
*Gosh, I may be moving forward!

Not so fast:
I still would rather party on cam with friends than risk being disappointed.

All of my friends seem to feel the same: the party scene is filled with many bad apples. Sadly, no one need resort to deception, lies or mayhem. As was once heard round the globe from Rodney King:

"Can't we all just get along?"

No, we can't I guess.

But the week ain't over yet.