36 hours in the summer of a teacher ...

For those of you whose curiosity I have previously piqued with my cryptic HAWAII emails, this is my explanation. For those of you uninterested in the email string leading to this, skip ahead to where the pictures are.

EMAILS:

In response to a request by Rita to photograph Damon at a panel presentation he was on at Hastings, I responded:

--- AJ wrote:
> I would have, but I was in Hawaii - more on that later!


This set off a chain of emails:


---RH Crayon <----> wrote:
> What!!!!

---Irvin <----> wrote:
> you should see him. he's TOTALLY sunburned. he's going to peel and i'm going to be TOTALLY disgusted by it...
> that said, he did bring me back a lovely Men of Hawaii 2008 calendar!
> though he couldn't find me any KONA chips. :(

---RH Crayon <----> wrote:
> What!!!!

---Felisa <----> wrote:
> What!!!!Wait, WHAT?! AJ was really in Maui? I thought he was joking!

---Irvin <----> wrote:
> No. No. He was in Kona.

---Damon <----> wrote:
> This email string is ridiculous. Start giving some real details or I'm going to mark you both as SPAM.

---Irvin <----> wrote:
> But I've GIVEN details.
> AJ is extremely sunburned. I have taken great pleasure in spraying him with ALOE VERA spray everyday in the hopes that he will not peel.
> AJ did not find me any KONA chips.
> AJ brought me back a MEN OF HAWAII 2008 calendar.
> What more details do you want?
> Hmmmm. Well he did bring me back a shell lei which is fun, I have no idea what happened to my old shell lei from when we went to Hawaii. And he had an opportunity to swim the dolphins but it would have cost him a lot of money, so he just contented himself to watch other people swim with them.
> Oh and also on the plane with him was Huey Lewis. No one on the plane could think of any other song that he was popular for other than "I WANT A NEW DRUG". How they could have forgotten "HIP TO BE SQUARE" is beyond me.
> Irvin

---Felisa <----> wrote:
> GAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

--- Ben <----> wrote:
> I know what happened.
> Ben =)

---RH Crayon <----> wrote:
>Okay, this is all extremely hilarious.
> HAHAHAHAHA!!!

---Felisa <----> wrote:
> Y'all, I just died from curiosity.
> Like a doornail, I am.
> And it's all your fault!
> (Dead!)


THE POST:

Not too long ago, my friend Rita was wondering if anyone she knew really had their dream job. She concluded that no one she knew did, but then she thought - except maybe A.J.* (* though Damon may be joining this club now with his new job.) I agreed that yes I did have my dream job - I couldn't really imagine leaving it and finding something that would be more rewarding or better-suited for me. However, with the difficult semester that the Spring turned out to be, I was beginning to question whether or not this really was my dream job - or NOT. But then the summer came and I kicked it off with AIDS-Lifecycle 6, a trip to Atlanta & Savannah with Irvin, a weekend of pride events and brunch at our place with friends from near and far!

And at that Brunch - my friend Glenn (see the reflector story from last year) who is an elementary school teacher in Oakland - or was until a few weeks ago made an offer I couldn't really pass up - a whirlwind 36-hour trip to Hawaii staying in a luxury resort on the beaches in Kona. I thought for an instant after this was offered to me - I can't just up & go to Hawaii for a day - but then realized, YES, I can! So I said YES, and apparently I said yes so fast that Glenn has never had a buddy trip agreed to so quickly. So, I set aside my neurosis on flying - I hide it well from all but Irvin - and packed my bags to head to Hawaii last Tuesday afternoon.

When we got to the airport, Glenn was going to take me through the crew security area, but then my boarding pass indicated that I had to have a secondary screening - something they were not staffed to do at the crew security area. However, one of the agents very kindly walked me up to the screening area upstairs, and indicated that they should do me next, which I appreciated. After waiting just a few moments, I was put into a chamber where I was puffed with air, then I was sent through the metal detector and my bags x-rayed just like everyone else. Then they sent me to the secondary screening area where I waited, thinking that they were going to empty my bags to search them like a few years ago when I went through one of these extra screenings. I started thinking that I wished that I had brought some things that they might be embarrassed by as they pulled them from my bags - toys, gay porn, etc. (my mind always goes here. Then my screener walks up - and well, he was definitely my type. I was now looking forward to the pat-down, and who knows? maybe a cavity search? No, no - not a pat down, not even any wands... just wiping cloths all over the inside and outside of my bag and shoes, then putting them in a machine. Even if I had had any fun, embarrassing paraphernalia, he would likely not have found it! So I was dismissed, the screeners convinced I had no ulterior motives (at least not as far as the plane was concerned - now for the screener...)

I now proceeded to the gate, where I waited for the gate agent to a call me for standby seating. I waited, then Glenn came up and told me I might not make it - I was #15 on the standby list with 15 open spots on the plane - if anyone else added with a higher priority, I would be out. No worries though - I was the last to get on the plane!

And , as I entered, a flight attendant who knows Glenn, and had waved to me hopefully as she and Glenn boarded the plane, was pleased to see me and began pouring champagne into a cup, picked up some OJ (the glass was already pretty full with the bubbly) and said, "Mimosa, OK?" "Oh, definitely!" I replied.

Though I was not able to get into first class, I did get the exit row in Economy Plus. I settled in to for our on-time departure. But then the captain came on - there was a very minor - he could not stress how MINOR it was - mechanical problem that was being fixed and so we were briefly delayed. About 30 minutes after we were scheduled to leave, we pulled back from the gate, and started taxiing to our runway. However, just a few minutes into our taxi, the captain came on and informed us that while the problem was fixed, there was a minor issue in the overall process, and so we had to go back to have the mechanics finish this off. The flight attendant across from me - not the Mimosa one - but another, started getting chatty. She started saying to me and the man to my left that she thinks the mechanics might be intentionally causing these issues, as their jobs are slated to be outsourced to independent contractors in about two years. Now, did she mean that they were doing shoddy work? Or, did she mean that they were simply holding up the paperwork, etc.? I opted to believe the latter. My neighbor seemed to think it was the former, and he seemed quite uncomfortable for the rest of the flight.

While we waited for the fix, the captain said we could get up and walk about, etc. A little boy was running in the aisles and the chatty flight attendant asked the boy if he would like to see the captain and the cockpit. I thought to myself - I want to see the captain and the cockpit. I wondered if I ran up and down the aisle she would ask me if I wanted to see the cockpit. But then, I figured that they would probably just have me arrested. However, I was very excited to get to see it on the return flight!

We finally departed, and though I was in Economy, I definitely got the first class treatment. My mimosa flight attendant (who was also quite chatty - but more so on the return flight) took very good care of me, making sure my wine glass was never empty. Later she even brought me an Irish coffee. During the flight I discovered that the man next to me and the woman across the aisle were both pilots and would, in fact, be flying our plane home the next day. It was reassuring to meet the pilots...

Later in the flight, I learned that Huey Lewis was on the flight. But not the News. And, on top of that, he was going to be staying at our resort!

We arrived in Hawaii. We squeezed into the shuttle (they hadn't really planned for me) and headed to the resort. On the ride there, we were entertained by the sarcastic comments the pilot sitting behind us would throw into our conversations. She was pretty funny. We discussed what were Huey Lewis's other songs - besides "I want a new drug". (It would seem Huey never found it - as he looked like the old ones might have taken their toll.) We were also told about the crazy over-the-top resort we were heading to - swimming with the dolphins, waterfalls, a lagoon, boat transportation and a monorail around the resort - it was going to be like Disneyland!

When we arrived at the hotel, we went into the back door - did they have us enter with the help? We asked how to get to our room, and she gave us several options - the boat, the train - or walk - that would take about 2 minutes. And, it seems, that walking was pretty much always faster!

We went to our room, in a separate wing from the rest of the crew. On the way, we passed the shopping area and got the "We're gay, too" look from a couple shopping at the ridiculously overpriced sunglasses shop. Glenn made us some Mai Tai's and off to the crazy pool with the waterfall and the wobbly rope bridge over it. We drank there until the security made us leave (pool closed at 11), and then we walked around a bit. We passed Huey Lewis walking toward the bar, and Glenn asked in his very Glenn way "What time's the show?". Then it was back to bed.

I woke up around 6:30. Glenn woke up shortly after. We ate some scones and muffins left over from "Muffins & Mimosas" on the balcony overlooking the parking lot (and a little bit of ocean). Then it was off for coffee and then the pool. We discovered that the beach, just about 50 feet from the crazy pool, was a little too rocky to lay out on. So by 8:30 we were sunscreened up and laying by the pool. I was sporting my new trunks, towel, and flip flops Irvin had picked up for me at H&M. The shorts were a little slippery and as Glenn took the fashion shot you see below, I was sliding down the hill. We stayed there for a couple of hours. Glenn scheduled his upcoming flights, and we jumped into the pool occasionally to cool off and at one point waded down to the waterfall - which looked more impressive from a distance.

This was definitely a family resort - but not a "family" resort. Though I was cruised by a guy who looked a bit like a muscle queen to me, and sitting with a more burly looking guy. The muscle guy had on a shirt that said "Musclepride.com" on the back. I figured - what more evidence did we need, but Glenn was not convinced he was gay. Visit the site - I think we will all agree he is! Mostly we saw straight families with kids. We took a boat ride from one end of the resort to the other. As we waited for the boat, we heard an overprotective father keep telling his "son" AJ about the boat that was coming, stand back, etc. (The boat ran in a really dirty looking canal with a groove cut for the hull to make sure the driver never went to far off track.) When we got on the boat, I, of course, had to say hello to a fellow AJ. Since the A stood for Ariana, I realized that this boy with long, blond surfer hair was a girl, and who I thought was her sister with the same long, blond surfer hair was actually her brother. We also learned quite a bit about the family on the unnecessarily long boat ride. The mother - a daughter of hippies from Haight-Ashbury had married a white, military boy from New Jersey - her parents had been aghast. And, on this trip, she was feeling like the Beverly Hillbillies, because due to a mix-up by the resort, they had been moved to the Presidential Suite, as that was the only room left. It sounded quite nice as she described, in painful detail (especially for Glenn), the amenities of the suite.

Glenn and I walked around a bit more, discovered a lot of statuary, a Buddha - where Glenn felt artistic, and viewed more bad art than at one of the "salon" shows in a convention room at a Midwest suburban hotel. We also went by the "Grand Staircase" which reminded me of the Queen's Palace on Naboo.

We were getting hungry, so we took the monorail back to one of the grills we had noticed earlier. This was overlooking the lagoon area where the trained dolphins were held, and where you could actually swim with the dolphins. I think it would have cost more than the rest of my 36-hour trip. So, we opted not to swim with them, but rather to watch as we ate $15 burgers from the restaurant patio. We were a little concerned that the dolphins might turn violent and started attacking the swimmers or their captors, but we got no such show. At this point, we decided that it was time for us to go back to the hotel room and rest. Glenn, after all, was going to be working the flight back that night. I was planning to sleep on the overnight flight. I decided that I was only there for a short time, and since I figured I would have plenty of time to catch up on sleep when I returned to San Francisco, I decided to head down to the beach. I waded into the rocky beach – I love the warm water – not like the icy shores of San Francisco. I looked into snorkeling, but you could really only do that in the stocked lagoon, unless you were experienced enough to go into the rocky, coral area just off the coast, where apparently there was not supposed to be a lot to see anyway. So in the end, I just decided to go to the little peninsula on the ocean with the Buddha. I found a semi-shaded hammock and got in to rest & enjoy the sound and breeze off the ocean. I am not the most coordinated, and at one point, when turning around to get more out of the sun, I did dump myself into the sand below. No one was really looking – I think.

While there, I noticed a number of people snorkeling, and thought that maybe I should go rent the equipment and go out from there. But in the end, I decided that I really liked resting in the hammock, and at about the same time, I noticed a snorkeler coming out of the water with a big fish. (I am not sure that hunting fish was legal there.) I also noticed that he was also holding a harpoon. At this point, he started taking off his snorkeling gear, and the top of his wetsuit and I saw it was a hot, young asian guy. Then he started cleaning his harpoon spear – wow – lots of obvious homoerotic symbolism there. And his brothers eventually came out of the water too. While they were empty-handed, one of them looked like he had a much better body – and I waited for him to take his wetsuit off, but alas, no such luck. I tried to take stealth pictures with Irvin’s camera, but I was too close and I think I was a little obvious when I shot the images. Not that I really cared.

After the hot boys left, I realized it was getting late. I wandered back to the room, where Glenn was just getting up. We watched the Larry King interview with Paris Hilton right after she got out of jail. I felt a little sorry for her, and that sort of annoyed me. Then immediately following, Anderson Cooper totally bashed her – a little heir / heiress rivalry there?

We headed back to the Airport, I went through the secondary screening again, though not wishing for a cavity search this time. Then I needed to do a little souvenir shopping for Irvin. So I found a little shop and bought some playing cards with a map of Hawaii on them, a shell lei, and some chocolate-covered macadamia nuts. The clerk was very friendly as I checked out, and there was a second, obviously gay clerk, doing a balance sheet just off to the side. He did not really look up or acknowledge me (that’s OK – he wasn’t very attractive), but then, on the way out, I noticed the men of Hawaii 2008 calendar on a stand. Though I knew that this would be more for me than Irvin, I decided to get it for him as a souvenir regardless. After all, it made me nostalgic for the Hawaii trip we took a few years ago with Karen & Ben and Rita & Damon when Irvin and I bought the Men of Hawaii 2005 calendar at Hilo Hatties's. So, I went back in and put it on the counter. Noticing this time what I was purchasing, the gay, Hawaiian clerk looked up and said “Aloha”.

This time there was no question I would get on the plane. And, because we board from the tarmac, Glenn told me to wait for him as I was getting on board. So, he came out and we took pictures of me getting on the plane, me and Glenn on the ladder, and me and the Mimosa flight attendant on the ladder. And, when I got on the plane, Glenn had me drop all my bags and head up to the cockpit, where, that’s right – pictures with the pilots! It was fantastic!

This was a fabulaous 36-hour trip! It was beautiful, relaxing, and a lot of fun. It was great getting to hang out with Glenn (off of our bikes), catch up on life, and see him at work!

EMAIL EPILOGUE:

Not considering that when I wrote a few of my AIDS Ride thank-you’s that I indicated I was on the flight to Hawaii, and how that came to be. Then I mailed them on the 4th of July - now a few days ago. So I sent this email to Rita & Damon so they would not read it before they read this post.

--- AJ <-----> wrote:
> DON'T OPEN the THANK-YOU letter from me.
> It will spoil my next blog post!

Just Plane Icky

July 31, 2006

Two weeks ago* I went to to Chicago for the Gay Games, followed by a week-long midwest trip which I will be putting up a post and many photos about very soon. But for now, I want to talk about the flight back. As always, Irvin and I procrastinated buying our tickets for the Gay Games / Midwest trip, and because we were flying separately for one leg, we needed to purchase separtely. By the time we purchased, there were only single seats left on the plane. So, when we boarded the plane, I went ahead quickly and tried to find the guy sitting in the seat next to Irvin. I asked him to trade his window seat for mine, and he was fine with that. So, Irvin and I were able to sit next to each other. Which is important for me, as I get a little uneasy at take-off, landing, and the slightest turbulence. So, during those times, I like to grab onto his hand and hold tightly. I went ahead and let Irvin take the window seat and I was in the middle of the row. We settled in with our stuff for the 4 1/2 hour flight. I prefer to sit on the aisle for the extra room and for the ability to get up and pee whenever I like without making a bunch of people move, but I can make do.

So, our row-mate shows up. It was a boy of indeterminate teen years (later we learned he is 16). He was medium height, stocky, with a buzzcut. He sat down, got settled, and then asked if we were traveling together. We said yes, and then he indicated that his dad was in the seat in front of him. I am uncertain if he was going to ask to swap seats if we were not together, because based on the online seating arrangements, they had likely chosen the two aisle seats before we bought ours. Clearly, he felt uncomfortable asking if we were together, and then furthered the awkwardness by asking if Irvin and I were brothers. For those of you who are reading and don't know me - Irvin is asian, and I am white - unlikely that we would be brothers. I was not as perplexed by this question as you might think that I would have been, because I had been asked this before by my "special" stalker high school student when I took Irvin to chaperone prom some years ago. I responded that we were not brothers, but were instead boyfriends, and quipped that this explained the fact that we looked nothing alike. Now with this question, I was a little concerned that he might be a homophobe - trying to imagine away sitting next to a gay couple on the plane. But then, it soon became clear he was "Questioning", and not just questioning. He said that he was relieved that we had offered that information, because he said it would have been awkward for him to ask. I said that it would have been fine with us if he had asked, but that I understood it might be an unwelcome question for some gay couples in the situation. Then, he offered that the last plane trip that he was on, he sat next to a nice gay guy, and that a member of his family is gay also, though he did not indicate which one. He needed help to actually get the word "gay" out o f his mouth.

A short while later, it became more curious. He asked if we had ever been to "White Party". Now, white Party is a big gay circuit party that happens annually in Palm Springs (the one in California - not the one in Florida). A circuit party is usually a big deal where people fly in from other cities to attend, famous DJ's spin, and a variety of party drugs can be found - necessary to enable the participants to endure 3-4 days of constant parties. And White Party is the quintessential circuit party, and as the name implies, the attendees all wear white. It is one of the biggest and most famous of circuit parties - often drawing celebrities. Even Madonna attended one year, famously wearing black. So as the kid asks this, I'm thinking, straight people must have inadvertently named some sort of event after a big gay affair, and I just don't know about it. How else could this sixteen-year-old be asking us about it? So I inquired as to what white party was? He indicated that it was a party. So Irvin and I asked if he meant the one in Palm Springs - still incredulous that is was the White Party he was referring to. He said yes. Hmmm. We said that we had not been. He asked why not. I indicated that we don't really go out a lot or go to those sort of parties, but that we have friends who do. He seemed surprised that we don't go, but was satified by my answer.

So, at this point, it was clear that we were not sitting next to a homophobe, and I wouldn't have to go into teacher mode. But having broken the ice, he now felt comfortable to talk. And the boy could TALK. He talked about the condensing vapor coming from the air vents on the plane. He talked about cars and planes - two things I can hold my own on, having grown up about a mile from the Indianapolis 500, and going througha six-year phase of wanting to be a pilot and to design airplanes. He had recently gone to the OshKosh airshow - one one of the best in the world. I learned that he lives near LA with his mom and that his father lives near SF. They are divorced and he flys between the two a couple of times a month to visit his father. I learned that he likes to draw - he even drew two pictures of race cars for me. They were pretty good. After telling him I used to teach high school, I asked if he planned to take some art classes, and what science classes he might be taking in the fall. At this, he said he need to get into a "regular" school first, which would give the impression that he has spent some time in some sort of alternative high school, or possibly juvi? Hard to tell. I didn't ask. I learned most of this before taking off, as we had to wait about 40 minutes to take off because of winds in Chicago. He was nice, biut a little awkward. And clearly aware that he might make others uncomfortable with his taliking, as he asked me more than once if he was bothering me. I indicated that he was not, and that he could ask or talk about whatever he liked.

Once airborne, he became distracted by the beverage service, the Chinese food he had brought on board, and th inflight entertainment. However, he still managed to keep the conversation going at times, though he always mumbled a bit, and I would contantly have to ask him to repeat what he had said. He asked Irvin his ethnicity, and offered that he was 1/2-white, 1/2-mexican. He confirmed that I was not a vegetarian before eating his dinner, and he talked more about cars and airplanes. At one point, I pulled out my computer to sort through vacation pictures - cycling, waterskiing, Steve & Anjuna's wedding pics (from our last trip). As I imagined, he became interested and began asking about the pictures. He was polite, asking if it was OK if he looked. I said it was fine. Eventually, he lost interest and went back to the movie on the plane.

But then, I noticed that he was getting fidgetty. He was scratcing his crotch a bit, and moving aroud a lot. Nothing out-of-the-ordinary for a stocky sixteen-year-old ona plane. Then, It became clear he was adjusting himself. Again, not that unusual - at that age, very easy to pop a boner. And for a questioning youth, sitting next to two gay guys might be a big deal. But he seemed to keep adjusting himself. Well, sometimes it is hard to get everything angled right under jeans to be comfortable. But, he kept adjusting himself, and finally, I realized he was no longer adjusting himself, but rather, he was rubbing his crotch, stroking his cock through his jeans. Because I was looking down at my computer screen, it was not difficult for me to see that indeed, he was stroking his cock, which was clearly pointing to one side under his jeans. And he was not being that discreet about it. With this, I became very uncomfortable and slowly started pulling myself farther to Irvin's side of our row - I certainle didn't want him to start rubbing his leg on mine or anything like that. But even as I kept my eyes averted and pulled my body as far away as I could, he continued to stroke his crotch. Finally, he stopped, and fell asleep - I was so releived.

As Irvin and I left the plane, and he was far gone, we started talking about the kid and the White Party reference and all of the other oddness, and then, I related the story above to Irvin. Irvin was clearly amused, pleased that he had taken the window seat, and a little creeped out - like me. And then, he said what I had thought, but was trying to block out - the kid was wanting help with his stroking. This is the ickiest I have ever felt when I had actually done nothing at all! Snakes on plane, man... SNAKES on a PLANE.

(*Just a note - I wrote this immediately following the GG/MW trip.)

Bi(carbonate) now, Gay(Lussac) later

I realize that I can be a little childish sometimes when it comes to saying things that sound in any way vaguely sexual, or can in any way become somewhat related to homosexuality. I can get a little giggly - almost always on the inside. Now Irvin says that I am just a little kid at heart, which is probably true. For instance, teaching chemistry, I often talk about common, household chemicals, like sodium bicarbonate. It is a particularly interesting salt because it is amphiprotic - meaning that it can act either as an acid or a base. It can go both ways! And I sort of always want to giggle and point this out when I am explaining the nomenclature. But I have decided that its probably not appropriate to make an analogy to bisexuality as a mnemonic device. Irvin agreed. Another example is whenever I encounter the number 69, I giggle a little bit on the inside. I also think of the time that my ninth grade biology teacher had to explain to someone that it was mutual oral sex. In the context the question was asked, I was impressed at her ability to remain composed. Some migh think that because of these gigles, I might be uncomfortable talking about sexuality and my sexual orientation. For those of you who know me, of course, that just isn't true.

In fact, it is the opposite. I am very comfortable about my sexuality. And, I am quite excited about the fact that I am gay. I am very happy to be gay and to be out. For a long time, of course, I wasn't. I got married to my high school sweetheart. That's right, at the age of 22, I got married to a woman. Clearly, that was not meant to last. And three years later, after getting very excited at the prospect of moving to San Francisco - an idea proposed by her - I came out to her.

My friend Herschel (that's not his real name but a nickname adopted in high school - I'll let him explain) later told me that he was a little concerned that I might not handle being gay very well. I didn't have any sexual experience with men before I came out. There was the j/o buddy when I was 13, but there was no touching, so I don't really count that. When I came out, I was overweight, and a little plain and boring. But after my first two trips to San Francisco,which happened only after deciding to move here - site unseen - months before, I realized I needed a change my look and style. So, a day after returning to Indiana from my second trip to San Francisco, I bought new clothes, new shoes, and a (matching) belt. I got a short ceasar-do haircut that I used American Crew pomade to hold in place. I bought a bike. And, I resolved to eat better so that I could lose weight and keep it off (after yo-yoing all my life). In one week, I made a number of life-altering changes, changes that are still very actively influencing my life. I still try to be as stylish as I can be - with significant help from my boyfriend. Cycling is my biggest hobby - I even competed in cycling in the Gay Games this year, and I ride the AIDS/Lifecycle every year. At the end of that week of style and lifestyle adjustments, I had my first hook-up with a man. To finish Herschel's thought I previoulsy mentioned: while he was concerned about my coming out, he had realized he had need not worry. As he put it, I "took to being gay like a fish to water".

On the second of the aforementioned trips to San Francisco, I went to the Cafe. It was my first trip to a gay bar as an out gay man. And, it was seeing all of the pretty and stylish people that inspired the transformation. It was also the first time that I was able to put into words a question that I had been pondering for sometime. I knew what the answer must be, but I decided to ask it anyway, because I wanted the confirmation from a man who would know. I turned to Herschel while we were having a drink at the edge of the dance floor, watching all of the pretty guys dance, and I said, "Sucking dick must be a lot of fun, isn't it?" Herschel turned to me and smiled and said, "Yes, it is."

And I do find I really like being gay. I mean I guess thats sort of like saying - I really like being me. It is very self-affirming, but it feels very true to me. I have never wished I wasn't. Even when I was married and struggling with whether or not I was attracted to women or men or both, I never thought: boy, I wish I didn't like other men and want to have sex with them. It was always more like: but I think I like women, too, and I am married, so how do I live happily without acting on my feelings for men. And in the end, I couldn't. It took me a really long time to be able to come to identify what I really am - a gay man, not bi, but gay.

I still find myself somewhat in awe about being gay, or rather, about embracing who I am and living my life very openly, unapologetically, without fear. I live my life as who I am. Irvin has written about how we hold hands. For me, it is very natural, something I can't imagine not doing automatically. It feels good to walk with my boyfriend, hand in hand, held closely to him. It says to each other and to everyone else, we are together, and we are happy. I know that it makes Irvin a little uncomfortable when we do this back in the Midwest, where we are from, but it still feels very natural to me there. Though, I will admit, that I can get a little self-conscious about it, sort of a feeling of are we being stared at? Though, generally not a feeling strong enough to make me let go of Irvin's hand. In a way, it makes me less apt to let go. As a teacher, I feel like exposure to out gay men and women, who proudly express there feelings, emotions, and desires can only lead to more openness, more acceptance, and eventually, full equality for gay people. And, on this most recent trip to the Midwest, Irvin always took my hand, and we didn't let go.

I do have a bit of a childish wonder at times about the life I lead. At least Irvin has characterized it this way. While I went through a phase of having a rainbow flag hanging in my bedroom (opposite my periodic table wall chart), I am not really the rah-rah gay type. I feel no need to wear my pride jewelry or the like. However, I get very excited about Gay Pride. I love the community of the AIDS ride which is very comfortable and safe for gay people. I participated in the Gay Games. And I love to look at Irvin. I sometimes look at his naked body in awe - in awe at how beautiful a man he is, that I get know his body, that he has a penis just like me.

So, I am very excited about being gay and out. And , I like sex, and I am a little childish. I think it is probably a mixture of these three attitudes and dispositions that cause me to have to stifle a snicker every time I am teaching the Gas Laws and it is time time to introduce Joseph Louis Gay-Lussac's laws of gases.

(A side note: I wrote this shortly after SF pride - but never posted it. I have made a couple of revisions to bring it up to date.)

Name Change

This is just a note to indicate that I have decided to change the name of my blog to better reflect the type of posting that I seem to be making. My friend Rita suggested in one of her comments that my blog seems to serve up stories or anecdotes that are bite-size dishes, much like the White Trash Hors d'Oeuvres that I have written about. I like this suggestion, so, I am changing the name of this blog to White Trash Hors d'Oeuvres. However, the URL will remain the same.

Bears: Reflections from a Cub(?)

Every community has its subcultures. And in the gay community they abound. And, many of our larger subcultures are well-organized and very visible to the straight community. We have the Drag Queens, Leather, Bondage and S&M, among other communities. These three are probably the most visible and have crossovers or equivalents in the straight community. Many straight people love a good drag show. And, though proportionally smaller, there is a significant straight leather community. In fact, one one of my gay friends from high school's parents own a primarily straight leather shop in Indianapolis. And, you only need to go to Folsom Fair to see the straight BDSM community in action. Granted, here in San Francisco, it is a little easier to see and recognize these gay subcultures.

But there is a large, and relatively "gay mainstream" subculture that most straight people seem to know almost nothing about. The Bear community. That is, until I educate them.

Just about a month ago, I did the AIDS-Lifecycle ride for my sixth time. Every year it is a moving and emotional experience. This year, it was also an eye-opening experience for my friend, Megan. This year, Megan learned about Bears.

It started as a quest for a shake (more specifically, a chocolate malt). But Megan, me, Lynnie, Deyon, Ted, Evelyn, and Scott headed off the Rodeo Grounds in Paso Robles and ventured into town to the A&W Root Beer stand. Only when we got there, that's not really what it was. It was actually a KFC-A&W, and all they really had were machine-made root beer floats. Not what I was craving. But, Megan knew of another place. So some of us ordered, but I decided to wait for the more authentic drive-in, where I would get my chocolate malt. Despite the establishment being farther than I expected, with Megan continually assuring me that it was "just ahead", we arrived, I ordered my malt, and we proceeded to sit at the outdoor picnic tables under an awning in front of the drive-in.

As I sat down, I saw some locals, at least I thought they were locals. My first impression was that they were sort of an older motorcycle group. They were wearing t-shirts, jeans, and leather vests. They had beards, some long, that were grey or black, and they were either bald, or had receding hairlines with long hair in the back. My prejudices kicked in and I assumed that this might be some sort of close-minded pack that was probably annoyed by the loud group of fags and lesbians that sat down (though not all of us were gay). But, it seemed that they were not going to hassle us, so I sort of ignored them for a while. But then another guy, a bit younger, walked up, and that drew my attention back to the group.

At this point, I noticed that one of them was wearing a patch that said "Golden Bears". Intriguing. Was he a bear? More likely, this was some sort of motorcycle group for California, a group that probably had no real idea what connotation "bear" has in the gay community. Or maybe not. The younger guy who had just walked up turned enough for me to see that he was wearing some sort of AIDS-Lifecycle credential around his neck. This changed things. This younger guy definitely had the makings of a cub. And though certainly not all the men on the AIDS ride are gay, its a refreshing community where the assumption is often that you are gay, unless you come out as straight.

I started looking at the men a bit more closely. All of them were wearing T-shirts, patches, or belt buckles that had some sort of bear on them. And, as one went up to meet the younger guy and I saw the back of his shirt, there was a queeny cartoon bear surfing on the back of his shirt, and the type refered to some SoCal bear beach party. Wow. Had I misjudged this group! They weren't a crowd of close-minded locals who might beat us up (again, this prejudice is my problem). No this was a group of friendly, furry bears. Bears are everywhere!

As we were preparing to leave, I pointed out the group to Megan, and told her to get a good look at them. As we walked away, I asked Megan her impression of them, and it seemed she had had a similar reaction to my initial assessment of the group. So, I told Megan that they were all gay and that they were all Bears. "Bears?" she wondered?. What did I mean Bears? How was it I knew they were all gay? I assured her they were. She was still incredulous, they didn't look like a group of gay men. So I explained what a bear is - usually a hairy body, a bit older (sometimes going grey, but if not, usually dark-haired), a bit of a belly (or a lot of a belly) and stocky, bearded, and almost always quite friendly and happy. I further explained that this is a community within the larger gay community. It is well- organized with many special events and a three-year-old Street Fair in San Francisco, aptly named the HAIRrison Street Fair. Bears even have their own flag!

There really is no equivalent to Bears in the straight community. Irvin disagreed with me on this point recently, pointing me in the direction of the Chubby Chasers in the straight community. But this is different than bears. One, bears aren't always "chubby", and there is a chubby chaser community among gay people that is distinct from the bear community. Certainly, there are straight women who are attracted to straight men who might be considered a bear if they were gay, but they don't organize like the gay bears do. So, I believe, the bears are unique.

Of course, there are lots of variations among bears themselves, and quite a bit of terminology involved. I lifted the following directly from the Wikapedia entry on Bears.

Some terminology relating to the bear community includes:

• admirer - a term that refers to someone who is not a bear, cub, or otter, but is sexually or romantically attracted to them (this term is often used in various communities to describe an outsider who has sexual attraction to people within that community) Also often referred to as a chaser.
• bear - a man with a beard or goatee, typically with a hairy chest and body and a stocky or heavyset build; often older (or older looking) and displaying a masculine appearance and mannerisms.
• cub - a younger (or younger looking) version of a bear, typically but not always with a smaller frame. The term is sometimes used to imply the passive partner in a relationship.
• daddybear - is an older more husky guy sometimes looking for a daddy/son relationship or a Bearcub.
• grizzly bear - an older bear, often with a large, wilder beard - think Grizzly Adams.
• otter - a man who is hairy, but is not large or stocky - typically thinner, or with lean muscle. Also typically identified by an energetically playful and flirtatious manner.
• polar bear - is an older bear with white or grey body hair and beard.
• pocket bear - shorter bear.
• sugar bear - a "sugar daddy" bear; a bear who wants the company of a younger or more traditionally attractive male or "chaser" in exchange for favors/gifts
• wolf - similar to an otter, but with a more aggressive attitude.
• woof! - A greeting sometimes used when a bear spots another bear in public and wants to express physical attraction. He will make a growling noise ("Grrrr!") or say "Woof!"

It seems that I fit the mold of cub. I am a little younger, a little smaller, and a little less hairy than your average bear. Irvin teases me about this. Bears tend to cruise me down. Cub admirers sometimes come on to me at bars, and my friend Megan thinks I should not be a cub.

Either way, cub or not, I hope this entry has been educational. Especially for you straight folk. I educated Megan on the subject. And, I was particularly proud when she recently emailed me about her excitement about seeing a license plate frame that said "bear" and had paws on it, knowing what it meant, and passing on this knowledge to her husband, (the straight) Alex Joseph).

Reflectors are for Nerds

Glenn is a good friend who I met doing California AIDS Ride 8 in 2001. We met on the ride that year, became cycling buddies, and now have been tentmates on three AIDS-Lifecycle rides, including this year's ride. Recently, Glenn had his bike stolen. He was upset, but had been thinking it was time for a new bike. So, he went to American Cyclery and started looking at bikes. There, he found a nice, reasonably priced Bianchi. The salesman asked what sort of riding Glenn does, and he responded that he rides primarily distance and that he was getting ready to do the AIDS ride. At this, the salesman thought that he could cinch the sale and said, "Oh, we've sold lots of these to Lifecyclists." That was what Glenn needed to hear to decide that this bike was not for him. Being one of several dozen with the same bike on the ride might be a little too ra-ra for Glenn. Understandable. I don't think I would have bought it either. He went on to buy another bike - a much less common brand that I quickly forgot the name of.

Glenn is fast. Even when Glenn smokes and drinks, he is fast. And this year, most of the time, I couldn't keep up with him. But I still saw him at various pit stops throughout the ride. At one of those pits, I noticed that Glenn still had a front reflector on his bike. And I found that amusing, because, you see, reflectors are for nerds. Now, don't get me wrong. I am all for safety. I always wear a helmet; I have lights I can carry for riding at night, and I always use my hand signals. And, when you are talking about kid's bikes and people out on evening or weekend jaunts, reflectors are a good idea. But if you are riding serious distances, a racer, or any sort of serious cyclist, you probably on't want them on your bike. Reflectors lend a sort of, I-just-bought-this-new-Huffy-at-Kmart feel to a bike. So I shared my thoughts with Glenn. I knew it was a little bitchy. But then, Glenn can be a little bitchy, so I didn't feel so bad.

At one point when I was teasing Glenn about the reflector, someone I was riding with noticed that my new friend Evelyn had reflectors on her wheel. Not knowing Evelyn that well at the time, I backpedalled a bit and said that it wasn't really that big of a deal. I did offer to take them off for her if she would like me to. It didn't seem to matter much to her either way. This reflector business all transpired in the first day or two of the ride.

Well, on Day 6, we have what is called the Paradise Pit in Santa Barbara. It is in a road median, but a very nice road median with palm trees and lush (from being watered with sprinklers) grass. Team Santa Barbara, which hosts the pit stop puts out quite a spread with ice cream, cookies, soda, candy - all the things that are not at a standard pit on the AIDS ride. This year, they even offered massage. Because it is so nice there, we often linger at this pit for sometime, and I saw lots of people, including Glenn. We talked for a bit, but then the people I was riding with were ready to go. So, I said bye to Glenn and we rode off. As I rode up the first hill after the stop, I noticed something rattling around on my handlebars - a reflector. Yes. Glenn had put his reflector on my bike. To be expected, I figured; and, as we rode from there to the next Water Stop, I began scheming. And at that stop, I ran into Evelyn. I requested use of her wheel reflectors, and made plans to get them from her at camp that evening. I saw Glenn and Marc at the stop as well. Marc was riding with Glenn that day, and I asked him where Glenn's bike might be? Glenn walked up right then and started making fun of me as a nerd with reflectors on my bike. Seeing Glenn at this point was good, because I had the opportunity to notice that his bike is a Satellite brand bike - black with gray trim. And, I was sure to note his rider number, 2708.

So, as I rode into camp, Evelyn approached me with wheel reflectors in hand. Apparently her bike tool had the necessary mini-wrench component needed to remove the reflectors. So I asked to borrow that as well. Later that day, when Glenn had returned and gone off to the showers, I headed to the bikes, reflectors and tool in hand, ready to add some safety features to Glenn's bike. It was then that I realized that there are a lot of bikes on the AIDS ride. Over 1800 riders this year. Given this, I was pleased at how quickly I found Glenn's bike. I confirmed that I had the right rider number, and I noticed a bike next to Glenn's that I was fairly certain was Marc's. So I went to work. I decided to put on the handlebar reflector and to put both wheel reflectors on the front wheel - I didn't want to cause any accidents with Glenn's gears, chains, etc. I returned the tool to Evelyn, and proceeded to have a normal day six camp experience.

The next morning, as had become usual for us, I was up and out ahead of Glenn. When I regrouped with the GutterBunnies at pit one, we lingered for a bit. Knowing the reflector story, everyone wanted to see Glenn ride in to the pit. We waited for sometime, but no Glenn. But then, as we started to leave Glenn, Eric, and Marc rode up. I noticed that Glenn did not have the wheel reflectors on. I put them on reasonably tight, but not tight enough obviously, if he had already removed them. I called out to him that he was going to get hit from the side without any reflectors. He seemd confused - genuinely confused - by my comment. I was surprised. Glenn can be reasonably deadpan, but I can usually tell the difference between real and feigned surprise with him.

Had I put the reflectors on the wrong bike? Oh, no!

Then Glenn said that he had seen someone down with a broken spoke; he hoped that no one had been hurt. That should have done it for me. A comment like that, so obviously playing to my worrysome, obsessive nature that Glenn knows so well - that should have told me that Glenn was playing a game too. But was he? I mean, he would know that either way that I would be worried - even if he had not known before this point, now that he was aware I tried to get back at him, he would want to set me to worrying. Don't forget, Glenn can be bitchy!

So we rode off, but I was worried. Had I put the reflectors on the wrong bike? Maybe I had transposed the numbers in my head (something that I am prone to do). What if I did put the reflectors on the worng bike? What if I had caused an accident? What if someone was horribly injured or died because of a practical joke that I was trying to play? Even if it was a minor injury, would they kick me off the ride? Would they arrest me if it was a more serious injury or death? Everyone knew that I put reflectors on sombody's bike, and with my overwhelming guilt, I would have confessed immediately, regardless. (Welcome to my neurotic mind.) Later, we joked about it a bit. We were imagining the poor person who might have actually got the reflectors. We imagined him going around accusing his various friends of putting the reflectors on his bike, noone knowing what in the world he meant, and all of them wondering which of their other friends had done it. I even cornered Eric and asked if I had hit Glenn's bike. He assured me that Glenn had no reflectors on his bike that morning. Even Robert cornered Marc, but also received assurance that Glenn had had no reflectors on his bike. So, it was pretty clear that I hit the wrong bike!

I din't see Glenn much the rest of the day or at closing ceremonies, but when I went to get my bag from the gear truck, Glenn's sleeping bag was next to my own bag, as I had agreed to take it back to SF with me. So, I knew he had already left. As I rolled my bag toward the car, I stopped and opened up the zipper to pull out flip-flops so that I could change out of my cleats. As I closed the bag and started to roll away, I heard something drop to the ground from my bag. Someone said to me, "Hey, you dropped a reflector!"

When I opened my bag, I found a second wheel reflector and a handlebar reflector.

So, I did get Glenn.

And I guess he got me again too, sort of...

Did they change my SMART START?

I love cereal. Ever since I was a small child (well, I was never really small as a child) I have loved cereal. Breakfast truly is the most important meal of the day, and sometimes I have breakfast many times a day. Even before I drink my coffee, I have cereal.

Over the years, I have had a variety of favorite cereals. Quisp is the favorite that comes to mind first. I loved that one when I was really young. There was another, I think it was called Cookie Crisp, but I know it was just like cookies, little chocolate chip cookies, and I ate bowls of it a day (and at about age 6, that started to show). I had a Frosted Flake phase, and, for a time, I couldn’t get enough of Fruity Pebbles (hmmm…).


But far and away, my favorite childhood cereal was Cap’n Crunch. Just plain, regular Cap’n Crunch. No crunchberries, no peanut butter flavoring, no gimmicks – just the Cap’n’s own formula. And, I liked it soggy. Now, this is where Irvin is aghast – the whole point of Cap’n Crunch was that it was supposed to be CRUNCHY. In fact, its whole advertising campaign centered on the fact that Cap’n Crunch would fight and defeat the Soggies. Just look at the box! And, I will hand it to him. The Cap’n put up a good fight. Every Saturday morning, I would wake up earlier than everyone in my family, quietly get up from the “flip-couch” I slept on in my sister’s room (a topic for a different post), move to the kitchen, shuffling along in my too-long pajama pants, shake out a huge bowl of yummy gold-in-a-box, and pour in too much milk, usually so much that some splashed out. Then, I would leave it sit in the kitchen while I moved to the living room and turned on the television – the Smurfs were my favorite. I would wait fifteen to twenty minutes to return to the kitchen for it. In that time, the Soggies could wear the Cap’n down, and the milk would warm up just a bit, allowing the full flavor of the cereal to open up. Before that time, the gold bars would scratch the roof of my mouth. And, after that window, they had turned to mush, with a texture more like Gerber baby cereal.

These days, I go through a lot of milk. About two gallons a week. I tell people that I drink a lot of milk. That’s not quite true. While milk can be sort of like a sports beverage to me, almost all of the milk that I consume is just acting as a vehicle for my cereal. And, as I was saying before, cereal really isn’t just for morning. Besides right after waking, I find that I crave cereal most after cycling and sex. Both require physical exertion, and are two things that I really enjoy doing, so it is nice to follow them up with a nutritious and satisfying bowl of cereal.

But in the las few weeks, I have begun to worry. My cereal of choice for four years now - SMART START - tastes different. And I made sure that I had bought the right one - not the "Healthy Haeart - Maple Flavor" or any nonsense like that. No, I had purchesed just plain SMART START.

SMART START is great. Besides being a multivitamin in a bowl, it is crunchy, nutty, and slightly sweet (well, for an American cereal - to the Europeans it would be like candy). They used to make a SMART START - Soy Protein. Though not as good as the original, I actually liked to mix it with regular SMART START and eat them together - I figured it was important to have a high-protein snack after cycling and sex. And protein in the morning sticks with you better than just carbs alone. But they stopped making it, or at least they stopped carrying it at the local Safeway. But I was OK with it, because I still had the original.

But the last two boxes I bought tasted different. I can't tell exactly what it is. Is there too much cinnamon? Did they add a maple flavor to it? Is it just burnt? So at first I chocked it up to my taste buds being out of whack after a week of cycling on the AIDS ride. So, I ate it a second day, then a third... still a weird flavor. So, I opened the second box I bought at the same time. Same flavor! Then I remembered, I still had some SMART START I bought in LA to eat at Rita & Damon's after the AIDS ride, and I had not yet put it away. (I didn't leave it there, because they still had the half-eaten box from the last time I had visited - so I figured I would not let it go to waste and the box made its way to SF.) So, I decided to eat it and put to rest the question of whether or not I was losing my sense of taste - perhaps all that Gatorade had killed some of my taste buds. In a side-by-side comparison, I determined there is something wrong with the SanFrancisco SMART START!

So now I am worried, has it changed? Or did I just get two bad boxes. I did buy them at the same time. I am a little scared to find out. Should I bite the bullet and buy another box? Will I be able to handle it if it has changed? Shall I just live in denial for a little while? I have a lot going on right now. I don't have time to focus on finding a new favoerite cereal...

White Trash Hors d'Oeuvres

So I used to make them in secret. Usually it was after work, sometimes it would be after I went cycling, sometimes when Irvin was showering, or late at night when he was in bed. But it was always in private. Some people make sure that nobody is going to walk in on them when they are going to take a shower, or sit down to masturbate to porn on the computer. But for me, I needed privacy to make my White Trash Hors d'oeuvres. I mean how could I let anyone know how much pleasure I derive from these tasty little treats. And they are so delightful to me. They combine three of my favorite foods - pretzels, cheese, and meat!

They started out simple like those you see here - a little mini-sandwich that puts a little piece of cheese and a part of a slice of meat - usually ham, between two pretzels. As a kid, I used to put potato chips or pretzels into my sandwiches to make them crunchy. As an adult, I feel a little foolish doing that in front of other people, and I think that transfered to my need to make these trailer park canapes in private. Over the years, they have evolved from simple american or cheddar to include, brie, camembert, or even artisan cheeses from the Cowgirl Creamery. The meat, which used to always be cheap honey ham is at times replaced with rare roast beef from Niman Ranch. These are the happy cows, or at least the as-happy-as-you-can-be-when-you-are-about-to-be-eaten cows. (No BSE from them!)

But about a year and a half ago, our friend Rita was visiting, we were both hungry, and I knew we didn't have much in the apartment. But, we had all the makings for White Trash Hors d'oeuvres. So what do I do? Do I make them? Do I pretend that I am just making do with what we have? Or would Rita see right through me - would she know that these are my secret snack I have been hiding for years. I decided not to hide any more. I embraced my roots, I outed myself, and I offered to make Rita my White Trash Hors d'oeuvres.