My romantic life

Today, having finished my morning work shift, for the first time I don't have to dread going home. That's because yesterday evening a friend came over with a rented minivan and helped me move out of the Richmond district flat where I have spent the last month in a state of hostile limbo and into a residential hotel that is going to be my home for the next month or three while I set about rebuilding my life here in San Francisco. It ain't much, but it's mine, and at this point all I want is a little independence, four walls and a roof of my own, until I determine my next more permanent living arrangement - and some permanence in life (and employment) is my main goal at this point.

This city, and the Bay Area in general, have thrown an awful lot at me since I moved here not so long ago (was it really only last September?), but as of this writing, I'm still standing, and I must admit I take a certain pride in surviving the latest in the seemingly endless minefield of setbacks that life (the universe, God, providence, kismet, quantum physics, whathaveyou) has strewn across my path since leaving what looks in retrospect like the womblike and embyronic candy-land of Portland. By the time my time inside the Golden Gate is through, I'll be able to write a book called How to Survive in San Francisco Starting From Absolute Scratch, with the subtitle Despite Moving Here on the Spur of the Moment, Knowing No One, Being Unfamiliar with the Area and Renting a Room Sight-Unseen Over the Phone, Being Mugged at Gunpoint in Oakland, Losing My Job, Being Unemployed and without Income For Nearly Three Months (with Absolutely No Savings), Moving In with a Dishonest and Sexually Inappropriate Maniac, and Being Forced to Apply for Food Stamps and Government Assistance Because I was on the Verge of Being Homeless.

Compared to all that, my life right now - as of last night - seems downright romantic to me, romantic not in the Danielle Steele sense, but in the "starving artist scraping by in the big city, just starting his adult life," novelistic way. I got to eat breakfast and lunch at work this morning, and took home leftovers which I will warm up in the microwave for dinner. I made some tips and got my first paycheck this morning, which I deposited in my checking account, now slowly recovering from my recent depressing dip into total indigence. The building I live in is pretty much equidistant between Chinatown, North Beach and the Financial District - a lively and exhilarating place to spend a month or two while I start over again on a new footing. This evening I will arrange things in my room (including two plants I brought with me - a jade plant and a spider plant - because they're the closest thing I have to a pet right now, and I regard them with the affection usually reserved for sentient creatures), watch a little TV, read - I'm in the middle of five biographies right now: of Oscar Wilde, Mark Twain, President Obama, Virginia Woolf, and Jean Cocteau - and make sure I have all my dates and appointments accurately recorded in my planner. I will get a good night's sleep, wake up before the sun tomorrow, take a shower, and get ready for another day of work, and whatever else may happen after - which is really anything, at this point.

Infinite possibility and no one to answer to but myself makes Tony a happy tiger.

Golden Oreos

Isn't it curious that Oreos have chosen this moment - with Obama in the White House - to go golden?

The calm before the ecstasy

And I’m 33. I believe Bette Davis once remarked, “Ah, to be 33 forever!” And look what happened to her.

My boxes are snugly nestled at Vicky’s house until such time as I need them shipped to San Francisco. My social obligations are fulfilled, with the gathering last night at Chameleon now history, except for another two-hour volunteer shift as a greeter at the closing party of the Love Show tomorrow, and maybe one or two other minor things. Now all I have to do is get Lucy dropped off at her new home (still not sure where that’s going to be, but I have a couple options now, and Vicky also said she could be a backup if all else fails) and unload my computer – a guy’s coming to look at it tomorrow. I’m really proud of myself for getting on the ball so early with packing and readying for this transition. Now all I have to do is coast down the last few days until I board the plane, relatively stress-free. This is the calm before the ecstasy. The ecstasy, of course, being Maui, seeing my cousin again, and all the great things we have in the works when I get out there.

Damien, who left Portland for San Francisco last year and lives in the Mission, said a friend told him that “San Francisco hipsters make Portland hipsters look like gutterpunks.” That sounds all right to me, if I interpret this comment correctly to mean that the S.F. kids are dressier, more upscale, more refined perhaps. I’ve been thinking about being a full-time dandy for a while: vintage suits every day, just for the hell of it. Looking sharp, well-groomed, well-coiffed, balancing on the fine line between elegance and pretension. I think I can pull that off. Maybe not three years ago, but this tiger CAN change his stripes. Damien also said I’d love his neighborhood, in response to my remark about the kind of guys I’m attracted to most: the slim, pale-skinned, dark haired lads.

I’ve met a nice boy here named Alexander, of course a week before I leave Portland.

Prez Obama is on the Tonight Show in a few minutes and I’m going to watch it – I never watch the late night shows, but come on, it’s our president! Kirk is bellyaching about how he voted for Obama for hope and change and now he’s disappointed, but I just ignore the feeble backlash for the most part. Bush had eight years to fuck everything up, let’s give Obama more than three months to fix it.

If I want to get into acting, where should I start? I guess I need to meet some actors in the City and see what doors I can open through the magic of social networking. That’s one thing that still doesn’t come naturally to me, at least not all the time, but I’ve definitely improved.

Lisa is off to Seattle for the next stop on her itinerary. We had a lot of fun doing karaoke for five hours at the E Room on St. Patrick’s Day, hitting a strip club on Hawthorne, then more debauchery at Chameleon and Sam’s Billiards last night, but I fell off the wagon a bit. I know my partying days are ending because if I skip exercising one day I find myself craving it. When we brought my boxes over to Vicky’s today, I met Vicky’s cat Audrey Hepburn, a BEAUTIFUL black cat with Siamese blood who looks and acts a lot like a pure-black version of Lucy. Absolutely beautiful, a lovely pantherette with gorgeous yellow-and-black eyes. I fell in love with her on the spot. If Lucy ends up being permanently re-homed here and I don’t get her back in the City, I’m going to try to find a cat like Audrey in my new home.

It’s almost over now, and I am so ready.

Bohemian Grove / PX90 / Rahm Emanuel / Adventureland

I had two drinks – but only two – at Biddy’s with Kirk last night. David Clayton, M.D., author of “The Healthy Guide to Unhealthy Living,” says one or two drinks a night is actually good for you, whether it’s a glass of red wine, a bottle of beer or a shot of scotch – they’re all more or less equal, although red wine does contain some antioxidants not found in other liquors. Kirk is still going strong with his New World Order theories and the apocalyptic mentality of the incurably paranoid. Kirk is an absolute nut, but he does have his entertainment value. I’m not saying there isn’t any truth to them, but there have been people predicting various sorts of apocalypses for centuries now – it’s not exactly a new thing. My view is that everything is cyclical. There will always be evil in the world and there will always be good, every so often evil gets the upper hand, but good always seems to bring it back down again eventually. Empires never last, although it’s true the Roman one lasted quite a while – but still only the blink of an eye on the vast stage of world history. Kirk told me about the Bohemian Grove, some weird pagan party in the woods of California where all the most powerful people in the world secretly meet and there are gay orgies held there and apparently there’s footage of Richard Milhaus Nixon disparaging the “goddamned faggots prancing around the redwoods” somewhere on YouTube. I should check it out but somehow the subject doesn’t command my attention enough. Kirk thinks President Obama and his right-hand man Rahm Emanuel may be gay lovers, that Obama is bi and that’s part of why he’s so into Lincoln. He theorizes that’s why Michelle Obama is so “manly.” I don’t exactly think she’s manly. She’s big boned, certainly not petite, but “manly” to me is a butch dyke with a mustache and flannels. Michelle has a somewhat androgynous body, and I’ve always found people with androgynous bodies among the most attractive people around. Ziggy Stardust, anyone?

A woman at the Hat Party told me about the PX90 diet/workout program, which operates on the theory of “muscle confusion.” Athletes use it a lot. She said that no matter how much you exercise, you eventually hit a wall where you can’t go any further, the best you can do is maintain. But with the PX90, you continually rotate different areas of your body for workout, meaning you never hit that wall, because your body never settles into a groove of knowing what to expect, so you can just keep going, getting in better and better shape. I’ll have to check that out if pilates reaches what economists refer to as “the law of diminishing returns.”

Unfortunately most of the Hat Party footage is just too dark to be of much use, I think. I’ll have to break the news to Pat gently. Although I might be able to salvage some of it through the magic of post-production.

I caught a press screening of "Adventureland" this morning - the new movie by the director of "Superbad." It was really quite good. Heterosexuals are so cute.

Do I write with a quill of poison? Nay, my friend, my pen is equal parts poison, magic and gold. It just depends which one you deserve....and on the mercurial mood of the tiger.

Inauguration Day/Ann Coulter/Sex Lives of Politicians

Obama is in office! My feeling of excitement and hope for the future is balanced by my innate distrust of politics in general and presidential politics most of all. My roommate is watching an episode of South Park right now and they showed McCain and Obama after the election going backstage and high-fiving each other: "That was close, we were almost tied there for a minute." And even though I find South Park too puerile to take in more than small doses, there may be a little truth to that. As dramatic and inspiring as Obama's rise has been I'm too cynical to believe someone gets to the top of our fucked-up political landscape without the assistance and conspiracy of very questionable people and powers. But for the moment I'm with the many others who think this could truly be the beginning of a new, better epoch for our country. I like what he said in his inauguration speech about how we won't apologize for the way we live, since white American guilt is so rampant here in Portland. I like when he talked about a person whose parents may not have been served in a restaurant 50 years ago now taking the sacred oath to protect the country. Although I think it's a little weird how much he talked about fighting and defeating our enemies, since one of the best things he's always had going for him is that he opposed the Iraq war from the beginning.

I just saw a clip of a new cast member on SNL doing an impression of irrelevant hag Ann Coulter on Weekend Update. Is Coulter for real? I mean, does she actually believe the shit she talks, or is she just cashing in on controversy?

Front page news today: Sam Adams, our newly anointed gay mayor here in Portland (pictured above), is embroiled in some scandal over an 18 year old male assistant he now admits he had a sexual relationship with after denying it previously. I guess he's going to be kind of our local, gay Bill Clinton. Funny thing is I remember Jill Freeman predicting this would happen a YEAR ago when I worked in the Dept. of Comm at PSU. My reaction, of course, is who cares? I am staunchly uninterested in the sex lives of politicians, local or otherwise. Let's talk about his ability to govern the city and leave it at that.