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.

dim sum / daddies and twinks / Rick and Steve / print media (in trouble)

Yesterday I woke from a dream in which I was chased by a mob of angry, humorless lesbian feminists with baseball bats. I think I caught a glimpse of Valerie Solanas amongst the throng. Unnerving, to say the least.

Had dim sum with Kirk and Melanie at Wong's King - old times revisited. This time I didn't bring a flask of whiskey and pour it into my teacup like I did years ago, last time I was there. The server girls get to wear cute violet colored uniforms. While waiting to be seated we stepped next door to an Asian video store and made ourselves Obnoxious White People by laughing at the poorly translated English titles of the films. I didn't mean to be rude, but let's face it, that shit is funny. My favorite movie title: "Grapeplantation the Man" (photo above, in case you don't believe me). "Grapeplantation" being one word.

Later I introduced Kirk to the majestic cathedral of booze, juicy burgers, redneck rock and free wifi that is Sam's Billiard's in the Hollywood District. When I had my own apartment (the Melcliff, kitty-corner from Holocene) my bar of choice was My Father's Place, within easy walking distance. Ditto the Florida Room when I lived in the QuArtHouse. Now it's Sam's, two easy MAX stops from my house on scenic 82nd Ave. It was Ms. Su'ad who introduced ME to that place years ago, when I was a blonde knave doing data entry for a corporate litigation firm on the outskirts of Lake Oswego.

Got the new issue of OUT. More blather about Sam Adams and his immensely overanalyzed sex life, featuring quotes by Ms. Davis and Mr. Beck, the leading mouthpieces of our queer community. (Note to self: START BEING OLD, so people will pay attention to you.) Also a good article on the new movie about Federico Lorca and his relationship with Salvador Dali, featuring an interview with cover boy Javier Beltran.

I was stunned to hear that Jaymee and Jim, respectively the news and A&C editors of Just Out, have left the paper. What does this mean? Is this the end of Just Out as we know it? A harbinger of the end of print media in general as we know it? I'm glad I have so many different irons in the fire. It's one more sign to me that I've picked the right time to leave Portland, though. It feels like the end of a cycle.

When a door closes, a window of opportunity opens.

I was able to fix much of the Hat Party footage using 3-way Color Corrector in the Video Effects menu of Final Cut Pro. 3-way Color Corrector, I salute thee from the bottom of mine empty goblet.

Years ago during the QuArt days Sam Adams came to a couple of our art shows and behaved flirtatiously towards me, and people asked me why I didn't respond, and I said even though he's an attractive man and it was certainly flattering, the fact is I just don't have the Daddy Complex that many gay guys have. I don't want the bigger, older, hairy man to wrap his lovin' arms around me. I go for the skinny pretty boys myself. I told Dylan last time we hung out, "I'm like a twink-daddy or something. A combination of the two." (His new metal band, Cull, goes on tour next week - he gave me a beautiful copy of their new CD with an awesome lyric book.) I have more than one type, and am attracted to guys both younger and older than me at times, but based on my experience so far I'd have to say my LEADING type is the skinny, pretty boy with dark hair and pale skin. (Ben W. of course being the prime example.)

It's amazing that it's taken me so long to figure all this out, but that's what happens when you spend a decade associating with chemical substances rather than people.

My cousin just told me about Rick and Steve: The Happiest Gay Couple, a show on the Logo channel that's done entirely with Legos and Lego people. He's taking me to see Cheech and Chong's live appearance a couple nights after I arrive!

I borrowed Kirk's scale to weigh my bags for the airport, and was elated when I stepped on it myself this morning and found that I weigh 185 lbs. Before I left for Glacier last summer I tipped the scale at a beefy 200 lbs. It's hard to believe that I've lost 15 POUNDS since then, but as they say, numbers don't lie. It's all the more impressive since muscle weighs more than fat, and I have gained muscle just this month, since I started pilates. All that sweat is paying off.

Maybe when I get to San Francisco I'll just start having a lot of (safe) sex, and that can take the place of exercise.

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.

Hat Party / acting / Mercury vs. Village Voice

The Hat Party was fun, but the after-party crowd didn’t turn out. Neither did several of the people I went to the trouble of putting on the guest list. (Grrrrrrrrrr. I’m not mad at Vicky, though. She had a valid excuse, plus she’s going to let me store my boxes in her basement until I can have them shipped to San Fran, which is a lifesaver.) It was exciting until 10 or 11pm, then tapered off sharply, and I left around 12:30. Got great footage of the performers and the hat contest. Seventh and Element showed up early and made quite an entrance, since Element was wearing nothing but a leather harness and black jockstrap, and shaking his bare ass on the dance floor. I was glad when they appeared, though, ‘cause the party needed that extra push into un-inhibition. Sean and LeeAnn both snapped mass photos. The cute go-go boy from last year wasn’t there, they had other ones instead. I met a girl named Alison, Baby LeStrange’s friend, who is a film editor and photographer and gave me her card. Also a guy named Gregor, a former Silverado bartender, with whom I traded old memories of the City Nightclub and Portland back in the day. He said when My Own Private Idaho was filming River and Keanu would come to the City and Keanu would smoke pot in the bathroom constantly and River was “a weird guy.” (He’s also the first person I fell in love with, before Dylan, and before Ben Whishaw, unless you count Krystal Capps, but that was a different, platonic sort of love.)

Joel showed up after 10pm and said he loved the way Art Police turned out. He said every time Justin was on screen it made him laugh, and that Emie has the quality of a silent movie star – those big, expressive doe eyes. (“You should make a silent film with her.”) He also praised my editing, saying “You created spaces that didn’t exist.” It’s true that editing is where the magic really happens: you can take a bad movie and make it a good one through editing, that’s how potent it is to the final mix. Kirk said I should check into doing some community theater when I get to San Francisco, which is something I was already considering. Acting will help bring out my emotions more. I’m already starting to come alive again. I feel like the last eight years or so have been a slow recovery from the time I almost died from drugs, and for a long time after that I was in a sort of semi-zombified state, half alive you might say, which is why I related so much to Andy Warhol (post-assassination attempt Warhol, I mean). But I think I’ve finally made a full recovery. And corny as it may sound, it’s a certain English actor I’m obsessed with that brought me the final step back to being fully alive. Because if you lack the ability to love you can’t be full alive as a human being.The moment I first saw “Brideshead Revisited” in the theater it instantly became one of my favorite movies of all time. I’m going to do a series of expressive portraits of Ben when I get to Maui, I’ve decided. I did a preliminary drawing last night, and it came out really well. I think I’ll send it to Ben, in fact. I believe I am actually friends with him on MySpace.

Yesterday after seeing "Sunshine Cleaning" Joel and I had lunch at the Sunshine Cafe (where I had one of the worst gyros I've ever eaten and a semi-decent peanut butter cookie) and I brought up newspapers, saying I'd like to find one to write for in San Fran. I said the Village Voice would be my ideal, and Joel said the VV is only so revered and important because it's in New York, "If the Mercury was in New York it would be the Village Voice," he said, and I said I thought most of the writing in the VV is better than what's in the Mercury - the Stranger might be a better comparison - and I went off on the relentless snarkiness of the Mercury, and Joel said he likes that their reviews of bad movies are brutal, just tearing the film to shreds, but I said yes, they do that well, but they don't have the OTHER side of it. Let's say I wanted to write a review of "Brideshead Revisited," a film that truly moved me, that I think is beautiful and the highest cinematic art. I want to write a review that expresses that in a sincere, passionate, truthful way. And the sort of review I would write about a movie I loved wouldn't fit in the Mercury. They're too concerned with proving their coolness by being cynical and snarky to genuinely and unselfconsciously praise the beauty of a film. That is a LAME definition of cool and not one I will ever accept. I want to write for a paper where I can express the full range of my responses to art without tailoring them for a mentally deficient or emotionally lopsided audience. If you've read my film reviews in Just Out, you know I can decimate a shitty movie with the best of them, but that is hardly the range of my abilities.

All I care about is telling the truth as I see it.

I ran into Cliff at PSU yesterday – little Cliff who I made “Pestilence” with last year for our video class with Holly Andres. He said, “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere else?” I guess I copied him on the email I sent out before I left for Glacier. Melanie arrives late Thursday night, and Lisa next Tuesday (St. Patrick's Day), and then it's only a week until I'm leaving on a jet plane for the islands! Oh, joy! My adult life begins NOW.

suicide / sunshine cleaning / otto the zombie

There was an attempted suicide at the 82nd Ave MAX stop yesterday late afternoon, just as I was rushing home from the media center to do my exercises and get ready for the Hat Party. We stalled at the Lloyd Center stop and the operator announced that there was a person "involved with a train in some way" but that they were "getting it cleaned up," which sounded gruesome. I know all the gory horror movies I've seen haven't desensitized me to violence, because the thought of getting off the train and seeing human remains made my stomach churn. I considered getting off at the 60th Ave stop and walking up. But when we got off, there was no sign of any carnage. The news crews all had vans and cameras on the overpass, but the word "attempted" sounds like it didn't work for whoever the poor person was. (You thought you were depressed before!) I didn't get to watch the news 'cause I was at the Hat Party.

More on that later.

Speaking of human remains, I saw "Sunshine Cleaning" this morning - Joel accompanied me - we both loved it. Amy Adams is kind of a warmer, likable, younger Nicole Kidman. Alan Arkin of course superb as always, and Emily Blunt very funny as well. Definitely an "A."

As part of my gearing-up-for-Maui-and-then-San-Francisco process, I've resolved to make at least one drawing or visual artwork - even if it's only a rough sketch - every day from now until I leave, to tone up the parts of my brain used in drawing and painting, which have probably atrophied since I've been inactive in those mediums for so long. I'm relieved to find I haven't lost anything in the interim, in fact I think I'm better than ever. I'm ramping up to begin painting again when I get to the islands. I think I need to paint and draw nothing but cute boys for a while, because when I make picture of people I'm attracted to, they always come out well. I'm motivated to finish and to make them as attractive as I find them. Hence the portrait of Otto from the Bruce LaBruce film "Otto; or, Up with Dead People" above. (Otto played by Jey Crisfar, who unfortunately swears on his MySpace page that he will never show his ass on camera again.)

I just ordered a copy of Otto off Amazon. It's a keeper. Definitely the best gay zombie porn film I've seen.

This Just In!

I got one last cover story in Just Out, cover above! You can read all the articles online here. My articles start on pages 16, 17 and 23.

I feel better about my performance in "Art Police" after watching it several times and hearing some feedback. I really kinda look like a thug. My friend Kirk, who came over last night to watch a hilariously bad film called "Zombie Strippers," said that his girlfriend after watching AP said, "Not only does he not look gay, he looks macho." Another friend said he thought I did a good job but that Justin didn't do so well as the other art police officer. I think it's funny the way Justin overplayed the role, though. I told him he should play it over-the-top and be the crazy emotional counterpart to my cool, clipped, deadpan. I think that contrast is funny.

Off to the media center to burn DVDs of Art Police, and then it's Hat Party time, baby!

Onwards and upwards / Loins of Punjab

Walking down MLK yesterday afternoon a girl in the passenger's seat of a big white pickup stopped at a red light yelled to me, "Aren't you a tall drink of water?" I kind of smiled but didn't say anything and she said, "Don't you recognize me?" It was MS. SU'AD! I haven't seen her forever and to be honest, didn't recognize her. Her hair was kind of magenta colored. She said, "SMILE!" as the truck sped away. The funny thing is I think that "tall drink o' water" comment was the first thing she ever said to me years ago when we both slaved away in front of the keyboard at Bates Private Capital in Lake Oswego. Ahhh, how I miss those days.

NOT REALLY.

One problem with living in a town so superabounding with ultra-creative people is that no one has enough time to enjoy or appreciate everyone else's artworks and projects. I'm as guilty as anyone. I try to support other peoples' work - I'm volunteering again at the Love Show closing party on the 20th - but to get things done I find I have to devote the majority of my time and energy to my own goals. Another thing that bugs me about Portland is the low motivation rate or general slow pace of life here. I sort of don't fit in that way. Except when I'm flailing in a despondent rut, I am a high-energy, fast-paced, goal-oriented person, and sometimes - especially lately, with the new health regimen - I exist in a state bordering on mania. The sluggish response rate of other people, their failure to communicate, really bugs me. Of course, I haven't been working lately, but the truth is when I work (like, at a real job) I get even more driven and focused; my energy only ramps up when I'm in full-throttle getting-shit-done mode. Maybe I will have to move to a fast-paced city like New York eventually. My slacker days are ending. I'm actually looking forward to having a job again, if I can find one I like, but it doesn't make sense to start that hunt until I get to San Francisco. I'd love to work for a community media center there.

Speaking of community media, when I was at PCM yesterday telling Pam about my goal of starting an art collective in San Fran, she asked, "Why can't you do it in Portland?" Well, my love affair with Portland has been long and lurid (going back to 1990, if you count junior high/high school in Hillsboro, when I would occasionally escape to Portland and long to ditch the suburbs for good and live in this enchanted metropolis), but I'm not ready to give my life to one town just yet. There's a lot more of the world I need to see. And as great as Portland is, it starts to feel kind of small and suffocating after a while. I don't even see or speak with most of the people I used to be friends with here. It just feels kind of over to me.

Onwards and upwards!

I've moved past the basic pilates exercises now and have reached the intermediate section, and it's getting harder! But the beneficial impact on my body is already visible when I look in the mirror in the morning. Pretty soon I'll have the sort of belly you can eat cake off of.

I got my name on the cover of Just Out one last time, thanks to my awesome editor, Jim Radosta, to whom I will be eternally grateful. Mike, Kevin and Pat ALL thanked me for my articles the day the paper came out. That's always gratifying.

I went hat-shopping at Bearly Worn yesterday, but strayed to the T-shirt section and found this funny "Drama Queen" shirt, it even says San Francisco underneath, but I didn't buy it, just snapped the photo above.

Anthony called to ask if I remembered Viola, the crazy woman who lived across the river from us back in our Minnesota youth, who ended up driving her car into the river. We're certainly going to have a lot of fun recalling the highlights of our tragic, trashy, hilarious childhood. There is rich material there, to be sure. He also said he's recruited a friend of his to be the "bear" for our comedy sketch show, so we have three men, now we need some fabulous ladies to join the troupe! I picture us getting high on the beach and brainstorming ideas for comedy sketches.

I can't wait to be in the water again.

I'm watching "Loins of Punjab Presents" which I'm reviewing for Just Out. It's really funny, sort of the Bollywood equivalent of a Christopher Guest mockumentary.