June 11th, 2002


"Drive Him Wild!"

In the checkout lane, I'm bombarded with these messages from the slick covers of magazines (always beside pictures of impossibly beautiful women): "Blow His Mind!" "Amazing Sex Secrets to Turn Him On!" "Men Tell the #1 Way to Drive Them Wild!"

Um, we're guys. As a public service, and in an effort to save the money of any women tempted to buy these magazines, let me now share the ultimate, supreme, and actually the only thing a woman needs to do to "turn her guy on":
Show up.
(On behalf of men across the world, I thank you in advance.)
  • Current Mood
    amused amused

Barbers and brothels

Getting my hair cut is such a relief. Growing up, my parents would always go way too long between haircuts for me, leading to a wild shock of wavy, curly locks growing ever upward and outward. I remember being embarassed about my appearance most of the time, the hair that would never bend to the will of the comb, and was never straight enough to do anything but go its own crazy way. Now I have it buzzed for easy maintenance. I don't even want to think about it.

The barber shop, two doors down from Victrola, is owned and operated by a stout, bald, gruff-voiced father and his tall, lanky, handlebar-mustached son. The shop itself is a throwback, complete with a striped pole out front, offering eleven dollar haircuts and a magazine rack stacked with testosterone-laden magazines from Field and Stream to Maxim to Playboy (oddly countercultural in my significantly gay neighborhood).

This morning, their playful banter centered on the father chiding the son for spending all of his money on supporting hookers and other women of ill-repute: bailing them out of jail, caring for them as they tried to get off drugs and off the streets, having them steal from him and run away, only to rescue them. Neither father nor son appeared to know or acknowledge that, even in his brokenness, the son is living out the heart of God, walking in the footsteps of Hosea— a path of only tragedy without the gospel.

He is telling His story, our story, everywhere.
  • Current Mood
    relieved relieved

Another ending (well met)

Last night's Staff Meeting was a fitting farewell. Only six of us, largely lighthearted with occasional forays into the abstract, irrelevant, and/or uncomfortable. I think good endings should be like this: those that remind you of everything you'll miss and everything you won't (which, in the oddest of ways, you miss as well). All graduate this Sunday. The last of my little trees have grown.

My friend Pam, who was my administrative assistant during the Year of Hell, e-mailed today. Glad we are still in touch. She now works at Judicial Programs at the University of Maryland, where they apparently still remember me from my Residence Life glory days. I was good.

A couple of movies today (Sweet November and 28 Days), Hollywoody but diversionary. I'll never want to see either again; think I'm just trying to justify my cable bill. Now that my television watching (and desire) has drastically reduced, I should just cut it back, or off.

I have a ton of alcohol in my fridge now; the ice in R2-D2 is taking forever to melt. Sign of a good party: when people bring more than they take and have a good time anyway.
  • Current Mood
    relaxed relaxed

Breaking the surface

All day long I felt the emotions under the surface, knowing they were coming, wondering when they world break through and reveal themselves in tempestuous, overwhelming fury. I enjoyed the peace while I had it, a tentative, temporary calm. But eventually I stopped enjoying, stopped resting, ran to distractions and played with less-wild lovers. Finding no sustenance there, it kicked in: I proceeded to confirm my gnawing suspicion and face a hard, forseen reality. I am too curious, too perceptive, and too thorough for peace to last sometimes.

I don't write to judge reality, or God forbid, to judge Him. It is simply difficult to live with. Past arrows form a chorus with present ones (and future ones— another story), whispering and shouting a message of pain and insecurity. That message is a lie, even though the wounds are real. Though I think I weep alone, I do not. Because a path is hard does not mean it shouldn't be followed. He is in this. Trust Him.

It's just so hard.

Afterward, I read some poetry online, though I knew it would only make it worse. It was instead a strange comfort. Not sure whether to be thankful or concerned about that; for now, I'll take the comfort. A presence, even if a ghost. If anyone knows ghosts, it's me.
  • Current Mood
    lonely lonely