I have become boring. When I was 24 I made a pledge never to become so, having no idea at the time how hard that would be to avoid, and how tempting that state becomes as one gets older. Being unable to do many of the active things I did when I was younger doesn't help.
My upcoming events in my itinerary continue to crumble and fade like sandcastles or mirages as I approach them. Joseph, a fellow from Seattle I befriended on Pride weekend a month ago, is in town this weekend to celebrate another friend's birthday. I had hoped to meet him but that doesn't look too likely now. Friday night was out as he didn't arrive at his friend's place until around 10:30pm. Saturday he got up shortly after noon. I didn't accept his invitation to breakfast as I had eaten just 2 hrs before. He promised to call me right afterwards but didn't, and we both had other socials to attend yesterday evening.
It's 11am now. I've had my morning walk and breakfast at Joe's and I am about to go to Faerie Coffee. He hasn't called yet and I have no way of contacting him. I've left a message on my phone where I will be so....
I did get 2 new CDs recorded yesterday; one of Edith Piaf and the other of Bob Marley. A strange combination when my CD player scrambles them.
Friday night a couch surfing member posted a link to a Times Magazine article about the "best 50 websites to visit". I looked it up with anticipation, hoping to find some interesting sites to visit when it gets slow at work. The sites were all useless gossip-types. 11 of them were about the Kennedy family. Quel disappointment! The longer I live, the stupider and more useless the world looks.
I have run across a wonderful website through another friend though. Check out: http://joemygod.blogspot.com/search/label/This%20Week%20In%20Holy%20Crimes He's a winner and weblog finalist (I didn't even know their was a competition for these things)in both 2007 and 2008. The weekly "Holy Crimes" list is fascinating, but even better are his blogs (now in his 6th year). Check out the past blogs on the left side, especially his "readers' favourites", which had me in stitches. I only wish I could write this well, or even to have subjects like this to write about.
RULE No.1: Never lose your sense of humour.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Alice in Government Land - Part 5: Monitoring
This has been of month of petty monitoring issues for me. All call centre agents need to be monitored for quantity and quality of calls, and I have been monitored for both.
Quality monitoring is supposed to happen across several calls every month, but until a few days ago I haven't been monitored for 2 and a half years. It is a dreaded process because a perfect report is nearly impossible, and focus is always on the negative. This time however, I got a "satisfactory" rating, the zenith of management's positive feedback. They did find 2 criticisms. At the end of one call I forgot to ask "Is there any other government service I can help you with today?". It is our official closing, although the answer is always no, since we are only trained to do the one service we do.
The other complaint was that I told I client, who admitted he had not worked or paid into our pension plan for 20 years, that he definitely could not qualify for disability benefits. He would need contributions in 4 of the the past 6 years at the time be became disabled to allow his application to be considered and he had none. He asked for a clear answer and expected that answer, but management said I can never say for certain that someone is not qualified. There may be "mitigating circumstances". In other words, there may be 4 years of contributions that I could not see, although contributions can only be made by working. Whatever. Given that they decided I did not need "retraining" I let it go.
Quantity monitoring is done by machines that measure our call averages and percentage of each day we spend on calls (adherence). Reports are given to us on a weekly basis. My adherence is consistently around 98% while the national standard and my call centre average is 92%. The average call length nationally is 437 seconds and mine is 419.
Call length is made up of 3 parts: pure talk, on hold time and not ready time (the time spent working on a call after a client hangs up). For years, national management has been pressing us to keep clients 'live' instead of putting them on hold or doing the work after the call is over. In these regards, I am the poster child of phone agents for my hold and not ready times are the best in the call centre I am told. Naturally my pure talk time is longer because of this, but overall I am still almost 4% better than the national average.
But monitoring is focused on the negative. Four weeks ago my previous team leader (I have had 4 different ones in the past 5 months) was not satisfied that my pure talk time was longer than the national average in spite of the overall picture being stellar, and exactly the profile management has wanted us to achieve. She wanted me to reduce my pure talk time 40 seconds per call without increasing either my hold time or not ready time. In other words, she asked me to set a goal to reduce my call length to a full minute below the national average. I agreed to reduce my pure talk time in the wording of the "goal" but made no mention of not increasing my other times.
Besides being unreasonable and a threat to the quality of the service to my clients, there is no way I can legitimately be found wrong for having a call average equal to or better than the national average. If management fired everyone who had a call length average greater than the national average they would logically lose half their staff. So I agreed to the goal and am now putting clients on hold or finishing the work after they hang up to reduce my pure talk time, the expressed opposite to what management wants, but exactly what I have been asked to do. No sweat.
There's no reward or acknowledgment for doing my best working for the government. I learned this years ago. I do it out of a sense of personal pride and a sense of loyalty to my clients. I refuse to talk like a robot to discourage conversation or not to investigate fully benefits my clients might not be getting just to keep my call averages shorter. I just keep my head down under the radar and play the stupid games that management requires of me. I am a call centre terrorist, just a ghost in the machine.
And they wonder why we are cynical!
"Today is the first day of the rest of your pay period." - Luke Warmwater
Quality monitoring is supposed to happen across several calls every month, but until a few days ago I haven't been monitored for 2 and a half years. It is a dreaded process because a perfect report is nearly impossible, and focus is always on the negative. This time however, I got a "satisfactory" rating, the zenith of management's positive feedback. They did find 2 criticisms. At the end of one call I forgot to ask "Is there any other government service I can help you with today?". It is our official closing, although the answer is always no, since we are only trained to do the one service we do.
The other complaint was that I told I client, who admitted he had not worked or paid into our pension plan for 20 years, that he definitely could not qualify for disability benefits. He would need contributions in 4 of the the past 6 years at the time be became disabled to allow his application to be considered and he had none. He asked for a clear answer and expected that answer, but management said I can never say for certain that someone is not qualified. There may be "mitigating circumstances". In other words, there may be 4 years of contributions that I could not see, although contributions can only be made by working. Whatever. Given that they decided I did not need "retraining" I let it go.
Quantity monitoring is done by machines that measure our call averages and percentage of each day we spend on calls (adherence). Reports are given to us on a weekly basis. My adherence is consistently around 98% while the national standard and my call centre average is 92%. The average call length nationally is 437 seconds and mine is 419.
Call length is made up of 3 parts: pure talk, on hold time and not ready time (the time spent working on a call after a client hangs up). For years, national management has been pressing us to keep clients 'live' instead of putting them on hold or doing the work after the call is over. In these regards, I am the poster child of phone agents for my hold and not ready times are the best in the call centre I am told. Naturally my pure talk time is longer because of this, but overall I am still almost 4% better than the national average.
But monitoring is focused on the negative. Four weeks ago my previous team leader (I have had 4 different ones in the past 5 months) was not satisfied that my pure talk time was longer than the national average in spite of the overall picture being stellar, and exactly the profile management has wanted us to achieve. She wanted me to reduce my pure talk time 40 seconds per call without increasing either my hold time or not ready time. In other words, she asked me to set a goal to reduce my call length to a full minute below the national average. I agreed to reduce my pure talk time in the wording of the "goal" but made no mention of not increasing my other times.
Besides being unreasonable and a threat to the quality of the service to my clients, there is no way I can legitimately be found wrong for having a call average equal to or better than the national average. If management fired everyone who had a call length average greater than the national average they would logically lose half their staff. So I agreed to the goal and am now putting clients on hold or finishing the work after they hang up to reduce my pure talk time, the expressed opposite to what management wants, but exactly what I have been asked to do. No sweat.
There's no reward or acknowledgment for doing my best working for the government. I learned this years ago. I do it out of a sense of personal pride and a sense of loyalty to my clients. I refuse to talk like a robot to discourage conversation or not to investigate fully benefits my clients might not be getting just to keep my call averages shorter. I just keep my head down under the radar and play the stupid games that management requires of me. I am a call centre terrorist, just a ghost in the machine.
And they wonder why we are cynical!
"Today is the first day of the rest of your pay period." - Luke Warmwater
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Sis
Sis was over the night before last to give me another treatment. I only believe in the hocus pocus of her treatments because they seem to work. I couldn't take either of my diabetes medicines without serious side effects, to the point where I had to stop taking one of them as it was preventing me from sleeping, but after her treatment I have been able to take as many as I need to without any unpleasant results. Now it also seems that she has rid me of my allergy to ginger, which has plagued me for two decades, and maybe lesser ones I didn't know about.
Her treatments require testing first: which means me holding a vial of some substance against my right arm while she tries to pry apart the tips of my thumb and ring finger of my right hand with her thumbs. When I touch something to my arm that I am allergic to, my body senses its magnetic energy and my fingers weaken. If I am not allergic to it they stay strong. Then she puts the substances she is treating me for on a scale-like device that senses their magnetic energies. The sensor is connected to electrodes that she places in turn at certain acupuncture points on my feet, thighs, face and sides of my chest. The electrodes emit the slightest electric current that reprograms my brain into thinking that these substances I have been allergic to are no threat. After the 15 minute treatment my reaction to them is gone. She warns me that sometimes I will have a reaction, perhaps nausea or a weakness for a couple days, and perhaps the treatment will need to be repeated, but neither situation has happened.
The big threat seems to be vaccines which are both powerful and dangerous. She tells me that polio and diphtheria vaccines are suspected to cause rheumatoid arthritis, fiber myalgia and other chronic diseases later in life. In the late 80s, a couple years before developing the first signs of muscular dystrophy, I was vaccinated for hepatitis A and B. Tuesday she brought me vials of both vaccines and I reacted to both, indicating that they have been causing a problem for my body for some time. She treated me for both that night. She was very excited and even relieved that I reacted to them. She thinks her treatment could be the first stepping stone to my recovery.
I take her treatments like an unsculptured block, expecting nothing and feeling detached to what my body in being put through. The last thing I want is to become hopeful and impatient for improvement, which only causes me a lot of emotional torment.
Sis, my brother Rob and Mom are less aware of the dangers of hoping and indulge themselves liberally. Mom even made a comment to me the other day that she expects me to improve soon. I take this as a sign of their love, but not of their wisdom. I hate it when others tell me "You can't give up hope!". Hope is the first thing one should give up. It is impossible to accept one's situation if one is always hoping to be some place better. It is impossible to live for the present moment when one is focused on the future.
Though some unpleasant allergies have disappeared from my life my muscle strength has certainly not improved in the past half year. My walking is definitely pretty shaky at best and the day is too fast approaching when I will no longer be able to walk any reasonable distance. Perhaps Sis is right, that this treatment will stop the dystrophy. It would be wonderful, even ecstatic, to feel a turn around for the better after deteriorating for so long, but for now I cannot even imagine it. My disability has become a big part of me and my old self seems as surreal as a half-remembered dream.
"Hope is the worst of all evils for it prolongs the torment of man." - Frederick Nietzsche
Her treatments require testing first: which means me holding a vial of some substance against my right arm while she tries to pry apart the tips of my thumb and ring finger of my right hand with her thumbs. When I touch something to my arm that I am allergic to, my body senses its magnetic energy and my fingers weaken. If I am not allergic to it they stay strong. Then she puts the substances she is treating me for on a scale-like device that senses their magnetic energies. The sensor is connected to electrodes that she places in turn at certain acupuncture points on my feet, thighs, face and sides of my chest. The electrodes emit the slightest electric current that reprograms my brain into thinking that these substances I have been allergic to are no threat. After the 15 minute treatment my reaction to them is gone. She warns me that sometimes I will have a reaction, perhaps nausea or a weakness for a couple days, and perhaps the treatment will need to be repeated, but neither situation has happened.
The big threat seems to be vaccines which are both powerful and dangerous. She tells me that polio and diphtheria vaccines are suspected to cause rheumatoid arthritis, fiber myalgia and other chronic diseases later in life. In the late 80s, a couple years before developing the first signs of muscular dystrophy, I was vaccinated for hepatitis A and B. Tuesday she brought me vials of both vaccines and I reacted to both, indicating that they have been causing a problem for my body for some time. She treated me for both that night. She was very excited and even relieved that I reacted to them. She thinks her treatment could be the first stepping stone to my recovery.
I take her treatments like an unsculptured block, expecting nothing and feeling detached to what my body in being put through. The last thing I want is to become hopeful and impatient for improvement, which only causes me a lot of emotional torment.
Sis, my brother Rob and Mom are less aware of the dangers of hoping and indulge themselves liberally. Mom even made a comment to me the other day that she expects me to improve soon. I take this as a sign of their love, but not of their wisdom. I hate it when others tell me "You can't give up hope!". Hope is the first thing one should give up. It is impossible to accept one's situation if one is always hoping to be some place better. It is impossible to live for the present moment when one is focused on the future.
Though some unpleasant allergies have disappeared from my life my muscle strength has certainly not improved in the past half year. My walking is definitely pretty shaky at best and the day is too fast approaching when I will no longer be able to walk any reasonable distance. Perhaps Sis is right, that this treatment will stop the dystrophy. It would be wonderful, even ecstatic, to feel a turn around for the better after deteriorating for so long, but for now I cannot even imagine it. My disability has become a big part of me and my old self seems as surreal as a half-remembered dream.
"Hope is the worst of all evils for it prolongs the torment of man." - Frederick Nietzsche
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Fucking Olympics
As the 2010 Winter Olympics approaches Vancouver like a winter storm, I am sure this will not be my only blog entry on the subject.
There are always certain plusses when billions of federal and provincial monies are poured into the local economy for the purposes of impressing foreign visitors and investors. There are, unfortunately, many minuses too.
The plusses include the widened highway that clings to the mountainsides between Horseshoe Bay and Whistler, a capital expenditure that the local economy could never afford on its own. And there's the Canada Line, a new subway/light rail line that runs from downtown to the airport, and lots of new pavement and downtown urban design improvements, such as the face-lift Granville St got.
But each silver lining has its cloud. The widening of the Sea-to-Sky highway to Whistler has caused a lot of environmental damage, unavoidable with all the blasting and heavy construction. The Canada Line construction has bankrupted scores of businesses in formerly prosperous retail strips along its route and the Granville St face-lift began with the complete removal of all existing trees. Months after it started, it still looks a mess.
I need rather level terrain to walk around, as my pathetic legs cannot handle steep hills or ramps, high curbs or broken, uneven ground. Over the past 5 years I have used walking as my main source of exercise and to keep my legs operational longer. As the construction crews raced to complete the Canada Line operational, and collect their bonuses for doing so, they have torn up the surrounding sidewalks and left the streetscapes largely neglected.
At a certain point 2 weeks ago, just before the line opened for business, I found the last sidewalk accessible to me was completely blocked off. All other routes require pedestrians to be able to climb up curbs without a ramp or negotiate sunken or rolling gravel pathways that have replaced the formerly flat surfaces. Fortunately, I can still access my building because my local bus stops at the back door and also picks me up there. But as the weeks go by, now that I am not walking to work, I find my ability to walk rapidly deteriorating. My suspect most of what I am losing will never come back.
"The world is made for those who are not cursed with self-awareness." - Walt Whitman
.
There are always certain plusses when billions of federal and provincial monies are poured into the local economy for the purposes of impressing foreign visitors and investors. There are, unfortunately, many minuses too.
The plusses include the widened highway that clings to the mountainsides between Horseshoe Bay and Whistler, a capital expenditure that the local economy could never afford on its own. And there's the Canada Line, a new subway/light rail line that runs from downtown to the airport, and lots of new pavement and downtown urban design improvements, such as the face-lift Granville St got.
But each silver lining has its cloud. The widening of the Sea-to-Sky highway to Whistler has caused a lot of environmental damage, unavoidable with all the blasting and heavy construction. The Canada Line construction has bankrupted scores of businesses in formerly prosperous retail strips along its route and the Granville St face-lift began with the complete removal of all existing trees. Months after it started, it still looks a mess.
I need rather level terrain to walk around, as my pathetic legs cannot handle steep hills or ramps, high curbs or broken, uneven ground. Over the past 5 years I have used walking as my main source of exercise and to keep my legs operational longer. As the construction crews raced to complete the Canada Line operational, and collect their bonuses for doing so, they have torn up the surrounding sidewalks and left the streetscapes largely neglected.
At a certain point 2 weeks ago, just before the line opened for business, I found the last sidewalk accessible to me was completely blocked off. All other routes require pedestrians to be able to climb up curbs without a ramp or negotiate sunken or rolling gravel pathways that have replaced the formerly flat surfaces. Fortunately, I can still access my building because my local bus stops at the back door and also picks me up there. But as the weeks go by, now that I am not walking to work, I find my ability to walk rapidly deteriorating. My suspect most of what I am losing will never come back.
"The world is made for those who are not cursed with self-awareness." - Walt Whitman
.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Queer Film Festival
One thing I have always been able to count on is that films at the Vancouver Queer Film Festival in August are always poor cousins to those that show up at the Vancouver International Film Festival in late September/early October. Most of them aren't worth the $10 ticket (VIFF films cost me about $4/film with my pass) or even half as much, but one must support the community and the production of gay stories and images. It's a heterosexual desert out there.
As I mentioned in my last entry, I had bought tickets for three films on Monday night, the day I was returning to Vancouver from Portland. A late start and rush hour traffic in Vancouver caused me to miss the first film. Then I waited fruitlessly for Omar to call and claim the backpack he left at my place. I was sure he'd keep his word this time, since he had to leave the country the next day, but he didn't.
On Tuesday I went to see "Fig Trees", the new John Greyson film. It was an opera about the works of two very different AIDS activists, Tim McCaskell in Toronto and a South Asian fellow named Zacky in South Africa. Documentary and interview footage was spliced with black and white scenes of humans imitating nuns, saints, angels and the occasional albino squirrel, singing opera, wandering aimlessly through fruit orchards and making senseless palindromes. There were also scenes from a Gertrude Stein opera where the angels of 34 Black saints come to earth for a picnic. The various themes were very loosely connected at best. Greyson was there in person and was able to answer some of the many questions of what he was trying to do. It helped a bit to make more sense of it, but I left with the sense that the huge and noble struggles of the AIDS activists were somewhat trivialized and side-stepped by the silliness that surrounded their stories. To make matters much worse, the woofers in the theatre speakers were somewhat fried and every time a particularly strong operatic note was hit the sound terribly distorted and discordant.
I met both Tim McCaskell and John Greyson during my earlier life in Toronto. Neither would remember me now. I was pleased to see that they are both married to their respective partners and doing well, but the evening reminded me that they and the rest of my time in Toronto are meaningless to me now.
Thursday night I went to Tinseltown to see another film by a queer Toronto director, this time Bruce LaBruce. This film was "Otto: Up With The Dead". It follows a young, cute gay zombie named Otto as he stumbles his way through the countrysides, junkyards and Berlin looking for meaning in his un-life. It was clever and touching, and at points terrifically funny. "I wanted to eat the flesh of men, but I could not bring myself to do it. I began to suspect that I had been a vegetarian in my former life, or even worse... a vegan!"
I related to Otto a bit too much. I tottered out of the theatre at the end much the way Otto walked, my legs still weak from 2+ hours of sitting, feeling alienated from the sea of gay men and women around me. In a way I was a walking dead man, my existence being irrelevant to others of my former community and always vulnerable to mishaps and attacks (which I felt strongly waiting half an hour for a bus in the worst part of town).
Last night, after Omar didn't show, I went the VanCity Theatre to see a program of 3 archival films, one a Kenneth Anger film from 1947 about dreams of sailors, an early 1984 Derek Jarman film about Russia called "Imagining October" and a longer film about a group of Russian sailors living a utopian quasi-gay existence on an island in the Gulf of Finland in the years after the Bolshevik revolution. I left before the latter one finished.
As I mentioned in my last entry, I had bought tickets for three films on Monday night, the day I was returning to Vancouver from Portland. A late start and rush hour traffic in Vancouver caused me to miss the first film. Then I waited fruitlessly for Omar to call and claim the backpack he left at my place. I was sure he'd keep his word this time, since he had to leave the country the next day, but he didn't.
On Tuesday I went to see "Fig Trees", the new John Greyson film. It was an opera about the works of two very different AIDS activists, Tim McCaskell in Toronto and a South Asian fellow named Zacky in South Africa. Documentary and interview footage was spliced with black and white scenes of humans imitating nuns, saints, angels and the occasional albino squirrel, singing opera, wandering aimlessly through fruit orchards and making senseless palindromes. There were also scenes from a Gertrude Stein opera where the angels of 34 Black saints come to earth for a picnic. The various themes were very loosely connected at best. Greyson was there in person and was able to answer some of the many questions of what he was trying to do. It helped a bit to make more sense of it, but I left with the sense that the huge and noble struggles of the AIDS activists were somewhat trivialized and side-stepped by the silliness that surrounded their stories. To make matters much worse, the woofers in the theatre speakers were somewhat fried and every time a particularly strong operatic note was hit the sound terribly distorted and discordant.
I met both Tim McCaskell and John Greyson during my earlier life in Toronto. Neither would remember me now. I was pleased to see that they are both married to their respective partners and doing well, but the evening reminded me that they and the rest of my time in Toronto are meaningless to me now.
Thursday night I went to Tinseltown to see another film by a queer Toronto director, this time Bruce LaBruce. This film was "Otto: Up With The Dead". It follows a young, cute gay zombie named Otto as he stumbles his way through the countrysides, junkyards and Berlin looking for meaning in his un-life. It was clever and touching, and at points terrifically funny. "I wanted to eat the flesh of men, but I could not bring myself to do it. I began to suspect that I had been a vegetarian in my former life, or even worse... a vegan!"
I related to Otto a bit too much. I tottered out of the theatre at the end much the way Otto walked, my legs still weak from 2+ hours of sitting, feeling alienated from the sea of gay men and women around me. In a way I was a walking dead man, my existence being irrelevant to others of my former community and always vulnerable to mishaps and attacks (which I felt strongly waiting half an hour for a bus in the worst part of town).
Last night, after Omar didn't show, I went the VanCity Theatre to see a program of 3 archival films, one a Kenneth Anger film from 1947 about dreams of sailors, an early 1984 Derek Jarman film about Russia called "Imagining October" and a longer film about a group of Russian sailors living a utopian quasi-gay existence on an island in the Gulf of Finland in the years after the Bolshevik revolution. I left before the latter one finished.
Cancellations
Men - you can't live with them.
I was taken aback when tall, dark and handsome Fluffernutter singled me out at the gathering in Breitenbush to ask me if he could come up to Vancouver with his boyfriend Cory this weekend to stay with and hang out together. In three previous gatherings where he attended I have never gotten up the nerve to chat with him. His beauty was intimidating and he usually seemed occupied with one young Fae or another. He's into boy drag, dressing up as a gangster, erotic cop or Indian warrior, and he exudes sexual energy, flirtatiously confronting his admirers without walls or hesitations. He slipped me a French kiss when I invited him and Cory to stay with me. He is 45 and Cory is 20. I had no doubt that this would be a sexually charged weekend.
But the 5 days in incommunicado at Breitenbush was the death knell to his relationship with Cory. When he returned Cory dumped him. He still pondered the idea of coming up from Seattle anyway but told me not to hold his reservation. That was the last I heard from him.
My friend Steve Coderre had an Asian friend named Leo living in Saskatoon who was coming to Vancouver. He could not host Leo the whole 2 weeks of his visit so he asked if I would host him the second week, which would be next week. He put Leo and I into email and phone contact and Leo called me before I left for Breitenbush. He asked if I was single and what I liked to do. It was clear he was hunting for either a relationship or a sexual hook-up. I was hesitant, not knowing anything about him except that he was 28, handsome and lonely, but I promised to call him when I returned from Breitenbush. When I did, he had canceled his plans to come to Vancouver at the last moment, no explanation given.
Then there is Omar, the slender-as-a-rake sweet and sexy Mexican couch surfer who stayed with me two years ago. He called me two weeks ago. I didn't even know he was back in Canada. He asked if he could stash a backpack at my place while he went to Vancouver Island. I agreed. When he came by to drop it off a week and a half ago, the same night Leo had called, he arrived with a bottle of wine and hung around for the evening. We ended up cuddling on the couch and getting into some pretty heavy foreplay. I am sure we both had blue balls by the time he left.
He told me he had to return home last Tuesday so I waited for him to call me when I got home Monday night. I skipped the 3 films I had tickets for at the Vancouver Queer Film Festival that night but he didn't call. There was no email or phone call from him and I was beginning to think he had abandoned his pack forever. Then came an email Thursday night. Somehow he was still on Vancouver Island and returning to Vancouver yesterday. He suggested he drop by for lunch and make a dinner together at my place. I told him I had to work and didn't get home until 5:30. I suggested a salmon dinner with pasta, et al, and that he bring the wine again. Yes, I had my hopes up, but he didn't show. I eventually got an email that he didn't reach the mainland until 6pm, but he made no attempt to call be when he reached downtown.
So my summer free of sex continues. Probably, it is for the better. More than anything else, I needed this weekend to be peaceful and quiet, as I have been struggling to get my life in balance and catch up on my rest since Breitenbush.
But nothing is as it seems, it seems, so I have no idea what the weekend has in store for me. I have two more films at the Queer Film Festival and breakfast with Eric and Fred, my French ex-couch surfing friends, in an hour and a half. I haven't seen either of them in 3 weeks as their restaurant work has kept them extremely busy.
I was taken aback when tall, dark and handsome Fluffernutter singled me out at the gathering in Breitenbush to ask me if he could come up to Vancouver with his boyfriend Cory this weekend to stay with and hang out together. In three previous gatherings where he attended I have never gotten up the nerve to chat with him. His beauty was intimidating and he usually seemed occupied with one young Fae or another. He's into boy drag, dressing up as a gangster, erotic cop or Indian warrior, and he exudes sexual energy, flirtatiously confronting his admirers without walls or hesitations. He slipped me a French kiss when I invited him and Cory to stay with me. He is 45 and Cory is 20. I had no doubt that this would be a sexually charged weekend.
But the 5 days in incommunicado at Breitenbush was the death knell to his relationship with Cory. When he returned Cory dumped him. He still pondered the idea of coming up from Seattle anyway but told me not to hold his reservation. That was the last I heard from him.
My friend Steve Coderre had an Asian friend named Leo living in Saskatoon who was coming to Vancouver. He could not host Leo the whole 2 weeks of his visit so he asked if I would host him the second week, which would be next week. He put Leo and I into email and phone contact and Leo called me before I left for Breitenbush. He asked if I was single and what I liked to do. It was clear he was hunting for either a relationship or a sexual hook-up. I was hesitant, not knowing anything about him except that he was 28, handsome and lonely, but I promised to call him when I returned from Breitenbush. When I did, he had canceled his plans to come to Vancouver at the last moment, no explanation given.
Then there is Omar, the slender-as-a-rake sweet and sexy Mexican couch surfer who stayed with me two years ago. He called me two weeks ago. I didn't even know he was back in Canada. He asked if he could stash a backpack at my place while he went to Vancouver Island. I agreed. When he came by to drop it off a week and a half ago, the same night Leo had called, he arrived with a bottle of wine and hung around for the evening. We ended up cuddling on the couch and getting into some pretty heavy foreplay. I am sure we both had blue balls by the time he left.
He told me he had to return home last Tuesday so I waited for him to call me when I got home Monday night. I skipped the 3 films I had tickets for at the Vancouver Queer Film Festival that night but he didn't call. There was no email or phone call from him and I was beginning to think he had abandoned his pack forever. Then came an email Thursday night. Somehow he was still on Vancouver Island and returning to Vancouver yesterday. He suggested he drop by for lunch and make a dinner together at my place. I told him I had to work and didn't get home until 5:30. I suggested a salmon dinner with pasta, et al, and that he bring the wine again. Yes, I had my hopes up, but he didn't show. I eventually got an email that he didn't reach the mainland until 6pm, but he made no attempt to call be when he reached downtown.
So my summer free of sex continues. Probably, it is for the better. More than anything else, I needed this weekend to be peaceful and quiet, as I have been struggling to get my life in balance and catch up on my rest since Breitenbush.
But nothing is as it seems, it seems, so I have no idea what the weekend has in store for me. I have two more films at the Queer Film Festival and breakfast with Eric and Fred, my French ex-couch surfing friends, in an hour and a half. I haven't seen either of them in 3 weeks as their restaurant work has kept them extremely busy.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Breitenbush - Summer '09: the bad
There was only one 'bad' incident at the gathering, but it has stayed with me. It came in the last hour of the last day, while Raven and Rainbow Strongheart, my travel companions, were taking their last dips in the meadow ponds and I was folding items of clothing and accessories that had been left behind in the lobby by negligent Faes.
Passion, a handsome Fae from Hawaii who had spent an afternoon cuddling with me, came up from behind me to give me a dress from his recently-deceased mother's wardrobe. At first he just held it up to the back of my waistband to see if it was the right size. As I continued folding, he reached around me and hugged me from behind, making it impossible for me to stand up straight. By bending me forward it was all I could do to keep my balance as my lower back has lost most of its strength.
Suddenly he nudged me forward and I had to catch the counter in front of me as I fell forward. He claims he was bumped from behind, but no matter. I asked him to let me straighten myself up so I could stand again. He replied, don't worry - I've got you. I repeated that I needed to stand up. He answered that he wouldn't let me fall but he didn't back off at all. Raising my voice, I demanded that he let go of me. Again, he did not respect my request and only insisted "I've got you. Don't worry!"
Finally, as he was leaning over me pressing his weight on my back, my arms gave out and I fell to the floor. He stopped me from hitting the floor hard, his arms still clutching me around the waist, but I was helpless. I screamed at him, full of fury, to fuck off and let go of me, but still he didn't budge. Rage and panic choked my words and I hung there, resting on one knee and unable to escape his hold.
After half a minute of silence he asked me what I wanted to do now. I replied that I wasn't able to do anything as long as he was preventing me from moving. He asked if I wanted to stand. I said that would be nice. Good thing I stopped you from falling hard, he says. I felt like slugging him in the face, but instead I pointed out that he had caused me to fall, that I was doing fine until he came along. "You've got to learn to let people help you!" he scolded me. I told him I'd do much better without his 'help'. At least I'd still be upright.
Passion was in a frail emotional state, having just scattered his mother's ashes on his home property a couple weeks before. I saw he was on the verge of tears as he hugged me tightly to him while lecturing me on accepting help. Even though I was still shaking and very upset I tried to calm him down and reassure him that I had appreciated meeting him and the time we spent together earlier in the weekend. If I hadn't he might have become more worked up than he already was.
As soon as he released me, which took yet another minute, I tottered to a chair in the lounge and sat down. I was already exhausted from lack of sleep and now emotionally drained. On the way to Portland, riding in the front passenger seat of Rainbow Strongheart's car, I realized I had mildly strained muscles in both of my lower legs in my struggle and they ached in whatever position I put them. That night, sleeping in my host's spare bed in Portland, I had a nightmare where I relived that entire exchange almost verbatim in my sleep. I woke up in an angry, panicky sweat and couldn't get back to sleep for a couple hours.
For the past three days I have had lots of anger towards Passion cropping up whenever I think of what he did. I had hoped all weekend that we would remain friends and that he'd come to visit me in Vancouver, but now I am almost afraid to see him again. The pain in my lower legs is almost gone, but my left foot still aches when I lie down to sleep.
Sometimes a friend can be your worst enemy.
Passion, a handsome Fae from Hawaii who had spent an afternoon cuddling with me, came up from behind me to give me a dress from his recently-deceased mother's wardrobe. At first he just held it up to the back of my waistband to see if it was the right size. As I continued folding, he reached around me and hugged me from behind, making it impossible for me to stand up straight. By bending me forward it was all I could do to keep my balance as my lower back has lost most of its strength.
Suddenly he nudged me forward and I had to catch the counter in front of me as I fell forward. He claims he was bumped from behind, but no matter. I asked him to let me straighten myself up so I could stand again. He replied, don't worry - I've got you. I repeated that I needed to stand up. He answered that he wouldn't let me fall but he didn't back off at all. Raising my voice, I demanded that he let go of me. Again, he did not respect my request and only insisted "I've got you. Don't worry!"
Finally, as he was leaning over me pressing his weight on my back, my arms gave out and I fell to the floor. He stopped me from hitting the floor hard, his arms still clutching me around the waist, but I was helpless. I screamed at him, full of fury, to fuck off and let go of me, but still he didn't budge. Rage and panic choked my words and I hung there, resting on one knee and unable to escape his hold.
After half a minute of silence he asked me what I wanted to do now. I replied that I wasn't able to do anything as long as he was preventing me from moving. He asked if I wanted to stand. I said that would be nice. Good thing I stopped you from falling hard, he says. I felt like slugging him in the face, but instead I pointed out that he had caused me to fall, that I was doing fine until he came along. "You've got to learn to let people help you!" he scolded me. I told him I'd do much better without his 'help'. At least I'd still be upright.
Passion was in a frail emotional state, having just scattered his mother's ashes on his home property a couple weeks before. I saw he was on the verge of tears as he hugged me tightly to him while lecturing me on accepting help. Even though I was still shaking and very upset I tried to calm him down and reassure him that I had appreciated meeting him and the time we spent together earlier in the weekend. If I hadn't he might have become more worked up than he already was.
As soon as he released me, which took yet another minute, I tottered to a chair in the lounge and sat down. I was already exhausted from lack of sleep and now emotionally drained. On the way to Portland, riding in the front passenger seat of Rainbow Strongheart's car, I realized I had mildly strained muscles in both of my lower legs in my struggle and they ached in whatever position I put them. That night, sleeping in my host's spare bed in Portland, I had a nightmare where I relived that entire exchange almost verbatim in my sleep. I woke up in an angry, panicky sweat and couldn't get back to sleep for a couple hours.
For the past three days I have had lots of anger towards Passion cropping up whenever I think of what he did. I had hoped all weekend that we would remain friends and that he'd come to visit me in Vancouver, but now I am almost afraid to see him again. The pain in my lower legs is almost gone, but my left foot still aches when I lie down to sleep.
Sometimes a friend can be your worst enemy.
Breitenbush - Summer '09: the good
.jpg)
One Fae I know described the 200-man summer gathering at Breitenbush Hot Springs as a forum for self-actualization. It is, but it's much more than that too. It is the only place where for 4 days I let go of my focus on my disability, when I am never short of love and affection, a spiritual bath more than a physical one.
It started well. I convinced my two companions on the way down to take the back road through the mountains to arrive from the north instead of spending longer on the freeway and approaching from the west. It is a bit longer but much prettier route. Most drivers prefer the slightly faster and duller route but of course I don't share the driving since I don't have a license.
I got a room in the lodge as usual, but not to myself. My old friend Ssssnake, an American in his 70s who failed to pass the Canadian immigration tests last year, was my roommate. He needed to move into the lodge because of his angina. He snored like a lawn mower and took most of the double bed but I managed to sleep well except for the final night.
I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it to the meadow pools (there's only one I frequent) and get in and out without assistance but I set out alone early the first morning and managed it fine. I returned 3 more times in the next 2 days and quite enjoyed it.
There were no romantic opportunities for me this time. Two beautiful first-time Faes, Dennis Dion from Vancouver and 'Chaparrel' from Los Angeles caught my eye, just as they caught dozens of others. 'Possum' was there in his visit since his release from prison for possession of child porn. I felt so angry that such a beautiful man was punished so severely for nothing other than possessing images. The "crimes" he confessed to, such as sexual addiction, are not illegal and he wasn't using the images to hunt children or even to get off with. He just used them as role playing props to attract older men. Now he has been permanently been branded a felon and unable to even visit Canada or have e-mail. He must also confess to his parole officer when he has sex of any kind.
I attended 3 of the 4 morning Heart Circles and totally loved them. I wasn't drawn to share until the last morning. In fact, as I shared with the room, I hated to take up time when I could hear what other heart opening sharings others had to offer. I always feel much closer to those who have shared.
Of the 200+ men at the gathering I probably knew almost 150 by the end of the weekend, having known almost 100 at the start. I am not the shy wall flower I was in my first 2 summer gatherings. It wasn't as fiercely hot or fly-infested as last summer and this year, after my sister's holistic allergy treatment for ginger, I was able to enjoy all the food without getting sick. I felt more "at home" than ever and more loved and appreciated too. Not sure I want to try a winter gathering in February again, but I am considering it.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Pride Parade 2009
Pride weekend is winding down. It was a bit strange. I saw very few of my friends but spent lots of time with those who I did see, mainly James, my guest from Tacoma, Bill W, Peter T and for a short while, Luis. My batteries died in my camera but I got a few good shots in. Mostly I was trapped behind others so I took pics of those around me on the deck of Milestones where we were.PHOTO 1: Yumm
PHOTO 2: Me, in disguise
PHOTO 3: James & Kenn doll
PHOTO 4: Bill & James
PHOTO 3: Peter and his soap-on-a-rope dildo prize (for those "hard-to-get" places)
PHOTO 4: Man with green balloon wings (This is how I saw most of the parade: through the spaces between others)
PHOTO 5: Man atop of Hedy Fry's float
PHOTO 6: Reporter from the Asian Times trying to make sense of it all....
PHOTO 7: Youth being lured by alcohol
PHOTO 8: Sunflower Lady, before she went to seed
PHOTO 9: This one has already gone to seed, and the seeds turned into large limp melons, but she is PROUD!
PHOTO 10: Trojan - call to arms. Baby you can slide over my penis any ol' day!!
PHOTO 11: Daddy - this fellow was seated behind us with his wife and child. He's my fantasy daddy, the one I always wanted when I was growing up.....
PHOTO 12: This stud behind us had the most amazing eyes and smile. I think he caught me taking his photo once too often, but he didn't seem to mind.
PHOTO 13: This lady won the 50/50 draw for the 2nd year in a row, and like last year donated all her winnings to the Friends For Life Hospice
PHOTO 14: Man in the cherry tree. He watched the whole parade from there. I would have ripened and fallen to the ground....
PHOTO 15: Boy in green T-shirt in front of us.
PHOTO 16: Handsome Latino to our left.
PHOTO 17: Handsome red head to our left. He liked this photo but didn't offer me his e-mail address.
PHOTO 18: Couple inside and above us. Love it!!
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Day One - Pride Weekend
I had a great time yesterday with James, my friends and guest from Tacoma, and the fellow he met coming up on the bus, Joseph, who lives in Seattle. We met at Joe's for breakfast, hung out at my place a bit, walked down to the Roundhouse Community Centre to see the Pride In Art show, and walked back up the hill to Fountainhead where we shared a a couple beers in the indoor air conditioned loveliness. Then it was back to my place again so Joseph and I could share a joint. James and I rested and later went to dinner at Kadoya around 8. Joseph met us there and we had a delicious feast. Afterwards, James went back to the place Joseph. From there they planned to walk down to the beach to watch the fireworks with 200,000 others. I went home as the crowds were too difficult for me to manage, but James and Joseph ended up drinking wine and watching the fireworks from Joseph's host's balcony.
It was a bit cooler last night so I had a reasonably good sleep.
It was a bit cooler last night so I had a reasonably good sleep.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
