another dating disaster

I am to dating what Mary Tyler Moore was to dinner parties. Something always goes terribly wrong, so much so that I avoid dating whenever I can. The lure is still there though, the chance to spend an evening sharing a meal and cuddling on the couch, but to most of the meat-market gay world I might as well be a leper with my disability.

Three weeks ago I was messaged in the gay.com chat line by a young man of 27, a Fijian immigrant of Indian descent, who said he has seen me walking around my neighbourhood a couple of times and had thought I was so hot. OK, I said to myself, trying unsuccessfully to imagine myself as hot. In spite of his young age, I thought I should keep an open mind and give him a shot. He was cute too, and opportunities like this don’t come along very often. At least he had seen me walking, when my disability is most obvious, and had not been turned off by that. At least that was one anxious hurdle already crossed.

His name was Josh and over the next three weeks we kept in regular touch by phone and email without meeting. We both had lots going on, but especially him. He was moving into a new place, fixing it up and moving things out of storage, and he needed to focus on that. The fellow he had been sharing with had got him a job where he worked at a Health Canada call centre, and is presently his immediate supervisor. That fellow had become resentful that Josh was moving out, although he had asked Josh to move, and was making trouble for Josh at work, threatening his livelihood as well as his friendship. A couple times Josh wept on my virtual shoulder over the telephone, seeks advice and reassurance.

Finally his place was together and we made plans to meet on the next Saturday. At his suggestion, we would have our first date at my place: I would cook dinner and he’d bring the wine. Later, we’d cuddle and watch a movie I had rented and he’s spend the night together.

Thursday night he calls to tell me he wanted to invite me to a play Saturday afternoon in our neighbourhood, a play about gay immigrants and their experiences is Canada, before returning to my place for dinner. That meant doing my shopping, cleaning and cooking earlier and making some menu changes so not so much last minute attention would be needed. I agreed.

Saturday my handyman Andre arrived at 10 to install track lighting in my bedroom. He had postponed his visit when he couldn’t make it on Wednesday. I worked around him making my chicken cacciatore and doing my laundry and other cleaning. About 12:20 Josh called and says he will be by at 1:15 and he asked me to please be ready to go right away. But he himself wasn’t ready then. He didn’t arrive at my place until 1:52, and he didn’t want to come up to see my place. Later, after the play, he said. The play was not in our neighbourhood but in Mount Pleasant, two bus trips away. We needed to catch a taxi to make it on time.

It turned out not to be a play, but just gay five immigrants sitting in front of us and telling their stories in broken English, ranting, whining and dramatizing in their various styles. They were all members of the Rainbow Refugee Society, and Josh knew all of them. He has been a member since 2004. I learned that originally he had agreed to be one of the presenters but had backed out. He knew all the organizers and wandered off to chat with them without inviting me or introducing me when we were together. After the event he stood chatting with them for half an hour and ignoring me.

It was 5:30 before he came looking for me. The presenters and organizers of his group had asked him to come with them to a nearby restaurant and he had accepted, throwing our date to the wind. “I’ll just hang out with them for about an hour and then I’ll be over,” he told me, so I caught a taxi home without him.

Of course, it was no surprise that when it came time for him to leave his friends he took a cab to his home, not mine. He called me from there, apologizing that he was now too drunk and tired to come to my place. He asked if I was OK about doing it some other night. I said, sure, why not, and wished him a good night without chatting any further, while under my breath muttering “over my dead body”.

The chicken cacciatore was delicious, and I lay on my bed afterwards, staring with delight at my new track lighting and thanking my lucky stars that Josh was out of my life for good — well, certainly for better. Something inside clicked. He had forgotten his commitment to help with the event until late in the week and he knew, even before he left his place, that he wouldn’t be coming back to my place. That is why he didn’t bring the wine.

Pet peeve

I prefer the days when I could walk to and from work, when there were sidewalk ramps all the way so I could cross every street. (sigh) Riding the bus is convenient if you don't mind the crowding and clobbering received from shopping bags and unconscious riders.

Today, a young woman gets on wearing ear phones for her iPod while texting on her cell. She asks the driver of the Davie bus if the bus turns onto Davie. Yes, he says. How far is that, she asks. Three stops, he replies. Could you let me know when we get there, she asks. He just looks at her disbelievingly.

Really Babe, if you are so into your cell phone and iPod that you can't tell when the bus turns a corner you won't hear his announcement either. Why can't people cross a street without simultaneously checking their messages? They think they are multi-tasking when all they are not watching what they are doing. If we just stopped taking care of people who feel it's not their responsibility to watch where they are going, they would soon either wake up or be eliminated through the Darwin Principle.

Winter is here

Winter has been here since Saturday. Everything f*kkin thing in my place is cold, the floors, counters, bedclothes.... even my butter is hard. A full month before the winter solstice it hits -17C with the wind chill and -10C without. It's only getting down to -4 tonight but it is supposed to snow overnight and part of tomorrow. Somehow I am going to make it through this blasted winter, forecast to be the worst ever on record. I feel like I'll be holding my breath underwater for 3 months, but what choice do I have.

I mentioned my apprehension about the snow tomorrow to Sandra W, my former team leader at work. She said, "Stay home, don't risk it. You have lots of sick time." It felt great to get her support as she's the most respected T/L in the call centre, but how did she know that I have so much sick time. I think the T/Ls talk about us behind our backs. At least it seems they say good things about me.

I have to come in on Friday though. Wanda's retirement ceremony will be held after work. She has always been my favourite call centre manager, having been the one who rescued me from the corrupt EI office politics before they could terminate my contract. I have made an 18" diameter circle of fiords, mountains, a lone cedar on a bluff and a sailboat below, a dogwood branch with two flowers on it across the top that will be presented to her at the ceremony. I hate the attention but it has cemented my good image with our administration, especially for Sandra. Suzanne D liked it too, and wants one like it for her husband for Christmas. Hers won't be for free.

Claude

One of the delayed bonuses of the VIFF has turned out to be Claude Gadoua, a former Quebecois gay man who lives about 4 blocks away. We met in the early morning line-up for tickets twice, when for coffee once and sat beside each other through two films. It was immediately clear there was an intellectual connection and a real interest on his part. He immediately looked up the website for my stained glass art and asked me a plethora of questions about my muscular dystrophy. Later, he went on line to do a little research about my condition too.

There was a two week gap after the festival where we didn't see each other because he was out of town a couple days and entertaining out of town guests. I had my own couch surfer, young Nicolas from Switzerland. But we agreed on going out for dinner last Friday night, the 29th. He came over to get a tour of my place and then we had dinner in Lickerish, a restaurant attached to my building.

I had not entertained any fantasies about a romantic entanglement with him, having learned from past experience that even men who are attracted to me are fatally repulsed by my disability, though I consider myself more awkward than ugly. Furthermore, Claude is two years older than me when I usually am drawn to younger men, he smokes cigarettes and has a fairly heavy beard. In his case, these traits do not turn me off. I find him "charmant".

At that first dinner it was he who broached the subject of something more intimate. Without discussing it with me first, he told some of his closest friends that they might expect me to part of his life in the future. He briefed them about my physical issues to prepare them. I guess I am used to this by now, almost. Over our meal, he asked me about my sexual abilities, given my other limitations, and wanted to know more about what I like in bed. I was a bit vague as I like to accommodate my lover's preferences. He is apparently more cuddly than volcanic, as Gerald Hannon would have put it.

Sunday we met again for brunch and then he brought me to his place to show me his passion, beading strings as one would see in a bead curtain, but he had hundreds of them. He is obviously a meticulous man and he is also fascinated with Tibetan culture and art, having visited with a Tibetan friend a few years ago. He inundated me with information to the point I hard a hard time taking it all in. It was very clear he is concerned not to turn me off for being too coddling or dismissive about offering me support when I need it. He wants to be a supporter in many ways, including offering to help me make the 80 pendants for the BC Faerie Gathering for next May.

I tried to be affectionate at a couple points, as all his talking seemed partially like a defense. He reciprocated a bit and even called me passionate, but I am not really passionate. I cannot quite believe someone is really interested in me, but I am being careful not to be protective or too interested. Truthfully, it will take time and a sustained interest in me to let it all sink in as it has been literally years since anyone has expressed an interest in being my boyfriend. Time will tell how it will unfold and I am willing to accept whatever happens. It is a bit overwhelming for the moment and I have appreciated the past two days of rest apart.

VIFF Days 12-14

OK, five more films each day. On Tuesday, I swapped my first film from an Iranian one to another Spanish one, "Born To Suffer". The first two wonderful Spanish films I have seen this year, "Buitiful" and "Cell 211", did not make the Alvodovar-styled error of too much talk and explanation as most Spanish films do, but "Born To Suffer" does. It was a hilarious story though, of an elderly spinster who becomes worried that her nieces will take away her faithful, competent servant and place her in a home, so she convinces her maid to marry her by promising to make her her heir. 3.5 stars.

I had a rather nasty run-in in Theatre 4 for the next film when I was kicked out a seat the management had intended to reserve but had not. I cooperated by moving but it put me into a terrible mood and that ruined the 2nd film for me. It was a Palestinian film named "Zindeeq". I saw enough to get the drift and see that it was most likely a 3-star. Next was popular "Certified Copy" with Juliette Binoche, a bizarre story of an afternoon encounter between a writer and a fan that gets so carried away in fantasy play that it becomes confusing for all (a reluctant 4-star).

Then came "Cry Rock" and "Mammalian", two Canadian short films one low interest (2-star).

VIFF Days 8 to 11 - Thanksgiving weekend

Where have I been the last few days? Thursday, Day 8, started off well, another fine day though I was a bit tired. I saw "Anton Checkov's 'The Duel'" (4-star), the German film "Transfer", a sci-fi drama (4-star) and "Force of Nature: David Suzuki", a doc on Suzuki's work with Suzuki in a Q & A afterwards (also 4-star).

It was during this last one that I realized I was more than tired--I was coming down with a sore throat and head cold. I sat through "Aftershock", the Chinese tear-jerker blockbuster that follows 32 years in the life of a family torn apart by the great earthquake of 1976 (4-star). Then I limped home to succumb to my illness in bed.

I did next to nothing the rest of that night or Friday. Ironically, wet weather and a selection of mediocre films that day and the next made my time off rather perfect. It felt wonderful to be at home doing nothing. Just when I began feeling strong again on Saturday the heavy rain came and convinced me to stay home.

Sunday, Day 11, I took on another full slate of 5 films including "Another Year" (UK, 4-star), "The Ugly Duckling" (Russia, claymation, 3-star), "I Am" (India, 4-star), "The Robber" (Germany, 4-star) and "Of Gods & Men" (Algeria, 4-star). The last was the best, about a Benedictine monastery in Algeria that is attacked by terrorists. Of course they know the danger is coming and each monk makes a conscious choice to stay, that bleeds into the Romanist concept of martyrdom, but it was still a good film. Another Year was excellent too, with Jim Broadbent and Ruby Sheen playing the main couple and a great supporting actress as 'Mary', their neurotic friend.

Today my first film starts at noon. I already have a mile-long walk in, have bought groceries, had breakfast and picked up my tickets. It's only 10:50am. Still time to relax before I head out again.

DAY 7 - surrealness and Stonewall

Day 7, films number 30 to 34 -- "White Meadows" (Iran), "Winter Vacation" (China), "Screaming Man" (Chad), "Sawato Decides" (Japan) and "Stonewall Uprising" (USA).

The first film of the day were surreal. "White Meadows" buried the director's criticisms of the Iranian regime in analogies. An old man sails from island to island collecting peoples' tears in a small vile which he promises to turn into pearls to absolve them of their sins. It is the Caspian Sea and the beaches are made of salt, toxic and painful. In one scene an artist is buried up to his neck in salt and half-blinded for having painted the sea as red. "We don't want to take away his right to paint, but he must do it correctly," explains an Elder. Of course he must be tortured for not seeing things correctly, and eventually sent to a prison island to isolate him because he obviously has a disease in his eyes that allows him to see things differently from the right way and that disease must be contagious amongst the masses. The analogy wasn't obscure enough and the director was imprisoned in Iran and his film banned.

The second film was a Chinese version of a Jim Jarmusch-styled movie: minimalist and absurd for what doesn't happen or get said. It is winter break from school and no one can think of anything much to do other than standing around or sitting very still. The sound of distant fireworks throughout the film speaks of something exciting happening somewhere not far away but only the audience seems to be able to hear it. There are some very funny lines from the mouths of babes (one child is asked by another what he wants to be when he grows up and he replies "an orphan") and several ludicrous situations and action sequences.

"A Screaming Man" ("L'Homme Qui Crie") is the story of a son and father who work together tending a swimming pool at a ritzy hotel in Chad's capital city, but times are tight and the father's position is eliminated, but his self-identity as former swimming champion for central Africa is deeply threatened by this even though he is given another job. A civil war is brewing and the father has his son drafted so he can get his job back, then changes his mind and sets off to the front lines to fetch his son back.

"Sawato Decides" is a silly but entertaining story about a young woman with a bad track record with men and goals in her life, who tries to rescue her father's fresh water clam business when he becomes ill. It was the weakest of the day but they each, for various reason, only make it to 3-stars.

"Stonewall Uprising", however, really swept me up and it was a well put-together doc about those few hot days in late June, 1969, when the world changed for gays everywhere, not just in the US. I was swept up in old, old feelings of being part of a secret sub-culture, the exclusivity, and well as the fear and shame of being part of a hated and vilified minority that wasn't of my choosing. And when the weight and night-sticks came down I felt the immense rage and urge to fight back with violence I used to feel in my 20s and 30s. But at the end of the film, it brought back feelings of great love and brotherhood, a huge release as the weight lifted off and an immense pride for having stood up and faced the police, which I too have done personally, though not until the early 80s during Toronto's bath raids wars. The film merits a 5-stars, since my rating system is about how the films touch me personally.

When I stepped out into the night air, I looked around for others I could connect with who had just come from the same film and who were glowing like I was. I didn't see anyone, but I enjoyed the glow just the same.

VIFF - Day 6

There must be another reason than "ownable" to qualify something as 5-star. I saw another film today, such as "Buitiful", that shook me up as much but at the same time is so effectively unpleasant that I might not want to own it. That film was "When We Leave", about a young Turkish woman who flees her abusive husband in Istanbul to seek refuge with her family in Berlin, only to find she has brought shame and disgrace to her family in Berlin's Turkish community by doing so. From the start the viewer to sneak preview as to what terrible thing will happen, but the snippet is misleading. The issue is explored from both sides so the pain can clearly be seen by all, and the situation seems hopeless, but it isn't really hopeless until the end when someone takes it a step too far. It left me reeling for a bit. Fortunately I had a break between that and the next film.

The first film of the day was "In The Shadows", a German film about an armoured car heist that goes wrong. A slightly different twist to an old story: 3 stars. The second was a documentary about a B-Boy dance competition in Soweto in 2007. Interesting to see once, and some amazing bodies, but that's where it ends: 3 stars.

After "When We Leave" I saw Stephen Frear's latest, "Tamara Drewe" about a girl who returns to her former hometown (i.e. village) and stirs up all kinds and humour and other shit. 4 stars. The last film, "Chantrapas" from Georgia, was a write-off. I really wasn't into it and only made it one-quarter of the way through. (I should still be there but it was dreadfully boring and trite.) Oh well, maybe I can count it as a 'short'.

VIFF Day 5 - a slower day

The weather continues to hold out but I am afraid it won't be much longer. It is supposed to rain all day Friday, Saturday and Sunday. But at least it hasn't rained the first week as it was supposed to be by Day 5.

Today I branched out into films from South Korea, Ireland and Russia. No 5-stars today but there were two 4-stars: "Poetry" from South Korea and "How I Ended My Summer Vacation" from Russia. The last was the best. Before today I had never seen a film as bad as "Snap" from Ireland. Bad everything. The first film "Man From Nowhere" was an action film from South Korea, something that country does particularly well. It was gory and violent, of course, but entertaining too. 3-stars limit for formula films.

"Poetry" was about a grandmother raising a spoiled slob of a brat who gets involved with 5 other boys in raping a girl in their high school until she commits suicide (all of which has happened by the start. The grandmother , on a search for beauty in her life while taking a poetry class, realizes she isn't comfortable just making a monetary settlement to quiet the mother of the dead girl.

"The Infidel" was a packed house on a Monday afternoon, not a common occurrence. It is the story of a lax Muslim man and his son who wants to marry the daughter of a fundamentalist Muslim and who must prove he is devote enough, but then he finds papers in his dead mother's house that he was adopted and Jewish at birth. I thought "La Cage aux Folles" or the like but the humour was lame and pointless. Perhaps that's why it's so popular.

Today I will see another 5 films, #s 25 to 29 of the festival. Germany and Georgia enter the fray. Must get going now as the line up even Monday morning is 150m long by 9:08.

VIFF Day 4 - Jackpot

What an incredible day! 11 hours and 43 minutes of film - again, 5 in total. The first was a Canadian, "Barney's Version", based on Mordecai Richler's last novel of the same name. It was perhaps the best Canadian film I have seen in years; funny, intelligent, fascinating, upsetting and heart-wrenching at a couple points--definitely a 5-star.

The second was "A Somewhat Gentle Man", a Norwegian comedy/drama, worth a 4-star rating. The third was "An Inside Job", an American doc about how the current financial crisis came to be. It was informative but the director tended to cut off the answers of those he wanted to vilify to make them seem speechless, without explanations or alibis for the crimes they are accused of. He definitely he had too much rage to handle the subject fairly, not that I blame him, but that's only worth 3 stars.

The fourth, China's rural comedy called "Single Man", was playful, daring, ribald and terribly acted and directed. Some good scenery and delightfully stupid scenes. 3 stars. That was the last film I had seen when I called you, Danzante.

The last film, "Cell 211" from Spain, about a first day guard trapped in a riot in a cell block in a Spanish prison. It totally kept me on the edge of my seat. Perhaps the best action/suspense movie I've ever seen. My adrenaline was still pumping on the way home.

So there is was, two own-able films (which almost never happens on the same day), one other recommendable film, and 2 so-so films. Not bad! There's a great start to this year's festival: seven very good films out of 14.

VIFF Day 3 - hanging in

Only saw four films yesterday but one, Biutiful, a Spanish film set in Barcelona with Javier Bardem, was worth the 5-star rating. It was a hard film though, with characters and events I wanted no part of and lots of hand-held camera action, and it was long, 152 minutes finishing at midnight.

Fathers & Sons, a Vancouver-based comedy, was much better than I expected. Bhutto, the documentary of the Bhutto family was less than expected, though informative and Made In Dagenham was a piece of Hollywood-styled formula British fluff, a feel-good film with clear and simple issues and villains.

I found myself fighting the fatigue and wishing I was in bed by the evening. I am occasionally fantasizing about taking time off. I will let myself if I need to. For now it's just a whim.

VIFF DAY 2 - a very good day.

I rate films I see as "excellent" (5 stars, or worth owning), "very good" (4 stars, worth recommending), "good" (3 stars, I wouldn't go out of my way to see it but I don't feel ripped off), "fair" (2 stars, some merit but somewhat regrettable), "poor" (1 star, to be avoided) and "terrible" (0 stars, worth walking out on). Yesterday I had one 4-star film (The Protector) and the other four were 3-stars.

Today I had a good start; breakfast at home and at the line-up by 9:40. I got all the tickets I wanted once again, but the first film "Psychohydrology" was a dud, my first 2-star this year. Film directors and photographers might have liked it but it was very dull--most of the film was rapid time elapsed on repeating loops every few seconds. It wasn't film making so much as digital masturbation. It turns the maker on and no one else. On top of that, the 27-minute Chinese film that was supposed to accompany it was canceled.

The next four films were another story, however, and they made today rather incredible. The 2nd film, "The Man Who Will Come", set in a rural village in northern Italy during WWII, was a true 5-star film. Last year I didn't even see one 5-star so I am off to a wonderful start. To make it even better the next three films were each 4-stars: "The Family Tree", a French film about a family crisis that erupts when the father fails to show up at his son's funeral (best acting so far); "Reverse", a Polish film about an ugly girl who falls for the wrong guy in 1952 under the Communist regime (it is definitely the best comedy so far); and "Of Love And Other Demons", set in 17th century Colombia and based on a Gabriel Garcia Marquez novel. With 5 of the first 10 films being 4 or 5-star, it is looking like a very good VIFF this year.

I met a lovely young man named Brian who is on crutches (sprained toes due to a skateboard accident). Definitely friendship material there. I am so tired though. It has been an emotional day.

VIFF DAY 1 - couch potato Olympics

I have a schedule mapped out to see 80 feature-length films over 16 days of the Vancouver International Film Festival (VIFF), which started yesterday.

There were no major first day glitches or problems yesterday. The weather was perfect, which meant no line-ups in the rain, no delays, cancellations or dead loss films. I was able to get to each film in plenty of time and have empty seats around me for each of the 5 films, and I didn't fall. I had a bit of a struggle getting the box office to honour my voucher for a festival program which I was owed, but one my 3rd attempt I got a supervisor to ask for me and she was successful. Other than that I had a reluctant digestion that caused me some worry but no problem, and I was quite tired in spite of lots of rest the night before.

The first film was a Czech one set in WWII called the Protector, and it proved to be the best of the day. The second was a 2+ hr-long series of shorts compiled in honour of the 200th birthday celebration of the start of the Mexican Revolution, called 'Revolucion'. Some of the shots were interesting. The third was a slow Romanian film called "Morgen" about a rural Romanian dead weight who takes in an illegal Turkish refugee who is trying to get to Germany. The fourth was a Uruguayan film called "Noberto's Deadline" and the fifth was a documentary of a Danish comedy troupe, two Korean Danes and their Danish director who visits North Korea. It was a bit disturbing what they are put through but it was good for a few laughs at the end of the day.

Today the films I have selected promise to be better. I'll soon find out.

An incredible weekend

I have had the most incredible stay-indoors weekend. I hosted my last couch surfer before the VIFF begins in 11 days. She was Debra, a self-proclaimed born-again Christian four years my younger from Amarillo TX, who had been traveling a month, pet sitting and staying with other couch surfers. She was referred to me by Nathan Day, a gay couch surfer I hosted last December. He was her first couch surfer.

As different as our backgrounds are, I grew to like Debra quite a lot and want to keep in touch with her. Her age, being closer to mine, is one reason but also her willingness to expose herself to gays to make a more informed opinion about whether or not we are as evil as her dogma has taught her. She did her very best to keep herself open to all the people she met through me. I have not met anyone before her who was distraught over the election of Obama.

And she met several people through me, a wide spectrum of the men who comprise my life, including Frederic (Friday night), nephew Richard (Saturday afternoon), Doozer and Yves (Saturday night) and Rosario, who dropped her off at the bus depot on our way to brunch Sunday morning. She enjoyed meeting them all as far as I could tell.

I think I have her hooked on Settlers of Catan (she won her first game) and she had once done stained glass and had lots to ask about my work too. She was very interested in how each of our families and co-workers reacted to finding out that we are gay. She herself had once led a very wild life full of partying and dealing drugs before turning to Christianity to save her from herself, as is often the reason for such a large transformation. It seems to have worked for her but has not closed her off from ideas and situations that challenge her dogma.

Our time with Frederic on Sunday night was wonderful, a dinner at Kam's Singaporean Restaurant, and afterwards I presented him with token gifts to celebrate him being granted permanent residence status last week: a bottle of maple syrup, dried Saskatoon berries, a book called How To Be Canadian and a maple leaf pin. I reassured him that it was better to celebrate his landing now before Eric gets his landing so that we have reason to celebrate twice.

Richard was brimming with ecstatic stories of his time at Burning Man, most of which we spent stoned, drunk or both. He swears he remembers it all and only puked once. He says it was the most wonderful event of his life so far and definitely plans to go again next year. He said the place was full of gays and had his ass pinched by guys more than ever in his life. He was most impressed with the nudity he saw though: so many beautiful young women dancing semi or totally naked.

Doozer arrived around 6, in time to eat dinner with Debra and I. He bought corn and salad ingredients. Debra contributed two meat pies and I heated some butternut squash soup. It was a great meal. Doozer slept in my bed. He had no other choice but had no problem with it, unlike his husband Flash or our former Polish friend Michal Rogozynski. He cuddled with me most of the night, which was sweet as honey. He wore his sweat pants to bed and made no romantic gestures, which was a bit regrettable but probably for the best. He was up at 6am to off to the bus depot in a taxi before 6:30.

Brunch was at Danzante and Gerry's. Rosario came in from north Surrey to bring Raspberry Showboat, Holly and myself there. Rainbow Strongheart was already there and Paul McGrattan, freshly back from a year in the Maritimes, showed up a while later. The meal was incredible. Rosario brought a delicious curry dish and a hot chutney, Danzante had made bread, spreads and a baked salmon, Raspberry a salad and myself a dozen eggs to stir fry with basil and tarragon, and Holly a fruit pie. It was more than filling. Afterwards we talked in the living room, my head on Rosario's lap as we cuddled, caressed and held hands. After Rosario and Rainbow left, Gerry cleaned while the rest of us played Settlers of Catan. Danzante drove me home afterwards so we had quality time alone. I got back less than an hour ago.

It's raining now, as it has been much of the weekend. I am tired and mellow, feeling as smooth as an ironed sheet and grateful for my life. There have been many wet weather weekends in my past when I have had next to no contact with friends and accomplished nothing, but this was not one of them.

The War on HST

The Harmonized Sales Tax (HST) that the Liberal government effected July 1st has created the largest democratizing reaction in our province of this century so far. Ironically, it has been spearheaded by Bill Vander Zalm, the disgraced former Premier who was driven from office by scandal in the early 90s. He remains a catalyzing force for the common man and, for the first time, for both the left and the right wings of the political spectrum.

The BC government responded to earlier opposition to the new tax with a proverbial shrug, saying there is nothing they can do since it is based on federal legislation. That argument made no sense from the start, because the legislation requires initiative on the part of provincial governments to implement it. Gordon Campbell's Liberals have made it clear, repeatedly, that they want the new revenues in spite of popular opposition.

Where residents of Ontario passively accepted the new tax, BC residents have not. One of Campbell's cabinet members has already resigned from cabinet over the issue. A non-binding petition held in most ridings across the province, submitted to Victoria at the end of June, was large enough to demand that the government either rescind the law enacting the tax or to press them into holding a province-wide referendum. The Liberals have deferred the issue until a binding referendum is held next September, hoping to convince the general electorate using public coffers that HST is not a bad thing beforehand.

That doesn't seem to be the way this will unfold. The Anti-HST Campaign plans to keep the public attention focused on defeating the Liberals by organizing a recall process against Liberal politicians who voted in favour of HST. It will be the type of circus the media loves, bringing down a big prey, and that will build momentum to defeat the Campbell government in next year's referendum. Ironically, it was Campbell's government that brought in the right to force referendums and to recall politicians and we will have our first chance to see how it works by using these tools against him.

I love this type of democratic exercise, when the populace awakens to who really controls the pedestal of power. At these rare points, all citizens who feel disempowered or disrespected by those in power band together to bring them down. The cantankerous political right-wing voters who love to hate big government, the typical supporters of Campbell's anti-socialist government, will gladly help teach him a lesson. This is the phenomenon that I have often tried to explain to Danzante, that Canadians are unforgiving of politicians and governments who step out of line.

"To destroy a political power completely, you must first elect it." - A Canadian adage

Sunday I walked down to the main office of the Vancouver International Film Festival to buy my gold pass to this year's festival, which starts on Sept 30. It was hassle-free and the newly repaired sidewalks down Davie to Seymour St were smooth and easy, but coming back was another story. I had brought my cane, thinking I would need it on the uphill trip home, but my right arm was so weak that it was practically useless. At a couple points I had a real struggle to make the grade, especially beside the Scotia Bank Dance Theatre and crossing the lane ways where the sidewalk ramps and uneven asphalt made each step precarious. I had to take baby steps, inching my way onto flatter ground bit by bit, careful to keep my balance at every point.

I was aware of many eyes watching me to see if I needed help or if I might fall, trying to make sense of my predicament. I have learned to ignore them and to try to appear calm so not to alarm them. Regardless, the trip home was very disconcerting. I have always managed this stretch of road better, and I had hoped it would be easier this time with recent ramp improvements. Back home, I felt the echoes of past feelings of horror and despair returning. Clearly, I won't be able to master these simple challenges much longer. The day that I will need a scooter, the day I have resisted for so long, is drawing closer.

Breathe deeply and exhale slowly. Dispel fear from my heart. There is only the present. All else is illusion. Life is a wondrous miracle, not a threat.

Our evening's entertainment

I've spent the past hour watching the first part of Julie & Julia. It is a good film, true, but one should never watch cooking movies, if there is such a genre. Gawd nose how many paychecks will be ruined in the coming months while I experiment in the kitchen, and while I stock my kitchen with the correct utensils and appliances. I burn with shame to think I have never owned a mortar and pestle or even a knife sharpener.

Dean and Brian are still suffering the effects of the time change to the We(s)t Coast

The morning after

The problem with bed bugs is more psychological than physical. After being bitten a few times I become 100 times shy. Throughout the night, whenever I woke, I imagined the little fuckers crawling on me. My ankle was suddenly itchy as hell, but there were no bites I could feel after I scratched. It was nothing more than the prickly sensations one gets when he gets too hot. Even sitting here typing this, still without clothes on, I am too warm and I can imagine them crawling on me, which they are not. I tell myself they are no worse than mosquitoes, and I have heard they carry fewer diseases, but somehow they creep me out so much more. It will take me the whole week to convince myself I'm not being bitten, but I passed the first night on the living room futon unscathed.

Brian and Dean took me out for a Greek dinner at Taki's Taverna last night and afterwards I stayed home while they went out to the Pumpjack Pub up the street. They came back a couple hours later, still a little exhausted by the 3-hour time change. They bought a shit load of groceries before dinner, and ground coffee after dinner, so I suppose we are eating in this morning. At 7:45 am it is still grey and dull so I doubt Dean will have his day on Wreck Beach as he had hoped.

Futon wrestling

It started a week ago when my most recent romantic disappointment Randy spent the night at my place. He came over when his work ended at 8pm. I had dinner ready for him, we made out and cuddled. At 11:30 I needed to sleep as I worked the next day. He needed to snack before bed so I helped him get a bowl of cereal going. While I tried to sleep he went poking through files on my computer looking for porn. Finally at 1:30 I told him he had to come to bed if he was staying as I couldn't work with sleep. He obeyed and within a few minutes was snoring so loudly that I wished I had left his surfing for porn.

I retreated to the living room to sleep on my sofa-bed futon and it was there I got a small cluster of bed bug bites an hour of so later. That kept me up most of the rest of the night. I had a bed bug infestation last October and had to buy a new mattress and box spring set. I bug-proofed them with plastic slip covers and have been free of the little bastards since then, but not before I became fully cognizant of what their bites are like.

I thought the living room futon would be safe from infestation since it is rarely used and the bugs are primarily attracted to where people sleep. If the futon wasn't already too infested I needed to seal it right away, especially since I'd be sleeping on it 10 days later for a week when Brian and Dean arrived from Toronto.

So last Saturday I acted. I had it through the shopping crowds and construction zone on Robson to get to Sears and back to buy the slip cover. When I got home I spent half an hour just staring at the futon, wondering how I would begin, since my balance and strength are so tenuous now that I can fall over carrying a 5 kg bag or groceries. I needed friends to help me, I knew, but it would be better to get the cloth cover off first. I wouldn't want to keep them waiting while it was being washed and dried.

Clinging onto furniture and pulling at one corner of the futon, I was able to drag it onto my small living room floor. I braced myself on whatever I could while I reached down and unzipped the cover around three sides and was able eventually to free it from under the weight of the futon. I was wet with sweat by the time I got it off. I searched around the inner zipper and around the corners. I found one large adult bug but no signs of any nests. If there were any in the linen cover they would be killed by the hot water and heat of the dryer which they are very susceptible to.

Once the laundry was going I put my futon and pillows in the dryer on hot and called my friends. No one was home except my friend Fred who normally works at his restaurant job on Saturdays. I was lucky, he said, because he is off work due to a back injury. He was determined to come over and help me but I really didn't want him to hurt himself with the heavy futon. I decided to do what I could before he arrived.

I shook out the new plastic slip cover and opened its zipper. If I was very careful, I told myself, I would be able to get the first bit of the cover over one end of the futon. Even trying to squeeze between my furniture and the futon on the floor was a serious challenge, but after a few failed attempts I was able to get the cover over two corners at one end. I was soaked with perspiration again. I stood back feeling a bit proud and encouraged. Well maybe I could just tug the cover on a little further, I said. It was worth a try. I succeed a few inches on one side so I did the same to the other side. Then I rested. As long as Fred isn't here yet I could do a little more, I told myself and half an hour later, wet and exhausted, I managed to tug and wiggle the cover over the entire mattress and zip it up. The next step was easy: I grabbed a chair and scissors and sidled up to the futon to cover the zipper with duct tape.

That took about 10 minutes. I felt somewhat rested and further encouraged. Fred was taking loner than I expected so I dug the freshly cleaned linen cover out of the dryer and lined it up over the futon. I had no idea how I could possible get it on as it zipped on three sides. Well, I'll zip up the first corner and try to get around the matching corner of the futon, I decided. That worked. A few minutes later I had succeeded in sliding some of the cover under that end of the futon and zipping up that end. Inch by inch I slowly closed the zipper on the second side. I found a way to prop myself up against a low bookcase and lift the futon half way and tug the cover through. Pulling the cover under the futon enough to zip it up was the hardest part. It took several minutes of vigorous yanking before I could close it completely.

Now I really was exhausted. The only thing left to do was to lift the futon onto the frame, something I knew would be impossible for me even with Fred's help. It would be the best way for him to re-injure his back too. I thought about it while I rested. I tugged at it until it was lined up in front of the sofa frame and stared at it some more. Then I got the bright idea to sit in front of it on a chair and lift the near end a few inches at a time, then holding it in with one hand, shift my chair in closer. Step by step, I moved in closer and the end of the futon rose in front of me, then folded over on itself against the front of the frame.

Maybe, I thought, I could keep lifting it and pushing forward and the mattress would roll over onto the frame. It was much easier than I thought it would be. In only a couple minutes it was on top of the frame, but too high up. I tugged the bottom edge of the futon towards me and it slid perfectly into place. I stared at astonishment at what I had done. When Fred finally arrived I was beaming with pride and he was duly impressed.

That was a week ago and Brian and Dean have just arrived. Now if only the plastic cover works!! I'll find out tonight.

Breitenbush 2010 Summer Gathering

This was the best BB gathering so far of the 5 I have attended, in spite of the pain from dental assault that happened only about 40 hours before we left for the States. My dentist removed my upper right incisor that had broken off below the gum line. To remove the roots he had to slice my gum up to where the cheek meets the gum and along that seam a bit, the worst extraction I have ever endured. Besides the difficulty eating, I had a stabbing pain every time I smiled or laughed, but that I did all the time in spite of the discomfort.

There were 170 men there. I knew most of them to see and half of them to speak to, and I made a point of talking to those I didn't know. I have never felt so comfortable there, which is such a change from the wallflower self I was when I first visited. I am often asked why I go to the Faerie gatherings when I am not much into dressing up and cannot access most of the BB facilities. I go because it keeps me heart-centered for weeks, sometimes months afterwards. There were not as many costumes or parading on the deck during dinner times as there usually is. The atmosphere was more subdued. Keystone was the Queen Registrar and he set the theme as "Integrity and Transgression", so different from past themes such as "Passage to India". I have never seen a gathering where the theme made such an impact, where it was on everyone's lips throughout. On Thursday night, David Weissman showed his new documentary, "We Were There", about 5 survivors on the front lines of the AIDS crisis in San Francisco in the 80s and 90s. It was devastating, and excellently done. Mark Lunetta and I held hands through the length of it, as we balled our eyes out like everyone else.
I enjoyed the hot springs the first two days but my lack of sleep from the previous week caught up to me Friday. After lunch I returned to my room to have a one hr nap and woke up just before the dinner bell. There was not enough time before the fashion show/auction that night to have another soak, and on Saturday I had the trots again--a perennial problem at BB with the change of water and food--and didn't risk a soak in case of a sudden bowel movement.
I hung around the lodge instead. Cuz'n found me there and asked me to be part of a dance/movement piece with four other men, though he wasn't sure what the performance piece would be. I told him I was comfortable doing it because of my disability, because I am so self-conscious and afraid of losing my balance, etc. He said that is OK and he'd be back to get me later. I tried to make myself scarce after that but he found me in my room an hour or so before dinner. He had found his four other men, Crow Dog, Sparkle, Jonsie and Pussytoes. Jonsie also has a disability.
We tried out several things in the library until we had something that seemed very interesting: The other 4 would lie on the carpet, one on top of the other from biggest to smallest and I came up from behind to place my right hand on Jonsie's lower back and my right on his shoulders. Then I lowered my forehead to Jonsie's back and held it there before we unstacked and formed a line of 5. We paired off and the one on the end who was left out crumpled to the ground, then we reformed into different pairs and the fellow on the other end crumpled to the ground. We reformed the line with Sparkle and Pussytoes in the middle. Crow Dog and I took turns drawing horizontal black lines on their respective chests and Jonsie completed the picture by drawing a vertical line on Pussytoes' chest to make him "positive" and leaving Sparkle "negative". Myself and the other two stepped back to witness them. Sparkle hesitated, them embraced Pussytoes, rubbing his face over Pussytoes' chest and smearing the + sign onto his face. They pulled apart and removed and traded their swim suits while we turned away. That was it--it was over. It went over very well, in spite of all my earlier concerns, including a bout of diarrhea just before the performance. It was my first performance in 50 years, since I was 6 or so.

Penney-less

I met Craig Penney at the Fountainhead after work today. It wasn't the joyful connection I was hoping for. He admitted to me in an email about two hours before I left work that he intended me to only be a friend and that one of the major reasons was my disability. Why does that news always hurt so badly? Is it just that I have too much pride and vanity, that I lack the dignity to walk away unscathed? I see so much beauty in him, the kindness in his eyes, his reverence for his elderly relatives, his humour and wit, his ability to express himself in words, and his physical beauty too, all of which makes me want to throw my arms around him.

I can't say he wasn't glad to see me, that he didn't stand up to hug me when I stood to leave. I am sure at some level he still wants to be my friend, whatever that might mean. Surely he enjoys sending me several emails a week describing his house cleaning. But now my words choke in my throat. There isn't much that I care deeply about that I want to share with him at this point. If he had told me he was preoccupied with someone else, that he enjoys his independence too much or that he was just into Asians, I could have accepted that peacefully. Instead, he can't love me because of my disability. He can't see the real me or let me in.

Of course it hurts much more because I am so attracted to him, because I let myself want him. I am angry with myself for that, and filled with self-loathing for the moment. What will I say now when he writes or speaks to me like a friend? How can I trust his words when he tells me he cares about me after kicking me in the heart like that? Of course, he was just being honest, more honest that most gay men -- brutally honest, in fact. And I find it totally totally understandable that he finds my disability repugnant; totally understandable and totally unforgivable.

I was terribly uncomfortable sitting alone with him with all of these thoughts of rejection whirling around inside my head, trying to make small talk until his real friends showed up. I did my best to conceal it but it must have been somewhat obvious. Unheroically, I brought up stories of others who had agreed with him, who had found my disability unattractive, threatening or embarrassing. I wanted him to see how hurtful their actions were so that he might reflect on his own, but there is really no point to it. These is nothing to salvage after the milk has soured.

Still, when I hugged him goodbye I so didn't want to let him go. I am pleased I didn't get angry as that wouldn't have helped anything. It would only have masked the pain and sadness I need to process. Writing this down is helping immensely but I still am not sure how to respond to his inevitable emails when they come. I have been running through many scenarios but they all feel inadequate. Perhaps I will just apologize for not being able to answer for the time being, without saying why exactly. That way I won't provoke a discussion or argument, and I won't say anything I will regret. Our connection has been so short that perhaps he will forget about it soon enough. I won't.


The problem with bull shit is that you can never add enough sugar to make it taste sweet. - Luke Warmwater

My nephew....

My nephew Richard contacted me last week after almost two years of silence. When he was 17 he moved out of my sister's home and a year later severed contacts with all branches of the family to build his own life without interference. For years he endured his mother's erratic and explosive behaviours, filled with threats, guilt trips and outbursts of temper. I know this side of her well, and have seen that her motives are often selfish and her treatment of others is frequently mean or malicious.

When she became pregnant with him at age 36 she never told his father, deciding that Rich would be better off without one. She raised him single-handedly, but not competently or with much kindness. She kept him under her thumb and tried to dictate his every move. She was constantly critical of him and he was on his best behaviour all through puberty while her menopause dragged on over the decades. She pulled him out of school at age 12, when peer groups are so essential, because she said he wasn't trying hard enough at school. Home schooling did nothing to improve their relationship.

At age 13, she kicked him out because he wasn't doing his homework, dropping him off half a block from my door with no money or spare clothes for a few days. Probably, she just needed a break but didn't know how to ask for support. She wouldn't speak to me about it, wouldn't tell me how long it was for or what I was to do with him. Instead of explaining her behaviour or apologizing later, she treated me with hostility. She sent a copy of her will with Rich, which made it clear I was to get nothing. Four days later she contacted Rich on his cell phone to have him meet her around the corner from my place but deliberately not telling me.

A couple months later she moved from Surrey to Langley without telling me. She has never invited me to see her home in the 7 years since then. She eventually let Rich return to school, but by then he had learned that she was unpredictable, and that he could not rely on her. She held his economic dependence on her like a sword over his head. She scolded, humiliated and threatened him frequently, often threatening to kick him out if he didn't do what she wanted. Once he aptly called her "Mommy Dearest" and she just lost it. Another time he locked himself in his bedroom and smashed everything he owned with a baseball bat for an hour or two. She was afraid to call the police I suppose for fear of what he would tell them. He told her that he did it to avoid taking the bat to her.

As he grew older an ice age set in between the two of them. She suggested they go to separate private sessions with a counselor, and he agreed until he realized a few weeks later that she wasn't going. She had only gone to one session and had told the counselor Rich was the only one who had a problem. From that the point on Rich realized there could be no reconciliation and began looking for the door.

Finally, one night it came to a head when he was trapped over at his best friend Matt's house by a heavy rainstorm (a "Hollywood rain" as he described it). She had promised to pick him up but then said she was too tired. Matt's family couldn't drive him home but they offered to let him stay over. Sis told him she wanted him to walk home in the rain anyway but he said he would come in the morning instead. When he got home she ordered to be out of the house by noon. He called her bluff, and Matt's parents, horrified by the torment he was always going through, helped him move out that day. They have acted as his surrogate parents ever since.

Her life has been a secret misery since then, but no one really feels sorry for her. She has betrayed most members of our family at one time or another. Richard isn't ready to let her back into his life, even after three years. When he speaks of his mother, the frustration and exasperation rises to his face. "I'm a very cool guy in all parts of my life. I never lose my temper except when she is around. She knows all my buttons and looks for every opportunity to push them. I just can't live with her anymore."

He had no falling out with me or his grandmother, but a year after he moved out I suppose he realized he needed a major vacation from family to end any indirect contact with my sister. But he came back as I knew he would eventually, and even insisted on taking me out for lunch. His "homecoming" with me came shortly after my own falling out with sis 7 weeks ago, after she sent me a racist, homophobic rant by the 60-Minutes anchor Andy Rooney, which she introduced with the comment "Isn't it wonderful that no one stopped him from saying this!" This, after I, her gay brother, loaned her $5300 last year, which she promised to return promptly, then quickly forgot her promise.

I was delighted by Richard's visit on Saturday. He has grown in the past two years since I last saw him. He is still thin and lanky, but taller than before and his face has become more adult-looking. He even sports a bit of chin hair. He definitely looks closest to my brother Rob, though a bit more handsome. More than his good looks, I was touched by his openness and honesty. He has a warm, kind heart and seems not to learned any of the many undesirable traits of his mother. He is such a together kid, wise for his age and with a well-polished sense of irony. He says he will contact sis again someday but that he is in no hurry.

We ate lunch at the Fountainhead Pub, and he even had a beer without the waiter asking for his ID. We shard a lot of family stories. He didn't know that Dad had committed suicide on my birthday 14 years ago, and didn't know that his mother had had a major operation in December 2008 to remove a grapefruit sized tumor on her ovaries that was first diagnosed as terminal cancer. He was a bit incensed that no one had told him but he wasn't talking to us and sis said she would contact him later when the disease became more critical. Afterwards, he played a couple games of
Settlers of Catan with me before driving back to Langley.

He promised to keep in regular touch, which I was pleased about. He is the only member of the family I will get to see now, as no one else can be bothered. Besides Mom, he's probably the only one I want to see.

post-Pride exhaustion

Flash & Doozer arrived around 11pm on Saturday night, having barely caught the ferry from Galiano to Tsawwassen. Doozer was running late trying to cash in the final three tables at his pizza restaurant job. Flash had come in to help him as they were short-staffed and they both had to make a mad dash down the dock to catch the boat at the last minute.

They dragged their asses in here while late, kisses and hugs all around as they hadn't stayed with me for more than 2 years. They went out for a quick bite and then came back in. Then we crashed, they using my bed and me using the futon sofa in the living room. We all slept hard.

It's was my big idea to make them breakfast of eggs pacifica bennies on English muffins with Hollandaise sauce, avocados, tomatoes and grapefruit juice. Afterward, Flash donned his woman's polyester pant suit, earrings and clown hat and set off to glide along with the Pride parade, juggling his bowling pin-shaped batons while roller-blading. Doozer and I walked up to Bute St and north to Robson to watch the parade. We found stools on the patio of the Bread Garden 100m off the parade route but up the hill with a slight overview of the passing spectacle.

The parade held no surprises. The pleasure was in Doozer's charming Southern smile and kind-heartedness. After the parade had passes and the crowds had thinned somewhat we headed back to my place and played a couple games of Settlers of Catan. Doozer wasn't much of a strategist but he was great to play with as he found it all be be such fun. He doesn't get all prissy and picky about the rules like Rich can often be. We ordered a pizza while Flash was picking up tickets for the Spitbash for the both of them. Eventually they headed off for the dance and I crashed.

Sunday they took me to breakfast at Joe's, and then Doozer headed back to Tsawwassen to catch the ferry back to Galiano. Cayenne arrived shortly after that. Flash went shopping for last minute supplies for his coming week of camping in Salmo at the Shambala concert and Cayenne took me to Moxie's Classic Grill where we met Jason, Tim and Clayton, the other "Harpies" who inhabit his tight social circle in SF. It was a brief meeting but they look like interesting guys.

Afterwards, Cayenne and I came home. Flash was back and in he midst of repacking his many bags. He had an amazing amount of stuff that I would think wasn't necessary. He was leaving very early and planned to be in bed early too, but Cayenne and I were able to squeeze in a game of Settlers of Catan and head off to bed while he was still at it.

I was awfully tired but Cayenne and I had a go at having sex. It was semi-successful. I really only wanted to cuddle but it was a bit too warm for that too. He was a restless sleeper prone to snoring at points so I had a broken sleep. When I woke at 5:30 I got up to see if Flash had slept in but he was already gone. I said my goodbyes to Cayenne and walked to work.

After a hellish day of dealing with the terminally bewildered who could not accept simple advice or answers without trying to argue about it for half an hour each, I dragged my sorry, unfocused mind and ass home, stopping on the way to get a shot in the ass from my doctor and do a little grocery shopping.

Cayenne had slipped my key under the door and I accidentally kicked it an irretrievable distance under the dishwasher while trying to pick it up. While I was trying to dig it out Danzante called. I had forgotten that tonight I had agreed to let him put me through an art therapy exercise for his counseling course. I wasn't in the mood and even less so when he told me what it was: to draw all my family members (full bodied, no stick figures) doing something. I did my best, choosing to draw them doing what they they like to do. We talked about it and I reluctantly put on my shoes to open the garage door for him.

This isn't good writing, I know, and I feel so wasted that I am useless. All I want to do is sleep.

Pride weekend begins

Pride weekend will be fabulous this year! It's sunny and warm with occasional cloud cover for relief. Milestones renovated last year, reducing the size of its balcony. That means Aunty Tinkerbell only got 4 seats on the reduced patio this year, enough for Peter, Michael & Scott from Calgary and himself. So for the first time in 5 years or so I am without plans.

Flash and Doozer will be coming in from Galiano Island late this evening, around 10, after Doozer finishes his shift at the restaurant and Flash has closed his table at the farmers' market. I'm looking forward to that. Neither of them has stayed with me since May 2008, a week after we returned from Tennessee, and I haven't even seen Doozer since then, although we have exchanged some great emails.

My oldest friend Larry was hoping to come into town from the Sunshine Coast today too, but mainly to link up with a friend visiting from the US. He was to share my bed, which I had mixed feelings about because it is already warm and he snores. Last night I got his phone message saying his friend would only be in town today so he decided not to make the trip into town. I sigh a sigh of relief.

Doozer will head home after the parade as he has to work Monday, so his visit will be short and hopefully sweet. Flash will stick around to Tuesday morning. Cayenne is arriving from the airport sometime after 3pm Monday and will stay the night. That puts me in a bit of an awkward situation as Flash refuses to sleep with me (doesn't trust the old troll), which required me to ask Cayenne, who barely knows me, to share my bed Monday night. That could be interesting, although he has warned me that he snores. Perhaps he will make it up to me in other ways.

I am still not at my best. After an evening of conversation and frivolity at Kal's Thursday night where I consumed more than 3 glasses of wine, my insides have been in havoc. He wanted his 5 visitors including myself over right after work. We began drinking without dinner--just spicy, greasy potato chips to munch on. I brought along some frozen mini-quiches and sausage rolls, a pie wedge of brie cheese and some wasabi dried peas to add to "dinner". Besides getting a bit drunk (Kal walked me home the 3 blocks to ensure I didn't end up in Emergency) the wine caused a huge acid reflex in me that kept me awake most of the night. The next morning I was sick, a disgusting flow of rancid diarrhea, and I couldn't stomach food.

I still can't seem to as everything I eat rekindles the acid reflex. Today my intake will consist of plain yogurt, Immodium and Rolaids. I have two loads of laundry underway.

Evelina & Rick

I have two couch surfers arriving any minute: Evelina Chen from Indonesia and her travel companion, an American named Rick. They were scheduled to arrive tomorrow night but I got an e-mail message asking me at the last minute if they could arrive tonight instead.

Evelina has had a series of courageous and widespread adventures in various parts of North America, including many of the parks in the American SW and looks like an interesting person to meet, but all of a sudden several red flags are coming up.

If finding a hotel might cost them hundreds of dollars in the peak season, why wouldn't they invest in a couple dollars to call me to confirm it would be OK, and who would be so inconsiderate to ask for such a last minute change without even apologizing for the inconvenience that might cause their host, especially since they'd be arriving in the later evening.

They didn't get my prompt reply to say it would be OK, so they send me a phone message when they knew I'd be at work today asking me to text them at Rick's work phone, which they failed to check. Finally they called me at home an hour or so ago from Burnaby, about half an hour away, but they had to drop someone off. Evelina asked if I go to bed early. I foolishly said by 11:30 or so, instead of 10, so they might not bother to show up until then. I obviously won't have much time to talk to them before bed, before trusting them with the keys to my place. Tomorrow night may be the only chance I get to spend time with them, if they make themselves available.

Hmmm. I hope I won't regret offering accommodation to them. The last couch surfer, an older gay American named Alan Hatch, stood me up without bothering to call or e-mail. I didn't give him a negative reference because, frankly, I was glad he didn't show up. I wasn't in the mood and perhaps the Universe was giving me the space I needed.

A Penney for my thoughts....

I am in lust, or longing, or whatever you call it. His name is Craig and we met on Halloween 2008. He's a friend of my friend Kal. He was dressed as a cowboy and I was instantly fascinated, but he was somewhat hung up on Kal, who was newly out and oozing freedom hormones. Kal fortunately didn't feel the same way about Craig, but I figured I had no chance given the circumstances.

I would see Craig sometimes on weekends at the Fountainhead Pub, a frequent hang out of mine. He would come in from New Westminster, where he lives, if Kal would be there, and Kal, a social butterfly, always had a circle of friends around him. Craig, on the other hand, was rather shy by comparison and felt more comfortable speaking only to those he knew so it wasn't easy in all the noise to get to know him. The circle of friends, outside of Kal and Craig, made no effort to include me when I tried to join them so I usually kept my distance.

Times changed. Kal met the love of his life and totally settled down. Craig gave up on winning him over and came in less often, but he kept in touch with Kal and Kal always updated me on what and how Craig was doing. Neither of them really knew how attracted I was to Craig.

A few months ago I saw Craig sitting with his group of drinking friends as I was on my way out, and I stopped to say hello. I placed my arm around his shoulders as I chatted with him. It felt wonderful and he seemed to soak it up, but I left after a few minutes so not to have my affection appear to be a cheap come on. The next day he asked Kal to arrange a time to bring him over to see my art. Kal told about his request but never followed through.

I was amazingly patient and waited for him to call me. Two weeks ago he was on my mind a lot, and the next day Kal told me Craig had called him to ask him again to arrange a visit to come see me. It was terribly old fashioned but totally charming. After prodding Kal a couple times he finally sent me Craig's e-mail and I invited him to come over myself.

That was a week ago. He didn't come over because he was in the last minute rush to get things ready for his trip to the Maritimes where he's presently visiting three elderly aunts on Cape Breton and Newfoundland. Before he left, he did respond to me, saying he's like to be a closer friend, and in a series of messages over the next 3 days we confessed wanting to take it much further than just being friends.

He won't be back in town until August 6th, and we will both be busy much of the rest of the month. He'll be camping and I'll be taking in the Queer Film Festival and going to Breitenbush for 5 days, I hope. In September Brian and Dean are visiting for a week and then Nina Spadtke is returning from Germany at the end of the month. Then I'll have 16 days at the Vancouver International Film Festival. There won't be much time for dating for either of us so nothing is likely to happen too quickly.

But then again, an awful lot happened over a couple days just with e-mails. It felt like a Copernicus shift, when instead of the sun going around the world it's the other way around. I have lost interest in the chat lines and any faint glimmers of hope that were still smoldering (mostly illusions and there haven't been many). Neither of us have dated since the last millennium so it should be interesting. He is well aware of my disability and sees beyond that to something more beautiful, which isn't easy to get to with another gay man. But I still cannot quite believe that anything will ever happen. I am too defensive to go there yet, which is probably the true source of my incredible patience. But wouldn't it be wonderful....

a hazy, warm summer Saturday

Summer finally hit last Monday, a wall of sunshine and patches of cloud that will stretch until mid-to-late August, when our 6-week quota of warm weather dries up. It was a hottish week, temperature reaching 28C but the water and 33 inland. I've been low energy in the heat of my condo, falling asleep stretched out naked on top of my sheets and throwing one sheet over my legs in the middle of the night when the night air cools off.

Last night a thin layer of clouds came in, more a streaky haze than actual cloud. It has lowered the temperatures a little and made working on my glass work a definite possibility today. I went to bed late but woke up early, around 7, a filtered sunlight already streaking through the red-orange-gold-tan coloured abstract mosaic I put into my French doors that separate my bedroom from my workshop.

I was at Joe's Diner by 8:10 and on my way to Kona to buy more background glass for Yves' bamboo window. I am using Duncan "Rain", an elegant and expensive glue chip I am quite fond of but which Kona will soon stop restocking. I bought 4 sq ft just to have a little extra around. The half-hour bus ride to the store was pleasant but already getting warm. I am glad I got this done early. From the upper part of Knight St the blue, almost snow-free mountains don't look so wonderful through the warm brown haze. Still, the sunshine and warmth, accompanied by the early morning quiet and the promise of a full day ahead of me, put me in a positive and loving mood. I was thinking that if I had someone, it would be a perfect day for cuddling romantically in each others' arms.

But no such luck. I finally connected with Craig P after Kal forwarded his e-mail. It has been perhaps 5 months or more since I last saw him at the Fountainhead Pub. That last time I held his shoulders in a gentle, protective embrace as we chatted. He seemed very receptive to my touch and later suggested to Kal that he bring him to my place to see my glass. Months passed. For some strange reason I thought about him again the week before last and the next day Kal told me he had received an e-mail from him asking again when Kal would bring him over to my place. With a little reminder from me, Kal sent his e-mail and I contacted him directly to invite him to visit me.

Nothing has happened since then. Craig said he was probably coming downtown last night (he lives in New Westminster) but he didn't contact me. He hasn't yet phoned me or offered me his number. Ours will be an e-mail relationship for now, until he either decides to respond to my show of interest (which will probably not happen now that I have expressed it) or until we lose interest in the endless procrastination. He emailed me this morning to say he is off home to Newfoundland for his summer vacation very soon. The optimism of a new friendship has been moved to the back burner after only two days.

But there is always the glass and the writing inviting me to spend quality alone time with myself. I have only 47 pieces left on the bamboo window, most of which I hope to have done by this evening.

of Singapore, cats and cargo

My old friend Wai Sing swung through town last weekend, on his way from visiting his family in Montreal to his new home in Singapore. He was hauling an amazing amount of luggage, including a 50 lb suitcase with wheels, a sports bag with about 40 lbs in it (by the time he left) and a 20 lb computer bag.

He arrived around 8 pm, the same evening as I was coming down with a whopper of a head cold, my second this year. For the entirety of his 27 hr visit I was having alternating coughing and sneezing fits. Other than that his visit was wonderful.

He had brought many gifts for his family and friends, a Singapore T-shirt for me, and was hauling back a cargo of items he could not easily buy in Singapore, including canned sardines, Premium crackers, black peppercorns and two cat carriers, amongst many other things.

The cat carriers are for two street cats he and his wife have become extremely fond of. Their housing authority does not allow couples to keep cats in their condo and there has been a complaint about the cats Wai Sing and his wife feed. Wai Sing is afraid the government will have a cull of stray cats in the area, so he plans to vaccinate and ship their two favourite strays back to a better life in Canada. Lucky cats.

Wai Sing had many observations about Singapore. He says it is a rule-driven city and that's its people are very shallow, mostly concerned with acquiring wealth and image and little more. Local men don't like marrying local women, he says, because they are only after the 3 C's: cars, cash and condo. The city is 70% Chinese and there is a strong disdain for Malays amongst them, which is why Singapore was forced out of Malaysia in 1960. The government encourages the growth of the Chinese population over other races so it upsets them that so many Singaporean men bring in foreign brides, often not Chinese. This time a Singaporean woman has found a foreign husband who, although Canadian, happens to be also Chinese, but it hasn't helped him get his landing papers any faster.

Wai Sing loves to cycle, though Singapore streets are too narrow and the weather too hot. We met while we were on our respective tours of Europe in Lille, France, in 1991, though we have never cycled together. He was injured by a taxi just before I met him in the Lille youth hostel, and could not ride for a couple weeks. We exchanged addresses and, when we were both back in Canada, he in Montreal and I in Toronto at the time, we reconnected. A year or two later he moved to Toronto with his current girlfriend and started the Ontario Cyclist newsletter, which I contributed articles to.

Since I moved to Vancouver 14 years ago I have only met him once, when I visited Toronto in 2004. He has taken on another role, being my web master for my stained glass art website -- www.intergate.ca/~tomilson This was his first visit to my home since then, and I had to have a major cold. Of course, I complained about how I felt like shit, which was honest. He told me I was being a drama queen. None of my gay friends has ever accused me of this, but then perhaps I am not in comparison. Since he has pointed it out to me, yes, I do appear to be a bit of a drama queen from time to time. Being sick does bring it out of me.

Wai Sing left Saturday night, after making two separate trips to the airport so that he wouldn't have to carry all three bags at once. He was already so tired after he dropped the first one off that he fell asleep and missed his exit on the return. He showered, changed and was out the door again with his last two bags in 15 minutes. His flight left at 2am Sunday morning, probably arriving late Monday in Singapore. It takes 13 hours to get to Hong Kong and probably 3 more to get to Singapore and a stop-over.

Thanks Wai Sing. Hope you made it safely.

Quiet chaos

It was a calm pleasant morning on Monday, cloudy but mild. I was awake by 6:20 and into the shower half an hour early. I made my lunch and got out the door a few minutes after 7, 40 minutes early. I used my head start to go for breakfast at Joe's Diner, a block away.

Being out early is like a blessing. The sidewalks are empty, the traffic still fairly light. That morning was gentle, fresh and alive. I felt grateful for our peaceful world where there are no government oppression, no gangs, no squalor, no violence.

I made my way from the back door up the hill through the parking lot to Burrard St. I had just reached the street when I noticed a Busters tow truck hoisting up an illegally parked car. I was thinking to myself how fortunate I am not to be a car owner.

The driver hopped into the cab and began to drive away just as I was along side of him. He was towing the car from the rear, but its front wheel steering had not been locked. As the driver gently pulled away from the curb the front wheels turned and the front end of the car swung into the curb. As gentle as the morning breeze, it rolled up onto the sidewalk and hit the parking meter beside me, bending it flat to the ground, but not before it tore a size-able hole in the side of the car's front end.

The driver got out and calmly surveyed the extensive damage as I continued on. It was a simple mistake with undoubtedly huge consequences to follow He had ruined not only the side of the car, the parking meter, his day and his week, but perhaps his employment as well.

Chaos comes suddenly, without warning or provocation, and the damage is extensive and non-retractable. My life is peaceful and consistent for now, but any day chaos could arrive in the form or a fall or an accident I cannot step out of the way of. It will be much like this.

Chat lines

I am effort to put myself more "out there" for making new social contacts, such as friends and potential dates, I have tried frequenting gay.com over the past two months. I cannot yet say anything good has come out of it, but I can certainly say lots of bad things have.

The very limited number I have met through the lines have all been either frauds, freaks or con artists, but usually it never gets anywhere close to that. The first step is to make contact, which either involves lying in wake awaiting for a prey to bite, like a tarantula or a venus fly trap, hoping that someone will IM (instant message) me to start a conversation, or by taking the rejection risk of inviting others to partake in a conversation.

One can grow moldy waiting for the first option to happen. I have learned that of 100 people signed in, 90 may be away from their computers or have the chat line running in the background while they do other work all day. Some, for some unknown reason, even leave it on after they have gone to sleep, though it could be said many signed on are permanently in a state of sleep.

The second method is definitely harder on the ego, especially if you don't have a headless naked torso shot of a defined hard physique and are under the age of 32. 95% of my attempts to strike up a chat fall on infertile ground. Most (80%) don't bother to reply at all. Some will reply with the standard tit-for-tat pat introduction phrases (or single 'words' in some cases) that can have very extended gaps between replies. They usually fall silent after 3 to 6 exchanges, rarely revealing anything real about the person I was talking to.

A few others actually start a real conversation about art, travel, or life problems, something beyond just an interview for their next sexual or marital experience. Some of them take my phone number or give me theirs, though they never call and are not there when I do. One from Colombia even talked to me for two hours, over which time we agreed we were mutually attracted, had many similar interests, were likely sexually compatible and had similar emotional needs. The next day though, after making me promise to meet on line again, he told me he wasn't interested in any kind of on-line dating, which I quickly agreed to, and then proceeded to block my responses using a setting that makes his presence invisible to me. Only 3 calls have led to a meeting, all very dead end and regrettable, but never has it led to a possible friendship.

I have 3 remote possibilities which have not yet crashed and burned; one an intelligent Thai guy who chats between serving customers in a hotel in Penticton, another a local fellow into yoga who is mildly interested in chatting but is always multi-tasking as we do, and a young lanky blond fellow (31) in New Westminster who I just contacted two days ago.

I always feel like apologizing for being 55, almost a sin on the chat lines if you initiate a conversation, though I hate setting myself up in a beggar situation. I am not desperate and am actually NOT hunting for a fuck. I am one of very few (less than 10%) who actually have taken the time to write a profile describing themselves and/or what they are looking for. I am getting exasperated by my frustrated efforts.

I suppose, as a generalization, chat lines are no more intended for chatting than bath houses are for bathing.

Friends

It's amazing how dependent on my friends I am. I haven't seen any of them for a week, since Eric & Fred came over last Sunday. Normally on Sundays between 11 and 1, I go to Faerie Coffee to meet several of them, but now Faerie Coffee is suspended and will likely relocate to another part of the city to make it more accessible to other Faes. It has replaced with a big emptiness, fitting for such a grey, wet day.

There was a long line-up at Joe's Diner today. This morning was the Sun Run around Stanley Park and the West End, one of the most popular annual events in Vancouver. I had forgotten. The restaurant was filled with lanky runner types and their friends who came to cheer them on or celebrate over brunch with them afterwards. It took a long time to get a seat and another long wait to get my food. I could have made breakfast at home but I needed to get out and be around other people, even in the line-up, although I didn't talk with anyone.

Now I am at home wondering how I will fill the rest of my day. I need something to motivate me and take my mind off my isolation.I am considering a new stained glass project, either Yves' bamboo window for his bedroom door, a dragonfly sun-catcher for Stitch or perhaps a new design for myself, an autumn tree in a wind storm, although I have no place to hang it.

mortgage problems

Late in March TD Bank completed the takeover of Citizens' Bank's mortgage department where I've held my mortgage for the past 8 years. I was reassured by both parties that the transition would be smooth and there was no need to phone. Then on April 16 I got a call from TD saying my mortgage was 2 payments in arrears because they had not received the payment information from Citizens'Bank. They asked me to bring a voided cheque to my local TD branch so they would have my payment information.

I brought the voided cheque to my local branch the next day, only to be told they could not accept it because it was voided. I silently smoldered as I asked the cute but clueless teller to take the account and transit numbers down anyway, since they would need this for future payments. He did tell me the mortgage number that TD had assigned to my account, since I hadn't received anything in writing from them since the takeover. He offered to take a payment out of my line of credit (which was fully paid off) but said he would need me to pay 4 payments. But I am only 2 payments in arrears, I protested to no avail. I asked to speak to a mortgage specialist but he said they were all busy and I'd need to come back next week. So I stomped out of the bank and returned home without making a payment, but at least now I had my mortgage account number.

I called TD's 800# with my new mortgage account number and related my problems. They agreed that I only owed 2 payments but said that they couldn't help me because my account had already been sent to their collections department as it was in arrears. There was nothing they could do until Collections was ready to contact me with threatening letters. I explained I received the news that it was in arrears only the night before and I had responded as fast as I could. I had plenty of money in a chequing account waiting to make the payments and a clear line of credit with the same bank and branch. Why couldn't they accept payment?!!

I was fuming by this point. It was not my fault the transition had not gone as smoothly as promised. They apologized and said it was highly irregular to accept a mortgage payment out of a line of credit but that in this case, since I was not to blame, they would "make an exception". That was a Saturday and the payment could not be processed until Monday but they took the numbers from my chequing account for future payments, numbers that would be verified by the local bank which had copied them from my voided cheque. I was assured over and over again that there would be nothing more I needed to do, that everything had been resolved. Furthermore, at my insistence, they would remove the interest charges on my line of credit that I would normally have to pay to cover the "loan".

That was 2 weeks ago. I phoned yesterday to make sure the latest bi-weekly payment had gone through smoothly last Wednesday. It hadn't. The first 2 payments in arrears had been paid from my line of credit on the 19th but the account numbers I had provided to both the local branch and the phone agents had not been recorded anywhere. I was put through to Collections who advised me to go down to the local branch again today and give them specific instructions to FAX though a copy of a voided cheque to their office so they could take out the latest payment that was in arrears.

I went to the local branch after breakfast this morning and spoke to another teller, not as cute but equally clueless. He said he had to get permission from his mortgage department to FAX the cheque to Collections. I asked him to check to see if I would be sent a monthly statement about my balance. He got permission but the mortgage department but said they only send out statements annually. The first statement I'd receive would be on the anniversary of their botched take-over.

I was back home a short while later when I got a call from the teller saying the FAX would not go through. He had tried it four times. He said either they were closed or that the number they gave me was incorrect. I asked if he could find out which of these it was by checking the number and whether they were open on Saturdays. He said he didn't know how. I asked if he could at least try putting it through again on Monday, but he said I would need to come down again with another voided cheque on Monday. That would mean taking half a day off work to get that done, with no assurances that it would happen anyway.

So I called the 800# again, which I have now memorized, and spoke to another agent. She kept me on hold the better part of 45 minutes while she checked the rules, which she claimed, contradicting the last phone agent, that she could take over the phone. But first she had to take yet another payment out of my line of credit. She promised that she would do a little calculation and remove the interest charges of the 3 payments. She claims to have made "extensive" notes to instruct others what needs to be done. A loud voice was screaming in my head' "But they won't do it!"

"Don't you worry, Sir," she tried to reassure me. "I have fixed the problem for good. I'm your buddy now! We're as good as married." Then she went on to give me a speech about the importance of good customer service and dedication to one's job. blah blah blah.... Your little buddy is wielding a baseball bat at the moment, I was thinking under my breath while I endured her self-basting assessment of the quality of her work. She assured me there was no need to call again.

Right! And as soon as my $2600 tax refund comes through I will pay off the penalty for leaving my mortgage contract early and head to another bank!

a senior's moment

(Update: I'm on my 3rd day home with a head cold. The sore throat is gone and although I feel stronger today I am glad I stayed home. At this moment I am at the peak of the runny nose/sneezing phase. It is miserable. I have post-nasal "waterfall" and I blow my brains out every few minutes in a sneezing fit. I've given up on tissues and am resorting to paper towels because they are larger. My nose is raw. Somebody shoot me now!)

Yesterday, when I got up to the cashier at Shoppers' Drug Mart she smiled at me with a glint of recognition in her eye. "Are you..." I was flattered that she might recognize me. She hesitated and began again with a slight blush in her cheeks. "Are you.... ("that famous stained glass artist who did that window..." I expected her to say) ...55?"

"What?" I said, caught totally off-guard.

"I'm sorry. I hate asking people that, but today is Seniors' Day in the store and you could get 10% off for your purchases...."

There's a first for everything. I've never been asked that before. There goes my self-image of one who looks years younger than his age. Nothing quite like having someone piss in your soup. I took the crappy 10% discount out of spite and glumly left the store.


"There's nothing as inconvenient as an old queen with a head cold." - Robert Preston in "Victor Victoria"