Riverside Stroll

Didn't mean to discover a free concert on one of the Riverside Park piers, but did.
Didn't mean to happen upon a couple of boys kissing on the park bench, but I did.
Didn't mean to get wistful about spending the rest of my life alone.
Didn't mean to be gay.
Didn't mean much of anything.
But here we are.

Another Job Well Done

Therapy is awesome. It's an amazing, life-affirming process.

I was going to go to a pretty well-known center here in NYC to get some therapy for myself...until I realized it was a little TOO well-known. One of my clients goes there. I don't know how regularly, but the way my life goes, it'll be on the day I go.

The People Whisperer

I can't watch a convincing portrayal of an Asperger's Syndrome person without identifying with them. I've done this before, blogged about myself in terms of my possible diagnosis. Well, here we go again. I don't think I've detailed how much I think I'm like Abed on NBC's Community, but of course, I am. Now there's a new autistic character on Syfy's ALPHAS who I'm much less alike than I am like Abed...and mind you, I'm not as monotone as Abed is. Not as grandly "different" (and entertaining) but ... I sit outside of people's experiences and look in and THAT'S the common thread that I feel with all the autistic characters, severe or otherwise, that I see on TV & movie screens.

I choose to believe that this lends me some skill in a bunch of areas. I think, for instance, that I'm a good writer because I pay attention to my observations. I also think I'm a good therapist because I can read a lot of the cues in voice, body language, and language-choice use. Those are good skills to have, right?

Of course, the drawbacks are phenomenal. Obviously. The drawback = a disorder. That's why it's got a label, or is given "syndrome" as a last name. Having this thing that makes me different has limited my life in major ways.

So let me share with you what this syndrome looks like from inside of my head looking out; "If I don't feel safe, I don't do it."

Sounds simple, right? Doesn't even sound like a disorder. Ah, well no ... the basic principle is not the disordered part. The basic principle is survival instinct. It has helped bring us through the millenia as a viable species.

No, the level I take this instinct to is what makes it a disorder. When I can't figure out a thing in order to make my world a safe place, I avoid that thing. And so, I think my adaptation has caused be to be able to figure out people in a way to foster safety for myself. People aren't so scary if I can quantify them and explain their behaviors to myself. When you're bullied in elementary school on up, you find that a real necessary skill for survival.

But what I haven't been able to figure out is this whole sexual terrain. I haven't been able to regulate the information of sex. I haven't had morality explained to me well enough to accept it.

Now, I did TRY to get it figured out when I went to extreme religion at 16. I took all the information in, hook, line and sinker. I made it my instructions for life operation. And it woorked for a good while. Kept me nice and cozy and gave me a safe place to live-- until my sexual urges stopped fitting into that framework.

Now 30 years later, I haven't found a suitable replacement for the lost information. I'm gay. So how does THAT work? Butt sex? Really?? Where there's FECES??? How can THAT be right???

But I can't even pretend that's the biggest hang-up I've got. (It's possibly #3 on the Top Ten though). My biggest hang-up is to figure out how to be safe in the entire Emotionally Vulnerable spectrum of life. How do you let guards down and trust people and believe they will be for you, and not use your vunerability to crush your life away? How do you get to that level? How do *I*??

Just saying "hello" to the sexually attractive creature right next to me at the gym feels like a leap off the Niagra Falls. How then do I go any further than that? How do I live homosexually? How do I align my life with all the sexual freedom-fighters putting themselves of the front lines?? How do I assume those risks??

In the absence of understanding how, I have actively NOT. By "actively" I mean that my brain has found me ways of compensation on a superpowered level. I can find scapegoats, blockers, reasons and excuses enough to pardon Hitler from Hell, much less keep me out of this battle.

And it all boils down to this; "If I don't feel safe, I don't do it."

Sex is my Last Frontier. I've never done it beause it has never seemed safe. I blog and I blog and I prod into my friends' lives and I tease and I wheedle and I cojole and I flirt and I do everything I can to get this information from people both real and imagined ... and I've barely scratched the surface.

Sex is not quantifiable. Sex is unknowable and unknowing. Sex is irrational and primitive. Sex is a farce. It's a panacea. It's a lifeline. It's humanity's binding force. It's a paradox. It's a lifebringer. It's our species' only manner of survival. It's our species' greatest curse.

I don't know it. I don't know anything about it.

I don't want it.

I won't do it.

I want to do it.

Eating Alone

I used to love it. Get my book and read and eat, and zone out and be left alone. But when I wanted to go out with company, I couldn't find any. So I went alone. It felt MUCH different. It felt lonely and like I had somehow failed in a job I had.

When did I stop being okay with being by myself?

Did You Know I'm A Vegan Now?

Not really. I don't actually align myself with the philosophy, nor have I resigned myself to a life without meat, but today certainly marks a week without it. Veggies, seasoned and flavored, thick and juicy, make for wonderful substitutes. If I can sink my teeth into them and chew it like meat, and if it fills my stomach like meat, then I'm satisfied. Each meal.

I'm doing it for weight loss. The worst reason EVER right? But I want abs, and my new identity as a runner hasn't taken me there all the way yet, so I trying something new. If I see my abs like I want, then I could get used to it.

I want abs.

On Saturday He Gets Drunk

Or at least, as drunk as I allow. A quarter of a pint of Jack Daniels mixed in with Coke. Makes me lightheaded. Fun to feel.

It Did Happen

I left the house well before 4:30 today.

I just had to get my workout on. I had to put it on myself, peel and squeeze these last ten lbs out.

Slowly but surely.

Too Darn Hot!

Actually, just hot enough to keep me in the house until 4:30pm.

People Enough

Tell me how this is possible...how does a person encourage someone else to power through their pain and the bone-deep throb of rejection when they themselves have spent all of their life avoiding the exact same thing? How does a person tell a homosexual man that "it gets better" when he himself is a homosexual man who is too terrified to find out the truth of that statement for himself?

I said this July might be the month that I came out of the closet but I'm sure I lied. I've told people close to me, and even told one guy who now will not be my friend because of some petty disagreement we had -- so I've taken some risks with some questionable characters. I just don't seem to be willing to do it with ALL OF THEM.

But I feel such conviction for my clients. I believe such good things for them. I believe they have strength I haven't seen yet. I believe that no matter how hard it will grow for them, they will persevere because that's what we do. I believe that they have me and will have others step into their lives to help them carry their load when it grows heavy enough to crush them. I believe all that is true, except ... In my own case.

I'm wrong of course. If what I believe is true then it's true for ALL of us. If what I think is possible, it's possible because we MAKE it so. We do it for each other because WE want to. Where I must fail is because I don't believe that there will be people enough for me.

Will there be people enough for me?

Today's Therapy Session Created Tomorrow's Post

Wibbily wobbily, timey-wimey.
#timetravelinghindsightforeknowledge

Heat Wave

Finally arrived. "NYC Bakes, The World Takes."

Downsides; Forced to go out in that heat to meet a client who never showed.

Upsides; Bought some noise-cancelling earphones and so will therefore be fantastically sheltered from now on from the noisy antics on the subways.

Days Off RULE

The sun was a litttttle bit too warm today so I waited until 6-ish to go get my workout on and then do this; http://www.mapmyrun.com/routes/view/42035716/



I guess it's true that sometimes a midlife crisis can result is some pretty good changes. Good thing I don't have a wife or any kids to walk out on.

A Nap Does Wonders

Started out the day with a home visit turned into a scenic outing, which was nice, but it saw me walking too much under the warm-to-hot sunshine. 3 hours later, I found myself drained like kelp. I curled up on the subway back home and slept.

People, don't set a goal to sleep on the subway. The subway is not your friend. And no, I'm not talking about the possibility of a friendly neighborhood rat nuzzling your chin (the subject of a YouTube film that I refuse to watch, let alone post here). Nor am I refering to the chance that someone will roll you and take your shit while you sleep. Too many pissed-off New Yorkers on any given train to allow that to happen, I'm sure. I honestly trust my fellow NY'ers. We've jumped on subway tracks to help people, dammit. We're good people.

BUT!! I can count on only one hand the amount of times I've rode a train WITHOUT someone coming through the car blaring at the top of their lungs that they're "Sorry to bother you ladies and gentlemen and I do apologize for the inconvenience but..." to which they go on to tell of their misfortune. Or they proceed to play music I wouldn't buy myself for a $0.99 download, then charge us all for the performance. Or they'll dance and flip and clap and bang the car ceiling, turning the subway into the circus. Or they'll want to sell me stolen Welch's Fruit Snacks (where the hell else did they get them from?). Every time I try to catch a wink on the train, I leave angrier than I was when I got on. It's a problem.

However, yesterday the trip home was one of those exceptions. Saturday afternoon around 1 seems to be a buffered zone. Perhaps the homeless, hungry, street-dancing people of New York are on their lunchbreaks. But the nap was such that I was able to get home, cook me some lunchtime food, lie down for another respite then feel revived enough to GO BACK OUT ON THE TOWN BEFORE THE SUN WENT DOWN!

It was no big deal, really. I went to the high-profile candy store at 60th and 3rd Avenue for a sweet fix and ate substandard ice cream. I should've had ColdStone.

But leaving there, I took the Lexington Avenue line downtown in a protracted "I want to be out on the town" mood, and was overtly flirted with by a dude with a nice tan and golden body hair. I couldn't help stare at the hue of his legs. He looked like a benign tiger with no stripes. He was a little fidgety to begin with, which is how I noticed him (I can catch sight of a fly moving across a subway platform, trust me. I'm kind of hypervigilant that way. It's not always fun). Then our eyes met. He fussed with his arms, (the same light-bronze color as his legs, covered in soft golden down) and then took some either real or imagined long hair off his skin that a woman must have left. Being as I had someone next to me applying her makeup, this made me laugh. We exchanged a "I know right? These WOMEN" look. Then he kept trying to lock my eyes again.

At that point, I was out of the race. He really wanted something from me and I knew I wouldn't be delivering, so I kept turning my eyes away. That was quite the experience. Been a long time since I was the object of someone's lust like that. (Unles Faux Leonardo yesterday at the gym was giving it a try). But I knew that until I come out of the closet and reconcile the complete me with the world, I'm not going to be confident enough, or man enough, to treat an interested dude right.

So I let him go.

This time.

5 Miles

Friday was a phenomenal day. The house visit took place in a part of NYC that I think had it's design heyday in the 60's. You go into the lobbies of the buildings and you're walking into the set of "MADMen," "Catch Me If You Can," or this season's new "PanAm." I like it.

After I was dohe with that, I had the rest of the whole day free. So, naturally, I went to the gym and got my pump on. I'm now able and happy to run 5 miles instead of 3. (3 miles of straight running was quite the accomplishment when I did it, let me tell you.) It just takes me 40-50 minutes and sometimes I don't want to be on the treadmill for that long. I'd rather run out on the west Riverbank of Manhattan or in Central Park if I'm going for distance.

But the gym. How I do love that place. I've heard it called "Gay Church" from a gay man. Which, hey, I ain't mad at it. But I do wish the congregation where a bunch less shy than they are.

It's pretty clear that a lot of the straight men in gyms atre terrified of being though of as gay and are pretty insecure about their masculinity. Isn't that why we're all trying to max out our masculine appearance? But being that the case, it sure makes it hard to figure out which straight-appearing guys ARE gay! (As if I'd do anything if I knew!)

Regardless, I went back to a gym location that I hadn't seen in months, back when I was about 20 lbs heavier. I recognized some of that gym's regulars, including this one dude who seemed to favor hairgel a little too much. But he also appeared to make gains in his workout routine and I must say he had a DYNAMITE chest this time around. He's kind of Leonardo DiCaprio-ish without the big round head and female mouth. I liked his swagger. Again, it's no big thing because I won't/don't do anything with guys I'm attracted to at gyms. I just look.

Thing is, I noticed Faux Leonardo was looking too. Mind you, not just at me, but looking around--the way I do. When I notice that, I always imagine that Looker is just like me. Attracted to men but unable to make a connection. The presence of hairgel seemed to support that theory.

But what a sexy, tight, stout, hairy chest he had. Makes me want to go back again and again.

Until, of course, I see the next amazing guy at the next gym location.

Trust me, every gym has one.

While The Cat's Away

Did I mention that my roommate's out of town? Or I should say my "landlord." Because he's both. He's also a world-traveling band conductor and a mathematic savant who started a curriculum in quantum physics until he followed his passion for music performance. He practices day and night when he's home and we live in a small 3 room /1 bath/1 kitchen (no dining room, no livingroom) apartment, but what you're not going to believe is that I love it.

When he's playing, it's like the soundtrack of my life playing in the background. It's like I'm the principle player in an arthouse film.

But don't get me wrong, I don't miss him. He's not in any physical shape that I lust after. We aren't friends because we don't have that much in common. And even with the things we DO have in common, he's a bit socially awkward and doesn't really know how to share conversation space. Most times that we talked, he just kind of owned the convo and announced everything without listening. (I've witnessed that when he's on the phone at times.) But hey, I have to give him money every month to stay here, so there's no need to complicate that relationship as far as I'm concerned. The power differential prevents friendship. Much like the therapist/client relationship.

But being here alone this week has reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally made me remember how much I need to be my own man again. Living not in a room, but in my own place. My own space.

Do it.

Dooooooooo it.

Tripping The Rift

Buckle up, TARDIS crew! We need to revisit the days we missed!

VWOOOORP!! VWOOORRRP!! VVVVWWWOOOORRRRPPP!!!!

Hello Wednesday! Yeah, this was a day when I only had one house visit and then the rest of my day was free. No wonder I didn't blog! I spent the day nothing a lot of happy nothing!

I did spend some quality time being jealous of rich white people, if that helps. See, I did my house visit in a nice part of the city, where if you live there, you ain't doin it on the cheap. And I'm always wondering what people do to make this crazy money to live where they live in this city. How does one afford to pay $4000/month rent? Or, more absurdly, afford to buy a condo with a mortgage of possibly $2-3000/month and THEN pay monthly carrying charges/maintenance fee of $900-$2000 forever??

And more importantly, would I do it if I could afford it?

I can begrudge the rich white people, but why bother? Why spend the energy? To begin with, all white people aren't rich. And secondly, all rich people aren't white. And thirdly, I know what I have to do to bring more money into my life, and I'm not doing it at the moment so I have no right to be mad at anyone. I need to be mad at the dude in the mirror who won't get his shit together.

And I won't do that EITHER. Haha.

I Did Good Today

I love being a therapist. I love going in with people to find the logjams that has them stuck. I remember when I attended my first few sessions as a client and how I watched the guy in the chair wanting at any second to just go hug him and hold onto him for dear life.

I'm saying I always understand why people come to see me. I always know that feeling. I'm always giving it my all to answer their needs. I always respect them and love their process.

Today was one of those days that makes me remember why I do this.

People ROCK.

Procrastination Redefined

Today I spent a majority of my 'free time' doing work I could have and should have done in the last two weeks. In addition to the office sessions I do as a therapist, I also visit those with Traumatic Brain Injuries at their homes. In order to get paid, I have to enter the session's note through the computer to an online scheduling system. It's a nifty little tool. Right after each session, I have the ability to right the note as I'm transporting away. This is a reason why I bought an iPad. Talk about a lightweight, ridiculously 21st Century tool! The kids in the 1940's would go into catatonic shock if they ever saw this thing. Either that or become Issac Asimov.

But in that last two weeks, I didn't want to do anything but read comics as I left the sessions. I was tired. So, I paid for it yesterday.

I often define procrastination as the thing perfectionists do because we don't want to get it wrong when we try it. So we don't try. Then when the deadline "sneaks" up on us, we are forced to "just do it." That extra burst of "Oh shit, I gotta get this done" juice seems to either open up our intellect to perform outstandingly, or else it gives us the perfect excuse to accept a performance rating that comes in less than perfect. We can say "well, I let it go to the last second, so no wonder I got a lower score. Oh well." And somehow that makes us feel better about not being perfect. What ISN'T acceptable is if we take our time, use all the resources offered us to complete a project, and THEN get a low score/review.

Games people (LIKE ME) play.

How complex.

Unexpected Consequence

My 4th of July Central Park run netted me with a sunburn on the back of my neck. I had no idea what it was until I but two and two together. Pricky, itched, tender to the touch, and the only part exposed under the sun for an hour on a hot day.

BOOOO!

I thought the melanin in my cocoa brown skin was supposed to take care of that ish? I guess I'm whiter than I thought! Certainly I'm not as black as some have wished me to be, so I should have known!

So there goes the idea of me running shirtless! Plus, not *quite* there yet. Now I have two good excuses to wait until Autumn. It'll still be warm enough, and by then I should be all ripply.

Never too late!! Never too old!!

From Gallifrey

which could qualify me as a Time Lord! (TOLDJA I was a geek!)

Because I missed blogging over the weekend, but I intend to have an entry for every day in July as I planned, therefore, I'm going back in time and planting these posts on the appropriate date.

Yes, I will let my work ethic take a hit in the pursuit of being a completist.

46 and still growing!!

#cheater

#heybutatleastIadmittedit

Who's The Man

In case you haven't heard, my state recently made it legal for gay people to marry within it's borders. I've been so busy just trying to identify myself as one of them that I hadn't thought about what it meant to me personally. But now, I've been getting a real idea. And as a man, I don't know what to do with all these thoughts.

First off, I'm a singleton in this Big Apple. This means that I live off one income. My income is from the mental health field, which also means that it is LOW. It could be higher if I worked more cases per day, translating roughly, in both my jobs, to about $30 an hour. If I worked 40 of those kind of hours per week, I'd be set. But there's no way to work 40 full hours of one-on-one focused, emotion-driven, full-brain work per week. Any given 40 hr work week is interspersed with daydreaming, web surfing, smoke breaks, eating at the desk, chatter with a cubicle neighbor, reading a newspaper, bathroom oasises, water cooler gossip, phone calls to friends, smartphone games, ad infinitus. I daresay no one works more than 4 solid, 100%-ly dedicated hours per day. And that's about what I can do at max. That's $600 a week before taxes. So I survive, but I'm not rich. I live in a room in a dude's apartment. My name is not on the lease. I had a car but after one too many towaways, I realized I couldn't afford it in NYC. I never picked it up from the tow pound. It's been 7 months now. Add to this that my jobs are contract. I have no healthcare.

And many a day I wondered how would I continue living here successfully? At THIS level? How can I be 46 when everything about my life says I'm only half that age? I put those thoughts on the backburner because they were uncomfortable and undermined my sense of safety. I didn't want to confront something that seemed hopeless.

Until they said a week or so ago that I could marry a dude.

So here now is the problem. If I can get married to a guy, and get health benefits through his insurance, and have tax breaks due to my legal status, and that whole nine--then does that make me the woman of the relationship?

Women have been storming the gates forever against that very idea. Depending on a man for their safety and livelihood?? RIDICULOUS!!! And yet, here I am practically in that boat. I want a relationship with someone that turns me on, makes me want to mount them and have them call out my name. I want to do every saucy thing to my guy that women all over the world wants to do to, say, Sean Connery or ... Barack Obama. But I also don't want to have to become his live-in servile sex slave. I want equal footing. I want to be a man.

It feels insane to even think this way, but the discrepancy between male & female roles are so ingrained that I actually feel threatened by the suggestion that I would not get to enjoy my male position in a relationship if I came into a marriage as I am right now.

Ah. I think I'm just thrown off by the gender thing. If I were to marry a six-figure earning woman, what would be the difference? Ah ha...but I think I know. If the woman were the breadwinner, I'd still be the one with the penis.

Wait, WHAT???

No, yeah, seriously. Having a penis is AWESOME. It really is. But then again, I'm gay so I guess I WOULD think that. But it's been my experience that the use of said instrument turns my whole body into a machine. Something of industry. Of strength and ability and function and drive and accomplishment and power. Orgasm is an eruption of life-affirming masculinity. At least it is TO ME. Which is why I love men so much. I LOVE that ideal of the John Henrys of the world vs. The Locomotives. The Tarzans against the lions. This is why I love muscle and hard, masculine, MEN men. It's an endorphin high for me. It's a sexual fantasy. It's an inspiration. It's a motivating force. It's a mission statement. I both love men and I want to be a man. Nothing more. Nothing detracting from women, nor meant to devalue women in any way. I'm only expressing what floats MY boat.

And so having said all that -- where would I fit into a marriage with a man?

I want him to be a Man. But I want to be a Man too.

Maybe gay marriage DOES threaten heterosexual marriage because ... Well maybe because it forces everyone to re-examine the roles of each partner based on gender.

But hell, maybe that should've happened a long time ago anyway.

Meanwhile, all this talk is specious because I don't even have a boyfriend, let alone a fiancée.

I'm just blogging it out.

Blame NaBloPoMo. :-D

Busy Day

which started WAY too early. So blogging content is low because most of my day has been taken up with confidential information that I can't share.

I can tell you this, though; if 35 years ago someone would've told me I'd be a therapist to New York City's most interesting people, I'da called them a science fiction writer.

But don't be confused-- EVERYONE in New York City is the most interesting. Everyone has a story and everyone's story is amazing.

Amazing.

Wow. Is It EVERYONE At Pixar??

I saw this video at Facebook, posted on a fella's wall who I recently friended after meeting him at a comics convention. He is friends with other friends who I also know from comics and the internet. And yes, his is cute in a red teddy bear sort of way.

According to his FB profile, he seems to be enjoying a relationship with a girl who I also find is really cute. So he might be straight. In one pic, she is nuzzling against his cheek and he just looks so contented and ... grateful. It's a beautiful picture.

Today for some reason, he was moved to share this with all his FB friends;


Well, of course this brought me to tears. It's such a struggle. I've come out to possibly a dozen people in the online comics community (of which I've been describing) and none of them have let me being a gay dude spread. Or if they have, no one's made any big deals about it. And I picked some pretty hub people to tell it to, I must say. If they were to talk, many MANY people would know overnight. But nothing blew up. No trauma occurred. My life isn't changed.

I suppose they're all waiting for ME to tell my own business. Which is respectful and decent of them. Which I should have known because they're my friends for a reason. And maybe this is the month that I get this done. Maybe THAT'S what my big move is going to be in July.

Everything these Pixar people are saying, up until they start telling us how It Gets Better, has been my life for the last 40 years. And yes, I'm starting the countdown at 6 when I became aware of how hot this guy was as I watched a snake slithering across his torso.

As a kid, I didn't think I was supposed to be aware of sex, yet I was. I didn't think I was supposed to do anything about it, yet I did. I ran to church to hide myself away from the images I wanted to see, but then I sought them out anyway. And now that I know what I am, I'm still too terrified to do anything about it.

Well, I have been too terrified. Now I'm just terrified minus the "too."

When I hit 50 yrs old, I will have a life I will be proud of. What these Pixar people are saying, I will initimately know.

And I'm aware that I don't have to wait until I'm 50.

Maybe this month I'll get a jump on it.

Fish Out Of Water

At my new haunt NaBloPoMo there is a theme about swimming which comes along with a contest. Soon as I was made aware of this, I knew this was the place for me. Even though this is sponsored by BlogHer, a women's movement in writing, I was informed by the recommender of the exercise and the moderator that I could be a dude and still participate. I figure I bring a little from Column A & a little Column B.

I've been posting of late about a fella I have named "New Hunk". He is clearly my new mancrush. I have had several as my personal blog will attest. So my entry into this swim-themed contest is not so much about myself as it is about him.

When I first "met" New Hunk, he had innocuously posted things about his interests in comicbooks, as had I and many others in the virtual interspace where we geeks from around the globe gather, check in, discuss, fuss, and blunderbuss. We have the option, as do many forums, to attach little cyber-tchotchke's under each of our posts. Little clickies to send you, the reader, to our own personal corners of cyberworld. "New Hunk" had put a link to a series of YouTube videos he's done with himself playing guitar and singing his self-written songs. I found him to be a little morose with them. He has a way of staring at the camera like he's challenging it. His songs are dark but introspective. Full of art and expression from someone who seems less than chipper.

And too, I thought he was handsome. Like, a basic 1950's Father Knows Best handsome.

Well, shift a few months forward and New Hunk takes an interest in our weight loss thread at the aforementioned forum. His entire approach seemed a little too meticulous. A little too anal, if I may dare. But soon afterwards he dropped some details as to why he was going about this so painstakingly.

He told us that he'd been off work for maybe a year from stress and depression. He was looking for something, ANYTHING that would help him get out of the quicksand he was in. So he was taking his nutrition seriously and hoping it would help.

I began to understand his Type-A approach to weight-loss. It was a way he could wrest some control out of a world in which he had lost so much of it otherwise. Even though he had a wife, and guitar talent, and the skills to write songs, he was trapped by depression. A feeling I am patently acquainted with.

So in I leapt with the praise and encouragement. By trade, I am a therapist so I know how this works. But by way of just being me, I thrive off of the well-being of people. I want us to be better. To do better. To fulfill the potential inside of us and to enjoy it. It means a lot to me. For whatever reason.

Round about that time, New Hunk started hitting the gym and deciding that swimming was going to be helpful for him. So while he was learning better techniques in the pool and in the weight room, and while he was overcoming earlier traumas of being bullied from the ignorant and young gradeschool grindhouses ... he was getting more and more good looking. Then one day out of the blue,
he decides to post a shirtless pic of himself flexing his biceps.

That was the day I renamed my blog.

New Hunk and I, we have this internet friendship going now where he gets encouragement and flirting from me, and I get to see him flex his muscles every now and again. I like to think he's trying to provide a little giveback, him being a straight married guy and all.

But at the same time, he writes in notes and posts of how swimming is like a relaxation technique for him now. He says it's like transcendental meditation for him. He says it feels like he's flying. And I utterly believe him.

On the one hand, this makes my heart lift to know that he found a way to help himself in the middle of his debilitating depression when usually the very tool you need to help you -the brain- is the thing that is in itself depressed. I see him in my mind's eye cutting through the water and becoming serene and at peace with himself.

And that takes me to the other hand. In my mind's eye I also see his now-powerful shoulders causing his arms to windmill and propel him forward. They are like a set of oars carved from Michelangelo's David. I envision what the surface tension of the water looks like as it breaks between his shoulder blades and flows across his rippling back. I can picture how his narrow hips and washboard belly knifes through the foam that he creates with his power and his purpose. I know his thick legs and long feet are dutifully thrusting, kicking, flapping. I know that with every reach, every thrust, every stroke his muscles are cast into gleaming contour just above the water's surface.

I can see him and I want him. He is a water god but I ...

... I'm a fish out of water.

I Officially Kicked The 4th's ASS Today!

I mean I had a GREAT day!

As I mentioned, I now consider myself a capital R "Runner." Today I set out to test my upper limits. I've done a round trip run on the Riverside last week;


Well when I looked at the above map I thought "Wow. I could probably do Central Park." (I remember when I thought I had been sayin' something when I made it once around the Jackie O Reservoir a few years ago.) So this early morning, armed with a few scoops of protein and a cinn raisin bagel with light cream cheese, I set out to do that very thing.
Here's the results;



The first run was about 50 minutes judging by how many songs I had left over from my "RUN MIX 60" playlist. The run today was half a song more than an hour (So about 62 minutes). I was told from a cyclist that the path is about 6 miles, so I pretty much maintained an average of 6 mph (I kan do maffs!) which is pretty good for me. For a whole HOUR without stopping? Of course, and please believe, I was much slower going up them hellacious hills which were long and steep up at the northern end.

Then I went to Greenwich Village and had ribs and a mojito.

Yes, all this was done alone, but I was in a great, life-affirming, Did Better Today Than Ever mood and I wasn't going to let anything spoil it. I didn't even need to watch the spectacle of NYC's fireworks. I wanted to come home and relax, play me some ChampionsOnline. I smiled at the hot men I saw on the way back though, I will tell you that. I'm "priming the pump" for my big move into Manworld by July 31st. Perhaps it will be sooner, who knows?

Let's see what happens tomorrow!

All The Sweet Green Icing

I just got sent on a Donna Summer jag and I regret nothing.
This was from a mere 5 years ago.



It's insane to think that because I love/d disco and Donna Summer that I should have known I was gay, but there it is. Or, for that matter, that because I love Wendy Williams of radio and now TV fame, that I should have known.


Stereotypes are rubbish. They are ways invented to marginalize, categorize, and dehumanize human beings. Yes, there are *some* basis for stereotypes wherein *some* groups of people have common traits. But in the world of the gay male, you are really acting a fool if you think you can always spot one because of their interests or way they speak.

This is what I tell myself every day. I choose to believe it's true until the day I die. I do this for two reasons. (Probably more, but I'll list just two).

1) I refuse to be stereotyped. EFF you, that's why.

2) I want to believe I have a shot with the gay dude who is muscular and butch. The guy that nods slightly in the gym and grunts a 'Hey what's up.'

This keeps me both frustrated and in the game. I know there are gay men out there that would not set off your "gaydar" and I want one. I don't know if I have the same to offer him, but he might not even care, which would make him a better man than me.

But this is why I'm running now and losing weight more steadily than I ever have in my life. I need to have my game tight. I know what I want--so I have to *bring* it. We men are driven by the eyegate. I'm sorry, but we are. So if I want the eyecandy I seek, I have to be eyecandy as well. If I ever find a hunky dude that doesn't care what *I* look like, Teh Blogworld will be the first to know.

Today was a good day. I got five miles in on the treadmill like it was a walk. LOTS of energy! (It was prolly last night's deep dish pizza crust had my system still all carbed-out) I was looking at my gym co-work-outers with an eye towards July 31st, and how I'm going to do something by then. I felt possibilities. I felt the momentum that has visited me so many times building up again. It was the momentum that sent me out on my first two man-dates ever. And now with my stomach disappearing and my man-boobs drying up, I feel even MORE confident!

Again, I ask you, though, am I wrong to be so shallow? AM I shallow? Or do I just know what turns me on and what doesn't?

I'll add this in closing. I am Captain Risk Aversion. It takes A. LOT. to get me to do something risky.

For instance (and this is important, please pay close attention); I have never had sex... and I am 46 years old.

I don't think my friends and acquaintences would believe that of me. If they did know, I don't think it would be so much of a shock for them because I am strange in my own way, but not THAT strange. It would be just as easy to believe that I'm a guy who could have had some sex within the last 30 years as not.

But I never have because if it doesn't feel right--or safe--I won't do it. If it requires a sustained commitment on my part and I don't feel it then I will not try it. I don't want to try and fail, so I don't try.

So this month, if I *DO* try ... I'm gonna need some help. If the dude looks like Jason Statham ... well lemme tell ya, that will be some pretty powerful effing help right there. But if he looks like Andy Richter (sorry buddy) then not so much.

I would however not kick Kai Owen outta bed. something about those eyes, and of course, that accent. Oh yes, I likes the Kai Owen.


See you tomorrow.

The Art of Being Alone

So I started NaBloWriMo ... or some similar anagram ... and naturally, I used yesterday's post.

Self-serving miserable claptrap, right!? "Suicide note" who am I kidding?? I have too many goals and dreams and joys to kill myself now. I look both ways before I cross the street, waiting for the light to turn from the safety of the sidewalk. I take 0 to No risks for fear of messing up what life I do have.

This is both my safety net and my bigger hindrance.

So allow me to reintroduce myself, NaBloWriMo Readers, I'm Me and I'm complicated.

So, yeah, I'm a gay dude attracted to straight men. This does not automatically equate to my eternal failing aloneness, but it does make me a crappy, self-hating kind of homo. I have been teaching myself for the last few years not to dislike the more effeminate homosexual man, but rather appreciate them for their brave stance of out-loud pride. However, I am in no way, shape, or form attracted them. Unfortunately I find them less sexy than women. And while I do find women sexy, I don't find women sexy enough to sleep with any of them, despite opportunities to do so. So it's my misfortune that while there are plenty of wonderful, caring, loving gay men out there - one of which I dated twice - I didn't have enough attraction to give us both what we wanted from each other.

Thus the name of this post. Here I sit across from UNO'S on Columbus & 81st St at 11:30pm in NYC, watching several couples find their ways around and into one another while I sit alone typing a blog because I play it safe. I acknowledge my faults and my shortcomings, but it often feels better doing nothing about them than doing something scary.

However, I'm starting NaBloPlehPlo because by July 31st, I intend to have made a change. In something. Somehow.

So welcome to my process. I hope if you stay along for the ride, you will find something encouraging and uplifting by the end of the month. I will take suggestions, encouragement, anecdotes, and forgiveness for my hateful ways. Please. And thank you.

Still Mad

Last night's post didn't do the job for me.

I discover this as I'm on my way to work, taking trains, seeing all the pretty men. And by pretty I mean handsome, of course. So many my type. Especially the straight ones with their women.

Even if I were an out and free homosexual, I couldn't HAVE the straight ones. And even if the straight ones would for absolutely no reason whatsoever give or show me what I want to see, I couldn't have as many as I want anyway. This constant craving kd lang sings of so proficiently, I'm hereby officially requesting in writing that it be played at my funeral. It is the literal story of my life.

I'd like to believe this is my own fault. That I shouldn't have watched my mother's porn back during the summers in elementary school. That I brought all this sex awareness and premature attraction of any sex on myself. That somehow I deserve this torture because I'm a sinner. That I deserve Hell and why am I wasting any more time on Earth trying to do any good when that's where I'll end up for eternity anyway. And that since I'm going there eventually why wait? And I think too that these blogs of mine would make for a pretty grand and extensive suicide note.

But I don't think I'll do that. I think instead I'll stretch out a little farther and join this blog to an Internet community, if I'm allowed, and try to broaden my access to some peer help. Because I damn sure could use some help.