Two Nights Ago...

...kind of like a freak snowstorm, I found myself hit with a hanging out at a bar and getting to know new people. All centered on a New York Times Bestelling author. He was in town to do a book reading at the Borders at Columbus Circle, which happens to be where I get my train to go home after a night of therapy. So, as fate would have it, thanks to my new Twittery obsession (see "Twitter; Blue bar above), I was made aware of all his comings, goings, and in-betweenings. Having been aware of him from my Slice of Sci Fi exposure, and the art of podcasters and Do It Yourselfers who have a talent, a microphone, and a dream (and A LOT of energy), I figured to go catch him at his reading (The pictures on the other side of the link is from a reading he did the next day in DC. My NYC people ain't representing on Flick'r, it seems), show my face, and maybe seal a deal to trade promo trailers . But as I introduced myself as the guy on Twitter who 'had to oppose his evil scheme, for I am aligned with a superhero,' he extended an invitation to the after-party at a bar a few blocks away. It wasn't exclusive--he extended it to everyone who he signed for, but it became incumbent on me to say 'yes' because I had decided to be so damn personable.

Yay meds. So after a moment's hesitation, I said, "I don't see why not!"

And off I went alone.

I arrived at the bar and had that New Alan/Old Alan moment. Do I go right in, alone, or do I turn and go home? I'm happy to say those times are growing more and more brief. I went in. Then it was, 1) stand around upstairs on the fringe, or 2) dive in? At that intersection, I stood on the fringe. Yes, our hero failed. I made it inside, the author was not there yet, so I felt like I'd fulfilled my commitment. All I had to do was wait, and if possible, get at the author's elbow and remind him of me. Not hard, right?

But after about fifteen minutes, I was approached by two guys who introduced themselves and swept me right up in the social event. Friendly, outgoing guys who came to enjoy the company and make friends. Thank God for these type of people.

So eventually, the author showed up and made the rounds. Where he went, that portion of the crowd circled. Where he wasn't, the crowd sustained itself with social chatter. "What did YOU like best about his second novel?" "What character do YOU like the best?" And having been just recently added to this culture, I had nothing to really contribute. So I talked about my hobby--the little corner of the internet where I Do It Myself for the entertainment of like-minded folk. And I got appreciated! One guy who was there for the author was a long-time fan of MINE! A listener of the project I produce!! It was astounding!!

And it gave me the courage to meet the author on equal footing. What I wanted to propose to him, I could do as a peer! I could do it confidently! I had a comaparable product that I could interest him in.

And I did! I got his ear more than once and he was more than willing! Credit him with being Geek Like Me, and having more energy than eighteen of us (which is why he is successful in this field), and being willing to do voiceovers for anyone who has a project ... and we have a winnah!

So now I have a new connection and a new creative interest to add to the fine work I enjoy in my "spare time." I'd say it was a great night!

In the next post; Other News...

A Surprise Festival

Last night after I was done with my clients, I found myself loose on the town. I was feeling good. I had done good work. I often think I do, but lately the director of the center has been scrutinizing why I've had so many cancellations over the past couple of weeks.

"More than anyone else," he said.

Mind you, they were cancellations--not terminations. Some of my clients taking the night off for one reason or another. For me, when they cancel, I get the night off too. Feels good to me. But to the director, it's lost income. And yea, I lose income too--but I have a day job. The night therapy cases are extra income.

It'd be nice if the director didn't try to make me feel as though I was doing something wrong--"losing them," as he likes to put it. Not to mention going on at length about how the clients leave my services when they get the sense that I'm not helping them, but use excuses because they can't actually tell me that they want out. (Except I did have a client who told me that exact thing. The sessions were terminated with no malice at all. I understand that I'm not the right therapist for EVERYONE. But for the ones who keep me--have kept me for months now--I'm useful. Helpful, even.)

But now that I'm removed from the emotions of our disagreeable phone conversation by some days and a bunch of co-opted Chipotle utensils later, I can see it for what it is. He wants to make money so he wants to motivate me to minimize (well, actually, the way he puts it, STOP ALTOGETHER) the cancellations. But I don't like his style of criticism. He's not the man I thought he was. I don't know what his true motives are, but I don't like his delivery. It feels wrong. He feels wrong.

Anyway, all this was going through my head, along with the successful sessions I had experienced that day. All three clients, (two of them I've been seeing for 4 months or more) reflecting the changes they've been making in their lives for the better. Changes that I've helped them with. Changes that I just knew they were capable of with enough encouragement and enough opportunity & space for thought. Changes that made me feel like a worthwhile human on planet Earth, even though I walk around alone with a rucksack full of my own unfulfilled dreams and personal life goals. I'm telling you, helping other people--it's where it's at, man. I think it's what we're all alive for.

ANYWAY anyway, I didn't want to go home because it was Hallowe'en, and I didn't want to have to kill somebody's children after having such a good day. Yes, repeated ringing of our WWII-era doorbell will make me psychotic. Don't ask. So I purposed to catch up on my promise to Ned by going to get "The Time Traveller's Wife," from B&N, and then holing up somewhere quiet and latte-driven to start reading it when I discovered something wonderful along the way;





On All Hallow's Eve, in NYC, in Greenwich Village, straight up the center of my old haunts (5th Ave, 6th Avenue, from around 14th street and southward) the freaks come out at night! In the Village, Hallowe'en Night is like Mardi Gras! I knew they had a parade, but my deviant mind thought it was like a drag queen affair. Stereotype Greenwich Village much, Alan? For shame!! It was like a big comicbook convention only with the entire neighborhood!! And throw in the bored, pleasure-seeking students from NYU on a surprising 60-degree night, and you've got PARTY. Streets blocked off in rapid succession. Real cops taking pictures with costumers.

My Hero would have loved this!!

Anywaying the anyway's anyway--welcome to my first post of November. They won't all be this long.

Media Me!

Go to my socially palatable site for the link to a radio interview about my production hobby involving My Hero. About 60% into the show the interviewer and the guest (My Hero's successor) talk about lil' ole me (YAY ME!) and play a clip from the upcoming show.

Who AM I? I Mean REALLY?

Last night, drifting off to sleep, I was listening to one of the podcasts from Geek Central. (The spoken word is my Ambien. My wife-to-be won't be happy with that, I'm sure.) And long about the 8 minute mark, one of the hosts, who I missed seeing at the comic convention, calls up the guy who I had mentioned in my weekend report. The guy that I got along with real well and wanted to go to the afterparty bar with me as we left together? Seems this guy and the host of this show were "convention buddies" (Whenever they go to the same convention, they pair up and see/do things together). Now, I wasn't prepared for a podcast host to incorporate a phone call to a "listener/fan," but I guess it's no different than calling up your co-host and chatting with him/her/them for the content of the show. Podcast are talkshows, after all, so anyone who will chat'bout with you is fair game. (I even did three hours with another pair of podcasters a month or so ago).

But I was ESPECIALLY unprepared for that listener/fan to mention ME when he was telling the host about his Saturday night. Here, listen for yourself. The phone call starts after 8 mins and he talks about me at 8:50. And he said nice things!

And I'm laying in the bed like, "What the HELL...?" Of all the artists, and comics, and costumed people, and toys, and pizza, and geeks he experienced, not to mention the afterparty he might have gone to, and he mentions me?? He was thinking of me??

I mean, maybe my early departure and non-compliance for more company left an imprint? But it didn't piss him off and make him think of me as a party pooper, a stuck-up prig, or an anxiety-ridden loser?

That maybe my company is actually enjoyable?

I ... I don't get it sometimes.

You'd think I'd be happy about it, but I just don't see what these people see sometimes.

But I did like this dude, and so I look forward to meeting him again somehow. And although I don't know what HE saw in me, it is nice to think that somebody else thinks of me nicely after just one dinner.

My fellow blogedeers, this is not a solicitation for more nice words in my comments section. Honestly. :-) I still remember all the awesome things you've already said to me over these weeks, and months, and nearly two years. And I already know how much I actually feel like love towards you guys and gals.

This was just so unexpected and, well, in the absence of having my own Q, I had to come and share.

Every once in a while, life throws you a bone.

I'll take it. :-)

Paging Dr. Feelgood...!

Okay, my calls are on the phone-answering systems of two prescribing practitioners, as recommended to me by my therapist. Whoever gets back to me first scores the co-pay.

I am SO going to take these meds.

Yesterday, Sunday, I didn't even go to the convention. And mind you, Saturday night ended with a mix of avoidance and geek bonding. At the convention I got a couple of geekasms when I attended exclusive screenings for the Incredible Hulk movie due out this summer. (SPOILER:





















Tony Stark, as played by Robert Downey Jr, is going to be in the Hulk movie, offering his services to Thunderbolt Ross to take down the Hulk. This opens the way for a future Avengers movie. Plus, the villain of the Hulk movie becomes that way because he takes a "Super Soldier serum"--which is the thing that made Captain America.

UHH!

Was it good for you?)













I brushed paths with MFTD and his brother and his brother's friend. To be alone, I had sacrificed my time with them on Saturday. I did this both at home, and then after I got to the convention (to see the Hulk trailer. And Hellboy II and Indiana Jones IV and something else that I can absolutely not remember. Evidently it involved mutants and Xavier wiped all our memories.) When we finally caught up, we did that men's-circle insult, jibe, tough-talk, non-bonding bullcrap that we men do so terribly well, and then they left. And I sighed a breath of relief. He's my best friend, and I didn't want to hang out with him and his brother (and brother's friend).

Then after a very few more "hello's" to my podcasting geekmates, I left the con went a few blocks and some avenues over to buy a comicbook (hello, I had BEEN at a comic convention--what did I leave it for?), and waited for 8:30.

At 8:30, about 100 of us geeks had a geek-in at an upscale pizzeria, hosted and arranged by the two podcasters who held that party last year were I got my geek on, and took that b&w picture with the beautiful married British lady. I felt safe in the size of the crowd, and I even engaged a few in laughy conversation about comics and The Geek Life, and my Hulk revelations. Oh I was the life of my little section of the party. And I even made my way over, and sat at the table where the attractive Geek Girl I met in person on Friday was with her crew. But she preened about her boyfriend, as all hot chicks seem wont to do, and I disengaged after a little bit. I got on famously with a guy from Long Island, and when the party was over and it was time for the afterparty (read: bar gathering) he and I left together. Then when no further than the pizza restaurant's front door he said, "Are you coming to the bar?" clearly wanting me to walk with him to 6th Ave, and kick up the festivities a notch, it was as natural a thing for me to say "no, that's alright" as it was to burp up the pepperoni sitting in my knotted gut. And so, to the #1 Train I went, and then to Home Sweet Alone. That was Saturday. Next day, I didn't return to midtown convention life. I got more smoky meats from my fave BBQ joint, ate it in the park where liveth the aggressive squirrels (again), and went home to finish up one of the audio drama series.

I think the medication will help me at those social decision-gates. When I have the option to say yes, I think the medication will help me do that. If it doesn't work, then truly, I will not be getting married, or taking a lover, or doing anything else in life that involves a face-to-face personal relationship on the longterm.

And you know what else?

If the medication doesn't work, I'm deciding not to care. Because I do not want to spend what's left of my life in a miasma of regret and "I Wish I Coulds"

The sh!t is getting tired and I'm getting too effing old for it. It's time to love up on who and what I am, and eff the world if it can't take a joke. People appreciate me for what I already am. They like the work I do. And I do people good both in my hobby life and my professional life. Plus I'm saving money like never before.

If the medication doesn't work, then I'm done trying to fix me.

For now, anyway.

Sweet Bliss

This is where I'll be Fri-Sun. I'm checking out of reality for a little bit (more). I'll be making my appointment today for a prescription to help with social anxiety.
But if I see a girl wearing this (saw it in a La Brea store window on Broadway)

then meds or not, I'm approaching her.
Nah, probably not. I need my meds.

Back Into The Frying Pan

Last night I went to see a rockin' good play called "Fight Girl Battle World". It was a clever play in a small venue which made the most out of character, story, and the space they had to use. There was kickass choreography and more than a dozen instances of Laugh Out Loud moments that earns the gold star for good dialogue. (Why does my spell checkers tell me "dialogue" is improperly spelled? Can anyone suggest a better alternative?)

I went on recommendation of 1) Childhood Bud and 2) My geek friends with mad cred who run a comics podcast. It was to their studio that the geek party occurred last year. I haven't been able to coordinate all but two more meetings with that group of folks (one, really--a dinner at Hill Country. The other is me going to the place of business of an individual, and that only because he got a job at the store where I buy my comics), and none at all with the podcasters themselves.

So last night, I went with Childhood Bud. We had an awesome time!! He detached from his wife and three children to make himself available to me, and we met in my fave naborhood, ate Indian food in a new spot I like on Amsterdam Ave, then walked 60 blocks south to the theatre! I was more than up for it when he suggested it, but round about 40 blocks into the journey, ol' Childhood Bud was making faces. I'll let him elaborate as to why, if he so chooses.

It was so awesomely great. It was nothing at all like being two men approaching our mid-forties, one of us a married father of three, the other a bachelor therapist in a midtown Manhattan office. Nothing like that. It was like being kids cut loose in NYC walking and talking and laughing and sightseeing.

I tried to throw in a little gravitas to the tone of the evening, but he would have none of it! The closest I got to my issues was to realize that Match.com is a viable alternative to my singleness. He has a co-worker who is engaged to a gal met on there. And I acknowledged Mike's engagement resulted from a Match Dot Comage.

So today, I upgraded my account, shot them some money, and e-mail three beautiful ladies, all of whom I would very much like to date.

And then what? At the moment, I have a profile that I think absolutely reeks of mental disorder. I wrote it back when I was a prisoner of misfortune in New Jersey and rediscovering heroes in the world. So mostly what I wrote sounds every bit like the crazy little man I was in someone's basement. When I applied my newfound life to the profile fields today, I thought the effects would take place immediately, like the new pics would.

Not so.

Pics are up now, but the profile word content takes up to 72 hours. That means if these three beautiful ladies read my message within the next three days, I'm toast. You'll hear their laughter from where you're sitting right now.

But at least now I realize why I didn't get any bites before.


Patience.


Patience.


When the frikkin' frackin' profile gets updated for realz, I'll give you a link to it.

Edit: YAY! It's updated! Okay, here I am. Match Ladies, come an' get me!

The Wallflower

Tuesday night out in Manhattan. I did more than stand off by myself as the night went on, but there were enough outgoing partyfolk there to allow me to hide every once in while. And thus the snap.

These last two pics of me are done by a guy named Mike in this group of folks and he has a blog that has more than just me-pics, but I'm not going to post his link because I'm not ready to have him trace it back to me and this blog. I'm not ready to share it with them. I may never do.

Here's the deal, these new friends are from my Geek Life. In my Geek Life, I don't have to have drama. Geek Life is an escape from my issues. It's superheroes and fantasy and fun. For instance, I don't want to have a deep-reaching conversation with the gay guys in this geek clique the way I've had with Coaster Punchman (Mike, the picture-taker, is one of the more outspoken gay folk in this group.) I'm not ready to explore that level of relationship with people I've just met. And too, there's a part of me that thinks I might be attractive to one or more of these guys and I don't want them to think they might have a shot after reading my sexuality explorations here inblog.

I know that sounds conceited in the extreme, but I'm a guy. I know how we think. Yes ladies, if you have a platonic relationship with a dude, he is scheming to get in them pants eventually. Trust me on this.

So on that note, last night at work, I had a little conversation with The Bull as I handed off his drink to him. We are on more of a social level now, having advanced beyond the chasing-me-into-the-bathroom stage (lol). Whether you folk know this or not, Greenwich Village in NYC has a big Hallowe'en parade each year which is akin to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, except it is gay-centric. Lots of drag, lots of bondage, lots of skin goes on display all day and night. Oddly enough, if I had not known this on my own, I would have learned it from Snapper, who went last year and was eager to go again a few nights ago afterwork. No, Snapper isn't gay, he's just slow. He saw boobs last year at the parade and that's what he thought he might see again this year. Luckily a friend of his texted him during this year's parade to let him know that it "sucked", so Snapper never went. That friend probably saw one too many drag queens and not enough real.

BUT!

Last night The Bull asked me how I was doing, and I let him in a little bit to the fact that I had a rotten day before I had come to work. (The which is a story in itself that I don't even want to go into at the moment. It involves the Dept. of Motor Vehicles, $12 worth of subway rides chasing down paperwork, and nothing resolved by the time I was done, SIX HOURS LATER--uccckkkhh--!)

Anyway, after I alluded to this day of mine, The Bull chimed in with how little sleep he had gotten and how he was illing as well because the night before, he had gone down to The Village to watch the Hallowe'en parade! Now, I was ready to take that as a clear and present signal of his sexuality--so much that I couldn't hide the surprise, and a little fear, on my face. (Fear because if he was telegraphing that he was gay, it was for a clear purpose--and man or woman, relationships scare me). My expression caused him to quickly say, "I've never been there before but I wanted to see what it was all about...!" If it weren't for the fact that Snapper had gone last year, I would have believed The Bull was just covering up as a reaction to my face.

But let me tell you something. My day had been so rotten yesterday that when The Bull paid me some (more) attention, and was possibly trying to find out if I was interested in him too ... dang it ... I suddenly wanted to be.

Because the whole dance I have to do with girls to get their attention, ie, run the risk of rejection, say the right thing, navigate the male/female obstacle course--I was in no mood for it. I just wanted someone I could dig, who also clearly dug me. Straight, no chaser, let's just get this thang done! That was what it felt like I was getting from The Bull. (Except of course, all the cloak-and-dagger he had to perform in order to probe my sexuality without exposing his first.)

But with a simple combination of the right vowels and consonants, I felt like I could have torn down the curtain and woken up in The Bull's bed this morning. Next to his nasty flip-flopped feet.

GAH!!!

I'm SO not gay.

So yeah, anyway, I don't need my new friends knowing all this mess about me.

Between The Moon And New York City II

(Originally 4/17/07)

High. Life.

The beginning component was that I trusted what I'd heard from Childhood Bud II to believe that she wouldn't make the night difficult after reading what I'd written. I think she was flattered, actually. Plus, upon re-reading it, I didn't actually propose marriage, so I guess it was okay after all.

As for a narrative on the night in question, I'm actually at a loss for words. I might not be completely primed to give the telling yet, even though it's four days prior now. I guess it was all sweeping grandeur that kept me breathless for a little while. And then there are questions I have which I'm afraid of asking. They come under the heading of, What Do I Do Wrong?

Thing is, I haven't heard from Childhood Bud II since Saturday. That was the next day and I was supposed to reconnect with them and go see "The Color Purple" on Broadway, which was an invitation made by the trip originator --Childhood Bud II's boss. We were getting along pretty well and they all seemed to enjoy my company, and from that came the invitation. So I was feeling accepted and liked and thought I'd found a new social outlet. But when the next day came, and I was in NYC looking for parking, Childhood Bud II texts me and says, "I think my boss forgot to get you a ticket." This was about two hours before the show started. So yeah, I was not going to the play.

So the whole Friday seems lost in a bit of Saturday seaspray. The waves of doubt are lapping on the shore, repeating the susurrus of "What did I do wrong?" Should I have met up with them anyway, even though I wasn't going to the play? Should I have tried to kiss Childhood Bud II goodnight when we went back to the hotel? Should I have spent the night in her boss' nephew's room? Or Childhood Bud II's room? Should I have tried to kiss her when we danced?

Always the mystery of "What did I do wrong?" What misstep am I guilty of now? At what point did I fall short of the knight in armor, bright, faithful and true?

And in these foamy regrets come the time when I think I really should just switch orientation and take the passion of my hero-worshipping into that last forbidden arena. Because when I'm in the moment with a woman, I always seem to pull away. That last bit of energy that seems to propel others into those memorable embraces usually feels to me like fear, doubt, and faintheartedness. A gray miasma that enshrouds my heart and brings the corners of my face down.

But what would it be like with another man? How would it be any different? How would my admiration of masculinity translate any better into a physical relationship than what I've done with women? Am I proposing that the presence of breasts and the tucked-away promise of a vagina is what makes me lose heart? But the presence of chest hair, rock-hard abs and broad shoulders would be my impetus?

That doesn't seem to gel. The problem I have is with intimacy and trust, not body parts. There are guys who I could just as easily make a pass at, as I could have done with Childhood Bud II (to get my face nice and slapped), which I haven't done. Mostly because I don't want to be homosexual (not, though, because I'm disgusted by it--except for that whole anal aspect wherein doody lives, so maybe yeah, a little disgusted). But then again, also mostly (how can there be two "mostlies"?), I'm just as afraid of the rejection from a dude as I am from a gal.

That's what it is. The rejection. The several thousand different ways the other person will be able to wrinkle their noses at me and laugh. Why I didn't rate enough of a presence for Childhood Bud II's boss to have remembered me the next day and get a ticket for me to join them. Why Childhood Bud II has not responded to my e-mail, or stopped by here to read all this.

Bleagh. This was supposed to be about the good time I had Friday night. Ashford and Simpson sang. The Rev Al Sharpton spoke. When he arrived he took some attention away from Yolanda King, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s daughter. Commissioner Ray Kelly came and spoke. Senator Chuck Schumer opened the night.

The honoree was Dr. Suzan Johnson-Cook, having her 50th birthday and they really rolled it out for her. Within limits. For instance, it was black-tie, but there was a buffet for food. In was in The Supper Club, but the building seemed old and coated in too many layers of bright gaudy paint. There was a live band, but we didn't escape the night without doing the Electric Slide, which transformed the dance floor into a choreographed marvel, I must say. And Dr. Sujay (as those in the know called her) came off her pink lounge chair to lead our table in the last dance. (Childhood Bud II's boss must have made a hefty contribution to own that table, and so the honoree honored her publicly).

To have all these people come to see her and speak for her tells of crazy mad influence. The woman, according to speakers, broke a lot of barriers and garnered a lot of admiration. First NYPD black female chaplain. Appointed by Clinton on a race relation White House committee. Etc, etc, etc. All before 50.

As for us, we arrived fashionably late in an Escalade. My "date" let me tempt her to the dance floor at least twice. She liked dancing and her biggest complaint were the shoes she'd bought the night before. She had pretty red toenails. We rode back to the hotel in a pedalcab, taking our lives literally into our own hands. It was like dashing into traffic blindfolded. We laughed and screamed and laughed some more. In the entourage was the author of two books--books about relationships! She's in her thirties and very pretty. Since my "date" wasn't having any of me, I considered this woman as a maybe.

Yet, without that Saturday follow-up, it's all gone in a haze. I'm now neither here nor there on the matter. Nothing lasting seems to have come out of it.

But it was nice while it lasted.

This Is Just Sick And Wrong

(Originally Sept 13 2005)

Crazy Rabbit

And it also is a self-study on how cruel you can be once you realize the Rabbit will leave you alone if you leave HIM alone (or her).

Brilliant.