25 June 1992
I often recall the main fear that drove me to get involved in gay society. (See, for example, 25 June 1976.) I saw myself in my forties living an asocial, asexual life alone in a house in the (Hollywood) Hills. I was certain I wouldn't be able to stay sane in such a life.
And here I am doing almost exactly that. (It's not the Hollywood Hills, but it's definitely the same idea. Also I didn't know anything about AIDS then, which is a major contributing factor today.) But I'm not in fear for my sanity. In fact, I worry much less about sex and my social life now than I did then.
Wednesday, May 20, 2020
Victor
19 April 1993
I've gotten various hints over the time I've lived on Elderbank that there is some serious cruising going on along Griffin and maybe in the Park. I even sat in my car along there one Friday afternoon last summer, my last weekday of unemployment, and actually did have an encounter that might have been a pick-up.
But there also seem to be occasional drug deals and gang activity, and there are soccer and baseball crowds every weekend, usually families. And most of the Park is empty most of the time.
Sunday, April 4
With the time change and laziness, I go hiking in the Park later than usual, starting around 11. Later, along Griffin, I again think there's some pick-up activity going on in the Park. I re-enter the Park and immediately find not just one, but several cruising people. Although I play stare-and-follow games with one guy, and circle around some, I can't decipher the rules, and I go home.
Friday, April 9
I got home early enough to eat dinner and relax a bit and it's still light out. I decide it's a perfect day to check out the dusk activity again, especially since I can drive down to Griffin (rather than hike and be sweaty and grungy) and just park and watch. I take a magazine to read if nothing is happening.
But there is a lot of pretty obvious cruising going on. I see a couple of fairly attractive guys, too. It's quite active, and I've only been here 10 minutes. One guy, after talking for a time with another person (a friend or a pick-up?), strolls down the bridge and along the sidewalk opposite where I'm parked. I look at him, I hope pleasantly, but I don't try to attract his attention beyond that.
But he calls out to me and asks for the time. I answer, and he comes across the street and talks some more! He asks if I speak Spanish. He says he's taking English classes at a nearby adult night school. He tells me his name is Victor, and he asks my name. He says he is supposed to practice English. We're doing pretty good for all the language difficulties! At one point, he starts to walk away, but I call him back. I finally ask if he wants to talk some more and get a drink. He agrees and gets in the car! At first, I thought he had somewhere in mind, but after we drive a bit, then stop and talk, I suggest my place and he agrees.
Once at my place, he has orange juice (which turns out to be his favorite drink) and we struggle with small talk. Anxious to clear the air, I finally manage to start talking about the men who walk in the Park. He does seem to know what I'm talking about, and I finally say that I'm gay. He definitely understands at least that much. I try to explain that it's OK if he's not, or if he's not interested in me. (It's not easy to say this using my menu-Spanish and his bits of English!) He seems to mainly understand, but makes no move to either leave or progress. I offer to take him home or back to the Park, but he doesn't want to leave.
He finally does put a hand out to me, but we stop at just touching while still making small talk. It's been about an hour now. Finally, he reaches out to pull my head down for a kiss; I pull him up from the couch and we go to the bedroom. We proceed to play around for the next couple of hours. He seems to enjoy it, although I'm physically much more aroused than he is. (He says he's only aroused in the mornings.)
The next days
He wants me to spend the night with him, but I demur. We agree to a lunch date on Sunday. After I do take him home, he calls. But phone conversation is harder than face-to-face. He calls again Saturday, while I'm finishing my taxes, and asks for help seeing a dermatologist for the rash he has on one leg. I am dismayed. After much deliberation, mainly with myself, I end up taking him to get some over-the-counter medication. On Sunday, we have lunch, visit the Huntington, buy a dictionary (!), and fool around some more. (This time he gets quite adequately aroused.) He still wants to see a dermatologist, so I try to get him to call John Guagenti Monday, and make an appointment, and I offer to take there on Tuesday. But Monday evening, he explains that he never did call John, but he's skipping class and can I come over? We have a bit of ice cream, and we sit and talk and cuddle. I suggest that I come over Tuesday after school, see him briefly, and drive him to English class, which I do. We have a date for Friday night. I spent most of the next weekend with him.
It's been fun, and that's all I'm taking it as for now. One unexpected result is that in my dreams, I no longer assume that every cute young thing will ignore me! My dreams, at least, have gotten much sexier.
Another Tale Worth Telling
(cf. 9 Dec. 1977)
I've gotten various hints over the time I've lived on Elderbank that there is some serious cruising going on along Griffin and maybe in the Park. I even sat in my car along there one Friday afternoon last summer, my last weekday of unemployment, and actually did have an encounter that might have been a pick-up.
But there also seem to be occasional drug deals and gang activity, and there are soccer and baseball crowds every weekend, usually families. And most of the Park is empty most of the time.
Sunday, April 4
With the time change and laziness, I go hiking in the Park later than usual, starting around 11. Later, along Griffin, I again think there's some pick-up activity going on in the Park. I re-enter the Park and immediately find not just one, but several cruising people. Although I play stare-and-follow games with one guy, and circle around some, I can't decipher the rules, and I go home.
Friday, April 9
I got home early enough to eat dinner and relax a bit and it's still light out. I decide it's a perfect day to check out the dusk activity again, especially since I can drive down to Griffin (rather than hike and be sweaty and grungy) and just park and watch. I take a magazine to read if nothing is happening.
But there is a lot of pretty obvious cruising going on. I see a couple of fairly attractive guys, too. It's quite active, and I've only been here 10 minutes. One guy, after talking for a time with another person (a friend or a pick-up?), strolls down the bridge and along the sidewalk opposite where I'm parked. I look at him, I hope pleasantly, but I don't try to attract his attention beyond that.
But he calls out to me and asks for the time. I answer, and he comes across the street and talks some more! He asks if I speak Spanish. He says he's taking English classes at a nearby adult night school. He tells me his name is Victor, and he asks my name. He says he is supposed to practice English. We're doing pretty good for all the language difficulties! At one point, he starts to walk away, but I call him back. I finally ask if he wants to talk some more and get a drink. He agrees and gets in the car! At first, I thought he had somewhere in mind, but after we drive a bit, then stop and talk, I suggest my place and he agrees.
Once at my place, he has orange juice (which turns out to be his favorite drink) and we struggle with small talk. Anxious to clear the air, I finally manage to start talking about the men who walk in the Park. He does seem to know what I'm talking about, and I finally say that I'm gay. He definitely understands at least that much. I try to explain that it's OK if he's not, or if he's not interested in me. (It's not easy to say this using my menu-Spanish and his bits of English!) He seems to mainly understand, but makes no move to either leave or progress. I offer to take him home or back to the Park, but he doesn't want to leave.
He finally does put a hand out to me, but we stop at just touching while still making small talk. It's been about an hour now. Finally, he reaches out to pull my head down for a kiss; I pull him up from the couch and we go to the bedroom. We proceed to play around for the next couple of hours. He seems to enjoy it, although I'm physically much more aroused than he is. (He says he's only aroused in the mornings.)
The next days
He wants me to spend the night with him, but I demur. We agree to a lunch date on Sunday. After I do take him home, he calls. But phone conversation is harder than face-to-face. He calls again Saturday, while I'm finishing my taxes, and asks for help seeing a dermatologist for the rash he has on one leg. I am dismayed. After much deliberation, mainly with myself, I end up taking him to get some over-the-counter medication. On Sunday, we have lunch, visit the Huntington, buy a dictionary (!), and fool around some more. (This time he gets quite adequately aroused.) He still wants to see a dermatologist, so I try to get him to call John Guagenti Monday, and make an appointment, and I offer to take there on Tuesday. But Monday evening, he explains that he never did call John, but he's skipping class and can I come over? We have a bit of ice cream, and we sit and talk and cuddle. I suggest that I come over Tuesday after school, see him briefly, and drive him to English class, which I do. We have a date for Friday night. I spent most of the next weekend with him.
It's been fun, and that's all I'm taking it as for now. One unexpected result is that in my dreams, I no longer assume that every cute young thing will ignore me! My dreams, at least, have gotten much sexier.
Victor moves in
31 July 1993
Since we met in early April, I devoted most of every weekend to Victor through the end of school. Then, all at once, his host family finally returned, they seemed ready to suddenly send him home, he explained his illegal status, and I was leaving for Alaska. So he moved in with me.
Whooomp! With almost no forethought, I had a live-in, illegal alien lover, with no money, whom I could barely communicate with, whom I didn't really know a lot about, whose only "American" friends were sufficiently angry at him to threaten him, and I was leaving him alone in my home while I left for 12 days.
Pathologically, debilitatingly cautious, never-spontaneous Rodney!
He and my home were fine while I was gone, of course. Once I returned, I devoted much of every night along with every weekend to Victor. And, finally, just last weekend, I saw him off from Tijuana back to Progreso (at my expense). And I will probably go visit him there in another month.
So. What was it all about, how do I feel, what do we both expect?
First, I still don't think I'm in love. Partly it's that I am emotionally retarded. Partly it's that I'm not yet sure how much we have in common. Yes, we've both genuinely enjoyed touring L.A.,and he seems to love to take care of my house and me (which I certainly enjoy), and, crucially, we both enjoy our time in bed. But I don't even know what his real interests would be on his own, and many of mine are language-dependent (and have suffered these past three months).
Second, I've proved one previously theoretical claim: That I'm not hung-up on any particular age, hair color, body build, face, .... any "type" at all beyond saying that the type of man who would turn me on would be one who was turned on by me. And I have to admit that Victor has convinced me that I turn him on. If that proves false, he's an astounding actor, and I will never recover from the devastation.
Third, I'm very much looking forward to visiting him in Progreso. Not just to see him and Yucatan, but to learn about his life, his family, his friends, his job, etc.
Fourth, I don't know what to think about the future. I'm not ready to move to Yucatan. I'm not ready to have him live with me illegally and indefinitely. Despite what he says, I doubt that he's really ready to give up his life in Mexico.
Finally, to return to the first, most important point. I truly say that I love him, but it's not a gut-wrenching, must-have, in-love emotion.
I have to simply say, "We'll see."
Since we met in early April, I devoted most of every weekend to Victor through the end of school. Then, all at once, his host family finally returned, they seemed ready to suddenly send him home, he explained his illegal status, and I was leaving for Alaska. So he moved in with me.
Whooomp! With almost no forethought, I had a live-in, illegal alien lover, with no money, whom I could barely communicate with, whom I didn't really know a lot about, whose only "American" friends were sufficiently angry at him to threaten him, and I was leaving him alone in my home while I left for 12 days.
Pathologically, debilitatingly cautious, never-spontaneous Rodney!
He and my home were fine while I was gone, of course. Once I returned, I devoted much of every night along with every weekend to Victor. And, finally, just last weekend, I saw him off from Tijuana back to Progreso (at my expense). And I will probably go visit him there in another month.
So. What was it all about, how do I feel, what do we both expect?
First, I still don't think I'm in love. Partly it's that I am emotionally retarded. Partly it's that I'm not yet sure how much we have in common. Yes, we've both genuinely enjoyed touring L.A.,and he seems to love to take care of my house and me (which I certainly enjoy), and, crucially, we both enjoy our time in bed. But I don't even know what his real interests would be on his own, and many of mine are language-dependent (and have suffered these past three months).
Second, I've proved one previously theoretical claim: That I'm not hung-up on any particular age, hair color, body build, face, .... any "type" at all beyond saying that the type of man who would turn me on would be one who was turned on by me. And I have to admit that Victor has convinced me that I turn him on. If that proves false, he's an astounding actor, and I will never recover from the devastation.
Third, I'm very much looking forward to visiting him in Progreso. Not just to see him and Yucatan, but to learn about his life, his family, his friends, his job, etc.
Fourth, I don't know what to think about the future. I'm not ready to move to Yucatan. I'm not ready to have him live with me illegally and indefinitely. Despite what he says, I doubt that he's really ready to give up his life in Mexico.
Finally, to return to the first, most important point. I truly say that I love him, but it's not a gut-wrenching, must-have, in-love emotion.
I have to simply say, "We'll see."
Spending money
29 August 1993
....
Listening to more people with serious health and financial problems, I realize again how lucky I've been, except that I don't believe in luck, per se. It's more a combination of temperament (cautious, conservative, non-violent, staid, ...) and chance (genetics, upbringing, time, place, ...), mostly chance.
In related reflections this week: I've changed my spending habits some lately. After being frugal to the point of miserliness all my life, I've recently begun to splurge in small ways, and to generally worry less about what I spend. I have decided that I am (I hope) financially secure and putting enough aside for the future, and can afford it.
All my adult life, I've watched everyone around me happily indulge in America's consumer culture while I've held back. I've never really been that tempted; there's still little of it that attracts me, but I've slowly begun to join in, in the most crucial way -- I don't immediately dismiss every whimsical thought of spending on something. Maybe it's a mild mid-life crisis. I think it's OK.
....
Listening to more people with serious health and financial problems, I realize again how lucky I've been, except that I don't believe in luck, per se. It's more a combination of temperament (cautious, conservative, non-violent, staid, ...) and chance (genetics, upbringing, time, place, ...), mostly chance.
In related reflections this week: I've changed my spending habits some lately. After being frugal to the point of miserliness all my life, I've recently begun to splurge in small ways, and to generally worry less about what I spend. I have decided that I am (I hope) financially secure and putting enough aside for the future, and can afford it.
All my adult life, I've watched everyone around me happily indulge in America's consumer culture while I've held back. I've never really been that tempted; there's still little of it that attracts me, but I've slowly begun to join in, in the most crucial way -- I don't immediately dismiss every whimsical thought of spending on something. Maybe it's a mild mid-life crisis. I think it's OK.
Tuesday, May 19, 2020
Story-Telling
23 September 1995
[not yet well thought-out]
[not yet well thought-out]
Story-Telling is fundamental to learning / understanding / investigating:
- Hypothesis formation
- Experimentation / Exploration / Categorization (Apples & Oranges!)
- Another way of explaining the world (along with religion and science)
Story-Telling is fundamental to communication / socialization / culture / civilization:
- The entire point of communication and language
- The one indispensible pre-requisite of society
- Perhaps the requirement for acceptance by others (cf. Rorty)
Story-Telling is fundamental to cognition:
- Categorization (A&O!)
- Stories are generated so easily and believed so readily:
- to explain the unexplainable
- conspiracy theories
- religion / cosmology / superstition
- under hypnosis
- mass hysteria
- dreams
- art and fiction
- false memory
- split brain experiments (As told by M. Gazzaniga: one half making up (false) explanations for the other's actions)
Story-Telling is part of (fundamental to?) the widespread, almost universal
- Hatred of the unexplained
- Antipathy for science (with its slowness, its unexplained parts, its complications, its denial of purpose / motive / point / plot / story, its amorality)
- Mania for religion and superstition and the supernatural
- Hatred of purposeless randomness (and hence, insistence on rationalizations, no matter how irrational, including gods)
Ways of explaining the world
Perhaps part of my lack of enthusiasm for most story-telling (novels, movies) is that Story-Telling, Religion, and Science are the three ways humanity has found to try to make sense of the world. And they compete. And I'm a scientist.
Community
23 September 1995
[not yet well thought-out]
Musing on Justice led to Responsibility led to Community. Years ago, I dreamt of writing a long piece on Justice, including social justice, including prejudice. In recent years, I've been thinking a lot about Responsibility, including social responsibility, particularly avoiding responsibility: refusing blame, whiners and victims, "Surrender to God" (and religion in general).
That led to Community, esp. denial of community:
[not yet well thought-out]
Musing on Justice led to Responsibility led to Community. Years ago, I dreamt of writing a long piece on Justice, including social justice, including prejudice. In recent years, I've been thinking a lot about Responsibility, including social responsibility, particularly avoiding responsibility: refusing blame, whiners and victims, "Surrender to God" (and religion in general).
That led to Community, esp. denial of community:
- Radical individualism
- Libertarianism (contracts but not government? What is a government but a social contract?)
- Paranoid conspiracy nuts
- Hatred of government (but love of "country"??)
- Hatred of taxes (but insistence on benefits)
- Disappearance of civility
- Diminishing regard even for human life
- All greed and selfishness
Social Retardation
30 June 2004
...
The stupidity (my strongest epithet) of post-breakup behaviors. Is it really impossible to remain friends? I suspect it's largely cultural. I also suspect folks with different temperaments feel differently about it. And it's probably tied to the many different ways people feel about sex and its emotional significance or insignificance. And that's where my social / sexual / emotional retardation comes in.
The stupidity of generalizing. Such as, "Because I do or feel this, everyone must." We're not all alike. Or, rather, we're not all that alike.
The true loneliness of the socially retarded is our cruel treatment by others: dropped when they pair off, etc. The tyranny of coupledon: If you're not coupled, you're spurned by couples. All the teenage emphasis on coupling. All the effort society puts into social training of kids on coupling. There's no time or thought or training for the rest of us, the singles, the late-bloomers, esp. the late-blooming gays, esp. the socially retarded late-blooming gays. They (we!) need help. Need training. Need warning! How can I reach them to warn them? The others need to learn how cruel this is!
I think there's a need for a Guide for the Socially Perplexed ( / Challenged / Retarded). Or a movie? (Where are those?) Or TV? (Did Friends really tackle friendship?) Or even just T-shirts and slogans. Or a magazine column? Or a blog?! (My next career!) After all, socially retarded means slow, not hopeless. We're still trainable.
...
The stupidity (my strongest epithet) of post-breakup behaviors. Is it really impossible to remain friends? I suspect it's largely cultural. I also suspect folks with different temperaments feel differently about it. And it's probably tied to the many different ways people feel about sex and its emotional significance or insignificance. And that's where my social / sexual / emotional retardation comes in.
The stupidity of generalizing. Such as, "Because I do or feel this, everyone must." We're not all alike. Or, rather, we're not all that alike.
The true loneliness of the socially retarded is our cruel treatment by others: dropped when they pair off, etc. The tyranny of coupledon: If you're not coupled, you're spurned by couples. All the teenage emphasis on coupling. All the effort society puts into social training of kids on coupling. There's no time or thought or training for the rest of us, the singles, the late-bloomers, esp. the late-blooming gays, esp. the socially retarded late-blooming gays. They (we!) need help. Need training. Need warning! How can I reach them to warn them? The others need to learn how cruel this is!
I think there's a need for a Guide for the Socially Perplexed ( / Challenged / Retarded). Or a movie? (Where are those?) Or TV? (Did Friends really tackle friendship?) Or even just T-shirts and slogans. Or a magazine column? Or a blog?! (My next career!) After all, socially retarded means slow, not hopeless. We're still trainable.
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