Monthly Archives:

September 2017

There’s nervousness and excitement in the air – it’s like the first day of school and the opening credits of ‘The Devil Wears Prada‘ all in one – and as tribute to that anticipation, let’s put a proper soundtrack into the background of this post: ‘Suddenly I See’.

New clothes. New accessories. New attitude.

A new Trapper-Keeper.

Every new school year was a chance to premiere a new persona. Back then I cared less for such opportunities for transformation; I was more worried about whether I’d get the same lunch hour as my friends, or whether somebody would scream out “faggot” as I walked by. The chance to be someone new and start all over again was something I wouldn’t appreciate until much later, but the nervousness of being the new guy is something that we all experience at one point or another.

That’s also when I tend to make the most lasting memories. Trauma does that. In a heightened state of awareness, the minutes seem to elongate and stretch out into a first-day-of-forever. I can recall almost every first day of a new job, even if I can’t remember the last.

I still remember the first day of my New York State career. It was at the Department of State, and I was hired as a Grade 5 Data Entry Machine Operator. I had no idea what it meant to be a state worker (some days I still don’t). All I knew was that I needed a job that had benefits and retirement and all sorts of accompanying bells and whistles, so I took the first one that was offered and found myself in the elevator of 40 State Street, riding up to the fifth floor. It was August of 2001, just a few weeks before 9/11 would change all of our lives, and all my worries pooled in that single elevator ride. I did what I always do in times of worry and doubt: I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and channeled Madonna, picturing her entrance to the ‘Drowned World Tour’ in which she greeted a hungry audience that hadn’t seen her perform live in eight long years. Raising my chin and erecting my posture, I stood tall in that elevator – at least as tall as my short frame could stand – and when I stepped onto the floor of my new job, I put on the guise of self-confidence, forced a smile, and faked it until I made it.

On all my first days, I’d invariably have a moment of doubt, when I freaked out a little and wonder if I’d ever make friends or be at ease simply walking through the office. And I would do the same calculation in my head – the comfort calculation – when I’d try to remember how long it took me to feel at home in each new position. It averaged out to about eight weeks. If you can last eight weeks, you can last any number of years. That was always the turning point – by then I’d have made a few friends or at least people around whom I could be myself and not worry about being ridiculed or ostracized. Isn’t that everyone’s worry underneath it all – the notion that we might not be accepted? Some of us are more frightened of it than others. I pretended not to care, and eventually it came to be. But not in those early days.

At the end of my first day, sitting at my desk, I examined the stark little cubicle. A corner of dusty wires hid behind the computer screen. A container of pens stood beside the phone. The calendar marked the end of August and the start of my state career. I would only stay at that department for a few months before taking a promotion, and I would do that over and over until settling into a career in Human Resources. Every time I took a new job, I felt the same doubt, fear, hesitancy, and excitement – along with the promise of something new. Every fall the feeling returns – and a chance to start over again is born.

Good evening! Welcome to the first night recap of the previous week of posts – truncated since we only just returned to blogging this past Friday. I’ll keep things short and sweet before breaking for a couple of days, as explained in this trying bit of logistical dreariness. Sweet dreams until Thursday…

I suppose we should go back to the last post of the summer, just to offer a bridge to where we are now. My return to blogging was bookended by ‘Dear Evan Hansen’, which I have yet to see, but the music speaks volumes for itself, particularly its take on friendship. 

This is my home, and you are always welcome here. 

The Madonna Timeline was back with ‘Body Shop’. 

Things got interesting while I was away, 20 Things to be exact. 

The deliciousness that is shakshuka. 

You can never do the same thing twice, no matter how fierce. 

Still in the business of naked-ass male celebrities. 

The one thing that almost brought me back from my blogging sabbatical early. 

The Hunks returned from their summer break as well, but they kept their shirts off. Notables included Nile Wilson and Gavan Hennigan, 

After enjoying this summer’s sabbatical from everyday blogging, I realized the importance and need of a break from such an incessant posting schedule. We used to do a Monday morning recap of the week that came before, but come Monday afternoon I was already posting a new set of entries without a moment to breathe. My life takes place largely off-line, believe it or not, and I want to get back to that, so I’m establishing a new posting schedule – to which I may or may not adhere (depending on any number of moods).

The first change will be shifting the Monday morning recap of the previous week’s posts to Monday night. Second, and more importantly, I’m incorporating my own little “weekend” break on Tuesday and Wednesday – which means this blog will go dark for both those days. (Absence makes the heart grow fonder.) It also affords me some recharge time to keep things interesting; I abhor filler posts, and I’d rather not say anything at all than fill this space with nonsense simply for the sake of routine. Besides, the moment something becomes an obligation is the moment it loses much of its charm. I’m not quite ready to erase that kind of enchantment. This is a labor of love.

The walkway leading to the house has been swept.

The hydrangeas have ripened to their leathery fullness.

The last vestiges of summer hang on in defiance of the calendar.

Inside the glass door, the living room sits quietly in wait.

The bookshelves have been dusted. A candle flickers on the coffee table. There is a bouquet of flowers that looks like it’s been both meticulously and casually arranged. A fringed damask lamp glows in the corner, but enough light from a bay window spills into the room to lend it cheer and tranquility. On a sumptuous couch, a sea of pillows cradles the softest blanket in the world. You may remember the space. I’ve brought you into this room several times over the years. This time is slightly different. We’ve been apart for a while, and there’s the usual moment of readjustment. It’s not quite awkward, but it feels new enough to be slightly disconcerting. We will take our time getting reacquainted.

A tray of dainty crust-free sandwiches shall be brought, and your choice of tea. Do you take lemon or honey? There is coffee on hand as well, though if you’re like me you’ll want cream and sugar for that. I’d offer you a cocktail if it wasn’t so early in the day, but we’ll have more than enough time to graduate into headier libations later. For now, we begin in sober fashion.

You haven’t brought a coat or hat, so there’s nothing much to distract from our immediate reunion. I don’t hug everyone, no matter how long it’s been. That’s not an indication of disdain. Please, sit. It’s been so long. Where do we begin?

I suppose we should start with the summer. How do you encapsulate an entire season in a single sitting? The cup plant rose, flowered, went to seed and fed the yellow finches along the way. The cold Maine ocean lapped at our toes and tickled our ankles. The sweet potato vines crept steadily down from their perch while the papyrus crept steadily up to the sun. A baby bunny appeared on the lawn one day, nibbling on the grass, and we let him stay a while. He had a small white spot of fur in the middle of his forehead, and somehow managed to steer clear of more ornamental leaves.

I returned to an old cherished tradition of reading one classic per summer, and this year it was ‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Bronte: “I would always rather be happy than dignified.” If you have any proposals, I’m looking for a good fall read. Something cozy, with a few yarns of intrigue, maybe tinged with the macabre for the approach of the dark season.

Mostly, though, I rejoined the living. It took a few days to get accustomed to it. I’d been conditioned to always think of the next post, to consistently catalog the events of a day into written format, to document everything that happened for future dissertation. When that went away, I felt a profound freedom, and a sense of relief. It was so enjoyable, I wasn’t sure I’d ever want to come back.

I did have moments of missing it. When a wonderful animated short on a gay romance showed up online, I wanted to post it and share it with the world (it will be up shortly). Instead, I sent it to a few select friends, who each replied with their take on it – and it was more of a response than I would have received had I posted and promoted it to the masses. It was the major lesson in this vacation: the ones who matter remain constant, and the one-on-one time I spent with them was more worthwhile than connecting to a million people on a broader social media scale. In some ways, that was incredibly reassuring.

But I also realized that I missed having a voice. A summer of silence is a good thing, but when the focus turns indoors, when I had a moment or phrase I wanted to share, I pined for an outlet. FaceBook and Twitter and Instagram can only express so much. My stories took more than 140 characters, required a complete lack of censorship, and could only be fully realized in a space like this.

Today, I honor this place, and anyone who has deigned to return here. I’ve come to know a few of you off the online grid, but this is for everyone who came back. I hope there are a couple new visitors too – I do my best to be extra kind to first-timers.