Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Ephemera
Items I've come across while packing:
Nail Polish: Patriotic Blue, Ruby Red, Bilious Green, Opalescent
1997 was my first year of being single after many years, and the first time that I really noticed the circuit party circuit. Much had changed since the 1980s! I noticed a fad: some of the boys wore nail polish. Sometimes they would be all one color, sometimes different. Sometimes only one or two, like the big toes or a pinky finger.
Hee hee! I was a free man, and how fun, fabulous and decadent! Let me explore my feminine side I giggled. I had a law school friend, R, and with his 21 year old Russian boyfriend, we skipped through the Dollar store exploring our feminine sides and buying out nail polish and face glitter. There may even have been some eyeliner involved, but you didn't hear that from me.
I wore bilious green on my fingers to the 1997 pride festivities. I think we all wore bilious green. And lots of silver rings. I recall one restaurant where gestured a lot, throwing our decorated hands about. After that, I lost interest and forgot about my feminine side. I got a job, the nail polish was packed away and I moved from Denver.
A few years later, I rediscovered it. This time, I wore ruby red on my toes to a summer penthouse party in Denver. I came across the shirt I wore, too: Bright orange, with brown and white psychadelic spots. After the party and a few weeks later, I was out in the back yard talking with my next door neighbor: "What the hell is on your feet!" She exclaimed, "Oh, Hugshyhermit! Go in and take that off!" ho ho ho. (I later sold my house to her and her husband; they sent me a Christmas card -- their son and his wife now live in my old house.)
Torn up Personal Check dated 1994 made out to "Church of Scientology" $5,000 -- for 'e-meter' and 'auditing' services.
Shortly before the date of this check, my sister shocked my family by telling us she had joined the Church of Scientology. It was extremely upsetting, particularly for my parents. My dad and I both uncovered some pretty unsavory stuff. My dad even flew down to Clearwater, the site of their headquarters, to do some research.
I was living with J by that time, in our Logan Street apartment in Denver. I was telling him about some of the findings: About the 'e-meter' -- a contraption that isn't much more sophisticated than two cans at the end of a string and that is supposed to measure whether you're blocked (i.e., lying) or not; and 'auditing' which is psychotherapy by your peers (even though Scientologists are virulently opposed to psychotherapy). When you join their church, auditing and the e-meter can be used to browbeat you into the fold, in the interest of 'clearing' you. I'll save for another blogentry what it clears you of. They charge a pretty penny for it: Evidence suggested the church bleeds you dry for these "services".
J and I started joking around -- "Maybe YOU need to be audited," and "The e-meter says 'all signs say yes'" (like those 'magic' 8-balls). Out came the checkbook. We were laughing so hard, J and I could barely stand; we laughed so hard it brought tears and snot out of our noses.
Box of turn-of-the-century popular music
I think maybe I was in high school and came across these at a yard sale with mom. The stack of sheet music, for piano, had really decorative and cool drawings or designs on the covers. At the time, mom and I were going to use the covers as frameable art, or to decoupage onto a screen or a wall.
After I got settled in Colorado Springs, mom shipped these out to me, still unused. Since I now had an old upright piano, I unpacked a couple of them and, for the first time in years, used some of the music to sight-read. It was amazing how quickly it came back. Not that I was any Liberace. I would read the music for the right-hand melody, then read the music for the left-hand bass, then start to put it together. Some of the old-time chords, chord progressions and melodies have a ragtime feel. Some are sickeningly sentimental love songs "When the Gold has turned to Grey", and "Down by the old school yard". I was really taken aback when I came across a song that was blatantly racist (and I don't mean in an even remotely cute blackface, minstral sort of way, although maybe songs like "Back in Sunny Africa" are supposed to be). Then I came across another -- and another and another. It was unreal how pervasive it must have been. The "n" word was used a lot, "coon", "darky" all of those terms. It's weird to have it paired with a flowery little melody.
'Self-Portrait' 1983, Beginning Photography Class
I came across a photo of me, black & white, that had been part of a class assignment. The mounting has started to disintegrate, the photo is scratched, the edges are bunged.
I sit, straddling a desk chair turned backwards, elbows on the back, frowning. It's taken in a darkly-paneled corner of my room-mate's bedroom in our apartment. I'm looking down, and half my face is in shadows -- I'm frowning. I have helmet hair, a baseball shirt, jeans and socks. I really was surprised by the fact I was frowning. I wonder what I was thinking.
Photography I and II were some of my favorite undergraduate classes. Sometimes I would spend all night developing rolls and rolls of negatives and processing prints, drying in rows and rows of clotheslines inside the darkroom bunkers. (Obsessive even then.) My professor was rumored to be an alcholic, and one time he banged on the door during one of those all-nighters. "Wha th' hell's goin on in there?" he bellowed through the door, continuing to hit the door until I answered. When I opened the door, he stepped back unsteadily, unfocused. He didn't believe me when I said I was working; I picture his leer now. He died a few years ago.
I tend to be a packrat; I didn't throw any of these out. I'm keeping them all, even the nail polish. Especially the nail polish. In two days I move. A new chapter.
Nail Polish: Patriotic Blue, Ruby Red, Bilious Green, Opalescent
1997 was my first year of being single after many years, and the first time that I really noticed the circuit party circuit. Much had changed since the 1980s! I noticed a fad: some of the boys wore nail polish. Sometimes they would be all one color, sometimes different. Sometimes only one or two, like the big toes or a pinky finger.
Hee hee! I was a free man, and how fun, fabulous and decadent! Let me explore my feminine side I giggled. I had a law school friend, R, and with his 21 year old Russian boyfriend, we skipped through the Dollar store exploring our feminine sides and buying out nail polish and face glitter. There may even have been some eyeliner involved, but you didn't hear that from me.
I wore bilious green on my fingers to the 1997 pride festivities. I think we all wore bilious green. And lots of silver rings. I recall one restaurant where gestured a lot, throwing our decorated hands about. After that, I lost interest and forgot about my feminine side. I got a job, the nail polish was packed away and I moved from Denver.
A few years later, I rediscovered it. This time, I wore ruby red on my toes to a summer penthouse party in Denver. I came across the shirt I wore, too: Bright orange, with brown and white psychadelic spots. After the party and a few weeks later, I was out in the back yard talking with my next door neighbor: "What the hell is on your feet!" She exclaimed, "Oh, Hugshyhermit! Go in and take that off!" ho ho ho. (I later sold my house to her and her husband; they sent me a Christmas card -- their son and his wife now live in my old house.)
Torn up Personal Check dated 1994 made out to "Church of Scientology" $5,000 -- for 'e-meter' and 'auditing' services.
Shortly before the date of this check, my sister shocked my family by telling us she had joined the Church of Scientology. It was extremely upsetting, particularly for my parents. My dad and I both uncovered some pretty unsavory stuff. My dad even flew down to Clearwater, the site of their headquarters, to do some research.
I was living with J by that time, in our Logan Street apartment in Denver. I was telling him about some of the findings: About the 'e-meter' -- a contraption that isn't much more sophisticated than two cans at the end of a string and that is supposed to measure whether you're blocked (i.e., lying) or not; and 'auditing' which is psychotherapy by your peers (even though Scientologists are virulently opposed to psychotherapy). When you join their church, auditing and the e-meter can be used to browbeat you into the fold, in the interest of 'clearing' you. I'll save for another blogentry what it clears you of. They charge a pretty penny for it: Evidence suggested the church bleeds you dry for these "services".
J and I started joking around -- "Maybe YOU need to be audited," and "The e-meter says 'all signs say yes'" (like those 'magic' 8-balls). Out came the checkbook. We were laughing so hard, J and I could barely stand; we laughed so hard it brought tears and snot out of our noses.
Box of turn-of-the-century popular music
I think maybe I was in high school and came across these at a yard sale with mom. The stack of sheet music, for piano, had really decorative and cool drawings or designs on the covers. At the time, mom and I were going to use the covers as frameable art, or to decoupage onto a screen or a wall.
After I got settled in Colorado Springs, mom shipped these out to me, still unused. Since I now had an old upright piano, I unpacked a couple of them and, for the first time in years, used some of the music to sight-read. It was amazing how quickly it came back. Not that I was any Liberace. I would read the music for the right-hand melody, then read the music for the left-hand bass, then start to put it together. Some of the old-time chords, chord progressions and melodies have a ragtime feel. Some are sickeningly sentimental love songs "When the Gold has turned to Grey", and "Down by the old school yard". I was really taken aback when I came across a song that was blatantly racist (and I don't mean in an even remotely cute blackface, minstral sort of way, although maybe songs like "Back in Sunny Africa" are supposed to be). Then I came across another -- and another and another. It was unreal how pervasive it must have been. The "n" word was used a lot, "coon", "darky" all of those terms. It's weird to have it paired with a flowery little melody.
'Self-Portrait' 1983, Beginning Photography Class
I came across a photo of me, black & white, that had been part of a class assignment. The mounting has started to disintegrate, the photo is scratched, the edges are bunged.
I sit, straddling a desk chair turned backwards, elbows on the back, frowning. It's taken in a darkly-paneled corner of my room-mate's bedroom in our apartment. I'm looking down, and half my face is in shadows -- I'm frowning. I have helmet hair, a baseball shirt, jeans and socks. I really was surprised by the fact I was frowning. I wonder what I was thinking.
Photography I and II were some of my favorite undergraduate classes. Sometimes I would spend all night developing rolls and rolls of negatives and processing prints, drying in rows and rows of clotheslines inside the darkroom bunkers. (Obsessive even then.) My professor was rumored to be an alcholic, and one time he banged on the door during one of those all-nighters. "Wha th' hell's goin on in there?" he bellowed through the door, continuing to hit the door until I answered. When I opened the door, he stepped back unsteadily, unfocused. He didn't believe me when I said I was working; I picture his leer now. He died a few years ago.
I tend to be a packrat; I didn't throw any of these out. I'm keeping them all, even the nail polish. Especially the nail polish. In two days I move. A new chapter.
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Luscious Desert
1:45 a.m.
Sometimes I have insomnia.
New Years' Eve was one of the best in recent memories for me. Other years have been ugly (and I do mean UGLY) enough to where I now avoid going out.
So, D and I went with his friend C to see "Cold Mountain" and then on to B's house for midnight desert and to watch the crystal ball drop. We joked about witnessing a terrorist outbreak to pep things up a bit after all the drama over Code Orange and the publicity of 1000s of cops crawling about Times Square. But no, we were all laughing at something just as the ball began its descent and missed seeing it altogether.
We toasted for a better 2004. As we were clinking I thought: 2003 wasn't that bad, after all.
Living in Cincinnati for the year, I got to know it. I made new friends and strengthened old ones -- there were a lot of laughs. Grace and I loved my neighborhood and its panorama of downtown; its quirkiness between the very poor and wealthy, and the religious community next to the television station on the street above me.
Whining on this Blog notwithstanding, I dated. For the first time in years. Two guys. For several months each!
I answered Plant Material's Ad about a year ago; I picked up Costume Designer in a bar. They both dumped me. But on recap, I had a genuinely good time with both of them while it lasted. I think I learned (or was reminded of) a few things.
Plant Material had a lot of friends, who were extremely important to him. At social functions, I think he expected me to be more dependent (because he stayed by my side for those events where I knew everyone). Why didn't I? Beyond the fact that I would rather have my tongue yanked out of my head before hearing anyone describe me as "clingy", Plant Material himself placed a high premium (so he said) on someone who could fend for themselves. So I dove headfirst into every social situation. Demonstrating my independence in that way took effort. I made good impressions, but it was exhausting. I didn't need to try so hard in working the crowd.
I wrote about PM in one other entry -- I found him dry and wound a bit tight. I kinda kicked myself at the time for not breaking up with him first -- I wasn't in love with him -- and what is the line between working with something or moving on? But thinking back, would I do it differently? The qualities of being dry or being wound a bit tight are *not* necessarily deal-breakers for me. It's more important how you treat each other and communicate. And in Plant Material's case, he sent mixed messages.
Costume Designer was unequivocally a blast to be around. He is funny, smart, talented and cute. What surprised me with this relationship was not being jealous -- I knew he was a big slut. There was no pulse of brain loops constantly catching on Is he out having sex? With who? Where? If you're following this blog, it's not like I'm a little snowflake. (But jealousy is married to hypocrisy.) I let go and enjoyed myself. There were a lot of laughs, and I believe he had a good time with me. Maybe that's why I moved on easily. (Sadly, but easily.) Wishful thinking? Well, let me have it, then. He got me a spot performing in a crowd scene at the opera.
I volunteered as an extra (or Supernumerary for Those In The Know -- doesn't that mean "Extra Number" or something?) at the opera, then at the ballet. No Talent Necessary! It was definitely stimulating -- and FUN!
I can't review the year without also mentioning TrailerPark. I met TrailerPark in 2002 while on vacation in Colorado, and we got together again when I went out west in the spring. He lives in a trailer with his mom and his dog. He drank like a fish, had lost his license after 3 DUI's, and smoked cigarettes and pot non-stop.
These are not qualities Hugshyhermit ordinarily finds attractive in others. But none of this bothered me. In the spring, TrailerPark told me he had stopped drinking, and he was driving again. He was going to start school to be a Veterinarian's Assistant. It seemed like he was getting his life together.
TrailerPark, I realized, was painfully shy. "I prefer animals to people," he told me, and I believe him. He was soft-spoken in his manners. We would talk about the books he was reading -- and yeahs it was a lot of the same new-age drivel I like to read. The Way of the Peaceful Warrior, The Celestine Prophecy, etc etc bllch. (It's pathetic, I know.) Even though TrailerPark had been in the Navy, he lost his composure when the topic turned to George W. and our (then impending) invasion of Iraq.
The e-mail correspondence with TrailerPark has dropped off. He met a minister over the summer and is in Love, he tells me. I am happy for him, but at the same time.... feel... jealousy? (ha ha ha) No. I think it's more like envy. He deserves it.
Even though working at BIPC is not a treat, I had a good year there, too. I won an award (more laughs), I stepped up to the plate and volunteered for projects that paid off, and was rewarded with a great raise when most people in the company had paltry ones or none at all.
More so than in a long time, I feel that major changes are about to happen for me. I'd like to think these changes will be ones that are good.
So, Bloggies, I wonder whether Luscious Desert -- or at least this chapter -- is ready to close. I am no longer 40. Feeling trapped was a state of mind, and by taking actions such as finishing the duplex, and with a resume ready to go, I'm not sure I feel this way anymore.
More later...?
Sometimes I have insomnia.
New Years' Eve was one of the best in recent memories for me. Other years have been ugly (and I do mean UGLY) enough to where I now avoid going out.
So, D and I went with his friend C to see "Cold Mountain" and then on to B's house for midnight desert and to watch the crystal ball drop. We joked about witnessing a terrorist outbreak to pep things up a bit after all the drama over Code Orange and the publicity of 1000s of cops crawling about Times Square. But no, we were all laughing at something just as the ball began its descent and missed seeing it altogether.
We toasted for a better 2004. As we were clinking I thought: 2003 wasn't that bad, after all.
Living in Cincinnati for the year, I got to know it. I made new friends and strengthened old ones -- there were a lot of laughs. Grace and I loved my neighborhood and its panorama of downtown; its quirkiness between the very poor and wealthy, and the religious community next to the television station on the street above me.
Whining on this Blog notwithstanding, I dated. For the first time in years. Two guys. For several months each!
I answered Plant Material's Ad about a year ago; I picked up Costume Designer in a bar. They both dumped me. But on recap, I had a genuinely good time with both of them while it lasted. I think I learned (or was reminded of) a few things.
Plant Material had a lot of friends, who were extremely important to him. At social functions, I think he expected me to be more dependent (because he stayed by my side for those events where I knew everyone). Why didn't I? Beyond the fact that I would rather have my tongue yanked out of my head before hearing anyone describe me as "clingy", Plant Material himself placed a high premium (so he said) on someone who could fend for themselves. So I dove headfirst into every social situation. Demonstrating my independence in that way took effort. I made good impressions, but it was exhausting. I didn't need to try so hard in working the crowd.
I wrote about PM in one other entry -- I found him dry and wound a bit tight. I kinda kicked myself at the time for not breaking up with him first -- I wasn't in love with him -- and what is the line between working with something or moving on? But thinking back, would I do it differently? The qualities of being dry or being wound a bit tight are *not* necessarily deal-breakers for me. It's more important how you treat each other and communicate. And in Plant Material's case, he sent mixed messages.
Costume Designer was unequivocally a blast to be around. He is funny, smart, talented and cute. What surprised me with this relationship was not being jealous -- I knew he was a big slut. There was no pulse of brain loops constantly catching on Is he out having sex? With who? Where? If you're following this blog, it's not like I'm a little snowflake. (But jealousy is married to hypocrisy.) I let go and enjoyed myself. There were a lot of laughs, and I believe he had a good time with me. Maybe that's why I moved on easily. (Sadly, but easily.) Wishful thinking? Well, let me have it, then. He got me a spot performing in a crowd scene at the opera.
I volunteered as an extra (or Supernumerary for Those In The Know -- doesn't that mean "Extra Number" or something?) at the opera, then at the ballet. No Talent Necessary! It was definitely stimulating -- and FUN!
I can't review the year without also mentioning TrailerPark. I met TrailerPark in 2002 while on vacation in Colorado, and we got together again when I went out west in the spring. He lives in a trailer with his mom and his dog. He drank like a fish, had lost his license after 3 DUI's, and smoked cigarettes and pot non-stop.
These are not qualities Hugshyhermit ordinarily finds attractive in others. But none of this bothered me. In the spring, TrailerPark told me he had stopped drinking, and he was driving again. He was going to start school to be a Veterinarian's Assistant. It seemed like he was getting his life together.
TrailerPark, I realized, was painfully shy. "I prefer animals to people," he told me, and I believe him. He was soft-spoken in his manners. We would talk about the books he was reading -- and yeahs it was a lot of the same new-age drivel I like to read. The Way of the Peaceful Warrior, The Celestine Prophecy, etc etc bllch. (It's pathetic, I know.) Even though TrailerPark had been in the Navy, he lost his composure when the topic turned to George W. and our (then impending) invasion of Iraq.
The e-mail correspondence with TrailerPark has dropped off. He met a minister over the summer and is in Love, he tells me. I am happy for him, but at the same time.... feel... jealousy? (ha ha ha) No. I think it's more like envy. He deserves it.
Even though working at BIPC is not a treat, I had a good year there, too. I won an award (more laughs), I stepped up to the plate and volunteered for projects that paid off, and was rewarded with a great raise when most people in the company had paltry ones or none at all.
More so than in a long time, I feel that major changes are about to happen for me. I'd like to think these changes will be ones that are good.
So, Bloggies, I wonder whether Luscious Desert -- or at least this chapter -- is ready to close. I am no longer 40. Feeling trapped was a state of mind, and by taking actions such as finishing the duplex, and with a resume ready to go, I'm not sure I feel this way anymore.
More later...?