It wasn't until recently that I discovered this guy, when I read Slaughterhouse Five. I then read a book of his "early" (1950s) short stories that were so-so. Anyhoo, the article in the link is food for thought.

I spent some time researching jobs today. I tapped around the website for a company of a man who was a big cheese at my undergraduate college and whose son was a friend of mine. The father was a former state rep, a CEO of this and that -- and an alumni of my college. Later, he donated an entire building to the campus.

We can thank his son for introducing me to the punk scene. He didn't hang around for very long, he showed up one day at my door, "I'm leaving." In the middle of the term? Yeah, just like that. He attended class even less than I did, but while I got 'gentlemen's B's', he aced things like economics and political science.

Peeking around his dad's corporate website today, it seemed a little kooky-doodles. It's still a 'media conglomerate', but it now puts together 'documentaries' like: Russia's Secret Scheme to Dominate Space. (The only advertised jobs are for salespeople.)

But moving right along. I'm going to an offbeat film tonight, not even sure what it is since one of my friends put it together, then to a party tomorrow night in a loft in Cincy. Sniffles, I miss Cincy.

But the apex of the weekend will be Sunday. Then I'm driving up to Akron, which is second only to Dayton in hip-ness (although let's not rule out Canton!), to see this band. (Even though the band has an official site, this link gave me a chuckle -- and it's true, all true!)

Prior to this year, it's been a long time since I've braved crowds to see a band in a stadium. I have a thing about crowds. This year, I've gone a few times, with a definite 80s theme: Madonna (twice). Sting and Annie Lennox. Now, the Pixies.

MOm and Dad get to babysit Grace. Won't that be fun. Actually, it will be -- for her. She gets to scoot around on their nice clean carpets. I don't know what it is about those carpets, but she loves doing that. I think she's trying to leave her smell on them or something. She just ignores their dog.

I had a dream last night and in my dream, I was picking up the mail. I was walking across to my mailbox. I saw I had mail and then I woke up. That was all.

It was more than that, though. It was my mailbox at college, in the building where the mailboxes were housed, an ornate turn-of-the-century building with dark fluted columns and chandeliers that had seen its better days by the time I was there.

It was on a day like the kind we're having right now, hazy cold, the leaves gone. It was afternoon, after most classes were done, so I was by myself. The floor creaked when I walked, the door from outside smacked in a gust of wind.

Inside, it was steamy warm, the radiators hissing. I could smell the musk. I walked across the room with the dark columns and the dusty chandeliers and into the windowless mail room, lit by a flickering flourescent light and lined on three walls with tiers of post boxes. Each worn mailbox had three tiny combination wheels beneath a little window with its number painted in black and gold.

I had mail.

And it was more than that. In my dream I was by myself -- but I wasn't. When I woke, I was thinking of my two best friends: my last -- and really only serious -- girlfriend, and my very first boyfriend. They were not in my dream but they were there. I could see them, as we were then, twenty years old.

Three years ago in Colorado I ran into a college acquaintance who had one of those slick alumni office publications. I looked up a few people and my girlfriend was one of them. She was listed, so I wrote her.

It's been many years since we spoke and I felt so bad about how things ended. I hope you know that I never intended to hurt you. If you have forgiven me, I would like to hear how your life has gone. Have you gotten married? Do you have children?I would like to know.

I had a response almost immediately. She was well, very well. She had married an engineer, she had a child that was named after her mother. (You remembered! she said when I mentioned that.) I had left an 'indelible impression' on her, she said, and of course I cynically thought I'll bet! But we wrote and got caught up...

It has been many years since I have spoken to or heard from my very first boyfriend. In the late 80s I was in his city on business, so I gave him a call. His wife -- the 'judge's daughter' -- answered the phone. I could hear small children in the background and she seemed startled to hear from me.

"And what about you? Did you ever do anything with teaching?"
"Oh no," she said. "I always wanted to be a housewife."

Was she being sarcastic? Funny? Serious? Her voice gave no special inflection.

"Oh," I said, "Well from the background, it sounds like you got your wish."

Silence. I laughed uncomfortably. "And how is he?"
He is doing very well, very busy. He's not here right now. He's at work. He was torn up over his father's death last year. He has almost a full head of gray hair, you wouldn't recognize him.

"Well, it was good chatting with you. Tell him I called and said 'hi'."
"I will. Good bye."

I have a pretty good idea why I had this dream. Life is weird, though.

Being Single hasn't been all that bad, really. As I move through life -- and particularly in the last four or five years -- I have been generally more calm as I have made decisions without considering the possibility of a relationship.

It is when I face the idea of a relationship that I feel the hollow of my guts. It is when I face the idea of a relationship that I can see how scientists say that computer coding give a clue into how the mind processes information. When I think about being single, I feel my brain physically kick into a string, an endless loop, that if I don't stop it always ends with a black flooding of screens rolling >error!userundefined>error!userundefined>error!userundefined

So perhaps it is hypocritical to even have a personal ad posted. My ad is unlike most -- most ads can be categorized against the the two extremes of long-lasting love or the no-strings-attached kind that lasts for 15 minutes. My ad is looking for "friends and dating." Whether based on my actual experiences or my emerging attitude to dating, the ad has best served as a way to make friends.

What can you tell from someone when they write to you? If they have no photograph, you have to piece them together from what clues they give you. Do they write in complete sentences? What thoughts do they express? And when someone responds to my ad that expresses ideas that give away they have a brain they use, that hollow feeling kicks -- but made worse with the addition of hope: Maybe this one could be some one.

My date last weekend, a blind date for me, already went in with extra points. He had seen me somewhere before he responded to me. That means he thought I was attractive enough. He had seen me with a friend, so he saw how I conducted myself. And he responded after all of that.

We were to meet at a microbrewery. I was going to sit at the bar and he was to come over and introduce himself. At the appointed hour, I sat at the bar and asked the bartender about brew specials.

The bar is quiet, it is mid-afternoon and there are only a few people. Could one of the few people at the bar be him? No one seems to glance in my direction. The bartender hands me a 'taster', a shot glass with the latest special.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see someone collecting their coat from the other end of the bar. He is getting up and is walking toward me. I get my first impression.

He is taller than me, but not 6 feet. He has a peaches-and-cream complexion and I can see he works out. A lot. He has shoulders, arms and a chest. What is a guy like this doing answering my ad?

We sit and talk. A guy like that is answering my ad because he is married and has two children. Nobody knows, not even his wife, and she doesn't know he is going to leave her and the kids right after Christmas. Nobody knows, not even their marriage counselor, who they've been seeing since the Spring. Is this for real?

What is he looking for? He wants to meet other gay people. Gay people who do not wear their sexuality on their sleeve and who are 'professional.'

What does he like? He likes to work out. Four or five times a week, hours at a time. He doesn't have to be at home when he's at the gym. He likes to watch sports. I tell him I only work out twice a week, for about an hour. I tell him I don't watch a lot of TV, and I definitely don't watch sports when I do.

How did it go? I don't know. I didn't know what to say. I said I hoped his wife was going to be okay.

We've been e-mailing. Yesterday, he 'spilled the beans' about himself to his therapist. She told him to tell his wife immediately and then move out of the house. Everyone will be better off even if the holidays are ruined. What do you think of all this?

What do I think? I don't know what to think. I think a guy who works out five times a week and who can bench press 280 does not want to be with a guy who works out twice a week and presses no more than 30 lb hand weights. I think a guy who likes to watch sports does not want to be with a guy who watches bad movies.

I don't know what to think. I think within a few months he'll be shaving all his body hair, driving an Audi convertible and have a string of 19-year-old boyfriends. That's what I think.

I don't know what to think.