Today is a bright saturday; and with all the blinds up, the sunlight reflects off the white walls. My p.c. is temporarily located in the Dining Room, next to a set of windows where I can see the street.

As I was editing for the millionth time the last entry, obsessively needing to set just the right tone -- is it too cynical? should it have more humor? should I add more links? etc. and etc. ad nauseum -- I saw what looked like my date -- Jumpseat -- from a couple weeks ago walking by.

I wasn't sure; I jumped up and went out on the front porch, to stare after him as he walked down the end of the street. Yes, it was him! Poofy 80s hair and all.

He doesn't live anywhere near here! -- so he said. He called me once more, but I've been in such a funk with the management fun from last week (see last entry), that I didn't call him back and was going to let it go.

Was I hallucinating? What reason could he possibly have for being in this neighborhood? He knows my first name; did I give him my last? I suppose he could have looked up the tax assessment records on-line. Does the cell phone give out addresses?

This is just too frikken weird.

I hope my blog doesn't become a nonstop forum for discussing work, but it is an outlet for venting the stupid and weird; and my work continues to be that: STUPID AND WEIRD.

My boss and the management mid-levels from Way Out West are here for a care 'n' share: A love-fest to build bridges with the production and management staff here. (And timing is everything; following as it does so quickly on the days of rolling heads.) Adding to the warm fuzzies is the awards ceremony, where BIPC names "Employee of the Year". Do I sound a bit cynical? This year's ceremony, at a local conference center, was arranged by one of the managers who became unemployed last week. And who won the award? Folks who set up a department's chat room. Hmm.

In addition to the group activities, I scheduled independent meetings with my boss. Topping that was the review of the Super Secret Project.^†

That presentation went as well as it might -- if you include listening to suggestions reversing previous requests. It went well -- if you also include my boss' boss questioning the root objective of the project; an objective this person themself had set.

It's no surprise to you who follow along that I'm quite used to this meandering path; indecision masked as Project Management.

What a good idea! I'll make those changes, I minced.

During coffee between meetings, I told boss I'm getting fed up, I've had about enough, I'm angry all the time and I don't think it's me. I did not mention the humiliation from last week over the job dangled for a few seconds in front of me.

And right after that, Boss announced my raise for 2004.

Above average. Can you believe it? I can't.

Survival Technique Number One
Tonight, I joined the cabal for a dinner at one of those expensive but flavorless chains near the mall. On occasion, I've been known for telling stories; and as management looked uncomfortably at their plates and anywhere but each other, my nervous reaction was as if I had been yanked out of the audience and given a microphone. Tonight, I was definitely "on".

The ball got rolling with the story about how I was locked in the basement of the restaurant where I worked as a busboy in high school; I tried to get a drunk customer's attention by calling to her through a heating grate. As she tottered in front of the juke-box, she looked all around (including stooping down behind the juke-box), then waved her hands around her head as if trying to brush off a fly: Do you hear voices? I swear I'm hearing a voice. Where are you? OH MY GOD there's a FINGER!

Ha ha ha. (I don't expect this translates well to the written page. You tell me.)

This start brought healing hilarity to the care n share team. As one of the district heads spilled his 5th beer in an hour on one of his new direct reports, my ex-boss shook his head, laughing: "Tell the Wheaties Box story!"

"The Wheaties Box Story?" our visiting Vice-President leaned forward, eyes shining with anticipation.
"You haven't heard about the Wheaties Boxes?" my present boss teed it up.

So I told the Wheaties Box Story. Followed close on by "Christmas Eve Eviction" and finally, "Family Murder/Suicide". (All true, although perhaps embellished just a teensy bit here and there. These would come under the general category of "scary tenants" and I'll save these for you bloggies another time...)

With the table suitably lubed, my boss took up with a few of his own tales. He told stories involving his stuffed monkey. And then my ex-boss mopped it up with a tale about a pet chimpanzee his family later donated to the zoo when he was a teenager. Punch-line: "We quickly figured out which one was Elsie when it leaped over to the bars and spat at us."

haha ha!

Post-script, Thursday March 11
At our final lunch before his flight today, my boss and I talked candidly about surviving at BIPC. We agreed that a sense of humor, an easy laugh and frequent smile are probably good deflection tools. Meaningless projects, conflicting directives and office politics will always exist; but he predicted we will both survive the coming storm.

The flip side of this equation is that folks with an easy laugh and frequent smile won't be taken seriously; or, in the words of another visiting director, will be taken for "blithering idiots". As the resident Master of Meaningless Projects (Super Secret and otherwise), is Blithering Idiot-dom one drool away? Not that I've ever heard, said my boss, and I trust him.

And I suppose a higher-than-average raise backs that claim up. For now.

If ya haven't heard em before, my goals for 2004 are:
(1) Finish fixing up duplex
(2) Pay off debts
(3) Look for new job -- a pay cut will be likely
(4) Sell Duplex and move

---

^† The Super Secret Project: A project I was assigned about two years ago. It involved some research, but at this point seems to mostly involve formatting a very large excel spreadsheet. I work on it for a quarter, then hold a quarterly meeting. At each quarterly meeting, the objectives change, and I spend the next quarter revising. Thankfully, I've saved previous versions, which has come in handy approximately every other quarter. The project provides guidelines and benefits our staff -- if they'll ever be allowed to see it.

Yes, I've been a busy typist today. Talk about hypergraphia!

I've gotten a couple of e-mails (already) about my previous entries that I worked on today. One person commented that my link to a Beatles song "Tomorrow Never Knows" is actually a song from the Tibetan Book of the Dead.

Wow, bloggers, thank you for the concern, but that doesn't mean anything. To me, it symbolizes Letting Go and Living In The Now. It IS one of my favorite Beatles songs. And not that washed-up Phil Collins remake, either -- although that is the version I first heard when his overplayed album came out in 1981.

I should close a few other loose ends, too. Last week was unpleasant at work, but not in the "I'm about to lose my job" way. After being encouraged by my boss to apply for a job (one where I was already ambivalent), I placed some phone calls to "get the lay of the land." If the response was enthusiastic, I decided, then I would go for it.

Well, far from enthusiastic, I felt humiliated. The response was more along the lines of Moving back is a big decision; don't you like living in Ohio?

(beat)

In my obsessive compulsive manner, I decided that this response must mean my career is over. I had this idea I would find another local job to tie me over until the duplex was finished; then move one more time, a final time.

But tonight at least, I'm a bit more calm.

Then there was my date. I did call Jumpseat yesterday, planning on "Let's Be Friends". Well, uhm, I didn't accomplish that...

"Oh, hey, how are you," he began when he answered, and then we were off to the races: "I was wondering what you were doing and I've called you a couple of times; I'm getting ready to leave tomorrow and..."

And... I didn't get a word in edge-wise. After his next flight duty, he's leaving for additional training with his part-time military reserves gig in Texas, something having to do with handling EMT equipment on military flights: "...and the equipment, like on the C11 bombers are completely different than those on the ground..." oh yes? how interesting, "...and I'll get to see my sister, the one I told you about, the one who lives in Missouri, who used to live in the Panhandle..." oh yes? how nice, " ... I thought you were M.I.A., because I really thought we clicked the other night," ...and that would have been the time to break in -- but I didn't. "... so I better let you go and I'll call during the week."

I didn't say anything. So I guess that's still a loose end and I could be an even bigger jerk now.

One other loose end.
Rigoletto was enjoyable and light, even though plenty of people die, and it seemed like the most uncaring went unpunished. I like Verdi the best so far. The woman singing the lead, Gilda, was very good.

Because of the week, I was sort of in my own little world, which was just as well. The corks were flying at the gathering before and after. I met a couple of people who used to be high up at BIPC, were laid off and are now 'consultants'. One tried to buy me a drink at the opera, but after at least 3 glasses of wine, I refused, and she got defensive: "I mean I was going to pay and everything." She was also defensive when the talk turned to The Passion of Christ -- "it's about The Passion, you know?"

I left before one o'clock -- early -- feeling like a sack of flour. "Oooh, stay, pleeeeeze," said the hostess, clutching at my shirt.

Last time I was at one of these soirees, I had a little wake up call: On my drive home -- through a downtown neighborhood packed at 4 a.m. with silently grinning cop cars -- I realized that I was seeing double and, at that moment, I bumped over a curb. Adrenaline immediately began pumping into my system. I carefully sidled the corner onto the next side street, cut the lights and the engine, and stared into the mirrors for any signs of flashing red or white; or worse, vehicles leering in for the kill. I never got so sober so fast. And yup, I was lucky.

So... what's your favorite Beatles song?

Here I am at BIPC on a windy Sunday. Cleaning. My boss is coming into town tomorrow, and we should put our best foot forward, eh?

I've been thinking about my writing and my writing style. I put something within my first few entries what my objective were. Unstated perhaps, was to work in honing my writing style -- both content and "voice". Perhaps that lucrative book deal is only a blog entry away?

If there's one theme I agree with about writing, it's to write what you know. In time, the experiences and the thoughts I've had behind them, as journaled out on the blog might become a book. Or a short story. Or a screenplay. (Or extra toilet paper.)

So, since last August when I began Luscious Desert, I've been writing about a middle-aged guy who sometimes has difficulty accepting that he's reached mid-life; who's in an odd sort of a fix with his career; who has -- maybe -- given up on dating; and who is, regardless of anything else, looking for some answers.

Sounds pretty boring, doesn't it?

Or pathetic. Well, it worked for John Updyke and Saul Bellow. Cheever and Vonnegut. Even Doug Coupland.

Here's some self-criticisms, Just Because. My blog isn't consistent -- at least not in the way I suspect blogs are supposed to be. I might write about politics, then about picking someone up, then about religion, then about work. It's not thematically consistent.

I get comments on everything but the sex stuff; although I get a lot more "hits" when I write about sex. (Sex sells.) One thing I have tried to do with the sex entries, is to tie it into something else: A motivation, a viewpoint, an outlook. My creative writing professor in Colorado taught Don't tell... show (And I used to joke with her, Don't tell...ask, hyuck hyuck!)

So for example, and perhaps not so successfully, some of my sex entries have tied in with drug use or the freedom of expression or selfishness. (link backs to be added here soon)

Although who knows how it might play out and it may still be a little too close, I would hope that I can even relate my recent entries about the job to something bigger. Certainly I've been thinking a lot about the nature of freedom and what that means in our country -- i.e., how free are we if we're chained to a desk?

A few souls leave comments, but more of you like to send me e-mails. And that's fine, too.

Dear hugshyhermit, what IS BIPC?
It's an acronym for where I work. It is a leading company in its field. It's multi-national. Working here is like living inside one of those folk-art Russian figurines; the wood doll encapsulated inside another, larger doll exactly like the one you're in; and so on and so on.

You sound cute. What do you look like?
Why thank you, I'm sure I have a face for radio. I used to be real cute, but now I have to rely on the crumbs of kindness where I can. The black and white photo in the margin was taken by my friend C, and she's a great photographer!

What do you want out of life?
I have no clue. Reason for Blog #1.

You have a degree in Historic Preservation. Why don't you go into that as a career?
I enjoyed getting that degree. When I was finished, I went on to law school.

You have a law degree. Why don't you go into that as a career?
Well, that question's a little more complicated to answer, but I'll try. First, I knew early on in law school that a traditional law career -- working in a law firm or being in a courtroom -- was not for me. And for anyone reading this who thinks they'd enjoy working sixty-plus work weeks in a pressure-cooker, then knock yourself out! That, however, is not my vision of success.

A career in preservation law would be cool; and I continued working in historic preservation during law school. When I graduated, it was during Newt Gingrich's government reforms and the one primary form of employment -- the federal government -- wasn't hiring. Instead, I got hired with BIPC's predecessor and the rest is history.

You mentioned you work out, what do you do?
I try to work out twice a week for about 45 minutes. I get my heart pumping, but if it's inside at the gym, I don't usually even break a sweat. I mostly work on shoulders, arms and abs. I started this regime at the BIPC gym about a year-and-a-half ago, and it paid off: I'd say I'm in the best physical shape of my life.

In the past, I've always walked a lot. Having a dog helps. In some of the places I lived, like Rochester NY, Providence, RI and Wolverhamption, UK, I walked everywhere including to work and didn't use a car much at all. Our society values the car too much.

Do you have a special diet?
I don't. I flirted with vegetarianism -- which philosophically I agree with -- but I was too tired. I like vegetarianism because I think it's a more efficient and thoughtful use of the world's resources. Not only is it healthy in nutrients, but it keeps out carcinogens. When I'm stressed out -- which has been a lot lately -- I forget to eat.

I don't eat a lot of sweets. I don't particularly like candy or cake or chocolate or pop or ice cream. I never buy those things for home consumption. I eat a lot of yogurt, apples, grapes, peaches and bananas. I ate a bowl of flavored oatmeal for breakfast. I eat a lot of that, too.

How many boyfriends have you had?
Oh I don't know. I dated R for 2.5 years, I dated DJ for 2 yrs, I lived with the Minister for 6. My first boyfriend also lasted about 1.5 yrs; we were both dating women, and he eventually married his girlfriend. I'm not sure I should officially include him. One person who impacted me a great deal was LF, and I dated him maybe 6 months max.

I was accused of being a serial monogamist once. I don't think I'm that.

Are you completely Out? When did you come Out? Does everyone know about you? (etc.)
I haven't talked about that because I've lived pretty openly gay for so long. I've been out since I was about 21. My parents asked me if I was gay when I was around 30. I lost some of my college friends when I told them; who knows why for sure, I think it's because they liked my girlfriend. She didn't take it too well at the time, but we've patched it up since then. I haven't had much of a problem with anyone else, including coworkers. I don't have to "come out" to people because most people figure it out -- probably because I'm going on about Madonna or Barbra or Judy or whoever, who knows why. (That's a joke, bloggies.) When the conversation turns to dating, I just join in. Maybe that's how people find out.

Are you going to write about some of your kinkiest sex experiences?
I don't know. Whenever I write about sex, I get more hits on this blog. I can tell you this: There's not really anything I haven't done that I wished I had.

And, I don't have much desire to relive some of those experiences. I have read some blogs by gay escorts and the like, but my thoughts run a bit differently. Some of my stories, if I wrote them, would begin with I thought I was in love... and would end with I thought he loved me.

Boo hoo. I'm reasonably self-aware to mention that in my mid-20s, I was frequently told I looked like I was 13 -- and this held quite a cache in certain circles. So even if the sex itself was hunky-dory, I believe some of my early experiences came at a cost. Besides, I'm more interested in the motivations and desires and emotions that people have behind sex. If I do write about these things, it will probably be really really boring. (I'm not helping develop readership loyalty, am I?)

What's with the self-help books?
I don't know. It probably goes along with the above. Some people have cooking, others have The Bible. Others have sexual positions. I have self-help books.