Jealousy is the worst emotion.

Somewhat to my surprise, I've met two people I like as friends in the past month: Dr. Freud and 911 Boy. Last night, the three of us went to an AIDS benefit at a local college.

It was sponsored by the student gay and lesbian group and without question, the three of us were the oldest ones there by a generation: Picture children excitedly running around a few adults at a birthday party. But as the lights dimmed, I saw him.

He is an attractive 30ish, slim and trendily dressed -- a shirt tucked loosely in front. He introduced the purpose for the event -- a showing of a Documentary about a group of friends who perform in drag for the last 15 years to raise money for charities. I'd heard of, but never seen, the group. Prior to the Documentary, their shows had a loyal local following already. Now with the film hitting the festival circuit, the group is starting to perform around the country. The film itself is beginning to pick up awards. Not only is He a member of the troup, but he produced and directed the film. And, when not performing or filming, he manages the local art movie house.

He has the life I wish I did.

That's not the worst of it. Without knowing the above, I'd previously spotted him in the chats and, on the basis of similar alternative film interests, tried to strike up a conversation. I've tried twice, and... "Yup." "Cool." "Indeed." I'll slink back under the bridge, now...

The movie was funny; heartwarming. I tried to find something to criticize. Afterwards there was a drag show. While I'm not 'into' drag, two of this group performed and were hilariously clever.

I am seething with jealousy.

So I will comfort myself by writing about the poor substitute that is my life.
Thanks to a friend who "mentioned my name," I have been assigned my first BIPC project as Project Manager. Not only did the request come out of the blue, it's associated with no one I know or any technical programs I have previously used. The project pulls in representatives from across locations and departments at BIPC.

Within an hour of my managers' approval, a meeting notice blipped up for the project "kick-off". In a windowless room, I sat at a conference table surrounded by strangers and on-line remotely via speakerphone waiting to introduce myself. What would I say if asked for my experience?

It never came up. Something kicked and I was "on." I don't know how this happens, but when it does I can feel my head shift. Whatever I say strikes a chord and people start laughing. When I worked the Movie Theater, it was a regular variety hour. Afterwards, I'm usually tired out.

Walking through the mirrored corporate lobby after the meeting, one of the folks caught up to me and asked then the dreaded question about my experience.

This is my first project officially as Project Manager. I responded, straight into her face.

I can see why they chose you, She said. You'll make an excellent Project Manager.

So there, Mr. Film Producer Cutie Pants Art Movie House Manager Entertainer!

Bony Crow invited me to her mom's 70th birthday party. It was a huge family event and a perfect day for it. Our friend D and his boyfriend T also came, and we sat in the breeze on a large wood deck.

D, T and I were getting caught up when BC broke in to introduce an elderly man: Her father's older brother, recently Out to the family.

At 74 years, Uncle's eyes were clear, if a bit watery; some glinting bridge-work. He had missed a few spots shaving.

But Uncle was far from frail. He was subdued but spoke with conviction. At first, I think he was uncertain what to talk about. We talked about his eighteen years of sobriety. Things perked up when the conversation turned to the 1960s and The Show Boat.

The Show Boat was a steam-powered paddleboat that once hosted "discrete" dances. People would drive in from all over Ohio, Pennsylvania, Kentucky and West Virginia to a remote pier outside Cincinnati. It would leave at midnight on Fridays and Saturdays, float down the Ohio River and chug back at 4 a.m. Uncle began going in 1968, when he was 38. It was raided (for --*gasp*-- marijuana use!) and shut down in the early 1970s.

After one polite comment, I was irritated that D and T ignored him.

So I've been thinking about some of the old guys I've known. When I was first on my own, I had a string of Older Gentlemen friends, all in their 50s -- and maybe older if they had been truthful. Lots of money and plenty to spend -- on me! Me me me! Hugshyhermit certainly turned heads dining at fine restaurants with his "Uncle," wearing Duran Duran-inspired outfits. Oh what did I care?

Most of this occurred when I was 23 and living in England. I would catch a lot of attitude from the wait staff. "Would Sir care for a drink?" they would smirk. "I'll have a Harvey Wallbanger no ice," I'd respond in my blandest American accent and most condescending tone; then they'd have to go look that one up. Hah! (Not exactly a Strawberry Daquiri, now was I?) Yes, it was pretty bratty.

But dating much Older Gentlemen wasn't a path strewn with rose petals. My spoiled behavior was repaid in kind. These relationships didn't last long and featured frequent and sometimes vicious aboutfaces.

"What do you know; you're too young to know anything!" one spat out.
"I think our little arrangement has ended," said another after I disagreed with something. "What 'arrangement'," I whined, "I thought you -- *sob* -- loved me!" Ugh, could I have been any more pathetically naieve?

I bet they're all dead now.

Spring forward fifteen years. In Colorado, I helped form a gay book club.^*Unlike most book clubs I've heard about, our group actually read the book each month. After the first few meetings, it settled to an ongoing core of about 12 folks, most of whom were aged mid-50s and older, with some nearing age 80.

One aspect that emerged from the discussions was relating the books' themes to our lives. Because everyone had grown up in a variety of backgrounds before landing in Colorado, I looked forward to these talks and hearing the different opinions. It seemed as though they were just as interested in listening to mine. I don't know if they gained much from me, but I sure learned a lot from them.

After awhile, we added a movie that related to that month's book. One of these was A Very Natural Thing which has become one of my favorites. I thought it was realistic, not all sugar and gay-lib spice, yet optimistic; notable too because the guys in it had "real" bodies, and not the gym-pumped, shaved ones that the porn industry tells us to have these days.

When we viewed it, I was the only one who liked it. "This flm is so... dated." They criticized the low-budget production values and 70s slang. None of that bothered me: The issues the main character faced in the 70s were universal and are the same ones to face now.

Interestingly, favorite films from that same time period were this one featuring Robby Benson, or the other one featuring Parker Stevenson. Talk about repressed!

There's a few history lessons in here.

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^* Hey R, do you remember the Gods and Monsters discussion? ha ha!