ISleepInADrawer.com

Totally Gay

For Halloween, I defended my gayness.

I was never really into the holiday, even growing up. I don't know why... my best hypothesis is that, since I'm socially awkward, I run from the social holidays. I luck out a little being in Seattle: no one trick-or-treats. At least not in the traditional manner. In the unlikely chance some displaced non-Seattlite finds himself or herself in Seattle in a costume on Halloween, I still buy candy to hand out to that poor fool when he or she actually goes bravely up to a door and rings the bell. But, as expected, tonight marks my fifth Halloween in Seattle, and the fifth year in a row where we have no trick-or-treaters. So, for the fifth All Saints Day in a row, I'll take the candy to work.

So, instead of handing out candy over the past five Halloweens, I've had to spend the week leading up to Halloween, Halloween itself, and the week after defending my gayness. It's such an odd sensation - defending ones right to... well... be gay. I'm sure people just can't help it. In this world, we're so accustomed to patterns.

But really, is it so hard to believe that I can be a gay man and still not celebrate Halloween? Seriously, to be a gay man, I thought all I had to do was... well... have gay sex and date guys. And there's stuff that goes along with that, of course - dealing with homophobia, filling out domestic partnership forms, shaking my head in disgust at these guys. It's rough sometimes dealing with that stuff, particularly where I grew up. So, I figured I'd opt out of things like what to wear for Halloween, dancing in sweaty clubs with my shirt off, drinking girly drinks, and wearing tight clothes.

But, especialy this time of year, I'm pelted with some of the most disturbing questions:
"How can you be a gay man and not dress up for Halloween??"
"How can you be a gay man and not live in the gay neighborhood??"
"How can you be a gay man and not go to the bars??"
"How can you be a gay man and yet have no fashion sense??"

Usually, my answers ("I-don't-like-Halloween... Capitol-Hill-is-too-expensive... I-don't-like-to-dance-and-there-are-no-gay-pubs... I'm-a-scientist-not-a-fashion-model"), delivered with a caustic punch, leave the questioner in dumbfounded silence or a swirl of eyerolls. Either way, I then have sufficient time to summon the batmobile and make a discreet exit.

So, it's this time of year that I wonder about the gay community. I worry about a group that, while historically excluded from society in general (due to the whole gay-sex and gay-dating things), encourages standards among its kind that in turn excludes members who only do the gay-sex and gay-dating things. Why should I be any less a gay man than him? Or him? Or even him? Granted, they all do "more" than me in terms of being a gay man (Adam dressed up like a Fanta girl for Halloween once; Mr. Sullivan holidays in Provincetown each summer; David has the most awesome Halloween costume I've ever seen.), but how can their choices to go above and beyond the call of duty be applied to me? Or my boyfriend? Or Larry Craig?

The phenomenon both puzzles and disturbs me, and I'm not sure what to do about it...

Except, of course, explain calmly and caustically that I prefer pubs to noisy gay bars, don't enjoy dressing up for Halloween, and like my hooded sweatshirts just fine, thank you.

I could also point out my love for carving jack-o-lanterns... but, I was told today that carving pumpkins isn't very "gay." Especially since I carve things like stickleback (the fish I study) skeletons, phrases like "Kitty has asthma!", and the John Deere logo into my pumpkins.

It's too bad no kids showed up this year. I would've handed up peanut butter cups.

Forbidden Fruit

I must ask you for patience as this website undergoes some small changes. It may periodically disappear, and then reappear. Hopefully, the situation will be resolved in good time.

In the meantime, if you're in Seattle, go see Blade Runner at the Cinerama!

Light in Darkness

Zach, reading online new: "Hm, that's interesting. Apparently we're getting glow-in-the-dark shrimp here."
Me, from kitchen: "What? Don't tell me this is another stupid condo association rule!"

The Disease

The sun hid behind clouds today, and seemed to disappear altogether much earlier than expected... particularly since the shortest day of the year is still two long months away. Of course, I must continuously remind myself: it is actually we who turn from the sun. If all goes well, we'll turn back towards the sun in ten hours or so.

Unless, of course, the rain shows up, trying as it did today to stand in for the sun.

A few years ago, a roommate of mine warned me that, after four or five years, the harsh and dark Seattle winters would start to "hit" me. She ominously warned that he solitude that I usually wrap myself in, being one who does not naturally or easily make friends, would suddenly transform into cold loneliness. Of course, I have a boyfriend, and a cat. But, they both have friends of their own. And now, here I sit in my fifth year living in Seattle, suddenly realizing that my former roommate's prediction may suddenly be coming true.

In any other situation - in any other city - I wouldn't worry. But, in Seattle, the possibility of my prideful solitude evaporating suddenly, being replaced with naked loneliness, is too great a burden to consider. How, after all, am I suddenly supposed to start making friends in a place like this?

I suddenly feel the need to graduate and move back to the friendly midwest... hot summers be damned. Or perhaps I can just grow up and prove my former roommate wrong.

One a Day

Well, crap.

If the choice is between cancer or heart disease, I pick lemon bars!

Unnecessary

Oh, Ms. Rowling, that was entirely unnecessary.

I was rather content to assume that Professor Dumbledore was above sexuality.

Jericho

Yesterday's windstorm - the first for this autumn/winter extravaganza - did a few things:
1. Made everyone think that the world was ending, so they all went home at noon. Thus, at 5:00PM for my boyfriend and at 6:00PM for me, we had the easiest commute home in over four years.
2. Sadly, killed one and injured one.
3. Kept our cat indoors for the evening. We tried to have "family night" and teach her to play Uno, until we remembered that she doesn't have thumbs. So, she licked her unspeakable parts, Zach watched Transformers, and I read.
4. Made us lose power briefly, so I had to go reset all the clocks.
5. Knocked down (a very important) part of the new aluminum-and-glass vessel sculpture they were nearly finished installing at work.

It's too bad. I was starting to like it. I don't want to fathom how much it is worth.

Oh, it's worth a lot.

Rosemary for Rememberance

Perhaps I was too absorbed with that opinion article from The Washington Post that thrust me so haphazardly atop my soapbox earlier this morning.

Perhaps I was too preoccupied with school. Lab work hasn't been going particularly well lately.

Perhaps I was too tired. After all, last night was just the most recent of many nights in which I've had difficulty falling asleep.

Perhaps I was too busy feuding with Amazon.com. They still, after all, haven't delivered his third present. I gave him two of his presents before he left on his business trip on Sunday. But, I was hoping this third and final portion of his gift would arrive in time for his homecoming on Wednesday. On paper, it should have; but, in reality, it's looking less and less likely.

For whatever reason, when my boyfriend called me this morning from his business trip to the East Coast, I completely forgot to wish him a happy birthday. To add insult to injury, a state senator had, in the hour between that first phone call and my sudden realization in lab that I hadn't wished him a happy birthday (which sent me scrambling to the nearest phone, frantically punching Zach's mobile number into the keypad), wished him many happy returns.

My issues now are thus:
1. What should I change my name to?
2. Which country should I move to and make a new start?

For #1, Bustee St. Clair has already been suggested, though I'm afraid to take it since it's more than likely that I'll forget it.

I do, after all, have a habit of forgetting important things.

(Happy Birthday, Zach!)

These are the Years

I didn't even realize we'd reached five years. Five years, that is, since the authorization of military force in Iraq passed. I was heartened to read this opinion article in The Washington Post that spells out, albeit briefly, a nice summary of what we've done, what we haven't done, and where we are today, five years on. As I read, I knew where the article's twelve authors (all former U.S. Army captains) were leading. Like the Book of Ruth, the real point is at the tail end - the final paragraph. While I don't entirely agree with the two possible choices they spell out, I find their direct language ("It's time to make a choice.") both refreshing and long overdue.

After all, we all, every single one of us, as a republic, got into this five years ago. We all, every single one of us, need to take responsibility for our actions.

The Pacific Northwest is a haven for spiders. There are three of them, right now, weaving tangled webs outside my window. I know exactly how they feel.

Dreamland, Part I

After visiting the San Juan Islands, it's offical: we dream of becoming successful writers and moving to Shaw Island.

Promise you'll visit?

Twenty-Seven

After they cleaned off the goo, they named me. They took the middle names of my maternal and paternal grandfathers and made them my first and middle names, respectively.

Twenty-seven years later, I've gained 152 pounds, learned to walk (not very well), and entered into a domestic partnership with a man who (at least on the San Juan Islands) is persistently mistaken for my twin brother. My much shorter twin brother, of course.

But, at least they cleaned off the goo.

The Script

I went to the Greenwood Safeway earlier today for cheap white wine, bananas, chili powder, cheddar cheese, and cat treats for a cat-who-has-never-done-anything-to-deserve-them.

I always love going to Safeway stores because the cashiers have an additional duty I was never required to do when I was a cashier: "Have a nice day, Mr. Smith." With skillful coordination and dedication to habit, my cashier quickly scans down the receipt before handing it to Mr. Smith to seek out his customer's last name: Mr. Smith. Waiting in line at Safeway, I often think back to my bumbling screwball comedy antics when I was a cashier in a clothing store: the time I set a woman's credit card on top of the de-magentizer; the time I accidentally switched on the storewide intercom while announcing to the cashier next to me "Isn't that guy over there cute?"; the time I dropped a vase on a telephone and ended up calling Tunisia; the time a short customer (now I call him "boyfriend") tried to flirt with me, and I cluelessly told him he was buying ugly ties. If I had to scan down the receipt (past the pricing lists, the tax and totals, the credit card information, the advertisements and coupon offers), I'd likely beam to my bemused customer, "Have a nice day, Mrs. Visa!"

I have to admire their skill to find the name. I don't, however, admire their skill to pronounce the name. Particularly since my last name has never been pronounced right.

Don't get me wrong: my last name is a real piece of work. It's not horrible, but just awkward enough to envoke sympathy, or jokes. My boyfriend has an odd last name too, but mostly because of the wealth of syllables. When saying it, his last name lingers just long enough on the tongue to be an unwelcome guest, while mine's more like the "special" cousin kept locked up in the basement. At Safeway, a hurried cashier usually knocks off a syllable or two for my boyfriend. For me, I've been called anything from "utopia" to a small South American country.

But today, after Mr. Smith gathered his bagged groceries and left, I was treated to the best (and most foreign) rendering of my last name ever. It is also how I'd like to be called for the rest of my days on this good Earth.

So, you may now call me Mr. Yo-yo.

And mean it.

American Gothic

God, he's so short.

To Each His Own

While I'm in the San Juan Islands for a few days, sit back and ponder why people would have things like this in their houses:

Showtime Synergy

On a walk this evening...

Zach: "Oh God. The latest buzz word floating around work is 'synergy'."
James: "Oh! Do people at your office like Jem, too?!"

Seriously, who knew synergy isn't just a magical computer capable of generating holograms?

Try and Try Again

Overheard while waiting for #39 to be called this morning at the Greenwood Department of Licensing:

woman on mobile phone: "Yes, and isn't it a shame about all that's going on in Maytag with those monks?..."

I bit my tongue, stifled my laughter by burying my head in my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, and prayed with renewed fervor for #39 to be called next.