FRIDAY. 7:15 PM. Welcome to May.

The weather has been warm and humid the last couple of days. It's supposed to cool off this weekend. I guess I'm just not ready to face another Maryland summer just quite yet.

It's definitely allergy season. There's always a thin (sometimes not so thin) layer of yellowish dust all over the car. I can breathe just fine. My allergies are materializing as a dull, sinus headache. It's definitely a downer.

The past week has been all right. Nothing startling different. School is in its final two weeks. I'm still waiting on hearing whether I have a job next semester or not. I haven't been doing very much except for watching a whole lot of television and hanging out in my balmy apartment.

Last night I went to see X-Men 2: X-Men United. I went to a midnight showing by myself. I rarely go to the movies alone. For some reason, I wanted to go last night. It was a little treat for myself.

I really enjoyed the movie. I think it's better than the first. There isn't the need to do a whole lot of set-up. So the story can unfold right from the start. I won't post a whole lot about the film; I wouldn't want to spoil anything. I really liked Nightcrawler. The development of Jean Grey sets up the promise for a third movie. And, of course, I really like Wolverine (Hugh Jackman is just hot as is the unknown actor who plays Colossus). Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellan are excellent as always. Unfortunately, because of the huge ensemble, some characters still fall by the wayside. Storm, another favorite, does a whole lot more in the movie but still doesn't say much. It's still fun and a great ride. The film is definitely timely. It's a parable about war. It's a comment about the reasons for and against war. It's also a parable about difference, about other-ness, about queerness. In fact, there's a coming out scene where Bobby (a.k.a. Iceman) comes out to his parents as a mutant. I will probably go see it again.

I don't know what I'm going to do this weekend. Motivation is really low. Hopefully, with cooler weather and maybe some rain to wash away the allergens, I can go back to feeling like a normal human being again. I have grading to do. But I'm sure I'll find some way to occupy my time and procrastinate some more.

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TUESDAY. 3:20 PM. Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy Birthday to me! Happy birthday to me!

WEDNESDAY. 4:28 PM. I have decided that in the long tradition of many feasts and festivals, I am going to extend my birthday celebration at least through the weekend. The party isn't over until I decide that it's over.

I had a pretty quiet birthday. My day was spent at school. This is the last full week of classes; next Tuesday is the last day of class. My students wished me a happy birthday. In fact, one of my students brought me a piece of chocolate cake from the dining hall. Another of my students actually shares the same birthday; I think she's the first person I've met that has the same birthdate as me.

My father called me late in the afternoon to wish my a happy birthday. I was a little worried that he was going to miss it entirely. I mean I haven't talked to him in a number of weeks. I haven't seen him face-to-face in probably longer. So the phone call was a treat and a nice gesture. Of course, he doesn't really have the time or opportunity to come and see me. Hopefully, I'll get a visit soon.

I saw my sister on campus at her work. She also stopped by in the afternoon to borrow my printer and to wish me a happy birthday. Unfortunately, she's swamped with the "end of the semester" crazies. I totally understand. We'll celebrate my day soon. It's just another good reason to extend my birthday.

Last night, Ryan came over after work. Then my friends Ryan and Matt picked us up and we went down into the city. I wanted to do something fun on the day of my birthday, but Tuesdays are just not a good day to party. Most of the other people I know had other plans or really couldn't party because of work the next day. I understand -- though it is only one night out of a whole year -- a little loss of sleep isn't a tragedy. Ryan, Ryan, Matt, and I met up with Nancy at the Duplex Diner (18th & Florida, NW). I wanted to have dinner and have a few drinks. I also wanted to do something a little more "gay" than my usual passive queerness. Duplex is probably the queerest of the Adams Morgan hangouts.

Dinner was pretty yummy. The drinks were strong and also yummy. We hung out at the diner for a few hours. There was good food. There was good company. And there was good talk. We sat in the front booth near the bar. It was fun to be on display (in my brand new blue spikes); birthday boy in the house! Thanks to everyone that made the effort. Thanks to Meade, our server extraordinaire, who treated me to a round of "Happy Birthday to You" and a candle-topped brownie sundae. Thanks to the bartender for making my morning hangover possible (I think the chocolate cake shots is what put me over the line). Thanks to Ryan and Matt for chaffeuring and for keeping my life queer. Thanks to Nancy for the vintage Star Wars story books. Thanks to Ryan for being my consummate companion. Pictures on the left.

I got up late this morning. Suffice it to say, I am feeling a whole lot better now, hours later, than I did earlier. I guess the fact that I don't quite recover as quickly from a bit of moderate revelry should cement in my mind that I am now thirty-three. It's a good age, though. And I hope that this new year is a damn fine one.

I spent the morning in my now usual Monday-Wednesday-Friday routine. Get up. Sit-ups. Push ups. Stretching. Watch the four hour marathon of Dawson's Creek on TBS. I guess they're ramping up for the series finale. I really enjoyed "the Creek" during its first couple of seasons. But after it trepassed into the everyone-sleeping-with-everyone territory (all except for Jack, of course), I pretty much gave up. Plus, when a high school show goes college, something always gets lost in the translation. But I caught a few episodes weeks back and I've been hooked ever since. I'm even watching the final episodes.

Part of the whole fascination with Dawson's Creek is Jack McPhee (a.k.a. Kerr Smith). Not only is he cute, he's also the show's token gay character. I remember when he came out (after dating Joey), and his struggles to "accept" who he was. I'm not sure how he survived when the shows writers consistently failed to allow him to get any "action." But somehow Jack's story reminded me of my own life, my own lack of "action." But I don't have any writers. I don't have any scripts. I don't have any limosines and stylists. I am the only person responsible for whether or not I am the token gay in my own life. I have been way too complacent.

It's a little sad, actually. Here I am watching a television show hoping to catch a glimpse of a fictional character's near non-existant love life because even a fictional love-life is better than my real lack of love-life, a near non-existant love life on TV is better than my totally non-existant love life. Jack gives me hope, I guess. Jack gives me a flash of fantasy. Even though I know his story isn't ever going to lead anywhere, I watch. I sit through all the trials and tribulations of Dawson and Pacey and Joey and Jenn and their remarkable freedom on screen to laugh, dance, scream, pout, pant, toil, bleed, suck, fuck, and bare themselves. While poor Jack can only steal a kiss and a whole lot of wistful glances. And it's those brief moments, like queer intersitials, that keep me glued to the television. Every time Jack is on screen, I look up from whatever I'm doing. I can see the little spark in his eyes. I can feel the trepidation. I can understand how much he must want to just damn the script and pull this week's crush into an orgy of an embrace. Of course, after the requisite quota of minutes is up for his character's "development," the scene cuts away. Poor, Jack. I want to root for him. I want him to get the boy. I want someone to root for me. I want me to get the boy. Poor, Ed.

Yep, it's definitely a little sad. Ah well.

I spent much of the afternoon grading papers. I've finished my student's fifth formal assignment. Only their final papers are left now, which I'll get next Tuesday. I'm glad to have them done. The rest of this week will go pretty fast. Tomorrow's class will be a little bit of show and tell. Every semester's end, I always bring in a little bit of my own work to share with my kids. It's only fair, after all. I've been reading their writing all semester. It's time that they get a chance to see what I'm all about and whether or not I have any right to claim the title of "writing teacher." It should be fun.

I'm looking forward to this weekend. My birthday celebration continues. I have gaming all weekend. Saturday night, most of my gaming and Archaea friends are gathering for a birthday party. It should be a lot of fun. I'm going to make sure it's a lot of fun. It's time to turn things up a notch or two. After all, I'm thirty-three. This come-of-age hobbit is ready for some come-of-age shenanigans.

More later. And I'm sure there will be pictures.

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MONDAY. 11:15 AM. I think the party's over. I'm tired. But my almost-a-week of birthday celebrating was fun and exhausting. Now, I can return to my regularly scheduled slacking (though my sister and I still have to do a make-up birthday dinner or something).

Last Thursday was a pretty good day. It was my second-to-last day of classes. It's my tradition to take in some of my own writing to share with my students. I read them little bits of my NaNoWriMo novels. I showed them my role-playing games Tellings and Archaea. And I read them a bunch of my poetry. I think they were genuinely impressed and interested. Again, it was a good day.

Thursday night, my friend Scott came over. We hung out, watched some "Must See TV." And to his surprise (since he doesn't watch much television), TV shows can get away with a lot more these days in the name of ribaldry and humor. There was some drinking involved (since my birthday was still being observed). Though, I broke one of my brand new martini glasses before any imbibing had even begun. What a shame. Fortunately, they were only a few bucks from Ross. I'll have to get another one.

Friday night, there was gaming with my Call of Cthulhu group. My sister brought over a birthday cake from Giant Food. I really like the Giant cakes more than Safeway cakes -- as far as supermarket sheet cakes go. I think it's because I like the Giant frosting better. No cake was eaten, though. We just didn't get to it.

Saturday, I ran Archaea. I did a lot of running around. I did a lot of fighting. It was fun. I got a lovely birthday card from Shawn and Christine's four year-old daughter, Hailey. I was in the middle of explaining the start of the event when she ran up and gave me the card. I asked her if I could open it later, but she insisted I had to open it right then. Of course, I obliged. Note: the envelope bears a portrait of me (with drunken pupil-less eyes, shit-eating grin, and no arms). The whole scene was very cute. Hailey is adorable and one of the most precocious children I've ever met. Many thanks to Hailey!

Saturday night, there was a party at my friend Meredith's apartment in honor of my "three-elevenses." It was a fun night. I did my first-ever Flaming Dr. Pepper shot. It's a shot with amaretto (ours didn't have Kahlua) and a top layer of Bacardi 151, which is set on fire; then the flaming shot is dropped into a half-glass of beer, and the whole thing is chugged. It does taste a little like Dr. Pepper (as much as liquor and beer can taste as such). I also played my first game of "three man," a drinking game with dice and some sort of funny hat (which soon became one of Meredith's thongs worn on the "three man's" head). I only played a couple of rounds and thankfully didn't have to suffer the ignominy of being "three man." There was also spinach dip and spicy bean dip. There was some feather boa action. There was the "Macarena" and the "Time Warp." There was birthday cake (the one my sister bought me). There was four rounds of singing "Happy Birthday" for all the Tauruses in the house. There were birthday kisses. Of course, there was a quantifiable state of inebriation. I don't think there was any straight-boy wrestling, though. Somehow that usual party activity was skipped (but the men did at one point lose their shirts...don't ask me). I think folks got drunk way too fast; it was the "shock and awe" of drinking parties.

Thanks to everyone that made it to the party. Good times were had. Special thanks to Meredith for hosting the craziness and the crazies that created the craziness. Pictures forthcoming.

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FRIDAY. 4:09 PM. It has been a week of conclusions. My week-long birthday celebration came to a quiet close. Though, I have developed the film from my party last weekend; fun and semi-scandalous as usual, the pictures can be found here. My last day of the semester was this past Tuesday. Classes are done. I said my last peace and sent my students on their way. Now, I just have to finish grading papers. The television season is almost over. Dawson's Creek aired its final episode on Wednesday night; of course, I watched it. I admit it -- I gave into the melodrama and shed a few tears. But now it's over and it can go to rest in the land of syndication. Buffy is nearly done; the last episode of the series is next Tuesday. Most importantly, I have come to a number of conclusions about my life.

I need to give myself permission to change. I need to give myself permission to be happy. I need to give myself permission to want better for myself. Most importantly, I need to give myself permission to forgive myself for the mistakes, the poor choices, the regrets, and the guilt of the past.

I know it's a big pill to swallow. I'll take it a little at a time with a whole lot of water.

Speaking of pills -- of the blue or red variety -- I went to see The Matrix Reloaded last night with Nancy. It was fun. I never really got on to the whole Matrix bandwagon. I liked the first one. It's definitely an interesting idea. And the visuals are stunning (or were stunning). I wasn't disappointed. I wasn't flabbergasted either. In part, I have a difficult time getting past Keanu Reeves and the fact that he's become this Superman, Christ-like, Shao-lin messiah. But Carrie-Anne Moss is amazing as Trinity (note: Moss doesn't have her own website -- to my chagrin because I'd like to give her as much publicity as I can -- but if you try www.carrieannemoss.com you get scarily enough an anti-abortion website -- don't go there!).

I liked the movie, though. There is a whole lot of thinking going on. Reality versus alternate reality. Reality versus constructed reality. Choice versus destiny. Freedom versus slavery. Actual freedom versus perceived freedom. I would be interested to see if anyone's done any work on The Matrix as slave narrative or war narrative or anti-war narrative.

One of the most interesting things to me is the whole end sequence with "the architect," the creator of the Matrix. On the one hand, the film is all about the visuals, about the amazing special effects, about the incredible stunts (the chase seen is pretty kick-ass). On the other, the film is also about language, about constructions of perception, about the understanding of power. Everyone in the film is always asking, "Why?" It is a grinding edge that I want to look at again. I'm going to need to see it again to get all of the quotes, the allusions, and the conversations.

I remember when The Matrix came to the San Francisco Bay Area to film. There was an open-call for extras. I actually emailed for more information. They said they needed "tattooed, interesting-looking" people for the Zion scenes, I guess. I didn't hear anything back. I guess they got enough interesting people from the throng of interesting people that live in the SF area. I guess I wasn't interesting enough or maybe I wasn't skinny enough or something.

More later.

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TUESDAY. 1:01 PM. I have abused my body in the past few days. But it's a good thing -- even though it proves without a doubt how completely out of shape I am. Last Friday night, I drove into the city and hung out with Nancy. We went over to the Black Cat to check out Corruption, an indie, alternative, queer-friendly dance/techno/dj night. It was in the smallish "backstage" room with a small bar and small stage. When Nancy and I got there, it was still early and only a handful of people were there. Everyone was pretty young. But we decided to stay. As it got later, more people showed up. The music was pretty good, pretty different (though some of the dj skills left a bit to be desired). The crowd was an interesting mix. It kind of reminded me of San Francisco -- it was edgy, curious, neighborhoody, and personal. I ended up dancing a lot. All in all, it was fun.

Saturday night, I drove myself, Shawn, and Christine up to Baltimore. We met Ryan and Matt and their friends at the Mount Vernon Stable and Saloon (N. Charles @ Read, no website) to celebrate Matty's birthday. We had a few drinks there and then walked over to the Hippo for more dancing fun.

Sunday, I cleaned up the apartment a bit and then had gaming in the afternoon.

Monday, I finished up my end-of-the-semester grading. I turned in all of my final grades. I'm done. Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to do with my summer. I think I might try to take a graduate class late in the summer; the only one offered is a readings class in American literature.

I also played a couple of hours of tennis on Monday. Alenda and Brian and I took our rackets out to the shabby but servicable courts behind our apartment building. I don't think those courts have been used in a very long time. It was fun. I hadn't hit a tennis ball in a few years. It took us a little while to warm up, but we eventually found our inner rally. I'm going to have to try to make playing tennis a weekly habit.

My body is totally sore and stiff and feeling old-man-like. Like I said, it's a good feeling though. It means I'm working it.

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FRIDAY. 1:20 PM. I am in a little bit of a funk. I'm not sure it's deep enough, gray enough to be called depression or a crisis. I just don't feel quite my best. It might be due to the weather, which has been rainy and cloudy and chilly for most of this week. (It reminds me of February in San Francisco, actually). It might be because I've lost the routine of going to university, going to teach, of doing something with my days. It might be because I'm feeling really out-of-touch with most of the people I know.

It's probably a combination of all of the above, a regular smorgasbord of icky feelings.

A while back I was complaining about a feeling of limbo, of being stuck inbetween. I think I'm still there. I had a couple of really good vibrant dreams, but I've really just been sleeping, waiting. (I think the Matrix has invaded my metaphors.) Now I just have to remind myself that things have changed. Now I just have to push myself to change those things that have remained too long the same.

I have been offered teaching for next fall. It's good news. Though I am only half-heartedly embracing it. I guess I am just tired of teaching 101. But I have two sections, and both sections are "special" sections. One is for College Park Scholars and the theme is "American Cultures." The second is for First Year Focus and the theme is "Beyond Michael Jordan" (a cluster that I still have yet to figure out what it's about). I decided this past semester that if I was given English 101 again I would completely re-invent the class. I am going to try to figure out a way to make it new for me and more engaging for them.

With teaching comes funding. With only two sections, I'll have six credits of tuition remission, which means I can take two classes. That's a good thing. I'm currently only signed up for two. I don't want to overload myself my first semester back. I am having concerns over whether or not this whole graduate school thing is really right for me. I guess I'm having cold feed. I'm going to try. I want to figure this part of my life out. I'm just hesitant, gunshy, burned, tentative, anxious. It's been years since I've been a student. I understand now what it must be like for people to go back to college after being in the "real world" for a while. Even though you're older and supposedly wiser, you still feel green, underprepared, clumsy, and different.

I don't deal well with uncertainty.

I have found that I've been taking almost everything that is going on around me personally. And the question that's begged is what the hell happened that I've let myself be so vulnerable, so deprecating, so weak-of-self? I just don't know. And I guess the self-psychologizing isn't really all that necessary. I just have to do the best that I can and work toward a better life and sense of self. I don't necessarily need to know why something is wrong, but that it is just wrong and it needs to change. I can do that. I have to do that.

I put way too much stock in others. I try way too hard to find acceptance. And I expect way too much out of the notion of love and friendship. Since as far back as I can remember, I have loved others in spite of loving myself. So where is the balance? Where is the reasonable ground? I know I put a lot of pressure on my friends to show me they are my friends rather than just letting them be my friends. I have to reverse that polarity. I mean it always works on Star Trek, right? But I sense a certain amount of deficit in my relationships with people. I find most of my friends tend to deal with me in a fractional way -- they are my gaming friends or my drinking friends or my graduate school friends or my gay friends. No matter how hard I try I can't quite get the circles to intersect, to blend. It leaves me feeling like I have all these roles to play -- each with its own costume, its own setting, and its own lines.

I don't what to do. I don't know if there is anything that I can do. I have to live and let live. I can make a suggestion here or there. I can extend an invitation here and there. I can express that I want a more developed, more cross-pollinated, more ingenuous relationship with people. But if I am met with resistance, with refusal, or worse yet with apathy, then I have to let go and move on. I must not take it to heart that it means I am a bad person or a bad friend. I guess the whole situation is a little sad, a little disappointing. Ah, the bitter cud of reality.

Tomorrow will be better. I will do my best to continue to put the best foot forward and maintain an open spirit. And I will try to freaking relax.

I had a nice impromptu dinner with my sister last night. We drove up to Columbia to pick up Brian, who works at La Madeleine. It was nice to be treated to a near-free dinner. I had never eaten at La Madeleine before. The food is pretty tasty and different for a restaurant chain. Occasionally, Brian brings back pastries and bread from their bakery. It's nice to have the hook-up.

My weekend should be pretty low-key. I have gaming tonight. I have Archaea tomorrow. It's Memorial Day weekend, the unofficial start of summer. The weather doesn't look like it's going to cooperate. Cate and Skinner are having a cookout tomorrow afternoon. The rest of the "long" weekend is really up in the air.

I am currently working on the revision of Tellings. It's making me a little cranky. I've been elbow deep or deeper in the guts of the game for so long. I really want the project done and on the shelf. I haven't quite got the momentum going on the process. Hopefully, the mood will strike me and the muse will inspire me to get the writing done. If not, I'll just have to put on the seatbelt and struggle through it.

I need all the help I can get.

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WEDNESDAY. 5:57 PM. The funk continues. Actually, it's probably worse than a funk. But I am managing. I really don't have the desire to get into the details. This is one of those times where my personal life and my personal (public) journal diverge. Sometimes I'm just not in the frame to share what's going on. The best thing for me right now is to just try to work some stuff out.