TUESDAY. 10:49 AM. National Novel Writing Month 2003 has begun. It's already Day 4 and I'm already behind on my word count. So far, I'm only at 3153 words. But, hopefully today, I'll get a chance to pull ahead a little. That is, of course, if I finish my reading for my classes, grade a few papers, and otherwise catch up on the various piles of things-to-do on my desk. The house could probably also do with a tidying.

The past week has been a boatload of activity. Much too much going on and not enough time to sit down, relax, ponder, process, and sort through it all. But I'll try. Actually, the past few weeks have been pretty jammed packed. My weeks always begin with a heavy load Monday, reading and work on Tuesdays, more teaching and class on Wednesdays, a short respite on Wednesday night at the coffee house, grading and such on Thursday, Friday teaching, compress everything social and fun into Friday nights and Saturdays, Sunday reading for Monday's class, Sunday night gaming, and then the whole cycle starts over again.

But it's at least predictable, right?

• Nearly two weeks ago, October 24-26 was the Archaea campout at Cabin John Campgrounds in Rockville, Maryland. The weather was on the whole cooperative. Friday night of the campout was really, really cold and very dark. We had a really nice feast where everyone brought something to add to the table. Saturday day was mild. And Saturday night was mild with cloud cover, which meant we had a lot of light from the nearby city reflecting off the sky. I camped for the first night and actually slept reasonably well. But, I decided to not camp the second night to make sure that I got a good night's sleep. The campout was fun and went relatively smoothly. I wrote a huge adventure and the players only got through about two-thirds of it. Pictures are here.

• Because of the campout, I missed the NaNoWriMo launch party in DC. I would have liked to have gone and met some of the local writers participating this year. (Of course, I really wanted to go to the launch party in San Francisco.)

• Last week, I got my Myth Theme and Theory midterm back. Suffice it to say I didn't do as well as I had thought or as I had hoped. But, our professor basically gave everyone an 'A' for taking the exam, which she actually called a "practicum." I got a note from her saying that she was concerned that I wasn't quite up to par. I wasn't doing the quality of work she normally expected from me. So, not only did I feel bad for doing poorly on the exam, I felt even worse for disappointing a professor I like, respect, and want to respect me as a graduate student. I felt like suck. I still do, actually. But, I've been in to see her this week, and we chatted about the exam, about graduate school, and about things in general. I am still wrangling with the "theory" that is so pervasive, so indicative of the state of the discipline. Hopefully, when our final papers come around, I'll do a lot better. It really feels bad to be failing out of your first semester back at grad school. (Okay, I'm not failing, but I'm certainly not footloose and fancy-free.)

• I spent most of last week grading and grading and grading. I also had a University Teaching Learning Program function last Thursday afternoon and last Friday afternoon. I was so busy (or tired) that I didn't even have time to go to the coffee house.

• Last Friday was Halloween. I dressed up in my belted plaid (kilt) and went to school. A number of my students also got into the spirit of the holiday. I wish more people had dressed up that day. It's fun. My philosophy is that if the culture gives you permission to be a little wild, crazy, different, unusual one day out of the year, you should take full advantage of it.

• Halloween night, I went to a party in Northern Virginia with Cate and Meredith. I did the whole uber-goth-boy thing. I wore my black Utilikilt, net stockings on my legs and arms, black t-shirt, combat boots, and make-up. It's my stand-by costume when I have no idea what else to be. The party was pretty laid-back. There were some fun costumes. We left the party pretty early and headed up to the coffee house for a couple of hours. We stayed there till about two in the morning and then went home.

• Saturday, I woke up late. I don't even remember what I did most of the day. It was the first day of NaNoWriMo, November 1. I did some writing, but didn't get as far as I had wanted. Saturday night, I went to a couple of fellow grad students' Halloween/birthday/genderfuck party. The theme was to come dressed up in a gender-opposite/gender-different/gender-whatever than your own gender identification. I just repeated the whole goth, kilt-wearing, fishnet, assumedly gender-bending outfit. Alenda came to the party dressed like a boy, which translated into butch dyke. A number of the men in the English grad program came in fanciful dresses and ensembles including a fellow named Mike, who came as a bride, and Garth, who wore a very 70s flower-print housewife dress, and Patrick, who wore a lemon yellow pantsuit reminiscent of classic Charlie's Angels' Kate Jackson.

• Late Saturday night, I left the genderfuck party to go to another genderfuck event -- Rocky Horror Picture Show. I met up with a bunch of people at the University of Maryland's Hoff Theatre. I admit it was my first time going to an actual show (though I did try a number of years ago unsuccessfully). So, I was tagged a virgin, suffered through jeers and teasing, and eventually got "fucked." It was a crazy night. The troupe from Maryland, the Satanic Mechanics, put on a pretty good show. It was a little odd, though. I knew that Rocky Horror was very sexual, but somehow this particular group translated that into goth-industrial-stripper-cheerleader-girl-on-girl action. It was strange, a bit disquieting, and overall curious. I had fun, though, overall. (I have a bunch of other comments about the night, and one day I'll actually have time to articulate them.)

• I didn't get much sleep this past weekend. I didn't get home from Rocky Horror till around 3 AM. Then my friend Ryan woke me up around 6 AM. He had just gotten off work and headed to my place to crash before gaming. He, of course, fell asleep immediately. After being woken up and seeing the sun coming up, I had a hard time getting back to sleep. I tossed and turned for another couple of hours. Then I gave up and just tried to start my day with only a handful of hours of rest. I went to the coffee house to do some reading and to try to work on my novel. I was unsuccessful. I came home and tried to nap a little. Eventually, I just worked on some stuff till gaming time.

• Yesterday, Monday, I had my long day. My students had a paper due. I now have three more stacks of papers to grade. Bleh. We had a video day, the third of the semester. I showed them TV commercials and we talked about them, analyzed them, critiqued them. It was fun. Then I had office hours. Then I had class. Then I tried to go to the coffee house to meet up with some fellow Nanos (Mike, whom I met last year, was there typing away) and write. I just had a soda, talked to coffeemeisters Nicole and Noah, and then went home.

All in all, I'm still tired. I've got to get to reading. Yay. I have a Speakers Bureau this afternoon. And then there's always papers to grade...

read | write

THURSDAY. 11:26 PM. Late. Dark. Rainy. The week is cooling. And I'm thinking.

Some part of me is wide awake,
even though the hour stretches late
and I know I should get some sleep,
climb into an empty bed, an empty dream
that I hope to conjure as I pray
and play the thoughts of you, the sounds,
the memories still hot even hours,
weeks, seasons, phone calls later.

Some part of me wants you back,
to take up your hand, to hear you breathe
words and wishes and kinder things,
like you're glad I'm near, next to you,
like things could be different,
better, or closer, or more certain,
like how the challenges are worth it,
the miles and moments apart are worth it,
like how I'm worth it, worth the risk.

Some part of me feels broken
and the tightness in my eyes and chest
and the weightless tears I cry
can't hold you down, hold you here,
though I whisper and assure and smooth
and take up your other hand and dance
in your uncomfortable laugh till
you say you have to go, and leave,
and be someplace soon, with someone else.

Some part of me waits, always,
like a child, like a lover, or a star
for the front door to open,
for the clock to tick another hour
and the phone to ring, your voice
on the line choked with promises,
and you'll be back I say to myself,
and the dream will run deep, so deep,
and the bed won't be empty.

SUNDAY. 10:15 PM. I haven't had a weekend to myself in a really long time. I guess I really try to keep busy with something or other. I think it makes me feel like I'm doing something, I'm having fun, I'm keeping busy, I'm having a life. But sometimes I think I confuse quantity with quality. And, like most periods of dearth or scarcity (no matter how short), it makes you think about what you have and what you don't have.

I pretty much was left to my own devices this weekend. Most of my usual distraction and party planning were away. My friends Shawn and Christine held their respective pre-wedding celebrations (i.e. the bachelor and bachelorette parties). So, most of my immediate circle of friends were away in Atlantic City. I was invited to the bachelor party. It's an interesting social location to be a gay man amongst entirely straight-identified men. And when one of Western cultures most celebrated and muchly mythologized heterosexual male bonding rituals comes up, what is a queer man to do? Granted, I'm curious. Heterocurious? But I decided to politely decline and send my spirit in my corporeal stead. I just didn't think I would end up having fun. Maybe with a more mixed group of men. But my sensibilities and my sexuality just didn't seem a good combination for a weekend of heteronormativity. Not that such a thing is a bad thing. And I wasn't invited to the bachelorette party, though I'm not sure that would've have been much better.

It did get me wondering if I ever became partnered, if I ever decided to get "married" or "civilly unioned" or "committed" (whoever came up with that term needs to be committed in the other sense of the word), would I have such a thing as a bachelor party and what would such a thing look like? What if I chose a heterosexual male as my best man, who under tradition is the organizer of said event? I don't really have an answer really. I guess I should cross that pink bridge when I get to it. But would it be fair of me to require my straight friends to attend? And would I be remiss in feeling disappointed if they turned the invite down for similar reasons that I turned down Atlantic City this weekend? I have a feeling that if I did have such a thing as a bachelor party, it would probably be a horse of a different color. And it would most likely be co-ed. That's not to say that there wouldn't be the usual boozing, cruising, nudity, and requisite bawdiness. I think it would just be different. Afterall, I am queer and I get to make up my own formula, establish my own tradition.

Friday night, I chatted up my friend Nancy, whom I hadn't seen in a while. She invited me down into the city to see her new apartment, to go to a little birthday happy hour, and then to a party of a friend. I realized that I hadn't gone into the city in a while. My life just keeps me way too busy. So, I braved rush hour traffic and an unfamiliar course from my house into the city. There really isn't a good, direct way into DC from where I live now. It's a shame. I might have to settle taking a slightly longer way in that will be in the end more straightforward. I found my way down to 16th Street, on the edge of Adams Morgan, and lucked out in finding a parking spot right in front of Nancy's apartment building. I actually met her right outside; she had just gotten off work and walked up. We hung out at her place for a little while. She gave me the tour of her "efficieny" apartment, which was pretty nice with a separate kitchen, bathroom, and dressing nook. It reminded me again how much I wanted to live in the city. Ah well. I will enjoy my lack of rent and (mostly) lack of noisy neighbors for the time being. From her place, we walked down into Dupont Circle to a place called Townhouse Tavern (1637 R Street NW @ 16th, no website). It's a humble place (at least it seems humble, maybe a little divey, but in a good way). We got a table in the downstairs portion (I didn't make it to the upper storeys). Eventually, Meghan showed up with their friend Brian (who was the birthday boy). Then more people arrived -- most of whom I had never met or only met once or twice.

I am so entirely out of the big gay loop. It is a problem that I need to remedy. Is problem the right word? I guess it is a circumstance, a situation, a lack that I would like to change, reenvision, and rectify. I guess I'm hung up on this whole straight world/gay me dichotomy. I miss having gay friends, daily gay friends. I miss having this dimension of my life addressed, involved, supported, developed, explored, and attended. There are a lot of other verbs I could use, too. So far the attempt to establish a big gay network is patchy at best.

Townhouse Tavern was fun. The jukebox is pretty good. The drinks are nice and strong (and cheap). And though I didn't sample the food, it looked good on other people's plates. Anywhere that serves a baked caramel brie can't be all that bad. There were drinks. There were snacks. There were pictures taken (hopefully I'll get a hold of some of them to post). It was good to be out. It was good to see men holding hands. It was good to see women kissing one another. It was just good to be there. Tangible community is a wonderful thing. (Though, I could've done without the smoking indoors.)

After the tavern, myself, Brian, Meghan, and Jennifer walked back up the hill of 16th Street to Nancy's apartment. We had a few drinks. And then we hiked into Columbia Heights to a house party on Irving Street at a friend of theirs named Arlie's house. It was a huge place. Three floors. Hardwood floors. Servant's staircase. The party was an interesting mix. The housemates were one gay man, three lesbians, and one straight man. Five people and their various friends mingling in one place. Most of the people at the party were young, funky, messenger bike types. It reminded me of a number of the parties I attending in San Francisco. I had a pretty good time even though Nancy, Meghan, and Jennifer left really early. Brian and I stayed. I was at a party where I didn't really know anyone. I made do. I bartended a little with a sore lack of ingredients. I managed to make four or five rounds of drinks out of some limes, a bottle of vodka, a bottle of gin, cranberry juice, and a few dubious fruity mixers. Though, I had stopped drinking myself when we left the tavern. I just haven't been in the drinking mood lately -- at least I want to drink at the start of the evening, but as I go I just simply lose the taste for it. It's sad, really. But the party was pretty fun. The people were interesting at least. Everyone liked my mohawk and my tattoos. I guess I kind of fit right in to the mix. There was a lot of chit-chat and dancing to Madonna. I decided to leave sometime past one o'clock in the morning. Brian was totally blotto by the time I said my goodbyes. I made sure he was all right and in the good care of Arlie, the host. There was a bit of drunk-induced heavy petting and a goodnight kiss from the birthday boy; a fact which he will probably not remember very clearly later on.

I was pretty tired when I drove home. I got completely lost trying to make way back from Northwest DC, through Northeast, into Prince George's County, Maryland. I eventually found my way back to Hyattsville. I couldn't help but feel a little sad that the night was over. I had a good time. And if not for the little morality switch in my brain that's switched good and on, I probably could've stayed at the party, stayed with Brian, and drama would have ensued. First, I don't know how I would feel sleeping with someone I hardly know and sleeping with someone who is totally drunk. Not that it hasn't happened before, but I guess I'm looking for a bit more of a connection. Plus, he's a friend of Nancy and Meghan's and I have no idea where the protective boundaries are drawn. The obvious side-effect is that again I have turned down getting laid (or at least the probability of getting laid). I don't even know what the ramificiations are, if any, of writing about it here, now, for all to see.

Saturday, I got up too early in the morning to get ready for Archaea. I really had nothing prepared. I threw something pretty simple together and called it an adventure. I knew a bunch of regular players would be away (carousing in Atlantic City). The event would be a small one and my heart was just not in it. But I went. The weather was bright, sunny, and chilly. Mother Nature has decided that NOvember is really supposed to be cold (unlike the unseasonably warm temps of last week). But people had fun. The day's plot turned out all right. McDonald's was had. And everyone went home.

Saturday night, planless, dateless, and decidedly clueless, I stayed in. After cleaning up after Archaea, I was dead tired. Five hours in the chilly outdoors after lack of sleep really drained me. I knew I had writing to do, I knew I had reading to do, and I knew that I probably should call up some people like Carol or Nicole or somebody to do something on a free Saturday night. But I figured a nap would be a good thing. After my hot shower, I crawled into bed. It was exactly where I wanted to be. I felt warm, safe, comfortable, and comforted. And I fell fast asleep around five-thirty in the afternoon. I didn't wake up till sometime past ten o'clock. By then any plans for going out were pretty much nixed. I just settled back into bed. The next thing I know, I had slept for over twelve hours. I guess I needed it.

I woke up this morning, Sunday, around six. The light of dawn was just making the sky chalky and slatey and bright. The air was definitely frosty. But I knew I needed to get up. I vaguely remember having a lot of dreams that night during the baker's dozen hours of sleep. I vaguely remember some of them involving my mother, but I cannot recall any details. Her appearance, her presence, is always a sign to me -- a sign that I need to pay attention, to find answers that are probably staring me right in the face. At this point, I'm still looking. I got up, got dressed (in jeans no less), did the dishes that had been sitting in the kitchen sink for days, and packed up my backpack with my laptop, the disk with my NaNoWriMo novel on it, a stack of papers for grading, and the book I needed to read for myth class, The Tain, the Irish epic. I stepped out into the twilight of dawn. I could see my breath. I walked quickly to my car. Luckily, there wasn't any frost on the windshield. I jumped in, warmed up the car a little, and drove to College Perk. The roads were quiet though there were a few cars out. The air smelled like snow though the sky was mostly clear. The sunrise was pink and gray and blue. The moon was round and full and huge on the horizon (I totally missed the lunar eclipse the night before). Driving down University Boulevard, past the campus, through some trees in full autumnal change, I suddenly wished I was headed somewhere on a roadtrip. The whole early morning thing reminded me of travel. I wanted to go someplace. I wanted a destination. The coffee house would have to suffice.

I spent most of the morning at the coffee house. I got there and John (aka Kilyon) was on duty. He's a nice guy, shavy headed, and a student of massage therapy. I was the only patron in the place when I got there, except for the guy, John's friend, sleeping on the couch. I basically worked on my NaNoWriMo novel from seven till noon. Five hours produced only about five thousand words. A little on the slow side. My word count is now up at 11,733. I'm still a bit behind. But it was good to break the ten thousand mark. Eventually, the coffee house got a little too busy, a little too loud for me. Plus, Nicole wasn't coming in and Noah wasn't coming in either -- two of my favorite coffee-tenders. So, I left around one o'clock.

I drove up to the supermarket to pick up some stuff for lunch. I had intended to go and get a bag of Baked Lays. I really was jonsing for some chips. Of course, I go through the market, pick up a few things, fill a basket, go through the self check-out, get into my car, and am halfway home when I realize I hadn't bought any Baked Lays. Ah well. It wasn't meant to be. I then get a call from Cate, who's on the road home from Atlantic City. She tells me that folks are "recovering" from the weekend and are not "up to" playing Tellings. Disappointed but shruggy in mood, I say okay. Ah well. It wasn't meant to be either. I went home. I made some yummy tuna melts on everything bagels. I spent a couple of hours watching I Love the 80s Strikes Back. God, that's entertaining. After pulling myself away from the glass teat, I go upstairs and read The Tain for the rest of the evening. I finished the book. It was quite entertaining and very interesting -- full of Irish names I will never remember how to pronounce. Instead of buckling down and getting some grading done or working more on my novel, I head back to the land of TV. I flip between an episode of the WB's Tarzan (love Lucy Lawless, not too thrilled about the show, Travis Fimmel has a great body but is a bit too pretty) and Alias (a show I really like but am now over a season behind and I have no idea what the heck is going on).

Now, I'm finishing up this website entry. It's nearly midnight. I really should be getting to bed for a full day of teaching and classes tomorrow. But with my skewed sleep cycle and the failure of my willpower to resist drinking a diet Coke, I'm probably going to be tossing and turning for a while before I fall asleep. I could try to grade. That might be sufficiently soporific. Then again tossing and turning isn't so bad. Cheers.

read | write

TUESDAY. 10:29 AM. I have too much to do. And I'm doing my best to procrastinate. Fun, eh? What better way to totally ignore work than to make a bulleted list? At least I'm getting one thing done -- writing for my website:

• I have been sick for the last week or so. Just a cold. Maybe with a little allergies thrown in. I'm not dying, but I'm sick enough to be tired, sneezy, sniffly, and completely disinterested in everything. It's just annoying, muddling, and inconvenient. I really do not like being sick -- but who does really? Productivity is way, way, way down.

• My very sad word count is at 14,846. A number of my NaNoWriMo compatriots have already given up. I'm not going to till the bitter end. I may not finish, but I'm going to try to pull this year's 50,000 out of my ass.

• Against my better judgment, I went to Queercore DC last Friday at The Black Cat, which is probably the smokiest bar on the face of the planet. It seems that the cavalcade of hipsters, punkers, rockers, trendy alternative guys and grrls are chain smokers. It didn't do my cold any good. But I had a good time. I called up my friend Casper. We had a few drinks. I got to see a bunch of folks I hadn't seen in a long, long while like my evil twin Ed. There were a bunch of people from the old Tracks days. We were like refugees. The music was good. I met a very nice guy named Mike, a grad student at George Washingtion. I had fun.

• Saturday night, I went to dinner with Cate, Allison, Meredith, and Ryan at the Macaroni Grill in Columbia. It was all right food, but the dinner conversation was fun. My cold was killing me, though. After dinner, we hit the movies (sans Allison) meeting up with Shawn and Christine. We went to see the new Russell Crowe film Master and Commander. It wasn't horrible. It was better than I expected. And I was entertained. So, all in all, a good night. I really like the guy who played the ship's doctor and naturalist, Paul Bettany. He's pretty cute and does an excellent job. The fact that just a couple of weeks ago I was reading Darwin's Origin of Species made the film resonate a little more for me. Plus, there's definitely a little queerness going on between the captain (Crowe) and the doctor (Bettany).

• Most of the weekend was spent on homework or grading. I still have yet to start on my seminar paper. I also have a final short paper for my myth class to worry about. The last few weeks of the semester are going to be insanity.

• Sunday afternoon and evening, we played Tellings.

• According to this, I have an above average chance of going to hell. I only scored a 118. I guess I'm purer than I thought.

• Oh, by the way, months ago I sent in my application to be on TLC's Faking It. I got a reply. Casting producer Annette Grundy wrote, "First, I want to thank you for your application and interest. While we will hold onto your info, at this time you do not fit our casting needs." First the Real World doesn't want me. Now this. However, she follows up saying, "BUT because you are a Teacher/Education field, I HOPE YOU CAN HELP US." Basically, they're looking for female kindergarten teachers. Hah. Like I know any of those. Christine is in day care. I wonder if that counts?

• Welcome to the MEATrix.

read | write

THURSDAY. 12:24 PM. Happy Autumn Day! Happy Turkey Day! Happy Tofurkey Day! Happy Thanksgiving!