THURSDAY. 11:00 AM. Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me!

More later.

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TUESDAY. 10:13 PM. I am not perfect.

MONDAY. 8:16 PM. As they say, better late than never. It's been weeks since I added anything to my site, and the natives (at least the ones that read, lurk, and comment) are starting to get restless. Plus, now that things have kind of calmed down, I really should put my blogging hat back on. Here goes nothing.

The majority of May has been non-stop reading, work, teaching, writing, tying up loose ends, and making sure that I finish up the semester with as little headache, heartache, and insanity as possible. Since I am living, typing proof that nothing has exploded, freaked out, or dissolved into a pile of goo, I guess I have made it through the spring semester relatively unscathed.

In the immortal words of Inigo Montoya, "No, there is too much. Let me sum up."

MAY DAY

The month of May began with May 1, May Day, also known as Beltane. Chris and Brewer of College Perk fame held a picnic, party, and bonfire in celebration of May Day. I spent part of the early part of the day there, hanging out, trying to get reading done. There was a May Pole. There were a lot of people dressed in Ren Fest garb. There was fire-eating. And there was fertility abounding (um, something like that). But I actually went home for some hours to get work done. Then, when dusk fell and the "adult" a.k.a. "legal drinking age" party began, I went back to the Perk. There was a bonfire. Brewer said to dress in something appropriate for jumping over a fire, a form of ritual cleansing for Beltane. I wore my Utilikilt. There was also eating of food and drinking of drink. A fair number of the Perk regulars were there including Joe, Jess, Aaron, Chrissy, Alice, Sara, Lita, Annie, Dominic, and Dan. There were also a ton of folks, mostly friends of Chris and Brewer, that partook in the festivities, too. Joe bought me a fifth of Grey Goose vodka, which was finished by the end of the night. I drank more than I should have -- a lot of us did. And the foolishness was kept to a minimum. Err, mostly. There's nothing like four drunk dorky assholes (in other words, myself, Joe, Jess, and Dom) rooting around the picnic tables and long-cold BBQ grills for something to eat at three o'clock in the morning like a pack of hungry vermin-like rats.

I had a great time. I like it when I get to expand my social circle. I enjoy meeting new people and hearing different stories. And I like any excuse for a little whoopee (though the non-naked kind) and shenanigans. A few pictures are here.

There was other foolishness on my part. I managed to (possibly) alienate myself from my friend Aaron, who was once a student of mine many years ago. He's a really sweet guy, smart, and cute. He's got artistic aspirations; he wants to be a professional photographer (and I keep telling him he needs to put up an online portfolio) and write screenplays. So, following my usual modus operandi, which is exacerbated by alcohol, I flirted with him. He, being the modest and absolutely sweet guy that he is, responded in a friendly but platonic way. He's not afraid of being physically demonstrative. Nothing of note happened. I figured he was not interested in whatever sense mattered. He left. And then came back five minutes later. He came back to basically sit me down and tell me that he was not gay, that he didn't want to give me the wrong impression, and that he was just being friendly. I totally told him that it was a-okay and I was glad for his honesty. Of course, I was embarassed -- my face was red but not because of the alcohol. Doh.

And then there's the matter of driving home, which I won't elaborate.

BIRTHDAY

The month also began with my birthday. May 6. May that date live forever, be burned into people's memories, and populate calendars and palm pilots everywhere. Like many people, I don't have particularly good birthdays nor particularly bad ones. I've had a few in the past that were down right horrible. And I've had a few (particularly the ones in San Francisco) that were fun as hell. But, given the law of averages, most seem to hover in the "I had a nice time" range. So, this year: I had a nice time.

My birthday fell on a Thursday this year -- not a particularly party-enabled day or night (though most college students would disagree). I went to work. Word got out that it was my birthday, and people were very well-wishing. There was even a windfall of very tasty, but very sweet and rich cupcakes -- a student in one of the classes in our building came in with a whole tray of iced yellow and chocolate cupcakes, which she and her mother had made (too many), and she game them to the office. The gods smiled and I got lucky birthday cupcakes. Little did I know that around noon, my sister showed up with a birthday cake (from Giant, my favorite). There were candles, singing, and a whole lot of sugar.

Later that evening, Alenda and Brian picked me up to head into the city. We drove down to Dupont Circle to have dinner at Mimi's American Bistro. I like it so much when I went there for the first time for my friend Emily's birthday a few months prior that I decided to reprise the visit for my own birthday. I invited a few friends. Thanks to Alenda, Brian, Cate, Skinner, Scott H., Nancy, Meghan, Jenn, Casper, and Patrick for partaking and buying me fancy martini drinks. The food was good, the singing was fun, and the company was nice. I had a good time. Pictures are forthcoming.

In keeping with tradition, I extended my birthday celebration through the remainder of the weekend (of course). At my age, now hitting my mid-30s, I get to bend the rules in my favor. That Friday night we played Call of Cthulhu, which has spawned a Bethesda Softworks game -- intriguing! That Saturday there was Archaea and birthday wishes from friendly players. That Saturday night we had a little birthday party at my friend Meredith's house. It was a pretty relaxed party. We played the "Archaea Drinking Game" while watching old Archaea video tapes. Unfortunately, I wasn't in the partying hard mood -- I was tired and my allergies were killing me -- so I ended up bailing shortly after midnight.

All in all, it was a fine birthday. Thirty-five will be a milestone, I'm sure. My friends did surprise me with an awesome group gift. They pooled their resources together to help me buy a new computer. I had been complaining that my aged machine really needed to be replaced. So, they took the need to heart and are helping me with a $450 subsidy toward a brand new computer. The ironic thing is that about a week or so prior, I was having a conversation with Skinner about asking people not to buy me gifts but to help me buy a new computer. He quickly got me off the topic and evaded discovery quite deftly. It was a little odd, but I didn't think much of it. I should have been more suspicious since he forbade me from buying a new computer till after my birthday party. Now, I just have to find a good deal and get myself a l33t b0x.

LAST DAYS

The middle of May was consumed by the end of the spring semester. I was wrapping up my class trying to shepherd my students toward their final position papers. The end of a class is always a little bittersweet for me. But, I am ready to let this section of students go. I hope they got something out of the class, and I hope they can see improvement in their work. Overall, it was a challenging semester and I am glad to be done.

At work, I was busy getting after my last-minute advisees, who soon discovered that they could not register for classes for the next semester because of their mandatory advising block. Plus, registration time is always busy for the office as students come and go, come and go, and come and go all the while stressed out, freaked out, pissed off, whining, complaining, or crying while trying to get signed up for classes or trying to dodge the academic probation bullet. Fortunately, many make it through the semester fine and have their plans in order.

Finally, I was caught up in my own end-of-the-term work. I worked my tail off at the end of the semester. I really did. I wrote my digital studies final essay, which was only 4-5 pages, and turned it in early. I got all of my grading done. I had a short presentation on my seminar paper for my queering citizenship class as well as writing the paper itself. Fortunately, I had finished my big project for my nonfiction writing workshop weeks ahead of time.

So far, my grades are good.

I earned an A+ from Dr. Olmert for my nonfiction writing class; it's the first A+ I've ever gotten on a college report card. He had a lot of really nice things to say about me, my writing, and my presence in class; he likes to insist that I could totally teach the class and that does make me feel good. I learned a lot about my writing this past semester. And I learned that I really can do it, I really can create, I really can produce something worthwhile.

I got an A from Dr. Kirschenbaum for my digital studies class. He wrote some really promising and ego-petting things on my final paper, which I entitled "Digital Studies: Playing the Field." His final comments included: "This is more a ringing manifesto than a final exam, and I loved every word. So much so that I hope you can send me (or post) an electronic copy so that I have it for my files. Indeed, next time I teach 668 I just might want to hand it out the first day." I had a brilliant time in the class, though at times a little lost in the new material, but I am really glad to have taken it and learned so much from it. The class has really gotten me thinking about internet texts, about technology in general, and about how much of my own work may be online in the future.

I haven't gotten a grade for Dr. Lindemann's class yet. But the seminar paper for my queering citizenship class was a killer. I tried to get it done early (even to the sacrifice of not going to Busch Gardens and Williamsburg with a bunch of my friends). I agonized over the paper. I would sit in front of my computer and stare at the blank screen and stare and stare and stare. I would decide to read another article about queer online citizenship. Then I would go back to staring at the screen. I did this for three days. Finally, I made the decision that I just had to get the paper done. My internal censor was on high alert. One night, I tried rum and coke. It didn't help. The next night I tried to stay up and use exhaustion as a way to change my state of mind. It didn't help. Finally, drawing on a trick from my years doing NaNoWriMo, I started writing my paper online via my LiveJournal. Somehow the rhetorical situation of writing in my journal (or in an email) gets past a lot of the perfectionist self-editing; I assume it's because I'm so comfortable composing directly to screen in what I think is an informal or "less formal" or "less juried" medium.

Well, the trick worked beautifully. I wrote nearly all of my paper on my livejournal. Over the course of three days, I wrote huge swaths of text. They're still up for all to read: Swath #1: Cyborgs are Queer, Swath #2: Rebirth of the Cyberqueer, Swath #3: Cyberqueer Activism, Swath #4: Cyberconclusions. I'm hoping that I pulled it all together in a pleasing and persuasive fashion. One of my co-workers read it and enjoyed it. I turned it a whole four days early. It was good to get out of my hands, out of my life. I know there's still a bit of work that could be done to the paper. In fact, I left out a whole section that I had intended to put in but just wrote past like a speeding car past an exit. But I can work it in later if need be. I might use "Birth of the Cyberqueer Manifesto" (the title I decided to go with) as my Master's final project; it all depends on how my professor receives and grades it.

It's strange to be done with classes. I still have to go to work throughout the summer, but the routine of the Spring is disrupted. I miss my classes, the socializing, the people (but I surely don't miss the work).

CICADA DAYS

The days have been getting warmer and warmer, hotter and hotter. With the rising temperatures and spring rains, the famed 17-year cicadas have finally returned. I didn't see any at first, but now they're popping up everywhere. I was seventeen when they last appeared and I remember there being more of them. But I think the swarm is still swarming and building its numbers. The husks of their nymph stage are everywhere clinging to walls, branches, fences, buildings. The cicadas themselves are flying around, bumping into things, and buzz, buzz, buzzing away. From a distances, the cicadas make a collective sound like that of a faraway siren or the trilling sound of an old school Star Trek phaser.

COMMENCEMENT DAY

The end of the spring semester also means graduation. I went to my sister's graduation this past Friday. My father, my sister, and I went together. It was good to see my father (sans my step-mother). The ceremony was a little on the long side, but it was nice to see people finish and earn their degrees. I had never seen people get "hooded" when they earn their Ph.D.s -- that was a little strange, archaic, and awkward since most recipients didn't know how to stand or kneel or stoop and most bestowers fumbled with the hood (more like a loop or stole) trying to get it over the heads of the graduates. I really like the fancy regalia worn by the faculty -- maybe one day I'll have a velvety tam and gown of my own.

Commencement was a nice day all around. My father took us all (including my friend Ryan who tagged along after helping me celebrate my finishing and crashing over the night before) out to lunch at Oriental East in Silver Spring.

A number of my grad school friends graduated this semester. It'll be sad to not have them around next year. But I'm proud of them. I'm sure they're glad to be done. I know my sister is glad to be done. I am really proud of her and a little envious that she's finished. I've still got a year to go. She and Brian are now preparing to move to (evil) Northern Virginia for Brian's job. After the move, Alenda is going to work for a couple of months, sit in on a graduate class, and then get ready to go to Taiwan on her Fulbright.

As an aside, speaking of honors, I was honored by the Center for Teaching Excellence at UM as a Distinguished Teaching Assistant for the 2003-04 school year. I went to a little awards ceremony with some fellow English grads as well as my director and supervisor, Dr. Coleman. I was nominated by my department, and I am honored that people think so highly of me and my work in the classroom.

This past weekend, on Saturday night, I went to a graduation/end-of-the-semester BBQ and party. Rob, one of the English grads, and his brother opened their house up to a bunch of friends and family. A number of the English crowd was there including my sister. It was good to drink cheap beer, have really good food, and talk about all sorts of stuff, some intellectual and some not so intellectual. It was fun to see a number of them drunk and happy and not worried about grading papers or taking exams or writing papers. Again, I'm sad to see some of these "kids" go -- it's sad that I only got less than a year to really get to know them -- but I know they're headed for bigger, brighter horizons. Pictures here.

Cheers and kudos and best wishes to everyone!

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SATURDAY. 10:49 PM. You can't choose who you love. I guess there's a reason why that's a cliché. But the part that they, whomever is in charge of such things, don't tell you is that you can choose whether or not to let that love fuck you up or not. But more on that later.

I am a little tired. I have been sleeping the requisite hours to keep Ed happy -- usually between six to eight hours. But they haven't been particularly restful, full of odd dreams and random wakings in the middle of the night. I don't remember any of the dreams; I think most of them are unremarkable. But my brain is working hard on some problem, churning, churning, working out a solution to a question that only it has asked.

I have also been pretty melancholic. I suffer, I guess, from post-semester depression. I spent the last few weeks of the spring semester working, teaching, and writing, writing, writing my papers that now that I have a little downtime, I have no idea what to do with myself. The adrenaline has worn off, and all I want to do is sleep, vegetate. However, I hate being bored. I'm just blasé.

The funny thing about not being bombarded by schedules and appointments with students and teaching class and grading papers and reading for class or writing papers is that I finally have a chance to actually sit back, think deeply, and look at what the hell is going on in my life through lenses other than school, teaching, or work.

And I come to the conclusion that my other life sucks.

Don't get me wrong -- I have it pretty good. I am happy to be back in graduate school (a shocking thing to say and think and feel considering my dismal attempt the last time around). I will be graduating next spring and I will be one big step closer to doing the grown-upy, careery things that I want to be doing. I have a good job; the assistantship with Letters and Sciences is great, interesting, challenging, and comforting. I have some money, for once, and am making some headway in my debt management. I have a reasonable place to live (eight months and still cockroach free). So, I'm doing good in those sectors.

But I really need to breathe some much need vim and vigor and change into my social life, my flatlining love life, and my creative life.

Take all of the following with a grain of salt and a healthy dose that for all of its kvetching I blame no one in particular, I don't hold all of humanity at fault, and I full well realize that the power is mine to enact change, metamorphosis, and communication. Sometimes even multi-talented, fabulous, and charming Eds need to vent to a captive and commiserating audience.

I hate living in suburbia. I being surrounded by, reminded of, inculcated with heteronormativity. I hate being queer and having little or no opportunity to express it, exercise it, use it, celebrate it, revel in it, and to the chagrin of those who want to forget or erase or normalise me being gay, practice it and flaunt, flaunt, flaunt it.

I am suffocating. I am losing ground to an ideological majority that I cannot combat alone. Worse yet, I am numbed, silenced, fatalistic. I am constantly reminded by friends, by office gossip, by family, by television, by pop songs, by the President, by door-to-door Mormon Elders, by bumper stickers, by diamond ads, by voters, by life itself that I am a decidedly disadvantaged and disenfranchised minority: as a single person, as a gay man, as a person of color, as a liberal, as a person of a certain age, as a person of a certain body.

I just want to be special, to feel special, to be recognized as special, too.

I am not dating anyone. Fuck, I'm not even fucking someone. I'm not even kissing anyone. I'm not getting engaged. I'm not getting married. I'm not buying my first house. I'm not buying an SUV. I'm not having a baby. I'm not starting an amazing new job. I'm not publishing my first novel. I'm not making a ton of money.

And even if I'm not doing any or all of those things, it's sometimes really, really nice to be asked, to be imagined by someone other than me doing those things, to be included in the whole of discussion, fantasies, possibilities.

I was asked the other day by a young friend whether or not I had met any "hotties" lately at school. First of all, it was funny and unreal to refer to someone I found attractive as a "hottie." And second, it was funny and unreal because I was being asked -- gasp -- about my sex life, my desires, my sexuality. I can probably count on my fingers the number of times anyone has asked me about my love life. In a very deep sense, it requires a certain amount of empathy to ask someone about how they are, about what they're into, about their life and actually be interested and invested. I guess I really miss that kind of interest. Even my sister doesn't ask me whether I'm into someone, whether I'm seeing someone. I guess most people figure that if I was I would bring it up.

But I think that can be a cop-out, an excuse, a convenient way to not take an interest. If I look at the world around me, it's set up to support the discussion, celebration, epitomization of heteronormative sex, sexuality, life, and time. Do you know how many times the subject of exclusively heterosexual dating, of girlfriend or boyfriend troubles (again exclusively hetero), of not having enough sex, of wanting to be in a relationship (again usually hetero), of moving in together, of getting engaged comes up in my everyday conversation? Do you know how many times the topic of marriage, being married, married life, getting married, even getting divorced comes up in conversations in my everyday life? Do you know how many times the topic of children, having children, getting pregnant, being pregnant, other people's children, children in general come up?

Now think about how many of those images, ideas, cultural symbols and icons come up in the media around me. Like I said, I'm suffocating, drowning. It makes it even worse when I turn on the news and there's another report about hate violence or another story about the Federal Marriage Amendment or another movie-of-the-week about true love, white picket fences, and the miracle of life.

My culture is not prepared to welcome me, support me, acknowledge me, and console me as a first-class citizen. What sucks worse is when my local life, not my global one, my local culture doesn't really either.

Life is rapidly changing around me. And I have to adapt or eject or some slip-slide combination. This year will be a turning point in a lot of people's lives just in my circle of friends here in Maryland alone.

Cate and Skinner are expecting their first child. Amazing, wonderful, blessed, and rock-the-fucking-on. I am so happy for them and in a way already (gay) uncle-proud. But I take a half-step back and look at all the accoutrements, the traditions, the rituals, the institutions, the ultimate canonization of baby making and having and raising that are taken for granted by heterosexuals (and now by some well-meaning, assimilationist queers). The baby will change their lives. And it will definitely change the lives of those around them. It's the way the universe works; the ripples swing out and touches everything and everyone.

My friend Ryan and his now fianceé Tina announced their engagement; they will be moving in together this summer and planning their wedding for next year. Congratulations to them both and best wishes always. But, again, heaps of stuff loaded into, onto marriage. And I will miss my time with Ryan because his marriage will change our relationship by virtue of him being married. Moreover, my friends Shawn and Christine just got married last year and will be looking for their first place on their own with their daughter Hailey. He's got a good job. She's graduated and will be joining the work force. Now it's time to fulfill the "adult" equation. And things will change and I wonder how my life will intersect or align with theirs.

I am going to two weddings this coming June. I have been to so many weddings in the past couple of years that you'd think it was an epidemic among my friends. But I suppose it's just the "right" time. People are at "that" age. This is when it is "supposed" to happen. And here I am missing the boat, train, plane, flying saucer into coupledom. I don't even think I have a ticket yet. The hoopla around the marriages, like engagements and babies, is undeniable. The spring season is all about Valentine's, friskiness, anniversaries, flowers and chocolate, romantic comedies, and such. Why isn't there Single's Day? Or Congratulations, You're Single! Hallmark cards? Better yet, tax benefits for being single? Instead, the culture is bent (no pun intended) on getting people paired up (not tripled up or open-relationshiped up or fetished up) and ultimately making sure the species doesn't risk extinction. So, what about my single friends? I have a few friends left. But I would argue that even among my single friends, their love life or their lack of love life is always in the mix, always in the grist of gossip and conversation. What am I supposed to do?

Even my sister and her boyfriend Brian are participating, locked into what Judith Halberstam calls "reproductive time" or heteronormative time (as opposed to queer time). I helped them pack today. Because of Brian's job, they need to move to Northern Virginia, a near hour away from where they live now. Beyond just them cohabitating, it's always interesting to watch my sister interact with her significant other, and to watch couples in general. I've noticed she talks a lot more now in terms of we, of him and I, of how things are going to affect them together. I understand a part of that comes out of the fact that she's going abroad for nearly a year and they need to sort out things before they're apart for so long. But she's brought up the more than occasional conversation moment where she imagines a time and place and possibility that they will be married, have children, and settle down somewhere. The normalness of their relationship has made its way (and rightly so) into my father's life and his conversations; he will make sure to invite Brian to things, he will make sure to ask about them both, he will make sure to get Brian a holiday gift. So, again, how do I fit in to all of this?

Last night, Shawn and I hung out together. He stopped by after work. We sat around, watched TV, talked, had some dinner, and then decided to head out into the gorgeous, almost autumn-like weather. He wanted to sit outside, have a couple of drinks, and listen to a live band. Well, we got two out of three. We ended up popping over to College Park and settling on the Cornerstone, a usual hangout for frat guys and coeds. It's not my usual scene. But I decided to step outside my comfort zone last night. Plus, the town was quiet. The bar was dead. We got to sit outside and people watch and chat. It was a really surprisingly great night. I got a little chance to talk about what's been on my mind. Shawn really tries to understand. And even if it's not in his power to do anything about it, at least he tries to listen. Now we just have to come up with a plan to fix things for Ed.

He's already said that he wants to do something for Pride. I sent out an email a couple of weeks ago to most of my area friends letting them know that Capital Pride is coming up, June 6-13. This year's theme is "Pride + Vote = Power." Catchy. Interesting. And definitely timely considering the upcoming presidential election. I hope it's a rousing success. A couple of other people have expressed interest in doing something. But I don't think I'll have much time because both weddings I have to go to are during the week and weekend of Pride. I will just have to postpone and partake of Baltimore Pride instead; I have always wanted to see how Charm City does it up. Baltimore's theme this year is "Viva La Différence" -- a little cheesy but festive and earnest. I hope that I can round up a few people to come be a part of this part of my life. It is important to me, and I hope I impress that upon my friends.

Today, after helping my sister and Brian pack, I headed down to Meredith's house for a little BBQ. A number of my area cohort was in attendence. I made some yummy guacamolé. There was a whole lot of grilling. And a whole lot of talking, chatting, reminiscing, and joking -- all things my friends are good at and love to do. But I found myself progressively, incrementally distancing myself from the whole scene. Talk, of course, centered on the usual suspects: Shawn and Christine's marriage, Cate and Skinner's marriage, Cate's pregnancy, Christine's past pregnancy, the upcoming marriage of Michael and Kristina, the upcoming marriage of John and Stacey, other people's marriages, Meredith's sex life, silly boyfriend/husband tricks, silly girlfriend/wife tricks. Obviously, it's not the only thing that people talk about or think about or do; but it's always there, even liminally, always ready as a filler or stopgap in conversation. Plus, John and Stacey showed up later in the evening; it was great to see them both, especially John since he's been stationed in Italy for almost a year. They're back in town for their wedding coming up in June. That, obviously, shifted attention toward the nuptials.

And I had to leave. All I could think about was how much I was not everything that nearly everyone there was or was going to be. I just felt particularly crowded, insecure, frustrated, distressed, and in some ways, closeted tonight. Granted, I should be relaxed about it; I should take it in stride. I shouldn't let what is going on with other people or how other people's lives are turning out affect how I live or see my life. But it does, it will. Again, they specifically are not necessarily the root of the problem (or even a problem). It's just the whole system, the whole cultural shebang is skewed, weighted, and decidedly built to exclude people like me. I should live. I should let live. I should be happy with what I have. I should be content with who I am. And I am for the most part. But it's like telling someone that they'll be happy, they'll recover, they'll lead a full and productive and "normal" life, they'll find someone who will love them regardless, they'll live in a community and nation and world that won't see them as different...and then cut off their right arm.

I said at the start of this very long ramble that you cannot choose who you love. And I came face-to-face with that reality tonight. What am I talking about? I'm talking about my friend John. Months back, I wrote an entry about coming to terms with a few people in my life, a few men, a few infatuations. I wrote that I had put them to rest -- finally. And about one of them, I wrote: "One of the infatuations, I think, went deeper. Somewhere along the way, I think I fell in strong like. I'm not sure if it was love because the love was never realized, actualized, tasted, or tested. They were strong feelings nonetheless. And that's left a pretty achy spot in my chest." That infatuation, that very strong like was John. I think I was able to write about letting him go because he wasn't around anymore; he was geographically undesirable (not to mention being straight and engaged). But seeing him tonight for the first time in a long time was rough, exciting but rough.

How can I talk about this with people around here that are mutual, very intertwingled friends?

Actually, more importantly, the whole sordid mess points up a very telling question in my life: why the hell am I falling for straight men? And part of the answer is that I am only meeting, getting to know, and working with straight men. My life is not a target rich environment, as Dr. Phil would say. So, that has got to change. And even if it was chock full of queer, available men, am I even ready for it? After all, I lived in San Francisco for three years -- certainly target rich -- and walked out of The City without so much a fuckbuddy.

I am working on it. I know I need to expand my cohort. It's not an easy process, nor an easy fix. I hoped that grad school would be of some help. It has in a few ways. I've met a number of darn good people. Alas, all of them are either women or straight men. I will miss the handful of very charming, very endearing, and very kind guys that I got to know this past year; a number of them are graduating and headed for bigger and better things. The department, the university in general, is in something of a queer dry spell. Hopefully, the incoming group of grads will bring some much need rain. In other areas, I hoped that the coffee house would spark a few possibilities. Again, it has helped and I've met more good people. But, again, they're just not in my rounded corner. I've continually tried the online thing since it's worked for so many people I know. But as much as I try interacting on gay.com chat, I am usually left more frustrated than its worth; gay.hell proves more of than not, sadly, gay men are cliquish, elitist, imagist, and lookist. The beauty and promise of Friendster has allowed me to stay in touch and rediscover a number of friendships, but it hasn't parlayed into much action. Networking takes work, relaying, and open and active communcation. Most of my friends are content where they are, with who they're with, and with what they have. In a sense, I cannot be the only person looking out for my interests; other people I know (and know through those I know) need to be looking out for me, too. I've sent messages to queer, single, similarly-interested men in my network and gotten less than 1% in responses; none of which were amicable to pursing more than just thanking me for being witty, nice, and writing a message. Plus, as much as I believe in the radicalizing and countercitizen power of cyberspace, most queer online spaces are filled with the same old, same old -- actually, more like same young, same young, same Ambercrombie & Fitch crowd. I have a theory that if you look at a gay man's Friendster profile and look at their list of friends, you can tell what kind of guy they are just by counting the number of shirtless, half-naked, or fully naked men are in their network (their own photos included). Finally, I don't even want to get into the mission planning required to maintain an active life in the city whilst living, working, and commuting from the burbs.

Same problems, different day -- so something has to give, something has to change.

For now, Ed is happy to have vented. Ed is happy to have been able to articulate some of what is knocking around in his head. And Ed is happy to be going to sleep.

Cheers.

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