Pride 98

It was my last day in San Luis Obispo (SLO). I remember walking through town that evening for farewell drinks with a few of my buddies. Out of nowhere a car screeches past us and someone shouts "faggot" out the window at me. My friends turned cautiously to gauge my reaction. I smiled, chuckled and said "I've been here for five years, and someone has just now decided to take issue with my sexual orientation?!"

That wasn't entirely true. I once took great issue with my sexual orientation. Forget the first couple decades of my life, feeling like something was wrong with me that needed to be fixed. About a year previous to the drive by faggoting, I was so paranoid of being seen in public with a guy I had previously dated, I kept my distance from him as we walked through the town's Thursday Farmer's Market. It was so obvious how stand offish I was being, he was deeply hurt. My self preservation at the time was seemingly important. I was only 22. He was a more experienced 32. What if I were to run into one of my professors or classmates?! In hindsight how dare I make someone feel like I was ashamed of being with them. What can I say. I was young. It was a different time. We were in a much more conservative, mostly rural area of California. Truly.

Conversely, there was something about being with my first boyfriend Jason that put me at ease and made me immune to caring about what anyone else thought. I loved him, at least I thought I did. No, I did, as much as I was capable of at the time.

On another occasion, I had kissed my first boyfriend Jason goodbye after walking him to work in downtown SLO. Just as we had turned and walked away from each other, a very angry voice emerged from the afternoon crowd.

"Y-you, you FATHEADS!" Yelled a man who was with a woman and two children, a boy and a girl. I can only deduct they were a family. The woman seemed extremely embarrassed by the man's reaction toward us. Clearly as disturbed as the man was by our extremely G-Rated display of affection, he refrained from using the word faggot. Fatheads does sound similar, so it was probably his bigoted intention. My sense is he didn't want his kids to hear the word faggot. Yet they were still witness to his hatefulness toward us. Go figure.

Jason and I just shrugged and continued on our separate ways. The woman actually had to grab the man by his arm to prevent him from pursuing us. Though it appeared they were walking in the same direction I was. I could feel them behind me for about another half block or so before I turned toward my house. A bit awkward, mostly for them. Then again, I wasn't really sure if this hot tempered man might continue his pursuit of me. I was alone on foot.

Of course the SLO County skinheads sent me a few love letters to my university newsroom, suggesting I move somewhere like San Fransissyco. What a novel idea. It was mostly because San Francisco is such an incredible, vibrant city I thought I'd give it a shot after college. After all, SLO is very finite and I knew I'd need a more expansive place if I were going to continue evolving.

My journalism department fostered some professional networking opportunities. This lead to a prospective position with one of the world's largest PR firms, Burson Marsteller. Prior to graduating, I had an interview setup with a manager in the firm's corporate practice.

Finding housing was another saga. It was 1998, and the tech boom was underway. Vacancy rates in The City had plummeted. I found myself on interview after interview with potential roommates. Let me tell you, San Francisco is home to some really freaking living situations. This could warrant a story in of itself.

Alternately, I had taken up residence in a tourist hotel in the "Tenderlean" I used to stay at on weekend trips to The City during college. I had a room on the fifth floor, which was the top floor of this old building, complete with a cage elevator, a fabulous collection of vintage jukeboxes in the lobby and one of the hottest front desk men imaginable. Judging by his accent, I'm pretty sure he was French.

"Monsieur, Davis," he would address me in his thick, very sexy accent. He too had a room on the fifth floor, though he had to use the shared shower as I saw him heading out of it one day with just a towel wrapped around his incredible form. He hurt to look at; flawless. I digress ...

The first week living in The City was overwhelming. Noisy, impersonal, lonely. I spent most of my days looking for a reasonable living situation and work. I was looking very forward to my interview at Burson. At the time it was the only viable prospect I had lined up. I was living off my dad's credit card. Talk about living on borrowed time.

Nights were very lonely. I didn't really know anyone in The City at the time. One night I went out and met a couple really cool Irish gals. I recall cabbing home from the bar that night. As we were driving down Market Street, the Albanian cab driver remarked about the long rainbow banners hanging off all the lampposts as far as the eye could see.

"What are all these flags? A new country?!" he asked.

"You could say that, a more enhanced country." I replied.

Pride weekend was just a week or so away. I cannot recall a time I felt more humbled and insignificant. It had only been two weeks. Even though I had friends from SLO coming into town for Pride weekend, I had to use a lifeline. I phoned a friend, my best friend at the time, Jeff. The best. He was free Pride weekend, so I booked him a ticket, courtesy of my dad's plastic.

The afternoon Jeff arrived I had booked us a spa package at a resort in Calistoga. As luck would have it, my big interview simultaneously landed on that day. It was the only time they had available. In my best navy and pin stripe suit (Dior - which I picked up second hand on a trip home to Seattle a year prior), I dashed to SFO, picked up Jeff for a layover at Burson's Burlingame offices. Jeff sat in the car and read a book.

Meanwhile I sat in the hot seat. The hiring manager is alumni from my alma matter, so we had a great school connection. He seemed very impressed with my portfolio. I studied his office. One of the first things I noticed on his desk was a framed photo of him and Bob Dole. Further into our conversation it was explained the corporate practice serves some of the firm's most important clients, many of which are big oil companies. I wasn't sure how I felt about the information I was gathering. Yet beggers can't be choosers, and I was eager to land this gig. I was certain the starting salary would be substantial enough to set me up decently in The City.

They gave me a written test, part of which contained question and answer. The other part required me to write a news release about scissors. Yes, scissors. This was my opportunity to shine, and I did. In fact, I nailed the interview. They called immediately after I left in follow up, letting me know I would be hearing from them soon and they were looking very forward to working with me.

Jeff was such a great sport. We zipped up to Calistoga, having missed at least half our services. I was really looking forward to a volcanic mud bath. We had a brilliant time catching up during the car ride up. Had great massages and then headed back to The City.

It was our first night out together for quite some time. I thought it would be fun to switch it up a bit. By that I meant that I would wear Jeff's preppy attire and he'd try on some of my vintage, second-hand duds. What an interesting night it was. Of course we ended up at the Cafe in the Castro. And I ended up meeting Jeremy.

Jeremy was a tall ginger, ex marine Stanford grad. We danced, drank and by the end of the night were gratuitously making out. Jeff was a great sport. At some point after last call, Jeff ran into my ex Jason in the bathroom. Leave it to Jeff to rub it in Jason's face that I was there and also very "preoccupied." Oh, I hadn't mentioned that Jason had broken up with me months prior. I was devastated. Of course I eventually got over it. Jeff wasn't so sure whether Jason had based on his reaction to seeing me with this Jeremy fellow.

So Jeremy makes plans to meet up the following afternoon at Cafe Flora. This time Jeff is back to his preppy self and I'm back to my retro wears. And Jeremy is totally into Jeff. The two just chatted it up as if they had been long time friends. Great that they were hitting it off so well. As we moved into the evening, it became very apparent I was the third wheel. I suppose perhaps this is how Jeff was feeling the night before? This is crap!

Jeremy excuses himself. I'm sitting silent, fuming. Jeff picks up what I'm puttin' down.

"Is everything OK, Brad?"

"If it were you wouldn't be asking. I thought this was supposed to be our weekend."

"Say no more. Do you still have that ecstasy?"

"Yes."

Before I know it, Jeff and I dose a tab each. It's all we had. Then he assures me he's going to handle this. Jeremy returns.

"Welcome back, Jeremy," Jeff said. "Look, I came here to spend time with my best friend. We just took some ecstasy. Unfortunately we don't have anymore to share. We're planning to hit Club Universe tonight. If you are OK with chaperoning, you're welcome to come with us."

The look on Jeremy's face was priceless, just kind of expressionless because it was a lot to take in. Once he processed, he said OK, that he wanted to join us.

We make a plan to head back to our hotel first to change, prefunk (really?), etc. I drive us in my Explorer. We get about a block from the parking garage and suddenly the ecstasy kicks in full tilt boogie. It was amazing and frightening at the same time because suddenly driving became a very arduous task and the streets in the center of town are complicated. Somehow I managed to park the car safely and was so incredibly relieved to not have to do anymore driving for the evening. We'd take the rest of the night via cab.

So we pass the hot front desk man and get back up to my fifth floor room. Jeremy lays back and sprawls out on the bed. Jeff and I begin fussing around for a change of clothes, trying to decide who we wanted to be for our big night out at Club Universe. Especially for the Saturday of Pride weekend in San Francisco, this was the promised land of places to be. I couldn't have been more thrilled! Yeah, it was probably the ecstasy.

I put on some music. Jeff and I bantered and fussed and bantered some more. We sang along to songs while still trying different things on. Out of nowhere I decide it would be a great idea to play with shaving cream. Anyone who has ever been on ecstasy will understand. The sensation of everything is so utterly enhanced. Some friends I had dosed with months prior in SLO introduced me to playing with shaving cream while rolling on e. It's mesmerizing, oddly enough.

So Jeff and I are sitting on my hotel room floor Indian style facing one another playing with shaving cream between our entangled hands. At this point we're also completely lost in great conversation. We were all smiles with sparkles in our eyes. Suddenly a song comes on, and it seems to completely encapsulate the moment we're in. The last few verses repeat the words "I love you." During this time we're completely silent yet still conversing with our eyes, like telepathy. We were experiencing pure love in that moment, completely requited. The moment lingered for some time. Neither one of us wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else doing anything else. We were completely content, in a state of total, utter bliss.

Then I spoke the words, and when I did, I meant them, wholeheartedly: "I love you."

At one point I remember we made our way out onto the fire escape to have a cigarette. Jeff told me he had feelings for me for quite some time, and to ask our mutual friend Kathy if I didn't believe him.

We were both all smiles, giddy. We shared so many feelings and thoughts under a clear early summer night sky in The City. After what was probably a long while, even though it felt like no time at all, we climbed back in through the window and noticed there was a man sprawled out across the bed snoring.

We looked at each other and began laughing, knowing we were simultaneously thinking, "What are we going to do with this guy."

I guess the good news is all three of us got to experience what it was like being the proverbial third wheel. I forget which famous psychologist (or was it as sociologist) opined the perfect grouping is always two people because any more than that and someone always feels left out at some point.

This time I assure Jeff I'll handle this one. I rifled through some of my graduation cards and gathered up some cash into an envelope. I called a cab. Then I woke Jeremy up, and broke the news to him.

"My best friend and I have fallen in love. We're going to stay in tonight, and we want to make sure you still have a great Pride. Here's some cash. Your cab is waiting for you downstairs. Please have a great time."

Everything just flowed, and I didn't even pause to consider how Jeremy might react to this information, especially after having been suddenly awaken out of a deep sleep. He smiled and said he was truly happy for us. Well, he was a bit puzzled at first, only because he was still waking up. Ultimately he was very congratulatory. He gathered himself and showed himself out.

The next morning we woke up rather late. It seemed the night before we had a whole lifetime to catch up on. In fact, it was a phone call from Jeremy that stirred us. He called to let us know what happened to him on his way to the cab in front of the hotel. Three guys jumped him. Long story short, he got his marine on and kicked their asses. They managed to get away with some money, a whole dollar bill.

We were to meet some of my dear SLO friends downtown for the big parade. With this new discovery, suddenly all that mattered was that incredible feeling of home. I wanted to go home. My home had for so long been in Seattle.

"Jeff, what would you say if I asked you to help me pack my car, forego your flight and drive home with me?"

"Are you asking me?"

"Yes."

Beaming, he agreed and asked if I was sure. I told him I hadn't been more sure of anything in my life to date.

I put a call into my friends, letting them know I was heading home and why. It didn't seem to register.

"But you'll miss the parade." said the voice on the other end of the line.

It took us about an hour to load my car with all of my wordly possessions. I decided we were going to take the scenic route up Highway 101. To get there from the Tenderlean we literally drove through the center of the parade. It was an incredible moment, almost like our own special bon voyage celebration.

As soon as we rolled onto the Golden Gate Bridge, Jeff turned on the radio. Supertramp's Goodbye Stranger stated playing. I had surrendered myself for five years to California, forged some incredible friendships, experienced so much and really started coming into my own during this time. Suddenly I was leaving, not knowing when I would be back, whether I would be back, if I would ever see my dear friends again. I felt a tear roll down my face. My body knew my sadness before I was even mentally aware I had anything to be sad about. I had for hours previous been so wrapped up in love I couldn't consider anything other possibility.

Jeff flashed me an understanding look. We didn't speak. We just let the music play. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies. Puffy white clouds. Reflections of the sun sparkling across the bay. Clearly we were still just a smidge high. Even so, this was a beautiful moment full of mixed emotions and no regrets.

Our second to last stop in California is worth a mention. We were running low on fuel as we rolled into Crescent City in my bright red Explorer with a long, horizontal rainbow pride sticker plastered across the top of my rear window glass. I'm at the pump about to begin fueling when I hear "FAGGOT!" shouted at me from the station attendant. I looked at him, dropped the pump on the ground and told him to pick it up. I casually returned to my car, drove off and filled up at the next station down the street.

Our last stop in California was deep in the redwood forest along the cross over highway between 101 and I-5. Twilight was rapidly descending into nightfall. The trees were silhouettes against a purple backdrop. No sign of civilization present, except a faint light up ahead at a bend in the road. It was a phone booth, in the middle of wilderness. Weird. I pulled off the road, thinking it would be a good idea to call my family and let them know I was heading home. There were a couple of what appeared to be abandoned cabins behind the phone booth. Jeff was sound asleep

I quietly stopped the car and slipped out into the booth. Just as I began dialing a terrifying impact was made on the side of the booth. There was a large, black boot laying on the ground a ways from where the impact was made. I looked up and saw one of the cabin's had the front door wide open, but it was pitch black inside. I've seen way too many horror flicks to stick around. Without putting anymore thought toward it, I booked back to the car and drove away as fast as I possibly could. Of course this woke Jeff out of his sound slumber.

"What's going on?!" he asked.

I explained what had just occurred. By the expression on my face, which had gone completely pale, he didn't question any further. We drove on into the night and once we reached Medford, Oregon, I pulled into civilization and made my call home.

Oh, speaking of calls. I followed up with the hiring manager at Burson Marsteller upon arriving home, letting them know I had relocated to Seattle. He was very disappointed, mentioning they didn't have any offices in Seattle. Looking back, I know that whole situation turned out for the very best.

In some way it would be great to share that Jeff and I lived happily ever after. Perhaps both of us have. I can only speak for myself and acknowledge for all life's struggles I am living happily ever after. I've not spoken with Jeff in many years, yet my hope of course is that he is truly happy.

Perhaps this is a good time to mention Jeff was living with his fiance during that Pride weekend in 1998. Honestly I think Jeff was more in love with the idea of being in love with his fiance than he was truly in love with his fiance. Perhaps what he and I experienced together was just a byproduct of an illicit substance. Perhaps there were true feelings there that ran deep because we had such a solid history. It doesn't really matter, especially now. Our lives ebbed and flowed exactly the way they did.

Maybe I shouldn't share this last bit. I might as well. So Jeff did inform his fiance about us. Of course he didn't take it too well, and of course he was going to need some time to find a place of his own. Translation: "I don't want this to end, so I'm not in any hurry to leave."

Jeff and I had our first official date shortly after our return to Seattle. Our friends were quite stunned by our news. Happy yet stunned. I picked him up one evening out front of his place. He looked so cute in his khakis and bright polo. So he gets in the car and says he has something he needs to discuss with me.

"So you know Craig is still looking for a place to live."

"Yes, I know."

"And while he is, we're still sharing a bed together."

"OK."

"And, well, we're probably still going to, you know, have sex."

"So what are you really asking me? Whether you can have your cake and eat it, too?! I think I'm finally really clear. You can go now, this date is over."

Oddly Jeff looked shocked. He wanted to know if I was serious, which of course I was. It's not what I wanted. I knew how much he fooled around on Craig. I would be the fool to think he could ever change, and as much as I adored him, I loved myself, too.

Days following on the fourth of July, just as the fireworks began igniting over Seattle, Jeff and I had a huge blowout of our own. I don't even recall the exact circumstances or the he said, he said. Just that we both had a lot of pent up anger to vent, and we did so at one another. I'm not sure whether we ever fully resolved our differences. Perhaps if we had things might be different. I don't mean that we would have pursued a romantic relationship together. I simply mean perhaps we might have ended up as we had began, as friends.

A year later to the day, Jeff introduced me to my partner of seven years in his front yard. That's a whole other ball of wax, and this is more than plenty for one post.

The Atomic Age & Devolution

My blog has a "this day in history" widget at the top, which automatically posts daily events of importance that have occurred on that day. Today is the anniversary of the U.S. dropping atomic bombs on Japan: http://encyclopedia.tfd.com/Atomic+bombings+of+Hiroshima+and+Nagasaki

For all of our intelligence as mere mammals, our "advancements," our "achievements" are in so many ways devolved. We humans are reckless, selfish and ignorant creatures.

Here's what I find fascinating. The latest scientific research indicates primitive humans began eight million years ago. Then suddenly 50 thousand years ago, we humans mysteriously make a giant leap in our evolution. What changed?

Regardless of what changed, it is clear where we are headed. Man vs. man in the ultimate conflict over sustainability. Will it be survival of the fittest? Survival of the wealthiest? Or mass extinction?

I ran across this documentary while searching online for clues to humankind's sudden evolutionary advancement. Not like this is groundbreaking or even "news," it's just well done and gives pause for thought about our collective human fate: http://youtu.be/dN06tLRE4WE

California Dreamin'

In early 1992, at the ripe ignorant age of 17, I had semi "flown the coop" from my folks' nest. My Grandma and Aunt had taken me in to finish my second semester of high school at my hometown alma mater Issaquah. According to Wikipedia, "Issaquah" is an anglicized word for a local Native American name, meaning either "the sound of birds," "snake," or "little stream." I had once heard from a friend who heard from some descendant of a native tribe from our region that if someone acted silly or a little crazy, one would say, "they must be from Issaquah." The latter meaning really resonates with me.

I graduated with the class I grew up with. Still not sure how I managed to make it out, alive. Stated junior college. Moved into a house with some roomies. Threw a shitload of parties. Went to a shitload of parties. Dropped out of junior college. Really was going nowhere fast. This just wouldn't do. I wanted more for myself. I'm sure my folks, at the time, wanted more for me, too.
Spent a spring break down in Lake Havasu, Arizona. One night, I almost literally drank my weight in booze. I just lost complete control of my sense and sensibility. The last thing I remember; throwing back a jug of vodka. Then I recall waking up on a cold, stainless steel table under horrible florescent lighting in a medical room. A nurse came in, and the first thing I ask her is if I'm in trouble. She assured me as far as she was concerned I wasn't. Not too much time passed before I was released from the hospital, which had treated me for alcohol poisoning. I was told I had a .38 blood alcohol content. I was also told .4 is certain death. This was a wake up call.

Speaking of calls, it was my brother who heroically called 911. For someone to be in that bad of shape for my brother to think there was an urgent medical emergency is saying something. Truly. Well, you don't know my brother.

So the following night, my brother, and I were to have dinner with our folks. They were visiting him in San Luis Obispo where he attended junior college. So relieved I hadn't died, they were surprisingly lenient with me. Completely disappointed, albeit lenient.

Upon my return to Seattle, I did quite a bit of soul searching. I engaged in my first internship with a local video production company. They were working on a really cool project, documenting the story of our nation's most prolific serial arsonist Paul Keller. The work was really unglamorous, sometimes boring and tedious. I was also schlepping at an Italian restaurant bussing tables. This was at least my third restaurant gig, and I was still bussing, not waiting. In hindsight, it might have been to my advantage to acknowledge my Hispanic appearance and avoid working in restaurants altogether. Oh well, live and learn.

Sometime at the beginning of my third quarter in community college I dropped my classes and withdrew. While in the registrar's office, I recall overhearing a gal talking to another staffer about the college dropout statistics. Apparently the percentage of people who drop out of college and return to graduate with a degree is astronomically low. This really got to me. What kid grows up dreaming of being a loser statistic!?

For once I actually intentionally followed my brother's lead. I applied and was accepted to his college in little San Luis Obispo. So that summer I wrapped up my video production internship, quit my schlepping gig, said farewell to lifelong friends and moved to California's Central Coast.

The night before I left I had the oddest dream. I was in a large, green vehicle. It was a boat of a car, kind of like an old Lincoln. Actually I couldn't tell whether it was a car or SUV. It was really large and full of passengers; family. I don't recall if the car was full of actual relatives or people who felt close to me like family. That part was ambiguous, probably the latter as I have a very loose knit family at best.

We were driving on a major freeway through the heart of a major downtown. It could've been I-5 through Downtown Seattle under the Washington State Convention Center. It could've been the Hollywood Freeway through Downtown Los Angeles. I'm not really sure. Again, ambiguous.

I was sitting in a middle seat, and for some reason there was no working safety belt. We were cruising at a good clip, about 75 miles per hour. Then it was as if someone flipped a switch on traffic, and the cars ahead of us appeared to suddenly be at a stand-still. The driver hit the brakes. It was too late. We slammed into the back of the car ahead of us. I slammed through the windshield and into the pavement.

The next thing I know, I'm standing there watching all these people get out of their cars and rush over to the pileup. I stood up on my tippy toes to get a look at the motionless body lying in the road. The person was face down into the pavement, it wasn't pretty. Upon closer examination, I notice they're wearing the same clothes as I was. Then it hit me. That was me lying there, motionless.

In denial, I begin trying to get people's attention. No one acknowledged me. More and more I try to get in people's faces. It's clear no one sees or hears me, or so I thought.

There was a lighted escalator to the side of the freeway, like at a transit or subway stop. The people riding up it waved to me, motioning for me to follow them. So I did. I began my ascent. Suddenly I'm in a hospital room. My nearest and dearest are gathered around a table. They were grieving over my white draped remains.

A man came through the wall. He was dressed handsomely in full white tie tuxedo. In the most loving of manners he asked me if I had any regrets. I searched myself and honestly I didn't, so I said no. He asked me if I was ready to go. I searched myself again, and while I felt the loss of the life I had known, I felt unimpeded to move on. The mysterious man extended his hand toward me. I reached out and he grasped my hand tenderly. He then led me through the wall he had just moments before walked through.

On the other side, we're in a beautiful red rock canyon environment, like you see in Southern Utah. I look over at the mysterious man. He is now dressed in a sheriff's uniform and there's a squad car just ahead of us. We get in and drive around a bend. As we clear the bend, I see this magnificent city stretch out before us. It's beautiful, strange and seemingly multi-pastel colored.

The mysterious man drops me off at a park. There's a news kiosk, so I take it upon myself to learn more. There are multi-colored leaflets being distributed to passers by. They look like blank pages from a variety pack of construction paper.

A younger man around my age approaches me. He says I must be new, and not to worry, that over time I'll be able to see the words. Then he invites me to follow him to a pay phone. I oblige. He picks up the receiver and makes a call. Then he says your turn and hands me the phone. My mom is on the line, calling my name as if she's wondering whether it's me on the other end. I say, yes, mom, it's me. I'm here. She continues to call my name. She doesn't hear me and hangs up. My new acquaintance explains to me we can sometimes contact our earthbound loved ones. He also informs me we're to have dinner with the creator that evening.

Next thing I know, we're at the creator's home. He's the same mysterious man who first came to me through a wall. He and a woman are preparing dinner in a very nice, yet modest, completely wooden kitchen. This is inside a completely wooden house. There is a feast of food spread out on a long, wooden table. We begin to sit down at the table together, and I can't remember anything more about the dream beyond this.

The next morning I was on the road to start my new life and finish my college degree in California ...