The set up

So today I had a date with a defrocked priest.
(not the first date I've had with a defrocked priest in my life, by the way)

A mutual friend called me a few days to set up a date with him.
As reluctant as I was, I accepted. What the hell, it's lunch, I figured. What else am I doing on a Tuesday at noon?

"And that whole pedophila thing was nothing...really!"
She assured me. "People are just out to get him, you know how people are."

I've never had anyone set me up on a date before. No one's ever offered. Whenever asked, the best anyone has ever said was "you really ought to just move out of this city."

I've always had to scrounge them up myself, so I figured I couldn't very well look a...ummm...gift horse in the...uh...mouth, right?

The thing about it is, however, that there was really no real work on her part. Within two minutes of the meeting I realized that she had pressured him into meeting me. It was clearly a favor he was doing for her. (Hell, I'm nearly his age...what would he want with me?)

Of course, she lied to me, saying that he "remembered me" from her mother's funeral (he was the priest officiating)...and "thought you was "attractive."

Twisted.

But naturally, when I went up to greet him, he didn't even know who I was.
"Are you Jason?"
Then he asked if we had ever met. No, he'd never seen me in his life.

Clearly he wasn't interested...which is fine, trust me.
I mean, trust me.


But she has delusions of us "dating" simply I think because it would just solve the problem of me not having a boyfriend for her (If that makes any sense.)
Her thought process was pretty simple:

"I have a gay friend A; I have gay friend B. Let's get A and B together and solve their problems. Simple as that"

The main thing I'm worried about now is how to coach her down from her excitement over this "love match"

I want to go home

It's 2 am and I'm torturing myself again. I have a copy of Elle Decor before me, while I wait for the page to load (the joys of dial up) and on the screen before me,
the sad sight of New Orleans apartment listings. I'm swinging wildly between delusion and disappointment.

Since August, I've been living with my family. I've slept in 10 beds not my own in that time (one in the bed of a dead man).
I'm ready to go home. What "home" I don't know.

For the past month or so, I've been shunted off to sleep on the floor of my mother's house. My aunt, who recently lost her husband, and can't take care of herself, has been living with us. I'm not really complaining about her being here. She's really not that much of a problem, and she gives my mother something to talk to instead of me all the time (My mother talks a lot), but she also (like my mother) doesn't drive and needs constant attention. It's been a tiny bit more on the camel's back, you know.

Anyway, the gist of it is that I'm caught in a terrible limbo. I don't know what to do, but whatever I do do, I'm sure will be wrong. I'm very frustrated in every arena.
I am currently without a job. My job is in a strange limbo depending upon enrollment. In any event, I know I will be paid less than I was before, which was
very little, very. And FEMA...well, they've screwed me over big time.

So, here I am again at 2 pm looking on Craigslist for a place to live. I was spoiled by my old apartment, I think. I don't just want anything, you know? I'm grateful for the floor her at my mothers, which allows me not to take the fleabags I've seen so far, and I've seen some fleabags being offered out there, believe me.
Nice places less than 1000 dollars seem impossible to find....and who can afford that????
And now the landlords have a racket going in which they want a fee for them to check your credit. 25 dollars or so, just to look at a place, huh?

I know I'm certainly not alone in this predicament here. Naively, I'd thought it would get easier as time went on (you know, students leaving uptown for summer, more places fixed by now....) but it hasn't.

I don't know how it will work itself out, or not, but all I know is I just want to go home.

RIP

The other day, on one of the last days of the semester,
as I was busily grading, I was interrupted by our principal.
For some reason, when I looked up at her, I knew it wasn't good.
"Did you hear about Sabrina?" she asked.
I was confused. I had a student named Sabrina this year, but certainly hadn't heard anything about her.
"No" I said, confused.
She handed me a piece of paper. It was a news report from Mississippi.
Then it all registered. It was my former student that she meant.

"She died Friday in a traffic accident."
I couldn't speak. I didn't know what to say. Stupidly, the most I could say was "Oh my God. Oh my God. I was just thinking about her!" Which I had been, for some reason, a few weeks before...wondering how she was doing.

She went on, explaining, "She and her friend were going back to Texas. That's where her parents had relocated after the hurricane, to visit from college and that's when it happened"

I glanced at the paper. It was a freakish, fiery, horrific accident. I couldn't bear to read it. I didn't need or want to read it.
I couldn't bear to rest my eyes on the photo enough to let it to come into focus.


I had helped her get into that college. She and I had worked every day after school for nearly a month on her application essays. She was dogged in her determination to get it better and I was harder on her than usual. She and I had a closer relationship than most of my students......maybe any of them. She wanted to major in history. She was good with it too. She loved the history part of my class. She irritated the other girls with her answering correctly all the time, but she tutored them unselfishly too. I had actually helped convince her to become a teacher.
She hadn't thought of it before she told me. She would have been a wonderful one.

She's not the first student (or last I'm sure) of mine that has died.

No. In fact, the during the very first months I ever taught at a high school a student of mine committed suicide.

But Sabrina was different. I think anyone who taught her, who knew her, would say the same. I know they would.

She was 20 years old, and believe me, the world is a sadder place for her loss.

Pomp and Circumstance

Saturday was the mayoral election day for New Orleans,
and our graduation day too.
The Mayor made a stop by on the day to say a few words, dressed in a polo shirt and running as if on a sprint. I thought it was nice of him to drop by.

All in all, this year's graduation was a very nice affair...there was no AC or anything, and it lasted nearly 3 hours....but very dignified.

It was in very sharp contrast to last year's graduation, however.
Last year, at the Mahalia Jackson Theater, all of 10 feet away from me a 200 pound woman and her date, he in a navy suit, she in a light yellow chiffon summer dress, were violently wrestled to the ground by two NOPD officers, cuffed and dragged off screaming through the aisles. (They resisted arrest, she bit the police officer...etc.)

Then the ceremony resumed.
The incident had occured right at the P's, so we had the rest of the alphabet to go.

Nicety

Today I was reminded of two random things that I'd all but forgotten about.
One is Michel'le. Does anyone else remember her? This afternoon I heard "No More Lies" on the radio and was transported back to the early 90's...not altogether a bad thing.
VH1's page on Michel'le

My favorite Michel'le song however, has to be "Nicety." She gives full range to her vocal...ummm...powers there. Somewhere lost in the flood was a cassette version of that, the extended remix, no less!

Random thing number two is Spree, the candy I mean.


I found a treasure trove of them at Dollar Tree. I was on the way to Dollar Tree when I heard Michel'le in fact. They are like candy coated sweet tarts, what's not to love about that? I bought 4 boxes and feel a binge coming on. Too bad I don't have that cassette.

So Notorious I Can't Get a Date.

I've been watching a lot of Vh1 as you can see.



I never watched Beverly Hills 90210, I'm sorry (proud?) to say, but I've always kind of liked Tori Spelling actually. I don't know why. I'm sure I shouldn't.

I remember one night years ago at a friend's house watching "The House of Yes," only after what seemed to me an unnecessarily long apology from the hostess about Miss Spelling's appearance in the movie. I didn't understand the giggling and apologizing about poor Tori's acting then. I still don't.
I mean, I liked her. But then what do I know?

I like her new show too, "So Notorious." Yes,it's a bit self conscious, but what show isn't nowadays? And I like that it seems to be getting funnier with each episode.
I especially like Ruthie, her agent.



Another show I've found (also on VH1) is "Can't Get a Date." I really like the format, especially the comforting, yet brutally honest omniscient voice of the "Narrator."

It's like God is giving dating advice (and sometimes I wish He just would, you know?)

"a query once left to go quiet"

In a fit of insanity, I spent money on a match.com membership several weeks ago. Don't ask me why. I'm pathetic? I'm an optimist? I'm a masochist? All of the above?
I don't know.
Embarassingly, it's not the first time I've wasted money and time on this sort of thing, and, of course, it's never worked.

Anyway, the stagnant pool of available men in this town grew by one the other day. While browsing around aimlessly one night, I happened upon an ad that, although pictureless, was actually well written. Pretty hard to believe.
So, excitedly, I sent an email with these words:

----------
hi!
wow....I have to say, yours is the most well written ad here. Just thought you should know that. I really enjoyed reading your ad. I'm a fan of.........too......
(insert general banter here)
----------

A week goes by with no response, but I notice that he has at least looked at my profile (match.com has an addictive feature that allows this).
And night before last I notice that he and I are online at the same time. Against my better judgement, I send him a "wink" (another feature of the service)....all meant in good nature.

Finally I get a response from him. It seems he did get my first email. He simply ignored it:
-------------------
>Jason,
>I see you have succumbed to the temptation which sometimes overtakes me, which is >to wink
>after an email, or email after a wink, hopeful that a query once left to go quiet >will, upon repitition, arrive at a happier result.
>Thank you for perseverance and for appreciating writing. I love writing.
>I don't know that wé're a match to date, however. But thank you.
--------------------

Ah...well....touche, I guess.
I mean what does one say to that?
I was pretty mortified. Of course he's right, it's pretty sad, my shamelessness.

Now, added to the literally countless (I honestly can't count them all) such rejections I've endured over the past, say, 10 years, this one is pretty tame...very tame actually.
In fact, I've been ignored, dropped, stood up, and
told point blank that I'm not "attractive enough" or young enough
(from, by the way, someone older than I am)...and that's just in the past few months or so.

But still, no matter how polite, it stings...especially when it is polite....and well written, for some reason.
Somehow that makes it worse, though I'm not sure why.

A Little Limerick for Lin

Surrounded by colleagues, and prodded,
Encircled, encouraged by that myriad,
Five times Velinda tried,
Navel aligned, mind applied
And broke that pine plank…on her period.

Random Missed Connections Poetry

Every now and again, I like to go over to Craigslist.
Every now and again, there will be a posting like this (below)....
pure poetry as far as I'm concerned:

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
girl with the bad limp and the red lips - m4w - 36

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: pers-151530522@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-04-15, 9:06PM CDT

yours was the first smile i saw all day.
you are magnificent.


this is in or around decatur

Lightbulbs and Cookies

I was thinking today about my first group of gay friends. I was maybe 23 or so (kind of old, come to think about it now) and very naive.

Not that I'm not still naive, but imagine me at that age.

I had met a guy in an art class named Patrick. He was very tall and skinny and fixated on two things:

*younger guys (though all of 20 himself)

*Madonna

*violent imagery.

(ok, so I said only two things, but at least two of those three are pretty much the same, if you think about it, right?)

His paintings were always of bloody figures at war, it seemed. At the time, he was squatting at a house near the Fairgrounds
(next door to the scene of a notorious satanic cult murder a few years later, so I remembered reading with horror in the Times Picayune…..human hearts buried under the floorboards and everything)

I, however, had no clue as to that sort of thing.
Actually, I had no clue period, about *anything* at that age.

One of my most vivid memories of that time is bringing over freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and light bulbs. They had burned them all out at the house and had no money to buy more. Wanting to be helpful, or just plain pathetic, I drove up to the nearly dilapidated house, next door to the Satanic cult, parked my Escort on the street and, like Little Red Ridinghood, brought the cookies (in a basket for God’s sake) in.

The cast of characters was always changing, but the main players were:

Patrick, the violent, pre-pedophile, Madonna fan.

Joao, an 18 year old Brazilian model/prostitute who constantly practiced his gymnastic routine (he was going to the Olympics he insisted).

Daniel, a straight native westbanker for whom Patrick had an unrequited lust. Daniel had an encyclopedic knowledge of music. I remember he initially sneered at me, making fun of my suspected musical tastes. Within a few minutes, however, I had redeemed myself and he completely ignored Patrick
Needless to say Patrick was livid with jealousy.

Bill, an overweight Disney store employee who was reviled for his old age (30!). He shared the pedophilic tendencies of Patrick. The stories he told of the Disney store exploits are not fit to print….well, yet.

To round it out, there was the ever revolving cast of Patrick’s tricks. One of the more memorable of these, whose name I can't remember, was from New Jersey. He was a hustler and a crack addict. It was the first time I’d ever seen anyone doing crack.

I actually asked him, "what are you doing?"
I thought it was a craft, no doubt.

He told me, "some crack, man."

He was very nonchalant and actually pretty nice. He talked incessantly of “ ‘shrooms.” He kept looking in the yard for them. I helped.

Hell, I had read a book about truffle hunting in Normandy somewhere along the line, hadn't I? Somehow I won him over too. I think it was the cookies.
Of course he disappeared the next morning with Patrick's lighter and 50 dollars.

The most bizarre member of this group, however, was clearly me...me and my basket of cookies and lightbulbs. You don't get much more bizarre than that.

After Patrick left for San Francisco, I decided not so much to go back "into the closet," as "back on the shelf."

Clearly, I was not cut out for gay life, I decided. I mean really, this was not at all what I had thought this whole "gay" thing would be. Not at all.

I had pictured "gay" life to be....

oh, I don't know...Noel Coward dialogue...or Wham! videos...and, above all, gentrification.
Certainly not squatters and lighter thieves.

It took a few more years before I met my next set of gay friends, who were a bit more domesticated, not quite, but a bit more.
And now, ultimately, the third and current set are the most "domesticated" yet.
In the best way.
When I contrast the two groups it just makes me smile.