My Identity.

Earl and I are sitting at our local Panera surfing the internet face to face over a couple of pastries and iced tea. Our internet connection at home has been down all day, preventing us from making phone calls (our phone goes over the internet), preventing me from completing my online course work without an extra visit to the campus (to borrow some wi-fi from the library) and keeping me from blogging and more importantly, stifling my daily pr0n intake.

It’s surprising what one can accomplish when there’s no internet in the house. I didn’t vacuum though, let’s not get crazy, the dust bunnies aren’t barking yet.

Today was my first major exam in that math class with Professor Frightful and his group of friends that live behind the blackboard. He provided us with a practice test yesterday, which I completed last night and did surprisingly well. I’m glad I took the time to do that because the practice test was nothing like the actual test. The practice test was a little skim of the material, the real test got down and dirty and surprisingly harder than I thought it would be. Still, I feel cocky and confident and I think I did well. That probably means I failed.

I decided to take a different approach to exams this semester over last semester’s approach. First of all, I’m going to continue to study and make use of the preparation aids (sounds like I have butt problems) that students are provided. However, every book you read about how to be a successful students decrees that you should take your time and review all your answers before submitting the exam. Take all the time that’s available to you. Unfortunately, that’s not how my brain works. I work in hyperdrive and if I don’t know it right away it’s not worth knowing so I’ll work at my own hyperpace, review as I go along and then submit my test when I’m done, without going through a secondary check. My testing stumbles last semester were because I second guessed my original answers when they were right. I’m not taking that risk twice.

Keeping in line with this “I Did It My Way” theme, I’ve decided that if that several of my fellow students can go out of their way to be depressed then I can go out of my way to embrace my personality and be as chipper as I really feel. If I see you and I know you, I’m going to wave at you and perhaps even say hello or stop for a moment to talk to you. I won’t mind if you run in the other direction, it won’t deter me. “Oh God, here he comes again!”

I’ve always had this notion that I have to blend in with the crowd. As I grow older I discover that the notion of doing that is utter bullshit. Each and every person should embrace who and what they are and celebrate it. If people don’t like it, well then screw them. I think I learned that from my mother. Back when I was growing up she was rather outspoken and was always just herself. It’s a trait to be admired. I guess in the world of “J.P. and Earl”, I’m “Dharma”.

After my exam was completed, I decided to jam in the car and make a video in the process. There’s probably a dead singer spinning in his grave after hearing me sing today, but I don’t care. I wasn’t trying to be showy, I was having fun.

[MEDIA=26]

identity.

One of the things that I’m noticing about this bumper crop of freshman at school this year is that they seem to be depressed. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a hyper chatty Cathy at times or what, but I find it a little melancholy that many students choose to walk the campus completely zoned out and tuned into their iPods, with a frown or maybe even a depressing look on their face.

What gives?

Now I’m obviously a music lover. I’ll belt out show tunes, I’ll crank up dance tunes, I’ll airband with some rock and I’ll even sing along with Karen Carpenter and I am eternally grateful that I can carry my entire music collection on this little marvel of technology, but I don’t feel the need to listen to it 24/7. There’s too much out there to enjoy! I enjoy walking through the walls and seeing my fellow students of all ages. I wave hello to those I recognize from previous semesters, I hang with the guys in the hall and collectively we bitch about Professor Weird in Math 121 (I think the class is close to a mutiny, but that’s a blog entry in itself. I am bringing my camera along regularly though, just in case I get the opportunity to sneak a movie for the blog.) But there are so many that look down, iPods in place and just stumble along. The sun could be shining, the sky crystal blue and the changing of the leaves breathtaking, but they don’t notice.

I find that depressing.

I hope this isn’t the way of the up and coming generation.

I’m a geek to the bone and I’m proud of it. But c’mon, there’s a time and place for technology, and sometimes, you just have to get out there and enjoy life, no strings attached.

Literature.

Demu Trilogy

Last night I finished a science fiction novel called “The Demu Trilogy”. Originally three stories entitled “Cage A Man”, “The Proud Enemy” and “End Of The Line”, it was written by F.M. Busby. With last night’s completion it is the 36th time I’ve read the book from beginning to end.

Some might find this odd.

I discovered this book when I was 12. It was buried in a box of books from my Uncle Pete, sandwiched between two copies of “Everything You Wanted To Know About Sex But Were Afraid To Ask”. (I’ve wondered why Aunt Bea and Uncle Pete had two copies of that book, but I was afraid to ask). It had apparently been passed over at a garage sale and was subsequently shoved into this box, along with a bunch of other science fiction books and the aforementioned sex books. The sex books weren’t that informative. I had questions that others would be afraid to answer.

One would think that reading a book for the 36th time would be a chore in monotony but believe it or not, with each reading I find nuances that I haven’t noticed before. I see symbolism that I hadn’t realized in the past 27 years. As a child, my interpretation of the images painted by Busby were, well, child-like. As an adult, I’ve noticed more and more depth to the passages with each subsequent reading.

The basic story goes somewhat like this. Barton, the lead character, is abducted by an alien race called the Demu. The Demu believe that they are the only true people in the universe, all other races are animals. When a non-Demu learns their language, this confuses them as only Demu should be smart enough to speak Demu. So they do their best to make the “animal” look Demu through some pretty rough cosmetic surgery. By the way, the Demu are exoskeletal and like “intelligent shellfish”, much like humans evolved from apes. Barton escapes, leverages his way back to Earth, along with a woman from another humanoid race, the Tilari. I really like the Tilari. Their differences from humans (lack of STDs, conscious control of ovulation, among many other things) make for some very interesting relationships. Earth joins up with Tilara (by the way, we’re called Earthani, not Earthlings, which I find cool) and they go after the Demu, which turns out is just a small part of a big puzzle. I won’t go into further detail, but it’s a great read for any science fiction buff.

It’s amazing how some of the small details of this novel have contributed to the molding of my libertarian beliefs. Sometimes I wish my English Literature professor would just say “write a thematic paper on your favorite novel.” I’d have a field day with that assignment.

In Sickness And In Health.

I am somewhat sick for the second time in as many months. For a person that doesn’t get sick and refuses to get sick, I find this to be quite startling.

I am trying to determine why I am getting sick. Right now I’m blaming the measles vaccine I had to get at the beginning of the year so that I could go to college. I think there’s something inherently wrong with purposely injecting a person with a little measles. “Here, have a little dab of measles, it’ll do you good.” It’s the same reason that I’ve never gotten a flu shot and I won’t get a flu shot.

Aside from beer consumption, which has been cut drastically in the past two weeks, I eat relatively healthy. I’m wondering if I’m not eating enough calories in the hopes of losing weight again. My Monday schedule dictates that I eat lunch at 10:15 a.m. as I have classes from 11 straight through until 5 p.m., so that probably didn’t help the situation last night. I’m going to have to find a better way of dealing with that. Ideally I’d like to drop that infernal math class (love the class, not so wild about the teacher), but I need the course to stay in my engineering classes so I guess I’ll have to come up with another plan.

Last night I slept 11 1/2 hours in one hour increments. God bless Earl. He put up with the tossing and turning and the bouncing around (not in a good way) in bed last night and he seemed quite chipper this morning. But I’d really like to know what’s going on.

Maybe I’ll feel better tonight. I’ll just think lots of positive thoughts.

Monday.

Over tired, slightly cranky and feeling a little stuffed up today, I plodded through my longest day of the week of classes. I’d write more but I’m just hoping tomorrow will be a better day.

I’m going to bed.

Mystique.

Earl and I are spending the weekend at Hillside Campgrounds. It’s our last weekend of the season. Once again, the theme of the weekend is relaxation. Well, perhaps it’s socialization. Or maybe it’s recreation. Conjunction junction, what’s your function?

Lolly, Lolly, Lolly get your adverbs here.

I’ve been visiting Hillside since 1993. After all these years, the mystique of this gay male campground never fails to escape me. I have never been anywhere else where’s there is such a strong sense of community. When you’re driving in, you wave to those you pass that are walking on the small roads that take you through the various areas of the campground, areas such as “Lavender Lane”, “The Landing Strip” and “Buckingham Palace” (the “B” in that last one has a movable letter to make it an “F” on especially gratuitous evenings.) If you’re walking through the campground, you wave a hello to those driving in. Strangers talk to strangers as they’re walking by your campsite and sometimes it turns out that you have common connections, proving that it’s a small world after all.

Another example of the community here at Hillside is the “Helping Hands” fund, a charity intended to help those living with AIDS and HIV. This year there’s a camp cookbook for sale, a weekly BINGO game and other events and activities to raise money for the fund. Several permanent campers offer services (such as winterizing the sites, fixing plumbing, etc) and donate the proceeds to Helping Hands. A couple times each summer my friend Brad and I open up a barbershop for a Saturday afternoon. (Have I ever mentioned before that at once upon a time I considered becoming a barber? I couldn’t find a school locally that wasn’t a cosmetology school.) I basically handle the military style cuts and the shaves, since my barbering abilities amount to two types: “on” or “off”. Occasionally I turn a beard into a mustache that would make the Village People proud. Brad is a little more skilled at the cuts that leave some hair, so he handles those. We all have a great time and we don’t charge anything, but any tip money received is donated to the Helping Hands fund. In July we raised over $275.

Anyway, it’s another humid evening here at Hillside, one that affords me the opportunity to wear my recently discovered campfire attire of choice – a pair of black low cut briefs and maybe my Blue Marvel t-shirt. At times I feel overdressed. It’s a pitch black night, save for the thousands of candles, torches and little lights that twinkle here on the side of a large hill in the middle of the Endless Mountains. Off in the distance I can hear the sounds of the country line dancing going on at the rec hall. In another direction, Gloria Gaynor is singing “I Am What I Am”. And down the road I hear a bunch of guys laughing as they chat and dish around their campfire.

There’s a certain amount of mystique here in the mountains.

Skin.

Feeling a little cocky and being in a particularly jovial mood, I thought it was time to be a comment whore and flash a little skin.

Skin.

DiRocco’s.

It was August 1989. Having moved to the greater Boston area the year before and still trying to find my path in life, to complicate matters I had just been dumped by my boyfriend. Looking back, he pretty much was a freak as he wasn’t big on having friends, forbad me from having friends and found me to be entirely too “flamey” to be seen in public with. Yeah, he was a keeper, let me tell you. Small wonder my mother hated him. (She’s always been a good judge of character). Anyway, I was newly single and all by myself in a large metropolitan area, somewhat lacking self-esteem and without anyone to lean on. Looking back I guess it wasn’t all that bleak, I had a great job at the then second largest computer company in the world (DEC), my superiors praised my work and I had snuck some friends that I had met through various gay organizations at work into my life (the luncheon and social clubs were festively called BGLAD and DECplus), but I always felt like the smalltown boy from Upstate New York that was trying to make it in the big city. And I didn’t even have a beret to throw up in the air.

Never one for huge crowds, or perhaps lacking the confidence to tackle one of the bars in Boston, I decided to follow the lead of some of my gay friends at work and check out a bar situated between Lowell, Mass. and Nashua, N.H. along Route 3A in Tyngsboro. It was intriguingly called “DiRocco’s Tall Pines Inn”.

To celebrate this adventure and perhaps signify the opening of a new chapter in my life, I had gone to a local old-fashioned barbershop that day and had my hair cut super short. After having rather longish hair (party in the back, business in the front, oy), the short, not-quite-flattop was a definite change of pace in my style (which was subsequently praised by my co-workers the following Monday.) I felt like a new me and it felt good. So I made the 30 minute drive and found this place in the middle of the woods. I’ll never forget the queasiness as I approached the tell-tale signs of the club. I passed by several times before actually driving into the driveway. Back and forth across the Mass.-N.H. line I went, looking for the courage to drive in. I had been to gay bars during my one year of college back in ’86, always with a group of friends, but hadn’t been since because freak boy didn’t like those either. I remember saying to myself, as I closed the door on my smashingly gray 1986 Hyundai Excel, “o.k. John, let’s grow some balls and do it.” And in I went.

I remember being knocked almost breathless as the bass of the music engulfed my senses. There was a neon sign that announced which area was the “Meat Rack”. I remember seeing the lights and the fog and all the sweaty guys dancing on the raised dance floor to “Touch Me” by the 49ers, a fabulous Italian-house track that I love to this day. The bartenders may have been pouring the booze, but the DJ controlled the heartbeat of the party and it was at that moment that I cemented a longing passion I had for spinning in a club – it was something that I *had* to do.

It was that first night at DiRocco’s that I discovered another dance track, “Teardrops” by Womack and Womack. The beat reminded me of Evelyn “Champagne” King’s “Shame”. It had a wicked cool, yet smooth vibe to the tune. The crowd nearly floated to the song as they danced. I reveled in the simplicity of the song. And it was a track that I immediately added to my music crates.

Here’s the video version for your enjoyment. There’s an extra percussion track in this version that somewhat detracts from the simplicity that I enjoy of the piece. Perhaps I’ll spin the original track in the next DJ SuperCub mix.