(no subject)
So let's see.
What's new... First off, Greg finally burned out on dealing with humans. His concierge job was turning him into a misanthropist, so it was a good choice for him to quit. Near the end of his stint at the hotel, I fully expected to hear it reported that there was a tall, thin geek sitting atop the Empire State Building, shooting people with a potato gun and screaming about Europeans who don't know how to tip.
The final straw for him was when a woman spit on him because he was unable to get her short-notice reservations at Babbo. It wasn't odd, really, that she spit on him. It was odd that such a woman, staying in such a hotel (respectable but hardly exclusive), wearing a leotard and a fanny-pack, would know of the existence of Babbo. Greg was more horrified by her outfit than her comportment, to be honest, and, oh yeah, the woman wanted the reservations on the fourth of July, which is not an easy nite to book a tourist-friendly restaurant reservation.
So Greg talked to friends at the Apple Store on 5th (
), and they put in a good word for him, and he put in a good resume for himself. And somehow, despite all odds and a complete ignorance of the Mac OS, Greg talked his way into a job. They hired him for more than the average salary (which is a pretty high average at Apple--the thought he'd take a pay-cut, but was surprised to be offered a good deal more). They flew him out of Cupertino, the sacred city of Apple, and he's been there, training, for two weeks.
What's so very great about this is that... heh... I won. I beat, as my little brother used to say.
Since we got together, I've quietly pushed all things Macintosh on him. In the beginning, he was scornful and almost hostile when I'd find an excuse to get him onto my iMac ("Greg, can you please help me figure out why Windows Media isn't working?" "Because it's a Mac, and you're lucky Quicktime is working.") or when I'd point out one of the insanely great features of my MacBook ("Yeah, great, but they don't make games for Mac. You know why? Because NO ONE WANTS TO OWN A MAC."). It sounds dumb, but we actually had some pretty verbal fights over PC/Macintosh. And now, I've converted him so completely that he's now a Mac Genius. Or perhaps he has Stockholm Syndrome?
Anyway, the benefits are great; they even pay for his Metro card every month. The only thing is, had he gotten the job a few weeks earlier, he'd've gotten a free iPhone.
Ok, so there's that.
Also this summer, every gay couple I know decided to call it quits. It got so bad in August that I was planning a preemptive Greg-dumping, and slept a few nights on the futon. Some of the break-ups were a long-time coming, and others were abrupt, and I'm still not sure why one happened. Anyway, what I learned about all this, aside from the fact that I'm waaaay more gay-dramatic than I thought I was, is that I suck as a friend. I mean, okay, I'm not a terrible friend, but I'm not the go-to friend for comfort and diversion. I'm the friend you go to when you want to flagellate yourself for past relationship sins. I'm also terrible at making dinner dates, but I eventually show up.
And I also learned that all relationships are fragile things. Most things involving humans are, naturally.
And this summer, I re-met my first boyfriend. That was interesting. I spent some time with him when I was home last month (he lives in Birmingham but drove up to Florence for dinner), and later this month, he and his partner are coming to NYC to see Bjork at Mad Sq Gard. Actually, last week, they flew out to Vegas to see Celine Dion and Justin Timberlake (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little). Apparently they travel a lot. Apparently they're doing pretty well, financially. Also, he--Ralph--has been with the same guy since I dumped him many, many years ago. So, in other words, I dumped a rich guy. Go me!
And also this summer, I've gotten into writing more. During the very very poor living in New York years, I'd spent more time concentrating on eating and less time doing the less tangible things, as was necessary. But after contributing a few small things to a few small magazines, I started writing for the website that continues to baffle and amuse me, and what I learned was that livejournal, for a writer of earnest intent, is like junk food. Livejournal, which I've used to vent and document and blab and blather on, has given me terrible writing habits. I used to be disciplined and concise and careful, but Livejournal... oy. When I read the entries in order, I can literally see my once-tight style deteriorating as I indulge myself. So I've avoided writing on here, and have concentrated on doing other things.
That's what's been good about writing as Katie Couric. It's good exercise, and I've set personal deadlines (which, in the absence of Greg, has resulted in some pretty aimless writing). What's bad about it is that I'm not a funny writer, by and large. And just when I think I'm done with a piece, I realize I've gone on too long about one thing, and haven't explained something else well enough, and... ah well. Editing myself has always been a perpetual process, which is why I find hope in learning that this or that writing spent 20-30 years writing this-or-that novel; I'm highly suspect of writers who claim they produced a perfect novel on the first or second draft. I'm looking at you, Kerouac.
Anyway, there's other stuff going on as well. This has been a happenin' summer, really.
What's new... First off, Greg finally burned out on dealing with humans. His concierge job was turning him into a misanthropist, so it was a good choice for him to quit. Near the end of his stint at the hotel, I fully expected to hear it reported that there was a tall, thin geek sitting atop the Empire State Building, shooting people with a potato gun and screaming about Europeans who don't know how to tip.
The final straw for him was when a woman spit on him because he was unable to get her short-notice reservations at Babbo. It wasn't odd, really, that she spit on him. It was odd that such a woman, staying in such a hotel (respectable but hardly exclusive), wearing a leotard and a fanny-pack, would know of the existence of Babbo. Greg was more horrified by her outfit than her comportment, to be honest, and, oh yeah, the woman wanted the reservations on the fourth of July, which is not an easy nite to book a tourist-friendly restaurant reservation.
So Greg talked to friends at the Apple Store on 5th (
), and they put in a good word for him, and he put in a good resume for himself. And somehow, despite all odds and a complete ignorance of the Mac OS, Greg talked his way into a job. They hired him for more than the average salary (which is a pretty high average at Apple--the thought he'd take a pay-cut, but was surprised to be offered a good deal more). They flew him out of Cupertino, the sacred city of Apple, and he's been there, training, for two weeks.
What's so very great about this is that... heh... I won. I beat, as my little brother used to say.
Since we got together, I've quietly pushed all things Macintosh on him. In the beginning, he was scornful and almost hostile when I'd find an excuse to get him onto my iMac ("Greg, can you please help me figure out why Windows Media isn't working?" "Because it's a Mac, and you're lucky Quicktime is working.") or when I'd point out one of the insanely great features of my MacBook ("Yeah, great, but they don't make games for Mac. You know why? Because NO ONE WANTS TO OWN A MAC."). It sounds dumb, but we actually had some pretty verbal fights over PC/Macintosh. And now, I've converted him so completely that he's now a Mac Genius. Or perhaps he has Stockholm Syndrome?
Anyway, the benefits are great; they even pay for his Metro card every month. The only thing is, had he gotten the job a few weeks earlier, he'd've gotten a free iPhone.
Ok, so there's that.
Also this summer, every gay couple I know decided to call it quits. It got so bad in August that I was planning a preemptive Greg-dumping, and slept a few nights on the futon. Some of the break-ups were a long-time coming, and others were abrupt, and I'm still not sure why one happened. Anyway, what I learned about all this, aside from the fact that I'm waaaay more gay-dramatic than I thought I was, is that I suck as a friend. I mean, okay, I'm not a terrible friend, but I'm not the go-to friend for comfort and diversion. I'm the friend you go to when you want to flagellate yourself for past relationship sins. I'm also terrible at making dinner dates, but I eventually show up.
And I also learned that all relationships are fragile things. Most things involving humans are, naturally.
And this summer, I re-met my first boyfriend. That was interesting. I spent some time with him when I was home last month (he lives in Birmingham but drove up to Florence for dinner), and later this month, he and his partner are coming to NYC to see Bjork at Mad Sq Gard. Actually, last week, they flew out to Vegas to see Celine Dion and Justin Timberlake (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little). Apparently they travel a lot. Apparently they're doing pretty well, financially. Also, he--Ralph--has been with the same guy since I dumped him many, many years ago. So, in other words, I dumped a rich guy. Go me!
And also this summer, I've gotten into writing more. During the very very poor living in New York years, I'd spent more time concentrating on eating and less time doing the less tangible things, as was necessary. But after contributing a few small things to a few small magazines, I started writing for the website that continues to baffle and amuse me, and what I learned was that livejournal, for a writer of earnest intent, is like junk food. Livejournal, which I've used to vent and document and blab and blather on, has given me terrible writing habits. I used to be disciplined and concise and careful, but Livejournal... oy. When I read the entries in order, I can literally see my once-tight style deteriorating as I indulge myself. So I've avoided writing on here, and have concentrated on doing other things.
That's what's been good about writing as Katie Couric. It's good exercise, and I've set personal deadlines (which, in the absence of Greg, has resulted in some pretty aimless writing). What's bad about it is that I'm not a funny writer, by and large. And just when I think I'm done with a piece, I realize I've gone on too long about one thing, and haven't explained something else well enough, and... ah well. Editing myself has always been a perpetual process, which is why I find hope in learning that this or that writing spent 20-30 years writing this-or-that novel; I'm highly suspect of writers who claim they produced a perfect novel on the first or second draft. I'm looking at you, Kerouac.
Anyway, there's other stuff going on as well. This has been a happenin' summer, really.