And so begins my favorite holiday and something that's uniquely special to New York City. Of course, I'm talking about Fleet Week! Other cities may have their own, but there's something special, something sexy, something dare I say patriotic, about seeing a pack (or is it gaggle) of uniformed American servicemen (hehe... service) sauntering down 42nd Street. I find myself taking frequent and extra-long trips upstairs to "make sure everything is OK at the door". Plus, there's a really hot bicycle-taxi boy that's taken to parking his rig right out front. I'd like to show him how to "park his rig" real good. Today's euphemism is brought to you by the letter "A".

a 17 hr. shift. Ow. My Amex bill for last month: $500. D'oh!

I’m sitting at the bar at the Tropicana Hotel in Atlantic City. I’ve lost over 500 dollars. Needless to say, I’ve stopped gambling. To me, it hardly seems like gambling if you continuously lose. You need to call it what it is: Pissing your money away. And while I have no objection to doing it in this fashion, it needs to be more of an adventure. You need high drama. You need your pulse to quicken as you place a bet or spin the reels. It seems, in this town, at least, on this particular visit, the odds are stacked against me. I need to be provided at least the illusion that I could possibly emerge richer for the chance I’m taking. Otherwise, what’s the point?

The point, and my search for it, seems to be a running theme in my life lately. I’m finding most of the basics associated with my life to be severely lacking in meaning. At least to me. My job, my living situation, my personal life. All without merit to me and my view of how I want to experience my world. And I obviously allowed this to happen. I allow it to continue. The question then becomes why? If you asked me if I thought it was what I deserved or earned I would say emphatically no. I want more than this. But why have I created this life prison? And who do I appeal to if I’m my own warden? What do I have to do to extricate myself from it? Can I re-invent myself yet again? Even Madonna will run out of tricks at some point.

Curiously, the one emotion I’m not experiencing is fear. I guess when your world becomes so intolerable on every level, any unknown becomes preferable to the known. I definitely prefer to dance with the devil I don’t know. I’m open to change. I’d beg for it, if I didn’t know that any change without will have to grow from within. No, if I’m going to rescue anyone this time it needs to be me.

On a related tip, The Ex has asked if we could get together for dinner as soon as I’m free. I intentionally albeit drunkenly informed The Hellcat of my intent to move out. Knowing full well it would trickle back to The Ex eventually. It has, and now he wants to talk. How do you tell your ex-lover from 20 years ago, who’s been your roommate for the last five, that you no longer want him in your everyday life? How do you explain that you no longer feel like he’s someone you can count on? How do you express that you simply don’t have the time or the energy or even the inclination to take care of other people when they seem utterly incapable of returning the effort? I don’t want to fall ill, even temporarily, and find that the man whose severely injured back I helped nurse back to working order, nor the one who’s biopsy wounds I helped dress, are going to be there for me. If I’m going to be on my own when I need help in the future I’d rather be on my own now. The very real possibility makes me sad. The reality would be too painful.

after the beep. I’m heading down to Atlantic City. I’m meeting up with Mom and Dad and my sister and her live-in boyfriend. I should get me one of those. At any rate, I’m leaving a sink full of dirty dishes, a houseguest that has no pre-determined departure date and a pile of dog shit on the kitchen floor. Something has occurred to me recently. Perhaps rather than look for a new place to live, I should empty out this (dog) shit hole and start fresh.

she threw quite the blog hissy fit, didn’t she? “I’m not sure I can continue this blog. It’s intolerable.” Pur-leeze. Slice of melodrama, hold the mustard. I do have an explanation. Several in fact. I’m just coming out of another depression. This one lasted about two or three weeks. I’m not sure what the trigger was. I’m not sure if the trigger isn’t permanently pulled, and I’m destined for great highs and soul-crushing lows forever. I know that by the time I bottomed out (hehe “bottomed”) last week I hated everyone and everything about my life. My job was too hard, my friends are totally selfish, my writing sucks, I got fat, I have no time for anything. You can see it all over my previous posts. Unfortunately, I can’t always see it when I’m in it. Part of the side effect of the depression is that I’m constantly exhausted, and I have trouble organizing my thoughts. I may write down a list of things to do but then I forget to check the list. I was dehydrated. I had a headache every single day right behind my eyeballs. Life, the struggle to continue, seemed pointless. While not suicidal, I can much better identify with those that are during my dark periods.

Writing becomes difficult when you’re feeling like a fraud. You don’t have easy access to the inside voice. So when I did manage to break through and put together several coherent paragraphs that became full fledged blog entries with a point of view and a beginning, middle and an end, you can imagine my distress at seeing it all go “poof”. You get very possessive of the things you have to go inside and dig out with a shovel to show the other kids on the playground. And both times, I used my distress to root out some things that were intensely personal, and painful to relive. And of course, in the midst of depression, losing a blogpost is akin to the end of life as we know it. I’ll never get that back! It was perfect and now it’s gone! Honestly, big deal. I managed to string together a few sentences and tell a story. I wasn’t curing cancer. Besides, as someone so wisely pointed out: I DID compose the thoughts in my mind and get it out of me. That is the point. Just because nobody saw it doesn’t mean it never happened. Thank you. And I will try to revisit the subjects again. But I’m sure they will be brand new creations. My writing changes when I’m depressed.

And while I’m thanking people I would like to formally thank all the people who were nice enough to sponsor me for the AIDS Walk. As a team we raised over a thousand dollars. For the day the total was 5.8 million, making it the largest AIDS fundraiser in the world.

I usually learn a few interesting facts about myself that get born out of the darkness. This time was no exception. I learned I’m still reacting with the brain of a 20 something boy. Even though I have the mirror to remind me I am clearly not. I forget to cloak myself in the experience I’ve amassed, both at work and in my daily interactions. I may not be anyone’s definition of mature, but somewhere along the way I got all growed up. Sure, I make mistakes. The day I don’t believe that will always be will never come. But I also know I rarely repeat the same mistake twice. Except when picking boyfriends. My lack of confidence in myself and my abilities is not supported by the things I have done, or the things I can do. My fear is illogical. Hopefully, this realization can take root and somehow replace the voice of whomever it is who keeps calling me stupid. The one that makes me doubt. I wonder what my Dad is up to?

So I never really left, but I guess I’m back to stay. I am taking a few days off work to try to rest up some. I want to change the tone of my work a bit. I’d like to see if I can compose some longer pieces with better narrative. I’m not sure what form it will take but I want to give it a try. I’d also like to add more visuals to the site. And I will definitely be composing my work in another program before it ever shows up here. Lesson learned.

AIDS Walks Make a Lasting Imprint by Josh Getlin via latimes.com

He had been to Manhattan only once before, as a child, and when Craig Miller returned years later as a man in his 20s, the California AIDS activist embarked on what he thought would be a simple mission.

Fresh on the heels of the first AIDS Walk in Los Angeles, a 1985 fundraiser he organized that collected $673,000, Miller wanted to hold a similar event in Central Park. He hoped to draw thousands of people and raise more money.

"I got a New York education in a hurry," Miller said, chuckling at the memory. "When I told city bureaucrats that I wanted to use the park, they cracked up. They thought I was a bumpkin who fell off a gay turnip truck. They just laughed at me."

On Sunday, Miller looked on proudly at a crowd of more than 45,000 people in Central Park who had come for New York's 20th annual AIDS Walk. The event raised $5.8 million, a record, and was thought to be the world's largest AIDS fundraiser, sponsors said.

Miller, a quiet, dark-haired man with a perpetually pensive look, had every reason to gloat. But the anniversary — and passage of time — only made him worry.

"If you ask me what's changed in 20 years of fighting AIDS, I'd tell you not enough," he said. "Anybody who thinks this fight is over is deluding themselves."

The story of how Miller and others launched AIDS Walks in Los Angeles, New York and other cities reflects the growing influence of gay men and lesbians, along with others determined to fight the disease. But it also highlights the persistence of AIDS.

"We have a lot to be proud of in New York," said Miller, 45, as he watched the crowd assembling near Sheep's Meadow. The participants — who raised money from sponsors — walked about six miles through Manhattan's Upper West Side, ending back in the park.

They were young and old, gay and straight — a festive, diverse group.

"If you ask how we pulled off an event like this, when so many people said we couldn't, I'd answer with three words," Miller said. "Clout. Inevitability. Immensity."

All three were on display Sunday, as singer Norah Jones, actor John Spencer of TV's "The West Wing," actress and singer Rita Moreno and other celebrities congratulated the crowd for turning out on a muggy morning with dark clouds.

Speakers warned against complacency, reminding that the epidemic was not over. They said nearly 1 million people were living with HIV/AIDS in the United States; more than 40,000 new infections are reported in the nation each year, mostly among people younger than 25, the National Institutes of Health says.

"There's a lot of emotion in people here," said Shulin Wang, a Bristol-Myers Squibb research scientist who drove about two hours from her Plainsboro, N.J., home with her daughter, Vania, to attend the event. "I've never been in such a crowd."

Walking nearby, Grace Garland, a jazz and cabaret singer, said she was going to participate every year, as long as the disease persisted. "We all have friends, family members who died from this," she said. "There's no stopping until we find a cure." More...

Ed Note: AGAIN!!! I made a much longer post, giving you details about the walk and posting a series of pictures. There's no way for me to recreate it. It was too organic. Blogger lost it when I tried to publish. I'm not sure I can continue this blog. This is way too upsetting. It's intolerable. I started doing this to help organize my thoughts and practice writing. If everything I do gets lost what's the point? I'm sorry I might be done.

by a spider. And I'm really, really allergic to it. I have big red swollen welts. Two on my left forearm and one on my right abdomen. They're hot and they itch. On top of that it appears the month (OK, two) of breaking all my diet rules and not really working out have taken their toll. My previously banished fat roll has returned. I'm basically grossing me out.

Coming Up ... The benefit and the gay celebutants. AIDS Walk wrap-up. No matter what, back to the gym tomorrow.

Am I the only one that's now officially fed up with how shitty Blogger has become ever since Google bought it? I worked my ass off late last night on an intensly personal and hopefully engaging post. I wrote and re-wrote sentences, paragraphs and edited words to evoke just the right feeling. I poured my heart in to the work. Until I tried to publish and it disappeared. The "recover post" function that has never worked right from day one managed to find me about 1/4 of the original work. I may try, but I doubt I'll ever manage to re-create the work to my satisfaction.

Hell, even when I composed an immediate and venom-fueled post that was a variation on this one but full of more cursing, and tried to publish that missive about how much Blogger just absolutely sucks now, I got an error message for that attempt as well. I guess the lesson is to compose my posts in another, more reliable program and then copy it to Blogger. Adding an extra step back in that Blogger was supposed to eliminate. Let's all Google up "useless piece of crap" and see what we come up with. Although I suspect we'll get The President.

In any case, today is the last day before the NYC AIDS walk. I am still shy of my target goal. I spent today picking up supplies for a party I'm hosting after the walk. All the team members and friends are invited. People from work are invited provided they sponsor a walker. I'm enticing them with the catnip of all restaurant employees. Food and liquor. We haven't had a party in the castle high atop Second Avenue in years and years. This should be interesting. If you've been thinking about it, please won't you please make a donation today. Hey, if it helps at all I'd be willing to trade naughty pics of your choosing for donations. Just e-mail me that you've donated, and what parts of my naughty bits you'd like to see. I'll gladly exploit myself for a good cause!

I composed a great post. I was fucking crying by the end of it. I'm assuming you might have been too. We'll never know because I poured my fucking heart out but when I tried to publish it, *poof* Blogger malfunctioned again. I know it's free but so is Google, and if it sucks, people complain. So I'm complaining. Ever since Google took over Blogger.com it fucking sucks. Blogger.com sucks. Google sucks. Don't add services if you're not prepared to support them. I wouldn't buy shares in Google. They suck.

An extremely rare sighting of me documented by an extremely rarer photographic piece of evidence. I usually don't show up on camera. Or in mirrors. I have no idea what's up with my hair.

And only half way to my fundraising goal. Please make a small donation if you can.

New York Steps up Support for 20th Year of World's Largest AIDS Fundraiser

Hey remember when I complained I was busy? Between my brief but boozy appearance at the Blogger Invasion through my day running a box office that by all rights I shouldn't know how to do to the Mother's Day madness of this morning where we ran 3, count 'em 3, sold out brunch and shows with the Harlem Gospel Choir, I figure the light from busy won't reach me for about 30 years.

• I was told that this year's Blogapalooza wasn't on a par with last year. Considering I actually spoke with five people, however briefly and drunkenly, I would say on a social ineptitude level, I was much better than last year, when I spoke to no one. I was sorry I didn't manage to stumble across him. He was as nice as I figured he would be. He mentioned waiting for his boyfriend like 50 times. O.K. , 5 times. Lucky boyfriend. I spotted him but didn't say hello. He was brassy and boozy and seemed to be having a ball. He snapped a pic I hope he posts, considering I realized that as exhibitionistic as I can be about details of my life, there are almost no good pictures of me. On second thought, I hope he posts it if I look good. I don't think I embarrassed myself, but between being exhausted and nervous about being out with people, I ended up good and liquored up in the rain in Hell's Kitchen. I finally managed to catch a cab, get myself to bed and be up and at work by 10 am. Where I promptly saved the day and managed to put in a 12 hour shift. Maybe I'll tell you about it tomorrow. She's positively knackered.
  

I composed what I thought was an interesting post about my day of beauty yesterday. I fell asleep during the first attempt and then my laptop deleted the second attempt. Which leads me to believe the whole damn thing was a vapid piece of crap. I guess the salient points were my laundry is done (note to visiting Bloggers: my sheets are clean). I'm freshly tanned and shaved ... where I need shaving. Also, through the magic of modern pharmacology I got myself a haircut for the first time in over two years. But I got really and truly high to accomplish it. It was fun but unnecessary. The haircut turned out to be uneventful. I can probably do it straight the next time. Anybody want to get pilled up and get tattooed this weekend? Let me know. I'll be bringing my new digi cam to record the fun, frivolity and (with any luck) debauchery.

So I talked about attending the Blogger Invasion this weekend. I expressed how I wouldn't be available to make the premier soiree at Bayrage on Friday night. I had to work. I pathetically pleaded to be included in other weekend plans on Saturday or Sunday. I even left a message with the gracious organizers of the event, hoping to get some details of other events. He was nice enough to send me information about a BBQ planned for Saturday during the day. It was a lovely gesture. And totally pointless.

How I got it in to my head I'll never know. But it wasn't until my usual walk to the subway station this afternoon that it struck me. I'm not in fact working on Friday. I merely have to be at a weekly meeting at 4. So happily, I will in fact be attending. I vow to not repeat last year's cameo appearance where I sipped a soda off to the side and quietly slinked away without talking to anyone. I can't decide if I'll go as a horny top or as an aggressive hung bottom. See you there?

And today as usual I'm pressed for time. On the agenda for the day off: laundry, haircut, gym, tan. Maybe I'll drop in for a tan before work today. That will save 11 minutes. I went to the local Duane Reade yesterday to pick up some prescriptions (vitamins). After waiting 10 minutes I was informed that the prescription I dropped off for refill the day before would be ready in a few minutes. "I don't know why" it wasn't processed. "I have to come back." I answered. What I didn't finish with was "tomorrow." As I had only 10 minutes to spare that afternoon. 10 minutes to pick up a prescription I had the foresight to drop off the day before seemed like a reasonable allotment of time. But not at this piece of shit pharmacy at this drugstore from hell Duane Reade. Where they just don't get how busy I am.

What I'm planning to make time for, is the Blogger Invasion taking NYC by storm this weekend. Unfortunately, I can't make the opening soiree at Barrage on Friday night. But I am on the day shift the rest of the weekend so I would love to meet up with any gatherings planned for Saturday or Sunday night. I'm feeling very social right now. Can I sniff your butt? Seriously, anyone want to e-mail me or take my cell #? I would love to arrange a gang-date.

Tonight, he returns for one night. Expect menopausal women to be lined up by noon.

I did find time to stop and smell the roses last week. Or rather the tulips. Stuyvesant Park, next door to my castle high atop Second Avenue, is in full spring bloom. I got some lovely shots. Enjoy the pretty pictures:

And call me! I want to come play!

Two weeks ago. We were doing a metal show. I wish I could tell you who the headliner was. Oh, I just remembered. It was King Diamond. I have no idea who he is. There were several opening acts as well. Things seemed to be going well for most of the night. Just before King Diamond went on I walked out of the restaurant in to the lobby. I came across a skinny white guy in a T-shirt and jeans. He was leaning against the wall clutching a bloody wad of napkins.

"You OK?"

"No. Some guy sucker punched me when I was walking to the bar. My lip is cut and I think I chipped a tooth."

"Oh wow."

"And he broke my nose."

It was then I took an actual good look at his face. His nose was completely crooked in a direction that was completely not natural. It's not as if his nose could possibly be broken. His nose was absolutely and totally broken. It looked awful.

"Oh shit! That looks pretty bad man. Let me fill out an accident report for you."

"OK."

"And I'll get you an ice pack. It's going to swell."

"OK."

I took his information and gave him directions to the best closest emergency room.

I was disturbed by the fact that I could look at a person and not really see him. But not disturbed enough, I guess, to bother relating the story to you until a full two weeks after it happened.