paintedlines

So what makes me the expert?

Yeah, I know - a week later and I'm finally getting around to wrapping up my posts on that night. But hell, it's my blog and I have been more concerned with layout than content as of late. Now back on topic... By this time I'm on my 3rd or 4th Sprite and the conversation turns toward sex. Lovely little asides of: Who was a dog but had a body that was "bang-n." Who was slutty. Who did what, to whom, and where. And whose nipples jutted in odd directions. Through all of this I was watching from my mental 2-way mirror - then all of a sudden the glass shattered and I was pulled into the mix. The topic had moved past flings, shared past girlfriends, sexual acquaintances, and analogies to chipped ham that could have me swearing of processed lunchmeats for the foreseeable future. It was now sex in general. What is done, right, and wrong and what past girlfriends have really sucked at - no pun intended. I should have seen it coming, as one who tends to visualize the background engineering involved with any social interaction - whether I act appropriately on the information or not. Ross was smirking at me right before he said it, so I knew something was afoot. Something to the extent of:

So Chris, what's your take on this? Being gay and all.

I missed a beat on that. How is one supposed to answer a question like that? Taken off guard, I shot back:

So what exactly makes me the expert here?

Yes, in hindsight, not the best retort, as I'm sure that one will haunt me mercilessly down the line. But in all honesty, from within the group and my own personal knowledge - I wasn't the one sitting at that table that should have been writing advice books on the topic. It wasn't so much the comment, as the implied branding. Having only been out for about a year and half (in so much as to family and being no longer in the mood to deny the issue if it comes up - some friends have known for longer.) I guess in some ways I'm still unsure of myself in the world, but can one blame me? In a way Ross' comment exposed a point which I prefer to keep personal control of. While no longer lying if the point is raised, I feel no need to skip around in a rainbow sash and lime green Speedos! (Like the world needs that anyway...) I'm by no means a conservative just not a "pride monger." None the less, those few moments were awkward and since in that exchange I was more or less out-ed to Shane - those seconds tend to sink to the pit of your stomach, even if one knows the outcome isn't the end of the world. Then secondary to all this was the discussion about how I never really talked about girls in high school - I guess the "asexual cripple stereotype" played well for me for a while. Meanwhile, I suddenly felt, having been dragged into this unseemly conversation, that I was then somehow elected ambassador of all "Gaydom" - Once again: What the hell makes me the expert? I felt like saying: I respectfully decline the title as stated and suggest all questions be referred to So-And-So. It was really was an interesting night. Shallow yet bizarrely deep, sorta like Tim's Long Island Iced Teas. I doubt my tablemates took away from that night as much as I did. But all in all, there was nothing I would really want to change. And although not earth-shattering, it's a night and a memory, unlike most of high school, that I think I may hang onto for a while. In closing, I wish Tim another, if not belated, Happy Birthday - as a cap on my reflection of that Friday night at TGI Friday's.

The disembodied voice of a Vidcast

Today is a good day to think deeply Look inward and reflect...

This shit-'s gonna get an Oscar!

And lets not forget these life changing words...

...thats the inside of Sky Bank.

Who needs a spiritual guru when one has friends with such great wisdom?

The fog or years past

I'm never sure if its by choice or nature, but when in a group of people I become the silent member. The observer. Some have accused me of not really paying attention because I rarely interject into the conversation. So it may see that I have drifted off, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. I absorb everything - almost taking on the task of mental stenographer of that given moment. I sat there, nursing a Sprite, in the smoking section of Fridays - full on "observer." My inner sociologist had taking over, and I can help but get the feeling that I'm a fly on the wall watching creatures in there natural habitat. The only thing missing was a notebook ands micro-tape recorder! The first topic of conversation that night was high school. An experience we all share not just in time, but in place - as we all in some form or another walked (and/or rolled) the halls of TJ - Thomas Jefferson High School, of the West Jefferson Hills School District ... apparently the administration wanted a large letter head. They bantered back and forth about those times, teachers and things that happened in class and behind the backs of the aforementioned teachers. As I took it all in - it hit me. Even if I wanted to contribute in some way to the conversation that was unfolding in front of me, I'd be hard-pressed to do so. And it wasn't due to lack of will. Being fully aware of my habit of slipping into a secondary role, I am capable of breaking out of it. No, it was a lack of memory, a lack of recall. I could not pull together one anecdote! What the hell! Am I really that freak'n odd? It actually bothers me, not much, but enough to write about it. We were all at TJ at the same time and yet in that moment, sitting it there, I felt as if I had nothing in common with them.The conversation went beyond actions and events to the discussion of people and names. Once again I was at a loss. I know these names, they at one point belonged to people that sat around me or that of those I passed in the halls. But I have no connection to the actual people, their physical form, faces or personalities. It was like a verbal movie credit reel - stark black and white. Maybe in the end its all about point of view. Then again I may just be that odd. I do remember high school. I would need major brain damage to completely lose four years on my life. But there is nothing cohesive about these fragments of time. Nothing that as a whole conveys: "Yes - that was TJ!" Homeroom, with Vicky sitting behind me, Ms. Fortino, and the parade of homeroom teachers. Using the system to get friends out of class with me - Tim currently holds the record for time spent holding other peoples book bags. Getting out of school for Academic League, it was a lot more fun than it sounds. But I see all of that as generalities. Things that happened but blend together. Solid memories or events are hard to come by. And if they do come to the surface, they are mostly singular things that only apply to me – nothing even close to a group experience. And nothing I could share that night. In a way looking back, while I did have friends, high school seems like a mono-experience. I was different than the norm then, and I really didn't try to fit in so that probably contributed it to how I took on that time in my life. I guess I interacted with life only enough to get through it all on a day by day basis. It wasn't all bad, I made it through eventually. On some level I think it just might be nice to look back and be able to smile and laugh a little more than I can. I still really don't have an answer, then again I'm not sure what the question is. But in that moment I felt so disconnected from a time and place that is so familiar it could almost be home. I don't like the idea of regret, and the idea of reliving those times doesn't really make my short list of things to do. But in passing I wonder, if I can't really relate - what did I miss? Am I really that odd? Does it really matter?

Dripping with redundancy

My best friend - Tim - turns 23 on Sunday so we went out Friday to have some drinks and just hang. (Ironically I typically don't drink ... and we almost ended up at bingo. But me-thinks I'll be saving "the experience that is bingo" for another post.) So he picked me up and we rode back to his place, accompanied by the lovely shrieks of his soon-to-be useless breaks. While on the road, Ross calls and floats the possibility of detour into Oakland. Mulling the options, we err on the side of caution, and ride back out to my place to swap cars - to my car. Although its odd to call it that, since I'm still not exactly driving it yet. So for reasons that ill probably cover in the not too distant future, said vehicle - dubbed the "Mario Kart" by friends - will hence forth simply be: "the Kart" So once again on the road, yet another call: the Oakland breeze-through gets canceled and a 4th is added for drinks. A lot of time was spent on the road last night... car ... driving... pick up Ross... driving... arrival at Fridays! (Now, wasn't that a whole lot faster?) We get there with a 25 min wait, so we crowd into the bar area to be pended like cattle hoping that the coaster-pager-hockey puck thing they gave us will go off sooner than later. And yet somehow this is fun? When it finally buzzes and flashes like a little time bomb we come to find that we where marked for non-smoking. With two people who would rather died than not be able to burn some plant between their lips this simply wont do. Back we march to the pen. In the end we ended up one tier up from where we had been cloistered for an hour ... woo! Bring on the drinks ... and a small amount of food so the table doesn't look like a bunch-o-lushes 'n alkies. Tim's drink of choice is a location dependent variable. Long Island Iced Teas hit his tab. You have to love any place that serves an all alcohol mixed-drink in something that looks big enough to house a small family of tropical fish. As for Ross... well I know it was beer. It was in a pilsner glass after all. But the liquid contents looked like it was filtered through topsoil before pumped and capped in the keg. But to each his own and since I don't touch beer, eh, what the hell do I know. So I sat there with my usual - Sprite. Shane - the 4th - finally shows after we bugged the be-jesus outta him with text messages. Between the "Are you coming" txts - spelled in interesting ways, random animal sounds, and obscurely enough, one sent in the vernacular of Ms. Henrietta Pussycat, it was a wonder he actually showed up at all. And no one was even drunk at this point! It was actually good to see Shane again - I hadn't seen him in few years. Truth be told, I can't say I was ever really friends with him, more acquaintances. I had known him through Tim, and as it turns out, he and Ross had been friends in high-school years - same class. But its not like that really matters - time changes and so do people, or at least one hopes. Hell, less than a year ago I had only known Ross as someone I passed in the halls at TJ. Friendship is indeed a strange animal. I sorta have to wonder: is my small group of friends by choice or do I have the ones I do simply because they could survive no matter how bad a of metaphorical zoo-keeper I may be? Gee what a comforting thought.