perfect weekend

It started early, too.

Wednesday night I caught up with a good friend over drinks and nachos at Fiesta. He is making major life changes, so it was great to get the skinny! On the way home, and for an hour thereafter, I had a serious and long-needed conversation with a close friend. We cleared an elephant out of the room, and I feel liberated. Life couldn't be much better in that regard.

Thursday night I hung out with new and old friends over some drinks. I'm not sure whether I didn't eat enough during the day or what, but I went to bed by 10pm after two manhattans and was so dizzy I lost it all to the porcelain god. Blah. Hate that. Maybe I'm becoming a lightweight. A friend of mine was a little bitchy to me, but I don't think he meant any harm. Just some growing pains in his own life, I think.

Friday during the day I arranged a date for Sunday night, but then realized I'd double booked myself and had to cancel. Damn! That night was dinner and dancing (well, ok, I didn't dance) with an old friend and a bunch of his friends. I didn't get too silly because I wasn't drinking (smart decision). Highlight of the night (as far as challenges for the future) was the hot guy in the Ferrari pulling up at Eleven. I want him (or just his car would be ok too).

Saturday I had a personal training session and then did some errands at home. Then it was off to my sister's house for dinner. My niece is so damn adorable! When she wants me to read her a book, she picks it out, hands it to me, and then backs her little diaper-clad butt up to my leg and plops down. It was so cute I almost melted. After that the whole family went to a comedy club and saw a HILARIOUS show. Potty mouth deluxe, but it worked.

Sunday morning was brunch on the patio with a close friend and his adorable pooch (got hot coffee spilled on my lap, but we got a delicious free bread pudding out of it). A really attractive homeless guy kept harassing us about the way the gods treated the dinosaurs. Then it was off for a spa day. Saw [_______] in the locker room, and he smiled at me! If I wasn't a decorous gentleman through and through, there was a hot young guy with a big old wang who definitely would have joined me in the steam room. Alas. After that I sat on my balcony and did some computer errands as the sun went down (in short sleeves...yes, it's still summer-ish in LA). Then cooked dinner at my place with a friend, then to an old friend's birthday party.

I freaking LOVE my life.

awesome comment

So this is mad libs now?

"For example, a couple months ago, [____] admitted to me that [____] had [____], right after they [____], which is a pretty damn far cry from the Jesus-freak he portrays himself to be."

Here's a try:

For example, a couple months ago, Alan Thicke admitted to me that Kirk Cameron had OD'ed on cocaine, right after they sacrificed someone to Satan, which is a pretty damn far cry from the Jesus-freak he portrays himself to be.

Close or not close?


Pretty close, actually! HAHAHHAA! I got a huge kick out of that. Thanks for playing. Anybody else?

I have more stories to blog about now than ever before, including the early days when everything in the gay world was new and exciting and confusing. I've got stories of drugs, sex and rock & roll (and I'm not just using a famous phrase, I mean that). There are pornstars and sugar-daddies. Threesomes and bribery. Complicated relationships. Infidelity and HIV. Celebrities of all stripes. Travel, jealousy and family issues. Dating drama, money woes, and health concerns. Fabulous parties and once-in-a-lifetime experiences. Funny predicaments and substance abuse. New hobbies and new vices. Friends and happiness and a whole lot of gratitude. And, of course, LOVE. And loss.

If I do say so myself, my life is really interesting right now. And it has all the elements that would make a good blog. Plenty of moral dilemmas about which y'all could opine (and slam me and my friends, as you do). Plenty of learning experiences for the young'uns. Plenty of craziness through which others could live vicariously. Plenty of variety and room for growth. I regret that I'm not writing it down so I can remember it when I'm old and boring.

But every time I feel like sitting down to write something, which is often, I think about all the people who are reading it. And it's not that I'm becoming a more private person, or that the stakes are higher (for me). It's just that I don't feel like I'm in control of my story any longer. I always made calculated risks in what I wrote, because almost no story is JUST about me. There was always a slim chance that I'd offend somebody in real life. But lately, every time I make that calculation, it isn't worth the risk.

Part of it is that a small but increasing number of the cast of characters whose lives intertwine with mine DO have a lot to lose. I can't tell some of my best stories because they're also their stories, and I'm not about to be that guy who tips off TMZ. For example, a couple months ago, [____] admitted to me that [____] had [____], right after they [____], which is a pretty damn far cry from the Jesus-freak he portrays himself to be. And it's a really fucking hot story, too. And just last weekend, I had this FANTASTIC story about [_____] and [____], wearing [____] and [____], naturally, since it was Halloween, getting walked in on by [_____], of all people, while we were busy [_____] in a [_____], just after I [_____]. And just a few hours before that, [_____] came within inches of [_____], not to mention [_____], because he was [_____]. It was all very exciting and sexy and extremely funny, and my first thought was to come home and blog about it. But it's not really that funny with all the details bleeped out, is it? No, it's not. At all. Even I'm annoyed when I use [____], which is becoming increasingly common. It's not that I couldn't disguise things enough that you couldn't guess. But if it ever did get out, I wouldn't want to have to explain to my friends why I told the whole world [____], even in a disguised form.

But that's only a small fraction of the stories that don't make it here. I guess, for the most part, it's that I don't want to have to explain myself in real life. I'm not ashamed of anything I would write about, because I'm not ashamed of anything I've been doing. But back in the beginning, I knew I'd never have to answer for it. It's one thing for tens of thousands of strangers to get a laugh about some masturbation mishap, or whatever I used to write about. It's another thing to have somebody bring it up at dinner. And even the knowing glance is more than I want to deal with.

If you keep a diary, you'll understand. You wouldn't particularly care if some random guy in Indonesia who you'll never meet reads it. But you wouldn't want your friends reading it, even if it were totally vanilla. If you thought they might, you wouldn't write very much. You want to control the release of information to those you love, not because you want to hide it, but because that's how relationships are supposed to work. I want to WATCH my friends laughing about [_____] when I tell the story in person, rather than have them laugh in front of their computer when I'm not there. I want to explain to somebody how they hurt my feelings, rather than have them read about it as if it were a news story. Blogging used to feel like I was writing a private journal. Now it feels like I'm writing an email to my friends. And there are certain things you just don't say in an email to friends.

Anyway, if you're a new blogger starting out, my advice is this: NEVER reveal your identity. It'll be the death of your blog. If I could hit the reset button and erase the memory of my blog from everybody in Los Angeles, Boston and New York, I'd do it, and then I'd write a lot more (wait, is there a way to do that? Can I block the IP addresses of whole cities?) I guess I could start over with a new blog, and try to build new readership. But that's more work than I'm willing to put in.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not quitting. Every now and then I think of things I want to write about, and I'll continue to do so. I guess I just felt like lamenting. It's not what it used to be, and that makes me sad.

Ok, I'm gonna go drink some Baileys and read Vanity Fair. Even though Robert Pattinson is on the cover, which I just don't get. He's not even that good looking, and he sounds retarded when he talks. To each her own, I guess.

ne jugez pas trop vite

I learned (well, re-learned) a good life lesson this week.  A friend of mine is having a lot of money troubles...he can't find a job, but has fixed expenses that he just can't get rid of.  I have no idea how big his reserves are, but I know he's dipping into them and it's stressing him out.  He was living high on the hog for a while during his last (very well paying) job, and is finding it difficult to cut back.  Particularly being friends with me, because I think money is meant to be spent on great bonding activities with friends (dinner, shows etc).  Because he's always with me at those events, he gets sucked into my bad spending habits.  So I'm a bad influence. 

But we made a pact a couple weeks ago to try to keep each other in check.  I have a mortgage now, so I need to be more careful.  We were talking earlier this week, and he asked me for advice on how to minimize an unexpected unavoidable expense that sprang up that morning and couldn't wait (emergency plane flight).  We worked it out the best we could, and re-affirmed our pact to try to minimize expenses so that this doesn't add extra stress.

He mentioned that it was bad timing because he had another big expense he just HAD to pay.  I asked him what, and how much it cost, and he described a [_______] a friend of his was selling.  I had heard him talking about it before when he first saw it at this guy's house, and how much he loved it, and wished he could have it.  But he had told the guy he'd have to wait until he could afford it.  Apparently the guy decided he had to unload it RIGHT NOW, and so my friend was going to pay the $600 because the opportunity was just too good to pass up.

I thought this was completely absurd, and I said "um, really?"  In fact, my first reaction was to be annoyed.  During the last couple months, to help him out a little, I have volunteered to pay for a few things (not big things, just treating him to dinner more than I normally would, etc).  And I almost said "Well shit, if you can afford to waste $600 on [________], you must not be as poor as I thought you were.  I guess I don't need to be treating you so often!"  Or something similarly snarky and judgmental.

But then I realized he's a big boy.  Our pact is useful for helping each other make smart small choices, like eating out at CPK rather than Pace when we want pizza.  He doesn't need me to remind him that it's stupid to waste money on something like that when times are tough.  I can just stop spending money on him, without announcing why I'm doing it.  Me being a bitch about it isn't going to do any good at all. So I just chuckled a little, and kept my mouth shut.

When I got home from work last night, he was at my place, with the [________].  It was a GIFT!  He had told me about it because he was trying to feel out whether I'd love it (since he obviously couldn't return it).  Of course he knew he couldn't afford it right now!  If it had been for him, he would have passed on it.  The reason he couldn't wait is because he thought it was the perfect thing for ME, and didn't think he'd ever find something like it again if he let this opportunity pass.  He wanted to show me he loves me, even (especially) when times are tough.  It was a sacrifice, but that's the point.  When he gave it to me, he said "I love you so much.  I just can't get over you." 

By judging him too quickly, I almost ruined an incredibly beautiful gesture.  If I had made the snarky comment, he probably would have given it to me anyway.  But every time I saw it, I would have been reminded of my judgmental bitchiness.  It would have been a symbol of a bad time in our relationship, instead of one of the best times.

ne jugez pas trop vite

land baron

Ok, so do you wanna know what has REALLY been keeping me busy?  I have been BUYING A CONDO!!  I didn't want to say anything until it actually happened, because I didn't want back-seat drivers.  But now it's over!  It has sucked up unbelievable amounts of time. I went through all sorts of stages of hell before I got my keys:

First I analyzed whether I could afford it:  The answer is: sorta, if I stretch.  My Dad kept insisting "it's a buyer's market, real estate is the best way to build wealth, you'll be so happy you got in early" blah blah.  Eh, I don't know about that.  I read all sorts of reports that it's actually maybe NOT good to buy real estate if your sole consideration is long-term wealth accumulation.  But whatever, I was tired of throwing away money to an evil landlord, and there are plenty of intangible considerations.

Then I had to decide whether I wanted to commit to a mortgage (and therefore commit to a high-paying, perhaps un-fulfilling, job): Not really, but I have confidence the market will have bounced back by the time I'm ready (able) to get a new job, and by then I can sell (or rent).

Then I negotiated with my Dad over whether he wanted to go in half, so that I'm not locked into a miserable career: Nope.

So with all that certainty about the money situation (sarcasm), I then had to find a place I love.  That was actually the hardest part.  At first I wanted a multi-unit place, so that I could collect rent.  But there was nothing for less than $1 million.  Then for a while I thought it'd be nice to have a single-family home so that I have a yard and can do whatever I want.  But then I realized I'd have to take care of a lot of stuff, and that the only homes I could afford were shitty little things either in the Valley or not-cool parts of Culver City. 

So then I needed to find a condo.  www.redfin.com is the coolest website ever (after this one, of course), and was very helpful.  I really needed an agent too, but kept putting it off.  Then I went to see a place in Hollywood, and the agent showing it was extremely nice, and HONEST.  Homeliest looking thing you ever saw, with food constantly stuck in the corner of his mouth, a toupee that looks like a rug, no sense of direction, and no ability to park his car without hitting something.  But in addition to being nice, and honest, I really appreciated that he was open-minded.  I took my parents with me that day, but also happened to take a gay friend who was dressed particularly flamboyant.  And the agent just assumed right off the bat that we were a couple, and was cool with it.  "I'm not sure what you and [_____] are looking for, but let me tell you about...."  I liked that. 

We toured a bunch of places, as I slowly narrowed down what I was looking for.  And when I was busy at work, I sent my mom out to look at places for me (she has good taste).  At first I thought square footage was my primary concern.  But then I realized location was more important.  But, of course, good locations cost a lot, so then I was looking at fixer-uppers.  But then I realized that I HAD to have my own private outdoor space, so I started looking only at places with roof decks or patios.  And then I decided I wanted a unit that didn't look out on another building, because I was tired of always having to choose between open blinds and nudity.  And then I decided I would REALLY like to have a view. 

I also wanted a place that prioritized "public" space over private (i.e., I'd rather have a big living room to entertain in than a big second bedroom that nobody will ever see).  And I didn't want a place that was too fixed up.  A fancy kitchen is nice, but I don't want to pay a premium and then be stuck with somebody else's choice of granite.  I'd rather fix it up myself later, if I want. 

Of course, I could never find something that had ALL those things.  Either it had a great location, but looked out at the back of a billboard.  Or an awesome patio, but tiny square footage.  Or a great entertaining space, but my neighbors could watch me shower.  And, of course, I was looking for that certain je ne sais quoi. 

I actually put down an official offer on one place (thank God I got tired of the bidding war...I wouldn't be happy in that place), and came close to offering on another.

And then one day I was looking at redfin and saw a place that had JUST come on the market.  From the description, it seemed way too good to be true.  I arranged to view it the next day, and took my Dad.  My first instinct upon walking in was that I loved it, but then I started agonizing over all the things that weren't quite perfect.  I took my Mom, and she loved it too, but also saw a lot of little negatives.  Then I took my best friend, and immediately upon walking through the door, he said "You have to buy it."  He had been with me to see most of the other places, so he knew what I wanted.  And he knows how I over-analyze everything.  His absolute unwavering confidence that this was the right place was what I needed to push me over the edge.  His attitude was basically "oh stop being such a worry-wart.  You obviously love this place.  It has everything you want.  Just do it!" And he was right, I did want it!  I wanted it bad!  I knew it was THE perfect place for me, and I probably wasn't going to find another place with that perfect combination. 

So I got an inspection done, to make sure it wasn't falling apart.  And then I agonized over how much to offer.  I knew the asking price was an amazing bargain, but I wanted to see what I could get, so I offered less.  But then they came back and said there were two other offers, and that I should make my "last, best" offer.  So I just jumped right up to the asking price.  I didn't want to mess around with a bidding war.  I know they could have been screwing with me, but whatever. 

So we were going through all the paperwork, and I finally found hard evidence of what I'd known since I did my inspection: the square footage was much smaller than what they'd listed.  And there was a problem with the structure of the balcony.  And the air conditioner was on its last legs.  The seller had been dragging its feet with me for so long that the other bidders were long gone, and I knew I was the only guy in the game.  So I dropped back to my original offer, AND insisted they pay to fix the balcony. 

They said "no way, there's no way we'd accept that."  But I called their bluff and said "Fine, try to sell it to somebody else.  But now you have to disclose the true square footage and the structural issue, or you're committing fraud."  I knew I had them by the balls.  And they accepted!  I remember I was at Trader Joe's picking up food for a picnic dinner at the Hollywood Forever cemetery for one of their movie nights when my agent called me.  I was so excited, and my friends were very sweet to celebrate with me! 

But the excitement quickly turned to frustration.  It actually took more than two months after that to finally get through all the paperwork, get the loan, do the final inspections etc etc.  The delay actually worked out for me, since I unintentionally locked my interest rate at the bottom of a trough.  But the delay was annoying nonetheless.  I was really good about my due diligence (I even snuck into an HOA meeting to see whether they were crazy (kinda, but not in a bad way)).  I did everything on time.  But the escrow company was HORRID (they actually fired the person working on my deal in the middle of it, and forgot to tell anybody about it, and forgot to assign somebody else to do it).  And there's still a battle going on between the HOA and the seller about $25k of unpaid HOA dues (but it doesn't directly involve me, so I'm ignoring it). 

I also had a battle with my landlord as I was moving out.  To make a long story short, he got ants in his pants about getting the place fixed up for the next tenant, and in hurrying a little too much he basically trespassed and evicted me without cause.  I got a lawyer involved and scared the shit out of him, and ended up getting what I wanted (a fat chunk of cash).  Trust me, I was a model tenant, and I was as nice as possible and tried to work it out without a lawyer.  But he's a true asshole.  Everybody in the building agrees he got what he deserved. 

Anyway, it all worked out. I had a brief moment of anxiety when the wire transfer went through (life savings: GONE.  I'm back to zero, and feel poor.  Proooobably shouldn't have gone to Italy!)  But I know I got a good deal.  I ended up getting it for more than $300,000 less than they were asking 1.5 years ago.  That was obviously a bubble, but even so, that's a giant discount. 

And after all that, I finally got the keys!  Actually, it was somewhat anti-climactic.  All I got was my agent telling me the code to the lock-box that was stuck to the railing outside the building.  But I already knew the code.  So the only thing that really changed was that I didn't have to put the keys back in the box anymore. 

This has already gotten way too long, so I'll tell you about move-in day (there's a hot boy in that story) and life in the new place next time.

It has been another fun couple of weeks.  I have been incredibly busy, so I haven't really had time to write. 

Some of you asked for an update on what I decided to do about the date with the video guy.  I basically just responded "sure" and haven't followed up because I have been busy.  If he asks again, I'll probably go, and probably mention it (just to see his reaction if nothing else.  Nothing to lose, right?  And it might be entertaining.  And if he DOES have a collection, maybe he'll show me!)  If he doesn't ask again, I probably won't say anything.  He seems like a nice enough guy.  I'm sure he didn't know I "caught" him.  From the look on his face, he just thought he didn't set it up right.  So it's not like there's some brewing tension between us.  He was fun to fool around with, so if he just wants that, I'll do that again (but at my place, where there are no cameras!) 

So I found out my health insurance covers what they euphemistically refer to as "mental wellness services", so I'm going to get a therapist.  Why not, right?  At least he/she won't insult me.  And it can't hurt.  Although the one that was recommended to me was "out of network" so I have to pay a $500 deductible and then the insurance only covers 30%.  Screw that!  I need to find one who is "in-network", where they'll cover 90%.  I guess I have what NPR tells me is a "cadillac health plan."  Score!  So I hope the therapist is useful.  I'm afraid I won't be totally honest or open, but hopefully he/she will know how to pry it out of me.  As you know, there are all sorts of issues I'd like to address.  At least it feels good to be proactive; even if it "doesn't work", at least I'm doing SOMETHING for myself.

I had a fun and unexpected encounter this weekend.  I was hanging out at a friend's parents' house.  I was the only newcomer, everybody else were old childhood friends of his.  We stayed up really late drinking and talking on the porch, so when 5:30am rolled around and we were ready to sleep, it was too late for everybody to drive home.  So we were forced to pair off and share the available guest rooms, and lucky for me, I got paired off with the one I thought was hottest.  I had been flirting all night, and while he gave me some cute looks back, I wasn't sure if he was interested.  We started talking when we got into bed, and since it was a double bed we inevitably touched under the covers.  It became clear pretty quickly that the touching wasn't bothering either of us, and we didn't move away.  We got to talking about our "things" (what we like to do with guys), which we both knew was the conversation that would end up with us hooking up.  I usually like to let the other guy make the move, but it was like 6am by this time and I was freakin' tired, so I decided to just kiss him.  We had a really good time (apparently our "things" coincide) and ended up spooning all night.  It was a little awkward when my friend's dad came knocking the next morning to wake everybody up (as it turns out, we hooked up in grandma's bed! hahaha!) but it was all good.   

I also saw two movies in the past couple weeks, which is a record for me.  I think the last time I was in a theater was April, so I had really been missing it.  First I saw Inglorious Basterds with a couple friends at a cool old theater in Los Feliz called The Vista.  I usually find Quentin Tarantino (the person, not the director) annoying, because he clearly thinks he's too cool for school.  But, since he is, I forgive him.  I thought this movie was brilliant.  Brad Pitt was kinda meh, but I loved that they used mostly relatively unknown actors, who were mostly really good.  Especially the young woman who owns the theater.  The movie is so gory and violent, but it works perfectly.  They build a lot of tension, in a good way, and the last scene is so shocking and so fun! 

I also saw the remake of Fame with a couple friends at The Grove.  It isn't going to win any Oscars, but I thought it did what it meant to do really well.  It's just a fun, easy-going end of summer movie.  They tried to pack in way too many story lines and too many characters, so there's not really a deep plot or anything.  But that's not really the point.  It's just meant to be eye candy.  I liked it because the dancing was brilliant, and big musical scenes always get me in movies.  The cafeteria dance thing was really cool (I must learn to do a flip of some kind before I die), and I loved the big graduation scene.  Also, who doesn't like a cast full of pretty young people?  There were two especially hot guys, the singer Marco and the ballet dancer Kevin.  The singer is a little generic, but the ballet dancer is a real cutie. What beautiful blue eyes!  I'm typing this on my iPhone so I can't insert pictures, but you should go check them out here and here.  Yum!  Hopefully we'll get some shirtless scenes in their next movies!  I'm so tired of Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner and Zac Efron, so it's good to have something else to look at.

Anyway, I would recommend both movies.  Ok, off to do something productive!

I'm taking a survey.  I think I know the answer, but I'm curious to get feedback anyway.

So there's this guy.  He's pretty hot.  He has a good job.  He seems sweet.  I've hooked up with him a couple times over the last few years.  It's always been on my turf, except once, when I went to his.  He thought he heard somebody coming in, so he went to check that the front door was locked.  While I was waiting, I noticed his blackberry lodged up sideways on a shelf, facing backwards.  I picked it up and looked at it, and it was recording us.  I stopped the recording, erased the video, and put it back exactly where it was.  We finished up (considerably rougher than before, understandably...bastard) and I left.  I never mentioned it, and neither did he.

I haven't seen him since, but today he asked me on a date.  Like, a real date, not a hookup.  So, should I ignore him because he's a skeezeball?  Would it be a bad idea to ever trust him?  Or should I give him another chance?  On one hand, it's kinda hot and flattering, and while douchey, perhaps it's something he'd only do to a random F-buddy, not a real friend/boyfriend.  On the other hand, he may have been planning to blackmail me, which isn't cool.  And even if he wasn't, it doesn't say great things about his character.  I suppose there's a middle ground...I could go on the date and see if he has a good personality otherwise, and then consider how to address the lapse in integrity at some later date.  Lord knows I'm not entitled to cast the first stone. 

Thoughts?

Dsquared

Get it while the gettin's good! Somehow dsquared managed to sneak hot model peen onto YouTube! Those censors are asleep at the switch!

church

I've had really bad karma lately, and it has cost me a fortune.

Flat tire: $400
New battery: $300
Lost bluetooth earpiece: $100
Lost glasses (which I never even wore before losing them): $265
Car body repairs after accident: $500 deductible
Lost key to mailbox: $15
California wildfires dumped wet ash on my newly washed car: $18
Plumbing problem: $100 and counting
Dental emergency: $1000
Parking ticket: $50
Ipod stolen: $330 (cost to replace)
Fight with douchey landlord: $500

There's more but it's depressing to keep listing. But this all seemed to turn around right around when two events happened: Mark found a boyfriend (maybe I'll explain more about why that has any effect at some later time) and I started going back to church.

WTF? Church? I know, right? I didn't expect that one. I went to dinner with a friend, who brought along an old friend of his, who brought along an old friend of hers, and THAT girl invited my friend and I to church. I liked the way she described it, and I thought it couldn't hurt. She ended up bailing on us at the last minute (studio called while we were waiting for the service to start, and wanted her for a shoot RIGHT THEN...that's so LA to bail on church because the studio called). But we went, and we LOVED IT.

I decided I have to follow at least two rules if this has any chance of working:

1. I have to do it on my own terms. The last time I got wrapped up in religion was because I was doing it to be social. I wanted to please my friends. So this time, I'm going to resist the pressure to conform to anything in particular. If I don't feel like standing up, I'm not going to. If I don't feel like clapping, I'm not going to. If I don't feel like singing, I'm not going to. Hell, if I don't feel like GOING, I'm not going to.

2. I'm not going to get wrapped up in the theology. I think orthodoxy is lame. I like to have my viewpoints challenged, but I'm not going to be made into an automaton (again). If the message resonates for me, then I'll use it. If it doesn't, then I'm just going to ignore it. If they try to tell me to believe something I don't want to, I'll ignore them. If they say things that contradict each other (which they have, quite often), I'm going to be entertained by it, not bothered. They have only mentioned Jesus once so far, and that was as a human. Works for me.

So far, so good. We've been 4 times now, and each time has been amazing. The first time I cried through a good portion of it, because I really needed to hear/feel some of the things they conveyed. The second time wasn't particularly memorable, except that my friend and I had a fun time eating greasy hotdogs afterward. The third time was epic because there was an outstanding 150 person choir that just blew the roof off the place. EVERYBODY was dancing. The fourth time was great because there was a guest pastor (a black married lesbian! My first gay preacher!) and it seemed like she was speaking directly to me. In short, the messages I needed to hear were: 1) I don't need to be in control of everything all the time, 2) I should try to live in the universe, not in the world (i.e., don't let all this bullshit get me down. Stuff happens, but there's still a "me" there that doesn't get bogged down by it, and I need to live as that person), and 3) why NOT me? (i.e., why shouldn't I be happy? Why shouldn't I expect a fulfilled life?)

So far, I love the place. It is the most diverse group you can imagine, in every way (and that's wonderful in LA). I'm a little annoyed that the round-trip duration is about 4 hours. It really eats away at my Sunday. Next week we're going to try an earlier service. For the most part the message is just a bunch of transcendentalist hippie bullshit. But I like that! That's what I need right now, not some militant Christian George W. Bush dogma.

So, here's to new experiments!

pirates of the caribbean

Sorry it's been so long, it's been a kinda crazy time, and it's not over yet. Here's a summary before I run out again...

It was my friend Jared's birthday. We have this friend Mario who has a crush on him and a need to impress, so this (briefly) is what happened: 7 of us close friends are told nothing except that we should clear our calendars for a week, and that we need to submit our tailoring measurements (wtf?). We are each picked up at our respective houses in limos, and taken to Santa Monica airport, where we board a private jet (seats monogrammed with Mario's initials...nice). We don't know where we're going, but we get kinda tipsy on the plane.

Eventually we land at a private airstrip somewhere in the Bahamas, and find a second plane that had brought in 6 of Jared's closest friends from New York. We have a quick drink by the beach to catch up, and are then walked to a dock on the far side of the island where a tender boat is waiting. We get on the boat, which takes us around the far side of the neighboring island, where there is a 270 foot yacht waiting for us, crew lined up along the railing wearing all white.

We're shown to our rooms by the (cute) seamen, and find our closets filled with clothes that fit us. Mario explained later that he didn't want to tell us to pack, because then we'd know where we were going. Good logic, I guess? Either way, awesome party favor.

Anyway, to make a long story shorter, we cruised around for a few days. Lots of tanning by the pool (yes, this boat has a pool), lots of skinny dipping in the crystal clear water, lots of eating and drinking (great chef), and just lots of bonding in general. Probably the highlight of this portion of the trip was one night when we were finishing up dinner and heading down to the very back of the boat for drinks. We were anchored, watching the sun set, when we heard a helicopter approaching. The helicopter landed on the deck (yes, this boat has a helicopter landing pad) and out walks [_______], Jared's favorite singer, carrying his guitar. In my opinion, this guy's music is PERFECT for sunset in the Caribbean. So we enjoyed the concert, seated on the back of the boat. He actually stayed and hung out with us for the next two days, which was awesome. Nice guy.

We all thought that was Jared's big birthday surprise (as if the private planes and the yacht weren't enough). But we were wrong. On his actual birthday, after dark, we anchored off an island that looked uninhabited. We had been told to wear certain clothes that were provided for us, which were fancier than we'd been wearing on the cruise. The tender boat took us ashore, and there were no lights, so we had to kind of hold each other's hands as we were led stumbling along a path through the trees.

Eventually we came to a big dark clearing, walked out into the center, and stopped. Just then, there was a deafening yell of "SURPRISE!!!!", and people poured out of the trees and into the clearing as the lights came up and the music started thumping. Mario had chartered one 737 in Los Angeles and one in New York, and brought in about 100 of Jared's friends from each place. So here we were, on this random little island somewhere in the Caribbean, with 200 friends dancing and drinking and loving life. Mario had brought in [______], Jared's favorite DJ, to run the party, and it was truly amazing.

We partied until dawn, when everybody went and crashed in the little tents that had been set up around the island (but when I say tents, I mean the kind with hardwood floors and electricity and queen-sized feather beds, like you get on safari). As people woke up, there was a constantly-replenished buffet of food, and everybody just frolicked on the beach, explored the island, and swam.

After one more night (which was much more low-key), everybody piled into ferry boats and headed back to a nearby major island, where the 737s were waiting for us. The original 14 never saw the yacht again, but our baggage was waiting for us. The New York crowd and the LA crowd hugged and said goodbye, and we flew back to our respective cities.

The End

I'll try to catch you up on the more mundane things I've been doing sometime soon, but I figured this would be a good story to tide you over.

oops

I didn't expect to go out last night. I didn't even get home until after 9, and I was tired and stressed and feeling sorry for myself. I just wanted to go to bed. But just as I pulled into my garage, I got a call from my best friend. He said he was going out in WeHo and wanted to park at my place. He was just around the corner, so I waited downstairs and let him in. He was with another friend of ours, this guy he likes, who we shall call...Tony.

They came upstairs for a drink, which turned into two or three, and we got drunk. My friend said some lovely things to me, but I can't remember the exact words. Something about how remarkable it is how compatible we are, and that I never upset or disappoint him. And just yesterday after I'd texted to thank him for coming out the night before, he texted me "I adore every moment with ya. You know that. Or I'd just stay away."

A friend from high school and her friend called up and were also in the neighborhood, so they joined us. We went up to the gayborhood and had an amazingly good time (Fiesta and Eleven, if you care). My friends often chastise me for segregating them from each other, but in reality it is one of my favorite things to bring different groups together. And everybody got along really well. We ate, we laughed, we danced. And we drank a lot more.

At some point the girls left, and we went to St. Felix for one last low-key drink. But we didn't even get to that before my friend dropped his phone, and Tony put his foot on it (as a drunk-person joke, I guess) and scratched it. My friend got unreasonably upset, and stormed off. I have never seen him like that, and I have no clue what motivated it. We each tried to call him a couple times. I told him I can't stand confrontation, and to please come back for my sake. But he didn't.

So Tony and I decided to just go back to my place and wait for him to show up. We were standing in my living room, talking about I-don't-know-what, when we looked at each other and realized we were about to kiss. And then we did. WHAT!? It was so random and out of the blue. There was nothing leading up to it. No flirting, nothing. One second we were worried about my friend and talking, and the next we were kissing. It was short, and we just kinda laughed it off. But then we did it again, longer and harder. And wow, what a good kisser!

And so we stumbled onto the couch and one thing led to another, until I realized my friend has keys to my place and could walk in any minute. The music was too loud to hear the door, so it could have turned into a very awkward scene. And then my drunken delay wore off and I realized what we were doing could be hurtful. I know my friend likes Tony, although I'm not sure how much. And so I mustered a great deal of willpower and stood up. "We both love him too much to hurt him," I said. Ugh. But he agreed. And just then he called and was waiting downstairs to take Tony home.

colin farrell

I saw Colin Farrell at the mall today. I think he is so hot, and he was wearing the coolest boots I've ever seen. Naturally, I could only think of his sex tape. Google it if you want, I'm sure you can find it.

Anyway, not much else to say. As I've said before, and will undoubtedly have to say again, I'm so sorry I can't respond to all your emails. Someday I hope to. But I'm so busy I feel like I'm drowning. I just don't know how to get out of this mess. I guess I'll just keep plugging away, and hope my list of stuff to do starts getting shorter instead of longer.

remarkably unremarkable

So one of my best friends works in my neighborhood, and he had to work really late last night. So he came over to my place to crash. He little-spooned up next to me in bed, and one thing led to another....

And what is remarkable about this is that it is so unremarkable (not the fooling around...that was fun). But the fact that we did it is unremarkable. There was nothing awkward about it when we were done. We just talked about other stuff and laughed a lot and rolled over and went to sleep. Nothing awkward about it this morning. Nothing awkward about it this evening when he came back to pick up his stuff. No expectations. No regrets.

I like this. I think physicality can be a nice bonding experience between friends. It can get complicated, of course. And it certainly doesn't work for every friendship. But I'm thankful to have a friendship where it works. (And no, I'm not talking about Mark. Although, speaking of him, he got a new phone and has apparently taken to sending racy pictures of himself to people. He showed me a couple at dinner tonight. God.)

In other news, I have a house guest right now, and I have learned a few things about myself:

-I don't like it when people sleep on my couch overnight, and use my decorative pillows to sleep on. I set up an aero-bed with sheets because I don't want your sweat and hair grease on my couch!

-I don't like to be woken up at 5am on a school night.

-I don't like it when people use my bath towel. Ew. (Unless you're hot and I get to watch you using it.)

-I don't like to know when other people are pooping.

The End.

i love new york

This morning, my friend walked me through a street fair on 6th, we went sunglass shopping in SoHo, saw some art for sale on the sidewalks, and checked out NYU. I then split off and headed to the East Village, where I had brunch with another friend I hadn't seen in years. I then met back up with my friend and we headed to Brooklyn for a rooftop BBQ with amazing views of the Statue of Liberty and downtown Manhattan. Then I was off to Union Hall in Brooklyn for drinks with two friends from school. They put me in a gypsy cab to Long Island City in Queens, where I met up with another friend from school and his boyfriend. We hung out at the Gantry Plaza park on the river, and then went back to their very cool railroad apartment for drinks and music.

Then I hopped on the subway and headed to Times Square, where I emerged into about a million people crowding the square. It was SO packed. I had been LOVING New York City up until that point, and that was the first time where I thought maybe I do actually enjoy the privacy of my own car. But as soon as I made it through the crush, I was happy again, because I quickly found the building I was looking for and the doorman let me up to the 27th floor for a party. There were a couple old friends and a bunch of new ones, and I had an amazing time. I don't know what happened, but I guess I spent too much time in the bedroom and ended up with some kind of CRAZY-ASS contact high, and started munching on chips for the rest of the night, many of which I dropped on the floor.

I met a bunch of people I'd heard about at that party (at least one of whom YOU have heard of too), and a lot of actors/dancers. Mark's new boyfriend was there, and I was INCREDIBLY impressed with him. He is smart, articulate, talented, poised, and beautiful. And since Mark is so head-over-heels for this kid, I decided to do my part...so I took the boyfriend aside and told him that I know Mark really well, and have seen him with crushes before, but his feelings for him are of a totally different quality. I told him Mark couldn't stop talking about him in Italy, and when he wasn't talking about him he was clearly pining for him, and that I had come to the party that night JUST for the chance to meet him (which was true). I told him that he makes Mark want to be a better person, and that I'm really happy they found each other.

Now, you might think I was lying and/or insane. But I really meant all that, and I was VERY earnest when I said it. This trip has shown that I clearly still have a schoolgirl crush on Mark, but I love him enough as a friend that I really do want him to be happy. He doesn't like me like that, and won't. He DOES like this kid like that, and I think this guy would be a great influence in Mark's life. So I'm all for it, and want to do what I can to support it. Anyway, I think it had a good effect. I'm probably better placed than anybody to say those things, since (i) I'm one of Mark's best friends, (ii) I just spent a long time with him 24/7, (iii) I'm articulate enough to convey it effectively, and (iv) I have no incentive to lie, and he knows it (in fact, I have a good incentive to try to HARM their relationship). We'll see!

After that I headed back to my friend's apartment, hung out on the roof of the building for a little while with him and the doggy, and now I'm going sleep.

the longest day of my life

We woke up really early for one of those epic long days that are only possible when flying long distances from east to west. We started the day with showers in what must be the most poorly designed bathroom on Earth. The ENTIRE room got soaked, including the curtains and the spare towels. Mark's flight was much later than mine, but he wanted to go to the airport with me and wait there instead of at the hotel, so we got on the shuttle together at about 8:30am. We split up to look for our respective check-in gates and planned to meet up after. Mine was past a security checkpoint, so I went back to find him before going through. He was too early to check his bags (apparently there ARE limits to the nice things they'll do for Business Class customers) so he walked with me toward my gate. I had to go through security, so we hugged and said we'd see each other in New York (and he added, "where the cool kids are." He likes to needle my pro-Los Angeles-ness)

All went smoothly, and I was hoping to get an empty seat next to me, until I saw this beautiful guy walking down the aisle. Sure enough, he sat next to me. I am always wary of talking to seat-mates at the beginning of a flight, even if they're beautiful, because then you're expected to be friends for the next 8 hours or whatever. So I stayed quiet and just enjoyed the nearness of his hotness. He slept on my shoulder for part of the flight, which was cute. I read the entirety of The Four Agreements. When we were about an hour away from New York, I started talking to him. Turns out he's a model, and had been in Milan to do Calvin Klein's runway for fashion week. He stayed in Italy to see the sites and book other gigs, and was just now returning home. We talked for the rest of the flight, and hung out together in the airport while waiting for bags. Seriously, how lucky am I? There's one Calvin Klein runway model on the plane, and he sat next to ME!

When I got to New York I made my way to Penn Station via the Long Island Railroad, and walked straight to the nearest laundry place. I dumped almost every piece of clothing I had with me, including the pants I was wearing (yup, I took them off right there in the landromat). From there I went to the nearest Kinko's, which was around the corner (I LOVE that about New York. EVERYTHING is right around the corner) and downloaded some of my pictures onto CDs. I had promised to let Mark borrow my camera, but I wanted a copy of the pictures in case he lost it or something.

From there I went to my friend's apartment where I was staying, met his adorable dog, and chatted for a bit. Then I picked up my laundry (it only cost $14 for the whole thing!!), had a much-needed shower and walked up to Hell's Kitchen to meet a friend at her apartment. When I got out of the elevator, I was surprised to see Mark standing there. He lost his phone in Italy, so I had no way to know he was back too, and was at this apartment. It's such a strange sensation to wake up next to somebody in Milan, and then run into them in Hell's Kitchen that same afternoon. We went into the apartment, which was filled with a thick cloud of pot smoke, and chatted. There was one really adorable boy on one of the couches, but we didn't get a chance to talk. It was gratifying to hear Mark tell his friends that this was the best vacation of his life.

Mark and I headed up the street to his favorite local sushi place, talked about the trip, and about how amazing New York is. From there, we started walking around the Great White Way, and noticed it was intermission at West Side Story. We may or may not have slipped through the front doors, upstairs, charmed an old-lady usher, and stayed for the second half. After the show, Mark hung around that neighborhood to meet somebody, I pushed my way through a throng of rabid fans trying to catch a glimpse of Jack Nicholson (that SO wouldn't happen in LA) and headed out to the gay bars with my hostess-with-the-mostest (ok, host-with-the-most). We tried a couple different places, and then settled on Rocket, which was GREAT. I ran into a friend of mine from school, which was fun, and spent most of the time talking to random people there. I went home around 3:30, and am definitely ready for sleep.

So lets re-cap the day: I woke up in Milan, took a shuttle to Malpensa, flew to New York with a Calvin Klein model sleeping on my shoulder, took two trains to New York, got my laundry done, downloaded two cameras full of pictures, hung out with a friend, had a shower, walked through New York, ran into Mark on the other side of the Atlantic, hung out in a pot-filled apartment, had sushi, saw a Broadway play, and went out to the gay bars. Now THAT is how you make the most of a day!

obviously not a couple

Once we were on the correct train, it was a pretty uneventful ride. Mark worked on his art most of the time, and I just stared into space. There was one stop in Bologna, which looked pretty blah from the train. When we got to Milan, we schlepped our bags down into the subway and bought tickets. For some reason, Mark has complete faith in my train-picking skills, but was totally suspicious of my ability to get us on the right subway. But I did, and we went to Cadorna, where we bought more tickets and got on the airport train to Malpensa. We didn't arrive there until like 10pm, and had to get our hotel's shuttle van to come pick us up. I couldn't find a payphone that took coins, and didn't have a phone card, so we asked some guy to let us use his phone. Eventually the shuttle picked us up, and it was a hair-raising ride through some forest to our hotel.

When we arrived, I told the lady my name, and she looked at us and said "Oh no! I'm so sorry, I hope it's ok that I don't have two twin beds for you. I only have a room with a double bed. Would it be ok to share? You see, when you booked it, for some reason I thought you were a couple! But obviously you're not!" And she laughed.

I raised an eyebrow and looked at Mark.

WHY IS IT OBVIOUS WE'RE NOT A COUPLE!?!? BECAUSE TWO GUYS CAN'T POSSIBLY BE A COUPLE!??!! Grrr. It was totally harmless, and I didn't say anything, but that was the first taste of subtle homophobia (or at least hetero-normativity) that we'd experienced on the whole trip. Whatever.

They kept the hotel restaurant open and cooked us two tasty pizzas, a delicious dessert, and two bottles of wine. Our eyes were a lot bigger than our stomachs, and we clearly should have asked about the prices. What we intended to be a snack before bed cost us 56 euros! We took the second bottle back to the room, re-packed everything for the flight, and reminisced about the trip. Once again, I gave Mark a massage (probably the last for a long time, if not forever) which he enjoyed very much. We were kinda buzzed, full, and happy, so after we turned out the light and were about to fall asleep, I said "Goodnight, love." "Goodnight, lover," he replied. "I love you." "I love you too."

prosecco and the journal

This morning we packed everything up, dropped our bags at the lobby in the hotel's main building, and headed back to Lucca. We were walking through the streets, and it really felt great to be back. It was sorta like coming home, as silly as that seems. We were really thirsty, so we dropped into a bar we happened to see. I think it was called the Opera Cafe. It was SUCH a cool place! Very cool decoration, very cool staff, and they were playing Liza Minnelli performances on the flatscreen and had hot pictures of James Dean in the bathroom! I was really thirsty and couldn't decide what to have, but when Mark suggested prosecco, I knew that's exactly what I wanted. And it was delicious! They also brought out a couple types of cold risotto for us, free! We were reluctant to leave the wonderful ambiance (and the air conditioning!) but we were eager to get the journal.

We headed down to the shop, and Mark walked right to the journal he'd loved before. He even remembered exactly what shelf it was on. Everything in the store was handmade INSIDE that store, so it's not like they have multiples of everything. I was so relieved they still had it! He checked out a few others, just in case, but ended up settling on the original one. It was then that I explained that I really wanted to buy it for him. It had been meaningful for me to see him carrying the last journal I'd bought him around Italy, writing in it on beaches and in cafes and on trains. And I really wanted to get him his next one too. After all, if I'd been on this trip alone, it is undoubtedly what I would have wanted to buy him. He graciously accepted, and thanked me. I think he was probably a bit relieved too...we hadn't checked the prices the last time we were there, because we were just browsing at that point. Apparently original hand-made stuff is expensive...yikes! But it's not like we weren't going to buy it after traveling all that way just to get it.

I saw a little sign that said they'd stamp your name into the leather for an extra fee, and he thought that was a great idea. If you're going to have a journal, which is one of the most personal things you can own, you might as well personalize it, right? We watched the guy do the stamping amid piles of leather and tools, on the table where they'd made the journal in the first place. Except that the guy was wearing a polo shirt and jeans, it could have been a scene from any century in Lucca. Very cool! We got an extra book of paper to slot in when he filled it up (after all, if I was going to spend that much on the journal, I want him to get a lot of use out of it!) and finally bought the Vetruvian Man stamp too. He was pretty excited, and gave me a big hug and said thank you after we left the store. That was gratifying, but it will be even better to see him using it in a couple months when he fills up the current one. I think it's great to give somebody a gift that he will definitely keep for the rest of his life. He had been carrying it around, and a little later I asked if I could have it back and give to him as a gift closer to when he'd actually need it. It's more fun to be able to wrap it and have him be excited to see it all over again, rather than get used to it sitting on the shelf.

We had a bit of time left before heading back to Florence, so we decided to just go back to our favorite bar and have some more prosecco. It was just as lovely as the last time, except we got an even better table near the door. They were happy to see us again, and gave us more of the delicious free risotto, so we never had to buy lunch! We noticed a row of bottles in the window, each of which had been filled with colored water and arranged as a rainbow. Hmmm...subtle hint to certain passers-by? Is THAT why they were so nice to us!? It would explain Liza.

Sadly, we boarded the train back to Florence, walked back to the hotel, picked up our bags, checked the lovely view from the roofdeck that had caused me to pick that hotel in the first place, and walked back to the train station. We hadn't checked the schedules, so we had some time to kill. We went to a post office to mail a postcard I'd bought for my niece. My sister assures me it will be the first she ever receives, and so will be in her baby book. It's a good thing, because the post office was a nightmare. The only fun part about it was that we saw the mask-maker from yesterday waiting in line to ship his masks all over the world. It's kinda strange to recognize a local in line at an Italian post office. We still had time, so we wandered down to a restaurant and had a quick bite.

The train tickets on the express train from Florence to Milan cost a fortune, so they thankfully had assigned seats. When the train arrived, we lugged our increasingly heavy bags onto the train and went to find our seats, only to find they were filled...by people who had the exact same seats assigned to them! I left Mark on the train and got off to find somebody to ask. The first guy didn't speak English, but I found a younger guy who said "That's the train to Rome, and it leaves right now. Quick, get your bags off!" So I sprinted down the platform, onto the car, waved frantically to Mark to jump off, and basically threw myself and our suitcases off the train, just in time. Turns out they had switched our train to another platform and didn't announce it (at least not in English) and also neglected to change the screens that say where the trains are going.

David

We slept til noon, and we must be developing an amazing tolerance to alcohol, because neither of us has had any kind of hangover despite getting drunk every night. Our bedroom is like a nicely air-conditioned cave with an extremely comfortable bed. So it was hard to rally ourselves to get up. But we had a 1:15pm reservation at the Galleria dell'Accademia to see David, so we had to go. It was hot as hell, and there was a long line, but thankfully I'd planned ahead and got us a reservation, so we just walked right in. We first checked out the Robert Mapplethorpe exhibition, which was pretty cool. It was a good touch to juxtapose the perfect Renaissance representation of the male form with some of the best modern representations of the male form. It was kinda mean, though, to put a picture of a guy with a big giant dick right at the foot of the David statue. Poor David.

David was even more breathtaking than last time. When I saw it before, they were cleaning it, so there was scaffolding in the way. But now it's perfect, and we both loved just standing there looking at it from every angle. I swear, if you just stare at his face, it starts to look like his chest is going up and down, breathing. It's beautiful! Mark hasn't been particularly interested in the art or architecture on this trip, but he really wanted to see David, and was not disappointed.

After that we headed back toward the Duomo, and sat on the steps facing the Baptistry. It was scorching hot, so we took our shirts off to cool off and get some sun. Apparently that's not allowed, because a police car pulled up and he yelled at us to put our shirts back on. Something about public indecency. We then set out to buy the leather stuff we'd seen yesterday. We went back to one store where there was a belt he really wanted, but once we got there he changed his mind. I found one I liked, so I bought it, had it cut down to size, and had my initials stamped in it by this cute Bostonian guy who was there working for the summer. He gave me a discount, which was cool. We then went to another store to check out the boots I'd tried on yesterday to see if maybe I liked them more. I didn't. We stopped in a bookstore (me thinking it might be where we'd find the journal I promised Mark we'd find for him in Florence) but it was just pre-printed books. But they had a cool one about the Vetruvian Man that we thumbed through. They also had a bunch of historical fiction books about the Medici family. If I'd been by myself I would have read all the dust jackets and bought one or two, because I love historical fiction. But I knew that would bore Mark to tears, so I decided to just look them up on Amazon when I get home.

We wandered from there down to this amazing gelato place, which I think I saw in one of the guidebooks as the best place in town. It was definitely good stuff, but the girl who helped us was a total bitch. She yelled at Mark twice! He glared at her, but held his peace. We then went to the outdoor leather market, where Mark got a couple bracelets (actually, I bought them for him...can't remember why now). One of them had little pictures of Padre Pio on it, and for some reason we get a kick out of saying that name. I got another belt. An AWESOME belt. I negotiated the price down and had it shortened for free, so that was cool. They also had these neckties that look normal on the front, but when you open up the back they have graphic straight porn inside. Yuck!

We then went to the market stalls at the Piazza de San Lorenzo because we thought it might be the best place for Mark to find the special custom item he'd been looking for. I actually spotted somebody who could have done it for us, but it would have cost 50 euros, so it was a no-go. But he got some cool leather driving gloves. From there we wandered randomly into an amazing mask store. The artisan himself was sitting behind the counter, holding court. We saw this coffee table book full of his amazing creations, and the store was filled with it too. We spent a ton of time there, just checking things out. The masks were obscenely expensive (hundreds to thousands of dollars) so we didn't get anything.

At this point, Mark and I are kinda getting a little tired of each other. It's not that we're not getting along. It's just hard to be with the same person 24/7 for this long. But that's ok, we're still having fun.

Ever since telling Mark not to buy that journal and wax stamp thing in Lucca a couple days ago, I have felt guilty. He has looked EVERYWHERE for something he likes as much, and hasn't found anything close. I told him Florence would be filled with those shops, and he'd have tons of options. It's true that it is filled with those shops, but they're all touristy shitholes with low quality crap. San Gimignano was the same way, for the most part. I could see the disappointment on his face every time we went into a shop and he didn't find anything cool. So, fuck me. I wanted to get that for him as a gift! We're kinda growing tired of Florence (I knew before we even came that it's overrated, and it appears he agrees), so I suggested I felt guilty so I'd pay for us to go back to Lucca tomorrow, which was our favorite place anyway, and get the journal there. He really liked that idea, so that's our plan for tomorrow!

Anyway, after all the shopping, we went back and got dressed for dinner and headed to that wine bar again. We arrived just before 9pm, and were told it closes at 9. WTF? What kind of wine bar closes at 9!? That's early even by American standards. We were already over the river, so we decided to just eat at the place next door, and it was delicious. I had this black squid-ink risotto. Mmmm. We, of course, had copious quantities of red wine too. We headed back to the same place on the Piazza della Repubblica with the shitty cruise-ship band and did lots more drinking and smoking. The band was still pretty shitty, but in an endearing way. And it's a very nice place to just sit and relax.

On our way home we stopped into a big Borders-esque bookstore. Mark found a book he loved, which I will surely have to locate on Italian Amazon someday for a birthday present. While we were walking around the store, I was horrified to see a copy of an out-of-print book that I knew Mark would love, which I purchased a few months ago to give him at some unspecified later date. I didn't want him to see it and buy it for himself or spoil the surprise, so I casually placed myself right in front of it until he passed by. Whew! Anyway, we then went home. Unsurprisingly, I gave Mark another foot and leg massage.

ponte vecchio and pre-cum

After Mark bought his mask, we headed back to our apartment, and on the way noticed a very cool tile/marble/bathroom fixture store. We wandered around there a bit, gathering interior design ideas, and then noticed a very cool store right next to our apartment. There was a very hot girl from Budapest working there, and she really liked Mark. So she doted on him, helping him find some very cool stuff. It was a sort of outlet store to one of the very trendy stores, so it was fashionable stuff, but pretty cheap. I'm not sure whether I've said it before, but I think one of Mark's best physical features is his ass...it's seriously perfect. There's no debating it. So he kept trying on these pants that were somehow cut just for his body, and made his ass look amazing. He bought two pairs, and we went home.

We kinda lounged around a bit, since it'd been so hot and we'd walked so much. We had been out for sushi in West Hollywood just before leaving, and had our Italy guidebooks on the table while we ate. Some girl at the table next to us overheard us talking, and came over. She had lived in Florence, and so she recommended a restaurant and a wine bar for us to try. So after a rest, we got dressed up (him in his new pants) and headed out to the restaurant across the river. As we were walking across the Ponte Santa Trinita, the sun was setting and the Ponte Vecchio was bathed in this amazing golden light. Mark hopped over the railing and stood on the piling and I got some amazing photos. As usual, his eyes looked stunning in that late afternoon light.

When we got to the restaurant, we got seated at the best table in the house, on the patio overlooking the square. It was made out of this cool distressed-looking white wood, and I decided I'm going to get one just like it for my patio (I have now decided to pave it in terra cotta tiles, buy a mini cypress tree and a stone statue, and call it "my Tuscan veranda" instead). We ordered a bunch of appetizers and red wine (of course) and a 1kg steak to share. It was huge and delicious, but more than half fat. We got a little drunk and had a great conversation about why I can't seem to find a guy to date. I like when Mark gets drunk, because he gets talkative and honest. He said that from what he's seen, I still try too hard. I need to relax and let guys come to want something from me. Don't always make it so easy, or overwhelming. I think it's good advice. He asked why I had a low self esteem, and I told him it started when I was little and thought I was ugly and fat. He responded that I'm being silly, since I'm now skinny and good looking, and have nothing to worry about. We talked about the guy I'm interested in right now, and he gave me some specific advice about how to handle this one. I think he's right, and I'm going to try it when I get home. It was a very good talk for me.

We had lots more wine, and a few cigarettes, and then walked toward the wine bar that had been recommended. It was down some dark deserted alley, and was closed. I was looking in the window to at least see what was so great about it that this girl had raved so much. When I turned around, Mark was standing right behind me, facing me, and had his dick out and was peeing in a bush. Apparently he's not so shy anymore. I don't know why he went to all the effort to change in another room before. Whatever. Or maybe now, after all the opportunities I have had to try to turn a massage into more, he finally trusts me.

We decided to return via the Ponte Vecchio, and when we got to the middle there was a guy standing there singing. We sat down on the opposite side of the street, had another cigarette, and enjoyed the night air and the music and the view over the river. Life is SO. DAMN. GOOD. We kept moving, and ended up back in the Piazza della Repubblica again. There was a live band at one of the restaurants, singing in English. They were pretty bad (very much like what you'd expect on a cheap cruise ship) but they were just good enough, and the crowd was just lively enough, that we decided to sit and listen. We had a couple drinks and ate a lot of olives, and watched people dance.

When we made it back to our apartment, we were once again sleepy and kinda drunk. In what seems to be a recurring theme, I gave Mark a massage. I didn't even really ask this time. I think we've reached a point where we either don't think it's weird/sexual (which is clearly not the case, since it is, and he had another obvious pre-cum stain), or we've silently agreed to ignore it and just enjoy the moment. I really enjoy giving the massage and I truly do want to learn this skill, and he says I'm really good at it and clearly enjoys it. So, no harm, right? This time it wasn't just legs and feet. I did his back, neck, legs, arms, hands and scalp too. He fell asleep while I was lying next to him, gently running my fingers through his hair and over his ears and across his eyebrows. It clearly wasn't a massage anymore at that point. I dunno. After all these would-be-romantic-with-somebody-else evenings together, for it to end like that and neither of us to stop it or say anything, it seems that we're doing a pretty good job acting like there's nothing up. So be it.

the masked bandit of firenze

We woke up pretty late, since the day before we had: woken up at 4:30 and 5am, did a photo shoot, took a train to Florence, had those crazy driving experiences, visited San Gimignano, and stayed up late getting drunk and talking to boars. That was all in one day. We had been planning to try to visit some wineries, but decided that with our (my) driving record, we'd better just head back to Florence.

I went down to get the car (and noticed that I hadn't damaged it when I hit the tree the night before...those French make a resilient little car!) I got it up the gravel driveway and near our door, so we didn't have to lug the bags all the way down. But, again, I couldn't get the car in reverse. I was going to roll that shit right into the side of the villa, which wouldn't have been good, so I went and found the lawn-mowing daughter. She was painting something. I told her what was wrong, and she came and took a look. She didn't even have to get in the car. She just looked and said "Did you pull up on the ring?"

*silence*

WHAT RING!??!! Why didn't anybody tell me there was a ring to be pulled?! Apparently this was the source of ALL my problems the day before. The little diagram on the stick had the R to the left of the 1, so I figured that if I put the stick all the way to the left, I would be in reverse. So whenever I started the car, I'd put it in the SECOND slot over, which I thought was first gear. It turns out the second slot was actually THIRD gear, because you have to pull up on some fucking little ring to get it ALL the way to the left to be in reverse. So the reason I couldn't start the car going uphill was because I was trying to start it in THIRD GEAR every time!! And the reason I couldn't go in reverse the night before was because I was in FIRST!! Ugh! I guess it had been a total accident that I'd pulled the ring to get us in reverse. I think this is something the rental car company should have told me! Also, they shouldn't make cars that are so low-budget that they don't have a gear indicator on the dashboard, or at least a tachometer so you know you're in the wrong gear. Argh!!

So as soon as I figured that out, it was a piece of cake. I could drive that thing like I was born driving stick. Up hills, reverse, whatever. I was a master. I KNEW there had to be something wrong! I had never had that much trouble driving stick before. *sigh* At least it was an easy drive back to Florence. Mark didn't get us lost too many times. I'm pretty sure I got screwed when I filled it with gas (there is NO way that little piece of shit took 14 liters of gas. We'd only driven a total of like 100km!) But whatever, I wasn't going to argue with the burly Italian gas station guy. We dropped off the car just in time (thank goodness we didn't try to visit a winery) and were happy to be done with that episode.

We lugged our bags across the city to the Duomo, because I'd found a kick-ass hotel right next to it with amazing views of it. We found the hotel and I checked us in, and the guy said "Umm, you won't be staying here. You're staying in our other building a couple blocks away." I was pissed, since the whole reason I'd chosen that hotel was the views. But I didn't say anything...no sense arguing and being an ugly American. And when I saw the place they put us, I definitely was glad I hadn't complained. Instead of a shitty little double room, we had a full-blown apartment. Nice sized living room, with leather furniture. Big bedroom with a king sized bed. Huge bathroom with two sinks, a separate room for the toilet and bidet, and another separate room for the shower (which had a window in it). I have no idea why they upgraded us, since I still only had to pay the same 70 euros or whatever it was. It was awesome! And it was right in the middle of the fashion district. The Marciano showroom was right across the street.

As we'd been walking to our hotel, we passed the Roberto Cavalli store, and Mark saw these shoes in the window that he decided he had to have. They were $800, so he decided he needed to get drunk first. I thought this was a horrible idea (seriously, $800 shoes!?) and vowed to never treat him to dinner again if he can afford $800 shoes. But I don't want the roll of prissy mom-friend, so I held my tongue. Well, almost. I told him he should at least wait to buy them back in Beverly Hills, where they'd probably be cheaper and he could return them if there was a problem. I was hoping by then he would change his mind. But he had made up his mind, so we went to the Piazza della Repubblica to get drunk. It was hot out, and neither of us particularly like white wine, and you can't drink red when it's hot. So we had our first liquor of the whole trip. He had a Bloody Mary, and I had a Tom Collins. Neither of the drinks were particularly good, and at 11 euros each, we decided not to get drunk after all. Instead, we shared a delicious giant gelato sundae thing. Lots of panna montata. Mmmm.

We walked over to Cavalli, he told the lady he wanted those shoes in the window, and she said they weren't for sale. We still can't really figure out why, but I was relieved on his behalf, because I know he would have regretted it. I don't care who you are or where you think you need to wear them or who you think is going to see you wearing them...nobody needs $800 casual shoes. We found a really cool shop, the name of which I can't remember now. It had been built on top of some Roman ruins, which you could see through the glass floors. The clothes were absurd...like $1000 for a sweater. But the sales guy was really hot and wanted to talk to us, and they had free water, so we looked around a while.

We went from there to the leather district, to finally do the shopping we'd been meaning to do for the whole trip. I hate to shop, but when you're in Italy, you really need to buy some good leather stuff. Unfortunately, nothing we found was particularly inspiring. I tried on these FIERCE boots, but they were $500, and they weren't THAT cool. We found belts we kinda liked, but we wanted to check out other stores first and decided to come back tomorrow once we'd decided. Mark bought a really cool black leather mask (don't ask...I'm not).

wine, stars and wild boars

So we had a long leisurely dinner on the Piazza della Cisterna in San Gimignano, with some great local wine. The sun went down while we were sitting there, so we watched as the lights started coming on in the windows. Mark made some reference to "The Light in the Piazza". I guess I need to turn in my gay card, because I got reprimanded for not knowing that it's a pretty famous Broadway play. We finished our bottle of wine, and then the older German couple at the table next to us got up to leave and gave us the half of theirs they hadn't finished. We drank that too, and had a couple cigarettes each. Don't worry, I'm not becoming a smoker. I won't touch another one once we hit American soil. But it is quite nice while we're here.

There's really no nightlife to speak of in San Gimignano, so we decided to buy a third bottle of wine and take it back to the villa with us. It was going to be a wonderful end to the perfect day, but then we realized...we have to get back to the villa. In the dark. On the unmarked dirt road. With that stupid little stick shift car. And I was a little buzzed. Uh-oh. (DISCLAIMER: Do as I say, not as I do. Drunk driving is NEVER ok!)

We found our way back down to the car, which I had parked off the side of the road, nose away from the road. I had thought it looked pretty flat when we'd parked there, but it was a pretty good hill, with the front of the car facing down the hill. And we needed to reverse to get onto the road. As before, every time I tried to go in reverse, it would do nothing, and just go forward. We only had a few feet to spare before we went plunging off the side of the hill to our deaths. This was a REALLY big problem, since it was really late and there was NOBODY around to help us. Mark, being more drunk than me, thought it would be a good idea to get out in front of the car and try to push me back onto the road. He got out and tried, which was cute to watch in the headlights, but then I realized I was just going to run him over when we went plunging off the side. No sense dying that way. So he got back in the car. We kept inching forward every time I tried, and had really run out of options. One more try, and we go off the hill.

But then I remembered...we bought the full insurance!! So I put the car in first gear, and drove into the nearest tree. I figured, if we couldn't get it to go in reverse, at least we wouldn't fall to our deaths! And having the tree there to support us gave me the opportunity to keep trying to get it in reverse. Finally, we did, and we were on our way.

Getting to the villa the second time was a lot easier, even in the dark. When we got back, we snuck into the kitchen to root around for some wine glasses, but couldn't find any. One of the daughters was up watching TV and heard us and came out and produced two wine glasses. So we went out and sat in lounge chairs by the pool. We drank, and smoked, and talked. The sky was amazingly clear, and the stars were stunning.

So picture it: we were sitting by the pool, next to a villa built in 1600 where nobody else was staying but us, with a forest behind us, a pool at our feet, cypress trees beyond that, an olive grove beyond that, and rolling hills beyond that, just watching shooting stars and satellites go by. Does it get more perfect than that?!?! I don't think so.

After a while, we heard a big animal in the forest behind us. And then a second one. The forest was only about 30 yards away, and it was dense and dark, so we couldn't see what it was. But after a while we realized they were wild boars. We were kinda drunk, and we realized we could always jump in the pool to escape them if we had to (pigs don't swim, right?) so Mark started talking to them. In fact, he created a whole character for them, which I wish I'd filmed because it would be great on YouTube. The pigs weren't terribly impressed. They'd stop moving while he was talking, but then they'd just keep rooting around for truffles or whatever they were looking for. They never ran away, but they never came toward us either.

When we got back to our room, we changed into sleeping clothes and Mark sat on the bed and started working on an art project he's been doing. He was sitting up with his back against the headboard, and I was sitting down at the foot of the bed watching what he was doing, so I started massaging his feet again. I'm pretty sure he sat like that on purpose, hoping I'd do it, since the first words out of his mouth were, jokingly, "Matt, how did you know?" It was a little awkward, since he clearly had a big pre-cum stain on the front of his sweats and I was battling my boner again. But we both just ignored it. He ended up falling asleep while I was still doing his legs, sprawled all over the bed. So I stopped and found a little corner to lay in. He never really moved back to his side all night. At one point I woke up with his elbow and arm resting on my face, with his face resting on that. He was using my face as a pillow, apparently. I pushed him off. At another point, I woke up to find that we were spooning. He pushed me off.

horseshoe

After our relaxing time by the pool, we did our customary afternoon costume change and drove back to that abandoned building to explore a little. Of course there were signs that said "danger, no trespassing" etc (in Italian) but that just makes it more enticing! We walked up the staircase to find that there was no floor on the second floor. Mark wanted to wander out on the beams, but I talked him out of it. Most of the roof had collapsed, and there were these great old terra cotta roof tiles all over the place. I decided they'd make great ashtrays/nut bowls at a party or something, so we picked a couple of the more picturesque ones and I'm going to attempt to get them home in one piece. We took a couple pictures, of course, and then Mark found a GIANT dandelion in the yard, and I got a cool video of him blowing the stuff off.

We were out in the country now, on this never-used dirt road, so we took the opportunity for me to teach Mark how to drive stick. Naturally, the little bastard got it right the very first time. No stalling, no jerking. He just drove it down the road like he'd been doing it all his life. Jerk.

I got back behind the wheel, and we drove up to San Gimignano. I'd been there before, but had forgotten how beautiful it is. Mark couldn't believe places like this really exist. It looks very Disney, except it's real. As soon as we arrived, we were dying of thirst so we stopped in a little shop for some water. The waters were 4 euros, and I gave her a 5 euro bill. She gave me back a 2 euro coin. I hadn't been in the country that long, so I had to double check, but it was definitely a 2. She didn't speak English, so I was trying to explain to her that she'd given me too much change. I think she first thought I wanted her to give me MORE back, so she was kinda annoyed. But when she finally looked down and saw what it was, and figured out what I was trying to say, she got this amazing look on her face, looked back and forth at the two of us, and started saying "Grazie, grazie" and smiling. We smiled and walked out, and as we were walking away, I understand enough Italian to overhear her animatedly explaining to the other woman in the shop what had happened. See, THAT is what I try to do when I'm on vacation. I like to think that woman now thinks much better of Americans. The next time somebody trash talks Americans in her presence, she just might tell that story.
We next went to a little shop that had those wax stamp things. They didn't have the Vetruvian Man, but Mark picked out one for himself, one for an old friend of his, and one for the guy he's dating. I picked out one for myself. All four were the same style: initials intertwined together. As we were walking up to the counter, Mark said he'd like to buy it for me. I protested a little, but he said that if he'd been on this trip without me, he would have wanted to bring me back a gift, and this is what he would have wanted to give me. So I relented. Besides, that was so sweet! How could I resist!

When we got up to the counter, the guy added them all up, and they were 92 euros ($130). Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mark kinda have a heart attack. He didn't intend to spend that much on any of the three of us whose gifts he was buying, but after that whole speech about wanting to give me a gift, he couldn't really turn back. I felt bad for him. But then he discovered he didn't have his wallet, so I ended up fronting him the money for all four anyway. Hahaha!

From there, we went to this amazing antique shop. Not only did it have cool stuff, but it had this unexpectedly huge underground stone cavern thing underneath it, with long hallways going off into who-knows-where. At one point, there was this shaft carved out of the hillside that went off into the darkness. It was really cold down there, and it was filled with all these neat old things. We saw a table that had a stack of really old antique horseshoes. A couple months ago, Mark and I had been talking about decorating my place, and he had seen this section of the wall and thought it would be the perfect spot for a horseshoe. When we saw them on the table, we didn't even have to speak it aloud...we both remembered that conversation and knew this was meant to be. I also knew that if he were on this trip alone, THIS is what he would have picked out to give me as a gift, not the wax thing he'd committed to buy me. And since it was a bit cheaper than the wax thing, I said "Mark, I would rather pay for the wax thing and have you get me this. It's a much more meaningful representation of our trip and our friendship. As much as I appreciate the gesture that you want to get me the wax thing, it will mostly just sit in a drawer, but this I will see every day on the wall and think of you and this trip." He totally agreed, and so that is the gift he got me. I'm really excited to hang it up.

After that we found a cafe and sat on the sidewalk and had a cold lemon soda and some water. We then explored the town a little more (we went to the back alleys, where real people actually live, instead of just hanging out in the main tourist squares.) We somehow ended up in the courtyard of this old palace, upstairs on a sort of bridge, and just sat and talked, watching a breathtaking view of the sun setting over Tuscany. His eyes looked AMAZING in the light, so I snapped a couple pictures there. I used my long lens, so it's very head-shot like, with the background blurred out. Beautiful photos. He doesn't like them, since he had run out of clean clothes and was just wearing one of my plain white undershirts. But whatever, I like it.

We then went and sat on the Piazze della Cisterna for dinner. Mark wanted to go throw a coin in the well and make a wish (no doubt relating to the boy he's dating). I, of course, whipped out the camera to get a few candid shots with the long lens. When he got back, I told him I had taken pictures, in accordance with our agreement. And he said "Oh, I knew you would. That's why I went over to the far side of the well, so you could see me." Hahaha! We're definitely getting to know each other on this trip.

angy italians and a dashing hero

After our photo shoot, we got on the train from Lucca to Florence, and arrived around noon. Our rental car started at 2, so we had some time to kill. We dropped our bags at the rental car place and went for a walk along the river. We got some food at a trendy little restaurant we found, checked out an antique shop that was WAY outside my price range, and also had some gelato. We really wanted to get an Italian magazine with Michael Jackson on the cover, and we finally found one there. We then went back to the rental car place, dealt with an amazingly bitchy woman who clearly hates her job and her life, and picked up the car. She asked whether I wanted the full insurance, which I usually don't get. But this time I decided it was probably worth the 20 euros. So began the true adventure.

It was a little two door Renault. We had to put the back seat down to get our bags in, but it was otherwise comfortable, if tiny. The problem is, Mark has never driven a stick, and I have only driven one briefly in a parking lot when I was 16 just to learn how to do it. I figured I would be able to figure it out on the fly. We got down the ramp out of the garage ok, but stalled a couple times trying to get into traffic. I had printed turn-by-turn directions off Google before we left, and set Mark up as my navigator. He wasn't very good. Once we got the thing moving, we kept getting lost, because he wouldn't think a couple steps ahead. He would read the next direction, and so we'd find it and make that turn, but by the time he'd read the next one, we would have passed it. Had he read ahead, he would have known that the next turn was 0.1km past the one before. Whatever. It became easier to just get out a blackberry and use Google maps, because we could plug in whatever intersection we found ourselves pulled over at. It was really stressing me out to fight with the car AND keep getting lost, but I didn't want to be a bitch, so I just held it in, which stressed me out more. It doesn't matter, right? We can drive in circles all day. Better than yelling at my friend.

We were still in the city when what I'd been dreading most happened...I finally got stopped at a light on an uphill. When the light turned green, I tried to go, but stalled. And then stalled again. And again. Each time I'd roll back a little. Eventually a bus pulled up RIGHT behind me, so I didn't have room to roll anymore. I put on the parking break, and tried that whole thing, but it didn't work. The car ended up smoking, and the bus started honking at me. I put my emergency lights on, and kept stalling, and the car kept smoking. Eventually the passengers on the bus started getting off, so now I had a honking bus and a group of angry Italian commuters surrounding me, yelling at me, hands gesticulating wildly.

To make matters worse, it turns out Mark had never really even ridden in a stick shift car, so he didn't understand what was going on. Every time I rolled back, he'd shriek at me to stop, as if I didn't know it was happening. I didn't have time, at that moment, to explain how a stick-shift car works, so I just had to try to tune him out. At that point, I was shaking really badly and felt like crying. Everybody was yelling at me, and I couldn't see any way out of this mess. There was nobody I could ask for help. I was so upset.

And then, my guardian angel arrived. A HOT Italian construction worker with amazing arms, pretty eyes, in a black wifebeater with 5 o'clock shadow, came over to see what was going on. He knelt down and looked in the window, and asked if he could help. I immediately jumped out of the car. He got in and drove it away, with me jogging behind it through this busy intersection. He hopped out and I thanked him profusely, and got back in the car. I looked over at Mark, who looked kinda shell-shocked, and said "Oh my God, that was GREAT!! All of a sudden, I'm driving along with a hot Italian construction worker!" Hahahaha!

Once we were on flat ground, I got it moving again, and we found the highway and drove down through the amazingly beautiful Tuscan countryside. We only had one more mishap...I got stopped going uphill on a freeway off-ramp. I couldn't get it to go forward, and if I inched back too far, I'd end up sitting still in the middle of a fast-moving highway. Backing into a bus is one thing. Backing a tiny Renault into oncoming freeway traffic is another. We were FUCKED. By then I'd explained to Mark what went wrong before, so at least he wasn't shrieking at me. Eventually, after a lot of stalling, a lot of honking at me, and a lot of smoke, I got us moving again.

The villa we are staying at is, as it turns out, very remote. It is in the neighborhood of San Gimignano, but to get here we had to turn off the main road onto an unmarked dirt road, take a fork in the road, pass over a bridge, and continue under an incredibly beautiful canopy of trees for a couple miles. This road wasn't on Google Maps, and we lost reception anyway, so we were just trusting the directions we'd been given. I had no way to know whether we'd taken the correct forks in the road, or were getting increasingly lost in the forest. Mark's navigation skills hadn't gotten much better. We knew we had to pass an abandoned farmhouse, so when we saw that, we were quite relieved. Eventually we came to the gate. Mark got out and announced us on the intercom, and the gate opened.

It was, seriously, a scene out of a movie. We drove through a double row of cypress trees up a hill, past olive groves and fields of wine grapes. We pulled up to our villa, which was built in 1600 out of stone, and looked kinda like a low fortress. We passed the swimming pool, and found a girl who checked us in. We got to our room, which had this amazing wood beamed ceiling, and incredible views out the bathroom window.

My nerves were still pretty shot. I was still shaking, and still kinda felt like I could cry if I wanted to let it out. So I said, "Mark, I really really need a hug." And he said "Awww, Matty...." and squeezed me really tight for a long time. It was very sweet, and helped a lot.

We pretty much just dropped our stuff, and then went out to sit by the big swimming pool (which was surrounded by lovely flowers, and the forest beyond). Neither Mark nor I smoke, but he had had a few when he was with his friends before I arrived. He still had part of a pack left, and he pulled one out by the pool. I heard smoking calms your nerves, so I asked if I could have one too (for the first time since my freshman year of college, I think). You all know how I feel about smoking...it's disgusting and awful for your health and I don't recommend it. But I can't lie...it was SO wonderful. It was exactly what I needed. Besides, other than acid or something, I think anything in moderation is ok. So we just sat there talking, watching the girl who checked us in and her mom driving around on riding mowers in the olive groves. Apparently this is a real working farm, run by this mother and her daughters. Amazing.

photo shoot

So, after the massage last night, we went to sleep, and at about 5am I woke up to a very sweet, gentle rub of my leg. Mark was standing at the foot of the bed, hair done, dressed up in amazingly fashionable clothes I didn't even know he owns, looking like a million bucks. I hopped out of bed and packed my camera bag, swiped a mirror off the wall of the B&B to take with us, and he packed a small suitcase full of other clothes. We then set out quietly into the city. Our plan had been to have the city all to ourselves, and catch the soft Tuscan morning light, and it was A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. I have never found waking up at 5am more worthwhile.

We started out by a fountain near our place, and then the canals. Those pictures weren't great, because the light wasn't quite strong enough yet. We then headed up onto the walls near San Colombo, and he climbed up on an old statue of a lion that we'd been admiring the day before. We took a few pictures, but it didn't look quite right, so he took his shoes and socks off, and that was much better. Something about the juxtaposition of a vulnerable barefoot boy on top of a giant lion. I had never been to a professional photo shoot before (except when I was little, but that doesn't count) so I was surprised by how much I learned. For example, he was lying on top of the lion, and suddenly burst into soundless laughter, as if I'd said the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard. And it wasn't just one big cheesy smile. He was totally laughing (but without sound): arms moving to different positions that you'd naturally do when laughing, legs contracting up, etc. I suppose it takes a good actor, because it looked real, and made for INCREDIBLE photos.

We moved from there to a section of the wall we'd seen the day before which had some really cool graffiti that he liked. He had suggested last night that he'd like to take some photos in his Calvin's, but I just assumed he was drunk and wouldn't really do it. But sure enough, he stood up on that wall and took off all his clothes (with me taking pictures all the while). For the most part during the shoot, he was the one directing me. But this time, he asked me to direct him. First, he wanted me to make sure he was sitting in a way that his balls weren't showing (he is too big for the undies and there was a good deal of skin showing where the undies meet his legs). We also tried to find a pose where it would look like he was naked, but I think he got a little antsy sitting there in his undies while the city was starting to wake up (the joggers got quite a show) so we stopped before we got that shot. He stayed up on the wall and I handed him a different outfit to put on than he'd been wearing before, and I got a couple more candid pictures as he was getting dressed. I ended up carrying all the bags around, since it was getting hot and I didn't want him getting sweaty (it would have made my photoshopping task a nightmare).

From there, we went to various spots in the city, including back to the amphitheater. We were the only ones there, except an old woman who was throwing stale bread out her window to a giant flock of pigeons. Again, seriously, we could not have ordered a more perfect scene. Even if I was a professional photographer and had thought of it, I'm not sure I could have arranged to have an old woman up at 6am, or to have the pigeons hanging around. Mark took his shirt off again, but kept his jeans and shoes on, and ran through the flock of pigeons, all the while laughing (silently) and smiling like he was having the best time in the world. The pigeons would scatter, which made for really cool shots, and then the old woman would throw more bread and they'd settle back in. The woman/pigeon combination allowed us to take 7 or 8 series of shots. I think one of my favorite photos of the whole day was when he put his leather jacket on, but without the shirt, and cat-walked through the pigeons, staring intently into the camera. Piercing eyes, abs rippling with the walking, pigeons flying around him, cobblestones, perfect Italian buildings in the back...amazing!

Anyway, I won't (continue to) bore you with the full details. We were out for a couple hours, and had an amazing time. At one point we stole a bike to get a few photos on that. Another time Mark climbed up onto an old iron grate covering a museum window (which we obviously couldn't have done if we went out during the day). Another time I wanted him sitting up on this piece of stone jutting out of the wall about 8 feet above the street, but there was no way for him to get up there other than to literally climb up my body, onto my shoulders, and step on my head. I got an awful crink in my neck, which I suspect won't go away for at least two days. Ouch. But it was worth it! You have to sacrifice for your art!

Our conclusion about Lucca is that we just can't believe a place like it exists. It's hard to believe that such a quiet, peaceful town shares a planet with the crazy hussle-bussle of New York City. It's our favorite place so far, so we were really sad to have to pack up and head out after the photo shoot was done. I had planned for us to be there only a short time (just an afternoon, really) because I assumed it would be boring and we'd want to leave quickly. Boy was I wrong!

vajayjay and the Beatles

After our lemon soda came the best part of the trip so far (at least for me, since I'm loving photography and this is turning into quite a photo expedition.) We sat in this oval piazza, which is that shape because people built up houses surrounding the old Roman amphitheater. Over the years, people stole more and more of the stone (which you can see around town) so the amphitheater disappeared. But the houses remained (or were rebuilt in the same position) so now they have a Roman amphitheater-shaped piazza. Very cool, and very picturesque.

And for somebody trying to take great travel photos, this place was paradise. You really couldn't have ordered a better scene if you tried. It was like, "Ok, I'd like to take some pictures. Hmmm, how about a flock of pigeons. Check! Now how about an old Italian nun shuffling through. Check! Ok, lets have some cute little kids in primary colored shirts playing. Thanks! Now how about a horsedrawn carriage. And an old married couple on bikes. Great, thanks! Now, how about some newlyweds in the tux and wedding dress kissing? Perfect!" It was unreal.

I handed the big camera over to Mark, and was just using the pocket camera. I spotted some laundry blowing in the wind on top of one of the buildings, and zoomed in for a picture. It was only afterward, when I was looking at the photo, that I noticed a couple legs behind the sheets. I looked up again, and sure enough, there was a woman up there hanging her laundry. Even MORE picturesque! So Mark started shooting her with the super-zoom, and when we looked at those pictures, we realized she was just wearing a towel...around her waist! So we have some pictures of an Italian woman on her roof hanging laundry, showing off her boobies to any tourists who might be looking. Once we realized that's what she was wearing, I went back and looked at the first photo I'd taken, and sure enough...the towel had blown open and we saw....vajayjay! Ack! It's kinda gross, but also kinda amazing, right? I took a photo of what I THOUGHT was laundry blowing in the wind, and ended up with Italian vajayjay! Just goes to show, if you live in a tourist-center like I do, you need to be careful what you do when you think nobody is looking!

We had been sitting on a stoop in front of an old door, and when we stood up to leave, we noticed what a beautiful weathered green color it was. So I asked Mark if I could take some pictures of him in front of it, and we had our second truly great photo shoot of the trip. He's a natural, and the color and light were amazing. I'm excited to get them downloaded. We walked out one of the arched doors (former portals into the amphitheater) and took a couple more pictures of him there. They didn't turn out so well, because the sun was too bright right there. We walked up onto the old walls of the city and walked around them a bit. The sun was setting behind us, so we got some cool photos of our long shadows stretching out in front of us.

By this point we were hungry, so we went back to that pizza place we'd tried to find before, and it was open. And it's a good thing, because it was SO cool! It was next to this ANCIENT building (we can't read Latin, so we don't know what the carvings above the door said) and had exposed brick/stone walls and an old beamed ceiling. Unlike most of the other places we'd eaten, it was staffed by young college-aged people, who made us an amazing ham and mushroom pizza (which is becoming our staple food) in a cool old wood-fired oven, and some much-needed cold water. We then went back to our B&B and showered. Mark modeled the garment-thing he bought for our friend, and got excited about it all over again.

Then we got dressed kinda stylish. We wanted to go see a play of some kind, but couldn't find anything open. We walked through what appeared to be a gay section of town, but didn't find anyplace we wanted to hang out. So we were just walking along, and found the coolest restaurant we've been to so far. It was called Caffetteria San Colombo (apparently the word Cafeteria doesn't have as icky connotations in Italian as in English). It was built into the old walls of the city, and next to our table was a glass window in the floor looking down into an old dungeon. So cool! It had really cool decor and appears to be where the trendy, young, good-looking crowd hangs out. We were still pretty full from our pizza, so we just ordered local red wine (delicious) and two appetizers. They were SO delicious, but so easy, so I'm going to make them. One was a half-cantaloupe hollowed out, filled with cantaloupe balls, shrimp and mint. The other was a salad of arugula, parmesan shavings, and pear slices, with a little honey drizzled over it. Mmmm. Light and delicious.

We are discovering that Italians LOVE the Beatles for some reason. We see/hear them EVERYWHERE, and last night was no exception. There was a band playing in the courtyard (two really cute guys, one on guitar, the other on drums) and they sang only Beatles songs. After we finished eating, we ordered another bottle of wine and headed out to the courtyard. They had these REALLY cool white plastic lounge chair things that had lights inside them. It made for some super-cool pictures we took of each other. We finished our second bottle and ordered another half bottle (it was really good wine!) and started cooking up plans for a true full-blown photo shoot the next day. When we were finally done, we stumbled back to our place, talking about how wonderful this city is and what an incredible time we are having.

Mark had been complaining about the bad shoes he'd been wearing, and how much his feet hurt (he made a conscious decision when packing for this trip to look good, rather than be comfortable.) So when we got back to the place, we were pretty drunk, and I started giving him a foot massage, which turned into a leg massage too. I'm pretty good at it (so he tells me) so he was pretty much in bliss. I have to admit I got a huge boner, which I assume (hope!) he didn't see (despite the fact that it was clearly sticking up out of the waistband of my undies) because he'd taken his contacts out. Let's just be honest, I probably still have feelings for him. But even if I didn't, there's something about a hot, half-naked boy with a perfect body, lying spread-eagle on a bed in Italy that you're sharing, lights down low, full of wine, and groaning because of the way you're touching him. Who wouldn't think that's hot? It's kinda too bad we're not dating, since this is kind of a waste of an epic romantic day.

bella Lucca

We slept til noon. We'd meant to get up and go back to the beach, but our train left at like 1pm, so we hurriedly packed our bags and ran for it. In our haste, we accidentally stole the keys to the place, so we'll have to mail those back. Oops! As we were walking, Mark told me I have a mid-western accent. Huh? I've never lived there, and I have never heard that about me before. Apparently it's a slight intonation when I say "God". But now that I'm aware of it, it will definitely go away. It's like when I told him he says "orange" and "horrible" strangely, with an "a" sound for the "o". He was apparently doing it to cover up his real accent, but once I told him about it, he has stopped. I think it's kinda sad when people lose accents. Oh well.

Anyway, our running paid off and we had a bit of time to kill before our train from Torre del Lago to Lucca. I used the underpass and went over to buy our tickets. When I looked back across the tracks, Mark had taken his shirt off and was standing there amongst our bags with an incredible quintessentially Italian building and palm trees behind him. I had my camera in my pocket, so I took a couple candid pictures of him. When I got back to the other side, he asked to see the camera, and when he gave it back to me he said he'd deleted some of the pictures I'd just taken.

We finally had it out over that. I told him that he'd deleted some scenery pictures I'd really wanted a couple days before, that I am happy to delete pictures he doesn't like of himself, but that he needs to tell me first so I can go back and re-take the picture without him in it, if possible, or crop him out. He apologized, but said I need to understand that he doesn't like being caught off-guard and vulnerable in a private moment. He often loves the results of my candid pictures, and wants me to keep taking them, but he just needs to reserve the right to delete them. So we made a deal: I won't take candid pictures without informing him immediately afterward (since I obviously can't inform him beforehand or they're not candid) and he gets the opportunity to choose right then whether to delete them. I think that will work out just fine for us :)

Anyway, we got on the train and headed to Lucca (via Viareggio, where that horrible 28-death train crash happened on June 29). When we got there it was hot and we were tired of carrying our heavy bags around, so we hired a taxi to take us to the B&B. It was a station wagon driven by a lovely middle-aged lady. It felt like our mom had picked us up from junior high and was taking us to soccer practice.

The B&B is a stately old apartment, from the days when ceilings were high and hallways were wide. And it was adorable. So quirky and eclectic! Mark loves that kind of thing, so I knew he would love it when I saw photos online. We got a map (and a long talk in Italian from the proprietress, which somehow made sense) and headed out immediately. We tried to go to the pizza place our hostess had recommended, but it was closed, so we sat at a seedy little sandwich shop on a square and shared a panini so we didn't starve to death. We walked all over the city, saw the canals, and ended up at the main church. This is inside the church looking toward the main door, and is one of my favorite photos from the whole trip so far. I hope I have high ceilings and big windows in my home someday so I can copy this.

We got some gelato (again) and wandered into a very classy little leather store. Mark loves to journal, and had been looking to get a new journal on this trip. I bought him his last one, as a gift, and really want to get him his next one too. He found one in this store that he absolutely loved but I, having been to Florence a couple times before, told him he should wait. There are a ton more leather stores there, and he may find something he likes better (and will definitely be able to find this same one there if he wants it). If I'm going to get him a gift, I don't want to get it and then find something two days later that he loves much more, and then have him not like the gift I got him. He also wanted a wax stamp kit with the Vetruvian Man symbol on it, but I also convinced him to wait on that.

We continued wandering, and stumbled on a cute little street market. We love to go to the Fairfax Flea Market together in LA, so stumbling on this felt like a great discovery. We were already loving Lucca, and this just made it even better; it made it seem like OUR city. He had been looking to get a gift for a friend we have in common. She is an extremely unusual, artistic person, which makes it really hard to find a great gift for her. I spotted a....I don't even know how to describe it. It's a garment of some kind...and pointed it out to Mark. He immediately orgasmed. It is EXACTLY the perfect gift for this person. He asked how much it was, and the lady said 50 euros. Yikes! I spotted a small blemish in the fabric, which he pointed out to her, and offered 30. She accepted! Hahaha! I guess it never hurts to ask. We then went to another little stall and found a ring for Mark's sister and a keychain for me. It's always fun to buy something from the craftsman who made it. It was extremely hot, so we then stopped in a little cafe with crazy orange and yellow walls and had a lemon soda and talked about interior decorating ideas.

mama mia

So last night we got all dressed up, and then rode the bikes back to the beach (where the clubs are lined up on a boardwalk on the sand...very cool). We were laughing at ourselves, since it's pretty ridiculous to get all dressed up and then ride bikes to go clubbing. We arrived down there way too early, so we had a Coke and watched bad MTV at a tranny bar called Priscilla's.

We then walked down to see what was going on at the club. As we walked it started to rain the tiniest little bit. I'd checked the forecast before we left and had been very worried about rain. I went and got umbrellas and rain gear for both of us (since I'd told Mark he wouldn't need any before he left), and had been carrying it around. But as it started to rain, I had a good feeling, and I said to Mark: "This is as much as it's going to rain." Sure enough, the clouds parted and we've had sunshine ever since. Knock on wood.

They were still setting up at the club, so Mark got a strong mojito and I got a beer, and we went to the beach and the light from the setting sun was beautiful. We sat on some driftwood by the water and talked. I took some cool photos of him on the boardwalk, for which he posed. That answers that question! It seems he's going to cooperate and be my guinea pig for my photography experiments!

Anyway, we walked the full length of the boardwalk looking for a decent restaurant, but they were almost all gross beach dives. We finally found a place where we ate upstairs, him facing the sun setting over the Mediterranean, me facing the Apuane Alps and the forest lining the beach. It was incredibly beautiful. There was this could-have-been-a-tranny-but-was-probably-a-real-woman karaoke singer, who was amazing in a terrible kind of way, and a cute Brazilian waitress with whom Mark randomly ballroom danced throughout the restaurant.

After a long dinner we finally went to the club, Mama Mia, and there were a couple dozen people there. The music was up loud, the bartenders were ready, the lights were going, but everybody was just standing in the street staring at the empty club. It seemed bizarre, so we got a drink and milled around. Then there were a couple hundred people, all still just standing in the street, looking AT the club. But still nobody was in the club itself. Michael Jackson music came on, and Mark and I decided to get the party started. We danced up a storm, with hundreds of people watching us. Nobody moved. Nobody joined us. It was like a weird cult scene. So we went and stood in the crowd to see what they were looking at. We found a hot guy (who turned out to be Serbian) and asked him what the deal was. He said that's how they do it there. Nobody will go in until the club is hopping. That's painfully stupid, of course. If nobody goes in until it's hopping, it'll never get hopping. And it did take a LONG time. Eventually what happened was the crowd got SO big that there wasn't enough room for everybody to stand in the street, so they just had to go into the club. And then the party started. Also, a bunch of hot boys in speedos and older guys in drag came out on the catwalk and made some announcements. I don't know what they said, but it must have been something along the lines of "get the fuck in here already!"

Once the party was started, Mark and I decided we were kinda cramping each other's style, so we split up. I spent a long time talking to a charming straight girl and two hot shirtless straight boys wearing matching white fedoras. And they didn't mind that I flirted with them! Then I ran into this hot British ex-pat. He had amazing abs. And then I finally found the ones I wanted: beautiful Italian guy named Marco, and his Hungarian friend. We danced together, I stole kisses from each. They were clearly coming home with me (I'm so generous to Mark), but then their ugly ogre of a friend came up in a huff about something and made them leave. Parting is such sweet sorrow! Marco and I kept hugging and kissing "one last time." Very cute. We shall be Facebook friends...I wrote my name on his chest.

After that I didn't have the energy to chat up any more guys, so I went to the place where we had agreed to meet. Mark was already there, having just had some exercise on the beach. Jealous much? Yes.

We were both pretty drunk, and had over 1 km to get back to our B&B on bikes. We both crashed into the bushes off the bike path, at different times. He got a pretty nasty scrape on his arm to match the cut on his hand from earlier when he pulled at a construction net thing. I was unscathed, except of course for my dignity. I don't condone biking under the influence. Apart from the fact that it's probably illegal, it could be dangerous. We were on a dirt bike path with bushes on either side, so it wasn't that bad. Except that there was a drunk (car) driver stuck on the bike path, asking us for directions in Italian. We obviously made it back, though. Bedtime.

blood photography and beach day

After getting back from our hike, we showered and lounged around the hostel for a bit, listening to the birds and bells, watching the sun set over the sea. Then we dressed for dinner, explored the old church next door, and hiked down the 380+ stairs to the train station and headed to Monterroso for its (relatively) active nightlife. We chose a restaurant on the boardwalk and had a lovely meal. Caprese to die for, fried calamari, penne in pink sauce, and lots of red wine. We had great conversation too, which was nice. We are both generally quiet people, and go for long stretches without talking to each other during the day. But we both get chatty when drunk.

We also discovered a fun photography trick. He insists my flash smokes a little. To show me, he put his finger over the flash and took a picture of me. But when we looked at the photo, it was as if it had a dim flash with an eerie red hue, I guess because of the light filtering through the blood in his finger. It was such a cool photo! So we took a couple pictures of each other like that.

We paid the bill and rushed to make the last train, which turned out to be like 30 minutes late. We somewhat morbidly talked about what would happen if he jumped in front of one of the trains that kept barreling through at full speed. We agreed that clearly I would be traumatized for life. When we got back we hiked up those 380+ steps, which was easier because we were drunk, but harder because it was like 1am and dark. And I had to pee, which I finally did in the bushes half way up. And then we slept.

This morning we had eggs and bacon on the piazza, were going to hike more, and we even walked down the steps and bought the permits. But right after wasting the 10 euros, we decided we would rather have a beach day. So we packed up and caught a train to Torre del Lago. We checked into our super-gay B&B, changed, borrowed some bikes, and rode down to the ocean. The beach was enormous, so we walked quite a way to find the gay section. People had set up these elaborate forts/compounds out of driftwood. When we found one flying a homemade rainbow flag near some naked dudes sitting close to other dudes, we figured we'd made it.

We basically just tanned and napped. I took my suit off for a while, but it got kinda cold, and the whole nude-beach thing kinda creeps Mark out, so I put it back on. That surprised me, given what a sexual creature he is, and I told him he doesn't seem like the type. He snapped back that I shouldn't make assumptions about him. He's not a type. Fair enough.

Mark bummed a cigarette off one of the guys laying nearby (most likely because he clearly had a giant dick in his speedos, which I confirmed later when he changed). Those guys told us where we should go tonight, so that was good.

We walked back to our bikes, and rode back to our B&B (and got honked at by Mark's new friends as they drove past us). Now we're getting dressed all sexy-like, and then we'll go out for some partying.

the first real adventures - corniglia to manarola

So we arrived in a little town called Corniglia, and checked into our hostel. It is clean and has an amazing view of a church and the sea from Mark's bunk. Lovely. We decided to do the Cinque Terre hiking thing tomorrow and just veg out on a beach today, so we promptly changed into our bathing suits.

As an aside, while he did turn away, I was pleased that Mark didn't try to change in another room like he did last night. It's a bit of a pet peeve of mine when close friends do that. It just seems silly and juvenile and Puritanical.

To be honest, I guess I am also a little bit sensitive about that anyway when it comes to Mark. Last night I interpreted it as a sign that he thought I might have ulterior motives for this trip. And since I suppose a part of me probably does, it bothered me that he seemed to be acknowledging it. I assume people have been teasing him as much as me that this seems like a very romantic trip, so I'd guess the thought has crossed his mind that the boundaries of our relationship would likely be settled one way or the other in Italy.

While I enjoyed (a whole lot) having sex with him while it lasted, I honestly believe our relationship is healthier because we don't anymore.

And quite apart from the sex (which was always just for play anyway, not emotional), if I'm totally honest with myself, I guess a part of me wishes he did like me like that. It's part of the complication of being gay (or being straight and having opposite gender friends)...when you love your buddy a lot and also find him physically attractive, you can't help but wonder if maybe it should go further. For a variety of excellent reasons, I don't believe we would last as a couple if we tried. But feelings for people are hardly ever rational. In the end, what I want from him (and always have) is just to be close, in whatever form that might take. I'm perfectly satisfied to do, or not do, whatever will bring us closer, even if that means just a friendship. Or at least that's what I have decided to convince myself is the case. I'm not sure whether I'm just fooling myself. And that's the most honest thing I could possibly say about all this.

So while I'm still human and he is still hot and I would of course love to have more "just-for-fun sex" with him, I am proud of the fact that I can ignore that, as well as the little remaining crush I have on him, and just focus on improving our friendship until the crush inevitably fades away. So when he hid to change last night, it bothered me (either because it means there is no chance things will take that path, or because it means he doesn't trust me to respect our friendship and not try. Again, I'm not sure which one I honestly feel). I'm sure this theme will play out over the course of the trip.

Anyway! We followed the directions to the beach I'd found in the NY Times, only to find that it was gated up! So we decided to hike in our sandals to Manarola. While we were walking, I learned that Mark always keeps his watch on 24 hour time, even when not in Europe. Isn't that strange? No Americans do that! I asked why, and he said it's because it's nice to have a reason to think every now and then. It's just a little bit of math, but it's better than nothing. Interesting.

When we got there we were hungry, so we sat at a little cafe where we got the best seat in the house. We ordered pizza and wine and got a little drunky. He told me I'm conservative (for example in the way I dress). I was kinda offended by that, since I'm not, and since it's a mean thing to say! Whatever, I guess I might be in comparison to the people he normally hangs out with. After lunch we went down to the waterfront and fell asleep in the sun. It was glorious.

We didn't bring shirts and assumed we would get yelled at for that on the train, so we hiked back. I took a bunch of pictures of the scenery, some of which he was inevitably in. When we got back, he looked at my pictures and erased some of them, which really irritated me. I wasn't taking pictures of him! I would have gladly cropped him out! I'm of course happy to delete pictures he doesn't like of himself. But tell me first! So now I don't have some of those beautiful scenes, and no way to replace them. We had the first of our travel disagreements over that, but it's not worth a fight. We shall see how that dynamic turns out as the trip progresses. I was hoping he would be amenable to being photographed on this trip. Not so much because I want pictures of him, but because I think scenery pictures without people are boring, and more importantly because I'm getting into photography (natural light portraiture, to be exact) and was hoping to use him as a guinea pig. We shall see.

ugly american, ugly italian

I got us on the right train, but it was getting off that was the problem. We missed our connection because I'm a dummy, so we spent a couple hours in a stinky underground tunnel in Genoa. We took turns going upstairs to see what we could see (basically, a statue of Columbus and some run-down buildings). I bought us some pizza, and we watched some cute gay boys dancing to their iPods.

The trip was otherwise pretty uneventful, except a run-in with the ticket checker guy. Apparently we were sitting in first class and should have been in second. I had specifically asked someone when we got on the train, who said that car was correct (and the first and second class cars were basically identical and both empty, so I'm not sure why it matters). Also, my friend was sleeping with his shoes on the seat across from him, which everybody does, Italians included (but that's no excuse). So the guy got all prickly (which is understandable, since we were in the wrong).

But he was a complete asshole. He started out speaking rapidly in Italian (to me, since my friend was asleep...this is getting ridiculous, let's call my friend Mark). We are in Italy, so speaking in Italian is fair enough. So, very nicely, I said I was sorry, I don't speak Italian, could he speak English. There was not much else I could say, since I had no clue what he was saying to me. He said no, and just repeated it louder, in Italian. I said it again, and he repeated it again, louder. By then I knew he was just being a prick, since everybody who works on those trains speaks at least a little English, and if they don't, the international sign language for "get your feet off the chair and move to the next car" is pretty easy to convey if you want to.

I can see how it might be frustrating to be asked to speak a foreign language in your own country. However, I understand it less when you work in the transportation sector in a tourist-driven economy...if you don't want to talk to foreigners, get another fucking job!

What was so irritating was the stupidity of what he actually said when he started speaking (perfect) English: "This is Italy, you come here, you should speak Italian."

In an ideal world, I guess that could make some sense. But its completely unrealistic and ridiculous nationalistic bullshit. Its the kind of thing Rush Limbaugh would say during a debate about Mexican immigrants. Nobody could possibly learn the language of every country they visit for a week, and he knows it. The most that can reasonably be asked is that one learn the international language. I am incredibly lucky to already know it, and I suspect that's why he was punishing me. If I had been Swedish or Japanese and asked him to speak English, he would have just told us to move cars and keep our feet down. It wasn't that he cares about first class or the upholstery, and it wasn't that he really expects everybody to speak Italian. He just wanted to fuck with an American.

Quite apart from the fact that he is in a service job and should treat the customer with at least a little civility, any decent person would presume a person innocent until proven guilty. Yes, I was in the wrong seat. An innocent (and harmless) mistake. But sure, I was guilty as charged (of that). Yes, Mark had his shoes on the ratty old upholstery. Again, guilty as charged. But both of those issues could be remedied with a polite request, which we would have gladly and promptly obeyed. That should have been the end of it. Instead, he attacked me for something I am NOT guilty of! And that's what's so unfair and has me upset.

I understand that there are some American tourists who believe everybody should speak English to suit them. And some have probably told him so, which is terribly embarrassing. But that's not me! In fact, I make a conscious effort to improve people's perception of Americans, and I think I usually do. I didn't ask him to speak English because it's MY language. I asked him to speak it because it's the
international language and it was the only way I could communicate with him so that I could do what he wanted me to do.

Anyway, he obviously had a chip on his shoulder unrelated to me. I shouldn't take it personally. I'm just sensitive about it being implied I'm an ugly American tourist because I go out of my way not to be.

on the move

True to his word, my friend sent a chauffeur-driven Jaguar to pick me up at our hotel. Nice life, right? It's so good to know the right people. While I was waiting, I happened to run into an obscenely cute singer I have been wanting to meet but never expected to, particularly not randomly in a hotel lobby in Italy. I'm so glad I wasn't still stinky from the flights and hauling my bags around the city. I had just been reading about him in a magazine in the airport that morning, so I happened to know enough about his latest album to make conversation. He was adorable and seemed genuinely pleased to talk to me. I wish he were gay (and attainable).

Anyway, the car took me on a death-defying route through traffic to where I found my friend, who had already been in Italy a few days with some other friends (who were also there). He was dead tired from their exploits the night before, which involved no sleep and some very surprising developments, which I was insanely jealous to have missed. Not that I would have been invited to participate if I'd been there, but whatever. I'm happy enough to have been told the story, since it shows how much my friend trusts me.

The six of us hung out together for a while. I was itching to start using my camera (a hobby I'm increasingly interested in) so we had an impromptu photo shoot in a palace courtyard we found. Beautiful people and Italian light make it so easy for the photographer. But they were so tired they were otherwise boring, so I struck out alone to see a few sites they had already seen. When we met back up, the others went shopping and my friend and I went back for a nap. We meant to meet them for dinner, but ended up sleeping through to this morning. Well, my friend did. I spent a few hours awake in the middle of the night and learned some surprising news from home, with which I nonchalantly surprised him first thing this morning.

We scarfed down a quick breakfast at the hotel, and set out for our trip. We couldn't get in touch with the car service, so we got a cab to the train station. Its been a few years, so I'm rusty figuring out train schedules, but we finally got on the right train. We'll see what's next.

ITALY!

Before I say anything else, I have to say that I truly appreciate all the emails you guys send me. For months I have been trying to find a weekend to lock myself away somewhere and try to make a dent in replying. But I can't seem to find the time. When I finally start, something comes up. I don't watch TV, I don't see movies, I don't sleep in...in other words, I'm not fucking around, wasting time. I just can't get the time to do it. Honestly, I apologize from the bottom of my heart for that, particularly to those of you who write to ask for advice. Interacting with you guys was and is one of the most rewarding parts of having a blog. I'm no expert on life, but I understand that my story has resonated with a lot of you, and so you think my opinions would be useful. I wish I had the time to dedicate to you like I did when I was in school. I want to! So anyway, all of that is to say that I'm not ignoring you on purpose. I do intend to reply ASAP. The more I wait, the more overwhelming it becomes. I feel like I'm drowning. I'm sorry.

So! I'm finally in Italy! Thank you for all of your suggestions. Again, I'm sorry I couldn't reply individually to thank you.

I have two goals for this trip: first, to relax and forget the stresses of the world. Second, to bond with my friend. The trip has already been a resounding success on both counts. It feels like there isn't even a world back home. No job worries, no family drama, no economy-related fears. We are in our own little bubble, recharging our batteries, just living life.

This will probably end up being a full play-by-play, so you may get bored over the next however many days. But because I'm not keeping any kind of journal other than my personal twitter, I want to recount some of the highlights so I don't forget.

I stopped in New York on my way here, and had a great walking tour of Hell's Kitchen to catch up with a friend who had moved from LA back to New York a couple months ago. He showed me a lot of the (personal) sites I'd heard about from him and some of our friends-in-common. For example their high school, their apartments, their favorite smoothie place, and their workplaces. I think its easier to feel close to someone when you have visited the places most important to them. As an aside, did you know you can go to the Lincoln Center and watch any Broadway show on DVD? He mentioned that when we passed by. I have been interested in Broadway since watching the Tonys this year, so I'm definitely going to do that. Anyway, he and another friend in common are each about to have a milestone birthday, so we talked about those plans, family, jobs, life...it was great. He is such a charmer.

After that I went to Columbia to have lunch with a school friend and his boyfriend (who I'd been looking forward to meeting). We unexpectedly had a very frank (and often funny) conversation about relationships and fidelity (and lack thereof). The three of us plus a couple other guys form a very complicated bi-coastal web of boyfriends and exes and cheaters and friends (and, unfortunately, former friends). I won't tell those stories, of most of which we are not proud, but from all of which we have learned. I expected we would just ignore that elephant in the room, but I'm glad we didn't.

Upon arrival in Italy (after two red-eyes in a row...in coach, ugh) I made my way to the hotel on public transportation, had to pay 50 euros for an extra key to the room, took a shower, and am now waiting in the lobby. It's still early afternoon, so the day is young. Supposedly my friend is sending a car to pick me up and bring me to where he is, but the driver doesn't speak Italian, so the concierge is coordinating it for me. Oh, the concierge is talking to me. More later!

in the meantime

I'm getting ready for my trip, which you'll undoubtedly hear all about shortly. I intend to blog a lot. But in the meantime, I had an amazing customer service experience, and wanted to share.

So, I have this Norelco shaver thing. I was using it, and the top busted open and cut my skin all up. Looked like I'd been scratched by a cat. Bad, right?

So I called Norelco, and said "WTF, it broke, I want a new one." He took my name and address, and said "Ok, you'll have a new one in 1 to 2 weeks." And I said, "Wait, you're replacing the whole thing, not just the part that broke?" Yup. And so I said "So, you're not going to verify that I actually have one of these things? You're going to just send me one in the mail on the honor system?" And he said "Yes, we trust people."

WHAT?! That's amazing! I guess it's bad that it broke open and cut me, but everything breaks eventually. We live in a culture of disposable everything. But usually when something breaks, we just have to buy a new one. I can't believe how easy that was!

In other news, I went to a movie with the guy I want to marry who is hard to read...as usual, he was hard to read. He held my hand through most of the movie, fingers intertwined. But when it came time to drop me off, he just gave me the normal hug and peck on the lips that we always do. Bah! I guess I'll just have to keep trying.

In still other news, I have a crush on a blond for the first time in a long time. I used to have such a thing for blonds, remember? But it's been a couple years. The drought has ended.

More soon!