Anyone who reads or knows me knows that my life has been a bit off as late. Things have been quite difficult and confusing, actually. But, as always, I keep pushing forward. I figure there must be a point to this journey I call my life. So, one must simply carry on. I love that old Debbie Harry song, “Forced to Live” — the chorus of which is “Keep moving!” …I just keep moving forward, but it ain’t easy.

A few months ago I made the mistake of attempting to re-read an old Joyce Carol Oates novel. I couldn’t seem to concentrate or focus enough to follow what I was reading. It happens lately. Anyway, I got enough of it to remember how quietly powerful her writing is — and creepy. Creepy in a way that sneaks into your psyche and within your blood. So, I shook the words of Ms. Oates off myself and pushed them out of my mind as best I could.

Interestingly, about a week later I was sitting at the beach washing the waves. Smoking a cigarette and sipping my coffee I could sense that someone was watching me. I turned and noticed a big guy with long heavy metal-like hair sitting in a rusty carpenter’s truck. I didn’t look at him long, but it struck me that his eyebrows were particularly dark and bushy. It only took a second to notice that his eyes were trying to lock into mine.


So, I slipped off the sea wall and jumped into the car and drove away. I cranked up the iPod and calmed to the melodies of Joni Mitchell. As I approached a yellow light I slowed down and the rusty carpenter’s truck pulled up beside me — then revved up past me and took the place in front of me at the red light. I couldn’t help but watch. He was looking at me in his rear view mirror. The creepy dude’s cell phone must have rang because he quickly started chatting away on phone. As he talked, he began to an odd thing. It wasn’t done in a discreet or ashamed way. He did it as if it was not strange at all. He did it as if it was the most normal and natural thing any guy might do in his truck.

The creepy dude pulled off his hair. …A wig. He then rubbed his bald head vigorously. And, then, he pulled off a pair of fake eyebrows and mustache — and, then, he wiped his lips with his arm — revealing pale pink lips instead of deep red ones. He glanced at me in his rear view mirror, smiled and peeled off when the light turned red.

Now, there is something rather comical about all of this. But, to me, it is just a few slips beyond creepy.

…where am I going and where have I been?

February 8, 2010. Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , . Uncategorized. 7 comments.


…I should have known it was going to be a strange outing when I passed this on my way to our neighborhood BART station. I am not sure, but I suspect the sight of a discarded box of detergent, a sweater and a wig at the side of the street is an omen of some sort. However, I snap’d a picture and kept walking toward the day’s destiny.

I wasn’t feeling great, but nothing new there. I was feeling a little bit better about myself, tho. Yes, I’ve lost 2 pounds! I’m into taking baby steps at the moment. So, 2 pounds lost is so much better than 2 gained any day!

Anyway, it is quite sunny and gorgeous — but I knew that there would be a slight chill in the air once the train landed me at Embacadero Center. So, I had my cool Diesel hoodie on along with my stylin’ flip-flops. …At least I think that they are kind of SF stylin’ cool. I don’t know.

After the train made the first stop in San Francisco, I step’d off my train and walked toward the up escalator which was actually working. Just before I boarded two persons bearing roller luggage and strapping matching fanny packs cut me off and slowly pulled themselves on to the ride. I was going to wait for two steps to pass and put some space between us but a tide of newly arrived folks surged forward and I ended up standing on the step directly behind the male of the 50-something couple.

At one point, I noticed that he prod’d his wife and they moved as close to the rail as possible with his giving me a not so discreet sign to pass them. However, I’m not full of grace as of late and need to lean on the rail.

So, the three of us rode up the escalator as everyone quickly sprinted by us. It was almost comical watching the two of them scurry off the escalator as if life depended on it. They step’d to the side as I step’d off. I figured that they were just nervous tourists on the escalator. I bet they had taken the BART from the airport to save cab fare. They were probably more than a little lost.

I walked to Subway and ordered my usual. As I placed my order I noticed that they were right behind me in line. I had that uncomfortable feeling of being watched. The girl behind the counter asked me what was on my iPod. I showed her. She squealed and asked if Goldfrapp was the group who sang the song about the vibrator. I confirmed that they were. She did a quick dance motion and told me to enjoy the day.

I sat down with my copy of The SF Weekly. The couple moved their luggage in where the chair opposite me would be. The chair made an awful screeching noise as it was dragged away to make room for the ugly luggage.

And, then — the dreaded moment came. He spoke to me — in a very southern accent.

“We were worried that you were a pick pocket! But, then we noticed how you’re dressed. That escalator was so crowded! This is our first time in San Francisco!”

“Me? A pick pocket? That’s too funny. Welcome to San Francisco.” …I quickly went back to my paper.

“We were kinda wondering — are you one of them gays?”

(awkward pause as I tried to determine how I wanted to respond)

“Why, yes. I am one of them gays. We actually roam free in San Francisco.” (I did my best to imitate his accent)

“Aw shoot, man! I didn’t mean nothin’ by it! But, we don’t have any gays where we come from.”

“No problem. From which fag-free state are y’all from?”

(another awkward moment as the male tourist tried to determine how to respond)

“Well son, we’re from Idaho.”

“You’re right. I doubt that there are any homosexuals in Idaho. Jesus! Did you two just fall off the Ignorant Boat?”

(the wife leaned forward and spoke)

“I’m so sorry! He’s just nervous!”

“It’s cool” I returned to my paper and sandwich wondering why these things only seem to happen to me and if it was the PTSD which had caused me to be so rude. Oh, well. They will get over it, I thought

…but, then the conversational shoe fell.

“Any suggestions about what we should check out on this beautiful day?”

“You can look at even more gay men and women in The Castro. You might even see a tranny on such a grand day. Watch out for the giant erect penis monument! Be sure to have your cameras at the ready!”

…and, I got up with my sandwich and left. I had forgotten my paper and my Diet Coke. Somehow, I figure it served me right. I should not have been that ugly.

I picked up a Diet Coke at the shop next door and headed to the Bay where I sat in the sun for a while.

I think I’ll blame it on that damn wig.

February 28, 2008. Tags: , , . Uncategorized. 26 comments.