whycantIgetaname

Paris and the Low Countries

2007-06-28T17:36:00.000-07:00

FRANCE AND THE LOW COUNTRIES
APRIL 16 – 26, 1998

16 APRIL (Thursday):

My third trip to France began with a mad dash to an earlier-than-anticipated flight from Los Angeles to Houston. The ticket agent booked me on an earlier flight, as my scheduled departure later in the morning was to be delayed. I rushed to the gate, happy that I would not miss my connection in Houston. Unfortunately, as one of the last people to board the Continental Airlines flight, there wasn’t enough storage to hold even my single carry-on item. A tad panic-stricken, I removed my camera and film, but left all my other valuables in the suitcase. I spent the remainder of my journey to Houston, and from there to Paris, hoping my luggage would make it to Paris with me.

17 APRIL (Friday):

Our pilot made a fine and smooth landing as rain came down at Charles de Gaulle airport outside Paris. The passengers sent up a round of applause, which disappeared in short order as the plane stopped with a thud within sight of our gate. A few minutes later, the pilot announced that the plane’s right wheel had got stuck in the grass and mud adjacent to the runway during our turn toward the gate. We waited some forty minutes before a ramp and buses arrived to allow us to deplane and get shuttled to the gate. Following the passport control procedures, we were told that extricating the plane from the mud would take priority over our baggage. Therefore, we were asked to leave our hotel information with airline representatives for delivery of our luggage; otherwise, it would be some six hours, at the earliest, before the luggage would be removed.

I took the RER train into Paris and, about forty minutes later, emerged from a Metro station into the pouring April rain. My lodgings at Hotel Marignan, in the heart of the Latin Quarter, were a soggy dash up a couple of streets. I checked into the hotel with help of American-born owner, Linda Keniger, who bore a strong resemblance to actress Mary Steenburgen. I felt enormous relief to be so close to a comfy bed. The spiral staircase took me to one of the upper floors. I was quite dispirited to discover that my itty-bitty single room had no carpeting – it was just gonna be cold linoleum underfoot for two nights – and exactly zero character. It had to be the “runt” of the litter. Later, after a brief foray into the neighborhood to purchase an umbrella and get a sandwich at Chez Kosta, my favorite sandwich shop in the city, I discovered the additional fact that my room faced a courtyard adjacent to a generator. The odd hissing and humming of the object would contribute to the miserable lack of sleep I got that long, long first night.

Oh, and the luggage never did make it to the hotel that day.

18 APRIL (Saturday):

After a long, sleepless night, I had the added displeasure of showering in the shared bath shower, an over-large room which functioned as who-knows-what in some past incarnation of the building.

Dressed in the same clothes I’d been wearing since I left L.A. on Thursday, I ventured down to the breakfast room, a cozy nook with a few tables. There was some confusion on my part with how one actually got breakfast: I took a plate and grabbed some cereal, and then poured myself some juice. Shortly after I seated myself, Linda approached me and, looking at me quizzically, asked, “Can’t you follow the rules of this hotel?” It seems that I’d neglected to follow some intricate dining room etiquette (printed on the long list of rules posted on a wall by the reception desk) by taking my own juice and not waiting for the buffet-iste to supply me with a glass and pour me the juice. I…have very little memory of how I responded, other than silently wishing she’d turn to a block of stone.

But all was not lost, as I struck up a pleasant conversation with an Australian couple while waiting for my luggage to arrive. And, lo and behold, it did arrive as I finished eating.

I’d initially planned a day trip out to Rouen (which I’d wanted to visit ever since seeing Claude Monet’s Impressionist series featuring that city’s cathedral), but awaiting the arrival of my luggage ate up most of my morning. So I happily took a long walk through the city, moving from the Left Bank (Latin Quarter) and the Right (the Marais), before arriving at the Louvre for a few quality hours of art appreciation.

19 APRIL (Sunday):

Good riddance, Hotel Marignan!

Catching the Metro to the Gare du Nord, I hopped aboard the TGV (high-speed train) to Brussels; there, I’d change to a local train for my ultimate distination: Bruges. There’s this sudden surge of power that pins you to your seat for the briefest moment when the train accelerates to well-above 100 mph outside the Paris suburbs. The change of trains in Brussels is effortless and very short (as well as punctual). I was on a Bruges-bound local train within minutes of arriving in the Belgian capital.

The railway station in Bruges (“Brugge” in Flemish) is small and the immediate surroundings are fairly bucolic. I fell more and more in love with the town with each echoed rattle of my roller-bag against the cobblestone-paved streets leading to the center of town.

The Hotel Cavalier, just north of Markt Square, couldn’t have been more different than the Hotel Marignan: while both were located in historic buildings, the Cavalier was light and airy and quiet dripped with charm. I was greeted by owner Viviane de Klerck and led to my charming $60-per-night room (ah, the pre-Euro days!) with big double beds, television, and full bath. An additional comfort was the view out over the neighboring rooftops.

I really wanted to dive right in to sightseeing, so I grabbed a couple of delicious apple-and-powdered-sugar beignets (fried doughnuts) from a street vendor. As if that wasn’t enough sugar, dessert consisted of some cognac-flavored chocolates from a nearby shop.

Climbed the 366 steps of the Markt Square’s historic Belfry (built in stages between the 13th and 14th centuries). It was such a long climb that, having started in relative sunshine, I emerged at the viewing platform to discover that it had become gray and overcast. While the skies were muted, one thing was crystal clear: the music from the carillon when when the carilloneur set to them while I held my hands over my ears. (Not that the music was lovely – just very, very loud.)

After a long and rewarding walk through town, including a stop at two historic windmills out near the town’s eastern gates, I had dinner at a creperie, L’Estaminet, and dined on a chocolate dessert crepe in the smoky restaurant. The waiter, like most Bruggians I had encountered, spoke virtually flawless English.

That evening at the hotel, I enjoyed several ridiculous German television programs, including one in which a group of women were evidently required to behave like penguins; following their performance, a group of fresh-faced young men came out and danced to some Europop music.

20 APRIL. Monday.

My hotel rate included breakfast, which was delicious and served in the dining room adjacent to the front desk. The view out the window was to the rear of the city theater.

Walked through the charming streets of the old town, noting the preponderance of brick in the Flemish architecture.

Lunch was at a creperie (crepes are such perfect on-the-go meals) called De Bretoen Pannekoeken (the Flemish word for crepes), where I had a delicious banana crepe with ice cream, washed down with a nice mug of cider.

Next up: a terrific canal boat ride through the clean and charming canals of Bruges. As I’d discover, these canals were much cleaner and better maintained than those of Amsterdam.

A highlight of Bruges is the Madonna and Child, by Michelangelo, in the Church of Our Lady.

21 APRIL. Tuesday.

Goodbye, peaceful Bruges, hello, hectic Amsterdam!

Centraal Station is an orchestra of cacaphony: people from every walk of Dutch life arriving, departing, or just standing (or sitting) around. I immediately headed to the ticket office to reserve my return ticket to Paris, scheduled for later in the week. Lucky I did, as many of the seats were sold out. I had to roll my eyes when the clerk informed me that the only second-class seating available was in the smoking section of one train:

“But it’s not that long a trip.”

Ah, spoken like a true smoker. Because a five hour journey in a smoking compartment? Is a long, long time for a non-smoker.

I took an immediate dislike to Amsterdam, which, by day, offers the pedestrian an endless gauntlet of hazards to avoid: other pedestrians, trams, cars, buses, and, worst of all, the kamikaze bicyclists who comprise a very large part of Amsterdam commuters.

Hotel Aspen is on busy Raadhuisstraat. My room was very small, but perfectly comfortable. I had a view over the street, although the building directly across from the hotel was hidden behind unattractive green scaffolding.

Quickly unpacked, I walked over to ugly Dam Square, then fanned out from there, skirting the Red Light District and other parts of old Amsterdam.

I took a tram to the Rijksmuseum, Holland’s premiere showcase for Dutch painting. For whatever reason, I found myself mostly unimpressed. Maybe I’ve developed an appreciation for the colorful fervor of the religious art that permeates French and Italian museums.

I had dinner at a place called De Vliegende Schotel (“The Flying Dish”).
I walked down to the nearby Westerkerk to view the Homomonument, which honors the memory of the gay and lesbian victims of the Holocaust.

Continuing down the street just past the Anne Frank House, I discovered that its summer hours (until 9 pm) had recently started, so I went in. Very moving. I was the only person in the museum initially. A few kids came in, though, and spoiled the mood with their loud talking.

Wandered over to Gary’s Muffins, a great place to get light snacks and drinks.

Finished the evening with a jaunt up seedy Damrak to Drake’s, the Amsterdam branch of the gay adult bookstore chain.

22 APRIL. Wednesday.

Grabbed breakfast at Gary’s Muffins before heading for the train station and my first Dutch day trip.

Took the train south through beautiful tulip fields to Leiden, the hometown of Rembrandt.

Leiden is a pleasant town, ultimately the only Dutch city I really liked. I began with a tour of the De Valk windmill. Very interesting and informative with a nice view of town below the blades of the mill.

Nearby, an old castle offers a nice view of the Leiden rooftops.

After walking through the older parts of town, I took a shuttle bus out to the enormous Keukenhof Gardens, filled with tulips in fresh bloom. All manner of other colorful flowers were in bloom, too, such as daffodils. Spent a delightful afternoon in these breathtaking gardens before catching a bus back to town and the train back to Amsterdam.

Had dinner and went to the theater to see “The Full Monty.” Not only did I enjoy the film, but the ticket salesman was cute and friendly.

23 APRIL. Thursday.

I caught a train south to Delft for another day trip – or half-day trip, in this case. The town has some minor charms; I most enjoyed lunch at a place called Staadskoffiehuis, dining on a delicious cheese sandwich.

Delft’s charms were quickly exhausted, and so I hopped aboard a train heading west to Haarlem. Budget travel guru Rick Steves raves about this city, but left unimpressed. The main square was packed with food stands, music bandstands, etc., for a fair of some sort. Lots of bratty teenagers mulling around to spoil the atmosphere further. The Franz Hals museum, fortunately, was a quiet escape.

Returned to Amsterdam late in the afternoon and had a nice dinner at a place called Sisters.

Detouring down the street to a nearby canal, where canal boats begin their canal and harbor tours. I enjoyed seeing the city from the water (no bicycles or trams whizzing about), but it was no Bruges. That said, Amsterdam was much prettier from the water than the street, I found.

Finished the day with snacks at Gary’s Muffins.

24 APRIL. Friday.

Another good start to the day at Gary’s Muffins. (Hey, I see I was there a lot, wasn’t I?)

One of the highlights of the entire week was visiting the Rijksmuseum Van Gogh. The works of art are well-exhibited and the feeling I got was one of intense emotion and awe at his talent. Far more impressive than the Rijksmuseum.

I ventured back out into the fresh spring air for a walk through Amsterdam’s city park, called Vondelpark.

Had a light lunch at nearby Teehuis de Roos, where I had a sandwich.

Vrojlik bookstore, near my hotel, was a nice gay and lesbian oriented bookshop.

With the afternoon ahead of me, and the Netherlands such a small place connected by reliable trains, I headed out to Utrecht.

Getting to the older part of town from the railway station is quite challenging. I took an instant dislike to the place, particularly with the inescapable odor of french fries and mayonnaise, the favorite Dutch junk food.

The one positive aspect to the visit was a guided tour of the Dom Tower, led by a multi-lingual gentlemen who kindly led me ahead of the group with him to explain what we were going to see, as I was the only English-speaking member of the group.

Returning to Amsterdam, the train stopped at a town; the windows were down, and, in the distance, the sheep at a trackside farm were baahing.

For a lovely last-night-in-Amsterdam meal, I ate at Saturnino, an Italian restaurant. The cute host was very friendly.

25 APRIL. Saturday.

One last morning in Amsterdam. Breakfast once again at Gary’s Muffins, followed by a walk through the city’s Begijnhof, the courtyard of which is quiet and peaceful and surrounded by handsome architecture.

Toured the Westerkerk tower with a panoramic view of the city. As often happens with me and towers, the day was gray and drizzly.

Took the fast train to Paris, sitting in front of a handsome man named Marco, who, it turned out, was a doorman at an Amsterdam gay bar.

Got into Paris in the late afternoon and checked into the wonderful Hotel Castex. I loved my little room, #7.

I ventured out to stroll around Paris, walking along Pont Neuf and the quais along the Seine.

Finished up the evening in a very American style: a shake from McDonald’s.

26 APRIL. Sunday.

It was very difficult to leave Paris this morning. I sat in the hotel room, sulking on the bed, dreading having to leave. Holland was something of a disappointment, but Paris is always spectacular.

2007-04-16T22:46:00.000-07:00

1/4 Less Wise

2006-06-15T11:34:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, during my regular cleaning, my dentist discovered that one of my wisdom teeth had punctured my gum and that it was time to get that sucka removed. So yesterday, I went in had had it yanked out. Not too traumatic, just weird, like when I opened my eyes very briefly to see the threads of the stitches sticking out of my mouth before the dentist tied them and cut them. Ew, gross. Ha. Now, resume eating whatever it was you were eating as you read this. If you can.

I've started posting a lot of my photography over at http://flickr.com/people/doubletee, and I was thinking that maybe I'd make this blog more about my interest in photography and travel rather than daily musings, etc.

Back Again Once More

2006-05-16T12:33:00.000-07:00

Where have my blogging manners gone? Anyway, I'm back. My friend Natasha told me I needed to get back on the ball here, and I respond well to direction! Heh.

In the time that elapsed between posts, I spent a week in San Francisco and another in New York. And in each place I discovered a favorite eatery (World Sausage -- hey, they had veggie dogs there, dude -- in SF; Rue des Crepes in NYC) had closed since my previous visits. See, I like to find a place I like and then just go back for a meal each time I visit. Very disorienting. And given how I plan out almost every last second of a trip, it required me to have to find a Plan B restaurant back up.

Mother's Day weekend was weird: on Saturday, I went to take my mom out for brunch, but when I got to my folks' house, she told me she was going to drive us over to Jack in the Box (!!!) and my dad was paying for it. I'm all, Whatever. So that was our Mother's Day lunch: mom and I eating JITB at the kitchen table while my dad ate his out in the living room on a TV tray. Oh dear me. Sunday was more traditional, with my uncle taking out a bunch of us for brunch at a kind of scary "family restaurant" place in the middle of the Valley. My grandparents, aunt (my uncle's ex-wife, actually), mom, and cousin were there. Grandma and Grandpa are still fairly healthy, although their minds are a little soupy these days. Grandma has short-term memory loss and has lost much of the ability to self censor. As in, for example, when I went to move my arm from around her chair and brushed it against her back. "Are you trying to cop a feel?" she asks. Oh LAWDY.

Four-Oh!

2006-03-14T09:56:00.000-08:00

After a brisk walk to the crest of the hill, I am now officially careening down it into old age.

*sob*

Back

2006-03-09T12:10:00.000-08:00

Who has time for blogging with all those Olympic sporting events to watch?

I've been Olympics-mad since 1972 -- well, I barely remember those, even though I'm told I did watch them (at age six) with my parents. Really, it's the Winter Games in 1976, in Innsbruck, Austria, that I can recall clearly. Woo, Dorothy Hamill!

Anyway, so my attentions were devoted to NBC's coverage of all kinds of sports you'd probably not even be able to pay me watch otherwise, all in the name of being a sucker for Olympic pageantry and drama. (Chad Hedrick & Shani Davis, anyone?)

And then other stuff keeping my attentions was, oh, Project Runway, Survivor, the season premieres of The Amazing Race and The Apprentice and The Real World and whatnot.

And Tuesday brings with it the 40th birthday! Jeebus. Patrick is very much looking forward to teasing me about that, as I seem to recall I may have been rather merciless about mocking his own aging process over the years.

The day after I become Officially Old, I'll be off to Istanbul for a few days of exploring.

Oz

2006-01-31T12:30:00.000-08:00

Here it is, just a month and a half before I head to Istanbul, and I'm already in the planning stages for a September trip to Australia!

Uh...that's about all I've got. Man, I'm a lousy blogger.

Hey, It's 2006!

2006-01-03T17:46:00.000-08:00

Thank you, Mother Nature, for not raining on my personal parade this New Year's.

I thought for sure I'd be struggling with wind-shredded umbrellas and soaked shoes, but it turned out that the storm passed through San Francisco by late Saturday morning; when I arrived, the skies were appropriately blue and the sun was shining.

I was at the Ferry Building at midnight, and the fireworks show was a lot of fun.

The rain I did encounter hit on my drive home from the airport on Sunday afternoon. Phooey!

Sunday night I was over at my friends Tony & Kevin's for a New Year's dinner which they prepared. So good! And they had some interesting (and, in one instance, cute) friends over too.

The Year In . . . Me

2005-12-29T12:15:00.000-08:00

Wow, I've let the blog slide again, huh?

So 2005 is almost outta here. Let me take stock of the past year and see what I liked about it.

To begin at the beginning, I welcomed in the year in San Francisco, watching the fireworks from the plaza in front of the Ferry Building. It rained, which I hate, but otherwise it was a perfectly nice way to greet '05. And I slept well, that's for sure: when I arrived at the Savoy Hotel to check-in, I discovered I'd been upgraded from a double to a two-bedroom suite. Fabulous!

The very next weekend found me in Charleston, South Carolina. I'd been trying to get there for a number of years, but the airfares from L.A. are always so prohibitive. However, I recently earned enough mileage on Delta to nab a free domestic roundtrip, so to Charleston it was. As a history and architecture buff, I was in an ideal location, and even more ideally, I was able to hang out with my lovely and delightful friend Dan.

Ah, what's next? Oooh, yes. I experienced my first blizzard during my annual January trip to New York City with David. We'd splurged for a room at the Waldorf=Astoria, so when we learned our flights home on Sunday were cancelled, we happily extended our stay one night. I love New York City in the snow, particularly Central Park, which is truly breathtaking when covered in a white blanket of snow.

Not three weeks later, and I was back in NYC for the big finale viewing party for the sixth season of CBS's The Amazing Race, an event put on by fans of the show which attracts not only hundreds of fans, but the contestants themselves (and it's not even an official CBS event).

March arrived with the promise of my first journey to Egypt. I traveled via New York, spending a few days there before heading for Cairo -- on the afternoon another blizzard hit the city! Ah, I'll always remember those nine hours waiting at the gate. NOT. Anyway, this trip was my first-ever escorted tour, and I must say that Gate1Travel does a great job organizing their tours. A plus was that our group was small -- just 16 people. Ahmed was our awesome tour guide, and I made a few friends along the way.

My friend Davey came to L.A. to help his aunt move the same weekend I returned from Egypt. It was great seeing him, he's always a lot of fun to hang out with. Plus, he's cute!

I was in San Francisco again in April, to attend several performances of the Paul Taylor Dance Company, who spend two weeks in town each year during their national tour. And after years of watching the company perform both in L.A. and San Franicsco, I finally got the courage to stand at the stage door and ask for a couple of the dancer's autographs afterward. Squee!

The first Saturday in May took me out to Palm Springs for Will Clark's Bad Boys Pool Party fundraiser for Aid for AIDS. How I do love hobnobbing with the glitterati of adult film. Heh.

Another event of that sort took place at the end of May, in Chicago. The Grabbys is this cheesy awards show honoring gay adult film, held at a club near Lincoln Park. The one downside to the event? They allow smoking. In the theater itself. During the show. Yuck.

In June, I was in San Francisco again, this time for the Gay Pride Weekend.

I rarely travel over 4th of July weekend; I prefer to stay home and celebrate Independence Day by watching musicals, thea-tah queen that I am. The Music Man and 1776 get play on the DVD that afternoon.

Since I started the blog in August, y'all are aware of what all went down the rest of the year.

And so this New Year's will find me, once again, in San Francisco. Weather forecasts are bleak, pointing to not only rain but the possibility of thunderstorms. Blech! How east coast...

Purrr

2005-12-16T01:14:00.000-08:00

New York City, December 10, 2005

I seldom -- okay, I never -- wait outside the stage door after Broadway shows, but I'm a big fan of the talented Marc Kudisch (Bells Are Ringing, Thoroughly Modern Millie), so after seeing his indelible comic performance as Baron Bombast in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, I waited for him to emerge from the theatre and asked for an autograph and a photo.

Whirlwind

2005-12-12T20:35:00.000-08:00

"New York, New York/It's a wonderful town..."

My twentieth visit to New York was a beaut. A snowstorm delayed my arrival, but also dusted the city in a lovely blanket of snow. I left just around the time it was all turning a bit dirty and slushy.

My first order of business was hitting the fabulous special exhibitions at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Over 100 drawings by Van Gogh and dozens of remarkable paintings by Fra Angelico. Because I just cannot seem to get the proper code working here to hyperlink, just cut and paste http://www.metmuseum.org and check out the special exhibitions section to see some of the terrific stuff I got to experience.

On Saturday, I was off the Frick Collection for its special exhibition of works by the Flemish master, Hans Memling. He was particularly adept at portraits. Prior to hitting the museum, though, I took a nice walk through Central Park and enjoyed the way the sunlight played on the snow. Lovely!

In the afternoon, after lunch at Candle Cafe, I went to see the matinee of "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" -- not a great show, but the performers (including Marc Kudish, who is totally yummy) were great -- followed by an evening show up at Lincoln Center: "The Light in the Piazza." Great show with a talented cast, beautiful score, divine sets.

I so enjoyed the Van Gogh and Fra Angelico exhibitions, I returned again Sunday morning to peruse a few of my favorite pieces more closely; I also visited the terrific handful of works by John Singer Sargent over in the American wing.

RW

2005-12-05T12:33:00.000-08:00

My new computer here at work includes a DVD-Rom, so to "christen" it, I brought in a copy of Robbie Williams's "Live at the Albert" from a few years back. I didn't watch the entire thing, of course, but, um, I took extended "peeps" at it in between data entry. I'm still tapping my foot at the swinging good time that is his cover of "Beyond the Sea."

Off-the-top-of-my-head list of favorite songs from the past twenty or so years:

"With or Without You," U2 (1987). Surely my friend Patrick has already rolled is eyes at this one, but he can just return them to their proper places in their sockets. This is one of those songs that's as exciting for me to listen to now as it was when I first heard it.

"Why," Annie Lennox (1992). Ah, her voice.

"One," U2 (1992). "You ask me to enter/But then you make me crawl". I always imagine this as a song sung by a child to a parent as the parent asks for their forgiveness for whatever sort of distance has been created between them.

NYC

2005-12-04T21:10:00.000-08:00

Christopher Street, Greenwich Village
September 6, 1995

Getting into a "New York mood" for my weekend trip to New York City this weekend, I rented a few of my favorite Woody Allen pictures: Annie Hall, Manhattan, and Hannah and Her Sisters.

Ten years ago this past summer, I spent a week with a friend in New Jersey. We took a day trip into the city one warm September afternoon; while on Christopher Street, I snapped this great shot of two drag queens.

Oh, and follow-up on my neighbor, Dave, across the hall in #26. He's straight. Sigh. Cool guy, though.

All Things New Yawk

2005-11-30T11:27:00.000-08:00

My next trip to New York City fast approaches (red-eye flight the evening of December 8, returning Sunday, the 11th), and with it, my traditional viewing of VHS/DVD/films about or set in the city. I'm just about finished with the 7-part documentary on the city produced by documentarian Ken Burns's equally talented brother, Ric. Along with Woody Allen's Manhattan, this is probably one of the best tributes to the city put on film. (I'm also partial to the delightful Barefoot in the Park with Robert Redford and Jane Fonda, and Pillow Talk, with Doris Day and Rock Hudson.)

#26

2005-11-19T23:11:00.000-08:00

My new neighbor (Dave) is so cute!

Alas, I think he's straight. But he's got not one, but two cats. Sigh. So there's a chance he's gay, but there's also a chance he's just metrosexual. Heh.

Charlotte & Annie

2005-11-17T00:14:00.000-08:00

Charlotte was rather a pleasure. The exhibition at the Mint was very good; the opportunity to stand in total awe before Caravaggio's "St. Francis in Ecstacy" was one I took advantage of, studying it for several minutes at the beginning and end of my visit.

And it's always good to see Dan, who met me for dinner on Sunday night. Thanks again, Dan!

The "Annie" of this post refers to Annie Lennox. I was just listening to an old Eurythmics song, "Right By Your Side," and, really, the woman is possessed of one gorgeous singing voice.

For Art's Sake

2005-11-11T14:34:00.000-08:00

My dad turned sixty-two on Wednesday. Ay yi yi. I try not to think about that too much, given that when I was born, he was only twenty-two.

Tomorrow, I'm off to Charlotte. North Carolina. (I know!) Now, here's why: the Mint Museum is hosting a special exhibition of works from a noted museum in Connecticut which are currently on tour. One of gems in this particular collection is a painting by Caravaggio -- only one of my favorite painters of, like, all time, dude.

An additional perk of the trip is that my friend Dan will be swinging by on his way back to Charleston. We'll have dinner near my hotel before he has to high-tail it back to South Carolina.

Whaddup, Grandma?

2005-11-08T15:32:00.000-08:00

Whoa! Long time, no post.

So I never did get around to posting about my trip in greater detail. I did love Rio de Janeiro and want to return again (relatively) soon. Perhaps for New Year's or Carnaval? We'll see.

In any event, I'm already planning a trip to Istanbul in March. I don't waste any time between vacations, y'know?

Yesterday was my Grandma Gypsy's eighty-eighth birthday. I was hesitant to call to wish her a Happy Birthday; I think I was dreading hearing her sound senile or something. Actually, when she answered and I told her who was calling, she recognized me right away and, in fact, sounded just like she's always sounded: bright and articulate. According to my mother, though, she's starting to lose much of her short-term memory. I'd probably have been more aware of that had we spoken longer.

I'm planning to visit them for lunch (with my sister) at some point soon.

One Camera Lighter

2005-10-27T13:44:00.000-07:00

Miami Beach, Florida

I'm coming to you "live" from the Clay Hotel here in post-Hurricane Wilma Miami Beach. Palm fronds everywhere, broken glass; some homes and businesses still seem to be without hot water or electricity. Oh, and there's a boil water advisory as well as a curfew (8 p.m. to 6 a.m.) -- yikes!

Overall, South America was an enjoyable experience. With a glitch or two.

Buenos Aires was ultimately more dangerous than Rio de Janeiro: I was about to snap a photo of the Palacio del Congreso when a kid of about twenty -- blonde, fairly well-dressed -- grabbed my digital camera from my hands and started running. Like a dummy, I started to run after him; I managed a face-plant, leaving approximately 10% of the skin of the palm of my left hand somewhere on the pavement of the plaza. He hopped aboard an accomplice's bicycle after about a block, while I was left pondering the entire incident and discovering the bad scrape on my hand.

Aside from that small disaster (I had a second camera which had some other Buenos Aires photos), Buenos Aires was . . . okay. Too crowded and polluted (ugh -- the diesel bus fumes alone are appalling) and, in some areas, in decay (the sidewalk pavements are almost uniformly cracked or pot-holed).

The Claridge Hotel was a definite refuge from the hassles of everyday living in Buenos Aires.

Now, Rio de Janeiro was fantastic. The weather was mostly fine, I got to have a few meals and other quality time with friends Sharon and Gary (whom I met on my Egyptian trip in March) and Sharon's sister Judy. Rio was where I was told to be watchful of thieves, etc., but ultimately I felt perfectly safe there -- and even though Rio has an enormous population and lots of traffic, the proximity of the Atlantic Ocean keeps the air fresh in most neighborhoods.

Anyway, I'm about to run out of time on the hotel's Internet connection. I'll post some more day-by-day accounts of the trip once I return home this weekend.

Equator Hopping

2005-10-17T08:21:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I'm off to Miami, where I'll spend the night prior to flying to Buenos Aires (via and overnight in Sao Paulo) on Wednesday.

This will be my first visit to South America (new continent, yay!) as well as my first time south of the Equator. Can't wait to watch the water flush down the toilet in the opposite direction! (Hey, everybody's gotta have a dream.)

After a few days in Buenos Aires, I'll be off to Rio de Janeiro.

The hotel in Buenos Aires includes free internet access, so maybe I'll try to post from there.

Challenge

2005-10-12T11:32:00.000-07:00

This was a terrific show.

It opened, ironically, on National Coming Out Day. Heh. Following the performance, I introduced myself to Dan and complimented him on his work. He graciously signed my program for me, too.

Culture and More

2005-10-10T23:55:00.000-07:00

Dancer, Futa Toro West African Dance Ensemble, 2005

The 2nd Annual Grand Avenue Festival, held this past Saturday in downtown Los Angeles, was a terrific success. I met up with David, Dawn, and one of my co-workers, Terry . . . plus Terry's seriously charming Brazilian-born friend, Antonio.

In a matter of six hours, I took in the L.A. Philharmonic Piano Trio performing Beethoven . . . had a light lunch consisting of food from several downtown eateries . . . returned to the Disney Concert Hall for a Beethoven celebration by the entire L.A. Philharmonic orchestra . . . took a guided tour of Los Angeles's Catholic cathedral (beautiful alabaster windows and a grand interior) . . . attended a concert by the hugely talented ukelele playing Jake Shimabukuro (who peformed a magnificent acoustic version of the Star Spangled Banner) . . . thoroughly enjoyed a performance of dance and music by a company from Senegal (see photo) . . . returned yet again to the Disney for an organ concert . . . and ended the day at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) viewing the Jean-Michel Basquiat exhibition. Whew!

Sunday was much less busy, but equally satisfying. I had an early dinner with my friends Jim and Phil at the cheesy-but-fun Casito del Campo, a Mexican restaurant in Silver Lake which has been in operation since 1962. Jim and I have known each other for twenty years this year (1985 was seriously a huge year for meeting new friends). They'll be moving out to Palm Springs permanently in a couple of months, so it was essential we get our little anniversary celebration in as soon as possible.

And today, my friend Richard, from Washington, DC, who was visiting L.A. for a long weekend, joined me for lunch at Marco's, the quaint pizzeria just up the street from work. It was great catching up with him; we hadn't seen each other since 2001.

When Frank Met Leah

2005-10-05T12:51:00.000-07:00

My dad's parents -- my Grandma and Grandpa "Camper," you'll remember from a previous post -- were married on this day in 1935. In Las Vegas, Nevada. It was his second marriage (he left the Catholic Church following the divorce from his first wife in 1931) and her first.

They had met, according to my grandmother, when she took her car in for service at the mechanic shop. This shop was the one owned and operated by my grandfather and his brother. I don't recall how long they knew each other before driving off to tie the knot in Vegas, but they would spent the next forty-nine years together before my grandmother died in 1984.

Down

2005-10-03T17:10:00.000-07:00

Wow, sorry for the long delay in posts. I spent the past week-plus in something of a muddled state of mind. I've actually been something of a mess since just after my birthday last year: I'm at the point where I am considering seeing a shrink, because I just cannot seem to get myself out of my own head, if you will.

I've been loathe to tell my friends about how anxious and unhappy I've often been lately. I pride myself on not being the sort of person who troubles friends with endless phone calls or visits in which I bewail my condition. Although I was able to get through one big period of anxiety and depression back in 1989 with some help from phone conversations with Patrick. (What ultimately lifted me out of my muck in '89 was a move from the home I had been living in with my grandfather to a roommate situation with an old friend.) Anyway, I also went through a nine month deal from September 1990 to June of 1991; since that early summer day in 1991 when the clouds lifted -- if you will -- until 2004, it had been clear sailing. Probably the most productive, interesting, and memorable years of my life, those thirteen were. Sigh.

When I was eighteen, I had a nervous breakdown and was placed in a three-week, live-in therapy with the mother of my best friend, this amazing woman with one of the most powerful personalities I'd ever met. I came out of it feeling marvelous, and that first year and a half after my return home were just a wonder: I moved in with my grandfather, "came out" more fully into the gay and lesbian community in L.A., made friends with people I still know and love. What an opportunity.

I started sliding again in early 1986, though, but I didn't want to admit it, to some degree. I was able to snap out of that fairly quickly, though, thanks to my friend, Jim, who had me join what was ultimately a ridiculous sort of self-help course called Lifespring. So then I was, again, peachy keen until around the time of my grandfather's death in 1989 (which I referred to above). 1989-1990 was very good: Lili was a great roomie, but in early 1990 I moved back in to my grandfather's now-empty house with a new roommate, my friend Cathy. But in September of that year, I became more agitated and sad again, which I finally emerged from when I moved in with another friend, Tony, in 1991.

But since I'm quite settled in my own apartment -- and have been since 1992 -- and my job in ways that I wasn't during prior problems, there doesn't seem to be anything that has "snapped me out of it." Actually, from March to late August, I was really quite fine. My trip to Egypt really inagurated a positive time for me again, but at the very back of my mind, I still sort of wondered if this was just going to be a brief period.

And it was.

So . . . here I am. At another turning point in my life. I'm really very angry that I've allowed myself to hit a low spot worse than at any other time in my life since I was eighteen. I think having to seek help is a real weakness, and even Alice, that first psychiatrist, said I was a "ball-buster."

Wish me more than luck. Wish me the realization that my life has to become so important that I'll do everything to lift myself out of this mess.

Oh, and I just realized something. It was twenty-one years ago today that I left Alice's home after those rigorous but life-saving three weeks. Maybe Alice, who died in 2001, is sending me a hint -- from wherever she may be -- to get my shit together.

Micky's

2005-09-23T21:46:00.000-07:00

Roman Heart, Derrick Vinyard, Moi, and Benjamin Bradley

There is a bar in West Hollywood that hosts a weekly meet-and-greet event each Thursday evening, 6:30 p.m. - 9 p.m. During this time, a gay adult video star will turn out to get interviewed (in segments spaced over the time period), pull drink tickets and call out winning numbers -- the winner receiving a copy of a XXX DVD, and sign autographs. I've been going for years now.

Last night was especially enjoyable, with folks from Falcon Studios appearing to promote their two-part, uh, epic, "Cross Country." Stars Roman Heart, Roman's real life boyfriend, Benjamin Bradley, and Derrick Vinyard turned out and impressed a big crowd of admirers. Benjamin was the friendliest kid (he's 23, ay yi yi), and we had a lot of fun yammering away during their breaks from the interviews.

Reality

2005-09-22T13:55:00.000-07:00

No, not real life reality. Reality as seen on television.

Tonight, the fourth season of The Apprentice debuts on NBC. And before that, of course, over on CBS, is the latest season of Survivor. "TA" looks to be watchable from an eye candy standpoint: several of the guys are pretty hunky, at least based on their publicity photos. Survivor's premiere last week was good, although the hunk factor is fairly non-existent there.

And then the season premiere of my own favorite reality television series, The Amazing Race (or, TAR) begins next Tuesday. The eighth edition will consist of family members racing as part of teams of four -- as opposed to the traditional two-person team format. Sigh. We'll see how that idea plays out.

And my friend Patrick has been trying to get me to watch America's Next Top Model, a proposition which fills me with both horror and interest. Horror at the show itself, and interest because it does mean I get the opportunity to gab with Patrick on the phone one extra hour each week.

Speaking of which, I think our sorta-tradition of chatting on the phone while watching a specific television show began back in 1992, with the debut of MTV's The Real World.

Freaky Tuesday

2005-09-20T17:02:00.000-07:00

Damn, our weather in L.A. today was jacked up. We had thunderstorms and high humidity -- it was like we were temporarily dropped into the Southeast U.S. or some place.

I was in Palm Springs Saturday and Sunday. I was out there to celebrate knowing Stu for twenty damn years, and he and his beau, Mike, and I enjoyed dinner at a Thai food place in town. Sadly, miscommunication nixed my joining my friend Jim and Phil at their own place in PS in order to celebrate twenty years of our friendship. Next year, I'll have known my friend Kenny for twenty years. It's cool having these long-ass friendships, y'know?

Sunday was the sixty-seventh wedding anniversary of Grandma and Grandpa Gypsy. Oh, they are currently living in an assisted care facility, thank goodness. My elder uncle saw the wisdom in moving them out of their place and into a place where they will be well cared for in the years left to them. (Which could still be many: I've got a heap of ancestors who lived into their nineties.)

Happy Birthday is in order for my friend Tim -- who, incidentally, has been a total dweeb by not staying in touch. But I left him a voice mail message with happy wishes anyway.

Friday

2005-09-16T23:03:00.000-07:00

I met a cute guy (a friend of a friend) today.

We'll see how things go. If, indeed, they go at all.

1/2

2005-09-14T09:59:00.001-07:00

Six more months until I turn forty. Yep. I'm at the half-way mark.

Eeeek!

Genius

2005-09-13T23:44:00.000-07:00

Here's something random. If I could spend a day with a famous historical personage -- say, just interviewing them or observing their actions for a single day, I'd choose:

Mozart. Certainly a lot of my knowledge of what sort of man he might have been has been influenced by several viewings of the film "Amadeus" over the years. But how I'd love to sit and watch and listen as he composed a part of The Marriage of Figaro or Symphony No. 40.

Picasso. It took a few years for me to fully appreciate the talent of the Spanish painter. I spent much of a day at the remarkable Picasso Museum in Barcelona a few years back, and it was fascinating to watch his work progress from his excellent drawings while still a child to his later work. And what a long, rich life he lived! I think I'd probably want to spend a day with the master sometime in the 1950s or early '60s when he was living on the French Riviera. I've seen a number of photographs of that time, and he looked so content and focused.

Thomas Jefferson. American history lover that I am, can one imagine that excitement in sitting and watchinig as he drafted the Declaration of Independence?!

Leonardo da Vinci. And not while he was painting the Mona Lisa. He had such diverse interests and talents. I think I'd want to observe him working on one of his other, lesser known and, in my own opinion, superior paintings that also hang in the Louvre. There is a gorgeous painting of the Madonna, Jesus, and John the Baptist that is stunning.

WTC

2005-09-11T17:59:00.000-07:00

New York City, July 2, 1994

Shrub

2005-09-07T15:58:00.000-07:00

George W. Bush is a goddamned fucking shit-sucking maggot-scum moron nitwit.

Just my .02.

Oh, and his mother sucks ass, too.

Mykonos

2005-09-04T15:16:00.000-07:00

Mykonos Town, September 4, 2000
(Photo: Chris)

Chris and I were in Mykonos five years ago today. We really had very limited time: four hours, essentially, which included the time it took to get to and from the our cruise ship on the small tenders which ferried us to shore.

Anyway, the place was magical. Chris and I trekked up through town to a windmill crowning a ridge. What a treat to meander through the quiet, narrow streets to the windmill and its sweeping views of the little harbor and our cruise ship anchored some distance from shore. After watching the sun set and a quick trip for souvenir shopping, we headed back to the ship.

My favorite photo from our excursion was this one that Chris took. This adorable kid just kept coming closer and closer until Chris told him to stop. And he captured this exquisite image.

Mea Culpa

2005-09-03T23:47:00.000-07:00

Oops!

Somebody (namely me), who is usually so good about remembering birthdays? Might not have remembered a certain South Carolina hunk's birthday -- his big 4-0, in fact -- which fell on this very day. I promise to let you spank me later, Dan.

It's still the 3rd here in L.A., so I will officially (and humbly) wish you a very Happy Birthday . . . weekend.

I took this photo of Dan during my visit to Charleston in January. Ain't he the cutest?

Greece

2005-09-02T17:32:00.000-07:00

The Acropolis, September 2, 2000

It's been five years since Chris and I spent a little over a week in Greece. We spent three nights in Athens, followed by a cruise of the Greek Islands (Mykonos, Patmos, Rhodes, Crete, Santorini -- and a day trip to the ancient ruins of Ephesus, in Turkey). On our first full day in Athens, we trekked up the Acropolis to visit the Parthenon and the other haunting ruins surrounding it.

I have such happy memories of our time in loud and frantic -- yet, to me, loveable -- Athens (the ouzo, the Acropolis, the Archaeological Museum), our equally loud and frantic -- and, yes, loveable -- dining companions aboard the ship, the wonderful ports of call on our cruise of the Aegean.

Chris and I shot some amazing photos during our journey. This shot of Chris, taken behind the Acropolis, is one of my personal favorites: the Parthenon reflected in his sunglasses, the way the morning light is shining on the back of his neck, the light shadow across his face, and the other tourists blurred in the background.

Disbelief

2005-09-01T19:05:00.000-07:00

What else can one feel, sitting and watching an American city die . . . live on CNN?

Grandma

2005-08-30T00:36:00.000-07:00

I was fortunate to have known both sets of grandparents and a set of great-grandparents into my early adulthood. My very favorite grandparent was my dad's mother, Leah. She was born on this day in 1903 in Denver, Colorado. In July 1918, her mother died, leaving her to care for her older brother and their father. She and Uncle Jake followed their father to Los Angeles in 1923. She married my grandfather, Frank, in 1935, and they had two children together.

Whenever things got too dramatic at home or stressful in school when I was a kid, I'd ask to spend the weekend with Grandma and Grandpa "Camper" -- they owned a truck with a camper, and that is how I differentiated them from my mother's parents: Grandma and Grandpa "Gypsy," who owned a poodle by that name. Anyway, Grandma was just about the best pal a kid could have. She was always happy to help me draw animals, trees, cars -- all the stuff I liked to draw. When she wanted a little time alone, she'd set me loose in the kitchen to play with their dachshunds, Bootsie and Tinker. And at night, there'd be hot chocolate (in winter) or some other fun snack in summer.

When she died suddenly in 1984, I was so completely shocked; I didn't cry a tear until her funeral -- at which I sobbed harder than I ever had before or have since.

Enter: Katrina

2005-08-28T22:53:00.000-07:00

The Mississippi River at New Orleans, 2004

1914

2005-08-26T16:04:00.000-07:00

How's this for a name? Edwin Flavel Kortright Farrington. Pretty posh, huh? My maternal grandmother's father (known as "Flavel" by his family) was born in Colon (uh, and that's pronounced like Ko-LOHN, not . . . you know, the other way), Panama in 1890. Actually, Panama was still part of Colombia at that time. Anyway, his parents were well-off; his father was involved in the shipping business in the Caribbean, and his mother was descended from French Huguenots who had settled and become socially and politically prominent on the West Indian island of Montserrat.

Daphne Silvera, my great-grandmother, was born in Kingston, Jamaica in 1896, the daughter of Theodore, who was the son of a wealthy Jamaican family of Jewish heritage, and Deborah, a woman born on St. Thomas in the (then) Danish Virgin Islands, and whose family were prominent in the Jewish community on the island.

Anyway, these two crazy kids -- Flav and Daph -- were married in Colon on August 26, 1914. They lived in Panama for several years before moving to the United States in 1924. Great-grandma died in 1984, just three months shy of their 70th wedding anniversary, and great-grandpa died a year later.

Dance

2005-08-25T23:03:00.000-07:00

PTDC -- the Paul Taylor Dance Company -- is a company of accomplished young dancers performing the magnificent work of choreographer Paul Taylor. Based in New York City (where I had the pleasure of seeing them perform earlier this year), they tour nationally -- and sometimes internationally -- each year. I've seen them several times in San Francisco and here in the L.A. area.

They performed two strikingly beautiful pieces at the Hollywood Bowl tonight: Musical Offering and the emotionally charged Promethean Fire. Both are set to pieces by Bach, and each utilize the entire company in brilliant fashion.

Click

2005-08-23T23:23:00.000-07:00

Bruges, Belgium, April 19, 1998

My love of photography developed (uh...sorry about the pun, heh) around 1983, when I received a Minolta 35mm camera from my parents. When I was in kindergarten, my beloved teacher, Mrs. Lonsdale, encouraged my artistic abilities (I loved to draw). As a grew older, though, I became more and more critical of my talents, and I pretty much gave up drawing and painting during junior high school. Reading became a much more satisfying way of escaping the rigors of school -- which I absolutely hated.

It was after moving away from home at age eighteen that photography became a regular hobby. And once I started traveling? Out of control. I tried compiling a Top Ten list of favorite photos but, damn, it was like choosing a favorite child. So, what I think I'll do is divide them up into regions or cities, etc., and present Best Of... posts. That way, I can include a lot more of my work.

20

2005-08-22T14:30:00.000-07:00

Twenty years ago today, I met my friend Stu (and a few others with whom I've since lost contact) at L.A. Valley College. Despite being "out" to my family and having met a few gay folks by that time, it was with some trepidation that I first walked into the all-purpose room on campus where the GLSA (Gay & Lesbian Student Association) conducted their meetings each Tuesday and Thursday. But I fit right in immediately, and I was a member of the group each semester until I left a few mathematics units short of graduation in 1989.

Stu and his partner, Mike, live about 90 minutes outside L.A. in the desert community of Palm Springs, where I took this photo of Stu in 1995.

Quiet

2005-08-21T22:10:00.000-07:00

A very low-key Sunday.

My morning consisted entirely of watching A Room With A View on DVD with the audio commentary on -- excellent, by the way. What a tremendous cast, gorgeous production design and cinematography.

I finally showered at, like, two o'clock and made my way downtown around 5 p.m. to meet my friend David for dinner and, later, gelato.

Right now, I'm enjoying a nice little IM convo with my friend Dan in South Carolina. He's yummier than key lime pie on a warm summer's day.

Scare

2005-08-20T18:21:00.000-07:00

Had a little scare involving my grandfather the other evening.

My sister phoned to tell me he had been taken to the hospital after a fall at my grandparent's home. (He's doing okay, though, and is flirting with nurses. Heh.) Grandpa is eight-nine and Grandma is almost eighty-eight, and they've lived in the same house for over sixty-five years. But they're both getting more and more frail -- both physically and, alas, mentally.

One of my two uncles has been very reluctant to place them in an assisted-care facility -- or even to hire a nurse -- but hopefully this will help convince him it's time to place them in an environment where they won't inadvertently hurt themselves.

Where have you been?

2005-08-17T23:50:00.000-07:00

This groovy map is courtesy of this nifty site. The other maps they provide (USA, Europe, and Canada) are neat to fiddle with too. This fancy map below displays where in the world I've been since 1991 (23 countries, or, according to the site's calculations, 10% of the planet):

An October trip to Brazil and Argentina will add some color to South America, and in September of 2006, Australia will get the red treatment too.

Don't let the fact that all of China is red (well, aside from it being "Red" China, heh) fool you: I've only been to Hong Kong, but there isn't a separate category for HK. And Japan, while I do want to spend some extended time there, is only really included because I spent approximately five hours at Narita Airport during layovers on my way two/from Hong Kong in November 2004. Hey, I contributed to the Japanese economy by eating a meal there, so I think that counts. Sorta. Heh.

45

2005-08-16T01:10:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday, Patrick!

Books

2005-08-15T17:04:00.000-07:00

As much reading as I do, almost all of it is non-fiction. I can devour a travel guidebook on, say, Mozambique, with as much gusto as an airline passenger on a long-haul flight might work over something from John Grisham.

If I were stranded on a desert island, I'd hope to have three books there with me:

Dark Star Safari, by Paul Theroux. Overland from Cairo to Cape Town with my favorite curmudgeon. The harrowing route is one I can't imagine trekking myself, but it makes for a fascinating read from the comfort of one's armchair.

Italian Days, by Barbara Grizutti Harrison. A gentle and sophisticated book. Possibly the travel memoir to read prior to a first (or tenth) trip to Italy.

Riding the Red Rooster, by Paul Theroux. Absorbing account of a journey through China by train. Theroux's numerous encounters with Chinese bureaucracy and his frequent attempts to ditch the guide thrust upon him make for a compelling read.

It'd be tough to leave behind a few essays by Jan Morris. The folks who publish the Travelers' Tales series of books do a fine job collecting absorbing essays on countries and cities -- I'm particularly fond of their title on India. Ooh, and I'd hope to discover a story or two by Tim Cahill stashed in my backpack.

Creamy

2005-08-14T17:09:00.000-07:00

The gelato here is fucking fantastic. My favorite flavors? Mint chocolate chip and wild cherry.

The absolute best cup of gelato I have ever enjoyed was served to me at a gelateria in Florence in 1997. Carrying a cup to go out onto via dei Tavolini, I slid a spoonful of the creamy confection into my mouth and . . . came to a halt as the berry flavor worked itself over my tongue.

"Ahh...mmm...ooh," I cooed (approximately).

And gelato and I have lived happily ever after.

Wet

2005-08-13T23:38:00.000-07:00

Okay, I give up.

No, not on the blogging thing.

After drafting my first regular entry the other night, a piece on why I refuse to own a cell phone, I decided that sort of commentary just wasn't me. It read as...forced. A little too precious. And, frankly, it struck me as derivative of other bloggers I have read and admired of late. So, no more of that.

I'll stick with what I like to gab about most: travel, photography, and cute guys.

Oh, I feel much better now.

So, yeah, cute guys. Dozens of them were cavorting around the home and splashing about in the pool of my friends Steve and Jerry up in the Hollywood Hills. Steve hosts a homolicious pool party each August. To miss it is simply not an option.

Two of the cutest dudes were Jerry, Steve's boyfriend, and his friend John. John is the hunk up there on the left. Jerry is the stud on the right. A bonus? The two comely dudes seen just over John's shoulder, eyeing the camera.

Vous etes ici

2005-08-11T10:58:00.000-07:00

Let's see if this sort of thing works for me.