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The shift occurred while I was living with S****. S**** isn’t his real name, of course; his real name is one of those long, high-WASP-Philadelphia combinations, complete with the cutesy, prep-school nickname he still used, and that aura of full entitlement which often accompanies it. He delighted in using “Reverend” in front of his name … Continue reading
Ann says, as I uncork the bottle of champagne, “We really made a home here. Didn’t we?” I pop, and pour the bubbly into the tall Swedish flutes. “I think we did a good thing here,” I answer. “Thank you.” I’m tempted to throw the crystal into the fire, but I don’t. These are hers, … Continue reading
San Francisco, 1998. I should never have gone to the Keith Haring exhibit. I have never been a fan of those distorting funhouse mirrors–the ones we had before psychedelic drugs, before Nintendo. Sure, those were days. New York, 1979. I could see myself at the Transit Authority–the brash, young whippersnapper of a fundraising consultant. Delighting … Continue reading
If I were to explain to myself, or anyone else for that matter, why I’m leaving California, I’d have to explain what I’ve been doing in California. Which implies I’d have to explain why I came to California in the first place. But then, isn’t that the same as why I left New York? Which … Continue reading
A Gay Man's Progress 