I leave for the airport in about thirty minutes. I'm not as excited about it as I thought I would be. I know I'll have fun, though, and I'm sure I'll get excited when I board the plane.
Anyway, I really just wanted to say, "I'll be offline until Sunday." (In the meantime, though, I'll be keeping track of things in my little notepad. )
7:37PM Written in notepad
I've been at the airport a near hour. I was scheduled to leave at 7PM but the fog has delayed my flight. I'm not upset about the wait, but rather, I just wish I could be doing something productive. At least Larry's flight was delayed, too. So he won't be waiting at the Newark airport for me.
I'm still here at the Boston airport and will probably remain here until 9PM. I'm pretty bored.
My flight was cancelled. I'm now on a pay phone waiting on hold to see if I can get on the next flight. Looks like I wasted $20 in cab fare and about three hours of my life today.
I would go home and call, but there's still another flight scheduled to leave at 9:10PM (which, incidentally, makes no sense. Why would the flight moved to 9PM cancel and the 9:10PM flight not?)
Okay, the guy on the phone told me that I had a seat on the 9:10PM flight, but when I went to the gate, the attendant said the passengers will be called in chronological order. Since I got here only 30 minutes before the orginal scheduled departure, I'm pretty much screwed.
I thought perhaps I could get the main check-in attendant to give me a ticket, but was told I needed to check-in at the gate. I wonder just how many people I'm fighting for a seat. I still can't see why they cancelled the 9PM and not the 9:10PM. Why wouldn't they just push the schedule back? Delta, where are you?
From what I can count/guess, there are about 60 people waiting for this flight. Normally, 60 people would fit no problem, but the way today is going, it's probably a plane with 5 seats.
12:20PM Technically January 19, 1996
Soon after I wrote that last entry, the second flight was cancelled. I got on the bus back to the T station then realized I'd forgotten my luggage.
Half way wanting to forget about it, I headed back to the baggage claim and looked around a good while trying to figure out where my suitcase would be. Eventually, I asked and was told it would be on Carriage 2.
Fifteen or so minutes later, I went back and asked again. This time one of the attendants took my claim check and returned with my suitcase.
I got back on the bus, took a couple of T's, and called Rob, Mom, and Larry after getting here.
Long story short (because I really need to go to bed to get up at 5AM tomorrow), I'm taking an Amtrak train in the morning because Continental is booked until 3PM.
January 19, 1996
5:51AM Written in notepad
I didn't sleep much last night. I once overslept a flight back to Kentucky and am now paranoid that I'll miss any scheduled trip.
Right now, I'm sitting in the Amtrak commuter rail lobby waiting for them to open. I've never ridden on a train before, so this should be an experience in itself. Of course, I wouldn't have minded having this experience a little later in the day.
We're now travelling through some forrests. There's snow on the ground and we seem to be going fairly fast. The seats are larger and the view is a lot more scenic than that of a plane. For now, train travel is much koooler than airline. I just wonder if I'll feel this way three hours from now.
The view is really koool. Several little houses dot the snow and the trees. It's like something from a novel. This train ride could definitely be romantic if I had the right guy to share it with.
When I got on the train, there were no totally empty seats (seats are arranged in groups of two) so I looked around, found the cutest guy, and sat down. He was/is asleep, too, so that made the decision all the easier.
Well, we're stopped in New Haven, Connecticut for a ten minute break. I didn't get off the train for fear that I'd get stuck in a seat with some gross old guy when I got back. (Incidentally, when I said that guy next to me was cute, that was only relative to the other passengers. That's one point scored for the airlines: They always have cute guys in the airport. )
Do you ever see someone and think, "Does anyone care if he's dead or alive?" Sure, it's not the nicest thought. We all like to think that our lives are worthwhile, but there's a guy a few seats away that makes me ask that question. From listening to him breathe heavily to hearing him complain about his overhead light not working, everything he's done has indicated that he has nothing important in his life. (I can't explain how I know it, I just do.) And I'm not one to just discard people. I think nearly everyone is important to someone. Like this one guy Jonathan, who sent me a letter along with a couple of pictures. Just from that limited contact, it matters to me whether he's dead or alive. Just one letter and he matters to me. I want to help him and show him he wouldn't have a problem going on a date with a guy. I want to be the self-confidence he lacks... all from one letter. So surely someone must care for passenger 39: Though I still doubt it.
January 23, 1996
I arrived at the train station to find Larry yelling "Duh" as I was heading up the escalator to the exit. He soon followed and gave me a hug before we went outside to meet his friend Oren.
After standing in the rain for a couple of minutes, a horn honked and Larry & I got inside the car where Oren (a guy with pale freckled skin) introduced himself and shook my hand.
I'd already pushed plans back a little with my late arrival, so the three of us immediately headed to White Plains to cup coffees.
After getting to know Oren a little better on the hour or so trip, we parked and headed into the building where we met Roland, the coffee wholesale broker.
For the next forever, Larry, Oren, & Roland talked coffee. I just watched and listened.
Somewhere during this time, Oren, Larry, and I needed a restroom break. Oren went in first while Larry and I stood outside. Then Larry went in while Oren and I waited. And then I went in. I didn't care to go in with one of the other guys, but I didn't think Oren wanted to use the urinals with two gay guys and I really didn't think I had to use the bathroom until the both of them were done.
Anyway, a while later, we went to lunch at a really nice Italian restaurant. I had a huge mushroom and some other artsy fartsy food before we headed back to the building.
On our way back into the office, I said that I had to pee and once again went into the restroom. This time, Oren followed and went to the urinal one away from me. But instead of keeping to himself, as normal, he started to talk to me about a column Dave Barry wrote about guys and urinals. I saw out the corner of my eye that he was looking in my direction, so I looked in his. We were talking eye to eye while urinating. I thought it was really koool that a married straight guy was that comfortable around gay guys. I don't think I've ever actually looked someone in the eye while I've pee-ed: It was a bonding experience (and a conversation subject, to boot.)
Larry and Oren then finally cupped the coffees. By the time they were done, I was sitting in the office catching myself from falling asleep. It was one long day made bearable by the fact that I hadn't seen Larry in a month and by the fact that I'd met a new guy who was koool.
We then started the drive back to New York, to Oren's house to meet his family. Oren had to traverse a few huge puddles and major traffic jams, but we finally made it and I headed to his apartment with my suitcase in tow. (The car was parked in a garage and we weren't going to return there before Larry & I took a cab to the hotel.)
I sorta felt like an uninvited guest (especially carrying my suitcase) as we went inside, but I was soon put to ease by Nancy's (Oren's wife) friendliness and the boys' eagerness to show me their new tanks and guns. They shot me a couple of times and I shot back. It was cute.
A while later, the youngest one, who was around 3 years old, pulled the neck of my shirt down and said, "You have hair." I started to laugh and he went over to Oren to pull his shirt down and say that his daddy also had chest hair. That was ten times cuter than the whole shooting thing.
Before long, it was time to the kids to go to bed while the "adults" ate dinner. I felt sorta bad that I didn't eat more, but our lunch with Roland was both large and late.
So, anyway, we each ate a sandwich then watched a video of the "Friends" episode where the two lesbians got married. It was really koool to see a married couple with two kids being that comfortable with the whole gay issue. (Kinda ironic, I keep telling everyone that being gay is normal, but I'm still a little shocked when straight people actually treat it that way.)
Having only slept two hours the night before, I was still tired and needed to head back to the hotel. We finally did at around 11PM, but before we could call it a night, I needed Pepsi and some junk food from McDonald's.
We found both and went back to the hotel where we ordered To Wong Foo then fell asleep half way through.
January 24, 1996
Saturday morning, Larry and I woke around noon to go shopping at a Gap spin off called Old Navy. The clothes were really cheap and we picked up over $200 worth. Larry then bought some luggage and other clothes before we met Oren and Nancy at 6:15PM.
Though I resisted, we went to see the Woody Allen film Mighty Aphrodite. As Larry and I walked to towards the theatre, Oren saw us and we went downstairs where Nancy was saving seats.
Larry sat next to Nancy who sat next to Oren who sat next to me. I think Larry arranged it that way since I'd told him that I thought Oren possessed a certain non-traditional cuteness (He's not cute in the traditional sense of the word but definitely has a certain attractiveness.)
The next two hours came and went while I watched a pretty decent movie.
Afterwards, the four of us took a cab to Oren's brother's brewhouse to have dinner. Knowing that Larry and I were going to a club afterwards and thinking that I might as well try the ID again, I ordered a beer, figuring that family connections could cut through the ID check process if the ID failed, but the waitress didn't even ask.
During the meal, we talked about life, Larry, and my diary. Neither Oren or Nancy had seen it and thus, with Larry's constant "Whatever you do will be online" banter, I wonder if they didn't think twice about saying something. I know for sure that it crossed Oren's mind when he told me certain financial data were for my ears only. I responded that I only wrote about relevant stuff, that the financial aspects of businesses weren't really the stuff that made for a good read, trying to calm his worries... (but I doubt they'll be calmed until he sees a copy of this. )
Once the meal was over, we went onto the street and got our bearings. Just then I realized it would be the last time I'd see Oren and Nancy (at least for a while), so I gave them both a hug and Nancy gave me a kiss on the cheek. The kooolness of Larry's friends still amazes me.
So anyway, Larry and I got into a cab and headed towards Webster Hall, a club Larry'd visited before with Don and one that I recalled from the opening sequence of To Wong Foo.
As we walked to the ID checkpoint, I saw a police officer standing next to the six foot tall drag queen who was checking ID's. Getting busted by a doorman was one thing, but here I was using a "fake" ID with a police officer standing there. But already being in eyeshot and walking in the direction of the door, I couldn't stop. I handed the drag queen my ID and was told to tuck in my shirt, button it up, and take off my cap.
I was wearing my cap to help mask the fact that I wasn't the person pictured nor was I five foot nine. I thought for sure I'd be busted and my heart was racing. Once I'd fixed myself to meet dress code, I went back to the drag queen and held out my ID. She didn't even look at it, but motioned me inside. I was so nervous I was almost shaking, but I managed to walk inside to find Larry waiting at the stairs.
We waited in line for a few minutes and Larry bought two tickets which were $20 each. I couldn't get over the fact that they were that expensive, but Larry just said, "This is Webster Hall." and explained it as paying for a "happening place."
Before we went inside, though, we had to pass through what I later decided was the best part of the night... security.
I stood in front of this gorgeous guy as he told to me to raise my arms. He then proceeded to put his arms around me, pat me down the back, through the legs, up the front, and on the chest. If only airport security were that thorough (and cute) I'd be travelling non-stop.
On a major high, we went into the club... where I found absolutely no gay guys. Being used to a near 100% gay male population at a club, I had a hard time adjusting to the near 75% female population with the remainder being almost entirely straight. Sure, there were a few gay guys, but none that I'd want to look at twice. And even the ones that were marginal were so engrossed in the black male stripper, there was no way I could have gotten their attention... and believe me, I tried.
The night wasn't an entire bust, though. I did get to see a trapeze act which came down from the ceiling, a guy on stilts, and a stoned looking Larry (He explained his look as him shutting off his brain, but I found looking at him while dancing a near painful experience. It was just creepy the way he swayed with his eyes shut. I honestly couldn't look at him without getting the heeby geebies.) And I can't forget the midget go-go boy/stripper. It was wierd looking at him, too. All your life, your mom says don't stare at midgets, but here this guy was, dancing on the platform, to be stared at.
A few hours and a couple rum & cokes later, we caught a cab back to the hotel. I told Larry he was going to have to go to a gay bar with me sometime. The whole straight club, while different, just wasn't something I want to do again. The whole fun of clubbing is flirting with the guys. I like to have the best odds possible when doing that.
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© 1996 Justin Clouse