Venues (Part 2)

Okay, since the brick and mortar venues are not so available to me for reasons previously discussed, I turn to an electronic means of meeting. Some times, I really wish I lived in a perfect universe where everyone was pretty and smart and considerate.

That isn't reality. Sometimes people that you think are pretty have been secretly praying that the whole Dorian Grey thing can play out. Guys who present as literate are actually insecure messes with no real social skills, and those why appear to be nice are in reality snappy, ignorant people who live to torture service industry workers.

Aint it amazing?

The anonymity of the internet does hide a multitude of sins. For instance, I can assume a totally fictitious facade and walk around cyberland completely undetected. In fact, at one point, I tested the theory and whipped up a profile that was a total fabrication just to see what sort of trouble I could get into.

Turns out you can really create havoc, but I knew that already. Again--trashy fun!
When you take a look at the whole idea of being on the internet, I think it's a lot easier to just stick with the truth. The main reason I do this is because it's just easier to keep my story straight. At least with my life, I remember the happenings verbatim. That's a really good thing, because I get confused and distracted easil...whaa?

I don't do the personals for various reasons, mainly the whole interaction thing. Therefore, I chat. Sometimes, I think I spend too much time in these rooms, and I wonder what purpose it really serves. Then I think, and realize that it's social interaction on a very small scale, and that's why I do it. I can sit around with a huge slice of garlic bread, fart and scratch my balls to my heart's content, and it doesn't offend even the meekest soul.

It masks things though. It's amazing what a filter that the internet provides, and what a tight sieve it offers. Part of the problem I fear lies with me, and my propensity to talk to random people who chat back. I'll talk to anyone, but only to a degree. If the conversation turns into a grotesque pile of un-fun steaming sexual innuendo, it ends. If people attack me, or are just unkind for no particular reason, out they go. Be polite, literate, and have something worthwhile to say, and yeah--I'll talk your ear off. Keep the dialogue up, and I'll be intrigued enough to actually meet you. Only the truly awesome get nicknames and/or are immortalized in the bloggie thing, though. If you got mentioned--go you!

You don't like it, get your own fucking blog

Then, there is the expectation thing. I know I do it--the process of making a mental image of a person. You know snippets of a person's life, and you take those small patches and stitch them into a mental crazy-quilt that makes up your perception of what that person is like in real life. Most of the time, it's not far off base if the person was honest in their description, but it always seems to lack just a bit. I think the reason for that is because it is, after all just a fabrication. There is no great basis in fact for believing that this person is who they claim to be. That is usually a stronger indication of who they are, versus who they claim to be.

Then there's the personality thing. Sometimes, you can pick up things through their ability to come back with a witty response, rather than answering every line with "lol" In the same thread, spelling, grammar, and usage are good indications of how educated a person might be, but that's really secondary. Some people may not be book-smart, but still fascinating to have as friends. To dismiss someone on that basis is just arrogant and unnecessary. It's just part of the process of collecting those bits of information.

By the same token, the person that shoots me this private message isn't going to get very far at all:

You: Hi
Me: Hello
You: How are you?
Me: Well, thanks.

(silence)

You: what are you up to?
Me: Hanging out, chatting. You?
You: Same.

(Much silence)
(I die of boredom)

Jeezuz! Have something to say! Talk about the weather, tell me how cute I am in comparison to yourself, and how in some cultures I may be even cuter. It's not difficult. They're called social skills.

On the other hand, there are people who you chat up, they seem especially vibrant and interesting, but then become drama-heavy and somewhat self-absorbed. I'll admit that I can be the first one to do this as well, if for no other reason than the sun is always shining on Planet Bob. But you know, what fun is it to listen to someone whine incessantly about how unhappy they are, and why everybody hates them because they are worthless. Get yourself some freaking Prozac and get that seratonin moving, for gods sake.

Physician, heal thyself!

Linky loo fun!

• Man it is true that you can buy anything at Costco!
• Proof positive that Bob needs to lay off NPR here
• Proof that god is a vengeful, PMSing bitch

Venues (Part 1)

The lack of social places for me in Indianapolis is troubling to me currently. I'm not sure if there is something that I'm missing or not, but I'm writing this in an effort to sort through my thoughts and observations in an attempt to decide if there is maybe something that I have missed or perhaps overlooked.

In other cities of size, there are obvious places that people can be social. Again, it might be a personal fault, but I really feel like I'm missing the boat somehow. Granted, I need to be in the mood to be social, and sometimes, I just want to sit and listen to music, or whatever is there to amuse me.

First in this effort, we'll have a look at the places I've identified. The most pleasant, and interesting is my dive-y coffee house, The Abbey. Recently, the A moved to a location not too far down the street from my home, so it's now in walking distance. Of course, do I show up there more often? Not really. First, how much coffee can one consume? Second, since it is a place that does not serve alcohol, there are quite a few young/underage/jailbait people there.

Normally, that really doesn't bother me--it adds to the overall feel of a place, and contributes to the colour, which is always good. Food there is also decent, but there's an undertone that one might find in a restaurant. The "I'm here for a specific purpose, not to hang out and chat with you." People are huddled over computers, or chatting quietly with the group they are in. I have to admit that I've done that more than one time with my friend Peron. More often than not, I take old copies of Variety and catch up with the goings-on in the entertainment industry, and zone into my own private Idaho.

Bars are the next venue, and they don't amuse me so much. People go to bars with the express intent on getting drunk, which is a thing that I think I've moved past in my life. There are other reasons that I dislike the bar scene, ranging from the fact that I want to burn my clothes afterwards from the cigarette smell, to the dysfunction that is so evident. Someone really really smart first said "Alcohol makes good times better and bad times worse" I think it was a take on Madame Ponsardin's infamous "I drink champagne anytime" trieste. Anyway, I believe it for various reasons, so I avoid getting drunk in bars at all costs. Instead, I drink beer, for two very good reasons:

First, beer comes in glass. I like to touch glass to my dainty lips, not plastic.

Second, I really don't get drunk on beer. There's something about the dilution of the alcohol or something, but I can drink it all night and not get more than a good buzz and a constant need to run to the restroom.

Some bars have very positive things about them, like my haunt, OPs. From time to time, they have decent music, so dancing is an option. They have Heinekin dark, which is a favourite of mine, and one that I drink often because they serve alcohol in plastic cups. It makes me want to go all Leona Helmseley. Barring its proximity to my home, the compelling reason to hang out at OPs is its where my friends congregate.

There are others that attract my attention for various reasons. The Varsity is a wonderful dive bar, with greasy food, sticky floors, and dive bar patrons. The Metro has dreadful food, but an advantage in that alcohol is served in glass, and they make a decent martini (sometimes.) Talbott Street is an expensive place to go to watch pretty, vapid boys attempt to dance to bad music. Of course, the 501 is just trashy fun where if you go an entire evening without seeing someone's dick, you are obviously blind.

That's about it. Those are the mortar and brick places where one can go to meet a person. For various reasons, it can be difficult to make that step and become conversational with someone. You might be competing with 10,000 watts of bad techno masquerading as good dance music, or you might be fighting cliquish behaviour. More oft than not, I battle myself and my recalcitrant self.

In which Our Hero summarizes the weekend

This past weekend was eventful, but not in the productive way. Still yet, I managed to enjoy myself a great deal, and even managed to get myself groped.

Starting off, I went to the frozen wasteland that is Muncie. 40,000 people are still without electricity in that town, and after my trip up there, I can see why.

When I woke up on Saturday, Naptown had about 3" of snow on the ground, which made everything look absolutely amazing. There was no colour; everything was a monochromatic shade of grey and white. It had already begun to melt by the time I dragged my lazy ass out of town at noon. That was a good thing, because the roads were clear, and for the most part dry.

Muncie however....Ugh! When I got into the city proper, I was amazed. Not only had they received about the same amount of snow we had in Indianapolis, it was caked onto a good inch or so of solid ice. The city was a mass of tangled...tangle. Trees were toppled, power lines were on the ground everywhere. In short, it was a freakin mess.

Worst part was the traffic signal issue. Now every good motorist knows that when a signal-controlled intersection is not operating, it becomes a 4-way stop. First issue I had with this is the fact that if I don't see a red light, my feeble little brain assumes that it is safe for me to bomb through the intersection. This occasional lack of signal electricity forced me to actually apply conscious effort to driving. How boring is that?

I managed to finally make my way to meet my friend, the Pianist for lunch. This was the first time that he and I had actually met, and it was quite pleasant. We build people up in our minds from the snippets of interaction we have, and I do have to say that Pianist didn't disappoint. He's cute, (looks good in clothes, and I have a suspicion looks good in shorts as well) literate and well spoken, and quite polite with a very gentle nature.

Because we had such a pleasant time, I had to start asking myself about the dateabity of this guy. I think he has the seal of approval. If you have been paying attention, you know this has been rare lately. Whether it actually comes to the point of dating is still a point of contention right now. I'm enjoying being single at the moment, and besides that, there's always the potential that he thinks I'm a total yutz. Time will tell. Anyway, I enjoyed wasting a day with him in cafes.

Shopping is so much easier than doing laundry, so I stopped by Target and bought a cute outfit to wear out (including sexy underwear that nobody saw, dammit) when I met the girls for cocktails that evening. We started off with darts and amusements at OPs then went off to trashy fun at the 501, which is a leather bar of sorts. In our group was a novice, so we kept an eye on him so he wouldn't be gang-raped in the washroom. We had a nice time standing around, chatting and stomping. Myself and two others decided that breakfast was in order. On my way out, I saw a friend who kind of fell all over me and felt a need to find my penis with his hand. I beat a retreat.

We wound up at the Canary Cafe, which is in an odd little building--the food is good, cheap and available in the middle of the night. We had beat the bar crowd by a good hour, so we were able to be slightly obnoxious in our fun and happy way. When I got home, I was still buzzed, so I flopped my ass down in front of the computer and proceeded to chat until 5am.

Think I got things accomplished on Sunday? Think again. I did feel a need to accomplish something, since Saturday was such a wash. I did some light shopping, and eventually came around to meet the youngman that kept me up chatting all night, my dear chum Todd (who formerly had a blog over there.) Like the pianist, Todd and I had traded electrons, but not meaningful glances across the table, so that was remedied. He's a lovely guy also, and I had a nice time with him as well.

Then I came home and fucking collapsed. In summary, I managed to buy some way cute jeans, a couple tops, some food, and hang out with two incredible friends. All in all, not the worst weekend on record.

Think you know me? Prove it!

Take the TEST

I'll take 'Human Retroviruses' for $500, Alex

Okay.

I was thinking about HIV and the impact it's had on my life. I won't be global in my thoughts and reflect on the Rock Hudsons and Liberaces that have left an unaccountable void in our society. Rather, I'll be selfish and make it about me. After all (as I am so fond of saying) if you don't like it, get your own fucking blog!

I started thinking about the whole HIV question when a friend of mine was called out in a chatroom recently. Said friend happens to be poz, but that's no reason to say a word about it. Truthfully, he's been as open about the subject--in fact more so than others would be expected to be. I wasn't in the room at the moment, so unfortunately, I wasn't able to defend the integrity of my buddy. Damn it all! I hate it when my peeps are attacked.

Notwithstanding, it made me start to think about various HIV-associated things. It raised the question, "What if I am poz?" Lord knows I haven't been celibate, but on the other hand, I haven't done anything that might place me at apparent risk. Then again, these are microscopic bits of protein, so as far as I'm concerned, all bets are off.

Some guys who are Poz have said that it has opened up an entire new facet of their life that they didn't know existed. Others have been devastated to the point of suicide. Yet another faction kind of shrug and press on with their lives as though it was only a small rut in the road of life. How would I react? I have no idea. I really haven't been faced with my own mortality. Until someone really realizes that one day they are going to die, and that might happen within a matter of years, I don't think that you really get a taste for it.

Of course, men live relatively normal lives with HIV now. It's become more of a major inconvenience rather than the death sentence that I dispensed in the mid 80's as a public health worker. It's not something to take lightly, and it's not curable by any stretch of the imagination. It is, however a manageable disease, which is a godsend for so many different reasons. Again, I like my friends, and want them to be around for some time. As previously mentioned, it's all about Bob.

Then the question popped in my mind--would I have sex with a guy I knew was poz? Wow. That's a hard one to answer. On one hand, I look at every potential partner as being infected, so I tend to sorta lean towards the "Yeah, I would" side. On the other hand, I have to think about the whole "ticking bomb" concept. Condoms break and shit happens. Would that thought affect me? Possibly. I'd be a fool to say that it wouldn't. There would be that thought in the back of my mind from time to time, and it would probably come up during a sleepless night at 3am.

As long as we are talking about shtupping a "happy boy," why not examine the next logical step? Would I date him? That one, I'm really tempted to say yes to. It's an odd reaction, given the milquetoast response to the fucking question. I've always said something to the effect that we are all entitled to love, regardless of the circumstances, and I believe it. I'm not personally tied to any single physical trait in selecting a person I'm attracted to, whether it be as a friend, a fuck, or a romantic interest. My current thought is that if I were to meet this incredibly sexy guy, fall in love, and think seriously about spending a long length of time together, his seropositivity probably wouldn't enter into the equation.

My "hag" said that I was probably too picky. I told her that my standards for dating were high for a very good reason. I'm really tired of men who are with me for no particular reason. I really need more in my life. I really need someone to share a life with. I'm really not finding these guys here, and it's mildly upsetting. Speaking with others, I'm not alone. There apparently really is a shortage of good men here. Really!

That's comforting. I thought I was going insane for a bit there. (I digress) The fact that I would be willing to date a HIV positive guy tells me that I'm not too picky. My standard for men is not unattainable, because it's not limited by the action of a bit of virus. (reading that sounds a bit cocky--it wasn't meant to be)

Hmm more to think about for me. Am I too picky? Do I place a bar so high that you have to have a 3 meter vertical jump to touch? Perhaps I should disregard small things that bother me abut a guy and focus on a larger picture.

Scroll up to the top, and read the words in the box. "It's all about the internet as therapy."