Morning musings

I was dreaming this morning that I was charged with laying out a curriculum for the son of the Sultan of Constantinople. I was anxious to make sure that I included the whole history of Anatolia and Asia Minor for him, so that he would have choices in regard to his identity...

Over the last several years, regardless of content, the vast majority of my dreams have shown themselves to have an obsessive structure. Repetitions of problem-solving attempts.They're less anxious and cramped than they used to be, more spacious and personal, (since I retired from administration), but still obsessive.

Walking to my office this morning, I passed the coffee shop where a lot of the local gay guys hang out. One of them was in his early fifties, stocky and well built, balding, cropped grey beard, my type, attractive...but as soon as I looked at him I imagined that I could predict almost every idea and opinion he would have. True or not, it's how I mostly feel about gay men nowadays. Pre-emptive boredom. Doesn't augur well for any future connection.

Even though B lacks what it takes to go the distance in an intimate relationship, one of his enduring attractions is how not-gay he is. His own guy. Definitely and passionately attracted to his own sex, for sure. At least when it comes to me. But his venn with those boys at the coffee shop pretty well ends there. And God, I liked that. It'll be hard to replace.

My landlord's 80-something dad was out front of the building this morning, too. He had a stroke last year but now he is back driving and walking. He used a rubber handball to start rehab even before the hospital got around to it. Slow but determined, and as sharp as ever. Came by to get some of the huge crop of lemons from the tree in the backyard. Guys like him have made the world work. Admirable fella. And, small world, a friend of B's parents.

Had an imaginary conversation with B's parents. Not surprisingly, they agreed with me about him. Too bad he wouldn't listen to them.

Male couples of all kinds fascinate me. Ones I know. Ones I work with. And even the one on TV now: two brothers on Supernatural. Amazing how the alpha-beta dynamic is at work. One of the oddities of being me is that I am easily taken for an alpha, but I'm a beta. Not the father-son, older-younger kind, but the comrades in arms type, yet still a beta. A high-functioning sidekick.

I went to see Benjamin Bratt in La Mission. A pretty good flick in some ways, set in the black and cholo culture of SF's Mission. I noticed that for the first ten minutes, the men only spoke in catch-phrases, especially the loathesome and ubiquitous, "Know what I'm sayin'?" I mentioned this to my ex, T, who grew up near South Central and knows that culture first hand. I told him I thought it was sorta stereotypical. He said no, it was just accurate. That's how they talk. And when I mentioned this to B, he reminded me that most men really don't like to have conversations the way I do; catch-phrases work just fine for them much of the time.

I have no use for hiphop and cholo culture. But I realized that if the flick had been set in an Italian neighborhood 50 years ago it would have been very similar in plot, but I would have been much more sympathetic to the characters.

If I get a new car in July, and it's another Rodeo, only colors I want are black, red or grey. I'd even consider white for the right price. No blue or green.

I really like summer mornings.