TALES OF AN ARKANSAS TRANSPLANT

In school at the midpoint period, kids used to get report cards. These cards let their parents know their progress in school. No matter how good the kids are, they continuously grow.

Glenn flew into town for a conference. He thought since he would be in town for a week, he could play with catchup with me and his friend Mia. He sat with me at a nice Mediterranean cuisine, watching gay Hillcrest pass us by. Our topics ranged from his work to BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN to our love lives and how it related to the movie.

Then I did something I haven't done in months.

I smoked a cigarette.

Welcome to the age of 'un-innocence.'

OH, SUBTLE

Mia showed up in San Diego later that evening. Petite, Asian, and newly highlighted, Mia was a dear friend of Glenn's from LA. I've met her various times since she visited Little Rock. I found her to be cool.

We decided to dine at a nice Italian restaurant in...you guessed it...gay Hillcrest. Glenn ordered a bottle of Cabernet. Together we raised our glasses to seeing each other after all this time. Who would have thought it?

Then the waiter returned. He was a nice big attractive Italian. At the moment, he put his big firm arm on my shoulder. I was completely taken aback. The waiter, on the other hand, seem relaxed, asking if I made a choice on my order. I put in my order, wondering if I was being paranoid.

Glenn, Mia, and I chatted over our dinners. It became apparent how much I had changed in the four months since I got on hat airplane in Little Rock. Glenn and I talked business in a way we never could back in Arkansas. Mia talked of life in LA and what it was like for writers. My mind kept seeing things through a Retailo Techo len. I acted like a businessman, Glenn announced like a mother proud of her graduating son. Meanwhile, Mia and Glenn observed four couples behind me, debating who the dominant person in the various relationships by their seat placement.

It was during this debating that the waiter came back. He had taken Glenn’s credit card earlier to charge it. Now he brought it back. He placed it on the table, his left hand on Glenn's left shoulder and his right arm extremely close to Glenn's face as it was above his right shoulder. Mia looked at me. Her eyes was cocked. My jaw was dropped. The waiter walked off.

Was the waiter interested in either of us? We may never know. Given the looks we got during dinner, Glenn, Mia and I did not think he was disinterested. One thing it did was reveal what I was fast learning to be true in San Diego:

People here are not a subtle group.

THE PHOENIX HAS RISEN...AND YES, SHE'S A BITCH

We entered Bacchus House. While Glenn and Mia went ahead and ordered drinks, I looked around. I felt buzzed from wine, but I worried. Would Glenn like Bacchus House?

We bobbed our head to the beat. At the moment a few people danced on the floor. Glenn watched, his forehead frowned up. He was not sure.

I watched him. It was rare to see Glenn so shy. He would usually be the first out there on the dance floor. It did not take much to get him out there.

He blew those queens out of the water. Mia smiled at the whole thing, happy to see Glenn out there. It was not long before she was out there, too. A few moments later, I joined her. We danced to the house beats, oblivious to everyone else, but each other.

Then I noticed it. People had started to dance. However they kept to one side of the dance floor. it just made me feel like the gay man here were treating my friends like pariahs. A slow burn started.

What broke the camel's back was the Geek. He was my height, built like a weightlifter, and wore what I dubbed 'Clark Ken' glasses. He danced pretty well...all circuit boi: However I acknowledged him, but he snuffed his nose up at me.

And just like that...all my annoyance at gay people and their attitude came out on the dance floor. Glenn would later dub it my 'can't-touch-this' vibe. I called it 'dancing-every-fucker-under-the-table' vibe. I took that anger, that wrath, and my self-confidence...and showed those gay men how to dance.

And Glenn was right. No one could touch me. Anyone that tried got dismissed. A couple of boys tried the dancing together so lone dancer feels insecure trick only to have me dance up to them and scare them off by grabbing their butts and running my fingers around their holes. The Geek refused to acknowledge me when I matched (and surpassed) his moves so I knocked him out of the way with my big shaking ass. No one was safe as I clawed my way up from the pit the gay bois would like me to be in and showed them...what they could do...I can DEFINITELY do it better...and I will no longer be ignored.

It had an uncomfortable self-effect however. All of a sudden, all eyes were on me. Instead, I got the 'I want you' stare. The whole time on the floor I was watched by a boy in shades. Off the floor, an older man walked by, his eyes meeting my eyes. Someone I met when I first moved here said hi. Glenn told me he watched me the whole time. The vibe was even in effect at the 24hour restaurant when a Latino boi started talking to me.

Since I have been in San Diego, I have tried my best to know the gay community. All I have gotten has been this kind of attitude. I took the gloves off. I treated them like they treated me and now they want to talk to me?

This brought me to my next realization about San Diego.

I am nice and no one wants to talk to me. I become a bitch, and everyone wants to know my name.

NOW WHO DO YOU HAVE TO HAVE SEX WITH?

I sat at Starbucks. My mind was on writing. was it on a short story? Was it on DARKENED SOUL?

No. I was filling out an application. While I was content at Retailo Techo, I could not say the same for my job at the Family Restaurant.

So there I was. This Starbuck was remodeled out of a two-story motel It reminded me of the creativity of the people here.

Fast forward a week and a half later...

"I'm sorry, but we are not having at this time," said the petite girl behind the counter.

"Okay," I say. "Will you be hiring later on...maybe in the summer?"

"Hmmm," the petite girl said like she was actually thinking, "sorry...no."

And my ten minutes were up and I had to head back to work. My hope at working in a bookstore was dashed again. Given that I had a similar incident with this bookstore (under another of its brand name) it begged the question: who did I have to fuck to get a job at the bookstore?

Seriously I wondered this. I see all these obviously gay bois working behind the counter at stores I want to work at. They look happy. How could I get to get those jobs?

It had to be sex.

When I was in Arkansas, it was hard to find a job. In fact, there did not seem to be any. And job searching was never as it seem.

In San Diego, my sister said finding a job could be so simple. You could call around in the morning, set up an interview by the afternoon, and get hired by the evening. Given my experiences so far here, I could only say one thing about job searching in San Diego.

It was the same idea I knew so well: same story, different cast.

Okay, two things.

It had to be sex.

BELONG

Before it remodeled, Sufficient Grounds was the (in my opinion) best coffeehouse in Little Rock, Arkansas. All walks of life used to walk through the doors. The preppy. The middle-aged. Kids. Gays. The goths. The old-timers. Everyone had walked through its doors. I sued to love sitting there during any time of the day and write whatever story I was working on.

When I walk into The Other Side here in San Diego, that feeling of contentment come over me. Just like that old place in Little Rock, there was a colorful array of customers that entered its door. The circuits. The bums. The middle-aged. Some kids. Writing groups. Belly dancers. Poets. Just like that, I came in at just about any time to write, watching various people cruise the sex shop next door. It felt like a homecoming.

I walked in one night, expecting to see Hispanic Guy (a frequent cashier at the time) doing one of his little goofy things. There was no one at the counter. I looked away for a second. It turned around to find someone I never seen before.

I am fast realizing that tattoos seem to be a way of life for...well...everyone out here. Seeing tattoos from his arms all the way to his chest was not a surprise. However, the lopsided grin was. So was the pair of blue eyes with a piercing stare that was interestingly mysterious.

And so began my first friendship in San Diego.

I have to say it had been a while since I met such a friend with as many quirky interests that I like like I have with Devon. I'm sure we can have great fun.

Another thing I loved about this coffeehouse (besides the computers) was the various theme nights it had. The belly dancer night was a real eye-opener for me in that they were so graceful in a way I have not been in awhile. And I have become something of a regular at Say What?, the Wednesday night open mic night. I went there to see what funny monologue would come out of A.J.'s mouth or what song would Sydney sing or what flow Danny B would unleash on the crowd. I loved it.

And yet...as is usually the case with me...I felt apart from them. The people have their wacky moments. I wasn't in their group though. It was like being a part of them without being part of them.

So where did I belong? From my semi-frequent adventures to the gay club, I knew it wasn't there. While the rave scene was much better than the gay scene, it felt weird to have fun without M, Dee, Tina, David K, or Lee here.

In Arkansas, I felt alone among my brethrens. In San Diego, I felt the same thing. It was probably while attitudes at the clubs bugged me. I came here, hoping people would know how to have fun. Guess not.

So where do I go from here?

REPORTS AND AGING

Like I said, report cards are used to show the progress a child had made. So how would I grade my experiences here so far?

People: B (quite intriguing)
Clubs: C (graded up due to ravers)
Jobs: C
Belong Feeling: B (constantly improving)

It would be wrong for me to say that San Diego isn't changing me. It seem to make me more edgy in a dangerous way. Will that derail me from a more Taoist way of thinking?

I guess I will see in a few months.

Diego


 

Back to Main Page