Happy Fourth!

Well, the stomach seems a bit better, thankfully. The doctor told me to just keep taking the Nexium and let him know if things don't improve. I think I'm on the mend, though.

I'm off today on a street art walk, and this evening I'm headed out to New Jersey for the weekend. I'm not sure yet what's on the agenda -- Dave and I talked about trying to picnic somewhere tomorrow, and then we're going to my friend David's in the evening to watch the New York City fireworks. (They're over the Hudson this year, rather than the East River, so they'll be visible from New Jersey, where David lives.)

On Sunday I'll be helping Dave move the last of his stuff to East Brunswick. He's rented a U-Haul, and I'll be fine as long as I don't have to drive it in Manhattan -- that's where I draw the line!

Have a great holiday, everyone. Catch you next week!

(Photo: Midday cafe, Greenpoint, Brooklyn, June 2009)

Gastritis

Some of you may remember that I had an attack of gastritis last year. Well, unfortunately, it seems to be back with a vengeance. My stomach feels painful and bloated, like I swallowed a basketball. Not pretty.

I have a feeling it’s from eating (and drinking) out a lot and not getting enough sleep. I can’t tell you the last time I ate at home, and Dave and I haven’t been able to cook together much during the past two weeks because he’s been engrossed in his move to New Jersey. (Even when we do cook together, what we prepare is a far cry from my previously simple peanut-butter-based diet!)

I refilled my Nexium prescription from last year and began taking that on Saturday. So far, it hasn’t helped much. I’m going to the doctor before work this morning just to run all this past him. Frankly, I’d love to just lie in bed for a few days -- that may be the cure I really need!

(Photo: Chicory growing wild in Brooklyn, June 2009)

Graffiti Poetry

The sun
Uses the moon
As a periscope
to look out for me at night.

Thanks
Sun.

(Graffiti found in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, June 2009)

Pride Parade

I've had a great weekend! Yesterday, of course, was the Pride Parade, and we had spectacular weather for it -- a huge improvement over last year, when it poured rain. Dave and I stationed ourselves on Christopher Street in Greenwich Village, where all the action is, and had a great time jostling the crowds and watching the fun.


There were all the usual participants: The Dykes on Bikes, the drag queens, the muscle boys in little speedos, the bands and flag-twirlers and glamazons in huge feathery headdresses.




We didn't stay for the whole parade, which went on and on. We stayed about three hours and it looked like there was still plenty more to come.

On Saturday I went walking in Brooklyn with my friend Kate and we found lots of awesome street art. Then I went to Dave's in New Jersey in the evening, and because he hasn't really moved in yet, I had to bring some bedding. This led to the ludicrous situation I found myself in on Sunday, taking my pillow to the Pride Parade. Fortunately I was able to stuff it into my backpack so it was pretty unobtrusive!

More Pride Parade photos on Flickr here.

Happy Pride!

This is GLBT Pride Weekend in New York, with the parade on Sunday and various other events here and there. Last night was my company’s annual Pride Party. We began in the party room of a swanky apartment tower right next to the Flatiron Building, and wound up later that night at Stonewall, the location of the fabled Stonewall riots in 1969.

This is the 40th anniversary of the riots, which are often held to be the single most significant event launching the modern gay rights movement. There were gay organizations and actions before Stonewall, but the riots were certainly the moment the gays changed their strategy to fighting back rather than working from within.

The physical building hasn’t been a bar continuously since 1969. It apparently went through a period when it was a Chinese restaurant, and maybe a bagel place, according to my coworkers. I know it was a bar again by the time I visited New York in 1997, because I went there with a friend -- and I think that was the last time I was there, before last night!

Anyway, the party was fun, and I do plan to go see the parade on Sunday, if the weather cooperates. Happy Pride, everybody!

(Photo: Sticker, Chelsea, June 2009)

Farrah and Michael

Well, yesterday certainly took some bizarre and unexpected turns!

The death of Farrah Fawcett was unfortunate enough. I was a fan of “Charlie’s Angels” in the ‘70s and used to beg to stay up and watch it; I was surprised to learn that Farrah had only been on the show for one season, because her presence seemed so integral to its success. She was a huge force in the life of any adolescent male at that time -- even a gay one whose responses were based more on affinity than objectification.

I just rented “The Burning Bed” about a month ago -- Farrah did indeed turn in a respectable performance in that movie. And yesterday I posted her death on my Facebook page, feeling the natural need to participate in spreading the news and mourning.

But then came the wholly unexpected news of the death of Michael Jackson, about whom I feel much more ambivalent. Even at the height of his fame, I was never much of a fan. I never owned “Thriller.” I never felt much connection to him, certainly not in his later years when his life became more and more bizarre. I don’t have a single Michael Jackson song on my iPod.

He's long seemed more pathetic than anything -- lonely, disfigured, perhaps mentally ill. His death spares him, and us, the spectacle of a career spiraling ever-downward. I don’t want to say it came at a good time, but sometimes it’s best to just stop. I think Michael Jackson was at that point, if not beyond it.

I went with Dave last night to hear the New York Philharmonic perform Mahler’s “Symphony of a Thousand” at Avery Fisher Hall. It was a beautiful, resonant performance. Dave, who is generally not a pop music fan, pointed out the disconnect in hearing Mahler on the same night the rest of the world’s ears were tuned to Michael Jackson.

(Photo: Chelsea, June 2009)

KFC on the Floor

Dave got back from Michigan last night. The poor guy had quite a day -- driving across the northeast, getting the key to his new apartment and moving in some stuff, then driving into the city to retrieve his dogs and his troublesome boyfriend.

Since his furniture hasn't arrived yet, we had dinner last night on the beige-carpeted floor of his very beige new place. We got Kentucky Fried Chicken (though we both got the grilled version) -- a very beige meal, come to think of it. I tried to liven things up with some wine and a candle, and his mom had given him a homemade apple pie, so we had a tasty dessert. We ate it straight from the pan with our sporks.

I caught the 11:30 train back into the city last night. It actually took about an hour -- more time than I expected, but as some of my commenters have pointed out, still not a bad commute.

I'm trying to be cheerful about his move, but honestly, I'm kind of depressed about it. I know it's not that far away, but the area where he's living is such a different world. It seems very far.

Oh well. One way or another, we'll adjust, right?

(Photo: Chairs in an outdoor plaza seen from above, Meatpacking District, June 2009)