another sob tale of desire, morals, frustration and the concept of “challenge”.

it took me a while to connect this boy who was drinking a bud light and sculpting things out of cranium clay with the description that was given to me on the phone earlier by my friend who organized the trip: “yeah, there will be about 20 of us… blah blah blah blah blah and one boy from the navy or something”

he was doing the “long sleeved t-shirt with a different short sleeved t-shirt on top” thing, which i guess immediately coined him as a snowboarder. what’s up with the “snowboarder culture” anyway? why does there have to be a culture associated with sports? i digress…

probably about 6′2″, maybe 170lbs… blond hair, blue eyes, gaunt features, but just muscular enough. over the duration of the evening, caught a glimpse of not a six-, but an eight-pack. very well composed, and very well mannered. he played the game very well.

as the evening wore on, and the fatigue of a long day of snowboarding started to settle in, i found just he and i hanging out in the corner of the cabin… just chatting. me, having my sixth kaluha mudslide, him on his 15th bud light. chatting about the navy, about technology, about snowboarding, about me, about san francisco, about me, about growing up in indiana, about me, about goals, hopes, dreams. silly boy, silly silly boy (me or him?)

another sob tale of desire, morals, frustration and the concept of “challenge”.

i don’t have a lot of people i’d consider to be my “heroes” … hell, there aren’t even a lot of people who i respect enough to call “celebrities”. nope, not me. not gonna get hot and bothered over some hollywood type. having lived in pasadena, a stone’s throw to hollywood, i’ve had my opportunities to oogle the celebs. doesn’t do it for me. unless, i feel, like i really know them.

last night, while slumming it here in the castro, i ended up at the infamous café nightclub. i actually had a blast … some cheesy pop music always puts me in a good mood. there was a lot of mojo in the air last night however, and through a few random connections, i found myself chatting with a bloke named peter. something in the back of my mind sort of hinted that “eric, you know who this is”. turns out the sullen, shady, squatting bloke i’d been chatting with was peter ian cummings, the editor/creator of xy magazine, one of my obsessions.

to most people, this is a far from significant event. for me, it’s the equivalent of meeting your favorite baseball player, or favorite author. so, after shaking his hand (again?) and relaying my initial excitement, we continued our conversation. i keep blathering about his magazine… he kept changing the subject. at first, i thought he was being incredibly humble, but then i realized he’s just bored with the topic of his magazine. “you know everything there is to know about that” was what he kept telling me.

having read peter’s longwinded rants over the years, i felt like he and i would have a lot to talk about, a lot in common. i casually move the conversation towards topics i thought we might have some lively discussions about — things that you can find me ranting about here on evijhserf. things like clubs, the scene, london, san francisco, the drinking age, etc. “i’m sorry — i’m tired” was his continuing response. okie doke.

“how was your new year’s?” i ask. “what a pathetic holiday — i mean, what’s the point?” he replies. i try again … “do anything for the holidays?” “yeah, right, i was working the whole time”. oh, well, i see. after a few more minutes of idol worship, idle chit chat, and failed attempts at connecting with my hero, we mutually tiptoe away from our failed conversation.

oh well. it was fun. i still respect him, although i have to say my impression has changed significantly from the bitter, witty, but funny bloke i read in the mag, to a bitter, witty, but spoiled bloke in real life. more power to him.

another year. whoop-dee doo.

it was a blast — it was so much fun — it was a rocking new year’s eve — wow, that was amazing.

naw … who am i fooling? another night, another club, another gaggle of lost souls reaching out (literally) for other lost souls. i played the game, and, in my mind, i racked up enough points to win, or at least come in second. the same old same old, with the same motivations, the same trepidations, and the same results.

in the next few days, i’ll decide whether or not to run off to europe (again). if i choose to, i shall embark on another adventure — a forced reboot, an easy way for me to satisfy the urges i have to be carefree, anonymous, and spontaneous.

if i choose not to run off to europe, i need to have a solid “plan b”. i need to work a little bit harder at living my life, and obtaining those sought-after goals that i keep griping about. maybe my 16 red bull and vodkas are wearing off. maybe the smiling faces, the smooth chests and the cute dance moves are still swaying my … err…. judgement. or, rather, perhaps it’s just my 23yo libido. regardless, i needs to gets me a boy. and i needs to start having more fun. before it’s too late.

so, time to become more of a vampire. late nights, no sleep, wild parties, crazy clubbing, dates, debauchery, et al. maybe i’ll check out the personals a bit (couldn’t hurt). as much as i gripe about how tough it is to find a decent lad in san francisco, i know it’s a helluva lot easier than las vegas ã

happy new years.