I breathe in the cold mountain air and it spikes my brain with an intensity to match the flaming sunset clouds. A whir of life buzzes in my head, clockwork and chaotic simultaneously.

Maybe if I just close my eyes. But then I stop and open them. These hardships are normal and who would want a life without hassle and worry and a little rejection? At first glance, living a carefree, utopian life would seem ideal. We would never get hurt, rejected, or fall down but without tragedy and violence, hardships and stress, the world would be a pretty bland place. There would be no opportunity for humility, grace, bravery or valor.

So. My daily affirmation for today is this: gracefully accept the blows that life deals you. Believe it or not, they enrich our lives and strengthen our character. Besides they make a perfect excuse to go shopping. Not that I need one, I'm just saying.

Jonno was nice enough to humor a call from me last night and as much as I wanted to see Kian while I was out here, an unfortuante turn of events has prevented me from doing so. After a short walk through the city, I returned to find my rental car gone. Who would steal a Ford Taurus in LA? Well, the answer wasn't what I was expecting: my car had, in fact, been towed and slapped with a $40 parking ticket in a permit-only—and highly-obscured, I might add—parking spot. Alas, the better part of my day has been spent tracking down my transportation.

Touring the bars on Santa Monica has proven to be a little disappointing, although I did have a good time. The lights and music are great in all of them. After spending a few hours spent posing with a beer bottle at Rage, I headed over to Mickey's. It was crowded but the vibe was darker, older. After making a round or two, I ordered a drink from the bartender and, while surveying the crowd from the bar, I spotted Patrick dancing on a box in the middle of the dance floor. Whether it was club lighting or not, he looked hot. Then again, I always have a thing for strippers, but we cruised each other, me assuming he was crusing me for a tip, and I passed it off with a smile.

I moved to the dance floor and lost myself in the darkness, closing my eyes and imagining myself somewhere else. I was brought back to LA by a hand on my waist.

"Hey, are you gonna be around for a few minutes?" It was the dancer from earlier. I nodded, and he left towards the back snapping the bottoms of his boxer briefs with his thumbs. He returned fully clothed and I danced my way over to him with my hand extended. We shook and introduced ourselves.

"Would it be to forward if I gave you my phone number?"

I was sitting in my car at a stoplight and as I watch cars round the corner, this beat up pickup truck turns in my direction. We locked eyes. She was my age. Cute, too. Maybe the kind I'd be interested in dating if I were . . .

The right corner of my mouth smirked upwards, awkwardly, and she smiled back. Her eyes never left mine and then she was gone. I felt all warm and dizzy like someone had socked me in the face. What the hell was that? Could I possibly be attracted to a girl?

I've never tested those waters in my life, always knowing I was simply attracted to guys. Now I'm wondering if part of me hasn't woken up yet, hasn't made itself known, or been left behind in my fervor over dick.

Denver was calling me so I made the trek to go clubbing last night. It was a good idea because I met someone I had been cruising for quite a while and it's funny how things seem to fall into place when you follow your heart but play with your head.

Kurt is at Westpoint this weekend for a football game and I should start seeing other people. Of course, it didn't happen. When I met Eric last night, I realized things between Kurt and I are over. Why would I be looking if I were happy with Kurt?

The light through the trees plays kaleidescopic patterns on my bedroom floor. I get lost in the sea of shapes and rerplay the final moments of the night over in my head.

"Hi, you're Chris, right?"

I turned around and hoped I didn't look as startled as I felt, but a rosy feeling of triumph welled up in my chest as I rounded to face a handsome, well-dressed guy of about 25 (later, to be discovered at 30).

"Yeah, Eric, right?" We shook hands. His handshake was firm, warm and his hands were calloused. It was the first time I had ever spoken to him yet I had known who he was for a little over a year. Eric had dated a club-acquaintance of mine for about 9 months before breaking up in early July.

The meeting seemed inevitable, whether due to familiarity or something more sublime, and the date was made. At the moment, however, I need to work things out in my life before I start anything new. The snow brings with it some answers. I've discovered that winter has the ability to bring people closer together or push a person into solitude. Experiece has taught me that I can handle either.

Photos seemed like trophies to me, a way of saying, "Been there, done that." Forget whether there is any meaning behind the picture. I needed meaning behind my images, since, what good is a memory of scrambling to the top of a cathedral to get a picture of the town square if you don't bask in the experience of being there, breathing the air, feeling the rough-hemmed stone under your fingers, talking to the people, enjoying yourself?

I used to feel high and mighty about not needing to take pictures, experiencing my travels without having to worry about my camera, film, angle, lighting, subject matter, flash, or whether I was making a dumbass out of myself by balancing on a statue for a memorable shot. As the years passed, however, the mental pictures didn't last but faded. I reluctantly and cautiously purchased my first camera. Now, when I travel, I take my camera with me and I'm not ashamed to snap photos and, although I'm not impervious to the desire of snapping the perfect shot, I'm still able to separate my photo-taking from my memory-taking. Use them together, that's my advice.

Four years later, I am still wondering if my relationships in life are destined for the same fate. I have trouble developing lasting bonds with other people. The longest relationship I've been in to date is the one I'm in right now and it seems to be on the downhill slide. Have I just been unlucky? Do I suffer from the effects of living a life of failed relationships?

Looking back on my short-lived dating life, I realize that I've darted from one relationship to another, never really going anywhere, never really knowing what I was looking for. I'm sure that's natural for someone my age. The more it happens, however, the more worried I begin to feel.

One of my bad habits is a tendency to break up with someone before anything serious develops. My friend Dave tells me I'm only in it for the chase and that once I get what I'm after, I lose interest. We all want what we can't have.

Then again, perhaps my ideas of successful relationships are wrong. We have been conditioned to put the monogamous relationship on a pedastal. Maybe success can be redefined by the individual, but I want a committed relationship, both sexual and social committment. A lot of people believe this type of traditional committment is unnecessary for "success" and perhaps this is my youthful idealism raring its ugly head, but I think that gay men are capable of having successfully monogamous relationships and that it's something worth striving for.

A sense of urgency set in a few years ago and I carry it to this day; although I'm only 21 and should have quite a while to figure things out, I feel as though I'm losing time. I know I can't hurry love. No, I'll just have to wait. But I want to fall in love with someone who can know me as I am now. As I age, I see pieces of myself melting away—my idealism, naivete, wonder, honesty.

Perhaps this self-centered nature is my downfall. And I'd hope to see my path with an objective eye if that is the case, to know if the blame lies with me, to know exactly where and why I fuck up and know what I can do to fix it. Sometimes the overwhelming implications of cultural and social conditioning make me believe that ignorance is bliss. But, who ever wanted ignorance?

1. Cowboy
2. Indian
3. Military Personnel
4. Grass-skirted Islander
5. Roman Soldier
6. Boyscout
7. Fireman
8. Police Officer
9. Leather Daddy
10. Construction Worker

First place, by an overwhelming majority, was "Shirtless Circuit Queen," but I'm afraid we had to disqualify that, for as Richard says, "No shirt is not a costume."

New Orleans is an incredible place. "The dust here is half glitter, half decay," as Richard once said. It's pretty amazing how accurate that its. An old black woman who stopped me on the street told me there's something in the air here that grabs ahold of you. Maybe it's voodoo, maybe it's sweat, maybe it's the river. I didn't notice it at first and blew her off, but now I'm wondering if I'm sensing it. It's not heavy, but it pulls you in.

As far as my stay is concerned, I couldn't have received better hospitality. J&R are truly the sweet, funny, intelligent, and gorgeous people they appear to be on the web (not to mention they make a fabulous couple). They are also masters of disguise (like Transformers, more than meets the eye!), being able to morph into various permutations of drag-glitter zombies at a moment's notice. I now aspire to have a comparable neglige collection in my closet when I grow up.

This has been one of the most memorable weekends I've had in a long time. The parties, the boys, the city... it's all been somewhat overwhelming. I'll be sure to post more about it when I get back. Be sure to check out the pictures that Jonno will be posting this week.

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