Chrisonomicon
Journal & Weblog Write to Save Your Life August 24, 2003

Booklog

Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs
My mother is standing in front of the bathroom mirror smelling polished and ready; like Jean Nate, Dippity Do and the waxy sweetness of lipstick.

East of Eden by John Steinbeck
The Salinas Valley is in Northern California.

The Straw Men by Michael Marshall
Palmerston is not a big town, nor one that can convincingly be said to be at the top of its game.

Vineland by Thomas Pynchon
Later than usual one summer morning in 1984, Zoyd Wheeler drifted awake in sunlight through a creeping fig that hung in the window, with a squadron of blue jays stomping around on the roof.

Collected Fictions by Jorge Luis Borges
In 1517, Fray Bartolomé de las Casas, feeling great pity for the Indians who grew worn and lean in the drudging infernos of the Antillean gold mines, proposed to Emperor Charles V that Negroes be brought to the isles of the Caribbean, so that they might grow worn and lean in the drudging infernos of the Antillean gold mines.

Finished

 
Howard Dean for President, 2004

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Archived Entries
in the category of Travel



posted Tuesday, March 18, 2003

Four Days in NYC

I've spent the weekend in New Jersey and New York, visiting Cale and touring the area -- one of the few I've had yet to visit -- and catching up with old friends I haven't seen in a while. The weekend was a blur of night and the red and purple interiors of Roxy and Splash, dark, moody, and fucking hot. Noteworthy was the showing of Cabaret at Studio 54 last night, starring Neal Patrick Harris as the Emcee and Deborah Gibson as Liza's Sally Bowles. Tonight, a taping of the Daily Show, and tomorrow a flight from the country as war begins.

posted Tuesday, April 30, 2002

London, Day 2

Made it to London on Monday amid heavy traffic?pedestrian, automobile, and airline?and amid windy, wet weather. It's great to be exploring another country, however.

Posts will be few and far between for the next week as computer access is limited and expensive in the area I'm staying and although I'm feeling a little non-journalistic, posts will occur when and where I have an opportunity; recording more by principle than by whim or feeling.

Driving on the left-hand side of the street took a little getting used to, but I'm slowly coming into a comfort zone. I rented a Silver Golf GTI with standard transmission; it's strange to be shifting on the left side of the steering wheel. The expanse of space to your left that includes the passenger side of the car is endless and it's difficult to judge where you are in relation to the left side of the road.

Everything here is smaller. I had pictured England as an older America, but it's more like Europe than the U.S. It appears that the only commonalities between the two countries are pop culture and the language. The majority of people here are cool and impersonal unlike the saccharine friendliness you encounter at most places in the States.

There's so much I want to cover, but don't have the time. I know it will be difficult to recall everything. Hopefully one or two points here will rekindle some memories.

posted Tuesday, January 29, 2002

Dallas Day 2

I'm driving home from work and I can't get "Eleanor Rigby" out of my head even though the last song I heard was Chris Issak's new single. I turn off the radio to cancel out the conflicting melody. The night went pretty quickly, mostly because I have good people to work with. Vince spends most of his time showing me around and keeping me company. He has sleepy eyes, a Texas accent, and a big nose that moves up and down when he talks. Marjorie looks like a Russian nesting doll, with perfectly seperated eyelashes. The people that work at the location I'm monitoring are friendly, but eye me and Vince suspiciously when they think we're not looking.

Now I'm back at the hotel room and the weight of the past day is already pulling at every molecule in my body. I could swear the bed has a gravitational field.

posted Monday, January 28, 2002

Dallas

The mist settles in over the city like television static and the sprawl would be breathtaking if you could actually take it all in. Dallas effectively covers over 370 square miles of land, most of it highways and tech centers. The weather is balmy and heavy with humidity ? strange winter weather for me, coming from the bleach-dry frigidness of Colorado ? and I drive with the windows down in my rented, kelly-green Ford Mustang. It has South Carolina license plates. I dream of all the stories I can live as I cruise down the freeway.

Toured the city with a go-go boy who was nice enough to take the evening and show me around. JR's. The Mining Company. Moby Dick's. After Dark. The Round-Up. Now, I'm back in my room, exhausted but looking forward to a few more hours of work at the test site. Speaking of which, it's time to get ready and hit the road again. I'll drive with the windows down.

posted Monday, December 3, 2001

San Francisco, Day 3

I'm using a Mac in an internet cafe up the street from the coffee shop that has become my regular spot to post. Something told me to come here after I stopped in to a laundromat to dry the rain that had accumulated on my coat and hat yesterday, but it could have been the fact that another man had already taken up residence at my usual computer. Anyway, I'm not very impressed with this Mac. The mouse is sticky and too small for my big hands. Normally, I use a PC.

The Nanowrimo party was good fun. After a great movie and sushi dinner with Chris and Jessie, I took a cab across Market to a hidden alleyway. The evening rain had collected into clouds of mist that draped the street in a movie-like aura. Printed in large, stenciled numbers on a delivery door, I matched the address with the number on my printout and knocked. No answer. A few people had walked behind me to a small, makeshift door directly behind me, and as I looked closer, I noticed Christmas lights dangling from open rafters in a courtyard through the door.

The party was unmarked, but inside it was obvious by the appearance of the crowd that I had made it to the right place. I mingled and chatted for a few hours and read lots of pieces that people had hung up on clotheslines all around the room, drank lots of beer, wore a Burger-King-like paper crown that was given to all the writers who had taken part in the event and finished. Around midnight, Chris Baty gave a toast to everyone, and dancing commenced. I was feeling rather tired, so I decided to take off. Mingling with a crowd of complete strangers is amazingly exhausting.

I strolled home in the rain, the streets empty and wet, and caught the Market St. trolley full of dripping, silent people. The city smelled of water. The homeless in this city are overwhelming. I've lost count of how many have asked me for change--surprisingly, it's the ones that don't ask that I tend to give it to--and I had started to get a little irritated by the end of the night, which wasn't being helped by the copious amounts of alcohol I had recently consumed.

Outside the hostel, a thin, black man in a leather jacket was watching me approach, and asked me for four dollars. As I shook off and tied up my umbrella, I said no, but he kept pushing me. They're almost as bad as telemarketers.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but you're probably asking for money in the wrong place." I motioned to the hostel in front of us.

"C'mon man. Four dollars." His voice was getting antagonizing, almost as though he were annoyed at even having to ask me twice. "Would it hurt you that much?"

With that question, I snapped. "Would it hurt you that much to get a job?" I asked, and as he flustered for an excuse, I hurriedly walked into the building without looking back. A thousand scenarios run through my head and I wonder if perhaps a few bucks or some change would have really helped the guy, but I hate the fact that I feel even the least bit guilty. How dare these people invade my life with their problems and then make me take the slightest sliver of responsibility for them? It's almost as though they expect handouts as a natural recourse of nature. I know I don't need to, but I'm apologizing now. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I won't help them with a few dollars, but it's only a band-aid. It's not fixing the problem, but salving the symptom. Someday, when I can, I'll do something better to dig it up at the roots. Until then, this is me shedding that burden. I won't carry this on my shoulders anymore.

Okay. Well, that was the month's rant. It's nearly noon and the city is still sleepy. Of course, it's Sunday and the football game is on and everyone is recovering from the rain. I'm hoping the airport will be equally subdued. Chris has offered to drive me to the airport this afternoon, so I should probably go see if they're awake. My next post will probably be from home. It's hard to believe the weekend is over.

posted Sunday, December 2, 2001

Pinecrest Diner, San Francisco

The weekend has flashed by me in a blur of activity and here it is, Sunday, almost ready to leave. I?m stopped at a corner diner across the street from the hostel and ordering four pancakes, fried eggs, and OJ. Then, I?ll go across Geary to the coffee house to post to my site. Hopefully, I?ll hear from Jessie and Chris by then. They?ve slept late (noon+) every day so far.

I?ve had so much to write these past two days, but no time to carry it out. One thing I do remember noting to record was the movie we saw yesterday afternoon called "Amelie," and thinking I ought to purchase a copy when it comes out on video. Okay, meal?s over. Time to move out.

posted Saturday, December 1, 2001

San Francisco, Day 2

Although being touristy isn't on the top of my list, taking in as much of a new place as possible is. With that in mind, I decided to tour the city yesterday and walk the Golden Gate Bridge, along with visiting the Museum of Modern Art, also known as the MOMA. Fortunately, the approaching storm decided to wait until today to decend upon the city, and the weather was clear and beautiful as I made my way by foot and bus across this urban wilderness.

Chris was kind enough to spend the majority of the day with me. We walked our feet off, having quite the adventure across the city saving people's lost checkbooks, dodging Claire Daines, and just sharing good, old-fashioned conversation. Later in the evening, we went to the Endup--a small club with a dark, quietly excited crowd and a sweaty dancefloor--and made our rounds with Jessie and a couple of his coworkers.

I'm really looking forward to the Nanowrimo party tonight, which holds promise of an interesting crowd, fun conversation, and possibilities. For now, however, it's time, once again to hit the streets. Fortunately, I have my trusty umbrella.

posted Friday, November 30, 2001

San Francisco, Day 1

Today is my first day in San Francisco, my flight having arrived yesterday afternoon. The city is rather chilly but not bad after coming from freezing temperatures in Denver. These shoes had been walking on ice and snow not twenty-four hours ago.

I checked into a youth hostel downtown, rooming with three other guys: an 18-year-old from Wales and a 21-year-old from Denmark--both cute in a little-boyish sort of way, but fortunately not my type. I probably wouldn't have gotten any sleep if they had been. The third was a Japanese student who I never saw, but who came in around 4 this morning, causing a great ruckus and snoring like nobody's business. He kept both Martin and I awake and we joked about it this morning despite the fact that I had been seriously considering leaving and checking into a hotel earlier in the morning. To our luck, he seems to have checked out this morning.

The window in the shower looks out over an alleyway and main thoroughfare, where you can watch pedestrians and traffic. It's private, but still fun to think that someone might look up and see you showering in a small, obscure window on the side of a building. The steam from the shower spills out the window and into the morning air. I took my time getting ready this morning, and it's nice to think that I have absolutely nothing to do today.

I'm writing this entry from a coffee shop on Geary called Seattle Street Coffee that has both java and internet access. Just another great thing about big cities. Later on today, I may meet Jessie and Chris for lunch. Last night, Jessie and Reese were kind enough to show me around the city and take me out to a few bars on the Castro, although not much partying took place as it was a weeknight and, as I said, rather cool. Brian also happened to show up as we were heading home, and it was good to meet him as well. How many more webloggers can I possibly meet on this trip?

The city calls. Time to explore.

posted Thursday, November 29, 2001

Denver to San Francisco

I?m leaving for San Francisco today and, in a way, it feels as though I?m going home despite the fact that I?ve never been there except for a brief stay with the family back in 1983 or 1984.

The airport is eerily quiet. Only a handful of passengers and airline workers fill my view of an otherwise lifeless terminal. Occasionally, a voice will echo throughout the terminal, booming from the intercoms. Single conversations can be heard and understood. A laugh or the sound of a cash register will sometimes puncture the quiet din. My flight leaves in three and a half hours, so I?ve got a bit of a wait ahead of me and I?m making friends with the calm.

A kid around my age just sat down in the row of seats to my left and I?m attempting to make out his appearance without being too conspicuous. He?s working a crossword and his arms are thin. He?s wearing glasses. These simple, physical details are all I can get down on paper, but my mind races at a thousand images per second, wondering what his story is, who he is, where he comes from, filling in the blanks. Sometimes I look in the mirror and step away from my life to see what blanks about myself my mind might fill in. What would I see or think? Sometimes something interesting will pop into mind, and I can spend a few seconds imagining it to life.

In a way, that?s what this trip is. When Peter and I spoke last, he mentioned sensing I should get out and travel somewhere before Christmas. After writing my book, the Nanowrimo party seemed like a perfect excuse to do so. This trip is also an experiment of sorts, in that I?m going with no real plan besides meeting up with Jessie and attending the party on Saturday night. I haven?t made hotel or lodging reservations. Originally, I had planned to stay with Jessie, but my pesky allergies deemed the decision unwise, so now I?m going with little-to-no plan. It?s sort of exciting to an extent. On top of going without plans, I?ve also managed to pack everything into a backpack so I?d be mobile and not burdened with luggage. These two things go against everything I?ve built up as habit in the past, but as I read in my grad advisor?s office, growth only comes from questioning habits and perceptions.

For some reason, this questioning fills me with a quiet fire, burning with the excitement of change and anticipation of opportunity. This feeling is unfamiliar to many people and I wonder what brings some to consider their life and everything within as paramount. The idea that I may be wrong or have universes left to learn fills me with the thrill of adventure.

Questioning one?s self is the pinnacle of human ability, I am convinced.

posted Tuesday, October 31, 2000

Top Ten Gay Halloween Costumes

Vamps & Voodoo was a blast. More of a circuit party with costumes than a halloween party (then again, what circuit party doesn't have costumes?), the majority of attendees fit into a distinct, ten categories, as determined by Jonno and myself. They are as follows:
  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."

posted Tuesday, October 31, 2000

New Orleans - Last Day

It's the last day of my stay at the Jonno/Richard household. Even though I told myself I wasn't going to submit to the temptation of blogging while I was here, I decided to punch out at least one before I left.

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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Chris Paul

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