Pride, the flu, and Superman

So, once again, we'll play a little catch up. I'll be as succinct as only I can be.

I had an interesting perspective on Pride and its related events this year. Being in the Castro now, I'm in the heart of most all of the activity, and it's something to behold, that's for sure. Pink Saturday afternoon, I had a the crazy idea of doing a little shopping before the throngs appeared. Oh, and I renewed my SF Public Library card, yay. Then the evening came, then it went. It was fun. Had a blast.

The next day, I had a little bit of work to do, so I didn't go anywhere, and it's a good thing I didn't because that night, I was in bed sick with a fever. Where it came from I can only speculate.

Monday and Tuesday were stuck in bed with a fever of 102°F and 101.8°F, respectively. That sucked. I mean bad. At least I was at home, in my bed, with my TV and all that. I cleared out my TiVo and I slept a lot.

Wednesday morning, I woke up with no fever, but in its place, a sore throat. I've had sore throats before, and they're gone within a couple of days. I started gargling with warm salt water, loaded up on Vitamin C and green tea, and just waited for it to pass. Wednesday night was also the scheduled showing of Superman Returns in IMAX with the SF Moviebears. Don't get me started there. It's a thing I thought I could fall into easily, and boy was I wrong. How could someone so anti-social and hyper-anxious about group activities ever think that he could fit into a group as gregarious as the SF Moviebears? Don't get me wrong, I'm sure they're all very nice guys, it's just I'm not gregarious in any sense of the word, and frankly, the whole idea of outings like that scare the living shit out of me. Whatever. Not the point. The point is that the movie was broken (although I've heard otherwise since then), we were given a refund ticket, and the event was rescheduled for a week later.

Fast forward through the weekend spent in bed nursing my sore throat, to Monday afternoon. At H's demand, I scheduled a doctor's appointment to pick up some antibiotics. As of Monday, my throat was still raw, and every time I swallowed anything, it felt like razor blades scraping down my throat. Lovely. Tuesday, I was in and out of Kaiser (in a half hour!!) with prescriptions for penicillin and tylenol with codeine (the latter to ease the pain if necessary, which it is not, so they'll just sit around until some time when I really need to be knocked out). That's all I really wanted. I don't care if the doctor diagnosed me with strep, I just want the meds. At least now I'm no longer contagious.

Wednesday I called in sick again to rest some more and let the pills kick in. I was fine, but I thought that I might as well ride the strep wave as long as I could. I knew my boss would be all hypochondriacal about my sickness, so I called in and told her the doc's diagnosis and knew that she would prefer for me to stay home. Play the system.

Wednesday was also another visit to the clinic for a vaccine check up. When they weighed me...now, please, concentrate very hard and imagine my surprise, my utter shock and awe when I saw the digital readout stop at 206 lbs (93 kg or 14 stone). Can you picture how huge my eyes were? How I had to pick my mouth up off the floor? When I was first injected with the study drug on 19 June, just two weeks previous, I was 217 lbs. In two weeks, I lost 11 lbs, most likely due to my prolonged illness and liquid diet, but am I gonna argue? I thought my pants were a little loose in the tush.

That got me thinking that maybe, if I could last two weeks on liquids and such, how much longer could I last? I've only got six pounds to go until I break the 200-lb barrier. Another ten pounds or so...shit, I could probably do twenty more pounds by the end of July if I kept going. That would put me at 186 lbs. Shit, I haven't seen the 180s since probably the mid ’90s. The only trouble with this whole fucked scheme is that I'm fucking hungry!!!!!!! I wasn't trying to lose weight, and while it feels kinda good, I'm not eating only because my throat is sore. Shit, when it's better, I'll probably put it all back on again. So sad. I don't know how anorexics or bulemics do it. I love food too much, and I'm so damn hungry. I'm gonna take my own advice to the undernourished-by-choice and have a burger.

Wednesday night was also take two of Superman Returns in IMAX. After a few initial mishaps, it worked, and it was absolutely delightful. They picked a real fine replacement for the Man of Steel. Loved it. And Parker Posey was superb. She is so amazing.

And now we're all caught up.

The Friday Random Ten: The Is-It-Really-Friday? Edition

Fire up the iPod, set it to shuffle, and write down the first ten songs that play. No cheating. No skipping forward.

1. "Illusions in G Minor" – ELO
2. "Paid My Dues" – Anastacia
3. "Victims" – Culture Club
4. "At Last" – Céline Dion
5. "Heart and Soul" – T'Pau
6. "J'enrage" – Isabelle Boulay
7. "You Make Me Sick" – P!nk
8. "What I Can Do for You" – Sheryl Crow
9. "All I Want Is You" – Carly Simon
10. "La vie est peut-être belle" – Niagara

I don't have much to say right now. It's early though, so give me a couple of hours and I'm sure I can come up with something clever.

My throat feels much better. It doesn't hurt when I smoke anymore.

(See? It only took a minute!)

Oh, and it appears that this post is No. 700. Yay.

Happy Friday.

Whoops!

OK, I'm cheating a little.

Happy birthday to me!

I took an online survey today, and when I got to the demographics of who I am, I found that I now fall into the 35–44 age group. Tear. Crying. So sad.

No, not really. I'm 35 now, once again impressed that I've made it this far. I don't feel 35, but then, what does 35 feel like? Half the time, I'm cracking up to some ridiculous joke, making fun of my boss, being entirely puerile and bordering on juvenile. Is that a 35 year old? I look at my father for comparison—though I'm not sure why since our lives couldn't be more different—and realize that when he was 35, he had two children, was in the process of a divorce and a new life, and was successfully running his own company. Is that what 35 is all about?

I know, I know, it's all relative. My 35 is not going to be the same as anyone else's 35, and there's no reason to compare. I still get surprised looks from people who wouldn't have guessed I was as old as I am, although I have to wonder if they have ulterior motives behind their compliments. Whatever.

I'm still alive. I'm healthier than I thought I was. And I'm employed. What more can I ask for?

That's all.

The Friday Random Ten: The I-Have-a-Headache Edition

Fire up the iPod, set it to shuffle, and write down the first ten songs that play. No cheating. No skipping forward.

1. "Mary" – Sarah McLachlan
2. "Je crois toi" – Céline Dion
3. "On the Radio" – Donna Summer
4. "Grand Central Station" – Mary Chapin Carpenter
5. "Breathe on Me (Jacques Lu Cont's Thin White Duke Mix) – Britney Spears
6. "Blind Dumb Deaf" – Cocteau Twins
7. "I'm Still Standing" – Elton John
8. "Hero Worship" – The B-52s
9. "107 Steps" – Björk
10. "Tu pourras dire" – Patricia Kaas

I woke up with a fierce, splitting headache this morning. Last night, I went out with H to dinner and then for one, only one beer. When I got home around 9:30 p.m., I was exhausted, wiped out...by one beer? What happened? And why would one beer give me a hangover? Please.

Another thrilling day at work awaits me, I can feel it. I've been getting to work early on Fridays, early as in 8:30 a.m. My luck on Thursday nights has been to find a parking spot in a Friday street cleaning zone, so I have to get out before 8:00 a.m. in order to avoid a ticket. And it seems that traffic down the peninsula on Friday mornings is considerably lighter than it is during the rest of the week, so it only takes me about 40 minutes to get here. That's OK, I guess. If I don't take a lunch break, I can leave early.

And that's my day.

Oh, Joyeux Jour de la Bastille à tous les Français autour du monde!

Would love to stay and chat some more, but I've got loads and loads of fun stuff to do today.

TGIF

OK, on Tuesday, my car rolled over 100,000 miles. I know, big deal, WTF, and all that stuff. It was monumental to me. I put every single one of those 100K miles on the car myself. I'm proud. Yay. Here's to another 100,000.

On Wednesday, could you hear me scream and cry and throw my temper tantrum about "Project Runway" keeping Angela? I mean, that is a serious what-the-fuck moment. I mean, she may have some talent—we've yet to find out—but she's a raging bitch who is now only on the show to increase the drama factor. Poor Vincent. I thought he would be gone by now, and I'm glad he's not because he brings laughter to the show. He's crazy and kooky, and that's fun. I love that show too much.

Then, Wednesday night, I had the most amazing dream that I was flying an airplane solo. It was so vivid and real, I woke up feeling envigorated and a little inspired. And wondering what it would take to become a pilot. Maybe some day I will. I've already found the plane I want to buy...for $3 million. Of course.

Last night...I'm still in pain from it all. We went to see Kathy Griffin at the Warfield. OMG. I laughed for two solid hours. Kathy Griffin is the most irreverent, vulgar, crude, (all compliments, by the way) hilarious, and butt-honest comic out there. I was spent. She's all, "I'm running late, but wait! I've got to tell you this!" And she just kept going. What I love most about her comedy is that it's all current. She doesn't have a shtick that she carries around with her for years. She pulls stuff that happened within the last week and makes it all funny. I'm sad that her D-List show on Bravo is over already, but last night will stick with me for a long time. I can't stand it.

Thank God it's Friday is all I'm saying now. My roommate is leaving today to go to the Gay Games in Chicago. He won't be back until August. What the hell am I going to do with myself in an empty apartment in the Castro for almost two weeks?

The Friday Random Ten: The Fog Edition

Fire up the iPod, set it to shuffle, and write down the first ten songs that play. No cheating. No skipping forward.

1. "Die Gedanken Sind Frei" – The Brazilian Girls
2. "Forever Autumn" – The Moody Blues
3. "Dear Catastrophe Waitress" – Belle and Sebastian
4. "One Small Heart" – Mary Chapin Carpenter
5. "Only in Miami" – Bette Midler
6. "Twilight" – Electric Light Orchestra
7. "Falling" – Julee Cruise
8. "Weekend in Rome" – Étienne Daho
9. "Just Kiss Me" – Harry Connick, Jr.
10. "Grow Some Funk of Your Own" – Elton John

Finally, the heat has broken. It was a brisk, foggy 60°F this morning. So pleasant. Love it.

I've been suckered into going to a wedding in Monterey this weekend. It's at the Monterey Plaza Hotel, so it should be nice, but I'm kinda not in the mood. I don't like weddings.

Gosh, that's all I can think of.