The Former Traveling Spotlight

The tales of a "30" something gay former stand-up comic living in NYC who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.





Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Visitors

Tuna has visited my house three times since I moved to New York, and two of those times I've ended up having unexpected, and somewhat unwanted visitors.

My first visitor was in June, when Tuna had come out to visit during Pride. We had been experiencing a significant amount of rain, and my visitor was having flooding problems in his apartment. Thankfully my superintendent had sprayed recently, and the roach was nearly half dead when he came in under the door. Tuna finished him off with her shoe.

Last week, the weather finally took a temperature drop and while Tuna and the family were visiting, a mouse has decided to try and make my apartment it's new home. Uh-huh. Homo don't play that. It was me against NIMH and I've got modern pesticides on my side! I went out and bought $40 in poison and put it all under the radiator where it came from. All was good again until two nights ago, when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.

***Fuck***


Another trip to the store and I had bought $20 in glue traps, which I placed in a long strip along the narrow opening of the radiator cover (Yes...I know they can be inhumane...but it's him or me people!). Yesterday morning, no mouse was around. Life was good again, and I hoped it would be the last I would see or hear of it.

Until last night. I had just returned from my run and was sitting reading a book, when I saw something again in my peripheral vision near the radiator. I dreaded what I already knew to be true, but took my shoe off and threw it into the direction of the stairway (which is right next to the radiator). Nothing happened, but I sat there and stared.

Nearly a minute later I saw the black hairy mouse JUMP OVER THE GLUE TRAPS and scurry under the radiator cover. I screamed like a little girl, and once I was able to get my composure enough to get down from standing on my chair, I put my shoes on and left the apartment. Once again, I went out and bought more glue traps, and placed them in a second layer in front of the first. "Try to jump over two you little shit!" I thought.

At 1:00 AM this morning, I heard movement from the plastic glue traps, and I filled with dread. Now I should have just gotten up in the middle of the night, and threw the trap out, but that would have meant actually TOUCHING THE TRAP! Something I wasn't actually prepared to do, especially at 1 am, so I stalled. The mouse, continuing to try and get off the glue, dragged the trap along the floor by trying to jump off all night.

My clock went off at 5:00 am and I went down to survey the damage. I could see only its hind legs on the trap as he had pulled the majority of the trap into the darkness under the radiator, attempting to get to safety. I reached down to pull the trap out from under the radiator, and froze. I just couldn't do it without having had a shower first.

I'll admit it...I was afraid. Those little fuckers freak me the hell out, and the hairs on my arms were standing at complete attention. I realized I would have to take a shower and make a pot of coffee first. However, finally I pulled out 4 Hefty trash bags (yes 4) so I could just collect mouse and trap without having to look at any of it. I approached the trap and surveyed the site for my attack. The fucker was no longer there. He pulled himself out from the glue and is once again free. I got dressed this morning standing on my chair.

Today I call an exterminator.

Patrick - 2:19 PM -








Tuesday, November 28, 2006

The Way I Feel Today


Patrick - 4:13 PM -








Monday, November 27, 2006

Magic Moments

At the end of each day that the Tunakids were visiting, I would ask the kids what was the favorite thing they did that day. The answers were never what I thought they would be.

Example:
On Friday, we took the kids on the Staten Island Ferry and gave them a great view of the Statue of Liberty and lower Manhattan. The kids were more excited to see the floating piece of wood in the water.

It amazes me what things make the biggest impression on a person. For me, the biggest moment involved some things the Tunadaughter said. We took her to a Thanksgiving dinner at MAK's and K's place for dinner with a large group.

IMG_0981

After dinner and dessert, Tunagirl took the kids into the other room to change them for bedtime. They were going to crash in MAK and K's bed until we were ready to leave. While changing them, the kids told their mom how much they loved the meal and Tuna Daughter asked if MAK and K were gay. Tuna answered with an affirmative, figuring that was the end of it.

Tuna daughter then asked if everyone at the table was gay. Tuna told her that the men were. Tuna daughter asked the mother of all questions at this point.

"Why do some people not like gay people? These guys all seem so nice!", Tuna daughter exclaimed.

***Sniff-Sniff***

Look out Focus on the Family...when this girl grows up, she is going to kick your ass.

Sleeping Beauties


The rest of the photos from the Tuna Family vist are here.

Patrick - 3:54 PM -








Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Ruining My Chances

Saturday night the Tuna family arrived for their big New York City adventure, and an adventure it has been. Sunday the kids ran their first races ever for the Race to Deliver.



Those of you who donated to the cause will be hearing from me shortly, and those of you who didn't...well you'll be hearing from me as well.

In a pleasant way...I'm not Kramer.

Post race Tuna and the kids and I had brunch, before we spent an entire day in Central Park. From walking to the Statue of Balto (a tribute to a sled dog), taking a ride on the Carousel, playing in the playground, touring Belvedere Castle (why isn't vodka served here?) and finishing at the ice rink in Central Park. And everywhere we went, the same thing happened.

I saw hot gay men. Men I would want to date. Men who were checking me out, only to lose interest when two small children and their mother would come up to me. Suddenly I turned into "father of two children with a wife who doesn't suspect a thing" guy. The guy who advertises on Craigslist that he's looking for "no strings attached" and discreet sexual encounters with other nameless men.

The kids were inadvertently nixing my chances of getting a date and let's face it...New Year's Eve is just around the corner. Everyone needs a date for New Years! I figured I had to do something. So I started to ask the kids loud questions like "Do you think Daddy would like the view from the castle?" or "What do you think Daddy is doing right now?" I kept it up most of the day, until I was at the ice rink.

A mother of a little boy, Tuna Daughter's age, was having the same difficulty I was helping her child skate while keeping herself upright. Tunadaughter wasn't looking where she was going and accidentally skated into the woman, but immediately apologized for bumping her. The woman looked at me and said "Your daughter has such good manners!"

***I smiled a little with pride***

"Thanks"

Eh...I wasn't planning on dating anybody anyway. Let them think I'm a closet case.

Patrick - 2:38 PM -








Friday, November 17, 2006

Hand me the Purell

An open letter to the man on the subway last night:

Dear sir,
I am the first to admit that I've had a "few" while out at happy hour, and have met someone special that I'd like to take home, so I know what you were going through. I saw you making out with your girlfriend on the subway, and at first it was sweet. Hell, I've done the same.

But I think you took it a little far. You see, your kissing your girlfriend took on a much sexual tone, especially when you put your hand up her dress, and it was very obvious that you were both aroused (especially the way her one leg was resting over yours).

Yes, I'm sorry I was staring, but when you removed your now glistening wet finger and sniffed it, I honestly nearly threw up a little. And I wasn't the only one. The woman next to me let out a gasp of surprise with that move. That was just nasty.

Lastly, and most importantly, what bothered me the most, was that when you reached your stop, you GRABBED the handrail with that now nasty smelling hand! I hold those rails. And yesterday, I was not carrying my Purell.

I hope you burn in hell.

Sincerely.

Patrick - 6:57 PM -








Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Words!



Ok...so Reichen Lehmkuhl wants us to start calling an outing of a celebrity in the media a "Lancing". Neil Patrick Harris was "lanced"? What is he? A fucking boil on the television screen (ok...so maybe lancing is an appropriate term). Obviously Reichen wants to capitalize on his boyfriend's publicly coming out and hopefully sell a book (which by the way has no beefcake pictures in it... so why bother buying it?) What other situations can I create words for?

How about if you have sex with a virgin, it's called getting "pierced".

If you vehemently deny having gay sex but rumors continue to fly, you are getting "cruised".

If you cut someone while having sex, it will be called getting "nicked".

And lastly and most importantly, if you don't donate money to sponsor me or the Tuna Kids in the Race to deliver, you just may get an embarrassing picture of yourself posted online with a tagline of "looking for watersports!"

I think I'll call this getting "robbed".

Patrick - 9:55 AM -








Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Click My Ass

Hey you, reading this at your computer. I realized something this morning...I haven't solicited you yet. And I have to admit...I'm ashamed to do so. But in the end it comes to me being poor, and wanting to do things for a good cause. So here goes.


Click my Ass. Come on, you know you want to. And by doing so, you'll open a window that takes you to a donation page where you can sponsor me in the Race to Deliver, which will benefit God's Love We Deliver.

God's Love We Deliver provides nutritious meals, free of charge, to people living with HIV/AIDS, cancer and other serious illnesses throughout New York City and nearby Hudson County, New Jersey.

This is for a good cause, and just so you know, I'll be suffering during this race. The course is set to begin in Central Park and head North through the park uphill for the first three miles, before finishing off at a 1 mile downhill. And it's only going to be in the low 50's, so I'm going to be cold. Do you really want me to be cold and exhausted and with no donations to turn in?

Still haven't swayed you? All right...how's this. The Tuna Guppies are going to visit in New York starting on Saturday night...the night before the race. Both of the guppies have also signed up to participate in the race. The youngest will run 75 yards and the oldest will be running 1/4 a mile. Do you want these kids to do this race without any sponsorship?

Do you want me to have to tell them that nobody loved their gay uncle Patrick enough to sponsor him? Imagine the sadness on their faces when the race organizers look at them and ask them where their donation money is and they both look at me with confused teared faces, wondering why they can't have the T-shirt prize every other kid is getting. For God's sake....think of the children! Click and Donate!!!

You're still reading? Ok...It's time for me to get mean. I've got a great memory, and I've met many of you in person. I know all of your secrets. Blogger hookups, moments of indiscretion, and possibly a bit of health history. I'll out you (sorry..."Lance you"). Your secrets are no longer safe with me, unless you donate. Yes you. I've got pictures, and I've kept copies of every email I have ever received from all of you. Donate here.

Still haven't donated? Donate now...or the puppy dies!

Patrick - 1:53 PM -








Monday, November 13, 2006

Keeping Up Appearances

I received the following email on Friday:

Okay, kids, I just bought a batch of tickets for A Little Night Music. There will be eleven of us:

R & B (names are edited)
G & P
L & K
S & A
B & W
Patrick

*****


Saturday afternoon, running with a group of the Front Runners, we did the full 6.2 mile loop, and did it in 44 minutes. Our average mile was 7:14 a mile, which is way faster than I would usually run. I was sitting at the end of the run, panting and stretching out (while silently dying) when another runner came up to talk to me. During our conversation he said "You had a good pace. Most guys start slowing down after they turn 40."

*****


Saturday night, 10:00 pm, I'm standing in the line at Fairway market and I'm looking at my basket (the one that holds food). I've got a container of ice cream, a gallon of milk, and three milk chocolate bars. I proceed to the checkout where the cashier tallies up my items. She gives me the price, looks at what I purchased and says, "Let me guess. You plan on sitting in front of the television and eating all of this tonight."

*****


After seeing a show on Sunday, I was walking down 51st street towards 8th Ave. Two women were walking in the opposite direction and as they approached I could begin to hear what they were saying. Once I was in a few feet the one on the left said to her friend, "He looks like he would know."

"Excuse me sir", the one on the right said to me. "Would you tell us where we can find the gay bar called Vlada?"

*****



Apparently, I'm giving off the signal that I'm old, single, lonely, and way too gay. Perhaps I need to shop for a new wardrobe?

Patrick - 3:47 PM -








Friday, November 10, 2006

Breaking the Bank

I've come to a conclusion over that past 24 hours. My landlord is one fucked up son of a bitch.

My original lease required that I pay the last two months rent upon signing the lease, plus one month deposit. This lease will expire on December 31st. My next year's lease will increase my rent by $100. NYC law says that the landlord must pay compounded interest on my deposit money, not on prepaid rent. At my rent level, the interest can add up.

My landlord is now expecting that I pay this month's rent, plus the additional new monthly charge so that next year's last two months rent will be paid up front. Thus I now have to pay rent this month, when I wasn't expecting to. I have to examine my lease again over this, but in reality, the landlord has just gotten very used to receiving his monthly near mortgage amount of money.

Greedy asshole. Based on my prior history...I wonder if I've ever dated him?

Patrick - 3:55 PM -








Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Rage Stage

In 2003, my Ex (the mother of all Ex's) found this site and did a little reading. Now I always try to speak kindly of him, mainly because we still remain close friends. Our lives had only grown in different directions. We wanted different things, and being together was not an option any more. Very amicable.

But back in 2003, the Ex had gotten a bad case of poison ivy, and his doctor had put him on Prednisone, a steroid. This steroid turned my Ex into the raving bitch from hell, and it was while on this medication that he read one of my entries. He didn't take it well and felt that he was being portrayed in a negative view. A view so poor that he called me at my job, cursed me out, and hung the phone up before I could speak. My office coworkers could hear him screaming over the telephone, and advised me to let him cool down before calling him back.

I agreed, and after finishing work for the day, went to dinner with friends and then home to bed early. Strangely, around 11 pm that night, I work up and felt the need to look out my window. I looked down to the street to see my Ex getting out of his car carrying a few folders full of paper. At first I thought I was dreaming, as my Ex lived a little over 4 hours drive away, but he was quickly marching up to my front door, stepping over the fresh piles of snow that had fallen in the early Cleveland evening. Upon reaching my doorbell, he proceeded to repeatedly push the button until I could race downstairs and finally open the door.

Pushing his way into the house He threw the file folders at me. "These are some of your old papers I found!" he snipped as he walked into my kitchen, where he grabbed an unopened bag of tortila chips. He then yelled at me for a total of 10 minutes before announcing that he was going home, taking my bag of tortila chips with him.

He got home 4 hours later and apologized for his behavior, blaming it on a steroid rage. The big question...why am I thinking about this today?

Yesterday, I went to see my doctor for a follow-up visit. After going through his examination, he indicated that he wasn't pleased with my rate of healing (could it have anything to do with not being able to eat?). Therefore, he has placed me on injectible steroids for the next 6 weeks. I'm going to be taking the same steroids body builders illegally take (hmmm....do I foresee a profitable Christmas?). Of course, this does mean that I'm going to be the subject of extreme mood swings. I'm already a short tempered Irish man...this isn't going to be very pretty.

Should I call my Ex and warn him that Airfares to his home are only running around $250 or do I just surprise him. That fucker owes me a bag of tortila chips!

Patrick - 3:38 PM -








Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Bake Sales

Being that I was raised in a very politically active home, I'm a firm believer in voting not only as a civic duty, but as a social responsibility. Would you rehire a car mechanic if you weren't satisfied with their work? Then why would you rehire a politician?

Therefore, at 7:00 am, I got my butt out of bed and walked down to the local school where I was instructed to cast my vote. That being said, I hate going to the polls, as you are bombarded by last ditch efforts to push you to vote in a particular direction. In this case, someone grabbed my hand and said "Remember to vote Republican! You don't want things to go back to the way they were do you?"

Do you all remember the Disney cartoon movies we would see as children. The villain (usually a witch) would suddenly get all powerful and all the surrounding colors would turn dark. The witch would become surrounded in foreboding smoke and fire and I even think a little brimstone. This was what happened to me. It started with my eyes flaring red.

Take...your...hands...off...of...me. I hissed.
The worker looked surprised. "Well surely you're doing better than you were in 2000!" he challenged.


This would be his biggest mistake today.

You think I'm doing better? Let's see. In 2000 I was working one job making twice what I am currently earning. My rent was only a fourth of what I am paying now, and I still had enough after paying all of my bills that I was able to take a vacation. Currently, I work two jobs, one of which supplies the rent money while the other pays my utilities, food, and metrocard expenses. Savings is only obtained when I skip meals, something I'm luckily able to do.

Additionally, I see that the school where the voting is taking place is having a bake sale because they don't have enough funding for basic school programs. Do you think they are doing better than 6 years ago?

Perhaps if you took 5 seconds to look at the second hand clothing I'm wearing, or my pissed off determined look as I head to the polling station, you might have determined that of all people, I'm the last one you would ever want to approach
!


I would have continued, except that an elderly woman with silver gray hair, and sunglasses put her arm in mine and said "Come on dear." She pulled me away and the Republican campaigner finally let go of my other arm. She walked me towards the door of the school building and said, "Let's go get 'em!" I bought her a couple of brownies from the bake sale table on the way out.

Patrick - 3:50 PM -








Monday, November 06, 2006

Bloody Nipples

Yesterday was marathon madness here in New York City, and I have seen more bloody nipples than I ever care to see again. You can always tell which are the first timer marathoners (they are wearing all cotton shirts with red blood splotches on the nipple areas, and are usually crying).

The advertising for this event is huge, and it brings huge amounts of fans to the course, all cheering on the runners. This year, the tag line was:

One Race.
37,000 Stories.


It's moving, and catchy, and for me...a little inspiring. I could care less about the elite athletes and who wins the race. I'm all about the stories of the average runner. The first time marathoner, or the guy who is running in honor of someone who can't run. And as the marathon day approached, I looked forward to hearing some of these 37,000 stories, except the tag line was incorrect. It should have been:

One Race.
37,000 Stories.
You are only going to hear Lance Armstrong's.




Yes...I saw him cross the finish line, and I cheered him on, but I was disappointed. Yes, he ran in just under 3 hours which puts him under a 7 minute pace, but he ran with three professional marathon runners to help him keep pace. Additionally he ran with "Team Nike" as opposed to running with the Livestrong organization (which was collecting money for cancer research).

Now I support him and his organization. I'd have to be nuts not to given my health history, but what I found more inspiring was the man in his 40's who collapsed from a leg cramp with 300 yards to go. He lay there on the ground for about 30 seconds alone, then rolled onto his stomach and began to crawl. The fans on each side of the course could read Eric's name on his shirt, and began to chant it. He crawled about 10 feet before standing up and half hopping and half limping to the finish.

I have no clue what races he's done before, or why he even was running the marathon, but it's a story I would liked to have heard.

Eric 45M 3:57:05

Patrick - 5:00 PM -








Friday, November 03, 2006

Anonymous Scenes

As I walked through the doors, I realized this was the first time in years I had entered a public school and it wasn't an election day. The halls were that gray green color that was so popular in the 70's. I never would have gone there, but was asked by a friend, so I tagged along. We reached the last room on the left side of the hallway, and opened the doors to enter.

Walking through the doors, a hazy cloud of cigarette smoke hovered in the air illuminated by the cheap fluorescent lighting that is standard in all public schools. Within two steps of entering the room, you could smell coffee. Very strong coffee and in the center of the room a circle of chairs had been set up. My friend and I took our seats as the group was about to begin.

"Hello. My name is *****, and I'm an Alcoholic."


Thus began my friend's journey into sobriety. I used to think I understood what it was like for him, and thought I could sympathize with him on the plights he was undertaking, but in reality, I had no clue. Until last night.

Being that I'm still on a liquid diet, I've not been drinking alcohol, and for the most part I don't miss it. At least not as much as I miss a good burger with blue cheese and bacon, a side baked potato with butter, sour cream and chives, a tossed Greek salad with feta cheese, and an entire apple pie for dessert. No...I don't miss food...I mean alcohol at all. However things are very differently when you are the sober one.

Take last night, where I went bowling with a group of great guys. One of the three lanes we reserved was not working properly, so we didn't start until an hour later than expected. Therefore the group I was with began drinking while waiting to start, without food. As the pitchers of beer and wine flowed, the slurring began. At first it was amusing, but eventually something strange happened.

Once when I was college and on a camping trip, I got stoned with some of the people, and then joined the main group around the fire. Eight of the 20 of us were high as a kite. One of the sober people cracked a joke about the potatoes cooking in the fire, and I cracked a joke back. I thought it had been an immediate joke back, but found out later, I made a responsive joke after about 30 minutes (it took me that long to think it up), when the conversation had completely changed. The only people who got my joke were the 8 high people. The sober ones all looked at me strangely.

Yesterday, while in the middle of the 5th frame of the game, a player looked at me and said "That was so funny!" I had no clue what he was talking about, so I did what any good bartender would do. I agreed with him and smiled. As usual, it works. By the time we reached the 8th frame, the game was taking on the length of an epic novel, with scores of a preschool class. Still, I was having fun, although I was confused by most of the other's conversations.

I have another friend who's been sober for well over 10 years now, and he's said that he doesn't like to hang out with friends in bars as it becomes such a turn off. I understand where he's coming from, but as gay men, we've got one major thing against us. The majority of our social support network is done primarily in the bars. All of the sporting teams have recruiting events in the bars and taverns, the running group has social nights at the different bars, and most of the bars support the teams financially. Where do the sober queers go on a Friday night, if not to a bar?

Back in Cleveland, the friends of "Bill" would all hang out at the same restaurant after the meetings, slurping down coffee like it was a bottle of single malt. Yet, some of them would go to the local bar after the meeting, as a way of socializing with other gay men. It's the equivalent of putting a plate of food in front of me right now.

I've got nothing against gay bars (and in fact I like drinking, and look forward to having wine with that fore mentioned burger, potato, salad, and pie), but maybe the time has come for gay men and lesbians to find other alternatives to socializing. Either that, or there is going to be a lot more people making friends with "Bill".

Patrick - 3:01 PM -








Thursday, November 02, 2006

Decor

During a phone call I received about two weeks ago, someone asked me what I was up to and how I was feeling. I gave the standard answers. I'm feeling better and stronger. I'm able to run again and am slowly building my running endurance back up. I'm still not allowed to eat solid food, so I'm losing weight, but I'm working hard at holding that back. Mashed potato soup is my new friend.

I then asked what was going on with him, and got his standard answers.

He then asked me if anything else was new.

***blank stare and blank thoughts***

I didn't know how to answer his question. I'd like to say I'm such a goal oriented person, but have difficulty in defining what my goals are at times. So much so, that I find myself feeling like I have no goals at all. Of course, others who know me would disagree, and would point out some of my immediate goals.

Is this just me or do a large portion of the population find themselves wandering aimlessly in life, surviving stagnatly and not moving forward? It's not that they don't have goals, but that rather their goals are the results of an achievement (new house, better clothes, more money) rather than the achievement itself (a specific higher paying job).


I love board games. The goals are set up front. Get the following items, dominate the board, own the real estate...whatever, but this is the defined task. But in life, you have to define those goals for yourself. That's more difficult. Some people get so bogged down with the everyday, they can't even see how to change things. Yet an outsider will have the answers in a matter of seconds. And everyone seems to be an expert on other people's lives.

This is why people hire decorators. They are completely perplexed on how to even start decorating their homes because they live in their space and are too close. Instead they hire a fresh pair of eyes.

Thus this week I'm decorating my life. I'm focusing on setting some new goals, seeing that some that I set for the last year aren't going to be achieved...yet. (I'm just moving the deadline forward a bit). Once I've got a new goal or two, I can work on strategy.

How about you? Tell me one of your goals.

Patrick - 3:43 PM -








Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Japanese School Girl

Drunk School Girl

"I was robbed by two men!"

~Credit to Ms. Ouizer for making that connection.

I'm going to have to make an apology here. I hate using YouTube clips, as the majority of them are prepubescent kids acting stupidly in front of a camera. I can watch that on reality TV. That being said...I've got to post this one after going out with Jase who was dressed as a Japanese School Girl.

A few days ago, my bestest drinking buddy in LA sent me this clip, which is a training video for tourists coming to the US.




My only question...why do I actually think this might be a good idea for some of the tourists here.


On a side note, the cop with the British accent looks hot in the pleather jacket.

Patrick - 4:39 PM -








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