beyond buffalo

I’ve been on the same career path for most of my adult life. A path not chosen but sort of stumbled upon accidentally. I’ve tried my best to remain out of vision.
“Keep my head down and do my job”. However, in sales, that isn’t the best policy towards growth and it has prevented me from truly shining. I’ve struggled with my career “choice” for much of my life, yet I’ve never truly given it an honest attempt.

With that in mind, I recently applied for the newly opened sales manager position. This was the first time in my career that I applied for a new position within the same company. Every other time I’ve been restless in a job, I looked for change outside of the company.

It took a lot to convince myself that I was both qualified and ready for the promotion and once I was sure, I submitted myself for it. A few days later, I was contacted for an interview. My regional manager flew out and interviewed 6 people. I think I realized that it was time to grow up and be the adult and do the job I’m being paid to do. The very process of self-exploration and risk may have jumpstarted me because I’ve found a new sense of purpose and drive. I’ve pushed myself to give it another go and be more successful in my efforts… and it seems to have paid off.

I didn’t get the position. It went to my colleague Sam, who is much more qualified and deserving of the it than I. Sam has been with the company for 14 years and has been sort of a mentor to me since I’ve joined the company. It was disappointing that I didn’t get the job, and I’m sad about it, but I’m also excited about Sam’s leadership potential and the potential he has to improve upon things within the sales structure of the company.

But I tried. I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and I interviewed and I reached inside. The process scared me but I’m glad I went through it.

I think of this post from time to time. I also think of the other loved ones that we’ve lost and that are still living with this thing.

WORLD AIDS DAY –

In 1993, I met a man named Jeff Struckman in a closet of a sex club in San Francisco called Mike’s Night Gallery. Jeff was beautiful (in my eyes) and the sex we enjoyed that night and many nights to follow were sweaty, passion-filled workouts. I knew there would never be anything more than what we were currently embarked on, so I did my best to enjoy him while he was still paying me attention.
This was the age of AIDS, ACT-UP, and Queer Nation. The predominate style of the gays in San Francisco was the typical uniform of a black leather motorcycle jacket (covered in paint, stickers, and various items), a white t-shirt, jean shorts completed with the mid-calf high Doc Marten boots with white socks.
Jeff, was an artist. He painted sets and backdrops for the opera and various theater groups in the city. One night, there was an art show of local artists to benefit the city’s AIDS charities. It was called “Blinds for AIDS”, and each artist had painted a roman blind to be put up for sale. This was the first time I saw any of Jeff’s work and I was thrilled that he invited me. It was this night that would plant the seed of an idea that I carry with me to this day.
Jeff’s version of the above mentioned uniform included a hand-painted leather jacket unlike anything I’d ever seen. He used a subtle pallet of colors and placed highly stylized cave-painting-like dinosaurs at various places on it. I got the idea that night to ask Jeff to paint my jacket and he agreed.
For some reason that to this day I cannot say, I chose the image of Natasha Fatale to grace the back panel of my jacket. About a week later, Jeff brought me a painting that was the study for my panel. It was a simple Natasha, in her signature purple dress holding, in one hand, a martini, and in the other, a lit cartoon styled bomb. Perfect for me in so many ways.
A few weeks later, I had my painted jacket adorned with the above describes Natasha, but in addition, there were stacks of TNT and drums of poison around her feet filling in some of the dead space in the panel. I wore the jacket with pride for many years.
A short while later, my affections for Jeff spiked to the point that I had fallen in love with him. It was at this point, he told me not to love him because he wasn’t long for this world. He was dying of AIDS and would soon disappear. I had always known that he had the disease and we always were safe, but this devastated me in a way I never allowed myself to admit. This was the first time (of many), the disease hit me directly.
True to his word, shortly after that night, Jeff disappeared from public life. I never heard about his death, but I saw his obituary in the gay papers.
A year or two later, when I had decided to get my first tattoo, I chose Jeff’s original design. It wasn’t until many years later that I even realized exactly why. I still wonder if it was me saying goodbye to Jeff, or to my innocence. I’ve come to think warmly of this gentle, passionate and mysterious man as I grow older, and I love to share the story of how he affected my life.
Today, the original study and the back panel of my jacket hang, framed, in my living room while the ink on my body stares up at me from my right calf.

i’m in the midst of a depression both emotionally and financially. I know what’s causing both, which is something that brings me a little relief.

In years past, I would struggle with the reasons behind both. I would never be able to look at my spending habits, identifying the unneeded luxury goods purchased as a source of concern. I would wonder why my money just didn’t seem to last as long as it had previous months. Now, however, I can clearly track the moment that I’ve gone off budget, splurging on something unnecessary and scrambling to cover expenses the remainder of the month. I’ve gotten quite good at it over the years. With the help of my man and his education in finance, we’ve put together a plan, alas a budget, that will allow me to live within my means, while at the same time helping me to put a little into savings each month and paying down my debt in a timely manner.

The other, the emotional depression, is harder to fix. The relationships developed over decades slipping off track into unknown territory, the family responsibilities in the back of my mind, my future, my present, my own mistakes and the faintly flickering dreams once so vivid in my youth slipping out of reach forever.

Now that I’ve hit my 40’s and my self-imposed deadline is looming in the near future I’m realizing that there are things I once wanted to accomplish so desperately. There are so many things I wanted to see, to do, to feel, to experience left unseen, undone and unfelt. It isn’t all bad. I’m in a better place today than I was 3 years ago and an even better space than I was a decade ago… but what about the space I was in 1990 when I first arrived in the Bay Area filled with hopes and dreams (and illegal drugs)? I am in a relationship with a man that I love and that loves me. I’ve got the best pet on the planet and I’m not unemployed, homeless, or unhealthy (with the exception of my diet).

So I ask…

Is it possible to teach an old dog new tricks? Is it possible to shake things up in such a manner that it could take years for stability to resurface? Is it possible to improve upon relationships, and responsibilities that already exist and make them more efficient, more meaning, more intimate and ultimately more rewarding?

The man has convinced me, with much prodding and a few other tactics to get myself back to the gym. I’ve started back after over a year of complete and utter couch-potato(e) like nothing-ness in the activity department.

It feels good, but seeing myself in the full wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors sweating away on the treadmill is not a nice thing to see, no matter what time of day.

I realized last night, after 30 minutes of cardio… its going to be a long slog back to healthy.

The BF spent the night last night. Normally, I welcome him coming to spend the night. It’s nice to have him around to talk to and curl up on the couch for a bit; however, today was his first day at his new practicum so he was agitated and didn’t sleep much last night. Neither did I.

I did feel a little like Harrison Ford sending Melanie Griffin off to her first day of work at the end of ‘Working Girl’. Last night I made his lunch (which he forgot to take) and printed out his driving directions before we crawled into bed for a sleepless, tossy-turny night.

And now, with my car in the shop (again) I’m stuck ‘working’ remotely from the home office pondering my life, my goals (I have none) and my future (pre-final world cruise).

Whats going on in your world today? (Can you tell I’m not very awake yet?)

It would be really nice for the public (and even private) conversations taking place in the US these days regarding a wide variety of topics be put on hold until such a time that people can realize that yelling, shouting, stomping your feet and carrying the threat of death (i.e. weapons) are not the correct way approach to a problem.

Once again, I am completely and utterly ashamed of my country. Once again, this shame is brought on by the predominantly Republican side of the political discussion. The last time I felt this level of shame was right before we invaded a sovereign country. Much like last time, it was the loudest voices being heard. It wasn’t the millions of people around the globe and here at home begging for more time to come up with a real solution. BEGGING to let cooler heads prevail.

Once again, we find ourselves in this very public shouting match… err… one side is shouting. Shouting and threatening and throwing around images and words that have NO PLACE in this discussion. Once again I fear those who shout the loudest will win.

I dream of the time when people with differing views can put the differences aside, sit down over a beer or a latte and have a discussion. I dream of the time when people make the energy to listen to the opposing views and ideas. True compromise can actually be beneficial when both views work towards a solution.

But this can’t happen until we put down the guns, stop the shouting, take a step back, read the proposals of both sides and finally roll up our sleeves and put something in place that works for ALL Americans, not just the Health Insurance CEOs.

I think Americans underestimate the value of a few days off. Maybe it isn’t that we underestimate their value, maybe it is because most of us are afforded so few days off from work that we covet them and protect them and hoard them for the perfect time. We hang onto them like little life rafts of sanity and much like the Titanic, there are sadly too few of those life rafts to go around.

My company recently revised our vacation policy to require a zero balance as of December 31st of each year. We are no longer allowed to accrue vacation time and therefore everyone in the office is scrambling to use up their years of accrued vacation time. It is affecting our operations because we’re so short staffed that important tasks aren’t being completed in a timely manner, like oh, billing.

Now, I rarely write about my work, even though it is supposed to take up the majority of my life because I really try to separate my work life from my home life. Given the nature of my job it is very difficult to do this. You see, I work wherever my phone is. Sales has a way of bleeding into your private life. You never really shut down. I shut down by not answering or carrying my phone.

Today is my first day back from a four-day weekend. Though I carried my phone with me, I didn’t answer it all weekend. I took a true 4 days off from work, from life, from everything. It was the BF’s (Formerly LTT) birthday and we sort of unplugged. Spent most of the weekend curled up on the couch, in bed, running errands, watching rented movies and trying our hands at cooking new and exciting things. (Exciting because we had no idea how they’d turn out). It was a really nice weekend.

It got me to thinking though. Why do Americans get so little time off? Why are we, as workers, so quick to give up our benefits under pressure from management? Why are we, as a nation, so anti-union? Most industrial countries in the world have much better worker protections than the US does. Most industrial countries have more personal time off than American workers do.

I’ve been raised to believe that America is the best country in the world, but the older I get, the less that seems true. We’re at the bottom of most of the world’s best lists. Our education system is broken, our infrastructure is antiquated, the entire health care system is over-priced and doesn’t work for those that most need it, and yet we fight each other to keep things the way they are???

What is wrong with socializing certain aspects of our society? We already have socialized police, fire and transportation. We have a form of socialized medicine (Medicare) that most people in healthcare will admit runs better than private insurance.

I doubt this country will be able to pull itself out of this death spiral until we do what the founding fathers intended and limit the power of businesses. Look at the problems faced by this country, where the money comes from that is fighting to keep the status quo? Unless we seriously limit the powers of the corporations paying off congress and the Senate, America is sure to continue to drop on the world’s “best of” charts… oh, except maybe where to get the cheapest workforce, which is truly what most corporations want anyway. Cheap labor and profits.

Nice legacy America.

Last month I turned 40 years old. Sometime in mid-July, I gathered together with my closest friends (that were able to travel) and celebrated a day that I never though would arrive. I’ve never been the type of person to celebrate my birthday, because, well, to be honest, I didn’t do anything. I just showed up. You could say it set the stage for my professional life but that is another story for another day.

In my entire life, I’ve had 5 birthday parties. My first party was when I was a year old and I have no recollection of it even occurring. I could be fabricating the very fact the party happened. My second party occurred when I was in the 8-13 range. (I’ve never really been good with time and dates.) My third party occurred when I was 29 and took place at a tiny little sushi joint in Noe Valley here in San Francisco. The eight people that attended took over the restaurant and it was one of, if not the best, sushi meals ever. New to that party was Birthday Rick, so called because he was my birthday present to myself. We met 3 days prior to the event and I invited him immediately. He must have enjoyed himself since he’s still part of my life. The following year, 30, saw a concerted effort by several friends and the BF du Jour to throw me a house-based birthday party that was well attended and a lot of fun.

That was it. Until this year when, over a big glass of wine, I was advised there would be a party to mark year 40. I was assured there would be nothing for me to do except show up. Ok, then, sure. Let’s do it and the invites went out far and wide to my core group of friend that have scattered to the corners of the country and world.

The event was planned and the venues shopped. Decided upon and revised and revised again. It grew to enormous proportions. We were talking 100 guests and thousands of dollars and I finally blew a gasket and said “No”.

I cancelled the party, and requested my deposit back from the restaurant. But… not the entire deposit. Nor was the party completely cancelled. I wanted to spend my 40th birthday with those that are most important to me and I did.

There were 14 people circling the table, the gifts all carried a duct tape theme and the homemade cake shaped like an iPhone complete with apps blew my mind. (Even more so when they circled it with 40 candles and set it alight). They turned down the lights in the restaurant but I swore they turned them on full.

All in all I enjoyed my 40th birthday immensely and I’m very glad that I was convinced to throw the party.