Rebel Prince

Wow, April is here already, along with 80° weather. (It was snowing a few days ago!) Well, with the first quarter of 2003 behind us, how am I doing on my New Year’s resolutions?

No progress. I still spend as much, if not more, time online. Must work on reducing internet dependence. Do they make some kind of patch to help control the cravings? And I haven’t gone to the gym once this year. Addendum goal: must be all fit and buff by summer. I can do that. (Proviso to the addendum: do laundry. That would help all around.)

Progress. I’m eating better: more vegetables, fiber, and so forth. Go, me. I’m doing slightly better on the money front as well. I returned my under-played piano, so that’s one less expense to worry about. I’m reading more. And in three weeks, I start taking a Portuguese class at the USDA Grad School, so that’s a bit of intellectual stimulation and interpersonal interaction rolled up in one. Not bad.

Collections. The other day I mused about going into antique book collecting, and I spent an inordinate amount of time yesterday looking up stuff on the web. Maybe I’ll specialize in travel guides and essays, like the classic-red Baedeker’s, first published in the 1800s. (I’m watching a few on eBay.) Or maybe Beat Generation classics, like first editions of Kerouac and Ginsberg. Speaking of books, there’s an article in today’s Post on L. Page “Deacon” Maccubbin, owner of Lambda Rising, the local gay and lesbian bookstore. He recently bought the Oscar Wilde Bookstore in New York, saving it from bankruptcy. Full text here.

Lastly:

Ah, look at that man. The confluence of power and grace, of strength and beauty. I was going over my Barnes & Noble wishlist, and I just added this gorgeous Phaidon Press photo book of the ballet great Rudolf Nureyev. I first came across a hardcover edition at the Stanford Bookstore years ago, visiting it often during my time there, and I’ve remembered it ever since.

Sonal forwarded me an announcement from the Times wedding section, on the TV chef we love to hate, Claudine Pépin, who gamely assists with cooking duties on the show hosted by her father, the venerable Jacques Pépin. According to the article, before venturing into the professional culinary world, the former Mlle. Pépin majored in international relations and had plans for a job at NATO. Who’d have guessed? Sonal retorts, “Especially because she is so ditzy. Like anyone would entrust the fate of the Transatlantic Alliance to someone who cannot even peel a carrot properly…” Ha.

Rebel Prince Radio returns, with “A Glimpse” by Walt Whitman.

A glimpse, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove, late of a winter night—And I unremark’d seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going—of drinking and oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word.

And now, in two parts:

Part I: Jeff vs. the Banana Hummer (1:15, transcript)
Part II: Whitman Revisited (1:59)

Isn’t that the most depressing thing a computer can tell you? Oh well, a watched e-mail account gathers no messages, I always say. Time to turn off the computer, and get out of the house. In any case, I’ve been indoors all weekend, and could use a walk. Even just to Kramer’s or Lambda Rising, and then Chipotle. Mmm, burrito. When I get back, I’ll try to record another episode of Rebel Prince Radio. Cheers.

Last night after work I go to Fresh Fields. I’m in the cereal aisle. Two guys walk past me, chat for a bit, then it looks like they’re going to split up to get different items. They walk away, in opposite directions. I remain deliberating over the bran flakes, transfixed. They reach the opposite ends of the aisle, me somewhere in between, when the one on my left yells to the other, “I’m going back over to the produce!”

His friend (boyfriend?), who has already disappeared, pops his head around the corner: “What?”

Almost instinctively, I want to turn to him, and helpfully chirp, “Produce! He’s going back to produce.”

But in the half-second before I open my mouth, I realize I am on the brink of an awkward, would-be-funny-only-in-retrospect moment, because then he’ll have nothing to say in response but, “Oh… uhh, okay. Thanks,” as he wonders why the cereal-aisle stranger is suddenly speaking on behalf of his… lover? committed life partner? (Perhaps at this point I’m not so transfixed on the bran flakes anymore.) I bite my lip, and smile. I let the scene continue without intervention, and leave the two men to sort out their supermarket wanderlust.

Epilogue. I can always depend on Fresh Fields to play music I haven’t heard in ages. Waiting in the checkout line, I hear “I Love the Nightlife.” Nice. “I love the nightlife, I got to boogie on the disco ’round, oh yeah…” And then “Kung Fu Fighting” comes on. I smile again, and am suddenly conscious of doing so. I’m about to lose it. I stifle a laugh.

To hell with it. With both irony and nostalgia, I smile to my fellow queuers (and queers), exchanging a few knowing glances, as if to say, “Oh my god, when was the last time you heard this?” That’s right, get down. Now I’m moving to the music, while scanning the magazine covers above the conveyer belt. Ooh, Ewan McGregor on Out.

I am having the best time at the supermarket. Ever.

Now listening to Ella Fitzgerald’s Best of the Songbooks. Man, that cat can swing. (Yes, I said “cat,” and no, I am not Sammy Davis, Jr.)

TV notes. Must-See TV are reruns tonight, except for Scrubs. The World Figure Skating Championships are in town this week at the MCI Center. The pairs and men’s free skates are broadcast tonight, ladies’ this Saturday, on ABC.

Interesting bit on Patricia Highsmith, author of the Tom Ripley series, in the March/April 2003 issue of Book magazine (excerpt at the website). I went to alibris‘s website, and found some first editions of The Talented Mr. Ripley. Ah, one day, when I have money to spare—don’t hold your breath—maybe I’ll get into the hobby of collecting rare, first-edition books.

Speaking of books, if you’re looking for a breath of fresh air from the Amazon.com hegemony, check out the following: Powell’s Books and Daedalus Books. They don’t have the hugest selection, but they’ve definitely got a cozy vibe and lots of stuff for cheap.

Why are computers in movies always so unrealistic? To me this becomes apparent in scenes where the lead character has to compose a simple message, and invariably it’s on some unbelievably clunky and flashy e-mail program. I used to think that the avoidance of realistic computer applications was due to licensing issues (that Microsoft would step in and say, “Hey, that’s Windows there! Give us money!” as if it were a living, breathing extra on set), but apparently movie directors think realistic is boring. I think flashy looks like Fisher-Price released My First E-Mail Program or something.

Late the other night, I was retooling the website on my laptop computer, and thinking about going back to one of my favorite fonts, Georgia, for the main text. I tried it out, and thought, “Hm, it’s all jagged and pixelated. Not pretty.” Then I realized my face was practically pressed up to the screen. (I can just hear my mom now: “Go to sleep! Give your eyes a rest!”) And then I further realized that I really need to do something about my ergonomic situation. I need a desk or table, anything. I’m working on it.