Everybody wants to write a book! It's no wonder I feel like it is a wasted effort. And with the advent of self-publishing, well, it's anyone's ballgame.

I suppose I feel twin about it...on the one hand, why can't anyone write a book?! I mean, we all have a unique story to tell in our own voice...but then again, c'mon, let's be honest, many of us can't write our way out of a job application.

Oh, the curse of wisdom...would that I had some with regard to my own ambitions!

Yeah, I gotta book for ya, right here, buddy! hah!

I wish everyone every bit of luck...and when they get rich and famous they can buy MY book. hah.

I walk through book stores, even when I see those book displays in airports, and I think, how does an idea stand out...what can anyone say on paper that will be special...hasn't it all been told before?

Perhaps, and then I come full circle and grudgingly release some of my cynicism. Ok, ok, we can all write a book. Yeah, yeah.

Pssst, hey you, wanna buy a book, it's the good stuff, I swear...here, wanna taste...

Debate this!

I have been awake for just barely 3 hours and already I have been asked the question of the day twice.

Said question? "What did you think about the debate? Who do you think 'won'?"

Who won? Are you kidding?! There isn't a thing he could say or promise he could make that would undo the damage that Bush has done to my heart and soul. While I may not be in love with Kerry...I'd rather have him courting me for the next four years than that megalo-idiot we've got running the ranch now.

It is sad that I am stubborn in my disdain as well as my support. Sad because it makes me just as bad as the insistent Republicans. I want them to change their minds, perhaps as much if not more than they want to change mine. I have a friend who is a Republican(amazing but true...I also have a brother-in-law on the other side, we aren't sure how that happened, perhaps a crazy gene gone astray)and she won't change her mind or even consider listening to the Democrats at all.

I too am unable to listen to the President (choke, gasp) and find myself turning away from any Republican rhetoric (because that's all it is isn't it?).

SO, to vote to vote...and to wish for a better way to run this country. Can't somebody figure it out and actually get it done? Yeesh.

Is that Club Med on the moon open yet?

Ignorance is sometimes a shame. As in when a business owner lets his personal management skills interfere and guide his work environment. He can bring a tear to his eye on call...but can he bear to listen to a side that differs from his own? NO.

Once upon a time, in a small neighborhood known as Soho, a tiny hole in the wall restaurant once lived. It was a quaint little place that was run by a group of people, some cooks, some servers, some managers...and together they made and served good food, poured good wine and made many people smile. But the business got slow and so the owner invested a bunch of money to reinvent it. And, it worked!

But sadly, some things changed. No longer did the cooks and servers get to cast a vote. Only the owner and his new gang of managers got to choose. Many servers and cooks left, and many wished they could. Those that stayed lost their faith in the restaurant but still loved it enough, because the food and wine and the customers were all so wonderful, that they stayed. It was still a relatively comfortable place to work and but whereas once they were eager to come to work, now they merely came to do their job and counted the minutes and dollars until they could leave.

One or two people had tried to tell the owner that there were some changes that had been made that were not decent, some that needed to be made that were being avoided, but they only got spurned, yelled at and shut down.

Once upon a time, the owner commanded respect. Now he only commanded a staff.

He rests his hairy chin
against the flattened fingers
of his fist
And the thinking man
wonders
what exactly did he do to deserve
this.

A body
a blessing
a temple for us to keep
crumbling bricks and mortar
not to mention bad plumbing
I want to trade mine in
for one that works
for pipes that aren't rusty, corroded
for limbs and bones that feel good
My own private pipe dream
should I be so lucky
should I be so blessed
should I cry

Watching videos on a perfectly rainy day off...

Valerie Solanas was a bit nutso, but Lili Taylor plays her believably well. The movie, I Shot Andy Warhol, was interesting in an entertaining way, but it was a slice without a pie, a story without context. In the end we know nothing more than the fact that she had a driven mind dedicated to spreading the word about her philosophy and that she didn't do drugs. Frankly, being a prostitute seems like exactly the thing to make someone, anyone, hate men. It is really the seedier side of our human animal.

Next on the list is Rebecca, Hitchock's only Oscar winning movie according to the cover of the DVD.

My brain feels lethargic and yet is racing at the same time. I want to relax but that sense of forgotten homework keeps my stomach in a spasm.

What really is the point is what I keep coming back to. Some believe that our stories are already written, our lives laid out like laundry on a line. All we have to do is keep moving and it will be. On one hand that sounds good, like, oh great-I don't have to worry about it, it's out of my hands. But that doesn't last, the concept that we create as we go takes over and then the former becomes a joke, a wishlist, a soul's fantasy of easy choices.

What is my next choice? How will I surprise myself next? what wacky thing will spring from my own midst?

Solanas was crazy, but she wasn't stupid and she produced...for all her talk, she walked the walk too. Ya gotta admire someone who follows through, even if it is on a misguided ideology. Mind you, the violence I do not advocate. Ironically, to me, that Solanas shot Warhol, that she used violence to solve her dilemma, makes her equal to the very male species she deplores.

I can't function on absolutes, it is the exceptions that interest me. Men, women, there are members of both genders that I would like to forever remand to that maltshop in the sky.

In the meantime, down here on earth, we merrily row along.

Catching up....Chicago...

We made it a culinary experience with wedding details interspersed as necessary.

Once we arrived in Chicago Thrusday morning and got our rent-a-car I took out my cell phone and started making calls. First to the bride to be to let her know we arrived. Then on to the important stuff (hah).

Topolobampo for lunch that very same day at 1230p. Then I called Charlie Trotter's just to see. We already had a rez at Blackbird for Friday night but it was worth trying I figured. "Any chance you have a reservation available for tomorrow evening for two?" Trotter's is supposed to be like Per Se and French Laundry, make your call in about 2-4 months in advance or forget it.

BUT, hold on, there was a 530p opening. I thanked her but said, no, that was too early. Then she tells me that, wait, she has an opening at915p. Perfect!

I called Blackbird and moved our dinner to lunch on Friday. We were gonna have some eatin' fun.

Topolo, as the locals call it, was great. Exquisite cuisine executed flawlessly and amazing service from Christopher who's worked there for 5 years and was very helpful with maps and neighborhood directives as well.

ok, off to work, more on Trotter later. BLackbird too.

Hidy ho from Vegas! What a crazy disgusting place this is. Remind me if I forget...I hate it here and have no need to return. I might forget...so please wake me up if I say I am visiting this icky town again.

I can honestly tell you that it doesn't matter if you are in the Bellagio or the Lady Luck, everywhere is the smell of smoke and alcohol and the ding ding ding of the slot machines. I have been here since Sunday night and believe you me, that is plenty long enough.

Anyone that tell you that they love going to Vegas is someone who loves to drink, gamble and be turned on by gratuitous body exposure. I mean, the cocktail waitresses at the freaking pool are wearing thongs, just barely. So unnecessary. As are the "happy couples" making out in the pool right next to kids playing in the waterfall. EEsh.

I happen to be staying at the Rio, which may once have been a great hotel but now is really just a cheesy throwback. I am not impressed and the food has been lousy here. I have eaten a meal or two in the hotel because my wife is working the scoring for a Pastry competition that is taking place here and they feed us on occasion. Not well.

Last night we ate at Thomas Keller's offshoot, Bouchon, at the Venetian. I like the hotel in general, nicely done, exquisite marble and all that and the best part is when you walk in, the lobby is just a lobby. Most hotels here welcome you with slots and craps tables before you even register.

Anyway, Bouchon was delightful. A simple place with a simple menu of traditional French bistro fare. Fabulous bread with perfectly room temp butter to start. I had the chilled beet soup with lemon creme fraiche to start and wifey had a sumptuous pork belly with caramelized figs, so rich and good. The pork fell apart in your mouth, the meat melding with fat in a pleasurable tongue lashing. The soup was fantastic, smooth as could be and while it was all beet, it certainly didn't overpower the palate. The dollop of lemon creme fraiche was the perfect foil and lifted the beet flavor nicely. I wanted the bowl to be endless.

For a main course wifey had a Boudin Blanc, a white sausage of pork, beef and duck that was simply tender and bursting with juicy flavor. It was served over not-so-thrilling mashed potatoes and accompanied by the most amazing prunes I have ever had. In the end the simple potatoes worked with the sausage and the prunes, bringing them together with a creamy texture that didn't take over.

I had the Trout Amandine, done in the traditional way, served with haricots verts. It was toothsome and had a well-rounded flavor. I wished I had been hungrier. I left about half. I also remembered that fish Amandine isn't my favorite, too much buttery business.

Tonight we are deciding where to go after the judging is over. Maybe somewhere decent. We are tired but unwilling to eat the hotel food here.

And tomorrow we leave. YEEHAH! See ya latah Vegas!

Today I said goodbye to someone I thought was a friend. Not a close friend, not someone I spoke to every day or even every week...but someone I thought I would always know. But it seems I was a fool. I thought that we were on the same page, that when we spoke we spoke true-ly and from the heart. I knew she had a history, that her past was not so pretty...and that didn't matter to me. We all have chapters we prefer not to re-read.

She said that she felt unsafe with me and with my wife. Unsafe. What an incredibly powerful word. And because she said that to me, I now feel unsafe with her. My wife told her to forget about us and go on with her life. I think that is best.

I am amazed to find out that all the time of our supposed friendship she felt unsafe. That she didn't share details and intimacies because she felt that she would be harmed by us. I am so angry and hurt I could spit. Now how can I continue in friendship with such a person? Now *I* am wary. Now I do not trust.

So apparently, when she told us about having an abusive relationship we were supposed to keep quiet and shut up and not say what we thought. I guess...I don't know. Because my way is to tell the truth, even when it hurts. I got mine now didn't I? yuck.

My birthday is in three days, or two actually since it is now Thursday. I have mixed feeling as always, but the excitement of it hit me today. Yay.

Unfortunately my birthday gets ambushed by being so very close to Father's Day...sometimes it is even ON that day and then I am really not a happy girl. I want the day to myself and frankly, my dad being and ass, well, that only adds to it. Both my parents have reached my rope ends and pulled brusquely no less. This year I am essentially skipping the celebration as I told them that I am not going out to the Hamptons during the US Open golf hoo-haw. Of course, where I will be and how I will spend my selfishly appointed birthday weekend is for me to know and you to find out later.

Being with my parents, not only is difficult because they are so expert at their dysfunction, but it also reminds me of the fact that I am gay...in a way that I don't feel even walking down the street on the Upper East Side with all those breeder chicks. It is their active reaction to it and that fact that they regularly have to adjust their words or amend their behavior in a way that doesn't go by unnoticed. I can feel them thinking about what the "right" thing to say is.

Their undercurrent of ignorance and their stubborn resistance to my being married to a woman represent the icky part of being gay in today's dominant culture. However small, there is a part of me that stops for a second, remembers that some people don't understand who I am and who I love, experiences the pang of doubting someone's love for me and the doubt rides with a nice dose of insecurity and wavering self-esteem. That little damned part gets really loud and asks again and again, am I ok?

Then the process of shaking it off takes hold, I see the people around me as they are and realize that I am so different, and not because I am gay and they are straight, but because they are living in judgment of me. And I am reminded, when I am with my parents, that they do not accept me as I am, but how they want me to be. And I resent them and hold them accoutable for their actions and reactions.

I do not choose to spend my precious time with anyone who cannot find the heart and mind to allow another to create the world in their eyes.

I was adopted as a baby and I do not choose to create another chosen family. I have had enough. My wife and I will travel our paths together and apart, and we will keep finding each other in the misty reality of our lives.