Bob and I just had a near-fatal encounter, but I kept it together, didn’t get upset, and calmly asked that he consider both of our feelings during this transition. The countdown to moveout day continues… I’ve offered to donate frequent flier miles to fly out his buddy Elin to help with the move. Hence the discussion–he feels that I owe him the miles, I wanted to feel that I was helping–the half-full, half-empty dichotomy fully realized yet again. Saturday we divide our things. Stay tuned for details.
So today is the anniversary of my move to San Francisco. 20 years ago, 3 days after my high school graduation,
…okay, hold on, now I get an email from Bob saying …In our talk I actually didn’t say anything about your character, and you got two digs in that really rankle. Typically, typically, typically, then, you go away congratulating yourself as Mr. Nice Guy. If indeed I looked after myself only during our relationship, I certainly did not do a very good job of it!… I had to run back upstairs and explain again that I needed each of us to consider the other’s feelings during the transition, that I was the one feeling not taken care of, and to apologize for anything that I said that hurt his feelings. There’s just no coming together here. He’s going to be angry and resentful, no matter what I do or say. Help!
So anyway, 20 years ago I came to San Francisco with flowers in my hair, and pink chandelier earrings, landed a job at Marcello’s Pizza on Castro, where I delivered slices to such luminaries as Richard Locke, Peter Berlin, and Al Parker, and put myself through the San Francisco Art Institute on pizza tips, met and fell in love with Manny, started a non-profit gallery-without-walls, Secession Gallery, had my first solo show, enjoyed a productive relationship with Patricia Sweetow Gallery, ran the LAB Gallery’s Board for five years, became a landscaper, photographed my porn-heroes, Jack & Mack, met and fell in love with Bill, Ron, Garry, Alfonso, Bob, Dean, and Big Chrissy, travelled to Europe, China, Japan, and Australia, gained 35 pounds, grew a beard, foreskin, planted my garden, had my car stolen, my house burglarized, had a stalker for a while, raised a gay love-child with Bob, and a cat, had an affair, received communion from the Pope, was shaken by countless earthquakes, had 2 runaway-trucks flatten everything in my side-garden on two separate occasions, my roof cave in… well, a lot of disasters, huh?
So what to do for the next 20 years? I want to focus on growing as an artist and get some work out of this town! (and Boston). My life seems less driven by hormones, for the moment, I have a comfy place to live steady work, so perhaps now’s a good time to really hunker down with my art.
