This Year's Model

This weekend marked my 40th high school reunion. I decided not to attend the event, a decision I ended up regretting. The following is what I wrote on the reunion’s page on The Facebook:

I continue to hear stories from friends & acquaintances about the horrors of their high school years. The Husband is still bitter about HS & even today, finds his life leading in certain directions because of experiences during his 4 years at Lewis & Clark HS (class of 1968).

I enjoyed a happy & secure childhood & had a groovy time during my 4 years at Joel E Ferris HS, 1968-1972. I was involved in nearly every theatre & music activity. I traveled easily around the different sub-groups of high school: AV aids, nerds, jocks, greasers, druggies, band geeks, hippies, smart kids, teachers, debate team, 4H, & enjoyed an easy going relationship with the most popular people, you know who you are, don’t make me call you out by name, & of course,  I was quite at home with the drama nerds.

I went to every dance & prom, because I love to dance & because I was determined to make being gay unimportant or at least not tragic.

I give my classmates the credit for my good HS experience, for being friendly, open-minded, & occasionally willing to be naughty.

In HS, I wanted to work hard & train to become the best actor, singer & dancer possible with the resources available to me. My other priorities included getting loaded & getting laid. I was rather successful at both.

Now I regret NOT being at our 40th reunion. I am unemployed for the first time in 45 years. My Husband is just getting a new venture off the ground. Our lives don’t quite run in the black & we have made a game of spending as little money as possible & making big sacrifices. We got rid of our automobile & its monthly payments, insurance & upkeep, & purchased bicycles. We only dine out at “happy hour”, & we grow some of our own food. But travel, even to Spokane seemed out of the question.

Now, as you all celebrate, I wish that I had found a way to be there, even if I had hitchhiked, like I used to do in 1972.

I have deep affection for the group of us that went all the way through school together, grades 1 thru12 : Hamblen, Sacajawea, & Ferris. I would have really liked to have looked you each of you in the eye & heard about your life post-1972.

I would have welcomed the chance to shake hands & have a conversation with the idol of my youth, the distinguished screenwriter/producer- Harley Peyton.

As I mentioned in a message to childhood neighbor & school chum, Bruce Roberts, maybe there was a reason for my not making it to the reunion. There was always that chance that I would have had too much to drink, insulted someone, & made an unfortunate pass at someone else. At our 20^th reunion, & ended up smoking pot & having sex in the car with a former, then/now married classmate. Oh well… I never desired to be a role-model, not in 1972 or 40 years later.

I hope you all had a swell time & I will definitely see you at our 50th…  you will recognize me, I am the one with the really cool walker.

Taxes: Of life's Two Certainties, The Only One For Which You Can Get An Automatic Extension

It really is a sordid little tale, but quite telling of my life before & after. On Tax Day- April 15th 1974, I had my taxes done professionally for the 1st time. I was flummoxed by the collection of tax statements from various part time jobs & work/study at school & decided: “Fuck the expense… I can’t even read the instructions from the IRS booklet”. After HR BLOCK gave me the good news of a small return, I arranged to meet friends for drinks at Trader Vic’s on West Olympic Boulevard in L.A.

2 Hours after imbibing 5+ Polynesian style cocktails, & deciding that going “Hawaiian” might be just the thing, I found myself on a jet bound for Honolulu. Drunk & dim witted, I had written a bad check to the airline (you could actually pass a bad check in those days, before electronic balance checks & debit cards), & off I went into the wild blue yonder, bound for the tropics with no money & no luggage…just my wits & a toothbrush.

I arrived in Honolulu 6 hours later, sober & freaked out. I checked into the Holiday Inn using a Texaco Credit Card the parents had given me to use for automobile “emergencies”, but I had once noted that the card was good at a few hotel/motel chains.


After sleeping it off, & having prayed that I would actually wake up back at my Playa del Rey apartment, I considered the consequences of what I had done, but I was enchanted with pungent, tropical air of the island & I decided- “what the hell…I am in Hawaii!”


I didn’t think much of the Capitol city & wanting a more authentic Hawaiian experience, I took a municipal bus to the other side of the island & got off in a spot that looked more native, with the romantic name- Makaha (a favorite spot for surfers). I set up a little camp for myself on the beautiful white sandy beach, made up from towels stolen from the Holiday Inn. At sunset, a lovely lady in her 40s wearing a mu-mu, swept down the beach & plopped down next to me with the offer of a beer & a joint.

Marla was a refugee from Washington State, & with this in common, we started a nice long conversation. Marla was managing an apartment building near the beach & after hearing my sad story of how I ended up on the beach at Makaha, she offered me a vacant apartment for a couple of days. I ended up staying 5 days.


I survived by attending “happy hour” with complimentary hors' d oeuvres at the Makaha Golf Club, where I had befriended the middle aged & effeminate cocktail hour piano player. He had allowed me to sing while he played & to “pass the hat” (I actually had a hat) in the lounge. I entertained & bewitched the locals & tourists as a the little 20 year old with the big red afro & the repertoire of Broadway classics. I made more than $20 each evening that I was there. The rest of the time I spent on the beach.

On day 5, filled with dread & regret, I wrote another bad check & flew to L.A. Back at Loyola Marymount University, I had abandoned my assigned position of lightboard operator for the Theatre Department’s production of Racine’s Phaedra during tech week. I was put on probation & I took my punishment & humiliation like man. A man with a tan.


Years later, during a dinner conversation with my parents & their guests, I slipped about my visit to the Island State when the talk turned to vacations spent there. Me: “Well when I was on Oahu, I really had fun at the…, I mean, if I ever went, what I meant to say was…”  The parents were horrified, but somehow not all that surprised. The guests were now afraid of me. It was my only visit to Hawaii. I would love to return someday with the Husband. I think about Marla’s kindness, singing for my supper & my Hawaiian adventure on every Tax Day for the last 37 years.

Left To My Own Devices

I am bachin' it the next few days. The Husband has a design client in Eugene, Oregon (2 hours south of Portland) & is staying until Tuesday. In the past, being a bachelor brought with it bit of bad behavior. Indeed, a half a decade ago, a weekend on my own would have found me getting high & drunk, staying out until last call & then having to face the fact that I was in the hot tub with a pair of brawny redheads & all that it implies. I would then need to busy myself covering my tracks.

Now I am so old that bad behavior consists of catching up on DVR-ed TV viewings of Real Time With Bill Maher, Top Chef, RuPaul's Drag Race, & Selling NY, & then going to bed at 8:30pm...  then trying to cover my tracks.

I have not been really a good boy, for dinner last night I consumed: 1 veggie slice, a side of fries, cheesecake & a martini.

I am so old now... I recently attempted to explain what Carbon Paper was to my staff.

 

I get out of bed at half past ten
Phone up a friend, who's a party animal
Turn on the news & drink some tea
Maybe if you're with me we'll do some shopping

One day I'll read, or learn to drive a car
If you pass the test, you can beat the rest
But I don't like to compete, or talk street, street, street
I can pick up the best from the party animal

I could leave you, say goodbye
Or I could love you, if I try
& I could
& left to my own devices, I probably would

Left to my own devices, I probably would

Pick up a brochure about the sun
Learn to ignore what the photographer saw
I was always told that you should join a club
Stick with the gang, if you want to belong

I was a lonely boy, no strength, no joy
In a world of my own at the back of the garden
I didn't want to compete, or play out on the street
For in a secret life I was a round head general

I could leave you, say goodbye
Or I could love you, if I try & I could
& left to my own devices, I probably would

Left to my own devices, I probably would

I was faced with a choice at a difficult age
Would I write a book? Or should I take to the stage?
But in the back of my head I heard distant feet
Che Guevara & Debussy to a disco beat

It's not a crime when you look the way you do
The way I like to picture you
When I get home, it's late at night
I pour a drink & watch the fight

Turn off the TV, look at a book
Pick up the phone, fix some food
Maybe I'll sit up all night & day
Waiting for the minute I hear you say

I could leave you, say goodbye
Or I could love you, if I try
& I could
& left to my own devices, I probably would

Come on, baby, say goodbye
I could love you, if I try
& I could
& left to my own devices, I probably would

Left to my own devices, I probably would

Out of bed, at half past ten
The party animal phones a friend
Picks up news about the sun
& the working day has just begun

Sticks with the gang - at the back of the street
Pass the test - & you don't compete
Drive the car, if you're with me
Che Guevara's drinking tea
He reads about a new device
& takes to the stage in a secret life

Left to my own devices, I probably would
If I was left to my own devices, I possibly would

Tennett/Lowe



"Young men want to be faithful, & are not; old men want to be faithless, & cannot.”
Oscar Wilde

My Hero!

This past week, it came to light that a very important player in the life of the husband, & me, & our life as a couple, has been complaining to the husband about me. I am not even slightly upset with Mr. X, although why, after two years of spending time with us & knowing me pretty darn well, would Mr. X choose to complain to the husband about my penchant for booze, pot & procrastination is a tiny bit surprising.

The husband has long been my most loving, but toughest (& by that I mean-honest) critic of my behavior, clothing choices, drinking, drugging, garden design, acting, singing & writing. He is very nearly always correct. He is honest to a fault, as in answering- “YES” to the query- “Does this outfit make me look fat?” So… it was a bit of a surprise to discover that the husband was very unhappy about the complaints by Mr. X & that he stuck up for me, stuck by me & defended my honor.

I adore & cherish Mr. X. He is an amazing, very attractive, talented & accomplished man. I am pleased to have him in my life. I am better man for knowing him. I am not surprised that he finds pieces of my personality & lifestyle disagreeable… I am after all, very much in touch with my inner-grouch & inner-slut & I have a hedonistic bent. I own up to being opinionated & a tad bit louche. I really don’t mind that Mr. X lives a life just short of being a nun. In my defense, I am also a good & loyal friend, responsible, honest, good at my job & generous to a fault.

The husband has always been quick with praise when I get it right. "You should always wear blue. It brings out your beautiful soulful eyes"- is lovely to hear. He was always lavish in his praise of performances that he found to be especially good. He will still tell friends & acquaintances how much he loved my work in his favorites- Horace Vandegelder in Hello, Dolly!, Hysterium in A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to the Forum or "LM" in Pump Boys & Dinettes... or even compliments that are qualified- "You were the only good thing in Side By Side By Sondheim." I am always thrilled & warmed by his-"The garden looks so beautiful". I actually glowed when our friend Bryan told me that one day at Rooster Rock, while sunbathing, the husband turned turned to him & announced- "Stephen doesn't even seem to realize it, but he has the most beautiful & original singing voice, especially when he was doing jazz with a jazz trio... even I was shocked by how good he can be."

I really wish, beyond all measure, that the husband & Mr. X would have no bad energy between them, especially because of me. I am deeply touched & somewhat taken aback by the husband’s defense of me. When I mentioned how I felt about this to the husband, as we went to bed last night, he tenderly said- “Yeah? Well complaining about you is MY JOB & not for ANYBODY else!”

The painting is by one of my favorite American painters- Marsden Hartley (1877-1943)