In the unlikely chance that this livejournal is being checked, it probably won’t be updated for quite some time (if ever), so I wouldn’t waste your effort. I have no time. I have other things to do. Evidently, there’s life out there. Go figure.

I just realized I'm actually happy. Like, for real this time.

I’m rather impressed with NYU.


I think I bombed my German placement exam today. Oh well, I guess.

Ok, so I went to some “Transfer Student Open House” thing this morning and I’m feeling quite a bit better about this whole thing. My fellow students are hardly intimidating—my anxiety is diminishing more and more. Thank god.

Also, the weirdest thing: at the open house, I saw this girl I had a creative writing class with my first semester at Chico. Soooo strange. She was actually one of the only people there I respected.

I guess I’m gonna be doing more stuff today with other transfers.

Is it just me, or are there like a ridiculous amount of attractive people here?

I was sitting on our deck with my brother this afternoon drinking a beer and had a good laugh at the now omnipresent helicopters circling over Manhattan. God, this convention is such a horrible idea.

Date:	2004-08-24 19:21
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	excited
Music:	Social Distortion - "Cold Feelings"

I woke up this morning in a bed. An honest to god real bed. Not a couch, not a pullout sofa, just a nice, simple twin mattress. That probably doesn’t seem particularly incredible, does it? For the last two and a half weeks I’ve been sleeping on, first at the hotel, a pullout sofa, and then my brother’s very small loveseat. So when yesterday we moved into our new two-bedroom place, I got a wonderful bed delivered!

Brett was in town for a couple of days with his older brother before heading off to Delaware this morning. It was really amusing seeing someone who has only left Oregon twice in the city. I don’t think he liked it.

I also saw Jen today. She’s the best.

In other news, our new apartment is pretty fucking nice. There’s a lot more room than I thought was actually possible. Oh, and the private backyard is…well…all kinds of rad. The first thing I did when we were moving in was set up the AirTunes. Wow, it’s the coolest toy, ever!

I’m gonna go cook up some tacos. An avenue to enlightenment is surely found in Mexican food.

I'm having a lot of fun here. This city is great.

So my brother suggested that, as a job during school, I do some bartending. Hmm, interesting, eh? Being the profiteer of alcoholism sounds extremely entertaining, and might just be the key to my financial woes. What I mean by that is t I need money to buy all the pretty things I pass in all those pretty shops. Ohhhh so pretty.

I’m getting really antsy to move into our new place. Don’t get me wrong, my brother’s place isn’t so bad, but I need to have my own space. Only three more nights.

I’m tired.

I bought Frankfurter Allgemeine today. It’s amazing how much German I’ve forgotten in the last two months. Shit....

Hahah, ok, so I had to write this down while it’s still fresh.

As part of my I’m-21-so-I-can-buy-booze thingy, I decided to buy some beer. The first place I went to didn’t card me. Fuckers, card me dammit! Please? So, after drinking the bottle, I decided to go again—this time to a different place.

When I put my delicious bottle of Hefeweißen on the counter, the clerk asked for my ID. I was overjoyed, and happily handed it to her. She looked at it, then at me, then back at the ID before saying something in what I can only guess was English.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re too young.”

Are you kidding me? I quickly pulled out my cell phone and flipped to the date, clearly showing her that, indeed, I’m 21 as of today, August 18th, 2004.

Her finger shook at me. “Come back tomorrow. You’re too young.” She was determined, and the guy next to her behind the counter didn’t seem to care that she was denying me alcohol on this, my governmentally sanctioned day of right. Are you fucking kidding me, I was thinking. How does someone get a job when their arithmetic is so fucking bad? Listen, you old hag, sell me the booze. I’ve worked too hard for this moment!

After some bantering and with a befuddled look on my face, I went down ave A to another store. There, I set a six-pack on the counter. The teller rang me up, didn’t ask for ID, but looked at me a little strange. Boy, I was hoping for that nice little phrase that would allow me to flash my newfound, ridiculously before-withheld right of alcohol possession, but no, she said: “I like your shirt.” Dammit!

So, I’m “of age” now, but I want the recognition. I better not go the whole night without a successful carding. I think I’ll take my passport out with me tonight in case they look at me and think I have a really good fake.

I had the strangest dream last night. It was the sort that you don’t really recall much of the detail, but leaves a hangover of sorts. Like, my brain seems a little lighter, or something.

All I can really remember is that I was with someone—a guy, in fact. I haven’t any idea of his identity, but I have this image of us watching a sunset or sunrise or something as hopelessly romantic and lame. I’m a sucker for that shit.

Hmm.

I'm turning 21 tomorrow. Are you excited?

One of the greatest assets New York has to offer is its international populace. I was walking down Avenue A this morning and came upon the coolest magazine/newspaper store I’ve ever seen. The little place was literally packed with magazines, anything to strike your particular fancy.

I was overjoyed when I came upon some international magazines. Even though I’ve decided to solely study German for a while, I thought it might be fun to stay on top of at least a little French so I ended up buying La Monde. I had a blast. To think, I now live in a place where I can run down the street and pick up literature in different languages—I’m so happy about that.

I really want to be in our new apartment.

And dammit I hope I have time to do a language with Speaking Freely. So cool.

So, we’ll keep this relatively short. With the help of my parents, my brother and I found an apartment here in New York. It’s actually a pretty sweet place; we have a private backyard (which is insanely unheard of in Manhattan) and it’s right in one of my favorite neighborhoods: the East Village. Specifically, between Avenue A and 1st Avenue on 9th Street. With the backyard, we’re sure to have some sweet BBQs. Fuck yeah!

Unfortunately, we won’t be moving in until the 23rd, so I have some free time to kill before all that happens. I’ll probably be living with my brother in his tiny studio, but he might send me out to the Hamptons to his friends’ place for a few days. Damn, sounds horrible, eh?

This last week was extremely hectic. Luckily, we found an apartment, but it took a whole lot of searching and running around. Thank god it’s over. I don’t think it really got to me that I was in New York until a couple nights ago when my brother took me to a comedy thing at The Upright Citizen’s Brigade; his friend was one of the performers. The after party at some bar in Chelsea was really fun—and, oh yeah, the show was sweet.

My parents took off about an hour ago, so I’m just relaxing. I guess tonight we’re going out to Brooklyn to a party or something. Should be fun.

It’s good to be here—I love this city.

The last week has been all kinds of insane. As might have been gathered from previous posts, I didn’t have much time for all the things that inevitably should have happened. A week ago, as I had just finished work and hesitantly decided to think about heading off to New York, I was still very detached from the idea (not to mention the logistics) of this move. It didn’t start setting in all week, and I’m not too certain it has yet, even though I’m typing this entry while sitting in seat 8F on an Alaskan Airlines from Seattle to Newark.

Had I the time last week, I think there might have been some entries in this journal relating to my deepening fear of school and all that shit. That’s not very interesting; so we’ll leave it at that, non? I did have a lot of fun, though three straight nights of partying were a bit ridiculous. Twas a beautiful wedding—Eric gave a fantastic speech.

Subsequently, my brother and I have decided to get an apartment together in New York, provided he can get out of his lease. This means more room, though it is Manhattan, after all—as someone once told me, “I’d live in a closet if it meant living in New York.” (Yeah, you.)

We’re arriving in the city this evening sometime around 6:00—we, of course, being my parents and myself. Eric took the Red-Eye last night late, so he’s already back in the city.

Tomorrow I’m going to be harassing a whole bunch of landlords and whatnot. Should be fun. I have a feeling this week is going to deplete me of any and all energy. If—and that’s one huge fucking ‘if’—we find an apartment within the first few days, then the next days will be just as tiresome with buying furniture and getting all setup. But, with all this stress comes one realization (I think it just hit), I’m moving to New York!

Yay.

I'm leaving for nyc today, too busy to make a proper update. later.

I went to a party tonight. There were a bunch of annoying girls and this one guy who seems to be the essence of everything that is lame. I mixed his dad’s classical guitar record. I really wanted to smack someone, though my pacifism got in the way.

Although I grew up in a family obsessed with golf, I didn’t ever see the fun in it. Hitting a white ball around a bunch of grass for five hours? Um, ok, I guess that’s, uhh, interesting. No, I didn’t much care for it, and thought it an extreme waste of my time—time much better spent playing Legos or riding bikes.

I think the problem lay in my obsessive-compulsive tendencies with a dash of ADHD. I’m not diagnosed, but many of my friends will willingly attest to Alex’s crazy side. Honestly though, I think they’re the ones that are messed up; who wouldn’t demand the volume on a car stereo never to be set on primes, and preferably be set to evens? What’s wrong with insisting that if salt is spilled on a table, it gets cleaned up immediately (or at least organized into nice little lines or shapes—symmetrical shapes). “The world’s not gonna end, Alex.” We’ll see, we’ll see.

I can’t stay concentrated on things for very long. I can’t sit around and watch TV all day, nor can I sit around studying for hours on end. There needs to be some spice, something to break the monotony of any routine, and let me tell you, golf doesn’t allow for any of that.

My Dad has built company on golf and my parents built a house on a golf course. You’d think after years of refusing to give the “sport” any interest, I’d break down and just make the parents happy by playing with more than an apathetic mood. No. It’s horrible. Golf is so incredibly boring I can’t help but wish I’d brought a book along for the ride. I look at my family when they play and wonder who these strangers are and how they’ve infected my life. They take the game so seriously, warping their mood from good to bad upon the whim of each stroke. I’m thinking they need to take some Valium before each play. At least it’d be more entertaining for me. Maybe they’ll eventually give up on me.

And the snobs at our (read: their) club are incredible. I can just hear the humdrum of their thoughts as I walk through the locker room or whack away at a ball on the driving range: Rules must be adhered. Rules are life. There is order in oppression. Heil Hitler! Ok, ok, I went a little too far. They’re not anti-Semites. Or are they?

People can’t wear jeans in the clubhouse. No, it doesn’t even matter if the jeans are nicer and worth more than their ugly ass Dockers…and god forbid someone wears a fucking t-shirt in their presence! And on the golfcourse, there shant be any cargo shorts or untucked polos. Sayeth the word of the God of fat, Anglo-Saxon, Republican white men with too much damn money.

Obviously, I was coerced into playing golf today, and thus I feel a need to bitch once again about how much I can’t stand wasting so much time with so little results. My brother came into town today, and since I’m the only one of my parent’s children who is still considered a member of the course, I had to take him out. Granted, my brother is really cool and a barrel of laughs, but I couldn’t help commenting on just how much quality reading I could have done in the time he’d stolen from me. He laughed. He thinks I need to read less in the summer or something.

Shut up, Eric.

I’m kind of wondering how different things are actually going to be this next year. I’ve always had it in my mind that when moving away, suddenly all my troubles will disappear and my wishes will be answered in quick form. Like, when I went off to school in California, I assumed there’d be a whole bunch of cool, intelligent, and above all, interesting folks to be friends with. Disappointment is numbing.

Specifically, though, I thought that I’d be able to encounter more gay guys that are like me—brushing off stupid stereotypes and actually living their lives not for materialism and heightening of the ego, but for something with more substance. What that is, I don’t know. I hate saying “normal,” or “straight-acting” or whatever other words people put on gay people who just don’t care about that shit, so I won’t; I think what I seek is someone who thinks that being gay is a small, nearly insignificant part of who they are, yet not to be ignored, and who doesn’t think an identity should be created solely on the fact of one’s sexuality.

Unfortunately, almost every guy I’ve hung out with in real life isn’t interested in that at all. It sucks because I find that I can’t be attracted to them in any way. People say I’m picky. People say I have weird standards. But the thing is, I don’t really think those Abrocrombie-esque guys are very attractive—you know, the hott bois (the extra T means über-hot). Sure, on the outside they’re gorgeous, but how can one be so absorbed into that world? I’m generalizing. I have my faults. It all boils down to the fact I have no idea what I want, and I’m scared I’ll never find it, ‘cause I haven’t yet.

I’ve no idea what I wanted to say, nor if I made much sense. The idea of being alone is haunting me. Sorry, another update of whining about me, me, me.

An update is probably long over due.

In little over a week I’m moving to NYC. I’m getting really fucking sick of people saying things like “oh, New York, that’s so exciting, you’ll have the time of your life,” or “New York? Well look at the big-city-boy. NYU? Make sure to meet the Olsen Twins.” Fact is, I really AM excited, but more than anything I’m really freaked out. This is, without doubt, the biggest change my life has ever undertaken.

Two years ago I moved away from my hometown, which was a great experience in developing an interest in academia and “branching out.” I left every single one of my friends behind in Oregon and went off to bask in the Californian sun. I must admit, I hated my old school, and I am not in the least sad to see it go.

So I worked my ass off so I could leave. I got into my dream school. Yay! Wait; does this mean I’m actually going to have to work hard in school? Like, you know, studying constantly? What did I get myself into? I’m so scared that I’ll be entering classes and be so intellectually sub-par from the rest of my fellow NYUers that I’ll be the provincial dunce—that I’m going to just make myself look like the ass my pessimistic mind keeps hinting I really am.

And on top of that, I need to find a place to live on my own now. As you might recall, I was planning on living with my brother’s girlfriend, but it looks as though she isn’t coming out any longer. My dreams of a beautiful East Village 2-bedroom have been shattered, and so my level of anxiety has recently shot straight through the roof.

My parents are going to come out to the city with me next Monday for a few days and help get situated. I’m lucky as hell to have such amazing people as my folks. With all the stuff that happened this last year, they’ve been more supportive and understanding than my wildest dreams would ever have thought possible. I love ‘em. I’m really going to miss our time together, but it’s time to go.

Yesterday was my last day of work. As my boss and I were driving back from an event, I was watching the moon jitterbug with the power lines bordering the sky along the highway and had a thought. I realized, despite my sporadic distaste for work in general, I'm really going miss the life I have here in Oregon; it’s so safe, it’s so comfortable. But then again, nothing good has ever come from being safe and comfortable—only when we’re running around like maniacs with our heads out the proverbial window, enjoying the fast wind of life, is anything of interest ever accomplished.

When I left work, I recognized that it was the beginning. It’s started. The goodbyes, the let’s-keep-in-touch’s, the don’t-have-to-much-fun’s, the sordid exchanges of uncomfortable remembrance of time mutually shared. I’ll miss it here, but I wouldn’t trade the adventure I’m about to start for anything.

“Nostalgia and hope stand equally in the way authentic experience.” Thanks, Mr. Robbins.

A friend sent me this ad that was printed in the L.A. Times. Apparently there’s been a whole lotta hoofla about it, but I find it hilarious:

http://www.exodus.to/pdf/Randy_Ad.pdf

These people are wonderful. The Advocate reported “that the two men who founded Exodus in the 1970s eventually became romantically involved and left their wives.” I wanna be an “ex-gay,” then maybe I could get a boyfriend.



Hahaha, self-loathing people are just adorable.