(oringinally ran in June 2009, but count this as a preview for this site, okay?)
Blogging is the new Bitching (and moaning)
Okay – so, originally this blog was slated to run back in early May as a follow-up to the events of book-tours I got to play a part in at the time; however, due to time constraints, a hectic schedule and constant lack of sleep the two blogs I had aimed to do fell by the wayside.
Sorry.
Now, here I am, writing it and cross-posting this blog on both of my pages (as there are still people who find me through my wrting-idol’s page – Jen Lancaster – and assume that my last blog on my personal page is indeed my last blog.
Nuh-Uh.
I may not be a blogging machine – like I was in 2004-06 – but, I can still put out a good one when I get the time.
So, yea; where were we? Oh yea – setting up the blog. This blog – as evidence by the title, is in reference to my writing-idol and one of my favorite authors: Jen Lancaster. I am proud and flattered when I read e-mail comments and hear from her fans that they enjoy my work (*note, I am NOT – repeat NOT – trying to piggyback off of her, I just love her work and happen to have a similar style, although our subjects and style of delivery do differ). And yes, I do find it flattering when they find me through her (as a fan/friend I have known her since the week Bitter Is The New Black was printed), on her myspace or reference in Bright Lights, Big Ass. (There may or may not have been an embarrassing moment last year when Jen commented – upon hearing two fans recognize me from my comments on her photos – that ‘yes, Ben is my friend, he’s in my top 11”. Embarassed much? Yes, I was.)
In May I was lucky enough to catch a week of fun – my boss had a signing on Thursday and that Friday I traveled to DC to see Jen.
Traveling with my mother – yes, I took my mother for a second year in a row, thank you – on our way to anywhere outside of the basic city limits is always an adventure. This is the same woman who raised me, held down a full time job AND full-time education, mind you. Yet, whenever we go anywhere resembling a road trip she gets nervous, ‘tetchy’ and downright argumentative – fraying my nerves with her own frayed ends.
So, there we are, driving from Fredericksburg to see Jen in DC (and take the metro from Springfield to DC), not that far of a drive, and due to the sporadic rain showers and clogging traffic, our tempers were both flaring; hers from nerves, mine from hers as well. In the car on this 20ish mile drive we fought for a good, solid 20 minutes. 20 minutes of commuter, steamy weather. LOVELY, right?
Instead of driving into the city proper – several arguments on that front are cut from here – Mum and I pull into the parking plaza in Springfield, drop off the car and wait in the interminable heat for the Springfield Blue Line.
Escalators, work on the tracks and high volume all add a 15 minute delay to the trip and by the time we arrive at the 12th Street Barnes & Noble, Jen is a good 15 minutes into her reading.
FUCK.
That’s like going to a Madonna show and arriving in time for Music – sure, you still get some entertainment, but, you’ve missed the big stuff. Ahh well, c’est le vie.
Okay, I am the last person to begrudge adoration from fans and success, but, where she had had about 110 or so people last year at the Borders in Bailey’s Crossroads, this year, on the second floor of the store in downtown DC, Jen had at least 200 people jam-packed into the area; crowding, jostling and obstructing views and hearing.
Again, FUCK.
Sucking it up, smiling because we’d made it and got to see her, mum and I watched, listened and had a pretty good time.
That is, until the jackboot B&N employee – drunk with power, or just a latino-Napoleon complex (coupled with bad hair and atrocious fashion-sense) – decided to line up people for autographs not by asking us to line up or queue up in any semblance of simpleness. No. He called up groups of 50 people (by the numbers on wristbands, ick) and made them line up according to the numbers thereon and would not let the line proceed until it was perfect.
Cut to 3 hours after the reading/signing began (that’s right, 3 hours of waiting next to aging debutantes and 80s preppy-induced fashion (some cute, some not, some REALLY lame wannabes) and listening to fans who just found her and think she is some newcomer to the scene (right, not like she was new back in ’04 or ’06). After 3 hours of this, my hair had deflated to a degree and I was feeling a tad peckish – okay, really freaking hungry – as I bounced to the 80s music (cue Madonna and Stacey Q) as I waited behind 3 really nice young ladies for my turn.
*Note* by the time that the last group – mine/mum’s – was called up, mister jackboot/latino-Napoleon was no longer doing his full routine, which sucked, as I was number 702, grrr.
Jen, in her cute Izod canary/light lemon polo had pulled her hair into a ponytail due to the heat and long hours, yet still looked fabulous. In her rich New Jersey/Chicago accent she beckoned past the wrangler (*side note* I am often an author wrangler at events, so I know what is the usual and what is extreme, mister jackboot) to me and said “That’s Ben, he’s my friend – c’mere.”
Okay, you know how faggy I can get, I may or may not have squeeled (okay, big squeal on the inside, calm composure on the outside).
Taking a photo with her, she looked me over as she signed and noting that I looked “fabulous” – even better than I did last year (thank god I had lost the 10 lbs – which I’ve put back on, thank you birthday dinners, cake and working in a place with a coffee-shop) . I totally did like my ensemble this time around MUCH more, the pink dress shirt and black vest both flattered my shape and fit with the whole ‘80s vibe’.
So, the fabulous words (which she greeted my mum with as well, but this isn’t her blog, it’s mine – she can tell you about hers side in her own forum, thank you) helped buoy me in the heat and grime as we made our way back home (thankfully, no arguments on the way back, *phew*).
The adventure of seeing Jen again reminds me that not all of my author-contacts over the years have been … well, productive. Or pleasant.
In 2006, after having chatted off and on for a year or so, I got the chance to hang out and have a non-date/date with a gay author I knew from gay.com. Yes, I know, not the best place to make friends, right? Haha.
Although I knew he had a penchant for dating younger guys – 15-20 years his junior – I wasn’t out for that as a goal. Yes, he is an attractive, muscled man (still good looking, today), but, I do have more than just lust on the brain (I also enjoy eating, drinking mocha lattes and reading books or watching telly, again, thank you very much).
So, it was with such intentions to talk, learn and get to know this 3-book author/tv producer better that I rode with him up to his place in NoVa for a weekend visit.
So as not to name names (either insult him OR give him more readers here or his books), let us call him Tom. Tom, despite any misgivings on either of our parts took me to his townhouse where we relaxed over a light dinner and watched a little tv.
Following this, and some discussion about his work and ideas to help break block for his next book, we retired to the ‘lounge’ side of his downstairs rooms where we sipped (read: gulped) Jack Daniels – my first taste of whiskey (at 23) – and talked, playing a mildly adult-oriented version of Truth or Dare (I shan’t reveal some of the naughtier or racier things we did, as I am still somewhat classy and wanna save SOMETHING for my book), which ended with us naked and him playing the piano.
Following naked piano-time, Tom led me onto the patio for nude-hot tub time (again, a first for me) which led to heavy kissing (followed by heavy snoring, as we curled up on the bed and promptly fell asleep).
The next day, we hit Tysons Corner to shop – despite living so close, I had never been (another first, can we see a theme?) – and talk with his roommate. Afterwards, he headed back south on a shoot, dropping me off en route.
Not a bad time, right?
One would have thought that I’d at least get called back – I carried my share on the non-date/date and was charming (roommate loved me) and witty, but, not too much so.
Yeah, no. Instead, he ended up going after even younger guys – a habit he still has, dating guys between 20 and 24. As I think on him, I am reminded of that seedy character line – “Dat’s what I like about ‘dem high school girls – I keep getting older and they stay the same age.”
Ick.
We’ve chatted occasionally since then – more my attempts at being nice to him, than anything – and as I grew up more and got older and wiser, I came to peace with what had happened (or hadn’t) between us.
No, I am not particularly fond of him, nor am I buying (or recommending) his books, but, I can understand his fascination with youth and the boys he chases (I mean, c’mon, who doesn’t enjoy a handsome, prime-life guy?) – he indeed wrote a book about the proclivity of older gay men for dating/chasing younger men. I can accept it, for him, but that doesn’t mean I condone his choices.
Plus; he totally cast my friendship aside and looked down on my intelligence.
You can think me average looking (my weight issues and body image problems aside) or even call me ugly; belittle my writing or artistic talents and you can insult many things about me, but, calling into question my intelligence? I am sorry sir, that is taking it one step, too far.
