I Called a Long-Time, Dear Friend….

I hadn't called him for a long time, so I did today.

"Hi," I said when he answered knowing who was calling.

"How are you?" he whispered back.

"I’m good. Is this a good time?" I asked him, because of his hushed tone.

"I'm at Art Harpur's office," he said. Art is our doctor.

"I hope you get good news," I said back.

"I've got cancer," he said without any warning. My breath leaves me.

“Its cancer of the mouth,” he said in a way that seemed to imply it could be worse.

I am going to see him on Saturday. He said he would tell me all about it then. I hope I do not cry again.

God's Career

Tuesday Night

Fish Boy (Costin) was here yesterday morning and we did a major pruning of the plants growing in my aquarium. I like changing the landscaping as we do; it is my constantly changing wet garden beside which, I spend a lot of time each day. It’s fish are almost incidental.

I invited Costin and Marina to dinner and so we went, last night, to Farmer’s Apprentice restaurant. The chef is David Gunawan and he was voted the top chef in the city by the chefs of the city’s better restaurants in a competition hosted by a local paper. It is a cozy warm place and the servers are, thankfully, restrained in with their descriptions of each course of our tasting menu.

Last night at 1:30 am the fire alarm went off. It is not a bell; it is a shrieking soprano banshee that terrorizes Leon, the extraordinary cat. Consequently, I had a dreadful night’s sleep. Leon would not leave my side.

50 Years

In just over two weeks, I will be co-hosting the 50^th anniversary reunion of our 1965 graduation from West Vancouver Secondary School. It is my second time “at bat” as host. Last time, it was I alone; this time my co-host is a fabulous guy, Brian Keating, with whom I went through elementary and high schools. He is a great guy. I am sure we will have fun.

For intramural sports, the school was divided into “Houses.” There were four: Macintosh (Tosh) and Ross were two of them. I cannot remember the name of the other two but they, as well, were Scot clan names. Our school colours were the Wallace tartan, hence the shirt I am wearing in the photo above—it is made of Wallace tartan. I happened on it in a store and could not resist it, given that I am co-host of the event.

My first time hosting was the 20^th reunion. I declined to attend the 10^th annual event without a second thought. I loved school but always felt like an outsider... a bit of a loser, with my shameful secret that I was gay, so not attending the 10^th was a no brainer. But when the 20^th came round, a woman from my class called me asking me to help organize it. Her name was Linda.

Linda was even more of an outsider that I was and I could not say “No” to her, and on my arrival the assembled organizers welcomed me by telling me I would be host. I was shocked. I remember saying: “I am Chris Tyrell, you know, not Chris Green.” Chris Green was enormously popular at school. But they knew they wanted me.

That was in 1985; I was 36 years old and their overwhelming warmth and their desire that I host the reunion had me wonder, for the first time in my life, if maybe I wasn’t such a loser after all. It was a turning point in my life. This time, when I host, I intend to somehow give back.

Writing, Dumping

At around 4:30 am, Leon (my cat; my brother) jumps on my bed. He likes to get under the covers and sleep. I get up.

He emerges from the bed as soon as he hears a kitchen sound. He wants food. I feed him and while he eats, I boot up my computer to begin another day of indulging in my desires. But as soon as he has finished eating—and this is the pattern of every day—he starts meowing. He wants a walk in the hall and then to chase string and kill it several times. Then he will sleep for hours while I work at my computer.

Leon has a need to do his exercise—chasing and “killing” the string—to relax for the rest of the day and that is exactly how I feel about writing. I cannot get on with my day without writing for a good while every morning. But….

But I don’t want to write things that turn into projects—like a play or a book or text that drives another project as a recent play drove me to spend half a year building costumes. And I do fuck all every day so finding subjects to write about is difficult.

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Here's another photo dump. I am collecting quite a few. I am a slave to beauty.

I love this. This shot is the photo on my desktop.

A hero—perhaps my first: Oscar Wilde.

Armadillo.

Ageing

My loves as a young single man:

1. An orgasm with me on top.
2. And orgasm with me on the bottom.
3. An orgasm on my own.
4. An orgasm with “a 10.”
5. A first-time orgasm with someone new.
6. An orgasm at exactly the same time as my partner.
7. A wet dream.
8. Daydreaming about having an orgasm.
9. Anticipating an imminent orgasm.
10. Foreplay.

My loves as an old single man:

1. Going to sleep.
2. A bath.
3. Dessert.
4. Orthotics.
5. Progressive lenses.
6. Sunshine.
7. A walk.
8. Anything beautiful.
9. Champagne.
10. Good food served well.

Sea Slugs

Slugs: So ugly on land and so unbelievably gorgeous in the water.