s skippy the bush kangaroo: later gator later gator -- and then some...

skippy the bush kangaroo



Saturday, February 28, 2009

later gator later gator -- and then some...

i spent much of friday looking for a new apartment. nothing to worry about -- my lease runs out in a couple months, and, well, having lived here since slick willie was president, i have this strong urge to relocate. i have no complaints about this complex. it's just about that time for me to try living in a different part of the area for a year or so. things have kind of stagnated here.

and search i did. i hit six different places in three different parts of the metro richmond area yesterday, looked hard at what they all had to offer, and to my surprise, all six places -- six quite distinct places, i assure you -- offered what i consider more pros than cons. naturally, this makes my task of deciding where i want to live next that much harder. but this is exactly why i choose to live in a city/metro area rather than a small town or a rural area. for good or ill, urban/suburban areas are alive, diverse, pulsing, flowing -- whereas small towns and rural areas seem to be frozen in time. i grew up in small towns, and i never really liked living in any of them. they seem to be great places to go if you want to lay down and die. thank the flying spaghetti monster for places like richmond and henrico, places i would be happy to spend the rest of my life.

after i was done with that, i decided to drop in on what appears to be the only gay bookstore left in virginia: phoenix rising. i bought a book by one leroy aarons: "prayers for bobby: a mother's coming to terms with the suicide of her gay son." they made a movie about this, which i haven't seen yet. but i'd heard about bobby griffith's suicide, and his mother's soul-wrenching struggle to deal with it. so i purchased the book. it's not only a painful read, it reminds me of just how isolated i remain. it reminds me of how much time it took me to come to terms with being gay. three-plus decades. and, frankly, it doesn't help that every time i walk into phoenix rising, at least one other patron looks at me like i'm one of the @$$#0!e$ responsible for murdering matthew shepard. excuse me for not immediately coming across as a twinkie, a drag queen, a leather fetishist, or liberace, as the more-ghey-than-thou sub-culture demands, sweetie. i like wearing plaid shirts and blue jeans. they suit me just fine.

anyway, once i was done apartment-browsing and application-collecting, i stopped at the village, a plaza not far from where i live, for a bite to eat. up until last year, a fine little lebanese/mediterranean restaurant, the grapeleaf, was one of the village's attractions. i used to recommend it to people looking for a great place to eat because nearly all of my favorite foods hail from or very near to the mediterranean region. unfortunately, the economy was falling apart at the seams in earnest last year, and i guess the grapeleaf just didn't have a lifeboat to cling to. it's gone now. that was bad enough.

even worse is what opened up in its place this week: the newest franchise of a 50s/early 60s-themed outfit calling itself -- get this -- cheeburger cheeburger. not "cheeseburger cheeseburger," mind you. cheeburger cheeburger. that is not a typo. for some reason, this is where i decided to eat a late lunch -- all the while thinking to myself, 1) where's my grapeleaf, you doo-wop ducktail alley oop m&%$@f*&k%@$, and 2) that is the second most dip$#!+ted name for a food franchise i have ever heard of. (number one is this.) and i ate there anyway, so what does that say about me?

well, it says i have a higher tolerance for strained attempts at recreating happy days-like nostalgia than i thought i did. the place has its own piped-in music, which is occasionally broken up by chee-squared endorsements from a "deejay" who sounded to me like a young wolfman jack resigned to washing his prozac down with old milwaukee lite. and hey, that's fine. you know, i'm just scarfing down a nice medium-cooked cheeseburger with toppings (oh, all right, cheeburger with toppings) plus a side of onion rings. the food was excellent. but did i have to listen to the original version of "teen angel" while eating it? bucko, please! happy days my gay bookstore-patronizing ass.

what a disappointing finish to an otherwise invigorating day. i'd spent the bulk of it looking for a new place to live, nearly overwhelmed by the sheer range of options at my disposal -- and had topped that off with a visit to phoenix rising and the purchase of a book that interested, inspired, saddened, angered, and impressed me all at the same time.

and then i went to cheeburger cheeburger.

you know what? i'd rather have other gay guys look at me like i'm out to kill them for being gay than set foot in that lousy burger joint again. i'm still in the toe-dipping stage when it comes to coming out locally, so that's all right -- sooner or later, they'll realize that the only threat i pose is to myself, and then they'll begin to relax.

in the meantime, i have to secure a new place to live.

til further on...

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posted by Jim Yeager at 6:29 AM |

2 Comments:

Jim just make sure that your patronizing ass is careful to get some testimonials from some "Actual" renters,..just one or two, people that are really living in the complex you are thinking about .
Ask them about the frequency of police respondent incidents, car break-ins, and apartment burglary.
Just be safe mister...
Sounds like something based on the SNL Olympia Cafe sketch.
commented by Anonymous Anonymous, 10:51 AM PST  

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