Name and Number

[I blame my parents. It's the easiest, most familiar way, after all, so why not?]

[There's no way not to make this sound like self-pity, so I'm just going to write that I'm not the type of guy whom strangers approach on the street for licentious purposes. I look like what I look like, but it's not about that, as I discovered yesterday on the way to my sister's for her birthday lunch.]

[I was running late, and a series of missed calls and unreturned messages had me feeling a bit anxious about getting to Kate's at least close to the "1-ish" that had been discussed. (Side note: When I mentioned to my dad that I felt annoyed at my female relatives for suggesting that I never returned calls and added that I have enough real stuff to feel guilty about, he said "What do you have to feel guilty about?" Oh, Dad...thanks, but at the same time, how could you not know?) I was hauling something very like ass down Jones Street toward Powell BART when I ran into...oh, let's call her Clarice*, an acquaintance from the old days at the Cute Victorian Hotel Around the Corner who also helped me get my current apartment. She's been living in another city for over a year, but thar she blew, walking up Jones on a collision course with me.]

[The thing about Clarice is she's a talker, and it's always all about Clarice. In the two seconds I had to prepare, I got my excuse together, and it happened to be true. No matter; I told her I was late to my sister's, and she gave me a ten-minute speech anyway about why she was in S.F., why she was staying in my building for a few days, and all about her lovely husband. I forgave her a bit when, in true flattering fag-hag fashion, she told me how good she thought I looked.]

[I made it down to BART, and was walking along the platform when this pleasant looking fellow cruised me quite openly. Well, we all know what a world of torture public gay-homosexual cruising can be. I mean, it can be fun if you're feeling confident and undistracted, but how often does that describe me? This guy didn't even pretend to play the demure, occasional-shy-glance game, but he didn't stare freakishly either. We got on the one car whose air conditioning seemed to have gone out, moved as one to the next car, and sat a few seats apart. He pulled out a paperback and pretended to read while calmly memorizing my every feature. Me: occasional shy glances interspersed with a lot of looking out the window pretending to fascinated by the dark tunnel walls. By the time we got to 24th & Mission, I was a nervous wreck.]

[As I slipped my Fast Pass thru the slot and walked thru the turnstile with Mr. Male Gaze following close, I wondered why I use this city's various modes of public transit only when I have to be somewhere at a certain time. I also wondered whether this guy was the type to say hello to a stranger on a BART escalator. "Can you believe we got on the only train without air conditioning on a day like today?" came the voice, right on cue.]

[Yes, we chatted. Yes, he was very good at quickly laying out his essential information and extracting mine. Yes, he's from out of town but is thinking about moving to San Francisco. No, I didn't pick up my cue and give him my number or even my name. I was still worried about being late, saw the bus I needed about to pull away into Mission Street, gave a fast "it was nice talking to you," and left him in a plume of bus exhaust fumes to find the Skechers outlet all on his own.]

[You see why this is all mother's fault, right? Good.]

[*I love whipping up my pseudonyms. One was just blown away in "Max's" current post about his name, and the names he's been called. I could've written something very sim'lar with all the Bill and William and Huntington hanging about me, and can even tell him (and you) what it's like to be a "III": no big deal. No matter how open Joe is about his first name online, for consistency's sake, he's still Max here.]

[A weird thing, though: at least half of my good friends don't use the names they were given at birth. Either last names were changed because of an early stepfather, or they've gone for a total change upon reaching adulthood. The only connection among them I see is a complicated relationship with parents. Sean (well, "Sean") and I are among the few who still go by the names our parents gave us, and both sets of parents are still alive, married, and living in the houses where we spent our respective childhoods. Hmm.]

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