Someone With a Pen: Richard Grayson’s Diary

Thursday, January 1, 1998

7 PM. Today was a pleasant start to 1998.

Last evening I watched TV, as well as a video on the history of the New York City subway system. Today’s the 100th anniversary of the consolidation of greater New York, and NPR’s All Things Considered had a wonderful hour special on the city and each borough.

I’m so grateful that last summer I got to experience being a New Yorker again. Brooklyn is where I come from, and in many respects I’m a product of Brooklyn. You got a problem with that?

Yet as special as New York is, and there’s no place like it in the world, nearly every city I’ve spent time in seems to have its own interesting style. Last June in Chicago was a revelation, and I’m pretty fond of South Florida, even on days like today, when it’s cool and blustery.

I fell asleep before midnight, as usual, and noted the calendar change – big deal! – only when I got up to go to the bathroom, as I do at least three or four times every night.

I did dream about being in Brooklyn, at the terminus of all those subway lines in Coney Island, and nearby, at the Ocean Parkway house of Aunt Claire and Uncle Sidney, where I lived the first couple of years of my life.

Up at 6:45 AM, I drifted in and out of sleep for a while as I listened to the news. I left the house at 8:30 AM to get the paper in Boca Raton.

Not surprisingly, traffic on the Turnpike was almost nonexistent. Once in Boca, I grabbed copies of the news from a rack and opened it to the editorial page but didn’t find my column. Then I realized It was because I had the December 31 issue.

I had to drive around Boca to get today’s paper, and I managed to get so lost that I ended up on the Sawgrass Expressway. Still, I didn’t mind riding around for pleasure.

I got off the highway and took University Drive south from Coral Springs, stopping at the Walmart in Sunrise for some medications, supplements, sugar substitute and a blood pressure reading (119/73, with a pulse rate of 75).

Back home, I did abdominal exercises and enjoyed looking at my column, titled “Florida must move forward in gay adoption laws.”

My black-and-white photo and a pullquote made the piece look good. It was rectangular and just the right size to fit on an 8½” x 11” sheet so I could easily xerox it at Office Depot.

While at the Tower Shops center, I also browsed in the Uptons and T.J. Maxx stores but didn’t buy any of the holiday bargains.

At home again, I did two loads of laundry and began reading today’s newspaper, which had lots of stuff I’m interested in: a Census Bureau listing of the fastest-growing metro areas (immigration is saving New York, Los Angeles and other older cities); the Chief Justice scolding the Senate GOP for not confirming more of Clinton’s judges; a medical study showing that obesity doesn’t cause people to die prematurely.

Hopefully, by the end of 1998 I’ll have finished a term of journalism school – but if not, I won’t let that stop me from pursuing my interests.

I’m a little scared about writing fiction at the artists’ colonies from March to June, but nobody will be watching me but me, and it’s my past track record that’s allowed me to get into Villa Montalvo and the Ucross Foundation.

Elihu e-mailed, but his life seems as drab as ever: same apartment, same job he hates, same loneliness, same once-a-year escape to the same place, New Orleans. As Alice said, he’s nice but boring.

I don’t know how someone stands living such a boring life unless their self-esteem is so low that that’s all they figure they deserve.

Am I so weird to want variety? And a little excitement? Of course, what I consider exciting would probably be considered odd by people who equate the term with glamour or parties or Ecstasy.

– Hey, is this going to be another year of self-conscious diary entries? Is the Pope Polish? (Yes, even after 20 years.)

Teresa e-mailed, saying that Paul woke her up at midnight and they watched the ball drop at Times Square as they celebrated with a toast.

Teresa said that New Year’s Eve was always a big deal in her family. That figures: her family makes everything a ritual, as opposed to my family, which never observed any rituals except their daily routines.

In less than nine weeks, I’ll be out of this apartment – I still haven’t decided the logistics of getting out – and in California. That time will go by very quickly, I know, and I have a lot to do before then. But somehow things always get done.

Last year I moved from Gainesville, and that had to be a more complicated job. Certainly it was a big change to leave Gainesville after nearly six years and my job at CGR after more than two and a half years – but I’m so glad I did it.

(In his e-mail, Elihu asked me if I now regret having left my job. The answer is no.)

---

Saturday, January 3, 1998

10 PM. As we previously agreed, I met Gianni at 4 PM at Borders. Because the bookstore was crowded and he was hungry, we drove across the street to Jade Palace for a meal that Gianni paid for.

But it ended badly, and that was my fault.

Driving to Fort Lauderdale, I told myself to remember that Gianni was facing an 18-hour drive back to Maryland and to make sure that he left Florida in as good a frame of mind as possible, yet I did the exact opposite.

To me, it seemed trivial. The other day he had given me his parents’ phone number and address, and I looked up the house on Lexis’s Assets library and saw that his parents were named Rita and Robert Townsend.

So when he was proudly telling me that his father, Robert, had just been made vice president of his company, I told him I knew his mother’s first name. Then, of course, I told him how I got the information.

Stupid me. I should have realized that he’d feel I betrayed him by invading his privacy. Living a very public life myself and being so familiar with the property records, I didn’t give it a second thought.

Anyway, his attitude toward me changed and what had been up to then a pleasant meal became very tense. I apologized several times, but he was still upset, and I eventually became annoyed at having to keep apologizing.

I guess I don’t handle it well when friends become angry or disappointed with me. He was uncharacteristically quiet, and I said, “Well, if you really feel strongly about this, you don’t have to see me anymore.”

Immediately he excused himself to go to the bathroom. Our meal was over, and I offered to walk back to my own car across the street – which is what I’d thought about doing when we arrived, but I realized that would look as if I were acting hurt. Of course, I was hurt.

When he dropped me off and I apologized one more time – not for what I did, but for upsetting him – I was surprised when, in saying goodbye, he puckered up, and I guess I didn’t kiss him long enough because he said, “If you’re going to be like that, fine.”

I asked him what he meant and then we kissed again, but I felt funny, partially because we were in public, but also because I felt a whole lot of things.

What bothers me the most is that Gianni’s going on this long, lonely drive in the rainy night and I’d made him upset.

My first impulse is to say that I’m just not cut out for intimate relationships, but I realize that such a blanket statement stupidly precludes me from ever being involved with someone successfully.

Rather, I behaved with poor judgment, underestimating how important privacy is for Gianni. Now I can understand how creepy it made him feel.

I remember how startled I was when he knew my last name from caller ID before I’d told it to him, but I didn’t think anything of it after the moment.

Well, I’m not sorry this happened, and we can only see if our relationship can survive what is our first fight.

Anyway, I guess it’s good that he’s with Alejandro.

Yesterday Gianni visited the remodeled Oribe salon on Lincoln Road where he’s going to work, and he was really upset by what he saw going on there.

He would prefer to return to New York, but since Alejandro sold the place he had in Manhattan with his ex-wife, Alejandro doesn’t want to go back there.

Gianni told me he plans to “give it a year,” though I wasn’t sure if he meant with South Florida or with Alejandro.

Is it really that horrible for me to look up people’s property records on Lexis, and is it a terrible flaw in my character that I do something like that? I’m a curious person, I’m a writer.

Hey, if it’s wrong, rationalizing it won’t help. But that’s who I am.

As I told Gianni, “I may not be a nice person, but I’m honest with you, and now you’ve learned something about me you may not like.”

I wanted him to say, “No, you’re a nice person,” but he remained silent, and I guess that led me to be disappointed in him.

He’s coming back Wednesday night. On Thursday he’s doing a demonstration to get his master cosmetician license, is working till 11:30 PM at The Gap on Friday and then flying to New York at 8 AM the next morning.

So I probably won’t see him till he returns from New York in ten days or two weeks. We’ll see what happens between us, I guess.

---

Sunday, January 4, 1998

1 PM. In a couple of hours I’m going to meet that guy Craig in North Miami Beach – assuming my car makes it.

Craig sounds way too flaky to be involved with: not only is he working as an astrologer and psychic, he doesn’t have his own apartment or car.

But I’m curious about people. That’s the trait that got me in trouble with Gianni yesterday, of course. I imagine Gianni will get over his displeasure, and if he doesn’t, well, there wasn’t much to our relationship in the first place. On the other hand, if we can get over this it probably means our friendship is solid.

When I saw Gianni at the Gap yesterday (I got to the Galleria early), I didn’t want to bother him, but I also realized, seeing him at a distance, how distinctive he looks.

Yesterday he was wearing these chunky, green-tinted glasses (which are not prescription and just for show).

Gianni is very fem, and I guess I’m self-conscious enough that I know that people stare at him and me when we’re together, even in this gay-friendly environment of Fort Lauderdale.

Of course, any discomfort at I have is my own problem and it’s just another indication that I’m not the right person for Gianni.

So I’m glad he’s got Alejandro, who I’m sure is a better man than I am – at least for Gianni.

There was never even a question of anything “long-term” between us, and I expect that Elihu is right in saying that the attraction will wear off and we’ll end up platonic friends. That is, if he gets over my invasion of his privacy.

I do hope Gianni gets his career act together. When I first met him, I was really impressed, but now I know that by his own admission, he’s “made a lot of bad choices.”

I guess I haven’t made such bad decisions myself, or else I have more of the capacity for self-delusion that more and more seems like a prerequisite for personal satisfaction.

Up at 7 AM today, I went out to Albertsons, and I’ve been reading the papers most of the day.

Tom e-mailed several times lately. I’m concerned about his meeting tomorrow with the Jewish parent who’s accused him of anti-semitism. This week I’ll make plain reservations for the trip to New Orleans, which is only a month away.

I got a postcard from Bert Stratton, who said my Christmas card suffered from bad timing. He and Alice and the family were leaving from Fort Lauderdale airport on December 27 when he bought the Times, and seeing my letter, realized I’d been in town. Too bad. I would have liked to see the Strattons, just as I’m sorry I missed my cousin Scott’s family.

Although Bert’s mother has moved back to Cleveland for good, Alice’s mother is still in Boca. The Strattons went to a tennis academy “where young kids play all day long in hopes of being #1 ranked. (We were in it for the exercise.”

Yiddishe Cup, Bert’s band, has upcoming gigs in Kansas City, Rockford and El Paso as well as their local shows in the Cleveland area. Alice is studying at Cleveland State to become a gym teacher, and that their kids are growing up (“Teddy drives!”).

I got Bert’s card when I dropped by my parents and house earlier. Dad had the day off. As usual, we talked but said nothing of consequence.

I hope Gianni’s trip is okay.

*

7 PM. I just got home, and after I had a bite, I went on AOL. Gianni had just left a message that he arrived in Baltimore safely and hoped “we put what happened yesterday behind us. I’ll call you when I get back.”

I wrote back with love. I do feel better now.

Hey, Craig turned out to be less flaky than I thought, and I really had a good time with him. I met him at the Blockbuster Video near the Skylake Mall.

It felt nostalgic to be back in my grandparents’ old neighborhood, which was really the first place in Florida I got to know when I came here with my friends for the 1972 Democratic Convention, and then later, when I used to visit Grandma Sylvia.

I remember one day just about exactly 18 years ago when I first visited my parents in Davie, and I was waiting for Mom and Grandma Sylvia and I crossed Miami Gardens Drive just where I saw Craig crossing as we met. (We recognized each other immediately.)

Back in January 1980, I had this incredible feeling of well-being as I crossed that street, and I’m pretty sure I recorded it in my diary. (That was when I tried writing diary entries in the third person for a while.)

Anyway, Craig and I went to what I knew as Loehmann Plaza, that outdoor center on Biscayne Boulevard, where I also spent many happy times when I lived in North Miami Beach in 1983-84.

At Barnes & Noble, I bought us blackberry-sage iced tea and we talked for hours. Craig’s voice is so Iowan, it’s like cornfields come out of his mouth.

He’s very tall, 6’4”, built somewhat like me: not thin but not fat, solid with broad shoulders and thick biceps. His hair is long and pulled back and he’s got a cute baby face that makes him seem younger than 26.

He’s much more intelligent than I’d expect from someone who works as an astrologer and psychic (he can make $15 an hour); he’s very well-read for someone his age, and he went to Iowa State.

He came down here with his boyfriend (whom he met when they both worked at the Mall of America) because they were interested in modeling and getting into acting.

But his boyfriend left him “for a bodybuilder,” and since then he’s been seriously involved with one other guy “because I’m cautious and shrewd.”

Craig left his roommate situation after Thanksgiving, and he’s been having trouble finding a place to live.

He’s lived in more neighborhoods in Miami-Dade than I could count, and right now he seems to be living with this rather strange woman who won’t let him phone me here and doesn’t even want me to call her place.

Craig and I talked about films and immigration and children’s books, and he had the typical story of being stopped by a Miami cop for sitting outside his own apartment in an all-white neighborhood.

I didn’t quite get it when I’d say something and he’d say that’s because my moon is in Mercury or whatever, but he seemed to like me.

I dropped him off near where he’s staying and said I hoped he’d call. I think he will.

The only downside is that it would be a drag if I’ve going to have to drive to him all the time. I can’t believe Craig doesn’t know how to drive a car.

I hate to compare him to Gianni, so I won’t.

---

Thursday, January 8, 1998

8 PM. Gianni called last night at 9:30 PM. He sounded stoned, but it was from being so tired. After driving down here from Maryland for 21 hours, he then had to drive Alejandro to the airport to get his flight to Buenos Aires.

We spoke for over an hour, and today I met him at 2:30 PM at Borders and we spent two hours together.

I had invited him over here when he phoned at 1 PM, but I’m glad we met in public, where I didn’t have the temptation of physical contact.

Although I’m not overwhelmingly attracted to him, I was horny earlier and I wouldn’t want to exploit Gianni – not that I think he’d let me.

Sitting out on the terrace at Borders, he ate lunch while I sipped iced tea; then, when it started to rain, we drove to the Coffee Beanery on Las Olas and sat out in front under the awning.

Giannis’s new car, a Nissan Sentra, is nice, but he’s having second thoughts about leasing rather than buying. I don’t quite understand why he traded in the other car, but it seems to me Gianni is extremely indecisive.

I’m the opposite: not only do I make up my mind quickly, but once I reach a decision, I don’t second-guess myself.

My initial impression of Gianni as almost intimidatingly self-assured is a testament to the way he can present himself. Now that I know him really well, I see that he’s a confused 23-year-old kid.

He regrets his decision to leave New York and his job at Bumble & Bumble there, and although he’s in a relationship with Alejandro, he’s not happy here in South Florida and longs for Manhattan.

It’s obvious why we click: I, too, always think that the next place or the next job will be better, and I have a sense of impermanence and a continual restlessness.

But I think Gianni is just depressed about not being where he wants to be in the beauty industry – probably for the first time in his life.

As he said, until now, every career move has come easily to him, and it was only a year ago that he was shocked by his first-ever-rejection by a guy he liked. Gianni said he’d been spoiled.

I didn’t mind listening to his trepidations about staying here although I think the bottom line is that he realizes he has to give it a year, at least – here in Miami with his career and with Alejandro.

I pointed out the real advantages of his situation: the relationship with a financially secure, loving partner; the lovely winter weather; the lack of stress.

Seeing Gianni helps me consider my own situation in sharper focus.

My advantage is that I’ve had 23 more years of ups and downs, successes and setbacks, and fallow periods in which nothing seemed to be happening but something actually was.

I guess I can offer Gianni only the reassurance that what he’s going through is normal, and his situation will change and change again.

“You’ve been on the phone an hour!” Libby yelled when I picked up the receiver just after getting off with Gianni last night.

Libby and I spoke till nearly midnight, when she had to get seven-year-old Wyatt to bed and go pick up Lindsay, now ten, at her new gymnastics training center in Arleta.

The kids don’t go back to school until next Monday in Los Angeles: Lindsay, still practicing gymnastics 13 hours a week, is in fourth grade, and Wyatt, “my little comedian and couch potato and video game player,” is in first grade at a school three blocks away in Woodland Hills.

Libby said I could stay in their guest house in April for as long as I want, and if Grant turns it into a recording studio, I can stay in the main house.

They went up to the Washington State suburbs of Portland a couple of weeks ago for a visit to Grant’s mother, who had a heart valve replaced. She’s 78 and doing fine.

Libby said it was freezing in Southern California – at least to her – but you look forward to my being there in the spring. I do, too. It will give me a chance to renew my friendship with her family and to live in the Los Angeles area.

I’ll also be able to see Kevin, who says he’s going to have a car by then; he doesn’t live that far away, just on the other side of the Valley.

Today I got a notice from Berkeley that my grad application is complete. I know that if I don’t get into Berkeley, I’ll be disappointed – but if I do, right now I think that’s the best thing that can happen to me.

The other day, driving around, I found myself singing “California, Here I Come.” I really feel this will be the year I leave Florida.

Jonathan plans to move to Flagstaff in June or July, and I guess my parents and Marc will go to Phoenix before the end of 1998.

This morning I walked to McDonald’s on Davie Road and sat drinking Diet Coke and reading the New York Times for an hour.

It gave me the chance to see an example of today’s labor shortages when the manager of the restaurant approached a young guy and said he saw him there a lot and wondered if he’d like to apply for the position of assistant manager.

Tomorrow’s unemployment report may show some weakness in the job market, but probably not much.

Already forecasters say the U.S. budget will be in surplus this year, and it was practically balanced last year with only a $22 billion deficit.

How did the all those deficits suddenly disappear under Clinton? The economy has certainly been far better than anyone expected. But every morning I awake to news of markets and currencies falling in East Asia.

It sounds to me as if the IMF, in putting South Korea and the other countries on austerity budgets, is making the same policy blunder the Fed did in the early years of the Great Depression when they tried to balance the budget and rein in the money supply instead of applying Keynesian stimulus.

I think it’s going to be very interesting to see how the world economy plays itself out this year. If the boom continues, then it should be easier for me to do whatever I want.

And in the event of an economic collapse, I have no financial assets to lose – and neither do my parents.

All right, enough of this.

Martin Hester said he always thought I’d be a great commentator in the media, and I guess I’d like to be one of those Sunday morning public affairs shows regulars – just as Gianni still dreams about being a dancer.

This morning he put on the music from Phantom of the Opera and danced to it in his living room while imagining himself onstage. I told him it is not too late, even at his age, if he really wants to go for it.

On Lexis, I discovered that the Chicago Tribune published my letter responding to Linda Chavez’s homophobic column about gay people, which she based on the famous “not that there’s anything wrong with it” episode of Seinfeld.

Justin Clouse sent me a Christmas photo of himself in a Santa hat in response to my Christmas card. I asked if maybe he’d want to ask a literary agent like Alice if she’d look at his online diary and see if she could sell it as a book.

Of course, if Justin wanted to publish his diary entries, he’d probably have to edit them, just as I would need to edit these pages. He’s probably not interested, and I can definitely understand that.

These diary entries have always been only for me – even if I’ve occasionally envisioned someone reading them “over my shoulder” in the future.