Crash

Sometimes I find myself daydreaming that I can talk to someone.  I can be quite articulate and eloquent in my head.  But I’m not often that way face to face.

I’m feeling depressed today.  Last night I saw and English men and boys’ choir perform at a local church.  They were pretty good.  I had some criticisms, but the lasting impression was a good one.  So I spent two hours watching and listening to a large group of cute boys with lovely voices.  One soloist in particular.  He sang the greater solo in “I waited for the Lord” by Mendelssohn, and the last verse in their encore, “Drop, drop slow tears” by Gibbons.  He had a beautiful, even, polished sound, and he was beautiful himself.  Some of the boys were probably nearly six feet tall, but I’d guess this soloist to have been no taller than 5′ if that.  (Not that height is the primary factor is beauty.)  Yet one could see he was no younger than 11.  Probably 12.

I wanted to speak to him after, but there didn’t seem to be a reception of any kind.  So I don’t even know his name.

After the concert I drove up to The King’s house to spend time with him and My Friend on the Facebook.  I wanted to talk about the concert, to talk about this boy, but when I got there I couldn’t say anything.  Even when MFotF asked, “How was the concert?” all I could say was, “good.”

Often after concerts of this sort, that is to say concerts with prominant boy performers, I crash emotionally — sometimes as soon as I walk out of the venue — and fall into this depression.  And I wonder why.  It’s the Unknowable Longing rearing its head yet again.  It’s been a while.  These concerts, and similar situations, remind me of something.  Something I want but can’t have.  Hard to have it when you can’t name it.

Sometimes this feeling is bittersweet.  I sort of savor it; the closeness to the idea behind the Unknowable Longing.  But not today.  Today it just sucks.  Hurts.  Days like today I wonder if it is worth torturing myself like this.  Maybe…  Something about the boychoir, the combination of boys and music, calls to me.  Entices me.  But I’m no closer to figuring out what that is today than when I first felt it.  So I could keep persuing it, or I could walk away and save myself the anguish.

When I put it down on paper like that the answer jumps out at me.  My idealist heart sees the choice between hard or easy and immediately chooses hard.  Prime would disagree, I’m sure.  Now if only I could get my Idealist Heart to do the dishes…

To change the topic, last week I was a little hot headded and over dramatic.  Prime and I are still speaking.  Our friendship will never be what it was at its peak, but it doesn’t need to end.  He just wanted assurances.  I thought I had given them to him, but it seems he needed more.  But he and I disagree on too many things.

Writing this down really does help, for some reason.  I don’t know why.

Monk

I’m watching the first season of Monk.  Benjy is very cute.  Disk three, episode three, Benjy asks Monk why girls do stuff like letting the guy they like win in games instead of truly trying to win.  Monk responds “you’ll understand when you’re older.”  Of course that’s a crap answer that would make a BL feel indignant on the boy’s behalf.  But then he followed up with, “And when you do, can you call me and explain it to me?”

Wonderful.  I must remember that.

The new year comes

Tomorrow is the new year.  For some reason, for the first time ever, the prospect of the new year excites me.  It’s not that I have dreaded the future before, nor that I’m eager for this year to be over.  I just never before saw any significance to the changing of a number at the tob of the calendar.  Regardless of the reasons theologically and scientifically for what the number is and when it changes, from a human perspective, it’s completely arbitrary.  Dec. 31 2008 is no diferent from Jan 1 2009.  If you lived in a cave in the middle of nowhere without a calendar, you wouldn’t notice anything changing between those two days.

But this year I’m looking forward to it.  Perhaps because of all I’m planning.  Even when I was in college, I had no plan beyond being in college.  Now I’m working towards a goal.  Even if that goal changes.  I may not take myself to England soon (on a permanent basis, anyway) for the sake of the new relationships I’m hoping to form here, but I still plan to get new computer training, advance my career, and form a deep relationship with a boy.  These are good plans, and I can only do so much to fulfill them on this side of the divide, and so I’m eager for the new year.

But that’s not why I started this entry.  It’s probably better than what follows, but…shrug.

Yesterday the cute tray taker was back.  I walked by his station several times (of course) and a few times I caught the sound of his voice.

It’s lovely.  I wrote before that it was unchanged, but I was struck yesterday more strongly by its sound for some reasons.  Every time I heard it my chest got tight, and I had the urge to close my eyes and just listen.  Very musical.  I think it all the time of other people, but he sould be a singer.  Not that he has much time left unless he’s like my two friends from back home who’s voices simply never changed during puberty.

Yesterday I was offered an extra shift.  As I was folding napkins, the scheduling manager came up to look at the schedule on the wall, seeking some people to take a last ninute shift.  She asked if I could, but I couldn’t.  Actually, I could have, I just didn’t want to.  But later that night I picked up a gig that would have conflicted anyway, so it’s a good thing I said no.  $250 for this concert.  (Tomorrow)

After I told her I couldn’t do it, she mentioned that she didn’t want to just post the shift for anybody to take, since the event was for a personal friend of the owner and she wanted to pick good people to work it.

So apparently, she trusts me.  Consideres me one o fthe better servers.  I’d been starting to suspect that anyway since she schedules me so often and is unhappy when I request off, and just generally the way the management acts toward me.  But it’s nice to have it a little more confirmed.

The thing is, I don’t like this job, as I have made clear.  Not only that, but I don’t feel particularly good at it.  I’m often among the last servers to get tables clear, I wander around before and after events, not really sure of what I’m supposed to be doing.  I’m glad they think I’m good at it (and maybe I am and my standards are just higher than theirs) since I hope to get a positive work refference from them when I quit in the very near future.

I’m done.

Seeing Sissy tonight before rehearsal.

Inspiration

I foolishly left my journal at home yesterday.  Well, not so much foolishly as forgetfully.  I meant to bring it, knowing I was working a double.  In actuality, though, I worked a tripple.  The AM shift had two banquets overlapping.

Anyway, The Restaurant seems to have hired a pair of children.  (I assume they are 14.)  The one is about 5’8″, red headed, changed voice, and slightly overweight.  The other, on the other hand, is 5’6″ (still tall for my usual taste), brown haired, skinny, unchanged voice, and has a very cute face.  And beautiful skin.  Quite attractive.  They were stationed by the dish washer to clear a la carte servers’ trays.

Also that day, in my second room, there was a boy probably about nine years old who looked a lot like a slightly younger version of the boy in the JCPenny’s comercials on Hulu.  (The Ice/Nice one.)  Every time I walked out of the kitchen, or carried a tray toward it, he would watch me openly.  He probably watched all the servers as they did their jobs, since the impression I got from him was one of strong curiosity.  He was very cute.  It seems to me that he was watching to see how the job worked.  Where we went, who was where, what we were bringing in/carrying out.

He’s not the first boy to watch me so closely while I waited tables.  Many weeks ago, near my beginning but after my training, there was a wedding when I had my tray stand right next to a boy I took to be around 10.  He also openly watched my every move.  I spent the whole time hoping he ‘d ask me questions.  He never did, of course.

With the dish boy in the kitchen and the JCP boy in the dining room, I noticed that I worked harder, more diligently.  I moved with greater purpose, made sure to smile, follow procedure, do everything with greater efficiency.  It’s something I’ve thought of before, and even considered writing about but never did, in part because I never had this tool –  the journal – that is so welcoming to such observations.

The observation being: boys inspire me.  I mean, really.  They have shaped me since I started noticing them.  While being a pedophile/boylover in an intollerant society has shaped me in various ways – some positive, some negative – the boys themselves have only ever been positive influences.

So many pivotal moments can be dated to when I was 13.  Christmas when I was 13 I discovered (rediscovered) my great-uncle’s colection of English men and boys choirs Christmas carol albums.  Those recordings inspired more interest in the other classical LPs in the basement.  I was drawn to them because of the boys’ voices, but in listening raptly I learned to love the music and the genre as well.  I’d always had an interest in classical music, but that’s when it became a passion.  In those other LPs I discovered Mozart, and then as my ears matured, Bach and Beethoven.

I bought from Boarders two CDs of boy music, also when I was 13 I think.  A compilation recording of Westminster Cathedral Choir and a Vienna Boys’ Choir CD featuring mostly solos by an also 13yo Max Emanuel Cencic.  The Cencic CD I loved, with its Handel, Mozart, Schubert and Strauss.  At first I didn’t like all the 20th century stuff on the Westminster CD, but again the voices inspired me to grow.  It eventually became my favorite CD.

A leadership position got me over my first hump in Boy Scouts (13 yo), but it was the boys (Candy, Orange Hat, Owl, CIA, N, Casper, Little Man, Fox, and finally The Beloved) that got me over the second, so I stayed to and beyond Eagle Scout.

Boys are the reason I joined the Citadel, and that has been an excellent post to have for many reasons.

I’m sure there are many more examples, but now I must eat, shave, change and go to work, yet again.

*I found some pages of skit scripts I wrote for skit night at music camp.  Kinda funny.  I was 14 when I wrote them, I think.  I had horrible handwriting.

Singles night

On the boat.  It’s pretty fun, actually.

Apparently, this is a good week to go on a cruise for me.  The holliday season has lots of families.  Cute boys galore!  Alas, I haven’t spoken to any.

I went out drinking with Sissy, Mantis (female cousin), and Cous-in-law (also female.  Uncle’s step-daughter) tonight.  Martini specials at one of the bars.  They convinced me to hang around for “singles” night.  Ha!  Fortunately, we were the only singles there.  That could have been awkward.

But then, after Mantis and Cous-in-law gave up, we ran into these two staffers right outside.  One was from Wales.  She said she’d come out with us, but she ended up doing laundry.  The other is from Alabama.  He did come out with us.  Nice guy.  Thirty-three, gay, and has a degree in theology.  He showed us around, gave us the inside scoop on how things work, why we’re the only singles, and was just gerneally very amusing.  We’ll probably see him around some more.  Hopefully.

Hopefully, I’ll meet some cute boys.  While we were at the bar, Cous-in-law at one point said to Mantis, “there’s one your type.  He’s 10.”  Obviously it was a joke about Mantis’s preference for younger men, but my instinct was to say, “no, actually he’s my type.”  I’d actually noticed the boy when they were looking that direction before I even realized who they were talking about.

There are some very cute boys here, in the full range.

Bed time.

Neil and Aled

Neil Patrick Harris was one of the cutest sixteen year olds ever!  Doogie Howser, in the pilot, is just adorable.  And the best part:  All the sexual situations he’s put in with women when his voice hasn’t even changed.

He reminds me of Aled Jones at 16.  Also still very young looking, voice unchanged.  Actually, I’d say 16yo Aled was cuter, more attractive than 16yo Neil, but hey, I’d take either.

Aled also has the boy soprano thing going for him.  Love a boy who sings.  And he’s Welsh.