Semantics

Well, tomorrow's my day off, and I was hoping to do a little sun worshipping, but the remnants of Tropical Storm Gaston are gonna put the kibosh on that, I suspect.  Already the weather forecast is calling for afternoon thunderstorms.

Alas.

When all is said and done, the folks at the Arden would probably prefer that I didn't get any sun.  I am, after all, playing a sickly Jew in 1910 Düsseldorf.  So there ya have it.

My housemate Erika went back to NYC to spend her nights off in her air-conditioned apartment, so I've got the house to myself for the next couple days.  Not that that means anything, really, other than a little quiet and privacy.  Though, to be frank, even when Erika's here I get all the quiet and privacy I can use.  This place is so big that we rarely run into each other.

If I were enterprising and salacious, I might do my best to get laid, but to be frank, I'm not having much luck -- or for that matter, desire, really -- in that arena lately.  As I said to my friend Dan while I was in Pittsburgh, "Who do you have to fuck to get laid in this town?!?"

Actually, if I weren't so picky, I could have my fill of action, I think.  My problem is that I tend not to be attracted to the people who're hitting on me.  And, hey, if it were cute guys my age, I wouldn't have a problem with that, despite my reputation as a chicken hawk!  The problem is that the guys that are hitting on me are generally either a lot older, or a lot heavier, or -- god save me -- not so attractive.  To me.

There's something:  Gay men need to learn the difference between "I'm not really attracted to you" and "You're not really attractive."  There's a big difference, fellas!  Learn it!