Cub in this city

Wow… Has it been that long?

2008-03-07T22:19:00.000-08:00

Yes, it has.

It’s weird. I’ve just realize that it’s been a year since I posted on my blog. Last year, at this time I was having dinner with Tito, my putative son. We each got a sandwich and a salad. We, as most of the time, were talking and laughing. At that precise moment I learned how to post videos on my blog. It was a good night.

It’s been exactly a year from that moment

Today, after a grueling week at work (I changed jobs, but I will discuss this in another post) I went with some fellow workers to a sports bar. I had a beer. After that, I went with Randal to do some shopping and to buy something to eat for dinner. I arrived home at eight thirty, and got online.

The usual Friday evening. Visiting the same sites, reading the same articles, watching the same pictures. I was getting ready to go to bed, when I got the idea of checking out a blog that I used to visit before. From that blog, I went to another blog, Milena’s blog, one of my closest friends. I read some post of her and read that she loves me as much as I love her. From that, I went to my blog and started reading some of my post.

After a while, I checked the last post, review the date and realized that I haven’t posted for a whole year. I got two feelings from that. First, that in a sense, I’ve been stuck for this whole time. Second, and more important, I realized how different my life view and plans are from that point. Last year I was floundering and with no prospects. Today I’m focus and with a whole new life ahead of me.

So, by writing this small but important post, I want to announce my return to Blog Life.

Uno de mis musicales favoritos.

2007-03-07T21:17:00.001-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iLKi_8pnz8

Sweeney todd es uno de mis musicales favoritos.

my pic

2007-03-04T13:03:00.000-08:00

SANTA DOES LOVE ME AFTER ALL...

2007-01-06T16:05:00.000-08:00

NOOT!!! Yes, he got back at me with a vengeance. The fluffy bitch left something for me Christmas morning. A Muscle spasm and it has not gotten better. Yesterday I went to the doctor, and after berating me over the fact that I did not got back for a check up after my treatment after my accident back in July, he told me that I had a inflammation of a nerve on my upper back. SO much for that. I will be in treatment for 3 weeks, have to take some pills every day and go for a check up. I hope everything turns out fine and that I can get back to my Yoga classes without any problems.

Before letting go of the Santa subject, I’ll give you this address where it’s discussed why Santa must be gay:

http://www.thatscomedy.com/christmas/xmas004.htm

Well, Santa didn’t. And right now is already too late to ask the Three wise men for anything, so, I will follow doctor’s orders, et some rest and leave Santa alone. Well, not so, he still has my present.

NEW YEAR, NO SOLUTIONS.

2007-01-05T17:30:00.000-08:00

At the end of each year, as many of us, I too start making resolutions for the New Year, and as most of us, I don’t keep up with them. After all, I’m only human. A flawed one for that matter, hence the need for resolutions each year to improve myself.

For the last four years, my resolutions have been the same: to lose weight, to exercise and to read more. How do I stand at the moment on these points? For starters, I’m still a lovable bear cub, and not the sexy chaser that I feel inside. Also, although my physical condition is better than other people, it could improve exponentially. That’s why my singing classes did not work as I wanted, I could hold the air for only 30 seconds, tops. Not a good time period, since I was trying to sing Opera. Reading? Let me say that my main source of info has been the internet and yes, not just for porn, even if the song says it so.

Last week I received a call from a friend who works at a newspaper asking me for an interview as a psychologist about New Year’s resolutions and why people don’t stick to them. I had to decline because I’m one semester away from finishing it but nevertheless it made me think about it.

Why do we put ourselves thru this ordeal every year? To begin with, we want to be better than we are right now. Why do we want to better ourselves? This is where the problem starts. Many of us try to improve ourselves in order to receive the acceptance from others that we believe we might get if we change this or that of us. Unfortunately, acceptance from others comes after there is acceptance within ourselves, period. Others will accept us anyway we are just as long as we accept who we are. So, trying to change to please others is the first step to fail.

Let’s go a step further. Ok, let’s say the change is coming from us, not from peer pressure. We have decided that it’s time to let go of bad habits and it’s time to be a better person. So we start doing the resolutions, but before we know it, we’re starting to hide to smoke that craved cigarette, or we find engulfing a whole chocolate bar. What happened there? Many habits and many bad habits are not just that, they are the consequence of things that we, one way or another, haven’t dealt with, and that we are sublimating by doing these things. Each time we get nervous, we smoke to lower the tension. Somebody got mad at us, we eat a chocolate. Somebody rejected us? There’s always retail therapy. No wonder I haven’t kept any of my resolutions.

I’m not saying that in order to keep a resolution, you have to visit your psychologist (although it would be a good thing to do and more business for me). What I’m saying is that many times we sabotage ourselves and feel frustrated because we don’t do want we set out to accomplish, so it’s necessary to take a different and more honest approach to do what we want to do.

It’s not easy to improve ourselves, but it’s not impossible to do so. This year I have decided to take a different approach. I made no resolutions to begin with; I will let each decision and change to arrive when it has to. I feel more comfortable this way and I think it takes a lot of the pressure I always have trying to keep up.

INSTEAD OF RESOLUTIONS, I WILL MAKE LISTS THIS YEAR.

2007-01-05T17:27:00.000-08:00

January 5, 2007.
Since I have decided I will not try to make any resolutions, one thing I want to do is the following: I made a list of twelve things I want to start doing each day of this year. Little activities that, by adding them to my daily routine can improve my quality of life. The list goes as follows:

One. To pray. For what I have, what I don’t, for the people in my life, for the people that are not longer with me, for people that will arrive, for those who will go.
Two. To do Reiki.
Three. To do my brain gym exercises.
Four. Drink two liters of water.
Five. Drink a cup of green tea
Six. Exercise at least fifteen minutes.
Seven. Write something for this blog.
Eight. To throw something out or get rid of something.
Nine. Eat an apple.
Ten. Praise someone for a good thing they have done. Or even for an evil deed.
Eleven. Make my bed as soon as I get out of it.
Twelve. Stop worrying and love the bomb.

So far, I’ve been doing the things that I thought would have been the last thing I would start doing of this list. All I can say is that green tea tastes very good. Each month I will state how am I doing with this list.

IT’S GONNA BE A HAPPY NEW YEAR

2007-01-05T17:22:00.000-08:00

January 4, 2007.

After only three hundred and sixty five days, 2006 is over and a brand new 2007 is here for us to enjoy.

I want to say thanks to my family, they been there for me, love me and accept me for who I am and what I do. The same thing I say to my friends. I might be stuck with my family, but friends I have had the privilege to choose them, and I feel proud to be called friend by each and every one of them. I want to give thanks to the people that have given themselves a bit of time to stop and visit my blog. This is a very important project for me and I appreciate every bit of attention it can receive. One thing I can say is that I would like to receive more comments, but nonetheless, I thank you all. And I want to give thanks to EVERYONE who crossed my path, for good or bad.

I wish all a great year and I hope all the things you set to make for the next three hundred and sixty days bring you happiness and satisfaction. My best wishes for all.

SANTA DOESN’T LOVE ME…

2007-01-05T17:15:00.000-08:00

January 3, 2007.
Well, he stopped loving me a long time ago. This is a fact. The jolly fat man stopped caring for me the year I realized he was fake. To be honest, I don’t remember ever believing his existence. So I don’t know how true this last statement is if I never believed in him in the first place.

The first Christmas than I can barely recall was back in 1981. I was five years old. By that time I already knew my mom had divorced my biological father and why. The reasons are not for me to discuss, but the only thing I can say is that I admire my mom for that. She is a brave woman and I love her. That year I received the Millennium Falcon, the Tie-fighter and the Snowspeeder from Star Wars. My mom told me that Santa gave me this presents, but deep down inside I knew that she was the one that bought them for me. Why do I know this? Because of something that happened a few months back.

My mom at that time used to work in customs for a Company here in Juarez, and almost every weekend went to El Paso. One time she asked me if I wanted her to bring me something from there and I asked for some action figures, hoping to receive some Star Wars toys. When she came back, she approached me, (and I still can remember her initial triumphant face) to give me the bag of little green, plastic soldiers that she had brought me. I felt betrayed and made a fuss over the fact that she did not bought me what I wanted (I still remember her face of defeat when she realized she did not met my expectations). To this day I feel bad for that.

Two years latter I had the confirmation I needed to know that Santa was non existent. We spent Christmas Eve at my Aunt Pat’s home. I was worried that Santa was not going to leave my presents because I was not at home. My dad told me that Santa knew were I was going to be and not only that, that he will drop some presents at my aunt’s and some other at home. Yeah right. Besides, at the time I didn’t believe anything to the poor guy. Christmas morning I played with Skeletor’s Snake Mountain,and several He-Man figures but also with my cousin’s brand new Barbies. Strange, two of my favorite things combined that year, strong, rough men and ladies fashion.

Next year the last nail in Santa’s coffin was put into place. My Uncle Bart, my Grandma’s older brother died on Christmas Eve, just a few minutes before midnight. All the family was at my Nina’s place in El Paso. I came back home with my Uncle Vic to remove any Christmas trace before my grandma arrive to her home, as she order it. That year I received a red bike. Meme, my younger brother received an electric car. Weird, since he was 6 months old.

Next year I received various M.A.S.K. vehicles, the ones that were cars and transformed into something else. Like an airplane that turned into a helicopter, a trailer that turn into a communications and strategy center. The little figurines each had a mask. Those were the toys that I miss the most. I spent many times just putting them out of their boxes and admiring them. They were beautiful. By then I knew for sure that my parents bought them for me, and they didn’t say it otherwise nor did they tried to put the Santa Agenda down my throat.

When I got to Junior high, I met a guy who up until that year had believed in Santa. I tried to make fun of it, but wasn’t able. I was in awe to find someone with that kind of faith. I felt a little envious but I knew that I never could be that way.

By that time I started seeing Santa and fictional characters in a new light. I saw them thru my younger sibling’s eyes. The tooth fairy, the Passover bunny, you name it. I tried to make them believe in the things that I didn’t. At some level, it worked. I was their Santa. I ate the cookies and milk that they left for Santa. I got excited when thy opened the presents that Santa left for them. I played with them. I started to enjoy Christmas again. We enjoyed the T.M.N.T. action figures that both my brothers received, and also, I put the Fab in fabulous in my sister’s Barbie and Little Mermaid doll. But as the time went by, they grew up too, and they found out of all this. Up until this day, my sister remembers that fact, that I ate the cookies they left for the Jolly Fat Dude.

This past Christmas I decided to do something different. I decided to ask Santa for a present. It’s been a while since I ask something from Santa. I made a review of the year and came to the conclusion that I had been a good boy (Imagine all the fun that I missed because of it). I said I’m thirty, I was a good boy, I don’t have what I want to ask him for, I have nothing to lose, so I will ask Santa for the following: A husband. Not just any husband. My ideal husband.

First of all, and most importantly, he had to be very masculine, butch if he will. He had to be mid-thirties to forty (just a ten years difference with me at the most). 6 feet tall at least, white, brown short crew cut hair with a receding hairline, or even better if he was bald. Beard was a plus. Plush-like chest. Blue or green eyes and that he wear glasses. Not too fat, not too thin, strong built and big arms. Well endowment a must, also a high sex drive. He had to be sharp, Intelligent, witty, non judgmental, and with an excellent sense of humor. A great dancer was a must. Someone who likes to go to the movies but also is content with spending an evening at home. Someone who would throw dinner parties. An interesting conversationalist. Sartorial. He would have to be very sensitive, loving, caring and generous. He definitely had to be out to his family and have a strong bond with them. He must have had his own life and was looking for someone to share it with, his own activities and his own friends. And most importantly, He had to love me, accept me for who I am and find me the sexiest man in the world. And especially I had to be able to reciprocate the same feelings to him.

Early December I sent my wish to Santa, hoping it will reach the North Pole on time for Christmas delivery. Then, I waited patiently. On Christmas Eve I was excited because, come next morning, I will have my present delivered. A few hours past midnight I went to sleep so that Santa could do his deed, and I drifted away making plans for my new family. Next Morning , I woke up Christmas day empty handed but with a sore shoulder, a muscle spam that I’m sure is a direct result of the car accident I had back in July and freezing cold, all of this for sleeping on my parent’s couch. No way!!! How could this be happening, I had sent my wish on time, what happened?

Finally after all this time Santa got back on me for not believing in him for all those years. That’s what I get for trying to raise the dead. But then, it hit me. THE FLUFFY BITCH KEPT MY PRESENT FOR HIMSELF. I mean that hot package was not going to pass down Santa’s radar. It’s my fault for asking for such a hot property. You might argue that I’m wrong; Santa is a good man and gives toys to kids around the world. Only one thing to say about that: tax deductions. You might argue that Santa is not gay, but please, what heterosexual man would wear a red velvet suit with white plush and black leather knee high boots with a matching belt. Hello!!! Do you know any? I don’t think so. Continuing with this, what about the horde of Santa’s little helpers. That’s a gay bunch if I’ve ever seen one, and all in Santa’s service. Also, what dude would prefer a reindeer pulled red sleigh over a kick-ass monster truck? Only a burly romantic queen would. You might say what about Mrs. Claus? Classic case of the wife how serves as a social window to hide the secret life of her husband. How do I know this? Those big glasses of her are not just to accessorize, the lady is blind.

At the end, what did I learn from this experience? Besides outing Santa (not so much of a secret, let me tell you), first I learned NOT to sleep on my parent’s couch, even if I pass out. After a week the muscle spasm hasn’t faded. Also, I learn to be faithful to myself. I never believed in him, I never should have done otherwise. I was reminded to trust my instinct. Also, I was reminded that if you want something, you have to work for it and not wait for it to drop from the sky into your hands. So, I will have to work hard this year to find that husband of mine. I hope next Christmas I don’t have the urge to ask for a husband, since I will be in his arms.

I WANT A KISS…

2006-11-14T20:31:00.000-08:00

I want a kiss that means something
An embrace that’s worth my faith
Tired of careless encounters
I need a love that’s worth the wait

I wrote these lines Sunday morning at three A.M., two weeks ago. I was at a party for an aunt. I thought that, because of the hour, the party would have been over. Think again, the party was in full motion. As I left half an hour later, people were arriving still, but I was in no mood for party. I was feeling blue. I was alone, as usual, as always.

TRADITIONS

2006-11-14T20:29:00.000-08:00

On November 5th, I went to LFC’s home for our 13th Halloween Bash. As you can imagine, it’s a long story. I’ll try to be brief.

I met LFC in junior high. We both were in the same class and we have been friends ever since. When we got to High school, we ended up in different classes. He made some friends; I made others so at the end it was an interesting mix of people. More or less, most of us liked movies, so in 1994, the whole gang gather up at my house to see the Academy Awards ceremony that year. Pulp fiction lost that year. Forest Gump won the gold and little did we know we started a yearly tradition. Latter that year, for Halloween, we decided to do a Bash with a particular twist: Guys would dress up as Dolls and vice versa. It was a defining moment for some of us, but at the end, we picked up the annual gathering.

Ever since 1994, more or less, the same group of friends has reunited on these two occasions for these events. The organizers and the keepers of the tradition are LFC, El Vale and I. We have been on each and every one of these celebration, with the exception of Oscars 99. Instead of going to Our Gala, I went to the Timbiriche reunion Concert. Timbiriche was a big part of my history when I was young, so I had to choose. And I come clean with it; it was a very hard decision. Up to this day, every time I mention this, LFC and El Vale state this slip to me. However, For Halloween 2000 they got back at me. They changed the day of the date, from Saturday to Friday, without telling me. There are other three friends who, more or less have been in most of these reunions: Bergman, Criminal and Alfran. Besides these six, others have come and gone, but at the end, the basic group remains.

As everything, these two annual reunions have evolved. At The Oscars’ Gala we stopped betting on the winners. In Halloween, we changed it from a party to a Horror movie marathon, but the spirit remains there. Two times a year, that group of not so young fellas comes together to celebrate two things: Cinema and the fact that we found each other.

This year, the Halloween party was the least attended ever, but at the same time, one of the most intimate and rewarding for me. We had to do it after Halloween, because of LFC’s work. At the end, only El Vale, Bergman and I arrived. It seemed like we went to the basic, only the true film lovers were there. The three of them have shown interest in moviemaking. Me too, but that’s another story. There was a sense of untold camaraderie between us, a sense of shared experiences. Nothing of this was spoken, but I sure felt it, and, although I was the first to leave, I left uplifted for being part of it.

An interesting thing happened during dinner. The routine is and has been like this since the beginning: we always eat pizza. I call to order it, LFC pays for it and we all eat it. When we were eating, we started talking of the movies we have seen recently, the movies we missed, the movies we’re interested in. They started talking about all of this and when I hear them say “we have to choose what to see” it hit me. Time has past. We’re no longer the kids who asked their parents for permission and a ride to go to a friend’s house on school night or to host a party. We no longer have the time to see everything we want to see, even if it was bad. We no longer have the stamina or the time to see three movies on one day, every weekend, as we used to. We have work, friends and social responsibilities outside this circle, and more and more these keep us from this special place we made for us. Life has catch up with us.

This is in no way a sad thing, just an observation. I mean, I always kept this world in a very special place. By this I mean cinema and the special bond share with these two guys. So special for me that I always thought I wanted to do movies too, as LFC and EL Vale wants. Finally I realize that my path is in another field, but still, I keep this special place for this world.

I feel very proud of being part of this experience, I feel is bigger than us, and that’s wonderful. We have kept this going on for 13 years; we have made a history, something to look forward next year, for the rest of our life. Call me a romantic, a softie, but for me, it’s a big thing. I wonder for how longer we will do this. As we were leaving the theater after “Marie Antoinette” I saw El Vale and LFC walking towards the exit, and I wonder if, twenty years from now, when we are fifty, will we? Will we go to the movies on Sunday? I hope we do. Not every Sunday, of course, but the Sundays we do, I hope we do it in the same spirit.

PROCRASTINATION IS MY SIN

2006-11-14T20:27:00.000-08:00

I’m sure that when I die, and that I’m at the gates of heaven, and when Saint Peter asks me of my sins I will answer this: “Only one: procrastination”. Ok, I know, I’m not a catholic, and because of that, this scenario for me is unlikely (at that moment I will say: “Two sins: procrastination and lack of faith” hehehe.)

I don’t know whether it is laziness or just the sheer excitement of self-sabotage, but the fact remains, I leave everything until the last moment. Work, homework, break ups, sadness. I keep everything on hold as if by doing this time will stop its motion. It does not, and the results are not good.
When it comes to work, I’m always very competent, so everything is ready when it has to be. What about School? That’s another story. More and more, I find myself leaving thing until the end and then, I don’t do them. Break ups and emotional crisis? I don’t like confrontations, so I prefer to keep going until… I don’t know. Why do I have to do this? I don’t know, but my therapist, who I saw last week told me that I had to go to visit him immediately. I’ll keep you posted.

UPDATE: THE BARE CROONER

2006-11-14T20:23:00.000-08:00

What do you know? Two weeks ago I went to a concert, recital, or something like that. It was locally organized and it features a group of young artists eager for the applause of the masses. As I was reading the program, the only thing I could think of is that one hell of a Queen must have compiled it. An old one too, mostly 70’s, 80’s and early, very early 90’s pop standards. And no, just because it featured “Hips don’t lie” doesn’t mean that it was modern, or hip, for that matter.

The show started half an hour late. Good for me, because I arrived late at the auditorium. The quality of the sound was deplorable, but the energy of the performers was sky high, so it was interesting. And then, The Bare Crooner, there, on stage, singing. I immediately recognized the voice, that beautiful, melodic, velvety voice. As soon as I noticed him, I passed on the info to my friends, who agreed with me that he really had a marvelous voice. He had a very strong presence on stage and I believe had the best voice of the various gentlemen who appeared in the show. And well, at least now I know his name. And no, I did not asked for his autograph.

THE CIRCUS IS IN TOWN

2006-11-01T12:47:00.000-08:00

I do not know what to think of this. Yesterday I went to Las misiones, supposedly the biggest and trendiest mall in Juarez (which is not much to say). In the parking lot I saw an interesting vehicle, something like a commercial trailer but made like an auto, something like a hummer on steroids. I barely noticed. I only paid attention to it because my companion pointed it to me. Here is a picture of the vehicle:

When we got out, we passed over the place were the monster was parked. And not only that, it had an audience. Many people were surrounding it, adults and children. Some of them were even taking pictures of it, like a sideshow. I found this event even more interesting, the fact that not just one or a couple of people, a whole group were admiring this mechanical hybrid parked outside a mall. There people in every side of it, looking in awe of the great work of human engineering in front of them. I had to take a picture of this, even more than of the truck. Yes, me taking a picture of the people that where taking pictures of the monster.

My cynical side found quite funny the whole spectacle. I mean, what are they thinking, it’s just a truck, maybe clean and shiny, but still, a truck. Now, as I write these lines, I’m wondering about their reaction. Would I, having in front me something as amazing as this group perceived the truck to be, stop too and admire the greatness that life is bestowing in front of my eyes? Or would I, cynical as I can be, walk away dismissing it because I would look ridiculous. I think I would go for the first option, and I hope that I keep choosing this option always.

THE INCONVENIENT GUEST

2006-11-01T12:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was witness of one of the weirdest acts committed in a public restroom. And I’ve been to Samborns, so you know I’ve seen a lot.

I found myself yesterday in Soriana, and needed to go to the lavatory. I got inside and there were some guys minding their business. I noticed the four stalls were in use. At that particular moment I got it. They weren’t minding their business, they were cruising each other. Men, they use every opportunity to get laid, or get some, even a grope. And if you ask, yes, any place where men can wipe it out is a place to cruise. Gyms, bathrooms, dark alleys, a parked car, you name it; they’re used as hook ups places.

I turned away from the urinal and started to wash my hands and at that moment I noticed two kids going into the bathroom. They were waiting for a stall to use it and none of the guys in the stalls seemed to care about it. Finally the two stalls in the center got available and these kids were able to use them.

The kids got out of the rest room and the two stalls were still occupied. By this time I had already washed my face, groomed my hair and was in the process of cleaning my glasses for the second time when another kid entered the bathroom, announcing that he had to use it! He was about nine or ten years old, and was very determent to do what he wanted.

He stood there, looked at me and then, focused his attention at the stall at the end of the row. He started knocking on the door, constantly. He kept saying, “I want to use this toilet, I want to use this toilet”. Since he did not get any response, he started spying on the guy using the stall thru the separation of the door and the wall. When he did this, he started chanting, “I see you, I see you, I see you”. Next thing I know, I hear the flush of the toilet. And I noticed the guy stood up and got ready to leave. Not so fast, the kid thought, because, as soon as the guy opened the door and started walking out of the stall, the kid throw himself at the man and hugged him from the waist. Fear got into this guy’s face and as he could, he got the kid off him (not pun intended) and walked away from the rest room.

Triumphantly the kid, with a wide smile, stood in front of the stall that he obtained thru dubious methods. Holding on to the door, He said, “I want to use that toilet”, pointing to the other stall. And off he went, to the stall at the other side and as he did before, he berated the guy inside to stop doing anything he was doing inside and leave. And again, as he opened the door, the kid grabbed him by the waist to try to hold him. This guy freed himself more easily from he kid’s arms and went to wash his hands. By this moment, I was laughing so hard (on the inside) that I barely was able to wash my hands for a fifth time.

The second victim left the bathroom and I followed suit. I was having so much fun, this was such a bizarre event that I didn’t wanted to spoil it by becoming the psycho kid’s third victim in a row.

SOME RANDOM LINES

2006-11-01T12:40:00.000-08:00

A while ago I wrote these lines. These words had been brewing inside of me for a long time; this is what I was seeing around me, so much need for contact, especially in gay men. The thing is that many men in this city (and in many others, I think) decided to live a double life, on one side, wives and kids. On the other, furtive glances, brief encounters, nameless partners.

BRIEF.

Everybody wants to touch
But they’re afraid to reach.
I know I’m a victim of the same disease.
Do you?

Sometimes I see these men and perceive the hopelessness stuck in heir faces. It saddens me and makes me mad. Mad because society made them take an option they were not meant to take… or wanted to take… or did not knew of other option. Mad because we all are demanded to adhere to this rules. Mad because this is arbitrary. And especially mad, because as them I had and have to fight constantly against this silent enemy to find love.

THE BARE CROONER

2006-11-01T12:24:00.000-08:00

Last weekend I went to one of two bathhouses that you can find in Juarez. You may ask: why, oh why do I have to go to his kind of establishments. The only thing I have to say about it is: yes, I went, and no, I do not want to get into this moral argument.

The first thing after going into the place, is find a cubicle, one with light and with a door. Don’t worry all of them have doors. Usually on weekend, the place is packed, but strange enough, this particular time was not, which is good, because when there are a lot of people there, the guys tend to be more reserved and do not talk to anybody or the contrary, since there are other fellows who they know, they do not act on their impulses because some guy they talk with might see him go into a cubicle and shut the door. And you know what happens when you shut the door. It’s something that I still don’t understand, guys go to this kind of places in order to hook up with other guys, but when they’re actually there, don’t do anything. Is not that I’m asking for a full on orgy (although it would be interesting), no, but you see the glances, you can cut the sexual tension with an axe. And guys do nothing to cut it.

After finding a respectable cubicle, I went to the showers to get ready for the steam room. In my way I saw the obligatory old, big-belly man sitting in front of the showers. There were two this time. Now that I think of it, I know why they’re always sitting there, that’s the only thing left for them, to look and reminisce of times past, of opportunities not taken. Once I showered, I went to the steam room and stayed for 15 minutes, a record for me, because I usually can stand only a limited amount of steam room time. I went back to mi cubicle and fall asleep.

When I woke up, I lay there for a brief time, and while there, a young man passed in front of my door, trying to cover himself with a towel of the results of a time well spent. I’m sure he was going to the showers. Finally I stood and got out of the cubicle. By that time I was dry again, so I decided to make a round to see if there was someone interesting or interested. There was no one so I went back to the showers, got wet and went into the last steam room and I found my spot. I tit down and was alone, but not for long.

The radio that the guy who does massages was on, and incredibly, it was playing “I will survive”. After the initial laugh, I started singing along silently to myself, but my singing was abruptly silence by someone’s more strong and attuned voice. I heard somebody open the door and I heard a interesting echo of a beautiful singing voice. This echo got closer and closer and finally, the man who was singing arrive at the same room I was. Coincidentally, it was the guy I noticed earlier sans towel. Completely naked. Of course, this is not a weird thing considering where we were, but it caught my attention, because I had seen him earlier with a towel making the rounds. He got into the room, walk inside, stood there for a while and finally he sat right across from me. He did all this while singing in a delicious velvety voice.

I cannot remember what song he was singing first, but he had a swell voice, modulated, and in pitch. I only remember it was a song of lost love and that he sang it beautifully. Since we were in a closed room, the sound felt bigger, and it was amazing. I do not know why, but he was staring at me, maybe because I was his whole audience. The next song in his set was “Acompañame”. I’ve never thought much of this song, but being serenaded this way, it make me listen carefully to it, and I have to say, It’s a beautiful piece. I looked silently at him, because I was enjoying the shared moment.

The third song I didn’t recognized it, but afterwards I asked him. It’s from Alexander Pyres and it’s called “amandote”, another love song. Something interesting happened while he was singing this. Since he, as I, was sitting in a corner, he lifted his legs and spread them across the part of the wall that was functioning as a bench. So there he was, spread eagle while he kept producing those enthralling sounds. Next on the set, was Sinatra’s “My way”, as interesting choice as the previous songs.

When he stopped singing I had to applaud, so I did. After thanking me he said:

- Money would be better. He said trying to make a joke about it
- That explains a lot… I said.
- What do you mean?
- Forget it, just making conversation.
- So, you liked it?
- Yes, I did, it was an interesting experience, so interesting I will have to put it on my blog.
- You will? Well, then, lets talk about the money again.

I laugh. After a brief moment, while he started singing again, I consider the option of getting to know this guy a bit more. When he stopped again, I stood up and sat besides him, I Introduced myself and asked for his name.

- Why do you want to know my name
- I want to know who was singing delightfully to me.
- You don’t need to know my name
- I know I don’t, but I would like to.
- I like your attitude
- Why is that?
- You don’t get scared, you don’t get surprised. You keep your cool.
- Is there any reason to loose my cool?

He laughed, stood and walked away and left me there alone. Later on, when I was back at my cubicle I heard him singing “acompañame” again while getting ready to leave the establishment. At the end, I did not get his name, but I sure was a witness of his nude recital.

GIRLS NIGHT OUT: THE REJECTION TOUR

2006-10-12T18:42:00.000-07:00

Sure, a night out in the town can be very interesting. Last Friday I had plans with Mr. Pont to go to the Lila Downs concert down at the university. It was supposed to be there at 7:30 pm sharp, but, since I hooked up two hours before with what I had been calling the object of my lust for quite some time (rough, tough, masculine, older, goatee, married), I was kind of tired (or in an afterglow, he he.) more on that later.

Well, by 7:30 I had decided not to go to Lila. I had to make a reading report for the class that I have Saturday morning, so I called Mr. Pont to tell him that I was going to do homework. After he told me that he had been dragging chair all the way from his house so that we can be comfortable, and that he had been guarding my place with his life, I was out of the house. Man, manipulation really works.

I arrived there a little past eight. Quickly, I found Mr. Pont and he was not alone (that, I knew). He was with a group of 5 people and I was the last one in line. I was sort of content that I had found the group, because the day before, at the Fillipa Giordano concert, I could not find them. I was on the right side of the stage, and they were on the left. I was closer to the stage than them, and I was standing up, and I enjoy it a lot. I think that those kinds of events you have to be standing up so that you can appreciate the whole experience. That’s why I was so mad at Re-Invention tour, when a woman asked me to sit down at the end of “Don’t tell me” because I was in her way. Good thing that Madonna asked all of the audience to stand up for the next song, “Like a prayer”. Madonna said so, in your face bitch.

Lila Downs got to the stage at 8:30, and her first song was very energetic, but by the third one, I was bored. My stomach was a little belligerent so I excuse myself and went to the library. I stayed there for a while and got back later on. I was not thrilled with the concert, but I made the most of it. At least I saw a couple of cute guys in the audience, and I said Hi! To my Aunt Cris, my mother’s sister. Strange relationship there. They do not like each other, and do not speak to each other, but at the same time, I have an excellent rapport with my aunt (not to mention similar artistic palates). She really was enjoying the show, so when she asked me what did I think of it, I simply lied and rapidly mentioned Fillipa’s concert, which I liked.

When Lila got down of he stage, the plan for the rest of the evening started. Mr. Pont and two of his friends, 2P and pearl wanted to go out to a club. The problem was that 2P wanted Pont to take him to his place so that he could change outfits (a very understandable request, being a gay man myself). The bad thing is that 2P was getting an attitude and Pont was not in the mood for it, so after a brief argument that “why wouldn’t you do as I say-because I say so” 2P ended up leaving the rest of the group to “cool off” (at the end, he got back to his place via taxi) and there’s where the tone of the evening began.

The group, once it got known the info, where surprised by 2P’s action. Even one girl asked what age he was, not a good sign. As much as 2P’s actions surprised them, Pont and Pearl where astonished not only for the fact that he left, but even more of their lack of counteraction to stop him. You see, the three of them have a long-standing relationship, and it seems that it was a first for the three. So much that everything that happened after was seen thru this event.

After the earthquake, we decided to go to a club downtown, in Mariscal Street. Who are we? Mr. Pont, Pearl, Hec and yours truly. On the way there, we tried to sheer each other up, and by the time we got to the club, we where pretty excited. Too bad that we didn’t anticipated what happened next.

As soon as we got to La Madelon, Hec and I entered the club. We were paying and we noticed that the other two were talking to Pregnant Lady a.k.a. the female bouncer. We got back outside to see what was going on. Pregnant Lady did not wanted to let Pearl go in because she did not have a “proper” I.D. Was she showing her bus pass? Her kinder garden card? No, she was presenting her Durango State Driving License, and according to this woman, it was not a valid I.D. I can relate to this, you see, I rarely drink, and one day I was at Pz’s place (he lives in El Paso) and I wanted a beer, so I went to the nearest store. The clerk did not sell me beer or any alcoholic beverage because I did not have a valid Texas I.D. I mean I’m Mexican, so for me to have a Texan I.D. would not be proper, not to say kind of illegal. I was 28 years old and it showed. But since a foreign government issued my I D., I was denied access to booze.

Ok. The previous situation, I can understand, but this? After we left and Pregnant Lady was complaining of our supposedly “superior” attitude, I got to know that Pregnant Lady has been pregnant for quite a while, years, and that when she finally gives birth is going to be a beautiful fossil. It appears that Pearl had a history with P Lady. Years before, P Lady was a waitress there, and Pearl had a very close relationship with Mr. Bottle, so you take out your conclusions. That’s why we were not allowed at the club, and at what club!!! It’s horrible, the first time I went I was afraid that somebody might stick something in me, and not in a good way, and not by choice.

After our bad luck there (that the group attributed to 2P’s bad karma, we went to El Cabaretito” a club that just reopened a few weeks back. Not a good choice. We were hesitant to enter, but the bouncer lured us in with the promise of getting raped at midnight. Who can say no to that? Once inside, the oppressing industrial cave-like décor, made us want to go somewhere else. Besides, the idea of being the only audience for the drag show was not appealing enough. We were back at the street in 15 minutes.

We got back to the car and decided to go to Bananas. No one but me had seen the new and improved Bananas (not a sight to get excited about). Anybody that goes downtown on weekends knows of the trains that throughout the night cuts downtown in half. When we got to Mejia Ave., the train was saying “screw u” to anyone that was trying to find a better scene at the other side of the tracks. So, to get there, we had to go all the way to Insurgentes Ave. to cross under the train. Another inconvenience because of 2P’S bad mojo.

Finnally, we arrived at Bannanas, but it looked as crowded as Cabaretito, so we jumped across the street to Albatros, now, what a difference. People. Dance. Queers. Drinks. Acceptable. The rest of the group had a drink while I was sitting at our designated table looking at a guy that captured my attention. At one o’clock, we felt that it was enough Albatros and got out. Back in the car, the idea of dancing at La Madelon got back in our minds. So, we dropped Pearl at the entrance, since Pregnant Lady was not on sight. 2 minutes later Mr. Pont. Received her call from inside the club. We took the car to the club’s parking lot and before the guy running say anything, Pont said, “yes, it’s us again”. He had given is crap the first time ‘cause we did not take the car out right after or problem with P Lady.

So there we were, dancing the night away, at the club that we envisioned from the start. Little did we know or fun was going to come to a quick end, Pregnant Lady spotted Pearl, and sent one of her bouncers to take her out of the club. They literally took her of the dance floor and into the street. We followed suit, and found ourselves back again were we started.

Back in the car, for our nightcap, we went to see the hustlers that stand around the zone. Nothing much to see, so we thought. But at the second round, Hec and I saw a Bearish guy that we both liked, tall and with a goatee. On the third round, Hec motioned the guy to come to the car and he did. Very cocky he approached the car, but as soon as he saw Pearl, he got scared, he turn around and walked away. Too bad, we wanted an orgy. By that time, it was two in the morning. I asked Pont to take me to my car. And with that, we ended up an evening that worked against us, but nevertheless, was Oh so much fun.

A MATTER OF WEIGHT.

2006-10-12T18:27:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wish my brain would go on vacation. I know, my brain is a beautiful mess.

Two weeks ago I had dinner with Pz, Tito and Monsieur Pont. For now on, I will call us the Gab squad (geeky and fabulous). I know, it’s a stretch to call us that. We’re barely geeky. Ok, PZ is, a lot. Two years ago I gave him a Dexter-shaped Piñata for his birthday because he looks just like him. Yes, he is that geeky. Tito is young so that makes him sort of fabulous in a geeky sort of way. Mr. Pont is tall and slender, that’s fabulous, but he likes comics too much. And me, the film buff, and that’s abs fab. Ok, I just wanted a quick way to say that I had dinner with Pz, Tito and Mr. Pont.

Afterwards, Pont took me home, and when we arrived there, we stayed in his car chatting. We talked of various things, but we ended up talking of self-image. How do I perceive myself and how does my self-image has disabled me for a new relationship, and how it helped to fail the last one…

This is how I started writing this post. In it, I was going to discuss the fact that I considered that I’m invisible in clubs, that I do not have a serious relationship and that the only people who dare to approach me are one way or the other unable to start a relationship with me. Also, I was going to analyze how the fact that my self image is devaluated has disabled me to look for a significant other. I was going to say that, since I don’t like the way I look, nobody that I would consider interesting enough might consider me boyfriend material. Well, DUHH!! It’s not that I’m sabotaging myself; I’m not just trying, not doing anything.

You see, I’m fat. You can sugar coat it, full figure, husky, big and lovable, you name it, but the fact remains, I’m fat. And I don’t like to be that way. Is not like I’m morbidly huge, although some people can argue that, and to those I say “Go sodomize yourselves”. I’m 5’8” and I weight 235 pounds, is not that much. I wear size 38 pants. I could use a size 34, but I don’t like to wear my pants on my balls. I wear size XL shirts, because I like to be comfortable and a little loose. As you can see, I’m not that weird or horrible or anything to hide in the cellar. Well, maybe some days.

The point is that, a lot of my neurosis and shortcomings come from this little fact, and, what I was going to do on this post was to bitch about it. I was only going to perpetuate the state I’m in by victimizing myself because I’m invisible to others when I go to clubs, because people do not look at me when I go out and because I cannot find a single respectable guy to start dating. Well, too bad. At the end, I decided not to write it, to leave it like that.

This week I had a chat with Pz. I invited myself to dinner with him, and when he asked me how I was doing, I told him of this post, what was my intention and why did I decided not to write about it. After listening to me, he told me “write it, but instead of these complains, write of the conclusions that you arrived at”.

So that’s why I’m writing this. Finally, I came to these conclusions:
Yes, I’m fat, because I want to be fat. Nobody but me put me in this position, nobody but me will take me out of it. So I better start doing something, because is true, I do not like to be a bear, I want to be a chaser.
I’m single because I want to, because I’m still afraid of letting my guard down with a man in a relationship-like environment. Also, I feel threatened if they show too much interest right away. I know, to little I don’t like, too much, I run the other way. It has to be enough.
I’m “invisible” in clubs because I want to. Of course, how the hell this huge piece of man can be invisible? You might ask, remember, 5’8”, 235 lbs. Is just that I don’t make eye contact and keep myself guarded with my body language. Since I feel inadequate, I don put myself out there. It’s my responsibility

I did not want to write this post because, after a great deal of mind blowing hours I came up with these three facts, and saying anything different seemed superfluous and false. This is the reality, my reality, so any intent to sugar coat it for me, at the end, felt wrong. I thank Pz for his words of encouragement, ant to make me realize that to write this is a way to confront me with my neurosis and my shortcomings. After all, I’m human and my duty is to grow and evolve and I believe that this is a good exercise to achieve this. Now, the only thing I have to do is get on a diet, start exercising or both. But man, that is sooo tiring, maybe I just accept the fact that I’m round and full of life and look for a handsome chaser or bear who happens to love chubby bears.

MY INSPIRATION IS GOING AWAY... IS IT?

2006-09-27T17:37:00.000-07:00

I’ve been wanting to write my next post. I mean, I started this blog so that I can deal with many of the thoughts, emotions or other worthy material I come across, but every time a topic comes to my mind, as quickly as it appears, it disappears. Many ideas have been disposed over the past days because I did not apply myself to start writing; I was very busy living.

But going back to the lack of words, why is this? It could be many reasons: as I said earlier, my fear of exposing my feeling to others, lack of time, lack of interest, the fact that simply I’m not used to write, anything, not even a school, were I barely take notes. Weird, because it seems that in school you have to write a lot, especially reports (no wonder why stress kicks in every time a teacher say “instead of a test, I want an essay” I ace tests, and strange enough, essays too). Or maybe is just that I don’t have discipline, anywhere. Could be it.

The point is that I haven’t written for the past two weeks, and it’s an issue I have to deal with. Over the past years I’ve learn the hard way that in order to advance, it’s necessary to confront what’s in front so that I don’t have to drag it along to where I go. And this is my way to do so with this issue: Words: Friend, enemy or foe. Or all of the above.

It’s weird for me to be considering all of this, since I’ve never been a writer, or a reader, or a talker. Those are active, aggressive roles that most of the time, I don’t feel comfortable playing. (Why am I afraid of the aggressive part of my personality, that’s another story). The thing is that, for most of the part I write, read and speak. It’s a requisite in order to be a part of society, but the less I have to write or read, the better. Speak, that I enjoy, but not as a way to put my ideas into other, but more as a may to connect with them.

It may come as a shock for many people, but yes, I’m afraid to talk. Why? Because I’m afraid that I might not articulate what I want to express in the way I want to express it, and that the result of this could be extremely negative. It has happened. I don’t like to write, because I take a long time doing it so that all of the ideas that I want to put into a text are clear and the text is readable. Most importantly, I do not like to read. Period. It may seems that it’s because of laziness, and in some regard it may be true, but the real reason is the next one: I’ve always been suspicious of words. I feel that language, written or spoken is like a secret and elaborate code that I do not understand and that I do not have the cheat sheet to understand it’s meaning.

It’s a terrible way to perceive words, but there it is. I think that it has to do with the fact that it’s another person’s view of reality. I prefer my view, and might be wary of the view of others. That’s why I feel more comfortable dealing with images. I might be watching something fabricated, but it my firsthand view of the fact, not somebody else take on the same thing. Also, that’s why I take movies over books. Movies and books are two different mediums. Yes, books can be more detailed in the abstract, and movies might lack that dept, but still, it’s the take that the director had on the material, not the material itself.

Going back to books, sometimes, when I’m reading, I feel that I’m not getting the whole picture, which I have to complete it in order to understand it. I know that this part of reading is what makes it the more enjoyable for most people, but not for me. I need to have all the elements in order to make my own conclusions. On the contrary, I do not need to read four pages of the description of all the light shades in a sunshine, I just need to see it, period. If prose is complicated for me, poetry is like hieroglyphics. Too many contrived or so few cryptic words to describe… whatever. Not my cup of tea.

Getting back to the fact that I’m not writing. Well, I guess that it’s only a matter of practice, of getting accustomed to use words, so that I don’t feel threatened by them. The same goes for reading. Yes, I do read. Speaking, that’s another story, talk I love. Besides, words are the bridge we have to connect to others, and that I love. Being able to be in the presence of another being is an amazing thing to enjoy. Now I know why I haven’t been writing, I have been in the company of others, enjoying and giving myself to them and receiving their presence back. Thank you.

AGE? CRISIS?

2006-09-15T16:26:00.000-07:00

It’s a Fact; I’m thirty years old. The point about it is that I’ve just turn 30 last week, only last week I was enjoying my last days in my twenties... but now, I’m 30. You can say, come on, it’s just another birthday, just another day. But no, it means much more to me.

Seeing my life in retrospective, I’ve come to realize that, during a critical period in my life, I had to mature much faster than the rest, I had to deal with demands beyond my age and role. I had to rise to the occasion, and I did, but, as soon as I had the opportunity to free myself from those responsibilities, I did, and I’ve never looked back. Fatal error. You see, that’s the reason I’m feeling inadequate at this point and age. As a child, I was one of those classic Adult-Childs that never jumps, never screams, would never, ever be disrespectful. What a drag, he he. I remember going to the most fancy Chinese restaurant as a child and, while my cousin, just months younger than me, was causing a riot, I was sitting properly besides my mom and actually thinking that my cousin deserves to be punished for that kind of behavior. Silly me.

That was then, this is now. I’m still respectful to other, I know how to sit properly at a fancy restaurant, but I´m more relaxed. The bad thing is that I run as fast as I can from any serious responsibility, and that’s not good, specially when you reach an age such as 30, when is no longer appropriate to be careless and with no aim in life. I know that, and I’m working towards something for myself, but then again, that means having to grow up and I don’t want to. Call me Peter Pan (my previous therapist did) but I do not want to be an adult, I already was an adult as a child, I know what it feels like and is not good. On the other hand, I’m beginning to feel the gripping hand of brother time behind my back. Man, I even wanted to start paying for my funeral service to have it ready when it comes the time to use it. I want to pay all of my debts, to buy a house and all the things an adult of my age supposedly has to be planning even before he reaches this point.

So there you have it, on one hand I want to party hardy, and by that, I mean do just nothing and stare at the sky. On the other hand I want to start working on the rest of my life. That’s my crisis right now. Mr. AlMi, I need help… Again. (By the way, Mr. AlMi is my last therapist).

Now, looking around, I’ve noticed that most of the Dragons around me (because of the Chinese horoscope) are doing just as not that good as me. The range goes from lower back pains, unwed fathers to the worst-case scenario, a psychotic episode. What’s going on? Why oh why is turning 30 so difficult?

Going further in my research, I’ve noticed that it is not just us dragons, its just people around me. For instance, back in April I met Piercy, 42, and we hit it off right away. Everything seemed to go fine but all of a sudden he just stopped calling. I felt that I didn’t do anything wrong, on the contrary. But anyway. Around July he started calling again and from time to time we have chatted online. Last Wednesday he invited me to have dinner for my birthday, and we started talking about age, crisis and responsibilities. He told me that he came to realize that he needed time for himself, he started therapy and that everything was going well. What a surprise, he starts dating me and has to go back to the shrink.

Another of my friends, PZ, has had a very difficult year. In March he had to move to another city for his work, and left behind his boyfriend Tito. Well, PZ has come to realize some info on him that has put all of his life in a different perspective, and he is 38. Of course Tito (23) is not so happy with all of the sudden changes PZ is having, so he is in a crisis all of himself. Not to mention the fact that they’re miles and miles away.

Election year in Mexico. Enough said.

Finally, in different places and from different sources, I’ve been hearing, reading, that this year is of the reckoning, ascending or whatever these groups call the changing of level the “whole humanity” is experimenting. Oh! My god!!

Well. At the end, I don’t feel so alone and helpless about my crisis. It’s not just me, it’s the whole world, it seem it is on the verge of a meltdown. Or Ascension. Thank you.

FULL DISCLOSURE... ALMOST.

2006-09-13T19:20:00.000-07:00

I’ve always wanted to write a journal. Always. It seemed like an interesting thing to have. A testimonial of who you were in that particular time and place in your life. An instant window to your old self. Along the line I’ve known of several people who have been writing their journals and generally I’m curious to see how am I portrayed in them. The last person that I knew about was my friend Tito. I was completely surprised, I would have never imagined that he, of all the people would keep a journal. But he does. So I asked him if he could read me what he had written about me. After some convincing, he did. And regardless of what he wrote, I was thrilled for the opportunity of going back in time, in that particular way.

Not that I’m one of those people who like to dwell on the past, on the contrary, I like the new and improved. Even speaking of my favorite artist, I prefer to hear “hung up” than “material girl” anytime, even if I was there when the older song started having airplay, and even if I like her ever since. So, is not about nostalgia. It’s more about letting go. I know that I have lots and lots of memories in me, I even surprise myself when some of them appear out of nowhere, since they’re not something that I have had in my present state of mind. The point is that they’re there and sometimes I feel like if I do not release them, they will stay and burden me forever. In that line of thinking, that’s why a journal has always been intriguing to me. An easy-archive to my past so that I can go on freely. I know, it’s psychobabble but it works for me.

Then again, if I have the answer, why, oh why don’t I apply it? I’ll tell you why, I because of fear: fear that someone else might read it and learn about some bizarre idiosyncrasy I might have had or have at the current moment. Fear that something I might have said about someone can be heard by that person. Fear that people might know whom have I slept with, you name it. It might seem to most of my friends that I don’t have a problem sharing my life with others, but to be honest, I DO! I have a wide load of things that I would like to keep in a journal, but I’m too afraid to put it in paper, because, as soon as it is in paper, one, is out of me and two, it can be read by anyone. See my predicament?

It can be said that I can be a bit paranoid, it’s true, but the point is that, at the end, is both. I’m paranoid and I have trouble letting go. Friends, lovers, family, relationships, stuff, you name it. Feelings, situations, moods, even pens. And it’s a well discussed topic with my therapist; I have to learn how to let go. But, in order to do so, I have to confront my fear, my fear of exposing myself and who I am, so here I goes: I present to you CUB IN THIS CITY.

I’m a 30 years old gay man from Juarez, who can be called a bear but feels more like a cub. I started coming out of the closet at 20 to some of my friends and at 22 to my parents. Only last year I told my three siblings, and their response was: duhh! Let me explain about that, is not that I’m queer, is just that they’re young, not stupid. In fact, the good thing is that, since I’m very discreet and masculine, I pass under the radar most of the time. Sometimes it works against me because guys that I might find attractive do not think of me as gay. Most of my friends know this tidbit of information, but as a Mexican male, I’m still not so comfortable knowing that anyone can know it. The only place where I’m not out is at work, and I like it that way, since I work in a mostly male environment. I’m sure a lot of people suspect it but they’re prudent and do not ask about it.

I share with you this particular part of my life, because, although I consider myself out of the closet, sometimes I feel sometimes like I need the protection it gives to us queer people. I fear I might be discriminated against if I don’t have that special place to go when needed. It’s a double standard, I know, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do to get by. But as the need for the protection of my parents, some stuff tends to grow old with time and become a burden. So by writing this I’m trying to come clean with this particular topic and myself.

So there you have it: I’m gay (that’s the good news), I have trouble letting go, I’m a bit paranoid and I hope that, by exposing myself to you in this space I can overcome some, if not, most of my fears. Thank you for the opportunity.