This morning about six minutes after I got up, Adam’s alarm went off. He’d snoozed it when it sounded at 8:30. Both of our alarms go off at 8:30. We both have I-phones, but his alarm sounds about 15 seconds before mine does, I have no idea why.
I digress.
I was getting ready to get in the shower, when I realized he had not shut his alarm off. I waited. And waited. Finally, I went in and said Babe? Babe? He didn’t answer. I then said, Adam? Adam? A little louder. He still didn’t budge. Adam is not a super hard sleeper, so I was surprised he didn’t respond. I have to admit, for about 1/16th of a second I thought he might be dead. Then I tapped him on the shoulder and he awoke with a start. It’s one of the reasons I started out quietly; he is easily startled when he’s asleep.
He had not heard the alarm at all. He was surprised that it was going off, and he was surprised that I had to wake him. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and then went back to take a shower.
As I was trying to wake up in the shower, I realized that calling Adam by his given name was not something I do often. We hardly ever use each other’s names. We both use “BABE” as a term of endearment. In fact, he called me at work today and I said, “Hello, Babe” and my boss referred to him as Babe 30 seconds later.
It always feels awkward when I say Adam, when speaking to Adam. I say his name all the time at work. They probably get sick of hearing about the meals he cooks for me, or the things he did for my birthday. But to say, “Hey Adam, what’s for dinner?, just doesn’t flow.
The only thing worse than using his name to address him is him calling me Jeff. It’s like nails on a chalkboard. He does it so seldomly that I always think I must be in trouble, or something must be wrong. Neither is usually true.
Which brings me to the point of this story.
When we first started dating, and it became clear that we were going to be something more than just a casual fling, he started calling me “Honey Bear.” I don’t know why? I don’t know where it came from. I, however, loved it from the start. At some point, we moved past Honey Bear to Babe. He does usually write cards to me addressed as Honey Bear. And it makes my heart grow three sizes. It makes me smile.
I’ve only ever called him Babe, that I remember.
Which brings me to the question: What do you call your significant other? Your spouse? Your boyfriend? Your girlfriend? Your lover?
I have to go now, because a voice from the kitchen just said, “Babe, dinner will be ready in 5!”
I spend way too much time on Facebook. Way too much.
Mostly it’s a way to waste time, while I’m waiting for Adam to get home. Or waiting for a meeting to start at work. Or waiting for dinner to be ready.
Today’s Facebook is very different than the Facebook of my childhood. Back when you could poke someone. Or were reconnecting with friends you hadn’t seen for years.
Obama changed that. Suddenly, Facebook was political. As a liberal, it brought out the worst of the worst. When Adam and I first started dating, while I was waiting for dinner to be ready, I was battling it out with conservative “friends.” Fun fact, when you point out that your friends are on the “dole” while voting against their own best interest, they unfriend you. This happened several times.
Fast forward 50 years and now it’s ALL politics except for a few posts from friends sharing their lives. In between the political posts and the friends, you are bombarded with shirtless men (perhaps that’s just my algorithm) and Broadway shows.
Today, I was sitting in my car wasting time, and was scrolling and came upon a post from a friend. It’s a post that circulates every so often. It harkens back to the old times, when there used to be lists of questions that you would share you answers with your friends.
This particular post was about states you’ve visited, and states you’ve live in.
It’s below:
Mark an X by a state you’ve actually stepped foot in. Mark XX for states you’ve lived in:
1Alabama XX
2 Alaska
3 Arizona X
4 Arkansas X
5 California XX
6 Colorado X
7 Connecticut X
8 Delaware X
9 Florida X
10 Georgia XX
11 Hawaii
12 Idaho X
13 Illinois X
14 Indiana X
15 Iowa XX
16 Kansas XX
17 Kentucky XX
18 Louisiana X
19 Maine XX
20 Maryland X
21 Massachusetts X
22 Michigan X
23 Minnesota X
24 Mississippi X
25 Missouri X
26 Montana
27 Nebraska X
28 Nevada X
29 New Hampshire X
30 New Jersey X
31 New Mexico X
32 New York XX
33 North Carolina X
34 North Dakota
35 Ohio XX
36 Oklahoma XX
37 Oregon
38 Pennsylvania X
39 Rhode Island X
40 South Carolina X
41 South Dakota
42 Tennessee X
43 Texas X
44 Utah
45 Vermont X
46 Virginia X
47 Washington DC X
48 Washington
49 West Virginia X
50 Wisconsin X
51 Wyoming X
Visited: 43
Lived in: 9
Wow. Not bad. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been to 43 states. And in none of them, was it just stepping foot in an airport. For all of them, it was visiting or at least driving through.
Even more impressive is that I’ve lived in 9 different states for varying amounts of time.
The longest I lived anywhere was in Kentucky. The shortest I lived anywhere, was Tuscaloosa, Alabama where I rented an apartment, moved there, stayed three weeks and promptly moved back to Kentucky. No one needs to live in Tuscaloosa, Alabama as a single gay man.
I love that I got out of Kentucky. I graduated from college and left. There was not one part of me that thought I belonged there. There was a big wide world to explore and I was going to explore it. I knew that I was meant for adventures.
Looking back on my life as a 60-year-old man, I love that I’ve had the adventures I’ve had.
In Kansas, I learned that I could do any horrible job that was thrown at me, for at least a bit, to prove the naysayers wrong.
In Georgia, I learned that it was okay to be gay. That if people cared, you didn’t need them in your life. It’s also the first time I realized that I was above average in looks.
Back in Kentucky, I learned that I was a damn good lighting designer. And once again, no one cared that I was gay.
In Ohio, I learned that I was a pretty okay teacher. Not great. Not terrible, but pretty okay.
In New York, I learned that it was better to be a big fish in a small pond, than a small fish in a big pond. Also it takes too much effort to survive in the big apple. And I’m a dam good slinging hash server. Bring on the volume. I also learned that after a lifetime of being a BAD boyfriend, that I could indeed, care for someone, love them and treat them in a way that fostered a loving relationship.
In San Diego, I learned that I am a really good goddamned lighting designer, when put up against other eally good goddamned lighting designers.
In Oklahoma, I learned that as you get older, comfort is king, and sleeping in two twin beds pushed together does not a queen size bed make. Also, I can work really fast and still produce quality work.
In Iowa, I learned that when you work with amazing people, your art is elevated. To this day, the first show I designed there is still one I consider to be my best.
In Maine. I learned that I’m a good manager. Not great. Not bad. But good. Even on my worst day, I don’t micromanage. I don’t yell. And I don’t treat my co-workers badly.
And now I’m 60. On the downhill slope of life. I don’t know how my friends from high school and college spend their time, but I often think of the choices I’ve made. Would I have been better off to do this? Would I have been better off to do that?
For example:
Should I have gone to graduate school at 30?
Should I have focused on teaching more?
Should I have stayed in Ohio, teaching, where I’d be on my way to retirement right now.
Should I have stayed in NYC and started my restaurant management career earlier?
Should I have applied at the Toyota Plant in Georgetown, that opened the year I graduated college and spent my time there, earning a pension and a reasonable retirement age.
Should I have stayed in Atlanta, and been gay and fabulous and found a non-theater career to focus on?
Should I have stayed in Southern California and focused on my design work. I was working a lot outside of school while I was there.
Should I have stayed in Alabama, gone to the University of Alabama for grad school, and perhaps had a career as an academic?
Should I have gone on a date with John instead of Adam and where would I be living if I had?
Clearly, it’s easy to go down the rabbit hole. I don’t get lost in this train of thought often, but sometimes when I can’t sleep, I get distracted with the what ifs.
But at the end of the day, I truly don’t regret 99% of my decisions.
They all worked together to make me the man I am today.
They all worked together to help me find Adam, who I love more than I ever thought possible. I have friends that love me dearly. I have a house that I couldn’t have dreamt of ever having. I have five cats who tolerate me. I have a great life.
And the moral of the story. I’m not rich. I’m not even close to retirement. I have to work until I’m dead. And, I wouldn’t trade my experiences for all the money in the world. I have had an exciting, adventurous life. And for that I’m grateful.
My time spent gaining these experiences has not been wasted. Even if some of my dreams have not come true. I remind myself when I get down about the dreams, that I could have taken a job that I hated, gotten married, had two kids, been miserable and lived a lie, like so many gay men I know. But instead, I got out.
That would have been me as a seven-year-old being asked to eat green beans. Or lettuce. Or tomatoes. Or beans. Or broccoli. Or spinach. Or Cheese (except American kraft singles). Or onions. Or liver. Or fish (except fish sticks). Or a whole host of other foods. I was a very picky eater.
For all my parent’s faults, and as I’ve written they were many, they never forced my brother or me to eat foods we didn’t like. There was always an alternative for us. As kids I don’t remember my brother being as picky as me, but I flat out just refused to eat certain foods.
When I started working at Day’s Inn Restaurant in high school, first as a dishwasher and then as a short order cook, my horizons broadened EVER so slightly. I learned that tomatoes weren’t the devil’s food. I learned that bakes scrod was not bad.
When I was 16, I went to prom with my friend Julia. Completely platonic. I don’t even think she planned to go until I asked. I took her to dinner, wearing a baby blue tuxedo with the frilled shirt, at the Marriot Hotel in Lexington, Kentucky.
We ordered strawberry daiquiris, and prime rib. I knew all about prime rib because we served it at Day’s Inn. What I wasn’t prepared for was for the prime rib to be RARE when it landed on the table. I was not about to embarrass myself in front of my date/friend so I toughed it out and ate it. In a word, it was delicious. It was the first time in my life that I learned that steak didn’t need to be shoe leather to eat it. It was melt in your mouth delicious. And I was hooked. No more shoe leather for me.
Through college I was still a picky eater. I remember going to Florida for spring break and my friends were ordering oysters. PUKE. The very thought of putting a live slimy creature in my mouth and swallowing was disgusting. Why would anyone want to do that.
Fast forward to Atlanta and I was still picky. Once again, I went out to eat with a friend at a fancy restaurant and she ordered portabella mushrooms. I was asked if I wanted to share, and not wanting to embarrass myself, I said what the hell. And they were delicious. Yum. Yum. Yum. I’ve been eating mushrooms ever since.
Fast forward to New York City. I’m dating someone who invites me to dinner. We go out and he orders salmon. Medium Rare. At this point the only fish I’m eating is filet o fish at McDonald’s. Once again, I’m asked if I want to try it, and not wanting to embarrass myself I say yes. Who knew that fish could be so delicious.
I could keep going. I go out to eat. I don’t want to embarrass myself. I eat the food. It’s delicious. Rinse and Repeat.
Fast forward to 2009. I meet a boy in a bookstore. I give him my number. He asks me to brunch. I say yes. We meet for said brunch. I order an omelet. I eat said omelet. New boy says he doesn’t like eggs. 17 years later he still doesn’t like eggs.
Meanwhile, 17 years later I eat everything.
Medium-rare steak. Why cook it all? Steak tartare for me.
Oysters. Raw, fried, roasted, baked. Yes, please the more the merrier.
Escargot. Snails. Can we double the order, so I can eat all of them.
Fish. All the fish. Salmon. Swordfish. Tuna. Halibut. Yes. Yes. Yes. I don’t even care if you cook it. Tuna tartare is one of my favorite foods now.
Caviar: Fish eggs? Yes, please. I’d eat it every day if I could afford it.
Vegetables. There isn’t a vegetable I won’t eat. Salad of all kinds is delicious.
Onions. LOVE em. In all foods. On a burger. In a salad. In soup. Yum. Yum. Yum.
I have a very small list of foods that I don’t like. And even then, I will still eat them.
When we went to Argentina in 2023, I said that I’d eat anything on the table, whether I liked it or not.
I’m not a fan of olives. But they started every meal. I ate them.
Sweetbreads. Look it up. Sweetbreads are a delicacy made from the thymus and pancreas glands of young animals, most commonly veal or lamb, prized for their rich, creamy texture and mild, subtly sweet flavor. 50 years ago, I’d probably have thrown up first. They are fucking delicious.
Blood sausage. Blood sausage is a type of sausage made from blood (usually pork), mixed with a filler like grains (oats, barley, rice) or breadcrumbs, and seasonings, then cooked and solidified. Delicious. Yum.
Which brings me to last night.
For dinner last night, Adam served a meal of foods that I would have not eaten probably even 20 years ago. We had French onion soup, with extra cheese, steak tartare with crostini, spring mix with a light vinegarette dressing, and goat cheese tart with an olive tamponade. And for dessert pistachio and lemon bars.
The very idea of little Jeff sitting down to a plate of food that consisted of all his least favorites is still funny to me. But last night, I stuffed my face. It was all delicious.
I’m glad. Life is so much more exciting and wonderful when you like food. I’m very adventurous and will try most everything. I don’t like everything but I will try it. By the way kangaroo carpaccio (raw kangaroo) is delicious.
The two foods that I tend to not eat on their own are olives and blue cheese. I will eat them in a salad or in other dishes, but I prefer not to. Last night as Adam was spooning out the olive tamponade onto my plate, I said “not too much”, and he said your prompt for tomorrow is olives.
I’d like to speak to the manager!!!
Nope! Nope! Nope!
That would have been me as a seven-year-old being asked to eat green beans. Or lettuce. Or tomatoes. Or beans. Or broccoli. Or spinach. Or Cheese (except American kraft singles). Or onions. Or liver. Or fish (except fish sticks). Or a whole host of other foods. I was a very picky eater.
For all my parent’s faults, and as I’ve written they were many, they never forced my brother or me to eat foods we didn’t like. There was always an alternative for us. As kids I don’t remember my brother being as picky as me, but I flat out just refused to eat certain foods.
When I started working at Day’s Inn Restaurant in high school, first as a dishwasher and then as a short order cook, my horizons broadened EVER so slightly. I learned that tomatoes weren’t the devil’s food. I learned that bakes scrod was not bad.
When I was 16, I went to prom with my friend Julia. Completely platonic. I don’t even think she planned to go until I asked. I took her to dinner, wearing a baby blue tuxedo with the frilled shirt, at the Marriot Hotel in Lexington, Kentucky.
We ordered strawberry daiquiris, and prime rib. I knew all about prime rib because we served it at Day’s Inn. What I wasn’t prepared for was for the prime rib to be RARE when it landed on the table. I was not about to embarrass myself in front of my date/friend so I toughed it out and ate it. In a word, it was delicious. It was the first time in my life that I learned that steak didn’t need to be shoe leather to eat it. It was melt in your mouth delicious. And I was hooked. No more shoe leather for me.
Through college I was still a picky eater. I remember going to Florida for spring break and my friends were ordering oysters. PUKE. The very thought of putting a live slimy creature in my mouth and swallowing was disgusting. Why would anyone want to do that.
Fast forward to Atlanta and I was still picky. Once again, I went out to eat with a friend at a fancy restaurant and she ordered portabella mushrooms. I was asked if I wanted to share, and not wanting to embarrass myself, I said what the hell. And they were delicious. Yum. Yum. Yum. I’ve been eating mushrooms ever since.
Fast forward to New York City. I’m dating someone who invites me to dinner. We go out and he orders salmon. Medium Rare. At this point the only fish I’m eating is filet o fish at McDonald’s. Once again, I’m asked if I want to try it, and not wanting to embarrass myself I say yes. Who knew that fish could be so delicious.
I could keep going. I go out to eat. I don’t want to embarrass myself. I eat the food. It’s delicious. Rinse and Repeat.
Fast forward to 2009. I meet a boy in a bookstore. I give him my number. He asks me to brunch. I say yes. We meet for said brunch. I order an omelet. I eat said omelet. New boy says he doesn’t like eggs. 17 years later he still doesn’t like eggs.
Meanwhile, 17 years later I eat everything.
Medium-rare steak. Why cook it all? Steak tartare for me. Hopefully with a raw chicken or quail egg on top.
Oysters. Raw, fried, roasted, baked. Yes, please the more the merrier.
Escargot. Snails. Can we double the order, so I can eat all of them.
Fish. All the fish. Salmon. Swordfish. Tuna. Halibut. Yes. Yes. Yes. I don’t even care if you cook it. Tuna tartare is one of my favorite foods now.
Caviar: Fish eggs? Yes, please. I’d eat it every day if I could afford it.
Vegetables. There isn’t a vegetable I won’t eat. Salad of all kinds is delicious.
Onions. LOVE em. In all foods. On a burger. In a salad. In soup. Yum. Yum. Yum.
I have a very small list of foods that I don’t like. And even then, I will still eat them.
When we went to Argentina in 2023, I said that I’d eat anything on the table, whether I liked it or not.
I’m not a fan of olives. But they started every meal. I ate them.
Sweetbreads. Look it up. Sweetbreads are a delicacy made from the thymus and pancreas glands of young animals, most commonly veal or lamb, prized for their rich, creamy texture and mild, subtly sweet flavor. 50 years ago, I’d probably have thrown up first. They are fucking delicious.
Blood sausage. Blood sausage is a type of sausage made from blood (usually pork), mixed with a filler like grains (oats, barley, rice) or breadcrumbs, and seasonings, then cooked and solidified. Delicious. Yum.
Which brings me to last night.
For dinner last night, Adam served a meal of foods that I would have not eaten probably even 20 years ago. We had French onion soup, with extra cheese, steak tartare with crostini, spring mix with a light vinegarette dressing, and goat cheese tart with an olive tamponade. And for dessert pistachio and lemon bars.
The very idea of little Jeff sitting down to a plate of food that consisted of all his least favorites is still funny to me. But last night, I stuffed my face. It was all delicious.
I’m glad. Life is so much more exciting and wonderful when you like food. I’m very adventurous and will try most everything. I don’t like everything but I will try it. By the way kangaroo carpaccio (raw kangaroo) is delicious.
The two foods that I tend to not eat on their own are olives and blue cheese. I will eat them in a salad or in other dishes, but I prefer not to. Last night as Adam was spooning out the olive tamponade onto my plate, I said “not too much”, and he said your prompt for tomorrow is olives.
Today is one of those days where you think you know what you are going to write. Then you sit down at the computer and NADA. Nothing.
It might be because I’m tired. Not exhausted. Not wiped out. Just tired.
I haven’t written about it yet, but after 7 months, of looking, I finally found a job. It was a very long 7 months. As I mentioned a couple of posts ago, there are few things more daunting than entering the job market as a 60 year-old.
I had too many first interviews to count. But none of them seemed to land a second interview. I can assure you my answers to the questions haven’t changed that much in the 15 years I’ve been doing this, when a second interview was almost a given.
What was really frustrating was that every first interview I went on, and I do mean every one, I was promised a second interview.
“Thank you for coming in. I’ll reach out to my team and set up a second interview for you at the beginning of next week.”
Then silence.
There were several prospects that I was excited about. There were many more that would have just been a way to pay the mortgage. But alas, the choice was not mine.
The job I finally got was handed to me on a silver platter. Adam and I were sitting on the couch one night around 10:00 when his phone dinged. It was a former co-worker asking him if he knew anyone looking for a management position. He showed me the text and asked what I thought. I said sure. Less than a week later I was given an offer.
Fun fact. I interviewed with this company in 2019. Was given an offer, and turned it down because the company I was working for at the time, gave me a big raise and a promotion to stay. I wonder now what would have happened if I’d made the jump.
I hate to jinx it, but I’m really liking it a lot. The team is incredible. There is so much laughing, and playfulness from everyone. It’s clear they all like going to work. That they all like the company they work for.
It is a seasonal restaurant. We are only open from May to October. Right now, we are prepping to open. With a seasonal restaurant, it’s like opening a new restaurant every year. There are orders to place. Employees to hire. Training to coordinate. Beverage lists to curate. My friend Laura, who I love dearly, and I call this “playing restaurant.” It’s all theoretical until the first employee clocks in and the first guest gets their martini. Then it’s real.
So here I am at 8:00 and I’m tired. And the reason for this is, because we are not currently open, my schedule is 9 to 4. It’s a more mainstream schedule, that allows for us all to be in the room together and “play restaurant.”
Here’s the deal. I’m not a morning person. Adam is not a morning person. And after 6 weeks, we have not figured out how to get to bed at a reasonable hour. We’ve been getting to bed around 12:30, and by the time the lights are off its pushing 1:30. I have to be up and out the door by 8:45, so that’s not a lot of time for sleep.
I make it to work just fine, and do great, until around 4:30, and then I crash. The first few weeks I had to take a nap when I got home. These days I push through to bedtime, because I sleep better. But boy, oh boy, am I tired.
Everyone who knows me, knows that I don’t like mornings.
But.
My first job out of college required me to be at work at 7:00 a.m.
And I taught at the Lexington, School for Creative and Performing Arts one year and our classes started at 6:30. My alarm would go off at 5:30, I’d shower and drive across town and be ready to teach at 6:30.
Fun fact: NO ONE is creative at 6:30 in the morning. Especially not high school students. And, there was very little heat in the theater where we taught, so imagine doing scene work with kids in parkas and hats.
I have my current 9 to 4 schedule for 4 more weeks. Then I go to a regular restaurant schedule with weekends, and nights and I’ll be able to sleep a little later.
However, while I don’t like being tired, I do like being free in the evenings. I get to have drinks and dinner with friends. I have been able to see local theater that only plays on Friday, Saturday and Sundays. I’ve gone to the movies. I have dinner at home with Adam.
It’s well worth the price of being tired to have a little more flexibility with my schedule and to have a job that I really like.
But please don’t give me a hard time if I fall asleep watching TV tonight after dinner.
I'd Like to Speak to the Manager!!! 