When I said goodbye to Luke I thought it was going to be tough having him gone. It is but I feel oddly close to him anyway. He's such a friend and even though he's in New York and I am here, I feel close. We are emailing. That's the way of our postmodern friendship these days.

We exchanged St. Valentine's emails today which was nice. In his, I learned that he and his gal pal Veronica are going to a broadway show (where she plays the lead) and their new "couple friends" Hugh and Patrick are going with them. They will sit with the still as handsome as ever Luke while Veronica sings and dances her heart out on this closing night. Then they will all go out afterwards. What a happy foursome!

Now what are the odds of Luke falling in with homosexuals again? He is certainly not a red state kind of guy, that's for sure.

In a sense, having queer friends elevates one. It's terribly hip and even more hip if you pretend it's not hip and in fact isn't out of the ordinary at all. Gay slumming in the new conservative century. Closets for everyone! How terribly chic!

We know that they know and they know that we know and we all know that THEY don't know and won't and that THEY don't get it but we do because we all know. If it weren't so chic it could sure get tiring.

Have a nice Valentines date Luke and if you feel someone caressing your leg during the show, just go with it, it's probably Hugh thinking you're Patrick or vice versa.

Speaking of that, Luca and I are going to Venice and Verona. We are going to stay at the Hotel Aurora on Piazza Erbe (room 14) in Verona and at the Hotel Agli Alboretti in Venice.

Luca is Italian, originally from Milano and is working in Munich. He's a jazz piano player and handsomely latin (but not too hairy). I want him to meet Scott and Flannery because they will like him. Scott will analyze everything through good natured lenses and Flannery will lean forward into earnest conversations. I love Scott and Flannery and I do not say the "L" word lightly. I love them the same way I love Luke and Mick and Sinead and the absent minded professor and earth mother. Though I do not always see a lot of them, these people are my world here... my family.

I love Joe in a different way but now we are both used to the fact that as in two other key relationships at key times in my life the Marine Corps has administered the death knell to this, yet another military love affair. I will not do it again. I refuse to fall in love with another military man. Period.

Venice depresses Luke but I find it elevating. Glorious decay and remembered decadence. Maybe it's a gay thing although Venice is anything but a gay town. It's a conservative backwater, its population having shrunk to around 60,000 residents. It has been surviving on the respirator of tourism for the past few hundered years but doing so quite handsomely thank you very much.

During early Lent is just the time to go. The place is empty. It's the residents and you. I want to photograph, write, walk, lay in Luca's arms and enjoy carnal pleasures like eating and drinking too much. And other things. Not to put too fine a point on it.

Rodrigo and the crow are trying to fix me up with the fish king's ex now that Luke is out of the picture. It's the funniest thing. I TOLD them I am gay. I TOLD them I am in the early stages of seeing someone. I TOLD them that if I were going to be interested in a woman it would be either a tall thin black woman (doctor or lawyer) or Luke's mom (sorry Luke but she IS hot and she IS nice) but beyond all that, I could care for women and am not going to switch teams at this late date. Good Grief.

Apparently the fish king is back in the picture too. His pal who was working for Yukos jumped ship several months ago (before the court sold off all the assets) and is now working for LUKOIL. My god he has landed on his feet! (Why do I feel like Dominick Dunne just now?)

The fish king's ex has teased me with a phone call. How did she get my number? RodRIGO! (I'll bet the crow put him up to this)

She has told me that she wishes to meet me for coffee or dinner (I declined) and now she dangles the carrot of tranlsation contracts in front of my very nose! And a big contract.

Nothing that has to do with Russians and money comes without strings attached and anything that has to do with the fish king, his ex, LUCOIL or Yukos especially comes with strings attached. I wonder how they feel about translator homosexuals rebuffing the amorous advances of well healed and well spoiled ex wifes who also aren't so bad looking in a straight kind of way. Jesus I'm not going there.

I sure do wish my epal Dave would email me here, through the blog (buzz.nelson@gmail.com) because I cannot get into YAHOO and I have lost all contact with him and I have three new tattoos to tell him about and other things. I love you Dave. Happy Valentines Day. You too Luke, and Mick, and Sinead, and VERONICA, and Scott, and Flannery. ... and BRAD. You are ALL my valentines and I love you. I love you too absent minded professor and earth mother. Don't be pissed because I said you last.

Chemistry is a funny thing. You go to your hunky barber and you think he's flirting with you and you're gay and when you think about it you decide that he's just hunky and you're projecting and being stupid so you talk yourself out of the whole thing.

A lot of people don't trust chemistry. I have more and more faith in it. Chemistry, biology and all the other sciences.

I was at the sauna last night chatting up my Italian pal Marco (who was there with his boyfriend in their perennial quest for the perfect threesome). Then it happened. I heard a voice - sort of familiar - from behind. "That's a great looking haircut!" the voice said. I turned around. My hunky barber. Chemistry. We kissed and it was, as they say, ON.

Later I thought maybe I've made a mistake. What's it going to be like going to the barber now?

There's an insistent rain today. It's melting the snow. I'm glad I'm not outside, I hate the rain. I prefer snow to rain any day.

It's a sad thing to see a man so drunk he falls down the stairs but it happens. It's not just because it was Mardi Gras either. I've seen this guy before.

Sinead and Mick wouldn't have been caught dead in the place for all the cigarette smoke but God help me, I love it. Not least of which is because the Italian waiters are gorgeous and they flirt with me like nobody's business (I think Carlo who works the pizza oven is onto me though).

That guy was there again. I've seen him time and again out on the town with his horsey faced woman. They are bossy as hell and always a problem. I've been known to back out the door quietly if I see them before I am seated. They are that obnoxious and frankly I don't understand why the restaurant keeps letting them in. Especially on Mardi Gras. Fasching Dienstag (doesn't it sound just AWFUL in German?)... Carnevale.

The boys at the Italian joint close up shop a little early (11 PM) on Carnevale and then the party gets underway for the staff, their families and guests. I'm lucky enough to be a guest for the second year running and this time, my current squeeze got invited too. Probably because he's from Milano and charming not to mention good looking. LUCA. *sigh*

When it comes to looks and style those Italians are thick as theives. They could care less for gay but you'd better have a good looking white shirt, a great watch, sharp trousers and shoes and if you wear glasses they'd better be good ones. (I get mine at the fashion forward Ottica Urbani in Venice).

I took my guitar. I play great guitar. Mostly I'm a jazz guitar player but I can play Italian love songs like Grant took Richmond. LUCA loves it when I play Italian songs. Whereas I've never known him to be not in the mood, were he not, that would put him in which is silly because he's never not.

Those boys at the restaurant love my playing too and this Italian group that played for the party knows me. We play gypsy music too, not just Italian music. They're great. We're great.

That's when it happened. The pig man with his horsey woman came in the door thinking they were open still and, perceiving a party, proceeded to inflict himself upon the company.

When Nico, the owner, explained that it was a private gathering, the boozy bastard got loud (in loutish German vernacular) and was weaving about while waving his arms in the air. Before anyone knew what had happened he fell down the stairs in a hell of a crash. It almost knocked over the Venus di Milo lamp on the landing and did knock over the table and four chairs off to the side, at the bottom. The woman was braying after the man and hurling teutonic insults at Nico.

Nico was having none of it. He shut the door and returned to his guests. We launched into a kick ass version of "Minor Swing."

Somehow the descent of that ass made us all feel a little better because we each nurture our own hatred of those two. I wonder if they will go back? It's not the first time he has been that drunk and not the first time he has fallen down those stairs.

But last night, the Fat Tuesday night before Ash Wednesday and forty days of fasting and penitence, I think that maybe, just maybe... Nico might have given him a little push.

Later (four in the morning later) when we went to bed, Luca kissed me on the neck and said "I'll never push you down the stairs baby."

I learned about gay sex and GOOGLE from my big brother. One when he gave me the book "Everything you always wanted to blah blah blah" when I was still a teenager and the other later as it did not exist when I was a teenager. I've found both useful. It's a case of unitended consequence though.

My brother, a devout Christian, is mortified by the gay part and would be more mortified if he knew about some of the things I've GOOGLE'd.

The thing that prompted me thinking about this was a conversation I had with Mick and Sinead and SCOTT (enter SCOTT) on Friday night. The phone rang. It was Sinead inviting me to meet them for dinner.

I hadn't seen Sinead for an age and I hadn't seen Mick for a longer age. I saw Scott and his wife, Flannery before New Year's. Flannery couldn't come to dinner though. She's at her sinecure on a remote isle of the realm researching something or other.

Flannery is GERMAN but I thought she was SCOTTISH and I thought Scott was GERMAN. Then I heard them speak and I knew that Flannery was SCOTTISH and that Scott was BRITISH.

Scott has the inflection of an oxford don while Flannery sails verbally forth in a cutter blown by the winds of a lusty brogue. My GOD! Her language rolls over you. What a gal!

Later I found out that Flannery is GERMAN. I also realized that as long as I had known about Scott I had known on some level that he is SCOTTISH. I like his name. Scott. It means "wanderer" in Gaelic (a gaul told me that).

But none of this is getting any closer to gay sex or GOOGLE.

While at dinner, we were having a lusty discussion about Wanda Wadowski, a bleach blonde with big tits and a voracious appetite that used to work where we work. Wanda has bedded a lot of men. Me not included, neither Scott. Nor Mick. That doesn't mean she didn't try though. In my case she has real bragging rights because she is the only woman to ever put her tongue a lot of the way down my throat. (While it was happening I thought she had been an iguana in a past life. She has a lot of tounge).

Pretty soon I'll get to the GOOGLE part.

We were having such a great time with our Wanda stories. You'd have thought we were all dining on meow mix.

But then it happened. I said the "d" word. In context, of course. "Dildo." There it was. Now, gay people say this word a lot. In context, of course. But Sinead. Oh, Sinead! It was delicious. She had - for just the slightest moment - a stricken look and then a smile and then she said "I think that woman at the table next to us heard everything you said!"

I looked over. There, face down and ass up in a big plate of food and praising Jesus, sat one of the most baptist women I've ever seen. She was dressed so rigidly that she could have been John Ashcroft's wife out on the town. Taking my own turn to eavesdrop, I perceived dipthongs and wide vowels. Southerners, on vacation in our Shirley Temple of a town in the ALPS. Good GOD.

If I hadn't been with polite dinner company (by polite I mean NOT gay) I would have loudly recounted my recent adventures in homo-landia leaving out no detail. (I wonder, if hearing Scott's lovely british accent, she thought he was my husband? Many people who love Jesus think all people with British accents are gay).

Mick was charming. Amused and charming. Sinead was delightful and Scott, well, he's just a peach. We ordered more wine all around and dove headlong into the redmeat of more Wanda stories. Loud Wanda stories.

That's when I started to think of my brother the Christian and that LOOK he gave me the day he found Mike and me out on the deck snogging (that "snogging" is for you, Scott - see, I have vocabulary).

When I got home, I thought I would GOOGLE a little bit. Sinead told me that women don't use the "d" word, they say "vibrator." Therefore, I GOOGLE'd "vibrator" and GOOGLE'd the "d" word. The results were interesting, including several articles about the "d" word written by women. Hm. I think what Sinead meant was that POLITE women don't use the "d" word.

I'll bet Wanda uses the "d" word.

Sometimes in life there is a certain cruel irony. My ploy of calling in sick from Rome worked like a charm. It was precipitated by the fact that I was FED UP with meeting students at the airport. It worked, I didn't get caught out and Rome was fantastic. Oh, it rained a little and was chilly at times but it was fabulous. Rome always is.

My new clothes look wonderful (I spent a fortune), I got lots of attention from interesting Italian men (passion!) and I had a good rest away from work.

Having made a full recovery I attended the office on Monday morning only to be redirected to the AIRPORT! The homophobic mysanthrope who was supposed to work the airport duty for the last arriving students found something less like work and more like advancing his career through ass kissing to do. Therefore, I returned to the place of my rebellion. The Munich airport.

What a day. 14 hours in that artificial environment (and it ain't no Tom Hanks movie). Flights cancelled all over the place, drivers giving me trouble and the snow and more snow and then more snow. I am glad to see that day behind me. It almost erased Rome but not quite.

Work is dull and anticlimatic. But then, when was work ever exciting?

Winter is on with a vengeance but at least the skiing is good. An interesting man I met in Rome says he is coming up to ski this weekend. We'll see. In gaylandia they lie a lot.

I have just finished living at the Munich airport for 5 days meeting 150 of my closest friends get off airplanes from all over the world. It has been a whirlwind of lost luggage, frayed nerves and travel drama. I am spent.

They are not REALLY my closest friends though. They are the winter crop of new students and not just any students. These ones are all mid career all grown up professionals. Undergraduate students would be oh so much easier. These people have needs!

I was so tired and fed up that at the end of it all I went to the last minute fare counter, called in sick and bought a plane ticket. I am writing from Rome. ROME! So warm, so nice, so fashionable, no students.

I didn't even go home to get luggage, I just took my credit card, my backpack and my smile and got on my 75 Euro round trip flight. At DaVinci airport I got some more Euros from the ATM, hailed a cab and said "take me to a gay hotel." The driver thought I meant HAPPY because he took me to the Bernini Bristol just off the via Veneto and down from the imperial American embassy (and the Ritz and the Eden and all the other storied hotels). I talked with the guest services people and found a REAL gay hotel, not just a happy hotel. The cabbie was right though, those people at the Bernin Bristol were HAPPY. And happy to help.

When I got to my real gay hotel, an astonishingly handsome (all italians are astonishingly handsome even the old trolls who raise all the standards for troll-landia) met me with effusive kisses (cheeks not lips, damit) and showed me to my room after swooping my credit card through with a flourish.

It's a nice room and the bathroom is almost a religious experience.

He asked if I need a porter. "No."

"All you have is that backpack?"

"Yes."

"Do you need anything? Toothbrush? Razor? Lube? Condoms?"

I like gay hotels in Rome. I said "I need everything."

He said "What will you do for clothes??"

"Buy them!"

"So expensive!"

"I need them anyway, I have been loosing weight."

Then he gave me several good recommendations for places to buy clothes. I shall buy ONE good pair of black wool slacks (cuff, no pleat); ONE good black leather belt (I already have my good Italian shoes on - maybe another pair of shoes though...); THREE good black T shirts since I am here three days; THREE white pairs of boxer briefs since I look fabulous in them; ONE black cashmere V-neck sweater; ONE good white dress shirt since I love white Italian dress shirts and one or two white t-shirts.

In Amerika, when someone dresses all in black he is either goth or a Johnny Cash wannabe. In Rome (or New York or Paris for that matter) he is terribly chic. With my black hair (okay, Sinead, there are a FEW flecks of grey in it) and my steel blue eyes how will the Romans resist me? They won't!

I will also buy a smallish black bag to cart it all back to Munich. How vain and irresponsible I am being. This is the way to call in sick and I don't even CARE how much it all costs.

Isn't it wonderful that in ROME, when you arrive without the toothbrush at the gay hotel they ask if you need CONDOMS? What a city! The irony of all this planned shopping is that I'll probably find some fashionable sauna and spend most of the next day or so naked. But then, Rome is like that.

The pink and white woman in Munich was nightmare enough but then I had to come back to work today. It is a twilight zone existence on the best of days. Further, my epals who write me on YAHOO! are seemingly lost to me forever. I am too dysfunctional to keep their email addresses written down somewhere and YAHOO! won't let me on. Period. I've tried everything including a bizarre email exchange with their bot. Adam Gopnik quoted the french philosopher correctly. "There is no regulon in the semiosphere."

YAHOO! epals, if you are out there and you read this, email me through the blog. I put it on a recent post.

Luke, enjoy New York pal. I know it's grimy when you go to the doctor but all in all it beats working for the man.

I am having an email nightmare. YAHOO (why did I ever start with THEM?) has, somehow, made my email account go away on its own. Along with it all of my saved emails and the saved addresses in my address book. This is especially devastating because I have lost contact with my epal, Dave and of course didn't write down his e-dress on a piece of paper, being digital lately. Along with that, the address and thread of contact with my good, smart, funny epal, Steve, has also gone the way of the wicked... not to mention all the others. So guys, if any of you read this blog = and WHY SHOULD YOU I'VE BEEN SO BAD AT KEEPING IT CURRENT... please email me at: buzz.nelson@gmail.com.

I'm OVER yahoo.

Happy New Year.

Where DOES the time go? I have been to Paris, Brussles, Berlin, Strasbourg, Amsterdam, London, Seattle, SanFrancisco and (get this) MONTANA since I last blogged. Jesus Mary and Joseph! No wonder I'm jet lagged.

Luke is gone. Gone gone. He moved to New York. He went there to be with his NEW LOVE. Having survived dumping the fish king's wife he got out of town. Good thing too.

Sinead has gone into hiding. She and Mick are moving around town in a dream-like state and always cordial but sort of in their own space right now. I understand it just fine because that happens to all of us. I hope it's okay for them right now and look forward to seeing them sometime later. Maybe next year.

Brad is mincing about at work, all atwitter for the holidays. He got to me first with a Christmas dinner invitation so I will join him and his bitter greek friend for dinner. The greek friend is actually fun, she's just SO bitter. It oozes out of her like ouzo. It's fun for a couple hours and then it's tedious but I'll only be with her a couple hours. Brad is a good cook so dinner will be good.

Earth Mother and her einsteinian husband invited me but too late so maybe I'll have Christmas EVE dinner with them which is more appropriate anyway that household being all about eve.

I remember when I used to call my brother's wife "the dog faced girl" when talking about her to my boyfriend. I don't know what happened but when I saw her recently I really LIKED her. She seems to have mellowed out or maybe I have but we had a wonderful time together. Maybe it's a trick.

The mighty U.S. DOLLAR is taking a beating. The runt president has ruined our currency. Those of us being paid in dollars and living in Europe are suffering for sure. It's hideous. Yesterday I had a date with a Mongolian. We went dutch treat. Talk about an international date!

He's cute as hell, about thirty and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. I was never sure what that phrase meant but suffice it to say he is WELL built. Buff, handsome, not too tall not too short and nice manner. Also good in bed. A bonus. As it were.

In my trend of only meeting unavailable men I have learned that he (alas) has a "partner." What is it with me? I only meet "partnered" men or military men who are doomed to transfer or be sent to Iraq.

Yes, mighty Joe (god bless him AND his well hung good looks) is STILL fighting the runt bush's war while the cryptkeeper (Rumsfeld) schemes away.

I don't hear a lot from Joe these days. He's a Marine Corps officer in a front line unit. It doesn't give one much of an opportunity to pop into the internet cafe and send off a few emails.

The runt bush is (along with his cabal) ruining the country formerly known as the United States of America. While blowing up Iraq civilians, women, children and the occasional insurgent he is simultaneously crushing the middle class and forcing the poor into even greater desperation back in the U.S. of A. God Bless America though and our potentate. Jesus Mary and Joseph.

Speaking of those three, I am having the best Christmas this side of being born in a stable. Friends have been coming and going (and never too soon) and I have been drinking gluhwien al fresco and shopping and dating some and attending the baths. It's all been very festive.

We had an office party that was lame but that's the usual result of that type of thing. At least that repugnant major didn't try to sit on my lap this year (no santa references please - I am thin and fit). He is a frustrated homosexual but I'm not the chairman of the "married military man coming out program" so he needs to stay away from ME.

And to all a good night.

The tricky thing about blogging is that in order to keep it interesting, you have to keep doing it. I failed. So here we go again.

My last entry maintained that I survived gay day at Oktober fest but apparently not. Not only did I quit blogging (until now), I quit keeping up with my friends, I quit doing very well at work, I quit emailing my mother as often as I should. I quit doing a lot of things.

I think I quit doing a lot of things because I'm not having sex. Gay men don't function well in almost all areas when they are not having sex. You can ask Sinead about this. She will tell you that I am a mess these days but wouldn't be able to tell you exactly why. Mick, on the other hand could tell you exactly why. There is only one thing Mick likes more than fast cars and that's his... well, let's just say he would make a great gay man. He can be an honorary member of the tribe.

Mick and Sinead have been busy. Work. Conferences. Company. None of us have spent much time doing anything much fun lately. We are all busy trying to help John Kerry get elected. Jesus. I can't bear to think what would happen if he doesn't. I'm already a damned mess.

Joe is in Iraq, I work for the Army in Germany, a bunch of my friends work for the Army all over the damned place and Bush is crazy. It doesn't get much worse than that. Short of dumping Joe, finding a rich man in gaylandia to marry and leaving it all behind, it looks like it will be pretty grim if Bush gets another four. What the hell will we... I ... do?

In the meantime, Brad has been a pal to end all pals. He keeps me laughing in the office and is at least as horny as I am. The benefit of that, of course, is that I always have a pal to go to the sauna with. It's more fun going together. A certain law of the universe seems to stipulate that gay men in groups attract more attention (the right KIND of attention) than gay men alone. It also works for gay men out in public with their mom and dad (mine are not cock blocks) and gay men out in public with high maintenance auntie (huge cock block) or out in public with favorite auntie (not only is she NOT a cock block but she's always trying to hook me up).

I've been out to sea on a real U.S. Navy ship since the Oktoberfest demise of my GAY AMERICAN BLOG. I went to Norway and then got on the ship there. First of all, Norweigian men are beautiful. Second of all, more than half of all the sailors on board were beautiful. I had a lot of fun out at sea. All those hatches and knee knockers and bells and whistles. Then there was the bridge and the CIC and the goodlooking guy from DC who wanted to do me. I didn't let him though. I told him to come visit me in Germany but I was NOT going to get laid on a U.S. Navy ship. It was too damned COLD for one thing. You'd think the Navy would figure out how to shut off the airconditioning in the fall in the NORTH sea above Norway but no. Well, it's not the gay navy. I did not get sea sick once and I did kiss DC boy goodbye with tounges.

Luke is as big a mess as I've ever seen him. He's in love all over again, this time in the states and he's going to leave. I'm going to miss Luke in a big way, although he is straight and we do not kiss. Not even a friendly gay / straight kiss in a non threatening way which I do with some of my straight friends. (Don't worry Mick, I'm not going to try to kiss you - a. you are not my type and b. it would freak you out and c. i'd rather kiss your pretty wife)

My epal Dave is keeping me in stitches with his smart emails. I wish Dave was close. I'd marry his cranky ass. He's the most honest person there is and those are in short supply these days. I also find myself thinking a lot of another DC pal, Kenny who I stayed with a couple days and we fell in love with each other really fast and then I left because I was only visiting and it was over. We still email. He is handsome and smart and dedicated to his job (like me) and that is why we are both single, my own best efforts with Joe notwithstanding.

Earth Mother has been in a funk lately. I did'nt help when I got back from Strasbourg and told her I "smoked some really good shit" with my guitar player friend. I didn't but I know it's the kind of thing earthmother and the absent minded professor like to do so I said it. The other guys were smoking but I wasn't. I'm reducing and I eat too much when I get high.

Today I was walking to the grocery store and I got cruised three times. That makes it a good day.

This blogging thing is pretty easy once you get going at it again. Nice.

WELL, I managed to survive GAY DAY at Oktoberfest without getting tied up and spanked by the big, good looking guy in nothing but black leather chaps. He was hot on my trail though. There's nothing quite like 9 or 10 thousand gay men partying in a Munich Beerhall on opening weekend of Oktoberfest. It's surreal. I got kissed so much I had to borrow my friend's chapstick. (shut up Luke)

Sinead and Mick are back from their cruise. He loved it, she re-caught a cold. I hear the food was good.

Earth Mother is nesting and the absentminded professor isn't noticing.

The politics war continues in full hale. I wish American GAYS would support Kerry the way these Munich boys greeted their mayor when he came to give a speech. What a speech it was, too. All about community and belonging and inclusiveness and promises to keep reforms coming. What a strange thing to hear such rhetoric from the Mayor of Munich while the Bushites continue to bring a totalitarian regime closer and closer to reality in Amerika. Ironical.

This week my big boss told me the Army is investigating me but wouldn't tell me why. I haven't done anything wrong except put a penis or two in places where straight men wouldn't. And that sure as hell isn't wrong, it's oh so right. I'll just have to wait and see. It could get ugly.

I wonder where Joe is?

Where does the time go? Things seem to happen so fast. I was buying an orange candle last week and Sinead saw me go into the store out her window. I didn't know it at the time. She didn't come out because her hair was wet.

She called me on the phone. She's been ill and I haven't seen her. Now she's back at work and I still haven't seen her except from afar and pretty soon she'll be on vacation and I won't see her for awhile.

Luke is the happiest I have ever seen him. Love can do that.

Brad is perenially cheerful. We are going to spend a good deal of time together this weekend hanging out and doing nothing. We'll probably watch some movies and cook some food and do some shopping. I am still wondering about a new tattoo so I might take him to the shop with me.

This has been a good email week. Lots of interesting news from afar. LOTS.

This has also been a good week in the office. I hired a new woman to work on my team. She's just GREAT. And I mean GREAT. The bonus of it is, she's a lesbian. Her partner and she are raising a son together. A nicer family, you never did see. They are wonderful, happy, mature people.

Ironically enough, the OTHER team in my division also just hired a lesbian. That means that in our little army operation here there are four gay people that we know of. I suspect at least one more but he's as fucked up as a soup sandwich. Way too "American Beauty" for me. He needs to stay down at his end of the hallway.

Working for the army sucks but it's a lot easier with a decent sized queer contingent.

Today the phone rang in my office. It was Sascha (which is a Russian nickname for Alexander) asking me to do some contract translation work. It has to be done by Friday. I'm sorry he is under the gun but it's already Wednesday and the week is full. I can't take on any extra work this week. Too bad becuase the money would be nice.

Once when I was broke I said "I'm broke" to my friend. He asked "What do you need?" And I said "I need some money." He looked at me for awhile and said "Then go out and get some." At the time I thought he was being stupid and that he was worried I was trying to borrow from him (I wasn't). Now I have money and I didn't die of being broke. I hope that in the future, if I'm broke again, I'll remember his advice. It seems to have worked out this time. It's worked for him too. He was a piss poor artist at the time. Now he's selling paintings of Verona for thousands of dollars each and driving a new Porsche.

Luke is not broke and not going to be broke but he is done with his current job. He has a lot of exciting stuff going on. As a friend, I would say to him "Even if it costs a lot, it's only money. Just go and get some more. Have fun. Try new things. Life's too short not to." I wouldn't just be saying it, I live according to it. It's a good way to live. Luke's great. He's charming, talented, literate, literary, musical, good looking, fun, compassionate, and wise. Those are just some of his attributes. I hate seeing him go but I would hate more for him to stay. I love my friends and I want the best for them. One doesn't run into friends like Luke often. His mom's hot too (and nice and smart).

Today a U.S. Army MAJOR walked into my office and said "You don't know shit about fashion. Look at you! Your belt and your shoes don't even match!" This from a man squeezed into light green polyester. [If you want to see good uniforms look at Marines and Sailors]

The MAJOR is wrong about my fashion sense on several counts. First he is wrong because he is a TANK COMMANDER in the U.S. ARMY. Secondly he is wrong because matching belts and shoes are for pentacostals, baptists and golfers. Thirdly he is wrong because my shoes are FABULOUS.

I bought them in Firenza. They are Italian. They are comfortable and well made. Excellent design elements. I look great in them.

My belt came from the same shop. It's understated. My suit is from a tailor in Georgetown. Unconstructed, elegant, dark blue. Midnight blue. Not Italian but a superb garment. It's exactly right for tea, a matinee at the opera, or lunch in a tony restaurant with Luke (note: Luke is not queer, nor do we go on dates. Lunch with Luke really IS lunch with Luke).

Tonight I have a date with Brad. He's cooking dinner in and I'm bringing wine and season one of "Queer as Folk" on DvD. I'm looking forward to it because Brad is an excellent cook and a lot of fun. It's a platonic date. Doing anything with Brad would be creepy like doing something with one's brother.

I'm not going to wear my dark suit and Italian shoes to Brads'. I am going to wear my dark blue cargo shorts and a black Italian T shirt and my leather sandals. It's a good look. I have great legs. Cargo shorts are Universal. Just ask Dave or Steve, they'll tell you. Don't ask any Army Majors though. They don't know shit about fashion.

Yesterday was a good day. It started off right when I saw five red cars in a row. One of them was a Ferrari which made it especially good. The Italians know design and style.

Yesterday also prominently featured 3 Buddhist monks travelling from Nepal and one man so drunk that he could not control his neck or his speech.

The monks are on their way from Dharamsala via Nepal to the United States with stops in Munich, Paris, and London along the way. They're trading places with 3 Jesuit priests for 6 months. In Munich they will visit with some Jesuits for a few days. They chose Munich because it represents a conservative catholic approach, Paris because of a liberal catholic approach and London because the church of England is neither fish nor fowl but they are intrigued by the conservative vs. liberal debate that goes on now, especially with regards to the ordination of gays and women. (These particular three didn't see what all the fuss was about).

They liked my height, my hair, my blue eyes and my friendliness and invited me to sit with them. So I sat with them. We drank tea. We talked. And talked. Then we talked some more.

One thing I learned from them is that one of the names of the Dalai Lama is "Yeshin Norbu." It means "The Wishful Gem." I like that name. Another one of his names is "Kundun" which means "The Presence." I had heard that one before.

All of them wore safron robes and sandals. All of them had shaved heads. One of them wore glasses. One of them had a gold front upper tooth. One of them had a beautiful tattoo in a Tibetan script on his inside forearm. It meant "Wisdom." He did it himself. I wish he would do one on me.

I showed them my Japanese tattoo on my upper leg and one of them said "that means the firebird that rises from the ashes and the other one means courage." He was right on the money. He speaks and reads Japanese. He said the calligraphy was good. I found that encouraging since I had it done at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina. Not exactly a center of literacy. I also showed them my two lizard tattoos. They said lizards were sacred and I was lucky to have them. I said "I chose them" and the one who spoke Japanese said "maybe they chose you."

We talked a long time. We talked about religion and politics. I learned more about Buddhism from these three than I knew before. I have a feeling that if people REALLY did everything the way Jesus said to in the sermon on the mount, what you would have is about like Buddhism.

I asked them why they thought the fuss in the church of England was silly. "Because we are all man, woman, gay, straight" was the answer. I thought about that for a minute. I didn't reply. After a suitable silence, the same fellow said "Who were you? Who are you? Who will you be?"
I took this to mean he was referring to reincarnation. (I was right) He said "Maybe you are a homosexual in this life but you weren't in your last life. Will you judge yourself so harshly or enjoy your new life?" I told him that I AM a homosexual and it feels wonderful and natural to me. I told him that I had TRIED to be straight and it made me feel sick and wrong. "You are in balance" he said. Then he said "Isn't it funny that when you are in balance there are so many forces and people who want to ruin that balance? I do not just mean about homosexuality here, I mean about peace, balance, and happiness."

After we were done sitting, I got on the S-Bahn which people SAY means "Strassen Bahn" but in fact means "Schnell Bahn" and headed for another part of town. A man who was so drunk that he couldn't hold his head up or say any real words sat next to me. He smelled bad. All the Germans around were looking daggers at him and recoiling. He leaned against me. He smelled BAD. Then he started talking. Or what passed for talking. It was complete gibberish except for pauses where periods and commas would have been. I nodded once or twice. He put his hand on my arm. I said "please don't touch me" and he removed his hand right away. Then he started up his gibberish again. I responded to the pauses with "oh my" and "yes" and "is that so?" and "I see" all chosen as judiciously as possible. At one point when I looked at him to respond, he put his hand on my cheek, very gently, and turned my head so I was looking straight at the window. In the only intellible words from him the whole time, he said "don't talk to me, talk to him" and pointed at his reflection in the window. Then he went back to gibberish. He got off the train at Marienplatz stop but then came back on because he had more to tell me. After unburdening himself further, he got off at Karls Tor-Stachus. Once the train pulled away I got the bottle of hand disinfectant out of my back pack and cleaned my hands and face. One can be compassionate and at the same time practical. A man said "Why did you talk to that trash?" I silently thought to myself that it was the trash that just asked the question.

I enjoyed my visit with the drunk as much as my visit with the monks. He probably understood as much of what I was saying to him as I understood the philosophy of the monks. That is to say, the deeper philosophy. Of course I understood the surface content.

Life presents strange symmetry sometimes.

Earth Mother and the Absent Minded Professor (her husband) are WEARING ME OUT. Their son (stoney) and his girlfriend (stonier) are here visiting. Earth Mother and the Professor won't give them a minute alone so they keep asking me if they can go to my place to do the obvious while I'm at work. "Okay" I said.

The results are not good. First off, they aren't tidy. A fault in the extreme. Secondly, I told them NO SMOKING which they mistakenly thought meant SMOKING ONLY ON THE BALCONY. When I got home from work last night my landlord said "Are you smoking pot up there?" I said "no." Thirdly, my office phone rings every five minutes with either Earth Mother or the Absent Minded Professor saying "the kids went out for a walk five hours ago and didn't come home for lunch, do you know where they are?"

Tomorrow I'll know where they AREN'T. I got my key back from them today. No more pot smoking on my balcony or fucking in my guest room. My cleaning lady came by for a special session this afternoon to evict the kids, grab the key and sanitize the house, top to bottom. If you ever want anything done that requires precision, skill, sanitization and a bit of ruthlessness, call a german cleaning lady.

My cleaning lady is even madder at George Bush now than before. She hates it that "That horrible president of yours made your boy friend go away." She always did like Joe better than me but is insanely protective of both of us. She's practical though. This week when she made a nice batch of potato salad she only gave me a small container of the stuff. Before I could protest she said "Joe isn't here to eat the rest and besides he works out a lot more than you so you can't afford to eat as much as he could." She always did like Joe best.

Tonight I'm going to a barbeque with a couple faculty members and the stunning Sinead and her hubby Mick. It's the social event of the season but we might get rained upon. I'm anxious to see what Sinead looks like if the rain comes. I've never seen her all wet before. This is not a wierd sex thing. I'm a dedicated homo. It's just a curiosity thing like seeing a cat wet. She's so good natured that I can't imagine anything flapping her but a good dousing might be just the thing. It would be fun to see what might happen. (She gives her cats shots every day with bird needles to control the diabetes. That's Sinead all over.)

Luke. Jesus. What can I say about LUKE today. First, he's REALLY done with the fishking's ex. WHEW. I'm glad of that. Secondly, he's quitting Germany for elsewhere. I'm doing the "I told you so dance." Joe and I argued about this once. He was convinced that Luke was a confirmed expat once and for all. My thesis was that anyone who defended German social behavior as vigorously as Luke was only one step away from complete loathing of it and on the way out the door. I win.

I'll miss the hell out him but we have what I consider to be a "good start" so I won't really miss him at all. One does not dispose of one's friends.

Way to go Luke. I'm all for it.

Today brought news from friends Elizabeth and Dave in the form of email. Both of them have been going through harrowing job searches, both of them have just been offered positions. What great news! I find it encouraging in the midst of my own job search.

Luke showed up at my office today! I was glad to see him. Last night he broke up with the fishking's ex. It was ugly. She put all his stuff out on the lawn and made a big scene. Jeff looks GREAT this morning. He looks happy. I'm sorry for the drama and the pain of it all but I'm glad for his happiness.

Sinead looks great today too. Rather like a cat that has just eaten a canary. Of course this is a poor analogy as Sinead is a cat lover, a canary lover and a vegetarian.

I saw Rodrigo today for the first time in several days. He has lost 1 kilogram.

I've got this great E-pal. DAVE. I haven't met him in person but we've talked on the phone and emailed. He's an aggro stud. He's built, aggressive, honest, and has great tattoos. By all accounts he knows his way around the bedroom too.

There exists between us a strange nexus. It seems like we are in best communication when we are both in periods of transition. I had gone along for almost two years without keeping up emails and then, somehow we got a kick start and are communicating again.

I value his emails and jibes so much that I wonder how I let it fall off the first time around? Overcome by events, I guess. He's a complete smart ass. In a good way. He's a film head. He KNOWS film. He's forgotten more about film than I will ever know. He has a lot of other stuff going for him too.

It occurs to me that Dave is typical of a lot of homos, myself included. Flexible career approach, fluid approach to location... unique stressors, living between the lines of scripted straight society. He's a make it up as you go along kind of guy. He's honest and brave and daring. I like all of that.

It's strange but with Joe leaving and me looking for other work and all the crap that's come along with that, I've had a greater sense of support and encouragement from Dave than I have from my (very) encouraging local friends. I don't know how that works but I'm sure as hell grateful.

Dave's a stud.

Luke finally sent me an email. I'm glad he came up for air. Jesus. I worry about that boy when I don't see him. I'm not kidding about the fish king. Those sonsabitches are serious. You don't mess with Russian millionaires wives without consequence. Or exwives. Keep your head down Luke!

Last night I was watching the olympics on German TV. There was a cell phone commercial with three guys hanging out. One of the guys looked so much like Luke it made my heart stop. I thought he was off making TV commercials! Upon closer inspection I realized it wasn't Luke, just a euro copy. I guess Luke's still in New York. Oops. I meant Los Angeles (take that, fish king... I don't KNOW where Luke is).

I like the olympic coverage on the Euro Sport channel. Jeez. It's great. None of the CRAP you get on the American coverage. Just the sports. And plenty of em. Some of those swimmers aren't too hard to look at. The women martial artists don't do anything for me though. Thank god.

Sinead got her hair fixed yet again. I think the product from the pink dildo bottle only took things to a certain point and then they had to call in the professionals. She is not, in any sense, a fashion victim but the striped hair was a bit much. Now her wild irish tresses are back to their glossy black. The universe seems better for it. Skinny, beautiful Sinead. An Irish rose. If you saw here, you'd know what the term "wild irish rose" means. Mick is one lucky guy.

I slept GREAT last night. The stress of Joe leaving had been building up but now that it's done things seem, at least, peaceful. I think the stresses in his environment are only just beginning and will build from here on. Iraq is not exactly a garden spot. He loves being a Marine though. It was and is within his power to not be one and he's doing what he believes to be the right thing. I like that kind of principle. The cost of it sucks. Still, I'd rather have principle than lack thereof.

Work is keeping me diffused. The weekend might be tough. We'll see. Brad wants me to go to the baths with him. That will be good for a few laughs. Brad in the context of these severe queer Germans is really something to watch. He suggested we both go for Brazilian waxes toghether and then go to the baths. I don't even know what the hell a Brazilian wax IS.

Now it's raining again. I'd rather be in Italy today.

I'm not going to talk about my weekend. It was great. It wasn't morose. Joe and I both knew it was our last weekend together for a LONG time. We made it count.

This morning I woke up early. I guess I did it so I could just enjoy laying there next to him. The look and feel and smell of him have become so much a part of my life that I can't imagine what it will be like when he's not there.

After he was done throwing things in his suitcase this morning, I took out a few of his white T shirts and a few of his black ones. While I was doing that I noticed he had put IN several pairs of my boxers. What a stud. I left them there.

We were quiet at breakfast and then took a shower together and then got ready. I took him to the train. I couldn't bear the thought of the airport vigil and neither could he. It's better this way.
He got out of the car and we hugged and then kissed long. He went in, I got in the car and drove away. I never looked back.

It already felt empty walking in. Two sets of breakfast dishes and OUR bed, all messed up. OUR towels on the bathroom floor. Damn. It's over. For now anyway. I looked around, left it all just like it was and did what I do every other morning. I went to work.

I miss him already.

Sinead is a godsend. Of course, if you talk to certain people, homos don't deserve, merit, or receive godsends. Maybe she's a goddess-send. Besides being svelte and beautiful and having the good sense to wear widow's rags to her government job (though FAR from a widow she is married to one of the nicest fellows...) she is also about the best person I know for checking in on her friends, regardless of what's going on in her own sphere.

She pays attention. That counts for alot.

Joe and I were talking in bed this morning. He was telling me that when he goes not to worry because he'll be back and we have so many friends here. He's right about the friends. We have great friends here. (But I wonder where Luke went? He went to the states three weeks ago and not a word from him. Something about Brighton Beach. Jesus. I hope the fish king hasn't gotten to him.)

Joe has no idea about the coming back part and neither do I. The army heirarchy hates the marine corps and subsequently sends them to the worst assignments. Competence has a part to play there too. Those marines are tough and know their business as opposed to the majority of the army, a lumbering bureacracy run by lumbering fools.

Joe. What the hell was I thinking? Ah well, I never was one to avoid risk.

Summer has finally come to Germany. My mountain bike is getting a good workout and so am I. The sun that we have been enjoying in France and Italy all summer is finally here. The rain's gone.

Today I'm taking the day off. Joe and I are doing ordinary things and not talking about THE thing. We're going to get haircuts and eat at our favorite restaruant and hang out and nap and have cocktails and hang out some more.

I feel like all those women who fall in love with sailors. How Joan Crawford is THAT? Jesus.

Luke, if you're out there, send me a goddamned email to let me know you're ok!

IT's OVER. Jesus. It seems like it got here so fast. Joe has to leave Monday. We've been back from Venice a week, before that we were in France. We talked around and around the whole issue but he is a Marine, damnit and that is that. They didn't issue wives, much less HUSBANDS so there it is.

Of course we love each other and of course we didn't fight. Oh we argued. Damn. We ARGUED. And then we made up and had sex and made up some more and had sex.

He hates bush and the homophobes and all the rest as much as I do but he LOVES the marine corps and separates it from the rest. Joe. So freaking NOBLE.

Me, I'm not going to tank out on this one. Oh I hate it and yes I am going to miss the hell out of the handsome lug but like so many homos before me and so many after me I'm going to watch the boy pack and leave.

One of my good friends just broke up with his guy. They had bought several houses together. Not to mention the golden retriever and the black lab. Doctor. Mortgage Broker. Marriage made in heaven. Apparently not.

My Swiss Jewish Intellectual friend called me to see how things were. "Sucks" I told him. He told me it could be worse. He said "you could be a Swiss Jewish Intellectual. Who would date you then?"

"It's not about that" I said. "It's not about who would date me. That's never been a problem."
I stayed quiet far a minute or two and he didn't say anything. I said "It's about Joe leaving. No more Joe in bed next to me. No more weekend mornings. No more coffee and showers together. No more looking at his muscled neck and buzzed head while I hold him."

In his best Swiss Jewish Intellectual way he said "You'll still have weekends. They come whether you want them to or not."

I think he was trying to help. It didn't help. I hate the neocons and their goddamned war.