Saturday, October 12, 2002
An old friend of mine came out today. Not to California. Out. Like, of the closet. I received an email, as did a number of other old friends, that began, "I'm gay." I've known this person for a decade or so, and admittedly, always kinda figured as much. Never really mattered to me one way or another. Anyone who knows me knows that I don't have any homophobic genes expressed in my DNA. I'd love the guy regardless of his particular sexual proclivities. But a letter like that takes courage I can't imagine. He is finally accepting himself. Finding a way to be comfortable in his own skin. And by coming out he is asking those around him to accept a more accurate, more honest version of himself. Honesty isn't always easy. Especially in a culture that can hardly be defined as tolerant. I was your friend before I knew you were gay. And I am still your friend. But your coming out will change our friendship. Today, I understand you better, and I respect you even more.
Jim Parisi
Start with Todd and Jimbo at the trendy W Hotel and lounge in Times Square, add it's famous Blue Fin restaurant and bar downstairs, throw in two gorgeous women from Los Angeles, an amazing waitress from Mississippi, mix it all together with two caipirinhas, two mojitos, one Corona, and one shot of something strong, stir till 4:30 AM, and you have one helluva a way to end a week in NYC.
Jim Parisi
Friday, October 11, 2002
It's raining in New York. I was planning to stay through the weekend for a training seminar on Monday, but I just found out that they are planning to host the same seminar on the West Coast soon. And, honestly, I want to go home. I've been here for a week. I need some sunshine. I need some space. I need that feeling of connectedness and consistency that comes from your own space in the world. Something and somewhere you have carved out for yourself. And that place for me is in Newport Beach - not Madison Avenue. Then again, if the rain stopped, I might just find the energy to carve myself a place in Central Park, but judging on the clouds and the water dripping off my bald head, it doesn't look like I'm going to get that opportunity.
Jim Parisi
Thursday, October 10, 2002
You know what I loved? I loved the way she looked at me. I loved how I saw myself through her eyes. She saw me as everything I believed I could be. She made me feel invincible. I felt safe. And that is a wonderful way to feel. The flip side of love is also true. Nothing hurts more than when that same person sees you as you really are, and you see the worst you can be reflected in the eyes of the person you care about the most. Similarly, when that mirror is clouded, broken, distorted, they may never see you the same way again. The frustration can be maddening.
So is this what it all comes down to? Is love merely a projection of what we covet the most within ourselves? Is it simply finding those characteristics in someone who sees us in a similar light? And if so, can that be maintained? Does it simply become a question of focus? Is the trick to see people honestly? Accept them both as who they are and who they can be? Or is it simply to look past the flaws and the differences and the darkness to the beauty that led you there in the first place?
I just wish it wasn't so f***ing hard. This whole experience has been new to me. I've had so few relationships, and so few on any significant emotional level, that these pitfalls never seemed to occur. It's hard to get angry or disappointed or hurt when a relationship isn't serious. Why bother? It's really hard for someone to get under your skin if they aren't already there, difficult to get hurt if your heart is in a vault. How can you get all fired up when, well, when you're not all fired up? So to speak. I suppose everyone is bound to stumble eventually (in some cases often) along the path of a relationship. Sometimes you can't get up again. Sometimes they can't. And there may be nothing you can do about that. I just hope this leaves me more sure footed in the future.
Jim Parisi
Wednesday, October 09, 2002
Sometimes your best intentions are not in fact the best. Sometimes your feelings can't be communicated. Sometimes they shouldn't. Sometimes what you should do is at odds with what you ought to do. Sometimes the way you see yourself is not the way you are. Sometimes the way they see you is not the way you are. Sometimes you are both right. And sometimes, many times, it's just really damn hard.
Jim Parisi
Tuesday, October 08, 2002
The leaves are just starting to turn here in New York. I have been driving around quite a bit, all the way from Pelham to Poughkeepsie. The hills are still primarily green, but now sport bright patches of red and orange. Except in the morning. In the early hours when the sun is low the whole hillside takes on an rich orange glow. I can only imagine what they will look like in two weeks when all the leaves have turned. I might have to fly back. It's been twenty years since I have seen New York in the fall. It would be nice to experience again. If only for the required jump into a pile of freshly raked leaves. By the way, for those of you who have not experienced that sensation, the concept of a leaf dive is far more gratifying than the reality. Raked leaves are generally wet and scratchy and smelly and offer very limited protection from the cold ground. They stick to all your clothes, hair, shoes, socks, lips, etc. But for the uninitiated, a big pile of leaves in the Westchester Fall is nearly impossible to resist.
Jim Parisi
Monday, October 07, 2002
Remember when homeless guys just held cardboard signs that said "God bless" or "Please Help" or "Will Work for Food"? It seems to me that lately very few people actually toss money into those hats. We are too cynical. Too jaded. We expect more for our money. Honesty at the very least. Maybe even entertainment. Which is why I appreciate the honest, hardworking pan-handler. They are most commonly found in San Francisco and the Pacific Northwest. Vancouver has the squeegee kids. Crack-heads in cut-offs who spit shine your window for a buck. This is just a GenX variation of what Rudy eradicated in NYC years ago. Personally, I don't like people touching my car, and I prefer more creative approaches. I had one guy in Seattle hit me with the pitch, "Hey man, I am just 67 cents shy of a beer." Tough to argue with that. So I tossed him a buck. I ran into another guy the same week who brandished a sign that read, "I'm just gonna use it for hookers and booze." I didn't donate to his cause, but I appreciate the candor. In San Francisco I met a guy who held a sign that said "Free Advice. Donations welcome." I asked him what advice he had for me. He looked at me sideways and shouted "well what's your problem?" I told him I loved a girl who didn't know it. He jumped up on a milk crate and gave me a full five minute motivational speech about the birds and the bees and the fishes in the sea and how I had better catch that tuna before some other shark does. I gave him five bucks. The best was "Escape Man". Escape Man worked the round-about on Powell Street where they turn the cable car. The tourists waiting for the car make an attentive and captive audience for his derelict Houdini-escapes-a-straight-jacket schtick. He began his routine with a demand for audience participation. "I need everyone to count to three. If I don't hear you counting I'm following you home. And I'm staying." While he struggled on the ground with his jacket he would request donations. "Every dollar you give is donated to the Escape Man College Fund. Every time you give five dollars it means Escape Man doesn't have to go to college." After two or three minutes, he was out of his bonds, the audience was clapping, and he was filling his hat with dough before the next car arrived. Based on his average take on a busy summer weekend, I'm betting Escape Man does not in fact need to go to college, since he probably has a BMW and a nice three bedroom in the Marina already.
Jim Parisi
Sunday, October 06, 2002
It's not the same, but the best I can do right now. Smile if you can find it. With love... J
Jim Parisi
