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11:42 am - Thursday, Mar. 28, 2002 I'm listening to "This American Life" on the computer (Or at least I was. My computer cut off, and now that I'm back on, the program has started at the beginning again. But anyway...I was listening, I guess researching my future as a writer. I think one of the things I have to admit to myself is that I REALLY don't want to WORK for a living. But that said, I both need and enjoy MONEY, so I have to find some way into the world of WRITING. The first issue is that I don't know what it is I would WRITE, or where I would "do it" (In other words, "What is it I have to SAY, and who might want to HEAR it?"). Someone, I forget who now--Was it Kathy? Or Gail?--suggested "This American Life" as something to consider. Particularly since, as an actor, and someone with a good voice, I would be particularly good at reading my own "pieces". And yesterday at work, when I was recounting some experiences from an especially dark time of my life, the person I was recounting TO suggested, without any prompting on my part, that I "should write these down". I have been thinking about something. I don't have any idea of how to "shape" it yet, but it's something I've always found interesting--People who've gone through what I've gone through often end up addicted to drugs, homeless, insane, what have you. On the other extreme, we hear about people who have come "up from poverty", or whatever difficult circumstance, to become great actors, "captains of industry", etc....But what about the invisible army of people like ME, who continue to live in the gulf between abject defeat and complete triumph? It doesn't seem like you HEAR about those people very often. I haven't written "my story" in the past, partially because I feel like I don't really REMEMBER it, but also because I don' t feel like I have the cliched "arc of triumph" that such stories seem to require to be successful. Maybe THAT'S the "hook"... (END) I had a VERY bizarre experience last night after getting out of work (And I feel like I need to issue another "WARNING" here: This story creeps ME out, and I'm going to tell it as accurately as I CAN, so if you're not UP for that, I won't be offended if you sign off and go about your daily activities. But you have been WARNED). I finished work last night around 11:30. Ben, one of my coworkers, has been giving me a ride home whenever we both close, for the past number of times we've closed together. Last night, however, as I left the store with my bike, he was pulling out of the parking lot in his truck, without having said a word to me (Most times, this situation--We'd gone from him offering me a ride home on three or four seperate occasions, to me kind of EXPECTING a ride home, to him being so uncomfortable with NOT giving me a ride home, but at the same time obviously not WANTING to give me a ride home, that he left last night without saying anything--Well, typically it would be material for a whole "Diaryland" entry all by itself. But what followed kind of TRUMPS all that). I was riding along 3rd street, and I hadn't gotten very far away from the bookstore when I noticed a car creeping along beside me (At this point, it occurs to me, not for the first time, that I'd make a LOUSY witness; I can't tell you what make or model the car was, and since it was kind of dark, I'm not even sure what COLOR it was. Something in the yellow/beige/gold family, with a white roof. But anyway...). At first, I really wasn't sure what was going on. He was a little behind me at one point, then alongside me, then a little ahead of me, then alongside me again. He was going VERY slowly, and I guess my first thought was that he was looking for an address or something (I know from experience how hard it can be at night, driving around, looking for a specific address to a place you've never been). I was a LITTLE creeped out when I noticed him looking in his rear-view mirror at one point, since there was no one behind him but ME just then. But I told myself he probably just wanted to ask for directions somewhere. Sure enough, he rolled down the passenger-side window, but when I pulled up alongside him, directions were NOT on his mind. Instead, he said something--wish I could remember his EXACT words--something along the lines of "You're really making me HOT". (Again, "I'd make a LOUSY eyewitness" occurs to me; The driver of the car was a black man, but beyond that, and the general sense that he was probably my age or younger, I couldn't tell you much of anything about him. But to continue...) I felt somehow UNPREPARED for this conversation (Go figure); I was SURPRISED, to be sure, and somewhat FRIGHTENED, and the best I could do for a response was a weak laugh and a faux-nonchalant, somewhat sarcastic, "Yeah, I have that effect on people...". (When I read what I wrote just now, it really seems like the WRONG response to have GIVEN. But I guess what I wanted to communicate most was "I'm not AFRAID of you". Even if, in fact, I WAS.) Then HE said, "Why don't we go somewhere and TALK about it?". And I think it was about that time when I saw he was MASTURBATING (I didn't really SEE much, but I'm pretty familiar with the hand motions). (YIKES!) When I DECLINED his friendly overture--I think I said, "I don't THINK so..."--He responded by saying, "Then just let me 'bust a nut' on you" (To those unfamiliar with that vulgar turn-of-phrase, to "bust a nut" means to "get off". To "cum". To have an orgasm). At that point, I decided it was perhaps best if I rode AWAY from this guy; I crossed the street, thinking I would get off 3rd, at least for a time. But then I thought I wouldn't want to be on some less-travelled side street if he decided to KEEP following me, so I opted to just ride down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. He turned off on a sidestreet within the next block or so, and after a time, I crossed back to the right side of the street and continued on my way--shaken, but not stirred. Just another night in the "City of Dreams"...
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