This post is being written from Texas where, for less than a week, I might possibly be the country’s only vegan cattle rancher. Then again, you never know.

Been in Texas for a bit, but I’m coming back to San Francisco soon. If anything, the trip has confirmed that I am indeed an urban boy. Most of this trip was spent in the suburbs outside of Dallas and it seemed that if we didn’t go out or do something every two days, I got a bit antsy and needed to go out for dinner, drive into town, see a movie, something.

Actually, the ranch (even further out in the sticks) where I am now has been an easier transition than the burbs, because doing something isn’t as much an option. Although, we have been to the movie theater twice in our first two days at the ranch. But knowing I’m not 30 minutes away from great restaurants, gay bars, anything cultural really, makes it easier.

The main reason for the visit was the first birthday of my nephew/godchild. The ranchsitting sort of happened because I was going to be here anyway, and then there was a window of time in between the two, so I’ve been here for about two weeks at this point.

It is interesting to hear everyone say the same things about the baby, that he is such a "good" baby. But, everytime I hear that, I think back to an interview with Eve Ensler that appeared in the program for "The Good Body," her amazing one-woman show about body image that I saw when she performed it in San Francisco. In the interview, she said something to the effect of how people misuse the word good in our society. I mean, every instance of people calling the baby good means he is basically happy, contented, quiet, and sleeps through the night. But none of those things make him "good" in and of themselves. Most of the time, good refers to the burden on the parents than the state of the child. The parents get to sleep through the night, therefore the baby is good.

The only downside of a baby-themed visit with a lot of people visiting is that I hear the same information repeated ad nauseum throughout the day. Every day, about eight to ten times a day, I hear the information relayed as to when the baby woke up that morning. And, the odd thing is, it always seems to be within the same 45 minute period, usually between six and six-thirty. But despite the consistency of the baby, everyone always seems to relate that to their desired wake-up time and consider the baby to be the same as a barking dog in a neighbor’s yard.

It seems like no one lives in the moment much anymore. If the baby wakes up at six, accept you are waking up around six, go to bed early to compensate, and get on with your life. It is so much easier than waiting for him to sleep longer or later. Pretty much everyone says the same thing, though, that the baby got them up at (insert time), rather than it being inclusive and saying "we" got up at (insert time).

The visit has been a mix of our side of the family, my brother’s in-laws, local relatives, and their friends and neighbors. As a result, I seem to hear nearly everything on an infinite repeat. It is like an endless game of telephone based on the minituae of our days. No information seems too minor to be shared with everyone. If the baby just drank the last of the whole milk, and we will need to get it soon, it doesn’t inspire anyone to immediately just jump in a car but rather mention to one another that the baby drank the rest of the whole milk and that we will need to get some. If someone else joins the group on the patio after this was said, someone will invariably share this information with them. On several occassions, I have offered to just go get the milk and, each time, was told it wasn’t needed just then, the baby was sleeping. I figured if I had gone, the new bit of information could be relayed in my absence (the baby drank the last of the whole milk and Jeff went to get more) and I’d miss a round, but that rarely happened.

I guess I am used to living alone, and in my head primarily, so it has been interesting to see how people fill their day with text regardless of their interests. Upon my return to SF, and after gay pride, my days will be about editing my novel finally (after having it sit there waiting for seven-plus weeks). I would say that of all the people in my life that know the story of the novel, no one knows more than a bird’s eye view of the text and read a few chapter excerpts here and there. So, I have created 650+ pages of original text that only I have seen. And unless something interesting happens to me during my day, I tend not to share it. What would the point be?

So, it just seemed strange to think that I am focusing my life on creating text right now, most of it spent in my head and then releasing it when it has congealed into something interesting, but that everyone else also fills their day with text and, in the absence of narrative, it is often just the play-by-play of what just happened to them. I don’t say this to be mean or judgmental, but when I was first here, people would start telling me something and I thought of it as the beginning to a "story," some anecdote:

"I was just going to get ice from the dispenser on the refrigerator and one of the ice cubes fell onto the floor."

To me, that sounds like a setup to an amusing story, until they stop talking and you realize that was the whole story. I just stopped doing that in my life for the most part. I’d just pick up the ice cube, toss it in the sink, and go about my day.

I was actually at a loss most of the time, as I entirely forgot how to have that type of conversation. Finally, I observed other people, and they would say back, "Yeah, you got to watch those things sometimes. They can shoot right out of there." Then, both would just turn back to the TV.

I was both struck by how every event in people’s lives had turned into "weather" talk, and surprised how I had just stopped doing it, to the point where I didn’t even know how to respond to such quips.

I think this has always been something I have done. I always think we’re supposed to sit around and have big Breakfast Club-type bonding, philosophical discussions, and question the big issues. I want that to the point where I often don’t lay the foundation with people that is built on their day to day events, their workplace, etc., which are the things that will lead to those larger conversations.

I’m not saying I want to hear when people drop every ice cube in their lives, but I think there is somewhere I can meet them in the middle.

This entry was posted on Saturday, June 18th, 2005 at 7:54 am and is filed under diary. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.