9-1-1. What’s your problem?

Thank you for calling your local Emergency Response Center. For your convenience you may use our automated Emergency Reporting System. At any time, you may press zero to speak to a live operator.

Due to unusually heavy call volume, current wait times are …fifty six minutes.

To continue in English, press one. Para continuar en…

(beeep)

Thank you.
If you are currently being murdered, raped or brutally beaten, press one. For all other crises, press two.

(booop)

Thank you.
Please listen closely, as our menu has changed.

For medical emergencies, press one. To report a fire or fire related emergency, press two. To report a crime, press three. To confess to a crime, press four. For all other…

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If your crime is happening right now…

(beeep)

If, by “right now” you mean the active commission of a crime, such as a burglary or kidnapping, press one. If however you mean in the more general sense of ongoing over this period of time, such as fraud or blackmail, press two.

(booop)

Thank you.
For property crimes, press one. For violent crimes or crimes against a person, press two. For drugs and drug related crimes, press three. To report an automobile accident or traffic violation, press four. For fraud, press five. For financial crimes, press six. For noise complaints, to report suspicious activity or a person who has been missing for at least forty-eight hours, press seven. For all other crimes, press eight. To hear this menu again…

(buuup)

Thank you. You have selected …other crimes. We need to get a little more information to process your complaint. Please select from the following options. For civil rights violations or political…

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If you are being oppressed, press one. For violations of your constitutional rights….

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Are you a US citizen? If yes, press one or say “yes.”

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For verification purposes, please enter your social security number, followed by the pound sign.

(baap beep biip—buuup booop—beep boip buup boop--boup)

One moment while we process your information.
Thank you.
Which of the following rights is being violated? For first amendment violations, press….

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For freedom of religion violations, press one. For freedom from religion violations, press two. For freedom of association violations, press three. For freedom of speech…

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We’re sorry. Due to the… USA Patriot Act, First Amendment violations are no longer prosecutable by law. Transferring.


(Tall and tan and short and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking, and when she’s walking, each time she’s walking…)

(bling bling…bling bling)

Thank you for calling the Total Information Awareness System. Please be advised that telling anyone about this call is a federal offense and carries maximum penalty of a fine up to… $20,000 and/or jail time of up to… seven years.

To report a terrorist or terrorism related activity, press one. If you are terrorist, press two. If you are soft on terrorism, anti-American or liberal, press three.

I’m sorry, we did not receive your response. Please make your selection. To hear these options again, press star.

I’m sorry, we did not receive your response. Our records show that you are... Eric Houston. You live at…

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(bling bling…bling bling…bling bling…)

Close but no Cigar

Last night I had the strangest dream
I sailed away to China, in a little rowboat to find ya
And you said you had to get your laundry cleaned…

If you’ve never been awoken to the sounds of 80s One Hit Wonder Matthew Wilder, count yourself lucky. But the irony is that I did just have the strangest dream.

I was in Vienna with Glenn Close discussing Sophocles when all of sudden she took out a huge cigar, lit it and started sucking on it, hard. While in real life I revile cigar smoke, I found myself oddly aroused.
Then a man dressed in a sailor suit, from the waist up, entered the room, wheeling in a room service cart. He pulled the food cover off to reveal large pile of sausages. I offered Ms Close a sausage but she said Oh no, they’re for you.

And then, in the way that can only happen in dreams, I was suddenly in a speeding train going through a long tunnel on my way to the airport where I would board a large plane. Once on the plane, I looked out the window and saw a rocket blasting off into space. The plane landed in Greece where I hopped into a Ferrari and drove to the Parthenon. Inside my father, who was eating a twinkie, was giving a lecture to a group of young master bakers on human evolution. I walked in just as he was talking about “man first walking erect.” And then the columns of the Parthenon just flopped over, as if they were made out of rubber or latex, but no one seemed to notice.

All the while a condor made lazy circles in the sky while mocking me – fraud fraud fraud.

What could this mean?

Fortunately I am quite skilled at dream analysis from my days with the British Foreign Service. (Okay, I wasn’t actually employed by the British Foreign Service, but I was with them, or several of them at any rate. And these people are a little uptight.)

Vienna clearly refers to those little sausages, such as one might find at a party, a party in Hollywood. I had recently been taken to such a party by my close friend, Glen, a sailor. The refusal of the sausage was clearly a reference to the fact that this party was hosted by a lesbian power broker, who naturally was a vegetarian.

To get to Los Angeles, I took a train since I have an irrational fear that if I flew the plane would be hit by a rocket. I remember that night distinctly because on my way up to the house I accidentally got grease all over a Ferrari owned by a renowned pastry chef. I had been startled by a priest who had slipped on a rubber (it is Los Angeles) and was having trouble standing up again. Never mind I happened to have a small tub of grease in my hands.

It all made sense except, why dream about this? And what of the condor at its accusatory call? I would have to use all my powers of analysis to figure this out. (Tee-hee, I said anal.)

Fraud fraud fraud. That sounds like freude the German word for “joy”, the first word in the chorale movement of Beethoven’s ninth symphony. Beethoven was the name of an unfortunate series of movies about a slobbering beast and a St Bernard, the former being played by Charles Grodin. Charles Grodin did a short stint as Andy Rooney’s doppelganger on 60 Minutes II.

Could that be it? Could this be a resurfacing of the anxiety caused by the time 60 Minutes exposed me on their show as a fraud posing as a lesbian Hollywood power broker? Damn you Ed Bradley! Will the nightmares never end?!?

No. I hadn’t taken the analysis (tee-hee) far enough. 60 minutes, as in lunch hour. I had just fallen asleep in the back room of the copy shop and almost missed lunch. They’re serving loukanika at a close by Greek restaurant with a nautical theme. Never take a nap on an empty stomach.

The only loose end is the cigar. I guess sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

The Agony and The Ecstasy – or – I Had Sex with Jesus

I had accepted the invite to a New Year’s Eve Party, the Friday before last, at Michael and Angela’s (oh, that’s her name). To go there, I had to pass on the party that Steve and Allen were throwing. Steve and Allen have been together forever. They have a marvelous old restored Victorian, not to mention a lovely home. And they always have the best parties with the cutest boys (or are we supposed to say bois now so people will know we’re not pedophiles) because they’re rich.

But I came to Michael and Angela’s to spend time with way more straight people in one place than can possibly be legal, because they needed me and, well, that’s just the kind of guy I am.

Shut up.

(Moment of truth: the third least attractive attribute a man can have is the audacity to not find me attractive. Never-the-less, I kinda have a little crush on Michael.)

Shut up.

In past, I have often wondered if, at a certain age in adulthood, the certifiably heterosexual are given some sort of handbook, with lists of allowable clothing, hairstyles, interests and opinions. Here I had my strongest evidence yet. The stultifying conformity in appearance, posture and gesture meant that the evening was a landmine of misidentification, trying to recall who was who. Plus someone had inadvertently left a copy of Standards and Practices for Heterosexuals – WASP Edition sitting out in the open, on a shelf, in a safe, behind a picture, in the “panic” room. (Is it just me, or do non-queers seem preternaturally predisposed to panic?) A quick perusal and it rapidly became apparent that if I confined myself to vague references to golf, soccer and children named Ashley and Justin, I’d be safe.

One man stood out in the crowd. Trim, muscular, devastatingly good looking and not wearing a golf shirt, he hovered over the cheese plate while a shaft of light illuminated him from above. It was time to make my move. So I shut off the flashlight and came down off the ladder.

His name is Jesus, a friend of Angela’s from college. He moved to the US from Argentina three years ago to pursue his career as a – dare I say it – part-time underwear model! I was in love, or something that would prove to be a reasonable facsimile for 72 hours. We exchanged small talk, but I scarcely remember what we said. I recall his charm, his smile, his penetrating eyes.

With the words ‘penetrating’ and ‘eye’ still echoing in my head, he whispered in my ear, ¿Joderemos como conejitos?

Speaking a little Spanish from my days in the CIA, I replied, Bien, tengo el equipo de un conejo. Oddly enough, he pulled away for a moment. So I pulled him close and whispered back, Y el águila nunca vuela a medianoche. I must have made quite an impression on him, for his simply smiled and we made our exit.

Back in my modest abode, we inexplicably began talking in clipped and unconvincing sentences.

Want a beer?
Sure, I’ll take one.
You seem tense. Want a back rub?
I don’t know…
Aw, c’mon, I’m really good at it.
Okay.

He took off his shirt revealing his hard muscles, albeit entirely covered by skin. I whipped out the back-rub massage oil I always kept handy and began working his stiff flesh. Suddenly the sound of bad music filled the air. Boom-chika-boom-boom. I remembered that I had set my alarm to go off at exactly midnight and I had it set to play Radio Porn (or was that Kenny G?). I turned off the alarm and whispered into his ear, feliz ano nuevo. With that he turned about and began tearing at my clothing. This was odd, since I already was completely naked.

So I grabbed him and pressed him tight. I felt his hot breath coursing down the nape of my neck, and worried for only just a moment when I realized we were kissing at the time.

I pulled him by el rabo into the bedroom and pushed him onto the bed, his arms spread out and Lo clavé de inmediato.

Sunday morning, three days later, we rose from the bed.

We dressed and then exchanged phone numbers and vague, insincere promises to call. But it was clear that this passion had played itself out. He said something about needing to return to his father’s house and made a hasty exit.

After he was gone, I looked outside and saw that the sun has risen. Ravenous, I went to the fridge and began to gorge myself on camembert.

¡Ah, lo que un amigo nosotros tenemos en quesos!