Saturday, October 14, 2000
What a week.
I’m a Technical Writer at a pre-IPO ASP. Meaning I’m on the endangered employee species list.
Wednesday: We had the “Stock Options talk” at my job. This is the kiss of death for most dotcom employees. It’s the stage where this generation of Internet entrepreneur discovers the truth about the e-business fairytales of $1 million investment frogs turning into $10 million profit princes overnight.
I hardly took any notes because the ones I had from the last dotcom I worked at were still current and barely dry.
Thursday: The owner of the company decided to cut the monthly budget by more than half my annual salary. See what I mean, kiss of death.
Following the dotcom writer’s motto “Clips are your only friend,” I updated my portfolio and my resume. I haven’t lost my job, yet, but my boss’ integrity is a figment of his imagination.
Friday: So far, I’m still employed. My supervisor says that the owner is purchasing software to write an interactive training module. So far as I know, I’m the only one who knows how to use this expensive software. If rational thinking wins out, I’ll stay employed a little longer.
I’m reevaluating working on the web. Before I sign on for another gig, I’m going to access the company as if I was an investor.
Does the business plan make sense? Do they have one?
Is owner a dedicated distance runner or a spendthrift sprinter?
Are there real business managers running the company or kids putting on a show in the barn?
I’m a Technical Writer at a pre-IPO ASP. Meaning I’m on the endangered employee species list.
Wednesday: We had the “Stock Options talk” at my job. This is the kiss of death for most dotcom employees. It’s the stage where this generation of Internet entrepreneur discovers the truth about the e-business fairytales of $1 million investment frogs turning into $10 million profit princes overnight.
I hardly took any notes because the ones I had from the last dotcom I worked at were still current and barely dry.
Thursday: The owner of the company decided to cut the monthly budget by more than half my annual salary. See what I mean, kiss of death.
Following the dotcom writer’s motto “Clips are your only friend,” I updated my portfolio and my resume. I haven’t lost my job, yet, but my boss’ integrity is a figment of his imagination.
Friday: So far, I’m still employed. My supervisor says that the owner is purchasing software to write an interactive training module. So far as I know, I’m the only one who knows how to use this expensive software. If rational thinking wins out, I’ll stay employed a little longer.
I’m reevaluating working on the web. Before I sign on for another gig, I’m going to access the company as if I was an investor.
Does the business plan make sense? Do they have one?
Is owner a dedicated distance runner or a spendthrift sprinter?
Are there real business managers running the company or kids putting on a show in the barn?
Wednesday, October 11, 2000
Tonight was my first night of volunteering at the Lesbian and Gay Center’s movie theatre, Outfest. What a ball. The show was a retrospective of the top 20 gay and lesbian films of the 20th century, hosted by Absolut. Yep, the vodka people.
It was coolness. They actually served martinis in Absolut martini glasses. The whole thing was catered to fag standards. Sandwiches, tuna, sate with mango sauce, flower arrangements, everything. If you are ever in LA and you get the opportunity to go to a catered Outfest affair, go. It is worth the price of admission.
I took tickets at the door. Everyone had black feather boas draped over the back of their seats waiting for them. Us volunteers got ours early, so we all worked the room with our boas. I played butch-boy in a boa for the night.
Now I’m thinking about volunteerism. I trained with the AIDS Marathon training program for the Chicago marathon, which is on Oct. 22nd. I was supposed to raise $2600 for the program to take me to Chicago. I pooled everyone I knew and hit $800, which I was proud of everyone for contributing. The training rep, let’s call him Jeff B., flat out told me to stop coming for training as if I didn’t already pay a $75 training fee. Then he tried to strong-arm me into charging the rest of the money on my credit card, as if I could.
I missed my running group and the long Sunday morning runs in Santa Monica. But this smacked of fundraising terrorism. Jeff B. was nasty as if he didn’t have time to waste if I wasn’t going to raise $1800 more. I guess he’s doing his job.
The experience soured me on charitable causes. I had to examine what I felt I was accomplishing. What was I willing to contribute if I couldn’t get my friends and family to donate their money. Volunteering with Outfest, even though it’s early on in the game, makes more sense. I like movies and I like supporting people who make and show gay film. I’d rather spend my time working to keep gay images in front of people then twisting people’s arms until change drops out of their hands. I feel good about helping Outfest. The AIDS marathon training program was not for me. Fundraising was not for me. I’m better at giving of myself. Especially when cool take-aways like martinis, sandwiches, brownies, feather boas, and gratitude are involved.
It was coolness. They actually served martinis in Absolut martini glasses. The whole thing was catered to fag standards. Sandwiches, tuna, sate with mango sauce, flower arrangements, everything. If you are ever in LA and you get the opportunity to go to a catered Outfest affair, go. It is worth the price of admission.
I took tickets at the door. Everyone had black feather boas draped over the back of their seats waiting for them. Us volunteers got ours early, so we all worked the room with our boas. I played butch-boy in a boa for the night.
Now I’m thinking about volunteerism. I trained with the AIDS Marathon training program for the Chicago marathon, which is on Oct. 22nd. I was supposed to raise $2600 for the program to take me to Chicago. I pooled everyone I knew and hit $800, which I was proud of everyone for contributing. The training rep, let’s call him Jeff B., flat out told me to stop coming for training as if I didn’t already pay a $75 training fee. Then he tried to strong-arm me into charging the rest of the money on my credit card, as if I could.
I missed my running group and the long Sunday morning runs in Santa Monica. But this smacked of fundraising terrorism. Jeff B. was nasty as if he didn’t have time to waste if I wasn’t going to raise $1800 more. I guess he’s doing his job.
The experience soured me on charitable causes. I had to examine what I felt I was accomplishing. What was I willing to contribute if I couldn’t get my friends and family to donate their money. Volunteering with Outfest, even though it’s early on in the game, makes more sense. I like movies and I like supporting people who make and show gay film. I’d rather spend my time working to keep gay images in front of people then twisting people’s arms until change drops out of their hands. I feel good about helping Outfest. The AIDS marathon training program was not for me. Fundraising was not for me. I’m better at giving of myself. Especially when cool take-aways like martinis, sandwiches, brownies, feather boas, and gratitude are involved.
Monday, October 09, 2000
I took my lunchtime yoga class today. I got there a little late, so I ended up in the front of the biggest class we’ve had in the 3 weeks I’ve been taking it. I kinda liked it. I could see myself in the mirrors without looking past someone else’s butt. When we lay down on the floor, I got to put my feet in someone’s face, for a change. Way cool. An LA Power Yoga lunch is just the kind of thing I came here for.
I was thinking today about this black guy I met in a Kinko’s in Queens. He was helping me use the computer station to digitize some video for a class project. He was pretty friendly, so I was friendly back.
Then he told me about a couple of magazines he puts out for the black urban set. One in particular was called Roughnecks or something. He said “It features well-hung black men. Would you be interested in posing for it?”
Never wanting to be caught without something to say, I said, “You’d be pretty disappointed.”
He protested, telling me he knew his business, he was sure I’d be fine. Then he showed me his latest issue, trying to legitimatize his accuracy in picking talent.
In his defense, he had a pretty good eye. The boy-shots he unfolded in front of me were all they were advertised to be.
This made backing out a whole lot easier.
I knew I couldn’t measure up to his previous finds. No, really. I don’t know how he could be so off on this one. That kinda felt good too.
I was thinking today about this black guy I met in a Kinko’s in Queens. He was helping me use the computer station to digitize some video for a class project. He was pretty friendly, so I was friendly back.
Then he told me about a couple of magazines he puts out for the black urban set. One in particular was called Roughnecks or something. He said “It features well-hung black men. Would you be interested in posing for it?”
Never wanting to be caught without something to say, I said, “You’d be pretty disappointed.”
He protested, telling me he knew his business, he was sure I’d be fine. Then he showed me his latest issue, trying to legitimatize his accuracy in picking talent.
In his defense, he had a pretty good eye. The boy-shots he unfolded in front of me were all they were advertised to be.
This made backing out a whole lot easier.
I knew I couldn’t measure up to his previous finds. No, really. I don’t know how he could be so off on this one. That kinda felt good too.
Today I did some research on Reparative Therapy for a story I’m writing. What a bummer. I was reading some of the “success stories” of heterosexualized gay folk who are happy to live straight lives. I guess when I was younger, I would have considered something like this. The chance to live like everyone else. Marry my high school girlfriend and have beautiful children. Yeah, at 19 that might have seemed like a solution. Until I read one of these testimonials. Half of these ex-gays, it’s suspicious that they don’t refer to themselves as neo-straights, were in their 30’s. They’re stories read sadly like people trying to talk themselves into jumping out of a plane. Desperate to convince themselves that it’s just like stepping off the curb.
As if you could believe a story of joining a swimming team, hanging out with attractive athletes, and watching other naked men in communal showers turns someone away from being gay. No, I don’t think so. If that were the case, half the gay porn movie industry would be selling apples out crates on street corners.
The testimonials talk about craving hot sex with men, but choosing to settle for obligatory sex with women instead. It smacks of the puritan sex-shouldn’t-be-enjoyable doctrine that women have been fighting against for the last 30 years.
I really feel sorry for these guy’s wives. They know that they’re husbands are with them to be normal and accepted. And that’s okay.
It’s not okay. It’s sad. What about love, commitment, sexual attraction?
What about living an enjoyable life. I pitied those poor people. Forgoing joy to be normal. That’s the irony, being normal doesn’t equal being happy, or accepted, or loved, or straight.
As if you could believe a story of joining a swimming team, hanging out with attractive athletes, and watching other naked men in communal showers turns someone away from being gay. No, I don’t think so. If that were the case, half the gay porn movie industry would be selling apples out crates on street corners.
The testimonials talk about craving hot sex with men, but choosing to settle for obligatory sex with women instead. It smacks of the puritan sex-shouldn’t-be-enjoyable doctrine that women have been fighting against for the last 30 years.
I really feel sorry for these guy’s wives. They know that they’re husbands are with them to be normal and accepted. And that’s okay.
It’s not okay. It’s sad. What about love, commitment, sexual attraction?
What about living an enjoyable life. I pitied those poor people. Forgoing joy to be normal. That’s the irony, being normal doesn’t equal being happy, or accepted, or loved, or straight.
Sunday, October 08, 2000
BREAKING NEWS: A man has ben charged by police in connection with an armed siege at a garden centre. Full story
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Killer of gay man faces extradition after 17 years on the run
Britain has 38 days to seek the extradition of a convicted killer who has been on the run for 17 years after battering a gay man to death.
Robert Hamilton is being held by French police in the southern city of Montpellier, pending a request for extradition by the British authorities.
A Home Office spokesman says that under European law Britain has 40 days from the time of the arrest, which was on Thursday, to seek his extradition.
Detectives, investigating Hamilton's escape from custody were tipped off three years ago that he was in France, but failed to track him down.
Hamilton, 47, originally from Sheffield, was finally traced to an address in Montpellier and arrested by local police. He was picked up under a warrant issued by the Crown Prosecution Service.
A Home Office spokesman said: "He was found and provisionally arrested in Montpellier, France, in accordance with a UK request, which was outstanding. Under European law, the UK has 40 days from the time of arrest to serve a full extradition request
