Bear Pride 20 Midstream Report

[muckefuck]

There's one moment in the romcom My Best Friend's Wedding that sticks with me: At the climax of the film, Julia Roberts' character steals a kiss from her best friend (some factory issue studmuffing whose name escapes me) and is observed by his fiancée, who flees in her car. He pursues her, prompting Roberts to hop in her car and pursue him. Cruising down the Drive, she calls her best gay friend (Rupert Graves before he became an insufferable dickhead--or, more likely, before his insufferable dickheadedness became generally known stateside) and explains the situation. He sobers her up with the precision-aimed question "Who's chasing you?"

It's a damn good question for clarifying any situation where the laws of personal attraction are in play. Three decades of trying to win others' affections has led me into more than my share of situations where I found myself making heroic efforts on behalf of others who neither noticed nor cared (often while simultaneously ignoring the attentions of those who actually made my happiness their concern). Asking that question is sometimes the only way of leading me back to relative safety.

That's where I find myself tonight. Weighing the various bear dance party events, official and unofficial, I came to the conclusion that Furball would be the one not to miss. Only problem is that it starts at the very unMidwestern hour of 11:30 p.m. I thought I'd be well-rested today after making it an early night last night, but I failed to take into account the effect of half a bottle of premium sake on my ability to get a sound night's sleep and planned a mid-morning brunch for today. My attempts at disco-napping were not crowned with success, so unless there's a massive second wind waiting in the wings, midnight is looking nigh unreachable.

As I explained to the Old Man earlier, it's more than a youthful constitution which made it easier to overcome this kind of sleep deprivation in my first decade of running with the Bears. At least as important was the notion that something unexpectedly wonderful could happen, something I would miss if I wasn't there. I haven't given up on believing that those moments exist, but I'm wise enough to know that they don't come by as frequently as they once did.

Right now, no one is chasing me. If I stay in tonight, I will have a few people asking, "Where were you on Saturday?" over the next couple of days--starting with Diego, who was the one to talk me into Furball. But no one is calling to ask that now. Diego doesn't need the support of friends to go and do what he's decided to do. mlr is in town, but he's a paragon of self-sufficiency his own self and will be at the hotel party if anything. In a word, if I stay home, I won't be missed.

Is that a little hard to say? Does it make me sad? Yes and yes. But so what? I don't see that the solution is to do what I did last year and force myself out, only to end up slumping bleary-eyed on lobby sofas too stubborn to begin the long journey home. Especially when there's still tomorrow to come and the day after. A different experience at Replay today would've changed the script entirely. But while it was pleasant enough sipping beer in the sunshine, it lacked the special quality of past years at Buck's. The crowd was too local and familiar; if not for the occasional tag on a lanyard, it could have been any weekend afternoon beer bust in Chicago.

I did get a taste of that energy at Touché on Thursday night and at the "cocktail party"[*] beforehand. There were out-of-towners there. I met new people. My banter was glib; I flirted and was flirted with. It already seems like long ago, but the memory is fresh enough to point up the difference between that night and this one. The patio party at SoFo was a highlight last year; maybe it will be this year as well, so better to save myself for that. And if it goes well, there's always the promise of tomorrow evening. But whatever happens, there's one place in the world where I know I will always be wanted no matter what and I'm here right now.


[*] As I snobbishly observed at the time, "I don't think you can justify callilng it a 'cocktail party' if there's not even any tonic."

Comments

[linuxcub.livejournal.com]

I'm sure there was cock and tail ...