What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?

I’m back from New Mexico and just waiting until I leave again for New Year’s. Time in my former home-state, as I mentioned before, usually does me some good.

Yet, I have one tiny complaint. When, oh when, did the radio in Albuquerque get to be so bad? My parents live in the mountains, so it is at least a thirty minute drive to see anybody/anything. Sure, I could have used that time for quiet contemplation, but I wanted some tunes, man. What did I find instead?

First, evangelical Christians seem to control forty percent of New Mexico radio. Next, that Spanish-language stations in New Mexico gear their stuff to mariachi rather than modern. Finally, Albuquerque must be filled with some easy-listening fanatics (I suspect it is all those Anglos who are constantly sunning themselves on rocks).

Basically, my drives into the city consisted of forty minutes of the following:

“. . .The first time ever I saw your face . . .”
*click*
“. . .Personal savior. . .”
*click*
“. . .Aye, aye, aye. . .”
*click*
“. . .John Tesh Radio Hour . . .”
*click*
“. . .Reborn in his greatness. . .”
*click*
“. . . De Colores . . .”
*click*
". . . Lady in Red . . ."
*click*
". . . Mi Rancho Grande. . ."
*click*
". . . God spoke to me in a wetdream . . ."
*click*
“Welcome to the all Bee Gees network. . .”

Auuuuuuuuuugh!

You Mean There's a New Mexico?

Santa came and left his gifties. Many good things came GayProf's way. Still, I did not get that golden tiara and bullet-deflecting bracelets I wanted -- Next year, Santa, next year.

I know I have blogged about it before, but allow me to repeat my love of New Mexico. At night, there have been thousands and thousands of stars. During the day, the sky shows its crystal blue color. D. H. Lawrence once wrote of this place, "In the magnificent fierce morning of New Mexico one sprang awake, a new part of the soul woke up suddenly, and the old world gave way to the new." Indeed, I feel my own soul returning to health.

Some might call my and Lawrence's love of New Mexico spiritual, some might call it silly. Whatever the case, I am devoted to my home. If that whole academic thing doesn't work out, perhaps I will become a booster for the state.

Other things, though, make me sad and worried about New Mexico's future. Each time I return, Albuquerque shows itself to be growing unwieldly. Driving to see friends and family, one can't avoid noticing the poverty that plagues many people's lives here. A tremendous gap appears between those with money and those without.

My fears also focus on the environment. Believe me, I suck when it comes to personal responsibility for helping the environment. Recycling seems like a noble dream, but I prove very lazy about it. I have to be careful, therefore, to realize I can't get too damn judgmental. Still, the massive development here threatens the scarce water that sustains all life here.

The rapid influx of new residents brings good things to the state, I recognize. New Mexico needs capital if it wants to survive. Still, I also fear that all this growth threatens our way of life. Over the generations, the people of New Mexico developed distinctive ways of viewing the world and approaching their day-to-day challenges. It kills me to see those things slowly eroded by the ever-encroaching U.S.

Perhaps there is much truth in the old expression: ¡Pobre Nuevo México! Tan lejos del cielo y tan cerca de Texas.

Closed for the Holidays

I leave tomorrow for New Mexico. It will be an opportunity to lick some wounds, visit family, and reconnect with some friends. Trying to find an inner balance jumps high to my list, as well. At some point, I also need to start thinking about preparing for a conference interview in early January.

Today I spent in my office. The history building seems completely deserted except for a couple of straggling graduate students. I romantically cast myself as the last little boy who has not left for the holidays.

Still, I got some work finished and wrote some letters of recommendation, which should make some students happy.

The past year has been a tough one for GayProf. For all of us, friend or foe, I hope that the holidays bring peace and contentment. Yes, I even wish goodwill for George W. Bush (though it would be nice if he gave the nation the gift of his resignation).

Cheers.

Tough Questions for the Amazon

We all know that I sometimes confuse myself with worship the Amazon Princess. Yet, there are a few things that always troubled me about her. I know I am not the first one to question these things, but sometimes you just have to know. These are questions that Diana needs to answer:

Wonder Civics: Okay, you like to “fight for your rights and the good ol’ red, white and blue in your satin tights.” What troubles me, though, is why, as a princess next in the line of succession in an absolute monarchy, you claim to care about democratic governments. So, democracy is fine for man’s world and mortals, but the Amazons need strict rules and hierarchy? Amazon sisters, rebel against your cruel oppressors. End Queen Hippolyta’s two-thousand-year reign of terror. You have nothing to lose but your bullet-deflecting shackles.


This is what you wear to fight crime:

This is what you wear when you go swimming:


Diana, it seems like you might be a bit confused about appropriate attire. Not that I am complaining about your red, white and blue playboy-bunny suit. Believe, I am also not one of those people who is going to whine about you wearing six-inch heels. Sure you risk breaking an ankle running and jumping, but at what price fashion? It is just that usually we wear less clothing in the water than out. Just a hint, Diana.

While we are talking about your outfit, why change the eagle on your bustier to the WW? The eagle made sense. The eagle went with the general patriotic fervor of the whole outfit.

Okay, I understand you are not really a U.S. citizen. But, then why keep the star-spangled panties?

The WW seems to bare an uncanny resemblance to the following images:

VanHalen Symbol – Did you find a penchant for eighties hair bands?

Whataburger symbol – Do you secretly gorge on greasy mystery meat patties?

These are the mysteries of an icon. . .

Too geeky of an entry? Hey, it's almost the holidays, cut me some slack.

Latino Is, Latino Ain't

From a certain perspective, I don’t do a good job of living up to expectations about being Latino. In most of the U.S., racial identities start with visual cues. Since I am of mixed ancestry (Have I ever mentioned that? It seems like I intended to say that at some point...), my Irish and Mexican features seem too sharply blended.

Depending on my current location, some feel at liberty to offer (unsolicited) observations about my appearance. “Oh,” some will say, “You are Latino? I thought you were Italian!”

Or: “Yeah, it makes sense that you are Latino. You look like a conquistador.” This one seems kinda scary to me. Perhaps, though, I shouldn’t wear that suit of armor so often.

A more perplexing response, though, goes, “I knew it! It’s your eyebrows!” Who knew that Latino folk have a distinctive eyebrow look?

One overly amorous Latino suitor once called me “A bronze Aztec god.” Either he was drunk, blind, or delusional (I was also much younger then). My skin can be as pale as a bottle of milk in the winter.

Appearance, though, isn’t the only thing that throws people off. Here is a true confession: My Spanish sucks. After several generations in the U.S., my father’s parents decided that being bilingual would mark their children with a disadvantage. Like many Mexican Americans of their generation, they hoped that English-only would speed Latinos’ incorporation into the mainstream U.S. (It didn’t, fyi). I regret their decision given my job. Having better Spanish skills is really, really, really important. Darn them! Of course, I am also really, really, really lazy about improving my Spanish as well. Eh – It’s on my to-do list.

Finally, my ability to become a Mexican house-frau is seriously questionable. Though I love every Mexican dish my family prepares, I lack an ability to cook. It’s not because I don’t try, either. I spent many hours watching my grandmother prepare fantastic meals. My grandmother’s tortillas always turned out like light, fluffy puffs of blissful dough. Even my father can do some pretty swift things in the kitchen.

My stiff, hard tortillas could replace the hubcaps on my car. Even the Anglo Ex eventually prepared a better red chile sauce than me. That really hurt! True, he cheated in his preparation, but my red chile sauce has an uncanny mud taste.

So, why bring up my mixed visage, pitiful language skills, and culinary handicap? It’s not that I doubt my status as Latino. On the contrary, growing up in New Mexico, surrounded almost entirely by other Latino folk, it was an unquestioned part of my basic identity. Yeah, my sisters and I were of mixed ancestry (I swear I meant to mention that), but within the particular circumstances of New Mexico, that mattered little. I didn’t (and still don’t) think of my identity as either obscure or nebulous.

It wasn’t until I moved to other parts of the U.S. that suddenly my racial identity became radically important. Being of mixed ancestry occasionally throws people, but, in the end, the U.S. operates on monolithic assumptions about race. Millions of Latinos currently live in the U.S. While we share some common experiences, not one of our lives could be interchanged with another.

Yet, many Euro Americans, and even some professors of color, make presumptions about my background based only on assumptions about my name and origin. Some have laid negative stereotypes on to me, like a supposed cultural tendency toward a lack of ambition.

More often, though, my status as Latino comes into play as a means for some individuals to dismiss me. “Oh, sure,” they will say amongst themselves, “Of course GayProf wants the department to have a nondiscrimination clause. He is Latino! AND Gay!”

In these cases, it is not that I could, just as a human, be interested in issues of Social Justice. Rather, any position I advocate is always suspect because they perceive me as having a self-interested position. When straight, Euro-American men advocate for these types of issues, they are generous and charitable. When I advocate for these issues, I am operating out of greed or self-preservation.

What occurs to me, though, is that they are partially right, even if they ascribe the wrong motivations. It is because I identify as a gay, Latino that I have such an interest in Social Justice issues. Seeing first hand how power works in terms of race, gender, and sexuality has made me skeptical about this society.

All of us with identities that fall outside of the established hierarchy (those who are not straight, narrow-minded, Anglo, and male) need to consider our potential as visionaries for a new cultural order. We can be cultural guerrilla warriors. None of us fully satisfy the stereotypes of our racial, gender, and sexual identities. Naming our divergences shakes apart the static markers of difference. Likewise, shared differences unite us, granting us a more complex perception of dominant society.

Our unique visions can make a better life for everybody and end the stratification in our society. Let us build on our experiences and challenge the status quo.

I Demand a Recount!

Your results:
You are Batman

Batman 75% Superman 70% Spider-Man 70% Green Lantern 60% Wonder Woman 55% Robin 52% Supergirl 50% The Flash 50% Iron Man 40% Hulk 30% Catwoman 20%

You are dark, love gadgets and have vowed to help the innocent not suffer the pain you have endured.

No offense to the Dark Knight, but clearly I am supposed to be the Amazon Princess. I have no particular love for gadgets. It has to do with that push-up bra question, doesn’t it? Damn it!

Hat-tip to Roger's blog for the quiz.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...

Queer Gender

Gay men navigate conflicting visions of gender ideologies. We should think of ourselves as being gender renegades. Drag queens, at one end of the spectrum, show that gender and biology needn’t be assumed as linked. Likewise, the rugged, mountain-guy can disrupt assumptions that all gay men conform to the popular media image of effeminacy.

Some gay men, however, harbor fears of femininity and become corrupted by desires to prove their masculinity. An undercurrent of hatred of all things feminine exists in many queer circles. One need only glance at gay men’s personal ads to see the ever-present “no fems” listed in numerous postings.

I think of gender as socially constructed. In other words, what we presume to be “naturally” male and female is contingent on the particulars of society and time-period. We learn to recognize certain behaviors as supposedly performing masculinity (playing sports, carving a hunk of wood, etc.). Other behaviors we presume to be feminine (cooking, caring for mewing brats, etc.).

I can’t explain why some individuals are more drawn to one set of performances over another. The queer community, though, has tremendous complexity and we see examples of all sorts of expressions of individuals’ sense of gender identity. Yes, they are carvers of wood hunks and gourmet specialists (and even individuals who do both). In most instances, people express themselves as they feel they want to be seen. Still, I am concerned that some elements of the queer community become unknowingly enslaved to their desires to be seen as “manly.”

What bothers me are the ways that expectations about gender performances destroy these queer folks’ sense of self-esteem. They, in turn, seek to police other queer folk’s gender identities.

In European/ Canadian/ U.S./ Australian cultural milieus, sexuality and gender identities intertwine. We learn early, for instance, that effeminate men and same-sex desire have a link in our society. One needs only think about the 1950s film Tea and Sympathy. In the entire movie, the words “gay,” “homosexual,” or “hot-man-on-man action” never once appeared. Yet, the audiences know that the students accuse Tom Lee of being a homosexual. Why so? Tom played folk music, sewed his own drapes (!), and liked to attend tea parties with faculty wives.

Tom’s fellow students tormented him by calling him “Sister Boy.” Really, they should have harassed him for making some ugly-ass drapes. Instead, Tom’s violation of gender norms leads to an automatic conclusion of same-sex desire (Tom, by the way, wasn’t really gay in the film. The message of the film is to be nice to sensitive straight boys, but does nothing for gay men – that, though, is another post entirely).

Links between violating gender norms and same-sex desire lead many gay men to an obsession with proving that stereotype wrong. Given that gay men often spent their lives besieged by negative imagines of gay men that traded on effeminacy, it is no wonder that some become hostile to all things feminine. Many of my gay male students, upon identifying as gay, quickly disavow any association with “flaming queens.” Part of this has to do with my location in Texas. Yet, I think that elements of what they say can be seen everywhere in the queer community. These students see any signs of effeminacy as only reenforcing stereotypes of gay men and “making it harder for the rest of us.” Some gay men get caught in the trap of not wanting to be seen as “sissy,” even as adults. I am not immune to these gender pressures. At times, I still find myself questioning if I will sound too nelly. We have to learn to lose this type of gendered garbage.

I have seen first-hand the extremes that some gay men will go to prove their masculinity to themselves. Rather than owning that they were the little boy who couldn’t catch the ball, they spend their adulthood compensating. Let’s call it, “Daddy Doesn’t Love Me Blues.”

Some gay men feel, probably subconsciously, that they must conform with masculine ideals because they are gay. They feel a desperation to distinguish themselves from other gay men. These men, though, continuously fail to recognize the actual diversity and complexity of the gay community. They don’t acknowledge that many gay men, unlike their experiences, had no problem catching that ball as a child and, therefore, feel no need to try so hard. Nor do they want to know the other gay men who find such ball-playing games silly (I am in the latter category, btw).

Gay men who unconditionally eschew either real or representations of queer effeminacy show the pervasive homophobia within the queer community. In their quest for an elusive and unattainable vision of a manly-self, they become determined to discredit epicene men from claiming their place within the gay community. They create a scapegoat within the community, but never truly part of their community. Effeminate gay men become those who can hold the blame for other gay men’s feelings of political, economic, social, and even sexual inadequacies. What enrages me is the attempt of these self-proclaimed manly men to rob other gay folk of their full dimensionality. These men claim to be above the performance of feminine traits, a claim both sexist and homophobic. Rather than being seen as one type of communal expression, effeminate men become a sign-post for what some gay men fear being. They dread being seen as deviant.

In many ways, gay men are more sensitive about attempts to perform masculinity. For this reason, we are also often better gauges of those with authentic inclinations and those who pretend to be something they aren’t. We need to challenge the poisonous dynamic of those who fear the feminine in themselves and others. Unquestioningly embracing a manly ideal of a strong, ball-throwing, impassive, independent individual sets us down a perilous road. It also distorts or eliminates the multiplicity of identities which inform our queer experiences.

Our silence obscures the truth of the total queer community. We should embrace that our queer desires make us deviant. Our sexuality means we will never truly be "one of the guys," regardless of how many home-runs we may hit. But that deviancy also creates our sense of unity. Our deviancy can challenge, rather than reenforce, expectations about gender.

I Have Returned

Over the past few days, I visited my family. There is something healing about returning to New Mexico for me. Looking out the window of the plane, I feel reassured seeing the familiar mountains stretching out in greeting. Breathing the scorched, red dust reawakens me.

I dreaded having to return to Texas and face the bad situation here. The consequences of my poor decisions and misplaced trust doesn’t make me happy. I have great hope, though, for my emerging future.

While home, I had a chance to meet a couple of friends that I literally had not seen in years. I also made plans to see others when I return again at Christmas.

My family, of course, offered the greatest comfort to me. When I go back to New Mexico, I don’t just see my parents and sisters. My father’s entire extended family still resides nearby and I made the rounds.

Despite my deep commitment to being out for political reasons, I often stumbled at being out to the larger extended family. Even years after telling my immediate family of my gayness, my bravado consistently evaporated around my extended family, for whatever reason. As only age can permit, I now recognize how foolish I had been. Their sense of family means they stay committed to us all, offering whatever support they can when things seem bleak. I did them a great disservice.

In returning home, my thoughts also turned to the oft-told family stories that inspired me to become a historian. As a child, I listened to these tales, often impatiently, and only understanding them a bit. My father’s family had been in New Mexico when it still belonged to the fledgling Mexican Republic. They had not migrated to the U.S. Instead, the U.S. came to them. The Mexican central government abandoned them to the miseries of the invading army. Like all the other Mexicans in New Mexico, they faced a new government that treated them as second-class citizens on their own lands. Their new neighbors offered them only contempt.

Generations, however, eked out their existence working the unforgiving lands of New Mexico. When needed, they picked up hard labor for extra money. Until my generation, all suffered crushing poverty at some point in their lives.

Yet, they had not been crushed. They had not whined. They had not cursed their fate, they fought for their survival. If they had not had fortitude to withstand the unbearable, I would simply not exist. My recent experiences seem trivial in comparison. Returning to New Mexico restores my perspective and increases my resolve.

I often wonder if I would feel similar things going to Ireland. Certainly, my mother’s family faced harsh conditions before and after their migration to the U.S. I don't know, having never been there.

In New Mexico, however, my father’s unknown progenitors seem to surround me. As I drifted off to sleep, their shadows offered words of encouragement. If they were really there or not, I offer my thanks to them all the same.

Sacrificing Trees to the Tenure Gods

Every two months, the senior professors in my department revise the guidelines for reviewing all the junior faculty. You see, as a junior faculty member, my only goal in life is supposed to be obtaining tenure. Tenure means job security for life, but I must prove my worthiness to those who have already passed the tenure gates. How do I do this? In theory, through solid research and good teaching. In reality, through solid research and smart politics.

About this time of year, junior faculty assembly their dossier to show how much we have accomplished in the past year. The newest guidelines (version 10.01.01), however, has radically increased the amount of paper we must include. Let me give you an example from this new directive:

File E. The fifth file in your dossier should include documents supporting your service file. When you receive letters pertaining to service – thank-you letters for serving on committees, invitations to deliver scholarly presentations on campus, or correspondence relating to planning or participating on panels at professional organizations – KEEP THEM!!! And include them in this folder. If you have given a paper at a professional conference, tear out the pages from conference programs indicating the panel on which you participated and put them in this folder. (Emphasis in Original)

What does all of that mean? Two things: 1) Seemingly, the senior faculty think that we lie about doing service and won’t believe it without legal evidence. 2) We must now search through our e-mail to find all of our “documentation” if we ever talked to students.

Over the past four years, I have been asked numerous times to talk to student groups about Latinos in the U.S., or gays in the U.S., or gay Latinos in the U.S. I don’t mind providing this evidence per se, but it seems silly. In the end, speaking to 100 student groups would not get me tenure. Only research and politics hold the key to tenure. Speaking to zero student groups would not deny me tenure, either. Again, only research and politics. So, why the façade?

One has to think that the senior faculty imagine themselves as a cross between Perry Mason and a tax auditor. I have visions of being called into a little room with a spot light as they ask questions like: “So, GayProf, if that is your real name, you say that you spoke on a panel on March 23. None of us bother to attend anything where you are speaking, so why should we believe you? Admit it — You are bulking up your service file even though it will not result in any greater pay or increase your chances for tenure in any way.”

It also makes me wonder what they are going to start asking for next. They won’t believe we finished grade school, so will they want class photos from first grade? Maybe they will go all the way back and believe we weren’t born unless we preserved our umbilical cord.

Not including any of my research, my newest dossier file required an entire ream of paper (and I am still printing). If they are really reading all of this stuff, the senior faculty members have too much time on their hands. They ask, though, so we obey.

Fun with the Center of Gravitas

While away on my interview, my blog had its 5,000th visitor. For many bloggers, I know that is small potatoes. For me, though, I feel like frickin’ Edward R. Murrow if even two readers visit my blog.

As a thanks to all who have stopped by my little bloggy, I devised a drinking game for the Center of Gravitas. Not that you need to drink to read my blog, but, hey, it doesn’t hurt.

Don’t drink liquor? No problem! This game works with pills as well.

So, bring out the Patrón Tequila and take a meander through the archives to see how often the following occur:

Take one drink for every Golden Age Wonder Woman Cover.

Take two drinks for every Bronze Age Wonder Woman Cover.

Take a drink if you know the difference between Golden and Bronze Age Wonder Woman (You big Geek, I love you).

Take one drink for every time GayProf uses the word “dubious.”

Take one drink for every time GayProf refers to himself in the third person.

Take two drinks for every time GayProf refers to himself as a minor deity.

Take one drink for every mention of Anderson Cooper.

Take two drinks for every mention of Anderson Cooper being in the closet.

Take three drinks for every mention of Cydney Bernard.

Take four drinks for every mention of racism, sexism, or homophobia on GayProf’s campus (For this one, the number of drinks is merely to dull the pain, not an indication of infrequent mentions in the blog).

Take two drinks every time GayProf threatens to wear Star-Spangled panties.

Take one drink if you just conjured an image of GayProf wearing Star-Spangled panties. You deserve it.

Take one drink every time GayProf whines about Futurama's cancellation.

Take two drinks if you miss Futurama (You big Geek, I really, really love you).

Take three drinks for every entry with zero comments (because that just makes me sad).

Take one drink for every television reference.

Take two drinks for every time that GayProf admits to watching a t.v. show simply because some hunky male actor happens to star in it.

Take five drinks for every arcane historical reference.

Take four drinks for every time GayProf mentions the tenure process. Take an extra drink on GayProf’s behalf.

Take two drinks for every time GayProf promises to “be more positive” on his blog.

Take one drink for every time that a negative post follows a promise to be more positive.

Take one drink for every mention of the evils of Texas.

Take two drinks for every time GayProf notes that he is blogging instead of working and/or grading.

Take a drink if you don’t yet have alcohol poisoning.

SUPER BONUS ROUND: Fragments of obscure song lyrics hide within many of my blog entries. Take the whole bottle if you can find them.

Job Search, IV

Yesterday, I returned from my on-campus interview (thanks to all who sent good wishes!). I am proud to report that I needed no Xanax to make it through the interviews.

When I left, I hoped that the interview would provide me with a clear-cut better option than my life here. Sadly, easy solutions simply never exist.

Much about the university seemed positive. The department had an extremely collegial atmosphere. They seemed to respond to my research and presentation. The department has a fairly young and energetic faculty. Despite their heavy teaching-load, they also remain fairly productive. Also, my current research record would allow me to apply for tenure fairly shortly as their expectations are much more modest than my current position. Of course, the job is also not located in Texas, a major selling point in itself.

Things about the job made me cautious, though. Clearly the university gave preference to teaching over research. While I like teaching, my major interest has always been research (even if I am not that great at it). The teaching load would add an additional class each semester compared to my current job. Right now, I feel I am barely able to juggle all of these things with my current teaching load, and I don’t want to sacrifice my research.

I had also hoped for a university free of the racism, sexism, and homophobia that plagues my current institution. Certainly, that university had a much friendly environment (which isn't hard to acheive). Then again, when I stopped for a pee in the Student Union, I noticed that some angry student had etched “Kill All Beaners” on the wall above the urinal. A minor piece of graffiti, but it didn’t make me feel particularly welcome.

When I met with the director of Chicano Programs, she told a story typical to almost all universities. Administrators starved Chicano Programs from funding, but hope existed for change in the near future. She laid out the difficulties that Latino students face on campus, despite their being almost 40 percent of the student body. These things should not surprise me (Eden does not exist). Perhaps I wanted a rosier picture than is possible at any university.

My interview also had moments that just seemed simply weird. Given I am “out” in my job applications, the university arranged for me to meet with other queer faculty. This is actually a nice gesture on their part. It just turned out that their choice of people needed to think a bit more about her role in the hiring process.

Since no queer faculty currently works in the history department, they sent me to meet with a lesbian from another department. Clearly, she intended to be positive, so I don’t want to slam her at all. Yet, what she offered as a potential for a gay, single man in that small town seemed poorly thought out as a selling-point.

“If you don’t have a partner,” she offered, “I know that the first-floor men’s room in the library is a major cruising zone. It’s supposed to be easy to hookup there.” I don’t judge those who find these avenues rewarding (though I am very, very concerned about their health and safety), but the tearoom trade has never been my thing. It also strikes me as an odd image to put forward for a potential gay candidate without knowing anything about him.

The pay scale presents another major issue. Though some negotiating would occur if they offered me a job, that university’s pay-scale is radically lower than my current salary (without a significantly lower cost of living).

So, I end up being more ambivalent about the job than I anticipated. If they don’t make me an offer, I don’t predict I will be totally upset. If they do make an offer, I will have to do much thinking. Weighing the pluses and minuses would be tricky.

Sexism and Sexual Violence

Shakespeare's Sister has an important posting about the prosecution of a woman who filed rape charges. She raises vitally important issues in this case that we should all be aware about if we are interested in Social Justice (or actually, in this case, just Justice). Read the posthere.

Job Search, III

I am off today for my on-campus interview, which will last three days. Let’s see: I have packed a copy of my presentation in my brief case and my suitcase (just in case one should get lost). I also have a copy of my power point slide show on my USB drive, my handheld, and a disk (just in case one should get lost). I also packed a couple extra ties and shirts (one never knows). Plus, I have some extra Xanax, should things get rough. I should be set.

As I mentioned, it is a one out of three chance for me to get this job. So, the odds aren’t great. All the same, I am giving it my best. It is part of my new plan to be more of an active agent in my own life after a year of being tossed around emotionally. Along those lines, I have also arranged an apartment for myself starting at the end of the month. This should get me out of a very bad situation. For this weekend, at the very least, I should have some good food over the next couple of days!

If you have good thoughts for GayProf, send them to me as I could use the positive energy. If you are hostile to GayProf, wish me no harm, as I wish none on you.