Dreams

Jeff

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LONESTAR: Set against the sprawling backdrop of big Texas oil, Robert/Bob Allen (newcomer James Wolk) is a charismatic and brilliant schemer who has entangled himself in a deep, complex web from which he can’t break free in LONESTAR premiering this fall on FOX. ©2010 Fox Broadcasting Co. CR: Bill Matlock/FOX

I’ve stumbled into a conundrum at work and I don’t know the best way to get out of it.  Or even if I need to get out of it.  Or even if I want to get out of it.

As you might know, I am back at Barneys.  There is a new parking system, one that was developed in the year that I was elsewhere.  We now park our cars tandem style with an attendant who directs us.  It’s a pretty thankless job because no one really wants to park in front of or behind another person.  The parking attendants are all saints, every one of them.

On one of my first days back, one of the attendants, asked me my name and I told it to him.  He wrote my name and where in the store that I worked and placed it on my windshield in case he or another attendant needed to locate me to move the car for the person in front of me.

A couple of weeks ago, I received a revelation from my friend.  I don’t know his name and obviously, I should know his name.  He is my co-worker and not just any co-worker, one who always greets my kindly even though his job is, like I said, completely thankless.  Actually, it’s worse than thankless because most of us grumble that we don’t want to park tandem style to him as if all of these parking arrangements had been his idea in the first place.  That being said, it feels too far along in our working relationship for me to, out of the blue, ask him his name.

Anyway, here is the conundrum: he thinks my name is Jeff.  On the slip he puts on my windshield, he now writes Jeff and that I work in the restaurant.  As I park in the morning and say hello on my way to the elevator, he says, “Thanks, Jeff, have a great day!”

And I’m really torn.  On one hand, he should probably know my name.  If they need me to move my car and he calls the restaurant looking for Jeff, it might be a while before the deductions are made that I am indeed Jeff.

And I don’t want to say, “Hey, I’m actually not Jeff, I’m Ray.”  I’ve never been good at delivering those messages without sounding like at the bare minimum, passive aggressive, and at worst, well, let’s just say “jerk”.  Did I mention he’s probably the nicest guy who works in the whole store?

Every day, when he says, “Have a great day, Jeff,” I wonder when and if I’m going to break the news to him.

But I don’t think it will be any time soon, because, between you and me, I get a certain thrill when he calls me Jeff.  When he calls me Jeff, I am not Ray. Ray is fine, not horrible, but Jeff seems so rife with possibility.

I really want to be Jeff.  Even though, obviously, others think Jeff looks like me, I see Jeff SIMILAR to me, but better.  Brown eyes, brown hair, yes.  But Jeff weighs 15 pounds less than Ray, he’s also an inch taller.  Also, he’s 36.  He looks like James Wolk from Mad Men and he has a killer smile and when Jeff walks by (or just parks his car) people always comment to themselves, “Man, I love that Jeff.”

Like Ray, Jeff is gay, has a significant other and dogs at home, but Jeff played high school football.  (He wasn’t so great, but everyone loved him.) Ray and Jeff both drive the same car, obviously, but Jeff keeps his Jetta a little neater than Ray.  There aren’t about 25 parking passes from the pool at Park La Brea strewn about Jeff’s Jetta.  Also, Jeff washes his car every other Sunday morning, whether it’s his day off or not.

Jeff is midwestern like Ray.  He’s super excited because his memoir about growing up in the midwest is getting ready to come out soon.  (Simon and Schuster, if you can believe it.) He wonders if, when the book comes out, he’ll be able to stop working a day job.  Either way, it’s all good.  Everything always works out for Jeff.  He’s super grateful to have corporate health insurance again.

Jeff is mostly perfect.  His one flaw, if you can even call it that, is that he’s always posting motivational sayings on his Instagram.  “We get it, you’re totally glass half full, Jeff,” his friends say, kidding, but they still adore him.  Can’t stay mad at Jeff!

I could go on, but you get the point.

You see, it’s been kind of a big summer for Ray.  There were some sad things that happened, some great things too.  I took a risk leaving a job that I hated to go back to Barneys and, while no job is perfect, I am truly glad to be back and to have corporate insurance again.  I didn’t blog as much as I hoped to and now I’m kicking myself a little because I’m feeling a little rusty now.  I went to New York in August and ached before I went and ached after.  Will I ever love a city more than I love New York?

And you know, here I am, trying to wrap up a simple blog about social etiquette that has morphed into a confession of being at a point where I’d just like to have a little bit more.  Be a little bit more.  Perhaps you can relate.

Don’t we all just want our life to be a little more awesome?

Unless you’re Jeff.

Well, maybe even if you’re Jeff.

 

Dream Your Dreams!

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1476352_10153534656775128_2017242665_nI just returned from a night out in West Hollywood.  I met up with one of the kids who was in my youth group back when I was a youth minister in Missouri.  He is a gymnastics coach and teacher in San Diego.  I haven’t seen him for a few years, the last time was 2009, but I feel that we have a connection that will always endure.

He posted a picture of us to Facebook with the caption “with my high school youth minister turned West Hollywood gay comedian. I’m being serious.” Several people clicked like and a few commented that you can’t make things like that up. I’ve certainly written about my years as a youth minister before, specifically here. There is a regret that I sometimes feel that I let these kids down by going to New York and leaving the ministry. Some of those kids are still very conservative Christians and others have gone in other directions. Regardless of the path their lives have taken, I love them all and I treasure the time I got to spend with them. I hope I helped them love God and their families and their friends and their selves a little more.

I love so much about Facebook. While scrolling through the messages that Olin and I had sent to each other in the last few years, I came across a picture he’d sent me of an old Christmas card I gave him in 1991. image_1356835853716789
“I know that you will go far in life. Dream your dreams!” And in the 22 years since that Christmas, he has gone far in life and I’d say that he has dreamed his dreams. I’m very proud of Olin and the man he has grown into.

A few years ago, he told me that one of the reasons he became a coach was because of me and the influence I had on him when I was his youth minister. I don’t tell you this to brag, in fact, I’m telling you this to confess just how much his words meant to me when he told me. Maybe I’ve made a few mistakes in my life, but maybe I’ve done a few things right, too.

So, tonight we drank Hefeweizen (him) and Maker’s Mark (me) and talked about California life and El Dorado Springs and parents and men and dreams. I’m not that 23 year old from the Christmas card anymore, but my wishes will always be the same. To Olin, and the rest of you from Park Street: I hope 2014 is a super year for you. I know you will continue to go far in life and always, dream your dreams!

Second Thoughts

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1347469654_oprah-winfrey-jane-fonda-441Last night, after I had written my most recent post, You Wouldn’t Even Dream That You Could Dream of a Moment Like This, I hesitated before clicking, ‘Publish.’  I wrestled with this feeling that here I was, taking the words of a black man who was talking about an experience that essentially belonged to a specific group of people, African Americans, and making it about me, a white male.  

On one hand, I’m a blogger, that’s what bloggers do, make everything about themselves.  They aspire to do it in a way that makes people see themselves in what’s been written, but there is a self-absorption inherent and even necessary in blogging. Last night, I wondered if I was making a mistake by writing about this quote in the way that I did.  Was I misinterpreting what Eugene Allen said?  Was there enough width to his comment that it could potentially inspire anyone who ever struggled with the idea of a dream being so unrealistic (at a certain vantage point) that one can’t see it as a possibility? 

Because I am obsessed with all thing Oprah, I woke up to an article on Yahoo about Oprah saying she was sorry that the recent Swiss store incident has turned into the international story.  It seems that in July, Oprah was in Zurich for Tina Turner’s wedding.  She went into a store and did not receive the customer service she hoped to receive.  She talked about the experience on a entertainment news show, while promoting The Butler and the story blew up.  The woman at the store retaliated with her own interview saying, “I don’t know why she is making these accusations.  She is so powerful and I am just a shop girl.”  Who really knows how the exchange went down.  Everyone has their side of any story and usually both people bear some culpability when bad behavior happens.  Could racial prejudice have played a part in this exchange?  Absolutely.  When I heard about the incident initially, I thought, oh, I’m sure it’s the shop girls fault.  You KNOW how Europeans are!  

If anyone was offended by my last post, I do apologize.  If anyone read it and thought, you don’t understand what it means to be black, you’re right, I don’t.  Sometimes I THINK I do, but ultimately, I don’t understand what it means to be black.  There is a saying that there is a black woman inside the soul of every gay man.  It’s glib, but I also think it’s kind of true.  I’ll never forget watching Fame and thinking that more than anyone, I wanted to be Coco.  I still want to be Coco.  (Arch your back a little, Coco.  Smile for me.)  I certainly don’t identify all that much with straight white males, I think nearly every one of my 73 blog posts affirms that statement.  If I am writing in a public forum, I am asking to be judged by words and my actions.  I hope I never come off as someone who sees himself as the expert about anything. I want to be part of the conversation, the dialogue. And if you are reading this, annoyed or not, and you read my last post, annoyed or not, AND you did not know who Eugene Allen was before you read my last post, I do feel that on some level, I succeeded because I’m really glad you know more about Eugene Allen. I’m also glad that, warts and all, you know a little more about me.

You Wouldn’t Even Dream That You Could Dream of a Moment Like This

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images-2Today, I was watching Oprah’s Next Chapter, and Oprah was interviewing Lee Daniels, Forest Whitaker and David Oyelowo about their upcoming film, The Butler.  I can’t wait to see it and not just because it’s Oprah’s first movie in 15 years. (And not to mention Jane Fonda as Nancy Reagan!) I can’t make it through the trailer without tearing up, so I can imagine how the entire movie will affect me.  

The movie is loosely based on the life of an African American man named Eugene Allen who worked at the White House for eight different presidents, initially washing dishes and stocking cabinets, but ultimately rising to the position of maître d’hôtel.  He was invited to the President Obama’s inauguration and when interviewed by The Washington Post, he said, “I never would have believed it, in the 1940s and 1950s, there were so many things in America you just couldn’t do. You wouldn’t even dream that you could dream of a moment like this.”  

This post is not about politics or whether you think Barack Obama is doing a good job as a president. I myself am not writing about race, I do not purport to be an expert on the topic. I actually feel clumsy talking about it, even a little. It’s just that ever since I watched Oprah read this quote, it’s all I’ve thought about. We all dream. Sometimes the dreams are big, sometimes they are small, sometimes the dreams affect many, sometimes the dreams are only personal. But we all have dreams and buried under all the stuff that fills our brain, we also have dreams that we don’t even acknowledge, even to ourselves. Perhaps that is out of fear of disappointment or fear of failure or fear of not being worthy.  So, as a suggestion, tonight as you lay your head on your pillow, close your eyes and ponder your dreams. Spend a moment thinking about Eugene Allen or other people whose lives have inspired you. And ask yourself what is the dream that you would not dare to dream.