He’s had a lover for five months, a 15-year-old boy whom he met through an ad in the Voice. “Ads are still better than bars for meeting people,” he said, and I replied, “I guess they must be a lot better for meeting 15-year-olds.”
June said Prof. Goodman told her I was “the golden boy of the MFA program.” And then she said, “Looking at you, I can see why.”
Fahey’s genius lies in his going on so long that you imagine that he’s been playing that guitar your entire life. I actually hoped that I could hear his music while sitting there in The Bottom Line forever.
I went to the beach, taking along two hitchhiking gay high school students who were nice but whom I could not really relate to. In Riis Park these days, men and women are totally nude.
I lingered on the Columbia campus for a while, scribbling in my notebook on the steps of Low Library before going over to Hungry Mac’s to have dinner.
I don’t know if I’m going to like this job, but it shouldn’t be too bad; and when it is, I’ll just have to remember how much worse it is not to be working at all.
The bright TV lights came on as I stood near the door. Mrs. Carter – Rosalynn – came in first. Then Jimmy came in, and the crowd was electrified. I was just a couple of feet away from him, and Secret Service agents would hardly let you get closer.
By the time I finish writing this, the Bicentennial Fourth of July will be over. I did just what I said I would not do, and was an observer at both Operation Sail and the harbor fireworks.
President Kneller conferred our degrees upon us. I was one of only three people among several thousand who stood when he asked candidates for the degree of Master of Fine Arts to rise.
Back in my room, we made love for hours. It was incredible: like they used to say in the Peter Paul Mounds Bar commercials, “indescribably delicious.”