Big Fat Hairy Living

I spent the afternoon with my mother and my sister. They got me two Brian Gluckstein lamps. They look great in my living room. They’re too tired to come to the party that my boyfriend is holding for me tonight, so I’m going to go without them. It would have been cool to have them meet my friends. This will be the first time I had a birthday party, and I won’t have to do any of the work. How novel!

Some people are immensely stupid. For example, David Fudge is a real bright light. He wrote a letter to the Toronto Star about a (now-defeated) proposal to provide local MPs and MPPs with free transit passes in an attempt to get them to ride the TTC in the hopes that they would realize the system’s problems. Some of the stuff he writes is so stupid, I feel like slapping him. He writes:

Why would anyone bother to buy a [Metropass] if they are just going to and from work?

Well, if all one is doing is going to and from work and one doesn’t place any value on the convenience of a Metropass, then of course it doesn’t make sense to buy one. Some people — me, for example — could afford a car but choose not to own one. If one rides the TTC everywhere, it makes perfect sense.

There is a quote from TTC chief general manager Rick Ducharme in the article which proves that lowering the cost of the monthly pass would not hurt the TTC as much as it makes the public think … Ducharme noted the cost of the free passes would be `basically nothing.’ … If the cost of free passes to all Toronto MPs and MPPs would be “basically nothing,” and the reason for giving the passes is to encourage them to ride, why not give those of us who actually buy the passes a break?

It’s called marginal cost, you asswit. With a transit system that carries 550,000 people a day, the marginal cost of adding one rider to the transit system is essentially zero. The marginal cost of adding 44 MPs and MPPs to the transit system is still essentially zero. Now imagine providing everyone with a Metropass a discount. Any discount large enough to encourage more people to ride in significant numbers would not only increase operating costs (the marginal cost of tens of thousands of extra riders is significant — imagine the vehicles and drivers required to carry tens of thousands more people riding each day), but also result in lost revenue. Furthermore, even assuming they don’t use the system more, where would the TTC make up the revenue it loses merely by giving a discount? In the absence of any additional external funding source, how could the TTC possibly do this? Where would the money come from?

The Toronto Transit Commission should start thinking like a normal business instead of one funded by the government. If it put a little bit of planning and advertising and value into its product, it would see an incredible amount of income from new riders.

The first thing the TTC would do were it to start thinking like a normal business would be to cut most of its suburban routes, where densities are too low to support profitable transit. And anyway, it’s kind of difficult for the TTC to act “like a normal business” when it has no access to private capital — and private investors would certainly insist that TTC eliminate unprofitable routes regardless of whether they’re important to the people who live there or not. “Thinking like a normal business” means maximizing profit, and maximum profit is not necessarily obtained by maximizing the number of customers; anyone who studied high school economics can tell you that. Furthermore, the TTC does not, and should not, exist to make a profit. It exists to provide a necessary social service.

Regarding planning, the TTC puts a great deal of thought and study into planning its routes; there is also significant public consultation around its yearly service plans and its other minor route changes throughout the year. Claiming that the TTC needs more “planning” is to put it charitably, something only an uninformed idiot would say.

What attracts riders is convenience and good service, and to get the TTC up to the service level it was at when it had peak ridership in the late 1980’s requires more vehicles, more drivers, and more transit lines. That doesn’t happen without money, be it public or private; idiotic proposals like advertising do nothing to add “value.”

In other words, shut up, David Fudge. You idiot.

Ringing the buzzer at my boyfriend’s apartment, I was scared shitless. My mouth was dry and I felt like I was going to vomit. The boyfriend seemed to think it was cute, which is sweet but thoroughly unhelpful.

I’d seen his parents in pictures, so their appearance wasn’t much of a surprise. I could see a bit of a family resemblance: The boyfriend definitely has his father’s jaw but otherwise is something of a mix of his parents. His mother was very quiet and, for the most part, stayed quiet for the rest of the evening. His father started talking to me immediately, catching me off guard. Apparently he has an iMac and has been having trouble with the spell checker in Word. He reminisced about the trouble-free operation of his Performa 550 and declared Mac OS X “the biggest fraud ever.” His father is definitely what I’d call a curmudgeon.

We went to an Italian restaurant down the street. Conversation was polite but there were definitely plenty of awkward silent moments; I was frightened to death, so I didn’t involve myself in the conversation very much except for when my boyfriend prompted me. His father was probably nervous too, so he stuck to topics he knew about: old art galleries in Ottawa, the Mafia in Montreal, and the fact that all his friends are now dead. I felt relieved by the fact that I knew nothing about anything he was talking about, because it eliminated the expectation that I would involve myself in the conversation. In retrospect, there were several opportunities where I could have made comments, but I froze up and didn’t take them.

Once the food arrived, everyone stopped talking. His parents are of the “Our son is gay but let’s not think about it” school of thought, so they were probably nervous too. I’m the first boyfriend he’s ever introduced to his parents; not only do I represent walking, talking proof of their son’s gayness, but now they have to share their only baby with someone.

His interaction with his father is a little strange. His father would say something that was a little off and he would challenge him a little, then pull back immediately. At times it seemed like he was trying hard to be patient with his father, but the impression I got of the whole evening was that he enjoyed being with his parents. His interaction with his father seemed to me almost like the embarrassment that teenaged kids have about their uncool parents: they’re embarrassed because their parents are uncool, but also feel guilty because they do still love them. I got the overwhelming impression that he and his parents love each other a great deal, even though his parents feel awkward about the fact that he’s gay. The fact that they met me for dinner is proof that they’re trying hard to accept all aspects of him, not just the ones they’re comfortable with.

Lounging around in his apartment was slightly less stressful. The boyfriend’s roommate was there, providing me someone to latch onto and talk with (Later, after the boyfriend’s parents left, he said that I looked like I was going to shit my pants.) We had a cake that his mother made, a German cake that reminded me very much of a kind of cake my mother bakes. His parents left after about an hour, at which point I visibly deflated and the roommate started teasing me about being scared shitless because of the whole situation. The boyfriend said that I passed with flying colours and that his parents liked me.

It was interesting seeing him in a different light, as a son rather than as a 47 year old man. I’ve seen him as both the worldly experienced “daddy” and as my equal in our relationship, but never as someone’s son.

My boyfriend’s parents are in town from Ottawa this week and he’s having me meet them for dinner tonight. What will I say to people who are 50 years older than me, old enough to be my grandparents? He’s convinced that they’ll like me as much as he does and that I shouldn’t worry because “their bark is worse than their bite.” Apparently his parents are gruff but well-meaning.

This would be so much easier if I didn’t suffer from intense social anxiety. I’m so nervous that I feel like puking.

The driver on the streetcar yesterday commented on my T-shirt, the “Joe Coffee Demolition” shirt Adam gave me at Pride. “I like your T-shirt. Cool!” It gets me comments wherever I go!

Today at work we had our “Picnic in the Park,” a hideous affair made better only by the presence of pizza and fried chicken (”Halal” chicken from a no-name restaurant). I showed up, ate the free food, socialized just enough to maintain the impression that I don’t want to strangle them all, then left as soon as I could. I spent most of the rest of the afternoon sleeping. Tortured dreams are much more relaxing than the sound of boorish engineers talking about PCB manufacturing over crappy fried chicken.

It was either that or go back to the office and struggle with poorly designed CAD software, another shining example of the fundamental inhumanity of engineers.

iChat, Apple’s new AIM program, is great. Finally, AIM chat with a decent interface! Even a lot of people seem to dislike iChat’s “chat bubbles” feature, I love the bubbles.

The chat bubbles are especially great when you’re talking to someone with a great sense of humour, because anything funny looks even funnier in a coloured speech bubble! How can you not chuckle at something like this?

For the first time in a long time, I went to the Toolbox. It was mildly interesting, and I exchanged glances with a few guys who were interested in me, but I was lacking in both energy and desire.

Lots of people were cruising the boyfriend. It’s interesting having a boyfriend who’s widely regarded as a stud machine; people were touching him and woofing him all night. He seemed to take it in stride. It’s sort of an ego boost to know that I picked such a good one!

Repeat after me: A 14-year old is not a child.

I caved in and ordered .Mac. I can’t resist the price they’re charging for 100MB of online storage and a 15MB IMAP mailbox.