Tuesday, March 06, 2001

Alpha Male: D

Dust: I live in the dustiest house in the world. Don't get me wrong; I'm ordinarily a pretty tidy guy, but dust sneaks up on me. I'll wipe down the headboard of my bed (or, as I like to refer to it, the "entertainment center") on Sunday and somehow, by Wednesday, there's a eighth-inch thick layer of fine dust built up. I'm told that most household dust comes from cast-off skin cells. If that's the case, I could probably assemble a few extra clones if I had enough glue.

I've tried everything short of hermetically sealing the house. I particularly notice dust building up on the TV screens and computer monitors, but it's not uncommon for me to pick up change off the dresser I dusted as recently as a week ago and find pristine circles where my pennies were.

A couple of years ago, I went out to a nightclub on a weeknight, a rare occurence at the time. I was thinking I looked pretty smart: black trousers, tight black sweater (back when I could wear tight clothing without hyperventilating), kicky black boots. However, what I didn't know was that the nightclub was sponsoring a "White Night", apparently something they'd be advertising for some time. Somehow I'd missed that detail. So I walk in the door, pay my cover and look up from my wallet to realize that everyone in the bar is decked out in white t-shirts, sailor pants, ball caps, the works. Except me.

There have been many occasions at bars, discos, circuit parties and, particularly, gymnasia, on which I have felt like the odd man out but seldom moreso than this night. Still, I was resolved to have a good time in dark clothing. Hey, this was a gay crowd, right? They can appreciate diversity. I ordered a drink and tucked myself into a corner to survey the crowd.

I stood there for half an hour, maybe 45 minutes, fielding all sorts of strange stares from the passing pretties. I assumed it was simply because I was dressed to look like Johnny Cash after he'd been deflated for easy storage. Finally, a friend I'd spotted across the bar came over and pointed out, through her giggles, that I was standing beneath a blacklight. Billions of miniscule dust motes which were invisible at home covered my outfit, making me look like the Tegrin poster child.

I downed my drink, walked out the door and headed home, wondering idly if the "boy in the bubble" ever got laid.