The Russians have become a burden. They write as faithfully as ever, and as voluminously, but they say less and less. At the beginning and ending of each email are paragraphs of giddiness about how delighted they are to receive “letters” from me, and how happy they are to have found me. In middle paragraphs they write that they’re convinced I’m genuine and “different” from others, as if to reassure themselves, and they beg for me to be honest and truthful to them in all matters—for it is the only way love flourishes.

Both have announced their love for me, and have spoken of our lives together, this together with a perfunctory allowance for the possibility that I may think of them as mere boys, that I many not feel quite the same as they do. But in the next sentence there’s more discussion of when we’ll meet, our undying love, etc. In any email there are perhaps two or three sentences upon which I can build any sort of reply. I can’t muster the energy to keep up this correspondence much longer. Sergey writes that I give him “new vivifying strength.” Vivifying? I don’t even use that word. How do Russians know such words?

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Since writing this I’ve heard from another person who was contacted from his gay.com profile by a Russian, an “Ivan.” We’ve been comparing notes on our Russians, and he’s done some research about this Russian scam. He tells me the letters he receives are numbered consecutively, presumably to keep tract of which pre-written, canned letters have been sent and which have not. He he These scam artists are smooth. I told him that I was continuing to write because it was entertaining, but that lately it’s become more burdensome than amusing. I had thought I might continue until these people either tire of my non-committal, frivolous emails or actually get to the point of asking for money. Today that point was reached. Sergey says he went to an agency to see what it would take to get a visa to the U.S. Options were laid out, and costs were enumerated. All told, it’ll take about $420 in U.S. dollars. To save this much himself it will take 4-5 months, after he pays his bills, and assuming he does not help his parents. I’m tempted to reply, asking if I should then plan to see him sometime in June?

But what about the cost of the flight and other travel? Maybe I should offer to make his arrangements for an apartment here in Rochester, once of course he sends me the $1000 in U.S. currency for a security deposit. He mentioned 3 times that he’ll have to take an HIV test before he’s allowed a visa. Is that supposed to elicit empathy or something, or maybe put me at ease that he’s HIV negative? I haven’t answered him yet, but I think I’m going to ask about the cost of the flight, and then act disappointed that it’ll be another year and a half before he’s saved enough money. What a test of our love!

(Actually, I just responded to him. This is what I wrote: “What about the cost of the flight? You haven't considered that. It will surely take a $1000 or more. To save that much will take you a year or two. I'm willing to wait that long. Are you?”) ha ha

Just a quick word about Judge Alito. He will be confirmed, and he’ll take his place with Scalia, Thomas, and Roberts. The court will be more conservative than it is now, deferring to legislative and executive power in nearly all significant cases. This group of justices will marginalize the Supreme Court. That is what they want, though I don’t understand it. But there have been long stretches in the nation’s history in which the courts have been marginal players among the three branches. We’re entering another. It’s not the end of the world. Those seeking redress in the courts will have to sift their focus and their efforts to the legislatures. I don’t think this is necessarily bad. For too long legislatures have been protected by the courts from their own bad legislation, and their own bad animus. When the cover of the courts is taken away, I think public opinion may well be advanced in some cases. I’m thinking about gay rights. It’s on my mind. But the same may be true of other things. I heard today that if Roe v. Wade were abrogated (which I don’t believe it will be), 9 states have laws on the books to outlaw abortion. A considerable majority believes in the right to an abortion. Let those 9 states try to sustain their ban, and let’s see how those states stand up to the pressure of a far more progressive nation than is represented in that ban. For gay rights, maybe it’s time for the public opinion to catch up to where I believe we ought to be in the law. It takes time, and the best thing we can do to advance gay rights is to be open about who we are and to let our neighbors know that we’re queer. Invisibility is our greatest enemy, still today. Ok, enough on the political soapbox. I could write volumes, but I force myself not to write about political matters in this blog.

Saturday I went to Spot Coffee. As I found my way to a table along the window at the front I saw an acquaintance from the gym. Let’s call him Ed. We waved and that was that. I booted up my laptop, opened a book, and began looking through my art glass lamp book while intermittently chatting on gay.com. There I was with a half a dozen gay chat windows open, profiles of nude men, and a busy conversation going on with a chatting man calling himself (I am not making this up), something like HungHugeInRochester. At one point I noticed Ed rise from his chair—I thought, to go to the restroom. But before I know it he’s headed directly toward me, no doubt to exchange a few words. He’s a chatty fellow. I scramble frantically to open a new browser window that will cover my sordid activities, but I can’t manage to do it. My friend has no sense of boundaries or discretion, and he bends over to see what I’m working on at my laptop. The look that came over his face spoke the words, “Oh, I see.” The stammering of my voice said, “Yes, I’m a raging homo. Now leave me the fuck alone you stupid twit.” He he Neither of us addressed the pink elephant staring at us from my laptop, and after a few minutes—truly a few minutes of senseless babbling—we both regained our heads. He lifted his head after examining what I was “working” on, and retained a smirk on his face for the rest of the encounter. I felt like an ass—first for chatting so openly on such a site, and then for being embarrassed for chatting on such a site. I’m certain he had assumed I was perfectly straight—or rather it wasn’t even an issue. Why would he think anything on the issue? We never talked about anything but workouts, houses, and our jobs (actually mostly his job—he liked to talk about himself mostly). As we chatted and pretended that all was fine, he tells me that he’s taking voice lessons through the Eastman community outreach program. He wants to be able to join a music group, a chorale group. And then he tells me he’s taking dance and ballet lessons. And soon I’m thinking I may have a recruit on my hands. Well, not really. He seems pretty straight to me, but goofy straight. He’s goofy. And he speaks out of the side of his mouth, like a Flintstones character might do. It’s . . . unsexy, to say the least. This is the guy who told me of an earlier career in modeling, before the civil engineering. He also writes poetry. I’ve been outed to a straight guy who’s a bigger homo than me.