I considered backing out of coming to the White Party. And it wasn't because of my recent back injury - at least not directly. I just wasn't feeling the mood. To enjoy something like the White Party you really have to come in a carefree, confident mood. Instead I was feeling a little out of shape, and a fair amount out of sorts. I'm realizing how much of my self-confidence rests on feeling strong, goodlooking and healthy. And how much of a blow to my mood it is to take an enforced break from the gym. Lord, what will I do when I really do start to look and feel middle-aged.

Let's leave that unpleasant prospect aside for now. As you can see, I did come to the White Party. I staged a rally in the last two days before flying up Thursday night, and by the time I arrived in Ontario Airport I was finally beginning to look forward to the weekend. Yet events seemed to be conspiring against my expectations. First, of course, there'd been the back injury. And now I ended up in a horrendous traffic jam on East 10 at midnight. There were two distinct problems; the first was bad enough - they'd shut down all the lanes except one for construction, and we crawled for a good 90 minutes. Then everything opened up, and I throttled back up again for a good fifteen miles before hitting the second snarl, an unexplained backup which had us inching forward. By twelve-thirty, with no end in sight, I took an exit and decided to spend the night in a motel in Banning. To make matters worse, as I lay down to sleep (as best I could given the motel occupied a narrow strip between a congested side road and the freeway) I felt the beginnings of a potential cold stirring in my throat.

Things started to look up in the morning. I didn't feel any worse than the night before - the cold still hadn't progressed - and the traffic was free and clear all the way into Palm Springs. I was to stay with Tom, a man I'd met and recently hosted in San Francisco through LGHEI (the gay & lesbian hospitality exchange program). It was too early to stop by Tom's, so I found a Starbucks in "historic Palm Springs village", right on the border of the "historic Plaza Theater District". The Starbucks had an extensive outside seating area (oh, how I wish San Francisco had warmer evenings so we could do the outside thing too), and I sat there with my New York Times, discreetly watching the neatly attired "historic" locals, most of whom seemed to be retired from the East Coast judging by their interest in the Manhattan-local news section of the Times.

Palm Springs, Good Friday, 7.45 a.m.

Just when I thought that my spate of bad luck was receding, I had a dose of reality from the front page of the Times, with the accounts of the pedantic, unrevealing, unhelpful testimony of Condoleeza Rice on the right hand side of the page, and more terrible news of destabilization in Iraq on the left. I've been harrassed by a feeling that we're heading into one of the darkest periods of American history. I felt that the frivolity of a party weekend in Palm Springs seemed a little like ducking my head in the desert sand. The tragedy of our hopeless position in Iraq - an unnecessary war, ineptly executed, that can only result in disgrace for the U.S., anarchy in Iraq, and burgeoning terror for the rest of us - moves me almost to tears. The only silver lining in all of this (and it's silver tinged with blood red) is that it will likely lead to the culprit-in-chief being booted out of office in November.

On to happier thoughts. I did indeed end up having a wonderful day yesterday - twenty-two hours of friendship, beauty, and fun. After checking in with Tom, and meeting his gorgeous boxer dog, I drove the couple of miles onto Palm Springs airport to go to Golds Gym for a good workout. Then I drove over to go for lunch with John Paul, one of my best friends, who's unexpectedly in Palm Springs for the weekend staying with our mutual friend Ed. John Paul and I spend much of the afternoon on Ed's patio, with the 9000 foot mountain that dominates Palm Springs as a backdrop solving the world's problems and talking of our own.

Under the desert sun

This weekend, I almost know more people here in Palm Springs than in San Francisco. My friends Scott and David have a part-time residence here and they were both in town. Late afternoon, I stopped by to hang out for a while in their beautifully landscaped backyard. It was the first time I'd seen their Palm Springs house, and, as expected, it was ready for Wallpaper magazine to waltz right in and start snapping photos. They have impeccable taste, and the means to execute it. For my part, it could have done with some more color - maybe some paintings - but perhaps they hadn't been able to agree with their co-owners on works they could all accept.

As soon as the hot desert sun ducked behind the mountain, I took off to go for a run along the quiet streets underneath. It was still warm and somewhat humid, but nonetheless gorgeous and peaceful. There was a feeling of infinite freedom in running free with nothing more than shorts and sneakers. Ahead of me, mountain shoulders reared up, each successive one fading into a greater mysterious mistiness in the evening, with the last shafts of light picking out remote details, and towering fluffy clouds sitting immobile above the mountain flanks.

I made a mad dash home, threw on a quick shower, dressed in a sexy shirt and drove over to party central (the Wyndham Hotel) to pick up B (the guy who I've been getting to know recently in LA). We drove back over to Scott and David's for their barbecue. It was a nice, small party - I think just four guys other than me, B, Scott and David. We lounged outside, watching the stars brighten as the night deepened. It was the first time I'd spent time with B and other people, so it was my chance to see how well socialized he was. No problems there.

And finally it was time to party. We went back to the hotel, and got changed in B's room. I was beginning to feel unself-confident once again, as I saw myself in the mirror, looking too thin I thought. Still, there was no avoiding it. The theme of the night's party was "Dungeons and Drag Queens"; but few people (including myself) had gone with the theme, although B looked the part in tight, vinyl pants, a harness and a dog color. If his students (he's a professor at a famous University in LA) could see him now I'm not sure they wouldn't cancel his class.

For a while, I thought I wasn't going to get into the right mood. But I shouldn't have worried. A few drinks helped ease the path. I flirted shamelessly with the bartenders to get especially strong drinks. A sample: "What can I get for two drink tickets?" - "Not too much" - "Okay, what can I get for two drink tickets and a smile?" The evening went so fast. B and I danced almost non-stop for six hours, either by ourselves, or with my friend T, or with B's good friends from LA (who are also going on the Med cruise with us this Summer). I don't remember the last time I had the urge to stay out dancing until four-thirty. It was great fun, and even by the time we retired to B's room I was still not quite ready for bed. We lay together for a while, but I was concerned to get a good night's sleep so around five I drove back to Tom's place and crashed.

Now it's one in the afternoon, and I'm sitting outside a Starbucks near Tom's place. As soon as I've finished this paragraph I'm going back over to the Wyndam to meet up with B for the afternoon pool party. I only got four hours sleep last night, so I'm hoping a snooze by the pool will set me up for tonight - the big event.