around the perimeter

A Year(ish) in Food

2011-02-02T21:42:00.008-05:00

It's been embarassingly long since I've posted anything. I have the white person disease where you only write/create when you're angry or bitter and I guess I've been happier these days. Austin helps. I love my/our friends there and all the vitamin D from the sun is doing me good. My territory for work grew in size for a short time and I had the opportunity to travel to California a good deal and catch up with old friends while on business trips over the past few months. LA, San Francisco and a Memorial Day Trip to New York made for some rediculous dinners and nights out on the company card. I feel the need to document some of the highlights and stay one step ahead of Gwyneth Fucking Paltrow:

I would kill a baby for this lamb burger. The charcuterie was rediculous as well.

Hello, duck fat english muffin with duck liver mousse, bacon and soft egg.

Not your Aunt Theresa's trashy Rigatoni.

Turkey Leg Braised in Milk Sandwich.

Snap. Crakle. Pop. Asian.

Sittin' Up in Brandy's Room.

Strangely, my favorite part about this place was the wallpaper and the iced coffee (with frozen coffee ice cubes! Shut. Up.).

I could eat this Margherita Pizza everyday for the rest of my life.

Sometimes you get the prix fixe with Deb.

Sometimes you drink the afternoon away with Deb.

Then you go get oysters and Sancerre like nothing ever happened with Deb.

For the walk of shame you might meet friends for Champagne and a Burger that COMES WITH FUCKING BERNAISE SAUCE with Deb.

When in San Francisco, you might have to eat this chicken as a right of passage.

Or you could always get the fucking white truffle tasting menu here.

Take a walk of food-shame the next morning here and get yourself a latte.

Take your best friend to learn about fish poop wine that will knock your socks off. Don't forget to close the gate.

Don't tell the San Franciscans but this chicken might rival Zuni. AND the bartenders are hotter.

I want to spread everything in this place all over my body.

Drive down the coast for these peaches and burrata and wash it down with Dolcetto.

After an early morning swim, take your friend to brunch.

Don't forget to take her away for her 30th birthday.

That is all for now. Suck it, Gwyneth.

Mind Your T's and Q's

2010-05-05T21:25:00.005-04:00

Some of my best friends are straight. Insert sarcasm. Amazingly, when you function as a productive member of society and you happen to be gay, you basically have to learn how to navigate and manipulate the heterosexual society in order to promote the Gay Agenda.

Kidding. Sort of.

It's funny, so many times when Essie and I meet people (and if there is alcohol) someone invariably blurts out, "you guys are totally not event gay" as if it were a compliment to "pass" as a straight person. "I mean, you guys are so normal." Um, thanks? I'm lucky (?) to be the type of gay who holds a corporate job in a white, straight, male dominated industry. I prefer preppy fashion. I don't act like Carson Kressley. I'd rather listen to Radiohead than Britney Spears. This just happens to be me. It's also not me all the time. Sometimes I really like to queen out, which might make those acquaintances slap their words between two slices of San Francisco sourdough and bite down harder than a nipple clamp in the Castro.

I'm afraid that people think I'm assimilating when, in fact, I'm trying to colonize. I know someone who always says that "you can't be a little prejudiced" when we're talking pro-gay issues. I wonder if she would still be so open if I said that I wanted to get a sex change. People like gay as long as it kinda sorta looks like them.

Same goes for the new gay bourgeois. There is a wave of gay men who want marriage the way heteros have it. They only accept people who look like them. They are afraid of transsexuals and deplore polyamorous relationships. They want to be as heteronormative as possible.

Frankly, I love the queers. As gay becomes more and more mainstream, I feel like it's my responsibility to help and support the queers on the fringes of society who we still ignore, taunt, and terrorize.

I'm afraid that the same men who want to make people comfortable with their brand of gay, don't know their history. Act Up, The AIDS quilt, die-ins on the capitol in the 80's are all distant memories of a generation who barely exists because their peers perished. Sean Penn as Harvey Milk painted a gay-lite version of a struggle pre-80's before the greatest disease of our generation decimated a population. While I'm happy that I don't have to deal with AIDS on a personal level or with my immediate friends, I envy the camaraderie that the LGBTQ community had amidst a health crisis some 20 years ago.

I believe that everyone must know their history in order to understand their identity. Everyone goes through an identity development process, predominantly in adolescence. The young baby gays can't let the sterilized TV versions of gay form who they become in adulthood.

I don't pray, but if I did, I would give thanks to the men who took their last breath at St. Vincent's and the lesbians who sat at their bedsides. I would praise their bravery and determination to live lives according to queer ideals. I would thank the drag queen who threw the first brick at the Stonewall riot. I would give a spiritual high five to Oscar Wilde and Virginia Wolfe.

I attribute who I have become as a homo to people who fought for their queer identities and demanded to be treated decently, not to Will & Grace, Queer Eye, Sex in the City, et al.

I want everyone on my lawn, no matter how queer. It's up to those of us who appear more hetero-friendly to be advocates for the T's and Q's of the LGBTQ community. You have to know you enemy and then you have to operate on their level and then you take over their empire and bring all your queers with you. We have to stop the ghettoizaion that happens in our community and broaden our understanding of what it means to be queer. Next time someone tells Essie and I that we're "not that gay" I'm going to ask, "What do you mean? What kind of gay people make you uncomfortable?" while subsequently applying pink lip gloss and stripping down to a sequined jock strap.

How To Survive a Recession

2010-04-12T23:39:00.004-04:00

“As life gets longer, awful feels softer.” –Modest Mouse

Today the DOW closed above 11,000 for the first time in 18 months. The S&P is approaching an important psychological benchmark of 1200. Companies added 160,000-ish jobs in March, the biggest jump in three years. Obama got his health care plan and the world didn’t end. The pandering of Republicans about imminent socialism and an end of free markets as we know it doesn’t seem to be playing out. The National Bureau of Economic Research says it’s too early to tell if we have come out of the recession, but it doesn’t take a weather man to look around and see the weather. It feels like the sun is peeking through some thick clouds at the end of a long thunderstorm.

I’m not posting this to brag about my circumstances or tell people what decisions to make with their lives. I still have friends who are tirelessly looking for jobs or taking jobs that they are grossly under qualified for. In hindsight, I have been extremely lucky the past 2 years. Even though the Great Recession really hurt (really, REALLY hurt) and there were times when I felt like all of my hopes and dreams were never going to come true, I now look back and appreciate the prudent choices that Essie and I made.

I have a stock market job. I was one of those d-bags who did really well through most of 2007 and 2008. While it was happening, I had this constant anxiety that my prosperity could be taken from me at any time. One should always be weary of euphoric markets. I was right. I remember landing in Colorado at noon on a Monday, turning on my blackberry to learn about the collapse of Lehman Brothers and the subsequent tanking of the stock market. Essie had two more semesters of grad school and we were supposed to start building our dream house in Austin within months. Please realize that we cut tens of thousands of dollars in architectural extravagances already, to get our costs in line with a realistic, affordable mortgage. (Meanwhile the bank never told us “no” and bent over backwards to over-leverage a frightening jumbo loan.)

Game over.

For the next year and a half my commissions were less than a third of what they were in 2007. Yes, I was extremely fortunate because my firm kept me on. Essie was working and we were ok. The house, however, would have to be postponed, lending dried up literally overnight. We now had to save 20% of the building costs in order to start construction (weeks prior we had been quoted as little as 5%). We now had two mortgages: One on a condo in Boston that we occupied and a note on the land we purchased in Austin. Neither mortgages were ridiculously high, but with the real possibility of lay-offs, we had to make some tough decisions, fast.

I think back on the Great Depression and realize how bitchy and spoiled we are. When families subsisted on one meal a day, we were losing our vacation homes to foreclosure. Essie and I made many lifestyle changes and cut out a lot of fat (sometimes literally) only to end up with more net worth than we had back in 2007.

Here’s what we did:

1. We immediately put our Boston condo on craigslist, found a renter and moved in with Essie’s parents. Not ideal for a couple of late twenty-something’s, but we made our biggest asset work for us and became cash-flow neutral after taxes. We put away a few thousand a month for our dream house down payment.

2. I interned at a wine shop. I had always wanted to learn about wine and since I couldn’t afford the good stuff, I worked the shop and got a 20% discount. Essie was in class most Saturdays so it gave me something to do while he was finishing his MBA.

3. I stopped shopping and using credit cards. There were some days when I could do some real damage at Barney’s, and thankfully, most of those items were still in style and would hopefully last me through the recession. Keeping my weekends busy (see #2) also kept my mind off materialism.

4. We stopped having hundred-dollar dinners. In Boston, the drinks, apps, entrees, desserts, and drinks can add up really quick. Dinner for two in the Sound End can easily get up to $200 before you know it. Multiply that by Friday and Saturday night and you have a car payment for a brand new BMW. We cooked at home or with friends or went out for Mexican instead of French.

5. We kept driving a crappy Honda Civic. It was (is) a beat up 2003 EX that has been nicked, scratched, and dented by the inconsiderate drivers and snowplows of Boston. She’s not pretty but she is paid off and gets us around. We are still going to keep her until after the construction has begun and we can put a big chunk of cash down on a new car. Donald Trump or some other wildly successful white straight guy once said to never finance a depreciating asset. Whenever I see people my age or younger with a nicer car, I remind myself that my most valuable asset is not my car. Bwah haha! How many properties do YOU have?

6. We used points. I had gobs of hotel and airline points saved up from all of my business travel. We were able to enjoy a couple of long weekends in New York thanks to Marriott and even traveled to Rio De Janeiro last March on American Airline points. NOTE: We were in the beach in Ipanema on the day the market hit bottom. When the points ran out, we went camping. Can’t afford to rent a beach house on Cape Cod? The B&Bs start around $150/night with a 3 night minimum. A campsite runs about $150 for 3 nights for 4 people. Not a horrible way to get your beach on for the 4th of July.

7. Keep investing. Even though I really could have used the extra cash flow, I actually increased my 401k contributions because it was very likely that I would never see stocks so cheap again in my life.

8. Lose weight. Whenever my life feels like it’s spiraling out of control, I hit the gym. My physical body is something I can control when external forces seem turbulent. You feel a sense of accomplishment and progress when headlines are full of doom and gloom. Exercise is a great way to reduce stress. Essie and I both dropped serious poundage last year.

9. Take a chance on a new city. All along we had planned on moving to Austin. My job would transfer me and Essie worked in technology, the dominant sector in Austin. It was risky moving when Essie had no job but we made a leap of faith. We packed up a POD and shipped out to Texas. We drove the Honda cross-country and settled in to a loft apartment (gigantic by Boston standards) about 2 blocks from where we hope to build our house. We have been able to get to know our neighborhood and talk to others who have built in the area. Essie found a great job after a relatively short 6 month search. Austin turned out to be one of the best decisions of our lives.

10. Communicate. I totally understand why people get divorced when they fall on hard times. If Essie and I hadn’t talked out our fears and anxieties, I think it would have been easy to direct the anger/frustration on each other. We didn’t. We still like each other. Home building together might be another story.

Chances are we will never see a recession like this again in our lifetimes and I hope the statistics tell the truth. However, if we find ourselves in a financial predicament again in the future, I know that Essie and I can be nimble and thrifty and can block out the talking heads on TV who foretell the Economic End of Days. We will start construction (hopefully) in August and our mortgage will be about $1,000 less per month with our 20% down payment. We will get a new car when we can pay cash for it, we’re still using points to go to New York and I plan on buying some gorgeous new loafers at the Barney’s summer sale this July. We are also counting down to a fun vacation rental on Cape Cod with our best friends this summer. Camping fucking sucks.

Cooking Gay: Thanksgiving Edition

2010-03-02T21:19:00.002-05:00

I must begin by thanking the women who have helped me pursue my love of cooking homosexually: The Gregarious Julia Child who taught me how to tie and season a roast while other kids were watching the Superbowl. Thanks to the diligent editing of Ruth Reichl from Gourmet Magazine (may it rest in peace now that all of those hideous pedestrian magazines have stolen its shelf space. Cooking Light? "Oh look! Another 12 recipes for dry chicken!" More like "Cooking Straight" or "Cooking With No Sense of Metaphor"). Canipes of love also go out to Sheila Lukins and Julee Rosso of Silver Palate fame. For without them the 80's would have been a completely useless decade and my drab suburban upbringing would not have been colored with Caviar Roulade and Foie Gras. Cooking Thanksgiving dinner does not have to be complicated. Straight people and their multi-national food corporations will have you think that it's perfectly fine to serve cranberry sauce from a can or make your stuffing from a box. A lesson to you all: stuffing comes from bread, not from boxes. Cranberry "sauce" does not imply to your guests that you are one who lives graciously. "We're having Cranberry chutney and herbed savory bread pudding." Doesn't that sound lovely? Many of my Thanksgiving guests spend the previous night at my house or arrive early to enjoy brunch, cocktails and witty banter. We start with a sausage and manchego strata. An Italian strata is more or less a lazy Gay's quiche. The chef de cuisine layers bread with sheep's milk manchego and crumbled andouille sausage along with caramelized onions, a handful of whatever herbs are on your kitchen windowsill. The strata can be assembled the night before and popped in the oven at 400 degrees and baked for 45 minutes or until the top is golden brown. This frees up your morning to talk with your guests about perennial gardening, 4 ply cashmere, the trade deficit, or Madonna's cheek implants. Also, throwing the strata in the oven will allow time to steam, starch, and press your white table cloth and napkins. What?Serve squares of the strata with a mixed green salad (use whatever vinaigrette comes to mind: white balsamic honey thyme, lemon garlic anchovy...you don't need ME to tell you!). Strong coffee is also necessary to keep your guests alert and postured appropriately. As your guests sing along to the Cole Porter songbook, prepare the turkey. Anything over 14lbs and you're in for a gay man's nightmare: dry breast meat. I prefer to brine my turkey for about 8 hours in a bath of spring water, apple-wood smoked salt, white pepper, garlic, and rosemary. I generally follow one of the recipes from Gourmet, as Ruth's relentless kitchen staff have attempted cooking turkeys in every imaginable combination of salts, infused butter, herbs, etc. While you are prepping the turkey, put out a lovely spread of anti-pasti. This past Thanksgiving, I used inspiration from Spanish Tapas to create my nibbles. An earthy block of manchego next to garlic and lemon olives compliments a spicy chorizo. Sweet fig jam next to punchy cornichons and a glass of Juve Y Camps Cava will make the afternoon a delight. "What turkey? These olives are divine!" Gay people like to take the European route and have dinner at a sophisticated hour: anytime after 8pm. This allows time for a workout, assembling your flower arrangements, and a quick facial moisturizing treatment. Every chef must create anticipation for the most homosexually intense meal of the year. As the turkey rests, I make a reduction or "gravy" as straight people refer to it, out of pan juices, a roux, and a little heavy cream. I mash Yukon gold potatoes with salt, pepper, and cream cheese. Quickly saute brussel sprouts with butter, salt, and honey while making sure your savory bread pudding or "stuffing" is becoming golden in the oven. This year, I included mashed yams which were dressed up with pureed chipotle peppers in adobo. This added a nice spicy contrast to the meal without being overly ethnic. Don't forget to add a dab of cranberry apple cutney to each plate. Beaujolais or Gamay are appropriate wines to serve. Chardonnays and Cabernets are for the nuveaux riche who don't understand nuance.Make sure that no guests have an empty glass. If it's on the table, it should be full. This rule applies to water glasses, wine glasses, and any dishes. No one wants to sit at a table with a cleaned plate and an empty champagne flute staring back at them. Also, be sure that your flower arrangements are not too tall or too fragrant. Your table ornamentation should not compete with the extravagance of your menu. As dessert time approaches, polish your snifters and pour your guests 2 fingers of Cognac, Armagnac, or Calvados. I prepare ONE Thanksgiving dessert. You don't want to encourage any already heft guests to over indulge. I enjoy a pumpkin bourbon cheesecake with a graham cracker crust. It says, "I'm down to earth. I understand what average people want." This will put your straight guests as ease.I hope you find these entertainment and cooking tips helpful. May your day of thanks be filled with joy and culinary faggotry.

Life in First Class

2009-10-29T23:52:00.006-04:00

“Would you like a drink?” I pause my i-pod and look the over-waxed, flamboyant airline steward square in the face. I enunciate slowly, “Scotch. Two rocks.” “Coming right up, sir. We’re going to be taking off in a few moments, so please put your headset away.” “Got it,” I snatch.

Headset? Who says “headset” anymore? This is 2009. “Oh yes, Queeny McBottom, as soon as my cassette is done rewinding, I’ll be sure to stow my headset.” This faggot is only 25, max, and has taken on the language of the aging, aggressive water buffalo tribe better known as the Airline Attendants Union where hairstyles and vocabulary do not progress past 1987.

They are evil and need to be destroyed.

I should know. I spend a lot of time on planes. I fly 45 weeks a year and have ass-kissing status on every airline in the greater 48. Due to my proverbial timeshare on American Airlines flight 1542 with service to Boston, I find myself in first class more often than not. And here I am. Seat 1B. I’m the first to get on and off the plane, you pedestrian motherfuckers.

The first class attendants tend to be more relaxed and therefore friendlier than their cattle-herding countercows in the back. After all, the first-class attendants only have 12 assholes to wipe versus 100. I don’t want them to feel too privileged, so I make them work. Always remember where you came from. For instance, I like to pretend I’m sleeping and knock over my ceramic ramekin of warm nuts into the aisle only to be followed by an attendant closing her US Magazine and scrambling to clean up the molten peanuts with long, audible sighs. I still pretend to sleep but crack an insidious smile as if I were deep in a blissful dream about unicorns impaling retarded babies.

On days when I’m feeling particularly foul, I’ll pack a delicious wedge of French Epoisses and some stone wheat crackers to snack on during a long flight. I should mention that I am lactose intolerant and have a gluten allergy. Wash that heavenly little snack down with a coffee and by 35 minutes into the flight, I will obliterate the bathroom, which coincidentally, is directly across from the galley where the airline attendants gather to gossip about their meager, petty little existences. Oh yes mis amigos, cheese and wheat really blow me out hardcore. Fuck colonics, I’ve got a recipe that cleans out months of the residual bacteria clinging to my bowels from all the semen, drugs, and red meat I ingest.

I like to think of myself as Karma’s Little Helper, getting back at these assholes for pushing little old ladies down the aisle and keeping the airline industry from profitability with their blood-sucking union demands. It’s the little things, you know?

“Do you think we’ll ever get outta here?” Fuck. I hate this part. The fat ass next to me knows I’m awake and I can’t put my “headset” on. “I don’t know, it’s rush hour in Chicago and it’s raining. I’m not holding my breath.” “I’ll say,” he snorts back.

What is it about fat people? They really gross me out. It always hits me when I’m in line at a Starbucks and I’m forced to look across the bar at strangers while waiting for my drink to be made. I don't really know what to make of the 300lb+ ladies, for instance, who are ordering venti mochas or frappuccinos at 8:00am. I feel like I'd be doing them a disservice by not tapping them on the shoulder and saying, "Hi. Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt your morning routine but did you know that drink has 650 calories in it? ...and well, let's not fool ourselves, you really should be watching what you eat. Let's trade that in for a nice hot green tea, shall we?" Isn't that what a good patriot should do? Isn’t it Christian? Shouldn't we watch out for the well-being of our fellow consumers? In fact, one day I was putting non-fat milk into my grande mild roast when this heifer rolled up to the counter and hip-checked me out of the way like there was a stash of secret pies behind the napkin dispenser. "There's no half and half", she grunted. I replied concernedly, "maybe someone's trying to tell you something", and exited stage right.

Fatty First Class starts an unsolicited conversation: “Last week I was stuck in Dallas, mechanical problem they said. No announcement until we’d already been on the runway for an hour and a half. What’s the matter with these people?” I respond with a it’s-not-funny-but-I’ll humor-you-half-pity laugh, “I don’t know, I guess it’s just the nature of the beast.”

Please shut up. Please shut up. Please shut up. Fucking shut up. Fuck.

“I remember back in the 90’s when you could walk up to the gate, find your seat and be in the air 10 minutes after you got to the airport. So what brings you to Chicago?” “Oh, I’m just connecting from Denver, on my way home to Boston.” “Boston, eh? Where’s the accent?” “I don’t have one. I’m educated.” “HA! Well then, you know, I used to work in Boston for a drug company.”

Fuck me. Here we go.

Fortunately, I’ve been in this situation 100 times before and I know how to keep him going for hours without ever having to divulge a single personal detail about myself. When I do, I usually lie. Not those hey-bro-let’s-lie-to-this-chick-at-the-bar genre of lies. More subtle, believable lies. Lies that make you think, “Oh, you know this guy is interesting. He has his shit together but seems like he’s on the wrong career path. I get a good feeling in my gut from this one. I think I’ll offer him a job.”

And that’s how I climb the corporate ladder, by getting these self-obsessed, generic blow-hards to offer me jobs. I merely coax them into to talking about themselves and magically deceive them into thinking that I’m the exact person they were at my age. It’s quite easy. I’ve made a lot of money doing it. Not like, penthouse-in-the-sky money, but a good sized-suitcase full of money. I crossed the $100,000 threshold on my W-2 for the first time at age 23. Now, at the ripe and grizzly old age of 30, I have a handful of properties, a healthy savings account, and a job title usually afforded to douche bags 15 years my senior. I can handle this shithead.

“Oh, so you’re in pharma. What do you think about the drug Merck has in the pipeline?” I fake interest. “You follow Merck? Don’t even get me started…” Every pharmaceutical company in the world has a new drug in the pipeline. That’s what they fucking do.

Engaging powerful people requires knowing a microcosm of each industry. It cost me a $65,000 piece of paper from business school to learn that. Most of my friends are the opposite of me; they care about integrity, benevolence, lactaid. They want to change the world, get respect for their artwork, have anal sex with someone they love.

They earn the square route of my paycheck.

They coo, “How did you become so successful?” “You are so ambitious.” “I can’t believe what you’ve accomplished at your age.” “Oh just a lot of elbow grease and good work ethic”, I respond. In reality, I make money via manipulation and lies. You may think that sounds harsh but please, hold your judgment. I’m not stealing diamonds from holocaust victims; I’m just trying to make a little coin. Everyone could make $1,000 a day if they took off their rose colored glasses, flushed their ideals down the toilet, and learned how to abuse the rape-and-pillage economic system we know as capitalism. I owe little to my academic record, my militancy, my knowledge of complex financial transactions, and more to my whiteness, my toothy smile, and my upbringing in a proselytizing cult.

I don’t believe everything happens for a reason but I believe that I can mind-fuck through the chaos, doggy style.

A Toast To My Friends

2009-08-30T23:43:00.001-04:00

I wonder how long it takes to forget the fastest way to drive from the South End to Beacon Hill or the quickest way to walk from the North End to the movie Theatre on the Commons? I spent my first few days in Boston with a t-pass, traveling the subway, attempting to learn and conquer every neighborhood. I’ve lived in Somerville, the North End, Dorchester, the South End, and Eastie. If the geography gets fuzzier with time and distance, I hope the memory of my Boston friends does not.

I want to pick on a few of you who have colored (I’m looking at you Amy) my 10 years here:

-Dan. I’m not sure exactly how we first met but we were young Jehovah’s Witnesses who shared a love for art, music, and booze which is immediately enough to get you kicked out of the church. I had a blast with you making fun of bible-thumpers and being the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, sluttiest Jehovah’s Witnesses that Boston will ever see. I’m happy that we escaped and that you found Erika who is quickly becoming on of our favorite people on the planet.

-Mark. Mark McGrath probably doesn’t remember but we first met when I was probably 12 or 13. I was at a family reunion complete with cans of Bud Light, volleyball, hot dogs, and a riveting discussion about NASCAR. I was daydreaming about my real family pulling up the driveway in their Rolls Royce, putting me in an Armani suit and whisking me away to a Park Avenue penthouse. I stopped daydreaming/jump roping long enough to see a handsome young Mark walking into the backyard with a slightly effeminate man at his side. The reunion was a potluck and Mark brought Foie Gras. I ran over to my Teen Vogue and scribbled in the margins, “Look up cousin Mark after high school.” I’m so happy I did. Thank you for being a mentor and a friend.

On June 1, 2007 Mark risked his life to marry Essie and me in front of the crack heads and prostitutes of Blackstone Square in the South End. Thank you for being part of the happiest day of my life.

-I’d next like to give a shout out to the brown lady in the back. Amy and I go way back to high school were we used to sneak into gay bars underage and make out with boys. We lost touch when she was disfellowshipped and I went on being a JW zombie. We randomly bumped into each other during a snow storm in Downtown Crossing a few years ago and became friends again. I was afraid to getting to know you again after having abandoned you as a brainwashed JW but you have an amazing ability to forgive and move on. Thank you for literally holding my hair back when I was puking out the window of a taxi after my bachelorette party.

-Ben, the mere fact that you make my best friend happier than I’ve ever seen you is reason enough to be friends with you. Fortunately, you’re also awesome. If you break Amy’s heart, Essie and I will rape you. You both are closer than family.

-To the other ethnic friend, Sheryl. I was afraid to meet you and Alan because Essie had built you up to god-like status. I think we probably broke the ice on the dance floor, hip checking frat boys so that we could pop and lock within our own personal space. I know you love us because you took Essie to NYC for his bachelor party, rolled on ecstasy, slept for 45 minutes, got on the Fung Wah in time to get trashed with my bachelorette party at Jacques without skipping a beat. You are a fucking professional.

-Anne Continelli, you are such a cunt. Let me recount our first conversation:
Me: Are you a lesbian?
Anne: Did you just pirouette?

Anne slept over at my place early in our friendship after a show we had been working on. We did a bar crawl up Washington Street. Anne was wearing a shedding red feather boa which later became known by my neighbors as the “Cherokee Trail of Feathers.” Anne, your laugh is infectious and should be patented.

But really I have to lump Steph and Anne together because we have so much history. The three of us spent the summer of 2004 basically jobless and drunk. I could barely come up with my rent but could find $20 to go get drunk with Anne and Steph at Club Café.

-Steph, you are the most creative person I know and you have made every birthday, holiday, and toilet seat more fun. Anne, Steph, and I have a special bond because we’re all dramatic alcoholics who met our boyfriends on the internet. Steph and I were supposed to pack up for New York but we spent too much time trolling the internet and found Essie and Jon who stole our dreams and our “bohemian” lifestyle. Thanks guys.

-Seriously Jon, you reigned in Steph and made her exponentially more awesome. Your enthusiasm doesn’t even annoy me anymore. Also, you can engage Essie when he wants to talk about positrons while Anne, Steph and I discuss the intensity of Anne’s last yeast infection. You have the sweetest of hearts and I can’t wait to show you our new city.

-And to my other little electron, Kyle. You are such a refreshing contrast to Anne’s cuntiness. You put up with constant harassment about being a gamer while still willfully coming to all of our parties and engaging us in intellectual debate. Also, if Keanu Reeves, John Cusack, and Gandalf had a baby, it would be you. Thanks for putting up with us, please come visit.

-Speaking of “putting up with”, don’t mind my friend Deb. She may be little and unnoticed but she will cut a bitch if you get in her way. Deb and I are ladies who lunch. We’re ladies who lunch over a bag of salad and 3 bottles of prosecco, followed by a nap. Even thinking about being in a room with Deb and a bag of pot makes me laugh harder than Anne’s resume. You are the only one here who has actually seen Austin, so I’m counting on you to harass everyone to come visit in your little, annoying way. Deb, you, Anne, Steph, Amy and I are the Sisters of the Immaculate Collection and put every other bridal party to shame with our polyester nun costumes, crucifix confetti, and drunken rendition of Son of a Preacher Man. I worship you guys.

-Lesa, you are my favorite lesbian MBA. You kept me sane during our 18 months together in grad school. I remember leaning over to you during a lecture on supply-chain management and whispering, “What are we making again? Widgets or Chatchkies?” At an Irish Pub on a class trip in DC I taught Lesa the chorus of every Irish song ever written: They ate our food and stole our land so early in the morning. …and other Gaelic phrases like, “Is that a potato in your pants?” …and remember that time we got totally wasted at Auschwitz?

On a serious note, I’ll never forget standing with you at the Lincoln memorial, hearing about your protests and die-ins when the Reagans wouldn’t even utter the word AIDs. You showed me firsthand what an activist looks like.

-Thank you Shelagh for being Lesa’s rock during school and for adopting Essie and I when shit gets bad. We love you both and daydream of lazy afternoons on Herring Cove long into the future.

So, after 10 years in this shitty town of fucked- up roads and high taxes, I can leave knowing that if we get plowed down by an 18 wheeler or gay bashed at the waffle house on our road trip, at least I will die with my favorite person but I will also die with the memory of you. I’m in love with your memory.

To old friends and new starts.

The Many Uses of Vodka

2009-07-31T11:20:00.002-04:00

According to the website Divine Caroline, there are many household uses for Vodka, other than drinking. I disagree. I don't believe one should waste a spirit with such propensity, only to degrade it to Martha Stewart-esque craftiness. Caroline's Top 10 non-drinking uses are:

1. To remove a bandage painlessly, saturate the bandage with vodka. The solvent dissolves adhesive.

2. To clean the caulking around bathtubs and showers, fill a trigger-spray bottle with vodka, spray the caulking, let set five minutes and wash clean. The alcohol in the vodka kills mold and mildew.

3. Clean jewelry. Soak the jewelry in vodka for five minutes, then rinse, and dry.

4. Clean lipstick from clothing. Rub the stain with vodka, then throw into your regular wash.

5. Remove the glue left behind by a bumper sticker. Rub the glue with a soft, clean cloth soaked with vodka.

6. Prolong the life of razors by filling a cup with vodka and letting your safety razor blade soak in the alcohol after shaving. The vodka disinfects the blade and prevents rusting.

7. Spray vodka on vomit stains, scrub with a brush, then blot dry.

8. Using a cotton ball, apply vodka to your face as an astringent to cleanse the skin and tighten pores.

9. Add a jigger of vodka to a 12-ounce bottle of shampoo. The alcohol cleanses the scalp, removes toxins from hair, and stimulates the growth of healthy hair.

10. Fill a sixteen-ounce trigger-spray bottle and spray bees or wasps to kill them.

Suck it, Caroline. Here are MY top 10 uses for Vodka:

1. To drown internal voices, pour 3 ounces into a chilled glass and slam.

2. To eliminate public speaking anxiety, empty 2 ounces of Vodka into gullet.

3. To stop a bar fight, chug bottle of vodka, break the bottle on wooden chair and proceed to stab opponents with broken bottle.

4. To lubricate family reunions, give Aunt Theresa a glass of lemonade with 2 oz. of vodka and allow 15 minutes to allow for the story about how Grandpa Henry used to force her to "sit on his lap" at 2 in the morning.

5. To make your blind date more attractive, pour 3 oz. of vodka over the rocks and sip briskly. Repeat x 4.

6. To relieve guilt or shame, pour 1 oz of vodka into morning coffee, repeat process at work.

7. To prevent "breakup blues", soak 1 rag with vodka, place in ex's basement and light on fire.

8. To destroy pesky livers, swallow 12 oz. of Vodka, daily.

9. To bed a mormon, freeze 3 oz. of vodka with red Kool-Aid and serve as cold, fun, summertime treats at congregation picnic.

10. To relax the anus for penetration, imbibe 1 handle of vodka and chew down on wooden spoon.

I don't blame it all on you, but I don't want to be your friend

2009-07-22T23:15:00.008-04:00

I was baptized at this auditorium. The photo you are viewing is the Natick Assembly Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses, located in the gorgeous metropolis of Natick, Massachusetts. It is common for youths who are raised in the religion to get baptized in their teen years. I was rather intelligent for my age and extremely competitive so I decided to get baptized at the Natick Assembly Hall at age 12. I thought I could baptize the gay way. Cut to me with a blow dryer, hair gel, and self-tanner in the men's locker room, striking poses in the mirror.

I remember Sister Bias (names HAVE NOT been changed...seriously) handing me a small gift and a handwritten card after the grand event. Gift giving to baptismal candidates is generally discouraged, but I managed to make out with a new creepy Jehovah's Witness briefcase and a few fancy pen sets (all for use in the door to door ministry). Sister Bias recruited my mother and had studied the Bible "Jehovah Style" for 5 years until mom got baptized. She was a tough old broad. Focused, diligent, faithful, judgemental, authoritarian, and all around intimidating. She was the force and structure my mom needed to find meaning in her life and she scared the shit out of me as a child.

Sister Bias coined herself my "spiritual grandmother," although she was less of the sweet fairy-godmother type and more like Bette Davis in What Ever Happened to Baby Jane. In her handwritten card, she told me that my day of baptism was the most important day of my life because I was dedicating my life to Jehovah. I knew somewhere in my 12 year-old mind that her remarks were not true and so began years of pretending to like people because Jehovah told me to be friends with everyone, even grumpy old Sister Bias.

My adolescence was pocked by a constant stream of disingenuous behaviors which revolved around trying to please the Jehovah's Witness authorities and grow up sensibly in the lesbian capitol of America: Northampton, Massachusetts.

In my more recent years, I've deprogrammed much of the doctrine, xenophobia, homophobia, and delusions of the Jehovah's Witnesses. Unfortunately, some of the more deep-seated social traits still arise from time to time.

As kids, we could only be friends with other Jehovah's Witnesses. All other children were going to perish in Armageddon, so obviously we didn't want to get too attached. The problem was: most of the other Jehovah's Witness kids sucked. They didn't want to read People magazine or jump rope or listen to Gloria Estefan tapes. They wanted to play softball and watch Sports Center on ESPN even though the season premiere of House of Style was on MTV. How was I supposed to plan my next season of door-to-door preaching outfits without Cindy Crawford's expertise? I hated them all, but they were "good association" so I had to play along.

I realize now that this formed a level of diplomacy in my personality that I struggle with, even today. While I find it easy to make friends, I have a hard time drawing boundaries or backing off when I really don't want to be friends with an individual any longer. There have been 3 people in particular who I have strung along in friendships because I felt as though I had to be friends with them. Eventually my resentment of these friends escalated to the point that I had to end the relationship. All 3 "break-ups" were ugly and could have been avoided had I acknowledged my dissonant behavior earlier in the relationship and called it quits. My Bible-trained diplomacy over-rules my innate understanding that you don't have to be friends with everyone.

The most recent example happened today. I dropped out of a wedding for a girl who I was never that close to, who imagined a close friendship that never transpired. The break was ugly and painful for both of us. It has been playing out like a bad Mexican soap-opera, flush with runny mascara and mangled blond hair-extensions. Aye dios mio.

With this in mind, I wrote to another former friend who I broke up with by giving him the silent treatment. Totally unacceptable behavior on my part. In an attempt to acknowledge this personality flaw, I wrote him this:

"I was thinking about you this weekend. Essie and I are moving to Austin in a few weeks and I've been relishing my remaining time in Boston. I was in the South End on Saturday night and remembering all the late nights at Club Cafe and Eagle and Francesca's and trips to P-town and on and on.

I owe you an apology for disappearing out of your life before you moved to Florida. I needed space in our relationship and instead of being honest with you, I dealt with it passive/aggressively and for that I'm sorry. I look back fondly on the time we spent together and will always appreciate your generosity with I was jobless and your emotional support when I was dealing with alienation from my family. You were a very loyal friend and I treated you horribly. You did not deserve abandonment.

I hope you look back on our friendship with as much laughter and happiness as I do."

Maybe I'm just trying to excuse the guilt I have for the bride I broke up with, but it felt really good to write to someone I had wronged and try to learn from and dig deeper into the etiology of these experiences. I want to be better than this. I want to say "enough is enough" before things get out of control. I want to stand up for myself and my unhappiness by grabbing my jump rope and remote control and going forth to change ESPN to House of Style starring Supermodel Cindy Crawford...even if it alienates people.

"I will not pretend

I will not put on a smile

I will not say 'I'm alright for you'

When all I wanted was to be good

To do everything in truth."

-Martha Wainwright

Thunder & Lightning

2009-06-24T21:21:00.025-04:00

No, this is not a post about abortion. This is a post about my mother. My mother is anti-abortion. She's anti-a lot of things including non-Jehovah's Witnesses. My mom, however, is not a bible thumping, snake handling evangelist. You'd think with the whole "I don't really have a close relationship with my gay son because the bible says his 'lifestyle' is wrong" thing she'd be one of those mean and nasty Christians we've come to know and despise. She's not.

Mom is actually just a really docile, timid person who happens to be extremely faithful because she finds the real world too scary to deal with on terms other than Jesus infused absolutes. She came from a family of 6 kids. She was the sensitive one who cried a lot. Mom married her first real boyfriend and was a devout Catholic until her brother died tragically and Jehovah's Witnesses showed up at her door with "the truth" about what happens to the dead. She was ripe for their brand of mind control.

Because I know her personality so well, I can't be mad at her for being a JoJo (my endearing nickname for Jehovah's Witnesses). I can be furious at the JoJos for destroying my family, but I totally get why she's one of them. I don't have it in my heart to trash their organization in front of her even though I'm usually the first one to bitch about their mind-fuckery. She was the perfect recruit and raised us in the faith for no other reason than she felt like she was throwing us a life jacket. My brother stuck around, I bolted on the first bus to Boston days after I graduated high school.

I had a nearly idyllic childhood with the sweetest mom on earth who defended and fought for her children tooth and nail. I had a mother who never missed a dance performance, piano recital, or high school theatre production. (She was "shocked" when I came out?!) With or without Jehovah, I'll always love and look back fondly on the home she made for us.

I've always had a mean streak, perhaps it's part of the gay gene. JoJo's try to get follwers to "strip off the old personality" and become meek, governable people. Maybe it was all the Whitney Houston, maybe it was all the Sally Jesse Raphael, but I could not drop the sarcastic remarks and cynical comments post bible-study. Mom pushed me to try to change but also laughed at my mocking jokes in secret dissent, out of ear shot of the congregation elders.

The organization's publications are written in near biblical prose which reads as culturally out of touch and ridiculous to any outside intellectual. Imagine Yoda with a handful of Jesus thrown in and you've got the perennial Jehovah's Witness journal: The Watchtower. As an ideal JoJo, my mom would even use some of their phrases in everyday speech, to which I would heckle her until she doubled over laughing and begged me to stop. "Do not be mislead. Bad associations spoil useful habits" would turn into "Do not be misfed. Bacon wrapped scallops make for fatty rabbits." At church, Satan is referred to commonly as "the father of the lie." If mom were to make any semi-transparent exaggeration, I would respond with a quick, "what are you getting Satan for father's day." And on and on...

My mean streak would also prompt me to terrorize her, which I did at every possible interval. Just as she was afraid of an oncoming Armageddon, she was equally afraid of thunderstorms. She would close all the curtains in the house, unplug every electronic device, put on a pair of rubber-soled shoes, and hide in the hallway or basement with candles and provisions in case this was the thunderstorm to preface Jehovah's Day of Anger. I would take every opportunity to prey on this fear.

One time during a thunderstorm I pretended to be talking on the phone. Mid-conversation I threw the portable down started screaming that lightning was shooting out of it. I "somehow" could "hear the electricity" coming over the line so I threw the phone against the wall and could "actually see live electricity coming out of the receiver." Mom hugged me tightly and thanked Jehovah for saving me from my impending, lightning induced death. She would thank him for the "biblical" hope of the resurrection where dead, faithful, lightning-struck Christians could walk the earth and praise his glory. I would bury my face in her shoulder and laugh hysterically.

Sometimes she would make us get in the car because the car was "the safest place to be in a thunderstorm." We'd be sitting in the driveway with mom cowering/praying in the front seat, I would wait until shit really got loud, roll down my window, and hang from the waist out of the car, taunting the storm at the top of my lungs. I'm sure I added 15 years to her life.

Always one to push the envelope, screaming out of the open car window in the pouring rain and clapping thunder stopped scaring the B'Jesus out of mom, so I had to find another way to engage in good old son/mother terror mongering. In the dead of summer, with dark, ominous clouds rolling in, I would wait for the interior of the house to get really dark, and for mom to get her candles going. I crept quietly into the kitchen, took out the aluminium foil and wrapped a couple of layers around my chest. "Mom! Come see my new outfit!" She'd come running into the living room to the sight of me standing chest out in front of the picture window. Maternal panic ensues.

Now for the coup d'etat.

Once she realized sitting in the car was no good and that she had to hide the cordless phone and aluminum foil during "God's Discos" as I referred to them, I had to freak her out with something completely novel. Being a creative kid with a knack for fashion, I scoured my closet (this was my designated thunderstorm shelter) for shirts with metal embellishments, shoes with taps, anything that would taunt nature's electric forces and make my mother crap her pants. "Of course! How could I be so blind!", I exclaimed. Yes, I had found the perfect instrument to solicit surefire electrocution: the much despised wire hanger.

I bent the hanger into a halo-like headband with the hook pointing straight up like a skyscraper lightning rod and snickered homosexually into my bedroom mirror. With a stealthy leap out of my bedroom window, I was ankle deep in the late-summer downpour with streaks of lightning in every direction. I went up to the picture window and banged on the glass furiously. When mom appeared, candle in hand, and saw my accessory of death, she screamed a hair-raising scream to which I threw my arms in the air and ran like an epileptic around the front yard.

Rarely in my life have I laughed as hard as I did when scaring my mother. I miss her.

Some folks like to get away, take a holiday from the neighborhood

2009-06-10T17:13:00.004-04:00

Hop a flight to miami beach or hollywood.

I'm taking a greyhound [or fung wah] on the hudson river line
I'm in a new york state of mind.

I seen all the movie stars in their fancy cars and their limousines,

Been high in the rockies under the evergreens,

But I know what Im needing and I dont want to waste more time-

I'm in a new york state of mind.

It was so easy living day by day

Out of touch with the rhythm and the blues,

But now I need a little give and take,

The new york times, the daily news...

It comes down to reality-and its fine with me cause Ive let it slide,

Dont care if its chinatown or riverside,

I dont have any reasons, Ive left them all behind-

I'm in a new york state of mind

-The Piano Man

Essie and I went to New York for my birthday/Memorial Day weekend. I've written odes to New York before but this was an exceptional weekend. Instead of recounting every detail, I'm going to vomit links at you, and recommend you attempt to see every one of these places if you take a trip to the greatest city in the world:

Brisket & Burbon

I kicked Essie's ass at Connect Four

I want to have sexual relations with these coissants

Buy a pizza and eat it in Washington Square Park

Drink Dolcettos here

Be cool enough to get a reservation here

Cheesy Japanesey

Wash away the New Jersey accents with Vodka here

Sit outside in the center of the universe

Antiques & Freaks

Candied Bacon followed by a Salted Caramel Sundae

Talk Biodynamic to me

Asian Invaision

Dance to our disco if it kills you

Pancakes & Vodka

Pinot, Samba, and Supermodels

Worth waiting in the line

Follow my advice and you will live a happier life.

resuscitation vacation

2009-05-12T11:31:00.010-04:00

I want to go undersea in a diving-bell

and return to the surface with ominous wonders to tell.

-Tennessee Williams

Essie and I went to Rio De Janeiro about a month ago. Everyone keeps asking me "how Brazil was", to which I respond with a detached, "great." It was our second time there so there were no real new surprises. Our good friends Ben and Robert met us there which made for more ambitious day trips than had we been left to our own devices.

Truth is, not many Americans choose to fly 13 hours to a 3rd world country for their yearly vacation. Most people are happy enough taking a 3 hour flight to Mexico or some resort island only to be surrounded by brown people serving up weak cocktails followed by dinner at the Outback Steakhouse and a nightcap of hotel-bar karaoke. Not my idea of vacation.

I need to go somewhere that challenges me. I want to explore our planet and see how other people live their lives sans 24 hour news stations. Vacations have never really been about relaxation as they are about taking me out of my comfort zone and adapting to the world around me, the real world that emerges when you're the only white person in a restaurant or the only American for 20 square miles.

Rio renewed me in so many ways. Aside from sufficient vitamin D with beachside caipirinha chasers, rainforest hikes, and the standard breathtaking vistas, Rio perscribed equal parts reality and transcendence.

In Rio, you are surrounded by extreme wealth and extreme poverty. The reality of pre-teen hustlers next to multi-million dollar townhouses go together like peanut butter and jelly in this town. At night when the favelas light up the mountainsides like white strings of lights coiled around mountainous Christmas trees, you wonder: "when are they going to get pissed off enough to come down here and revolt?"

Two things make the poor and rich coexist relatively peacefully: beach & samba. There is no dominant race in Rio. In fact, they've won the proverbial gene lottery in the sense that they are a mix of European, Indigenous, and African blood. Cariocas (residents of Rio) define "culturally ambiguous." This racial mix has produced a country full of gorgeous dark-skinned, light-eyed, curly-haired supermodels. On the beach clad only in the smallest trunks/swimsuit money can buy, people mingle, drink, play soccer, roll in the waves and proudly strut their hotness regardless of age, sex, or skin color. People get off the bus in business attire around 5, strip down to almost nothing, and meet friends for smoothies and a round of soccer/volleyball until the sun goes down. Seems healthier than us gringos trying to squeeze in a 30 minute cardio workout after a 10 hour workday.

I think the samba is satanic. Watching live samba is like watching a snake charmer heal the unbelievers at a baptist church in Alabama. Our night at the Rio Scenarium (second time there) reminded me how much music can change your mood, lift you up, and make you dance no matter how bad a mood you may be in. Cariocas shake their hips, dance with people twice their age, and rub shoulders with every socio-economic class while never missing a word of the chorus. The Afro-Brazilian drummers make you want to roll your eyes back letting the percussion lift you up from the crown of your head, levitating over the dancefloor. It's a happiness that permeates the room in a way I almost never experience in America.

All in all, Rio reminded me that I'm living the right way. Rebelling from the status quo can be exhausting in the United States. Turning off the TV, making music, giving in to your humanist tendencies are all discouraged by the corporate canopy. Brazil gave me the clarity of knowing that other people on the planet hold the same simple things close to their hearts. Nature and music allow us to transcend banking crises, declining stock portfolios, and over consumptive behaviors.

Every taxi driver in Rio congratulated me on my new president. They are so happy for America so I can only smile and nod with hidden envy for their sun and basic rhythms. I hope that I can create microclimates of Rio for my kids and my friends, pushing out corporate greed, mindless cultural anxiety, and whitebreadedness that permeates our isolated cultural drama. I want to make the waves crash harder, the sun shine hotter, and the music play later like Rio taught me.

My Inner Rapper

2009-03-25T19:23:00.002-04:00

I came up with this in the shower today, I don't know why. I've been listening to a lot of old school LL Cool J and Kanye West lately:

Booty shaking to a champagne toast

Ode to My Shoes

2009-03-25T15:48:00.005-04:00

Sometimes I forget that I'm the bomb. Life knocks me down. People get in my way. Recessions leave me feeling powerless. When I feel this way, I just look down. At my shoes. My shoes are really awesome. My shoes elongate my full 6'3" frame and make me hold my chin parallel to the ground, reminding me to walk tall with certainty and determination.

My shoes kick balls from the boardroom to the barroom and step on minions who dare cross my path. My shoes help me to articulate. They help me trump adversaries. My shoes say, "don't fuck with me, I'll tread all over you."

I grow out of my shoes like a lotus flower from a lilly pad.

My sleds rock boxes, kick foxes, make you wonder who the pimp without the socks is.

From the leather soles of Harris, through the thread of Prada, tied with laces by Gabanna, don't FUCK with my shoes.

Fun With Chimps

2009-03-23T20:51:00.021-04:00

On Monday, February 16th a Connecticut woman was brutally attacked by a 200 pound domesticated Chimpanzee named Travis. The owner, 70 year old Sandra Herold, called her friend, 55 year old Charla Nash to come over and help with the chimp who was behaving erratically. Upon seeing Ms. Nash in the driveway, Travis descended upon her with all of his might, biting and scratching at a furious pace. Ms. Herold proceeded to run out to the driveway with a butcher knife and stabbed Travis repeatedly. Unable to calm the maniacal chimp, police arrived and shot Travis twice. The chimp receded to his living quarters and died from his wounds.

I will attempt to portray the events leading up to the attack in theatrical style.

[Scene: Stamford Connecticut. It is a chilling February dusk. Warm light glimmers from inside a quaint, understated, antique Victorian with a wrap-around porch. Monkey bars peek out from behind a garage. Leaves blow in petite whirls on a driveway, carelessly tiptoeing over browned banana peels. The street is quiet.

Inside the home we find a 70 year-old woman, Sandra, in the kitchen preparing a salad of roasted root vegetables on her granite counter-topped island. She is wearing pleated corduroys and a navy cotton turtleneck sweater. The sound of cutting can be heard. In an adjacent room, a chimp named Travis, reads The Economist through round, vintage spectacles. He wears a blazer and a diaper and pendulates slowly in a wooden rocking chair.]

TRAVIS: [He yells into the kitchen from his rocking chair] Sandy, can you believe that our current account deficit is approximately 4% of our GDP?! The Obama administration really has their work cut out for them. Remember when we had brunch with Paul Krugman at Sally's last weekend? He thinks it's going to get even WORSE in Q2. I'm so happy we sold out of our high yield bond portfolio last September, the whole market is going ape shit. [Pause] Honey, what are we up tonight? Do you mind if we just lay low? I feel like we've been running ragged the past few nights and I just need to relax.

SANDRA: [Continues chopping vegetables] Well, actually, I kind of thought we could have a dinner party tonight. I'm making this salad and I thought you might like to cook an entree. You know, you haven't had a chance to really make anything new since the bananas foster you made at our New Year's party. I thought I'd have over...

TRAVIS: Oh, marvelous. There's this new recipe in Gourmet for spiced rubbed cornish hens that I've been dying to try. Who did you invite? Al Maysles?

SANDRA: No.

TRAVIS: Bill Hambrecht, the hedge fund manager? [Pause] Oh, you must have invited Dr. Sharma and his cousin Raj who just started teaching organic bio at Yale.

SANDRA: No, no, and no. I wanted it to be a little more intimate, so I just invited one friend. I mean, she's having a lot of personal problems and she really enjoys spending time with us. You know, she feels at home here, and I just couldn't leave her...

TRAVIS: Who...is it?

SANDRA: [Stops chopping] It's...Charla Nash.

TRAVIS: WHAT!? [Travis somersaults from the living room to the kitchen island where Sandra is standing. Anger brews in his eyes.] That fucking West Hartford piece of uncultured white trash?! Is this some kind of joke?

SANDRA: [Flustered] No, no. I know you don't like her but she's just...

TRAVIS: Don't like her? [Raises voice] Don't LIKE her?! At our last dinner party, the bitch brought her "famous" string-bean casserole with those crusty little fried onions from a can. I wanted to vomit all over her macrame cardigan. [Sarcastically] Oh thanks Charla, let me just serve this duck liver terrine and 1998 vintage Bordeaux alongside a STEAMING PILE OF YOUR FUCKING CASSEROLE!

SANDRA: [Becoming meek, backing away from Travis] She's not that bad, Travis. I mean she supports our political efforts...

TRAVIS: [Pacing back and forth across the room] Supports our political efforts? She thought our fundraiser to get the Bronx zoo to stop Euthanasia was a racist attempt to keep young Japanese tourists from visiting the sea lion exhibit. She's a fucking idiot!

SANDRA: You always think my friends are idiots, I have no control over my own social life, and you never let...

TRAVIS: Oooooh. So that's what this is all about. Well maybe your friends are retarded. Maybe you can't relate to the people in this town because you were just a C student from the wrong side of Greenwich. Don't blame this on me Sandy, don't you FUCKING blame this on me. [reaches into diaper, pulls out a handful of feces, and throws it at the wall]

SANDRA: Jesus Christ Travis, why don't you pop a couple of Xanax and chill the fuck out. Charla is going to be here any minute.

TRAVIS: I will not stand to have that bumbling hillbilly in my house, drinking MY wine, eating MY food, drooling on MY Italian leather sofa with her frothy, opaque discharge.

SANDRA: There is no reason to get this upset, Travis, you are completely out of control.

TRAVIS: [Swinging from Chandelier] Out of control? You wanna see out of control? If I see that bitch Charla one more time, I'M GOING TO RIP HER FUCKING FACE OFF!

[Headlights appear in the driveway. Travis bolts through the front door. Blood curdling screams are heard offstage. Sandra grabs her butcher knife and runs out to the driveway. Blackout.]

I Love Lying. Thanks Jehovah.

2009-02-24T20:25:00.020-05:00

I was the child star of my congregation of Jehovah's Witnesses. I began participating in the church discussions as soon as I could say "Armageddon." We met every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday with door-knocking on Saturday mornings and school vacations. I rang doorbells and warned strangers of their upcoming destruction. I spoke "from the heart" during Watchtower magazine Q&A, often citing scriptures and personal experiences. I think that the rapid progress of my spiritual evolution in the church was mostly due to my early knowledge (age 5) of my homosexuality. It's very easy to learn to adapt and change to conform with a population of people when you have something to hide from them. Instead of rebelling at 5 years of age when I realized homo was a no-no, I decided to jump in full force. After all, when elders preach from a podium that you can pray the gay away, you take it as fact at age 5. Most kindergartners believe in Santa Clause, I believed in gay-rehab.

Frequently, I was chosen to be an example of outstanding youths often profiled during our mega-conventions to inspire and encourage other young Jehovah's Witnesses. Sometimes I was booked to play a troubled youth struggling with a shoplifting problem. Other times I played a faithful Israelite fleeing Pharaoh's clutches. I was method all the way.

In any case, when I was about 14, an Elder approached me to speak at a convention of 4,000 Jehovah's Witnesses. I was to relay a personal experience about defending my faith at school. Throughout most of my childhood, I would preach to kids at school and explain (with Bible citations) the "reasoning" behind my beliefs. At the ripe age of 14, evangelism was really starting to get old. The inevitable firm grip of puberty and the development of my sexual identity was giving me blue balls. I hadn't cracked open my Bible at school all year. Dammit. The elders were counting on me to deliver something inspiration to these kids. People looked up to me as someone of immense faith and outspokenness. This was the chance of a lifetime to receive applause and command tears from 4,000 Jehovah's Witnesses. This was no fucking joke.

Obviously, I agreed to relay an experience. After months of mental jogging, reading up on other youth's experiences, and attempts to proselytize other 9th graders, the day had arrived. Thousands of Jehovah's Witnesses filtered into convention center, opened up their songbooks, and began singing the opening number for day 2 of the 3 day throwdown.

Brother Brown addressed the quiet stadium after a prayer and read a scripture about faithful youths. I was given my cue and stepped on stage. The spotlight was bright. My freshly polished JC Penny loafers shined brightly and my hair was gelled into a perfect quaff. I debated my mom daily over whether to wear the tie pin or the tie chain. The chain won and it mimicked my humble smile. The moment seemed to last forever. It was the pinnacle of my spiritual career.

After some introductory comments and a brief run through my spiritual resume, Brother Brown asked me how I had defended my faith at school. I flashed my teeth in a gracious beam and began to speak. My voice boomed throughout the room and I noticed a microphone delay. I would have to annunciate clearly so that everyone could hang on my words. Then I began to lie. I lied about interrupting my European history teacher as he was recounting early Christianity and I derided the farce of the Trinity introduced by the early Catholics. I lied about grabbing my Bible from my Eastpack holster and sharing scores of scriptures with my class, disproving the false thesis of the Holy Threesome. I lied about spiritually moving classmates who were searching for the truth. I said that the worldly 9th graders ravenously approached me to learn more about the bible and how they could live by its principles. I boldly fabricated that I placed dozens of Watchtower magazines with 14 year-olds who were conscious of their spiritual need. Furthermore, I gave credit to almighty God Jehovah for the strength to stand up to my history teacher and preach the truth about Jesus Christ. The audience burst into applause and I spent my lunch break receiving hugs and thanks for my encouraging example as an outstanding Jehovah's Witness.

My lie was fucking fabulous. I looked amazing and the story won the hearts of many. I gave those poor suckers every line that they wanted. From that moment on, I knew that come hell or high water, I would always have a career in persuasion or hedge fund management.

Jehovah is going to kill all the fat people.

2009-01-30T16:52:00.015-05:00

“For many walk, of whom I have told you often, and now tell you even weeping, that they are the enemies of the Christ: Whose end is destruction, whose God is their belly... ” Philippians 3:18-19

I don't hate fat people because I'm gay and catty. I hate fat people because Jehovah hates fat people.

I spent the greater part of my childhood and adolescence as a practicing Jehovah's Witness. If you don't know much about their take on the Bible, I can sum it up: The world is about to end so don't waste time doing anything but praising Jehovah and spreading his word to everyone you come in contact with so that you don't die a fiery, brim stony death. Through mathematical vague wizardry, Jehovah's Witnesses (or "JoJo's" as I lovingly refer to them) have used a combination of scriptures to determine that Satan was hurled down to earth in the year 1914 and that since then, we have been under the Devil's influence which effects everything from the media to trans fats. Since destruction of the world as we know it is imminent, we have to pay careful attention to how we act and live our lives according to Bible principles so that we JoJo's can make it through Armageddon unscathed.

As a young child listening carefully to the "Elders" preach from the podium on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays, I learned what qualities Jehovah was looking for in his ideal servants:

Mildness? Check. (I used to be shy)

Cleanliness? Check.

Self-Control? Check.

Faith? Check.

Peace? Check.

Abstinence from blood transfusions? Check.

As a mature 7 year-old, I would look around the congregation during our 2 hour meetings and wonder how many others were as Holy as I.

Did Kevin Gonzalez spend too much time talking about sports and not enough time talking about spiritual things? He might have a chance to get through the fire of Gehenna if he shapes up soon. I mean, we probably have 1 or 2 more years left until Jesus comes down on a white horse and chops off the heads of the unchosen with an 8 foot golden sword.

Valerie Kolowski had waaaay too many posters of New Kids On The Block in her room, that surely would fall into the idolatry category. Remember the golden calf? You better take down your Jordan Knight wallpaper before the God of Abraham bitch-slaps you with molten lava.

And then. Cindy Caster. Oh yes. Cindy Caster. She didn't have a donut's chance in over eater's anonymous of getting to the promised condo in the high-rise of Jehovah's favor.

She was fat. Real fat.

How preposterous that she even show up at our congregation meetings! Did she not READ that gluttony is one of Jehovah's top 7 least favorite things!?! There was scripture upon scripture about the end of the world and people stuffing their faces, drinking wine, slathering themselves with bacon, and on and on. And you know what happens to them? Jehovah kills them. Kills them. Cindy better go on a diet or face the wrath of our lord.

What was worse, she had privileges in the congregation! Were these people blind? She was parading around in all her tubby glory, blaspheming our creator with every snickers that touched her slobbery lips.

She was a "pioneer" which meant that she put in 90 hours a week knocking on people's doors. Pioneers get a special kind of status in the congregation. They are what everyone else aspires to. How could this be? Here I was at 7, a trim 75lbs, well-groomed, obsessively ironed, constantly in spiritual dialogue, polite...genteel even! And big fat Cindy Caster gets a promotion. This was my first crisis of conscience with the organization of Jehovah's Witnesses. There was just such blatant hypocrisy and disrespect for the word of our God. If you're going to let wide-ass Cindy be a Pioneer, why don't we just let Hitler join the ranks and call it a day.

Sadly, I'm no longer a Jehovah's Witness. But I do still believe that Jehovah will kill all the fat people in Armageddon. All in due time, Cindy, all in due time.

Don't you just love fundamentalism?

***

P.S. My dad was fat and also NOT a Jehovah's Witness. Double whammy.

No. Sleep. Till Brooklyn.

2009-01-30T12:31:00.008-05:00

I had a layover at JFK last night and reveled in the new JetBlue terminal which is PIMP. I dreamed about taking the route from Austin to New York with great frequency to toggle between homes and clients, slipping out for appointments with my kids to the Bronx Zoo or the MoMa. It seems feasible now and the future seems tangible now that my plan is unfolding. Bwah ha ha.

***

Back in frigid Boston. I park in the old mud lots near Fort Point Channel in S. Boston when I come into the home office on Fridays. Every time I walk over the channel on the Congress Street bridge I get the urge to hurl my laptop and blackberry into the water and start my life all over again. I don't do it mostly because the mercury in my electronics will hurt the fishes.

***

An old JoJo friend who sends me random cryptic text messages texted that she was to get married. Another virgin thrown to the vampires. Ho hum.

I'm learning how to say that I'd be happy either way with your love.

***

On the topic of JoJo's texting, my brother texted me a couple of weeks back that my dad's diabetes is out of control and that he's done permanent damage to his heart. He told me this, as I mentioned, over a text message. It shouldn't matter that I'm no longer part of the club, if your father is slowly killing himself, someone should pick up the phone and call me. In a passive aggressive maneuver, I texted back, "Is he in the hospital?" Lil Bro replies, "No. But he's downplaying the seriousness of his condition", to which I have nothing really to say. Is that horrible? I have to note that my parent's adult lives have been plagued with tribulations of their own doing and this is just par for the course. I've been so emotionally detached from them for so many years that I honestly don't really care that my dad is in poor health. People tell me that I'll regret not reaching out and at least attempting to have a relationship. Every time I make an attempt, I get trampled on. It's not worth the effort.

I know that I was warned, still it was not what I hoped.

Would I want my parents by my side while on my own deathbed? Not particularly. Will I regret the lapsed time between conversations and parental void? Possibly. In some dramatic hospital bed finale, I have a handful of friends I would choose to read my last rites and, appropriately, they'd be dressed in nun costumes.

A Rant on Traveling Breeders

2008-12-05T14:37:00.028-05:00

Let me begin this post with a excerpt from the cover article of last week's New York Magazine. It is the recounting of a conversation between Mike Gelband, director of commercial and residential real estate for Lehman Bros. and Dick Fuld, the CEO of Lehman:

“The world is changing,” Gelband told Fuld during his 2006 bonus review, according to a person familiar with Gelband’s thinking. “We have to rethink our business model.” But given the importance of real estate to Lehman’s bottom line, that wasn’t what Fuld wanted to hear. Fuld had seen his share of cyclical downturns. “We’ve been through this before and always come out stronger,” was his attitude. “You’re too conservative,” Fuld told Gelband. “We’ve been lifted by the rising tide,” Gelband insisted.

Fuld, though, wondered if the problem was with Gelband, not the market. “You don’t want to take risk,” he said—a deep insult in the trader’s vernacular.

If I may repeat for emphasis, "you don't want to take risk" is "a deep insult in the trader's vernacular."

You, my risk-friendly, cor-pirate straight men, are hypocrites. You will knock an intramural soccer player into a coma to win a game. You will eat your co-workers alive to gain a promotion. You will bankrupt the Kingdom of Norway with your bullshit CDOs but you will not take risks in fashion. As a gay well-dressed man who spends every week traveling for business, I see CONSTANT fashion insults such as...

The pleated pant. Sold as a "separate" at Joseph A. Bank. AKA Jos. A. Bank. AKA Jose Bank. These pants come in an array of horrendous colors, such as "putty" and "olive green". That's what I wanna look like, putty and olives. It's corporate camouflage.

Where have your balls gone? The crotch dips down to the inner thigh, completely masking any notes of masculinity. The leg is way too wide and, worst of all, most people just pull them off the shelf without getting them hemmed OR, even worse, GASP! ...adding a cuff.

Pleats? Is this 1987? "But the 80's are back! Look at American Apparel!" you may cry. NO! Headbands + Gold Lamme tights= cool 80's reserved for people under 30 to wear ironically. Pleated pants = The 1987 that we're all trying to forget along with the Reagan Era and trickle-down economics.

Second gripe: The Dumpass Suit

Thank you Brooks Brothers for mass-producing a suit that makes every American man look like he weighs 450 pounds and eats 42 oz. steaks for breakfast. "You're my broker?! I thought you were a water buffalo." You can't tell where the torso ends and the hips begin. You can't see if the arms are detached from the body. 95% of men I see on business travel are wearing this suit. I want to stab myself in the eye with a stiletto every time I see this ill-fitting shape on a man. It's almost enough to turn me into a lesbian.

And what's going on down south?

Vomit. Vomit. Vomit. Vomit. NO BUCKLES ALLOWED UNTIL ARCHDIOCESE TOM FORD GIVES US THE OK. Take these pilgrim pies back to Plymouth rock and trade them in for some beaded nubuck moccasins. Seriously, they would suit you better.

***

Now that you have emptied your closet and are crying tears into your gin gimlet in a dark corner, I have some advice for you bitches. My advice is quite simple actually: Buy clothes that fit your hot, straight ass. I don't mean tight, I mean fitted. Check out these D&G suits:

See how you can see space between their legs and see space between their arms and torso? See how they don't look like fundamentalist Muslims wrapped from neck to toe in ill-fitting black wool crepe? You don't have to spend a lot of money, H&M and Zara have gorgeous knock-offs in this style that will run you about $250. OR, you can shop at the Barney's or Hugo Boss outlets at the outlet strip mall nearest you. FYI, this kind of fashion is the norm and expected across the pond in Europe.

"Flat front pants! But I don't want people to look at my package." Why the fuck not!?! First of all, unless you walk around with a 24hour boner, most people are not going to get all up in your crotch. If you're really packin', then you should embrace the attention. I'm sure most chicks don't want dudes staring at their tits but they deal with it, and many of them make the best of their situation, wouldn't you say? Quit with the double standard, most of us won't notice anyway.

Everytime a straight man wears a skinny suit, a gay angel gets its wings.

And footwear? Check it:

The wide square is over. Go pointy but not too pointy. It makes you look taller and skinnier. Don't you want that? Don't you want to look taller and skinnier? Chicks don't want to blow a rifrigerator, they want to blow a hot dude. You will look hot in these shoes and a skinny suit. Trust me. I'm gay. We are always right about fashion. We brought you aviators, boot-cut jeans, pink dress shirts, and hoodies with blazers.

***

So. Straight dudes, it's time for you to take a risk and show us what your mama gave you. You will tag more tail and I will be able to sleep at night.

Whew! I'm exhausted. It's time for an absolut and vodka.

are you there god? it's me, chateauneuf du pape.

2008-12-03T20:54:00.010-05:00

in my unrealistic attempt to continue the momentum of my career/life, i've been "interning" at a world famous gourmet market/importer. seriously, they are mentioned in gourmet magazine almost monthly. i've always felt the need to temper my corporate ambition with the pipe dream of something food related. since the job market sucks and i can't realistically leave my current position anyway, i figured it wouldn't be horrible to learn the ropes at this shop, polish up my dusty business plan, and do some good ole fashioned work on saturdays.

specifically, this shop carries sustainably grown, organic, and/or biodynamic wines which is what i really want to learn about (niche market, huge markup, cha-ching). while the wines are prominently displayed, cheese is really the focal point of the store.

cheese is great. i like it. i like it a lot.

not nearly enough as these people.

i am amazed at the amount of cheese snobbery that exists in the world. i thought that i was sophisticated because i knew my mozzarella, pecorino, robiola, manchego.... oh no my friend, there are dozens of chevre that i have never heard of that people in certain parts of the east coast wet their panties over.

seriously? you can't even get wasted off cheese.

in any case, it turns out that i spend saturdays patting the mold down on stilton instead of learning how dolcetto is produced in piedmont. frustrating.

one of the individuals who has been "mentoring" me answers my questions in 2 word answers and is quick to ask me to take out the trash/windex the case/sweep the floors. don't get me wrong, i am HAPPY to help with the day to day running of the shop, but gimme some tit for tat, motherfucker. i'm getting fed up, real fast.

there was a winery owner who came in to conduct a tasting last saturday and in my 15 minute conversation with him, i learned more about winemaking than i had in the previous 6 weeks. also, no one at the shop made sure that he had water/coffee/a sangwich. i totally took care of this guy and had genuine interest in his product.

my "mentor" was visibly irritated that i knew so much about biodynamic wine production and this winemaker's processes that he almost literally cock-blocked me from asking more questions. "there's more comte that needs to be wrapped!" fuck comte. ...and fuck fontal while we're at it. it's a mild italian cheese with no personality and suited better for the pedestrian tuna noodle casserole of the masses. suck a dick.

but i digress. although my experience at this shop has been less than ideal, my dream is still alive and well. i learned about the pricing of catering and imports. i learned that i don't want my customers or employees to be cheese assholes. i learned that winemakers are environmentalists as well as bon vivants. i learned that i make better playlists than most people even if i have to hijack the stereo when cheese mongers are wrapping gruyere. i learned that a "world class" shop with no inventory management can still be profitable. i know i can run a tighter ship with a better POS, friendlier customer service, with a more organized distribution channel, while having more fun than my competitors. i still need to learn more about wine (reading diligently) but i can do that on my own, just like how i do everything else. you know how i roll.

"lose the attitude, you only work in a shop" -eddie monsoon, absolutely fabulous

i don't need no one to hold me//i can hold my own

2008-12-02T21:45:00.010-05:00

i got highways for strechmarks//see where i've grown?

i've been a jojo refugee for about 6 years or so now. the last 5 years in the church i toggled between leading a double life and compromising my identity. it worked really well, for i am 100% gemini and a superb liar. i just sort of faded out of church without going through the formality of being excommunicated and sitting through hours of meetings with middle-aged men, detailing every handjob, blowjob, and ass-slap i'd given since 1998. no thanks. i'll just sneak out the back door and hope no one notices.

i've stayed in touch with almost no jojos and next to no ex-jojos with a couple of exceptions. even though many of my peers have given the church the finger, i don't necessarily want to be their bff; hate-mongering with them, proving each doctrine illegitimate. a friend of mine recently invited me to a more "intellectual" jojo meetup group and i was instantly curious. i've considered going to support groups in the past but they always creeped me out because there seemed to be overtones of revenge and angst built up behind their meeting agendas. i was assured that this new group was just an intellectual discussion on jojo's version of theology.

i still passed on the invitation. i can't get with sitting around some one's living room, justifying my decision and exclaiming to the world just how wronged i was throughout my adolescence, no matter how intellectual the discussion. yes, the mind fuckery is tremendous, but i refuse to waste my time harping on it. believe me, i'm still dealing with the repercussions of leaving the church: the alienation, the nightmares, the inability to trust parental-esque figures, the abandonment, the guilt, the anger, not knowing how to decorate the christmas tree, and on and on. point is: it's a waste of my energy to bash an organization, most of whose members' minds' i'll never change, when instead i can focus that energy on my relationship with an awesome dude, build my career, fight for gay marriage, and still have time to bake a bourbon pumpkin cheesecake for thanksgiving dinner. maybe other people need the camaraderie, but i've got way too much shit to do on my own before my measly life ends.

with all of this church-y feeling getting stirred up recently, i started thinking about how i hadn't officially been taken off the books. in an attempt to have more integrity in my life i wrote a letter and sent it to the church about a week ago:

"To the Elders of the F****** Congregation
To the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society

It is with purpose and soundness of mind that I write this letter of expediency. Please respect my wishes to be disassociated from the Congregation of Jehovah’s Witnesses. I no longer subscribe to the doctrines of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society. Furthermore, I have not attended a Kingdom Hall meeting in over 5 years and have been “inactive” for the same period.

I have considered the consequences of my actions and believe that my identity and ideologies do not coincide with the organization’s interpretations of Biblical text. I do not find it necessary to go through judicial meetings but please inform me of any additional steps that need to be taken to remove me from the congregation permanently. I may be reached at 617-***-****.

I appreciate your attention to this matter. "

to date: no response. curious. i'm tempering a potential confrontation with the "thanks for trying but i'm just never going to stop sucking dick" genre of response.

conservative celebrity bloat alert

2008-10-14T16:32:00.008-04:00

i watch a lot of cnn. everyone does these days, but i really watch a fucking lot of it. it's on in the airports, the reception areas of institutions that i visit, the hotel check-in, etc. over the past few months i've noticed glenn beck, one of my least-favorite mormons, looking more and more like an overburnt virginia ham. described as an "unconventional"(?), "quick-witted"(??), this fatty needs to lay off the eucharist and start taking a dexatrim communion.

here's a before:

and an after:

the lord hateth fatties.

old n' crusty

2008-10-02T23:20:00.002-04:00

i figured i should write this down because it's just been floating around my head for the past 7 years:

he says, "i've got a fascination with words"
i say, "is that the best you can do?
cuz' i've got cue cards
a paragraph
and about fifteen minutes
can i show my fascination to you?"

cuz' i've been used and abused
and if i come across rude
it's just that i've been battling myself
and i'm about to lose.

i could give you a sentence
i could give you a phrase
i could give you directions through my mind's twisted maze
i could set in on fire if i had enough fuel
i could be the exception to you grammatical rule
cuz' i've read your word verbatim
and sometimes i think i hate them
but you still leave me with this overwhelming ultimatum
of whether or not to say what i feel
or feel what i think
or think what's real.

i've got a dialogue box full of explanation
full of kinetic dictation
for my next creation
so you better speed now
before i pick up the pace
before i throw your fascination right back in your face.

believe it or not they got the twin towers
and it's just a matter of time before the brimstone showers
in the meantime we're fighting the american way
unless your black, female, muslim, or gay
we're all selling out our souls to the tv news
learning who next to exploit
how much oil to use

you've got a meeting with the devil
and his name is CEO
but you just call him boss
so nobody will know
he thinks your words might make a pretty dollar
trick is, you'll be on a short leash
wearing a studded dog collar

all the while you were messing around
writing postcards and sermons with your head in the ground
and this fascination of yours,
can you show me some proof?
cuz' i've got a fascination with the truth.

tell it from the mountain

2008-08-28T18:34:00.009-04:00

i've been reading a lot about homo history. i've always had a preoccupation with identity formation, even from a young age. i love learning about my geneology and ancestry and as of late i've been determined to learn more about the gays and their struggle which ultimately has allowed me to marry my partner and be "out" in public without being imprisoned, beaten up, cast out of my country, beheaded, and so on and so on.

in my perusal of hisotry books and pre-stonewall biographies, the usual characters pop up: proust. walt whitman. oscar wilde. their stories are somewhat cliche in the gay community but reading about their impact on the perception of homosexuals in society has reaffirmed my committment to gay rights. to ignore your political history leads to complacency and allows one to take for granted all that was not benevolently handed down from a government who stands for "liberty and justice for all."

specifically, i'm engulfed in tennessee williams right now. did you know that he was the fucking balls? he was a subversive homo who built gay characters on the sly. he mind-fucked the masses into watching gay themes like he was a fucking covert gay vigilante. he gave real voices to women in his plays, deriding 50's stereotypes. he was a fucking radical. a feminist.

i came across one quote that he wrote on the back of a photo given to his friend Frank Merlo that prompted me to scrawl this post due to its ass-kickery:

"When your candle burns low, you've got to believe that the last light shows you something besides the progress of darkness."

kill your tivo and pick up some tennesee.

diary of a gay road warrior

2008-08-19T14:05:00.004-04:00

first coupla days back from vacation in provincetown and i'm totally suffering from vacation hangover. to make me happy, i will list a few of my favorite things:

red house painters

slamming frozen ice cream containers against the pavement to "soften it up"

lace-ups with shorts

unicorns

east side cafe

dead pigeons

clementine's

crossroads in kansas city

mildred's coffee in the crossroads

jane almirall

martha wainwright

benbob's tatts

difranco in the summertime

ryan geiger

frequent flier miles

a little bit of a tan

shocking strangers

a doodad for my hat

bacon

having only champagne and pot on the beach

making essie angry

planning surprises

...sweet, now i'm totally pumped.

does evil exist?

2008-08-18T21:50:00.005-04:00

dear fox news,

you cannot have an intelligent debate on obama's stance on abortion without a woman in the room. well, you did have anne coulter, but she has a penis. she has a big, girthy, uncircumcised penis with which she regularly humps bill o'reily. only someone with a penis would want women to hand over the control of their bodies to the patriarchs-in-command. only someone with a penis would want to micro-manage an entire gender and accuse them of murder while, in the meantime, the penises are responsible for war. i hope anderson cooper and his band of queens bitch slap you into public access television. you have no credibility because you lie. you lie to us about your penis. you are an ugly tranny with no soul and everybody knows that rough mutherfucking bitches will cut your tranny ass if you gets caught on the street. fox news, please get anne an adam's apple "shave" and make her "outie" and "innie". put her on the 'mones because some real estrogen will set her mind straight.

presidentiality, utards, and smoking bananas

2008-07-08T22:20:00.004-04:00

so. i guess it's pretty exciting that a man of color could be the next president of the united states. why am i not particularly enthused? it's because my voice/minority is still not being heard. gays can be political scapegoats (see presidential election of 2004), silent fighters for our country (see don't ask, don't tell), dancing minstrels (see will & grace), but not a voting contingent worthy of supporting. yes, obama has given lip service to gay rights, plans to implement the matthew shepard act to expand the definition of hate crimes on a national basis, but he's still playing the "civil-union-not-marriage" card. i'm so sick of this bullshit. i wish a candidate would have the balls to just suck it up and say they have no problem with the big "m" word. to decry same-sex marriage empowers prejudice.

i guess i'll take what i can get, even if my president is okay with marginalizing my minority (again). i don't think i can take another old white dude.

***

i'm in salt lake city for work this week. i went to the 24 hour fitness up the road to work out this afternoon. how can there be so many hot men in one room? i guess the mormon rules on no sex/alcohol/drugs/smoking turn you into a hard-bodied closet case who works out 3 hours a day. it was amazing. some of them have GOT to be homos. i was like a rabbit chasing a carrot...or banana, as it were.

***

speaking of bananas. i just joined austin's "smoking banana" group. sounds gay, you say? it is. it's one of many guerilla gay bar groups that have popped up around the country. basically, the organizer of the group notifies a mess of gay dudes to drop like pink locusts on a straight bar once a month, unannounced to the public. freaking hilarious. i'm going to my first boston guerilla gay party this friday. will report back.

anniversary 1.0

2008-06-25T13:51:00.003-04:00

through a whirlwind of taxis and litter
and other pointless assignments
i woke up and it had been 1 year
1 year in which we scrambled and toggled
for the methods by which we would escape our mania and tiredness
even now exhaustion builds up unbearably
and at awkward moments
i wish you were 2,000 miles closer

i daydream that we're together at lake austin
and likewise in chelsea
with children and laptops in tow
fashion long forfeited to painted rocks
finger-painted masterpieces
and dirty toads brought in by little hands as pets
or as gifts for someone who needs to see more playfulness
in the entrapment of adulthood

1 year of the many
so many in my mind, in fact, that just 1 seems insignificant
insignificant as to give credibility to the warm-up of our life-spans
as if we could put a time-line on love's boundlessness

orange harbor

2008-06-18T22:03:00.009-04:00

oh glorious boston night!

why must you taunt me with your periodic good weather whilst i pack up my shit for a more hospitable city?

from the port bow of my boat ride home

your full moon glows like the cross-section of an artery or a blood orange

pumping life back into a stupid teenager on the brink of drowning.

slowly rising from the east amidst a swarm of airplanes

i understand the ancient pagan rituals for a brief moment

because, after all, aren't we all just a bunch of assholes

running around outside

dancing around maypoles and cellphones

searching for better reception

when nature heaves its orange head over our harbor?

...where they used to pack the meat

2008-06-11T01:19:00.007-04:00

i'm not a cheater. i don't think it's in me. i would've been a good catholic; even flirtation often leaves me with guilty feelings.

i would only EVER cheat on my spouse with new york city.

i've been hundreds of times.

i've stayed up all night, slept with nefarious gentlemen in the west village, fought with strangers, and walked its perimeter the way people hike mountains in search of a transcendental vista. mine stands homeless behind pillars of corporate excess ducking behind vigilante taxis ever late to a boarding flight at la guardia.

in the wake of boston and the construction of our dream home in austin, i still daydream about new york like an adolescent with his dad's playboy.

some dream of eventual summer houses on the cape, or weekend getaways on lush golf courses. i want to retire to the sound of sirens and screams and late-night revelry and rude executives and $7 muffins and designer lollipops and racial mosaics and the universal glory that is new york.

not invited

2008-06-11T00:29:00.003-04:00

it amazes me that a person will hide behind a glass pane sheltering them from experience and happiness. this glass pane is a 32nd of an inch thick and could be shattered with little effort. still, the fear of a bloody fist and temporary pain are enough to keep them content in the safety of their ignorance. cliche, i know, but i am always dumbfounded by the containment of religion. even after years of finally reclaiming myself and showing my family the happiness i've found, they disappoint me by blindly following the doctrines of men. out of my own humanity, i cannot allow myself to become callous to conscious people making unconscious decisions. i will always be amazed by the failure to listen to reason and human nature.

i drove through colorado last week and passed the world headquarters of focus on the family and laughed at their hateful mission while i stared in awe at the purple mountains' majesty, as the early settlers must have. what a glorious tectonic miracle perforating the earth in tides and ripples with no god sleeping soundly in her valleys. if there's one thing that i've learned from nature: if their god exists, he isn't participating. so why let ancient patriarchies define our lives when we've got so much logic and science surrounding us? any cumulonimbal colorado sunset will obliterate god's glory by simply following the rules of nature.

"i know that i was warned, still it was not what i hoped." - the little folksinger

religion as culinary exploration

2008-06-05T15:56:00.000-04:00

it wasn't so much that i was a spiritual person, i was just really good at following along. it's like a baby who only eats strained peas and you're ok with that even though it's a little boring. then one day on a play date your friend has strained carrots and you have some and they're great and then you get a little older and you're like, "shit, did anyone out there know about mashed bananas?" once you can get your hands on bacon it's all over. fuck, and then there's wine.

i ate all the fucking strained peas i could and then grabbed a handful of bacon and never looked back.

are we really supposed to eat strained peas to gain salvation? why are we trying to get saved in the first place? so that we can eat strained peas with jesus forever? i'd rather stick with bacon and syrah for my measly 80 years, thank you very much.

graduating makes you more regular

2008-04-18T15:33:00.005-04:00

i've been in an mba program for the past 18 months. i work full time. i travel every week for my job. i go to school every saturday. all day. i had my last class last saturday and handed in my final paper moments before beginning this post.

am i excited about finishing my graduate program? sorta.

about the new job prospects? meh.

more money? i guess.

joining an elite stratosphere of mba's? not really.

i'm excited about pooping on saturdays. i haven't pooped on a saturday in 18 months. i don't know what it is about my university, but i cannot poop there. i can eat 3 pounds of chili and wash it down with a gallon of coffee while chainsmoking a half-dozen cigarettes and still couln't poop at school. i have a psychological barrier to crapping in close proximity to other mba's. maybe it's ego. maybe all the backup makes me extra aggressive in those competetive debates on corporate strategy. who knows.

more realistically, i think it's because of the 1 person bathroom on the floor where most of our classes are. i don't like the idea of getting interrupted by a knock on the door signaling pressure to "hurry up". i need a quiet, zen like setting to do my business. i will relish saturday mornings with my very own bathroom from now to eternity. i'm going to sing a song of celebration tomorrow, my first saturday free from the captive bonds of constipated misery. oh happy day.

stray cats, jc penny, homeless people, and ab fab cliches

2008-04-01T22:15:00.008-04:00

we have 6 little galvanized metal planters on our back patio. we grow grass in them as a kind of gay-martha-i'm-too-lazy-to-plant-real-vegetation-and-besides-my-friends-will-inevitably-fill-them-with-cigarette-butts sort of thing. in any case, there's a black cat owned by someone in our hood who comes up to the back door whenever we're cooking or doing something unusual in the living room (faces the back patio, no neighbors can see in). she's pretty cute. sometimes i want her to come in but she's just a tad bit mangy. since i've been spending a lot of time home with a knee injury, i caught her perching on our planters, having a crap. i find it funny that our patio planters probably have the nicest/only grass in east boston.

***

i am not embarrassed that i just ordered a 6-pack of jc penny/towncraft brand medium-tall v-neck undershirts. online catalogue description: "Men's v-neck shirt is designed to hold its shape wear after wear. Smooth cotton/polyester blend has lasting fit and resists shrinking. Washable."

yes! yes! yes! they are THE ONLY undershirts that don't come untucked or lose their shape after washing. i've bought undershirts from banana republic, saks, barney's, target... they all suck. jc penny is the only company making shirts long and durable enough for today's 6'3" long-torsoed homo. i love them. also, while scrolling through the underwear section of the online catalogue, i had a quick stroll down memory lane, when the jc penny catalogue was the closest i could get to male porn.

***

in other news, did you know that homeless people won't ask you for money if you're wearing a leg brace?

***

i know that i'm about 15 years late to this gay party, but through the power of netflix, i've been watching ab fab non-stop. the show is genius. pure genius. it is proof that product placement works: after finishing 3 consecutive episodes, i went out and bought 2 bottles of champagne. you're welcome LVMH.

"c'mon sweetie, mummy's thirsty."

i will not be defeated

2008-03-27T13:11:00.009-04:00

my recent knee injury has left me moderately disabled and has put in a crimp in my efforts to get "hot" by summertime. instead of sitting around being depressed, i actually went to the gym and worked out with my trainer twice this week. i have an appointment tomorrow as well. i can still use free weights, barbells, and bench press. i can do shoulders, chest, biceps, triceps, and back. i will be hot this summer if it kills me. i refuse to be one of those hideous, fat, ugly crippled people trolling around the best parking spots our country has to offer. whereas they have NO value in our society, i will be fit and pretty at the beach this year, it is my duty as an american citizen. was this country built by people who can't walk? no, it was built by people who CAN. stop dragging down our great country with your bum legs, you crippled commie bastards!

as my inspiration, i recall that cold winter morning in 1990 when gloria estefan, on the last leg of a sold-out tour, broke her back in a horrific bus accident. the accident threatened her life and her career as an international pop superstar. did she settle for a life of disability payments, leaching off our welfare system? no. she got back on her feet and came back stronger than EVER! gloria, i don't know why you're swimming in your clothes but you're an inspiration to us all.

i will get back on both feet. i will break-dance again. i will step on all the lazy orthopedic patients at my clinic and laugh in their weak little faces. i will not be defeated. god bless america.

jesus is dead, let's eat candy!

2008-03-23T19:25:00.011-04:00

happy easter.

i am officially retarded. last week i was in austin for work which overlapped with the south by southwest festival ("SXSW" for those who are cooler than i). while in town, i met up with a fellow music enthusiast/bon vivant to check out some shows. we decide to hit a gay bar along the way to grab a beer and see what's happening on the dark side. "i can't go to a gay bar and not dance", says my friend. i will never pass up a dance off, so i slam my beer and get proceed to get my freak on. typical cheesy beyonce/madonna/britney/screaming diva music is blaring and we are making fun of the intense dancers around us by mocking their moves and faking enthusiasm. it was great fun. ...until i decided to try a break-dancing move that i had never attempted before. now, let me preface this by telling you that i am a pretty good dancer for a white guy. i took 4 years of jazz, taught swing/ballroom for 2 years, was on my high school step team, and i go out dancing with friends at least monthly. i have rhythm. i can dance, motherfucker. so anyway, i attempt this breakdancing move that i've seen brown people do one hundred times before. i'm pretty limber so i figure, how hard can it be? now, google and youtube have failed me in tracking down images or footage of the actual breakdance step attempted (although i did find this) so i'll try to describe it to the best of my ability:

you stand with your feet shoulder width apart. you bring your knees in close and slowly bring them down to the floor one-at-a-time and slowly bring them back up while keeping your feet at shoulders width the entire time.

well, while bringing down the first knee, my femur popped out of the socket and i fell to the floor, squirming in agonizing pain. my friend thought i was being silly and was really into whatever floor move it was that i was trying to do so i had to crawl to the nearest go-go boy platform and drag myself up for air. in equal parts laughter and pain, i hobbled back to friend's apartment.

the next day my knee looks like a grapefruit and i can barely walk. i get wheelchair service from my rental car to the airport, fly to boston, and go to the ER where i lie and tell all medical personnel that i tripped running on a trail in texas. awesome. i have some ligament damage that will supposedly heal on it's own after a few weeks of crutches/knee brace/percocet/cabernet.

that brings me to today, easter sunday. i finally have the strength to do a little walking so husband and i decide to head out to newbury street to pick up some new music and contact lenses. i'm doing the "kick and drag" all up and down the street and EVERYTHING IS CLOSED. i'm a total music fanatic and i've been waiting to get healthy enough to pick up a couple of new albums. we get to newbury comics and the goddam store is closed. i scream, "I'M SICK OF THIS FUCKING CHRISTIAN BULLSHIT" as a well-groomed catholic family of 5 scurries out of my handicapped path, clearly on their way to church.

but seriously, what the fuck easter? jesus has risen from the dead so we go to mass (1 of the 2 times per year), eat brunch with musty ol' aunt theresa, look for pink eggs in the grass, wear white hats, and stuff our diabetic children full of chocolate all in memory of the man who died for our sins? nice. i bet jesus loooves that. ahhh yes, the churchy-brunchy-chocolatey goodness that is our lord and savior.

i'm just bitter because i walk with crutches and was abandoned by my hardcore christian family. ...but they don't have painkillers, so i win.

in defnese of gentrification

2008-03-18T11:30:00.018-04:00

dear holy rolling hipsters,

in my recent travels to austin, anticipating the construction of my house on the east side, i've seen your welcome signs spray painted accross bridges, walls, and billboards. do you recall any of them? some read "yuppies off the east side", "stop gentrification now", and "go west yuppies. keep out of east austin". funny, when i have new neighbors move in, i usually bring over a pie or my famous ginger-molasses cookies. i guess this is the way you greet newcomers in your neck of the woods.

i'm a little confused by how you're defining "yuppie", however. if you mean rich, white, straight, soccer mom-esque, conservative, blue shirt/khaki-wearing christians then you've simply got me all wrong.

let me set the record straight: i'm a happily married homo from a blue-collar family who enjoys reveling in loud music, congregating in the back yard for late-night dance-offs, political activism, getting to know brown people, making irreverent t-shirit designs, playing my musical instruments whenever-the-fuck-i-feel-like-it, speaking spanish fluently, amongst other non-puritanical activities.

so, my little ironic, anger-filled friends, if you consider me to be in the yuppie "ballpark", so be it. do you think that i'm going to ruin your neighborhood? displace poor people? ...because i bought an empty lot so i didn't force anyone out and unfortunately, the cost of living increases regardless of who moves into your hood because of this little thing called inflation. also, we live in a capitalist society so i can kind of live wherever i want. you see, that's the beauty of america. if you want to live in an insular environment, the germans had a really great model for that. in fact, they invented the word "ghetto", which denotes keeping people contained in a neighborhood to perpetuate poverty and disenfranchisement. should we keep our poor people contained from the world around them? or should we "yuppies" move in, start businesses, and offer opportunities that would not have been available otherwise?

i think it's small-minded of y'all to tell me to get out of your neighborhood and "go west" with the rest of the rich white folks when in actuality, i probably have more in common with the latino and black communities of the east side. i'm used to being marginalized for being gay and fighting for causes that directly effect the safety and future well-being of my family and other gay families.

being from boston, i'm all about history and preservation and i can't wait to get to know the locals and become involved in understanding and conserving the vibrant culture of east austin. i think we can all get along. you know, i hate starbucks too and i am happy to patron the local businesses to get a sense of what the neighborhood is all about. hey, that's cash flow that these businesses wouldn't have if i didn't move in!

i know y'all have your ramones t-shirts in a twitch because you don't want to be reminded of the white bourgeois you've tried so hard to run from. you may have a lot of tattoos and some really tight black jeans but i know you grew up in a subdivision 30 miles north of town where you ate white bread and ham sandwiches. i never understood why, if you hipsters are so subversive, you all look the same. you have the same haircuts, listen to the same music, are pissed off about the same things. you expect anyone worth talking to to take a vow of poverty and live in a cardboard box. whenever one of your friends goes on tour or gets noticed by the mainstream, they've sold out in your mind. did you know that you can be subversive and still like to buy loafers at barney's? i know that you're rebelling against your upper-middle class upbringing and you want to feel the full range of emotions but you can't take it out on my amazing new homo/ethno friendly house being built around the corner from your shit box.

not to fear, the city has already limited my new home size to fit the envelope of the surrounding houses so that i won't put up an over sized monstrosity on my postage stamp lot. i actually think that's a great idea. it will help me show my brown neighbors that i'm not trying to alienate them.

maybe you're mad because you're not as successful an artist you had hoped to be and i actually made a few bucks...in fact i've made enough to live the lifestyle you wish you had. besides, i'm the guy who will probably buy your art. you need to remember that it's really hard for me to get the cash out of my wallet when you won't stop biting my hand.

your friendly new neighbor,

andy

clarity unexpected

2008-02-09T07:13:00.000-05:00

there are clarifying moments that occur in a relationship which help you realize that someone is really yours. i can't explain what happens. it might be some unusal convenience of time and space, location and consequence, but you know it when it hits you.

in these instances, his story becomes mine not only in emotional adoption but in reality. memories become so interwoven that to take one person out of the recollection would destroy that moment in the past altogether. i know why old people die of broken hearts: they've lost half their memory.

theese moments come as minute flickers of absolute happiness and surety which occur unexpectedly and present themselves in the form of a head nod or a brush on the hand. they are so small and so subtle but transmit volumes of understanding. you can't force it to happen, even by performing unselfish acts of love. they must come organically. they make your throat choke up, your stomach tighten, and your eyes glaze. in that particular moment, the universe conspires to confirm what you thought you knew all along: this person is my memory. happiness is possible. symbiosis is thriving.

revering this profoundness and extreme luck in a room full of unopened mail and a pile of dirty laundry, we breathe in chorus, sleeping with synapses sending morse code messages well into the night.

state of the union, bitches

2007-12-20T16:39:00.000-05:00

i spent 5 days in DC last week as part of my MBA program. we spoke to pundits, campaign managers, chiefs of staff, members of congress, etc, etc. as a hot-blooded cynic, i find myself frustrated with the lack of progress in this country. we battle over budget earmarking for special interests and whine about the war on the middle class. people feel disenfranchised and apathetic towards our political system. after a 5 day stint in our nation's capital, i say this to america: get off the fucking couch and participate.

yes we have an inefficient government. you wanna know why? our founding fathers recognized the necessity of checks and balances to facilitate change slooooowly. you know what happens to governments when rapid change and an legislative "efficiency" take flight? totalitarianism! i'm pretty sure i'd rather have a "do nothing" congress than a militia doling out orders. do you agree?

another point that hit home to me which was iterated by both republicans and democrats in DC was that the media is royally mindfucking us. liberal as well as conservative TV, newspapers, and radio alienate us from how the branches of government actually work (can you name all 3?) we hear all this talk about politicians accepting money, dinners, and prostitutes from evil and special interest groups. shiver me timbers! did you know that the national nurses association and movon.org are two of the largest lobbying groups in washington? in the meantime all we hear about are the donations from evil corporate empires. what about those damn greedy nurses who change bedpans all day!?! surely romney and hillary shouldn't listen to the nurses self-serving agenda. *insert sarcasm*

people complain about their viewpoints not being heard in washington. i think you bitches should just align yourselves with whichever lobbying group or special interest group that represents your voice. there are thousands of organizations you can support. hell, there's even a lobby for nude christians who juggle. (i shit you not)

all politics are local. do you know who your congresswomen and men are? did you know that they only have a 2 year term so there is extra incentive for them to listen to their local constituency or commit career suicide within 24 months? have you been to their town meetings? spoken or written to them about the issues that concern you? they are your direct line into washington.

while we're at it, a lot of those "earmarks" that we hear so much about on CNN and Fox News are funds set aside for local constituencies who make themselves fucking heard. if you're pissed off that 700k is going to a bike trail in Minnesota, then call up your state rep. tell him/her that you want your own goddam bike path. fuck, i want my bike path paved with the ashes of jerry falwell so i can revel in the satisfaction that a faggot rides his hot pink bike over the old bastard on the weekends between drug binges and promiscuous sex orgies. i want a drag parade held on my bike path every year on falwell's birthday. i'll go dressed as ann coulter and i will chant ignorant comments up and down the trail all day while purchasing meth from gay prostitutes. we'll gather up all the pagans and praise the glory of nature instead of the glory of christ while doing naked somersaults up and down the falwell asphalt...yeah, i'm going to get THAT passed in next year's budget.

none of you have to agree with me and i'm not trying to start any debate here. my point is this: if you aren't participating, you are not allowed to complain. shut the fuck up and vote for city council, for mayor, for governor, for your state reps. if you aren't represented, flog your issue and make it heard. turn off american idol and get involved in our democracy.

gratuitous ani difranco quote:

i love my country

by which i mean

i am indebted joyfully

to all the people throughout its history

who have fought the government to make right

where so many cunning sons and daughters

our foremothers and forefathers

came singing through slaughter

came through hell and high water

so that we could stand here

and behold breathlessly the sight

how a raging river of tears

cut a grand canyon of light

"dance of mist and fog" by andy, age 5

2007-10-23T11:10:00.000-04:00

as i have mentioned before, i was a really gay little kid. i liked to dance and sing. i loved unicorns. i also loved pegasus. i used to get annoyed that pegasus couldn't breed with a unicorn to create the perfect hybrid of a unicorn with wings. but i digress...

i watched A LOT of MTV as a child. (hey, it was the 80's, what was a gay kid supposed to do?) i would keep my nose glued to the tv, imitating every shimmy, every crotch grab, every spin-kick possible. when i was ripped away from the top 10 countdown and forced to go out in to the real world, everything around me would become a sound stage where the video for my latest hit single would be filmed.

i had a particular fondness for fog machines in 80's videos. i would use whatever devices i could to create the "fog" effect. for instance, my grandmother had a humidifier in her living room and i would crank it full blast and slowly "tiger-crawl" into the mist why singing "only in my dreams" by debbie gibson. other times i would be grazing the fruits and vegetables aisle with my mom at the grocery store and bust into the zombie routine of "thriller" when the produce spray would come on. the most effective "fog machine", however, always happened in the driveway. i would belt out stevie nicks' "stand back" while doing the running man in back of the exhaust pipe of my parents' station wagon. my mom would get really pissed at me for that one. she didn't understand art.

carrie bradshaw is a douchebag

2007-08-22T17:13:00.000-04:00

i admit it, i'm a homo who watches (watched) sex & the city. all the sexual one liners, miranda's sarcasm, samantha's unabashed promiscuity, charlotte's conservative prissiness, what's not to like? i'll tell you: carrie fucking bradshaw. she is the most self-absorbed, entitled cunt on modern day television.

carrie bradshaw is the personification of why i hate women in america. she spends all of her time trying to find a guy who will worship her and revolve his world around her shoe fetish. every fight she gets into with mr. big centers around the fact that he will not come to her every beck and call. regardless of her selfish disposition, she lets loose like a fucking 5 year-old every time they get into a fight. mr. big, who usually tries to talk through an issue reasonably, is always painted as the bad guy when carrie is just being an obnoxious bitch. hey carrie, maybe your boyfriend would treat you a little better if you didn't fly off the handle whenever he accidentally looks in the wrong direction.

how bout the end of the series when she's with the russian? she gives up her career and identity be a lady of leisure and chase around her sugar daddy in france. even worse, she gets bored after 2 weeks in paris because he won't pay enough attention to her, goes back to new york, and ends up with the dude she's been complaining about for the past 5 fucking years.

carrie bradshaw has bred a generation of women to believe that their men should allow them to act like assholes or face the consequences. women should be allowed to spend $40,000 on shoes. they should be allowed to give up their careers to shop all day and sit on their asses. carrie is a placid, soulless character who sets a dangerous, however accurate, precedent for young women. go outside and stop a 20 or 30 something female and ask her which sex and the city character she thinks she is. my money is on carrie cuntface bradshaw. what happened to feminism? what happened to compromise in relationships? what happened to valuing your content of character?

"The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous."

fabulous? fuck you, carrie. i hope someone stabs you in the face with the heel of one of your manolos then burns your skin with your own lit cigarette. get a personality and a real job.

willpower is just a flush away

2007-08-21T22:58:00.000-04:00

i've never had a super-hot body. there have been times in my life when i was definitely overweight, other times i've been slim and tone, but never "hot bod" quality. i'm 6'3", wear a 36 inch waist pant and weigh around 205-- not grotesque by any means. needless to say, i fight my fat genes, handed down from my snailishly slow metabolized ancestors, on a daily basis. i work out like a fucking horse, otherwise i would be a bonafide lard-ass. i know people who work out less than me, are in much worse cardiovascular shape, and eat more than me and they still look better topless than i do. life isn't fair. someone throw a pity party.

unfortunately, i chose a career that puts me on the road about 48 weeks per year to distant, exotic cities such as kansas city and dallas. i would argue that many midwest/southwest cities are not hallmarks of healthy living so it's a constant struggle to find the local whole foods and to make good decisions when its time to put on my eatin' dress. when i find an organic grocer, i eject myself onto the salad bar like a hooker throwing her dead baby into a dumpster behind red lobster.

while generally, i find ways to make good choices on the road, i feel like the hospitality industry is damming me to a life of obesity. let me explain: i have platinum status at marriott hotels which means they have to let me fuck them in the ass when ever i feel pissed off. that being said, they kiss my ass from the moment i check in. said check in ass kiss usually involves some sort of gift bag that always includes a bag of milano cookies, oreos, salted honey fat-girl peanuts, etc, etc.

there was a time, not too long ago, when i would succumb to the high-calorie snacks in the check-in bag or just leave them on the nightstand (only to be ravaged during a late-night feeding frenzy). over the past 3 months or so, i've been attempting diligently to get "hot", so i've come up with a solution:

flushing cookies down the toilet.

i got sick of watching them glare at me from across the bed. i can't handle the temptation, so now i take my weakness into my own hands. seriously, if i could procure 1 piece of advice for obese americans everywhere it would be: flush your snacks. it's such a satisfying act. it's quick, aggressive, guilt free. i mean let's face it, no one wants a fat friend.

straight guys are so gay

2007-08-16T14:04:00.000-04:00

i'm at the kansas city ariport where i just finished my chicken sandwich and 3 bud lights to help me deal with the fact that my flight is majorly delayed. the story of my life.

in any case, some douchebag sits next to me at the bar as i'm pounding 16 oz. buds and orders a chef salad and a BBQ sandwich with NO BREAD and a side of "what-can-i-get-instead-of-fries", oh, and also "a club soda". he's about 38, has too much product in his hair, carries a tumi computer bag, and is wearing a striped shirt.

i immediately fight the urge to say "fuck you, you fucking pussy. enjoy not being a man while eating your chef salad with your side of air and ice cubes". instead, i focus on the complex mathematical equation of 20% gratuity on my $20 bar tab.

when did straight guys become so gay? i mean, i get it: you're healthy. you eat salad and drink water and you wax and primp more than fucking tammy faye baker (may she rest in peace).

what annoys me most is that people expect that, as a gay man, i should look/act/order the same shit. fags are the new straight men. we like pizza and beer. we wipe our noses on our t-shirts. we go to baseball games and say rude shit to your girlfriend. some of us can fix our own cars. most importantly, we kick the shit out of bitchy straight dudes who are on 1500 calorie diets.

i wanted to hold this dude's head over a plate of cheese fries and scream, "eat the carbs, you fucking faggot!"

now excuse me while i act straight and head to starbucks for a triple non-fat cappuccino and slowly page through the new martha stewart living.

if it looks like a duck, if it quacks like a duck...

2007-08-08T11:28:00.000-04:00

i'm a little bitter at the christians today, possibly a bit of recent PTSD. in any case, quoting americablog: "Parents and Friends of Ex-Gays (PFOX) believes that it can 'help people with unwanted same-sex attractions (SSA) realize their personal goals for change -- whether by developing their innate heterosexual potential or by embracing a lifestyle as a single, non-sexually active man or woman."'

the organization i used to belong to used to try to play these jedi-mind tricks on us young homos too. they give you the option of either searching out your internal capacity for heterosexuality (i tried and failed miserably) or just acceptance that you can never have sex. ever. with anyone.

the "internal conversion" bullshit is fallacious (what? who said "fellatio"?) and is dismissed by the american psychiatric association. the fatally flawed reasoning behind the latter "non-sexual" option does not take into consideration that even if an individual agrees to avoid homo sex for their entire lives, they still have the natural desire to mate with another human being. whether or not i decide to hump men, i still want to share my life with a partner, grow old together, buy some children, plant perennials, etc. the churchy people cannot get this through their thick skulls. i used to hate when my identity would be watered down to a "lifestyle decision". i live a gay lifestyle whether or not i suck dick. i'm a gay person. you cannot separate the two.

how do you categorize a gay christian who chooses to be non-sexual? are they straight? no, but the church will not acknowledge their gayness either. not only are these people marginalized in society at large but they are marginalized within the very church walls that are supposed to be their salvation. i know people who have chosen this route and apparently can justify their decision within themselves. i just hope they don't get eaten alive with self-hatred and depression along the way. doesn't sound like a healthy christian "lifestyle" to me.

when i came out to my mom at 17, she called her best friend who told her that i was "just like job" and that we would come out of this "test" with God's blessing. if leprosy is anything like getting a handjob by a hot spanish exchange student in the back of my mom's minivan, then sign me up!

obviously, the main reason i left the church is because i could not reconcile a dichotomous life. i couldn't stop grinding my teeth and biting my fist at church, holding back the urge to run up the aisle and punching the shit out of the minister. i couldn't let some moron who knows nothing about me to define my identity based loosely on a couple of ancient scriptures. to all the fundamentalists and non-sexuals who deny their gayness: if it looks like a duck, if it quacks like a duck, it's a duck no matter if it fucks other ducks or not. know what i'm saying?

jesus is magic

2007-08-02T11:18:00.001-04:00

starbucks. 9:30 am, central time. overland park, kansas. steph and i are emailing back and forth about new t-shirts. in walks hot 19 year-old, corn-fed meat-sicle. he sits down to my left with a middle aged gentleman. they start chatting about some jesus camps around kansas. the meat-sicle wears a t-shirt that reads "god is our refuge and our strength". it is the same color combo as motto apparel's living the dream shirt.

my ears perk after overhearing, "i know that god is leading me everywhere". i chortle but try to hold it in, in turn shooting foam from my grande non-fat cappuccino out of my nose and across the room. (THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!)

i immediately email steph the circumstances. her reply:

“oh I totally know what you mean – this one time, God led me to this prostitute and we fucked and did coke all night and I think he gave me herpes.”

my reply:

"one time god led me to this pair of loafers at barney's. they were $300 and not on sale but it didn't matter because god wanted me to have them. i was like, 'let's get em! praise the lord!'"

meat-sicle says, "you've been in my prayers."

i look over, naively hoping he was talking to me but to no avail.

older christian says, "did you hear about that bridge collapse? a whole school bus full of children fell off the bridge and survived. what a miracle!"

um....what about everyone else who died? was god too exhausted from saving all those school children to save everyone else? did he have to run to the bathroom? maybe he was watching oprah and got distracted? oh wait, he must have had to jog over to darfur to save some africans. oh wait...no, god doesn't stop genocide, he just saves school buses full of pretty, white american children.

why don't people use their power of reason? it makes momma cry. i think it makes jesus cry too.

How We Roll @Motto

2007-07-25T12:34:00.001-04:00

T-Shirt Selling Mania and YouTube Plug

2007-07-25T12:18:00.001-04:00

The vid in the above post was filmed by a journalist this past Saturday at the Somerville Art Festival, which we rocked. They show us about 19 seconds in, after the pudgy Asian. We had a constant crowd of people laughing at our sarcasm and creativity. I think our table was a refreshing break from the booths of native American dream catchers and hand-painted shitty pottery. There was another t-shirt vendor who had Nietzsche quotes on all their shirts. One of our customers walked over to us and said, "You need a masters degree to get their shirts. You guys make something I can relate to. Do you have anything with stick figures?"

Other favorite quotations of the day include:

"Those guys are jerks."

Upon seeing Arrhythmia's Gonna Getcha: "Oh my god! I have an arrhythmia problem! I can't wait to wear this in front of my mom. She's gonna cry."

"I hope you're proud of yourselves."

Regarding Tequila Mockingbird: "I have to get this for my friend Christy. She has a mocking bird and she's an alcoholic."

"That's not art."

Alyssa, a 12 year-old junior high-school student, commented on Black Girls Have More Fun: "That's true. I know some and they're really fun."

the difference between me and them

2007-06-26T22:25:00.001-04:00

i've been thinking a lot about this post over the past week or so. having left my family and their cult-esque version of christianity about 6 years ago, i frequently struggle with a similar guilt that V experiences in her entry.

my parents and brother don't talk to me because i'm no longer a member of the church. they don't acknowledge my "lifestyle" or my partner of 3 years. sometimes they'll answer the phone if i call and they forget to screen. i miss them inexplicably, regardless of my disdain for the church.

my parents are in their late 40s, are in an unhappy marriage, have no savings for retirement, have a house that's falling apart, and are floundering above the poverty line. they are perfectly capable of getting themselves out of their financial ruins but don't take the initiative to do so. i'll spare you the pity party but suffice it to say that i feel guilty for not being around to help them. i'm madly in love with my partner whom i just married. i make a lot of money. i own my home. i'm planning on buying investment properties in the coming months. i went to college. i have a new car. i have retirement savings. i've travelled all over the world and stayed in some of the most amazing places known to humanity.

i've sent them money. thousands. aside from just plain old guilt, i send them money because just before my freshman year of college my dad took out a 28k loan and i eventually dropped out. i feel like i created a financial burden for them by asking them to take out the loan in their names. my parents have since refinanced their home and paid off all but 5k of the loan (i get the details from my grandmother who is not a fundamentalist) but i still send checks because i feel like i abandoned my family just as much as they have abandoned me. what helps me sleep at night is the fact that i know i can at least help them get the roof fixed or the electric bill paid. i do, however, get frustrated because they won't talk to me but they can cash my checks; i guess it's a loop hole in the religion.

in any case, i think my parents suffer from chronic fear of life's imminent possibilities outside of their microcosm. they are afraid to be ambitious, to think for themselves, to define their own destinies. i had to leave before that fear permeated my life and sent me spiraling into a life of ignorance, poverty, pulpit manipulation, and mediocrity.

my message to V is this: you left a model for people to follow. maybe you feel like you abandoned those neighborhood children but you still showed them that there was a way out, whether or not you realize it. i don't think leaving was an act of selfishness, i think it was a matter of survival. what good would you have done if you stayed and looked after a half-dozen children at age 17? you would have ended up just like amanda. you are different than them because you escaped and found a way to transcend the fear that keeps them barred in their dysfunctional lives.

in the typical andalusian-blog-posting-ani-difranco-cliche fashion, here is one of her lines that came to my head when i read V's entry that basically sums up whatever it is that i'm trying to say:

god help you if you are a phoenix//and you dare to rise up from the ash//a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy//while you are just flying past

5 more reasons why i need to live in austin

2007-06-19T21:17:00.000-04:00

brisket at iron works.

cool shit at gomikitti.

cocktails at the belmont.

the patio at momo's.

suzanna choffel. this white girl can sing.

Straight Weddings Are Stupid

2007-05-23T11:09:00.000-04:00

violent acres posted an entry a couple days back highlighting why weddings are stupid. she points out the ginormous expense of the dress, the open bar, the fancy photographer, the tropical paradise theme, etc.

i agree with her 100%. wouldn't it be better if people were like, "hey honey, let's get married in the back yard and instead of an over-the-top reception, i'll pay off $30,000 of our debt"?! or "let's put a down payment on a house instead of throwing a party for 200 of our relatives that we never speak to."

this is EXACTLY why more people should get gay married. let me illustrate: my partner and i are getting married next weekend. we spent under a grand on our rings. we did go ape shit on our suits and barney's ties and dolce & gabanna shoes, but it still cost about 1/3 of a vera wang wedding dress (we're homos, what do you expect?). we're getting married in a park by my cousin who is a JP and having a reception of about 50 friends and family. yes, we pissed many of our friends off because we kept the reception small, but whatever, we didn't want to go into debt over this event. we're having the reception at our favorite restaurant in boston which has a gorgeous private dining room. dj, photographer, 4 course meal, flowers, and open bar will run us about $12,000. ...and it will be gorgeous. yes, you stupid straight women, you can have a simple AND beautiful AND inexpensive wedding if you can think outside of your martha stewart wedding magazine bubble and recognize that the event is not about showing off, it's about celebrating your commitment. you may say, "but i've been dreaming about my special day since i was a little girl". yeah, well, i've been dreaming about fucking luke skywalker since i was 5 but your childhood dreams don't always come true, do they bitch? you are not a worthy, all-deserving princess. your wedding is not just about you and i have to think that 99% of straight men would prefer what we're doing compared to the $60,000 self-indulgent pepto vomit fest that are the straight weddings.

remembering jerry falwell

2007-05-15T21:13:00.000-04:00

america carries a heavy heart today as jerry falwell passes on to another realm. i pay tribute to him by citing a few quotes from his many years of christian ministry:

"I do question the sincerity of people like the Reverend Martin Luther King..."

"Labor unions should study and read the Bible instead of asking for more money. When people get right with God, they are better workers."

"I hope to see the day when, as in the early days of our country, we don't have public schools. The churches will have taken them over again and Christians will be running them."

Jerry on the anti-christ: "must be, of necessity, a Jewish male"

On the 9/11 attacks: "I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America. I point the finger in their face and say 'you helped this happen.'"

And my personal favorite: "AIDS is the wrath of a just God against homosexuals."

May you rest in peace you fat, bigoted fuck.

confronting the colonel

2007-05-09T16:31:00.000-04:00

had more work drama this week with this dude (see ani difranco montage). i'm finally standing up for myself though. it feels good, like punching a nazi.

IT'S FOR HER

2007-05-02T09:08:00.001-04:00

my friend travis made this short. freaking hilarious.

have you ever fallen in love with a city?

2007-04-04T22:06:00.000-04:00

deep in the heart of texas...

revenge extravaganza - dedicated to "the colonel"

2007-03-29T17:52:00.000-04:00

i got royally fucked over by a "team member" at work. since i can't delve into cor-pirate details on my blog, i will describe the situation using ani difranco lyrics:

"and the next time that i saw you//you were larger than life//yeah you came and you conquered//you were doing all right//you had an army of suits behind you//and all you had to be was willing//and i said i still make a pretty good living//you must make a killing//and i hope that//that you are happy//i hope that at least you are having fun//oh cuz everyone is a fucking napoleon" -napoleon

"tell me who is your boogieman//that's who i will be//you don't have to like me for who i am//but we'll see what you're made of by what you make of me" -willing to fight

"smile pretty, and watch your back" -every state line

"i am warning you i am weightless//and the wind is always shifting//so don't hang anything on me//if you ever want to see it again//i am telling you i'm different than you think i am" -million you never made

and the real kicker which outlines my ever so subtle revenge extravaganza (coming to a city near you, summer of 2007):

"you are subtle as a window pane//standing in my view//but i will wait for it to rain//so that i can see you//you call me up at night//when there's no light passing through//and you think that i don't understand//but i do//we don't say everything that we could//so that we can say later//oh, you misunderstood//i hold my cards up//close to my chest//i say what i have to and i hold back the rest//'cause someone you don't know//is someone you don't know//get a firm grip, girl before you let go//for every hand extended//another lies in wait//keep your eye on that one//anticipate...

...if there's anything i've learned all these years on my own//it's how to find my own way there//and how to find my own way home" -anticipate

Think I'll Go To Boston//I Think That You're A Retard

2007-03-20T20:53:00.001-04:00

has anybody heard this song? it was on at the gym today. i actually stopped when i was walking by the TV to catch a good look at the lead singer so that if i ever run into him on the street, i can kick the shit out of him. the lyrics are naive and stupid beyond belief. i googled the lyrics and found the band's website(augustana); they're out of san diego. just in case the track is unfamiliar, here are the lyrics to the chorus:

I think I'll go to Boston//I think that I'm just tired//I think I need a new town//to leave this all behind//I think I need a sunrise//I'm tired of the sunset//I hear it's nice in the Summer// some snow would be nice

ok asshole, GO AHEAD! move to fucking boston, you ill-informed little emo-bitch! pack up your bags and that rat's nest haircut of yours and come see the sunrise from the waterfront in the middle of february when there's a windchill factor of -25 degrees. yeah, the snow is real nice when it's flying at your face horizontally at 35 miles per hour like shrapnel flying out of a grenade launcher. i'd take baghdad over february in boston.

you hear it's nice in summer, do you? last summer was really nice in my 4th floor walk up with no central AC. maybe you haven't heard of HUMIDITY down there in san diego, but in late july, when you walk out of your apartment in BOSTON, you instantly get pit stains and it feels like you're breathing through a straw. you'll have to use 2 handfuls of leave-in conditioner to keep that greasy ass hairstyle of yours. oh, and all your black rock-star outfits? you'll probably pass out due to heat stroke headed from newbury street to cambridge surrounded by 2,050 asian MIT students crammed onto an un-air conditioned bus. yes, i pray you, move to boston.

maybe you'll meet a new "lover". so full of hope! i hope you like bitchy, dumpy, entitled women who think getting dressed up to go out means jeans, black shoes, a string of pearls, and their new ann taylor sweater set---because that's all you're gonna get! welcome to Generica! boston has about 5 hot, interesting single chicks and i'm friends with ALL OF THEM and i can say with great certainty, NONE of them would date your whiny ass.

so go ahead, MOVE already. your song sucks and you deserve to suffer.

men's event 2007

2007-03-14T14:49:00.000-04:00

essie and i went to the fenway community health center benefit for the 3rd year running. it's a bunch of gays sashaying around in tuxes giving self-congratulatory speeches on all of the good work they do for AIDS. needless to say, i slammed 2 vodka martinis within my first 10 minutes there. by desert i was a *little* sloppy. i asked an asian man at my table if he'd prefer to use chopsticks to eat his carrot cake. then i put my hands in prayer position and bowed. i proceeded to call him mr. midori the rest of the night. i told him to call me. i don't think he's gonna call.

i totally got raped today

2007-02-14T19:03:00.000-05:00

...in a corporate sense, that is. people were shooting the messenger left and right, criticizing my "note taking" capabilities and stabbing me in the back for not doing their job for them. all the more reason to own your own business. someday i will just fire all the motherfuckers that get up in my face.

smile pretty and watch your back -ani

T R Knight (of Greys Anatomy) responds to slur

2007-01-23T17:19:00.001-05:00

i used to talk a lot of shit about ellen because her talk show glosses over her gay identity. i attributed her lack of "gayness" to her network contract, basically selling out in order to make her show more palatable to the ignorant masses. i take it back after watching this clip.

the sexiest rental car ever

2007-01-23T16:39:00.000-05:00

i often joke about the unattractive, mid-size sedan-ness of the rental cars i get when i travel on business. this week i have some ford station wagon suv thingy with like 10 seats in the back. i have to say, it really impresses the clients when i roll up in that big hunk of detriot abortion. much to my amusement, as i was walking up to the car after a meeting, i noticed the first 3 letters of my license plate. couldn't have said it better myself.

please board according to your group number or i will fuck you up

2007-01-10T13:04:00.000-05:00

i travel every week. i'm at the airport around 6am on monday morning, headed to some god forsaken mid-western state. i have check-in and airport security down to a science.

i'm willing to accept that i travel much more than the average person and i like to think that i am patient with those who may fumble at the check-in kiosk or who forget to take off their earrings at security. i never bother the attendant at the gate unless i have a real problem. i realize that they will make an announcement if there has been a delay, if there is room available for upgrades, etc.

there is one aspect of travel, however, that infuriates me every fucking week: the boarding line. everyone hovers over the gate as if it's a fucking race to get on the plane. i don't know about you, but i'm not in any rush to schlep onto a 25 year-old tin can so that i can fold myself up like a fucking oragami swan, crammed between 2 800 pound, disease infested management "consultants" who don't understand the meaning of "please turn off all cell phones and electronic devices".

american airlines boards by group number which is printed in large font on every boarding pass. the directions are simple: enter the boarding line when your group is called. they don't say, "breathe down the neck of" and "step on the heels of the person in front of you because the plane might leave without your fat, ignorant ass". you'd think the baby jesus himself were on the other side of that gate handing out hundred dollar bills by the way people dart towards the entrance.

i have platinum status with american so i always get to board with the first class people, and many times get a first-class upgrade. there were 4 (count 4!) people in line this week who were in groups 3 and 4 who jumped the line. i LOVE when the attendant sends them out of queue and gives them a nasty glare. "you have to wait" may be my favorite phrase in the english language. i'm usually parked in a seat until they call the "platinum members" which is when i elbow and push my way through the flock of sheep to hand over my boarding pass, turn back around to the crowd, toss my hair, and waive coyly at all the assholes waiting to dump themselves like a week old turd into their rickety coach seats.

why can't americans learn the virtue of patience?

i'm making it my personal mission to bitchslap the sense of entitlement out of people until we can all organize ourselves in a waiting line like grown-ups. the plane will not leave without you, although i wish it would. back the fuck up!

p.s. the bathroom in the front is for first-class ONLY so go do the pee pee dance in the back where i don't have to look at your ancient, sagging grandma ass.

NYE

2007-01-05T11:13:00.000-05:00

nye6
Originally uploaded by get that thing out of my face.

uploaded everything from last weekend to Flickr.

happy birthday 2007!

2007-01-01T19:17:00.000-05:00

last night i had bette davis eyes, today i have bette davis lungs.

in defense of augusten: perception is reality

2006-12-19T14:55:00.000-05:00

this month's vanity fair ran with the article ruthless with scissors which detailed hours of interviews with author augusten burroughs "adopted" family, the turcottes. in the wake of james frey's highly publicized memoir debacle, the characters in burroughs' book running with scissors sued the author and his publishing company for defamation and emotional turmoil. their accusations include weeks of emotional stress, anxiety, severe nausea, hospitalization, among other forms of emotional distress. they say he lied, stretched the truth, exaggerated dates, etc. they feel as though their family was defamed, that the portrait painted was grotesque and untrue.

i suppose they can point all the fingers they want at augusten and his publishing company until they get the restitution (read: cash) that they so desperately seek. even some of my friends, who happen to be AVID burroughs fans, have called him a fraud and a liar.

sure, he may have stretched the truth a little, changed some dates, combined characters, added anecdotes (he puts a disclaimer in every novel), but the sheer public perception of this family lends truth to augusten's memoir. my grandmother was a restauranteur and socialite in 1970's northampton, massachusetts (where running with scissors took place). after reading augusten's novel, she confirmed many of the eccentric and obscene behaviors of the turcotte family throughout the 70's and early 80's. dr. turcotte would have loud talks with his family degrading women and describing explicit sex acts in front of small children, prompting my grandfather to ask him to leave the restaurant on multiple occasions, usually stiffing gramps on the bill.

grandma recalls the family essentially moving into the front yard of their delapitated house one summer after an unprofitable tag sale prevented them from moving the furniture back into the house.

she told me all about the bizarre father's day parades up and down main street with dr. turcotte leading the family wearing no shirt, red suspenders, and a santa hat. he advised my grandfather not to let gram wear the pants in their relationship, sincer her "role" as a woman should be to serve and comply with men.

i guess the most relevant fact contributing to my belief in augusten's memoir is that dr. turcotte lost his license to practice psychiatry in 1984 for GROSS MISCONDUCT. he gave a sexual predator guardianship over his teenage daughter in exchange for cash loans, essentially selling her into prostitution.

i feel like calling up augusten's agent and asking if they need a character witness for the lawsuit. i'm sure grandma would be happy to comply.

destiny has a pinga

2006-12-13T16:05:00.000-05:00

this shot is from my friend amy's birthday last saturday. i think it ranks in my top 5 best nights out ever. "destiny" rocked the beyonce moves and hair, i think some of our straight friends were thrown off by the hips and fake boobs. i taught them them the meaning of "she's on the 'mones'". i think our friend scott may turn into a tranny chaser. photo courtesy of essie.

p.s. i failed to mention that i rolled my window down the whole drunken ride home and yelled out to pedestrians, "all i want for christmas is YOU".

monday morning gripes

2006-12-11T15:23:00.000-05:00

first thing this morning i had to deal with was getting logged out of my work laptop for some server problem that i don't understand. next it was onto the airport where i was corralled with other angry/tired business travelers at 6am to fly to texas. i hate this dog and pony show more than most because i realize what a farce "airport security" is. i've been smuggling at least a half dozen chapsticks in my carry-on bag for the past 4 months---and they're NOT in a little plastic baggie. it's my own personal rebellion against the fatally flawed system.

in other news, chris and i had our semi-monthly "power lunch" together last friday which amounts to, in this order, martini/salad/martini/barney's/martini/nap. i got a pair of loafers at a sinful markdown (pictured). they're gorgeous but they are making me blister more than a handjob from a jalepeno farmer. i guess they will be worn when minimal walking is required.

on the yang side of life, i more or less finished 2 songs yesterday. i don't think i've completed any new dirges in months---feels good to get it down on paper.

essie set up his make-shift photo studio in his dad's basement and i got to observe him at work (creativity = HOT). he's doing some post-production on amy's birthday party which i will post soon. think wigs, furry hats, trannies, talking to strangers, and copious amounts of alcohol.

in the meantime, austin is 70 degrees, i've got my difranco playlist running in the background, and i'm not working very hard. life is good.

i'm really gay at poker

2006-12-09T10:52:00.000-05:00

we played "texas hold em" last night at jon & steph's. i realized how absoluely horrible i am at playing cards. i'm one of those people who needs to re-learn a game if i haven't played it in the past 24 hours. i can't really shuffle, i can't really deal, i don't really have any strategy, i always lose all of my money. i need the card game lessons to relate to things like "dance-offs" or "yoga positions", otherwise i am completely lost. i did, however, make a kick ass mix cd that we listened to and i had on that amazing hat (see jpg).

realign your perception

2006-12-04T18:11:00.000-05:00

essie and i had the most amazing weekend in houston with our friends ben and robert. we've been so burned out with work and hating on boston, it was a good kick in the pants for both of us to re-evaluate and rediscover our love of art and design. i've been feeling so stagnant and uninspired the past few months, basically identifying as a traveling corporate drone. just being around creative people for a few days has refeuled me to write some new songs, make some new t-shirts, and deal with the fact that i'm going to be at this job/stuck in boston for the next 3 years so i might as well make the best of it. even though i'm revelling in my current euphoric state, you can rest assured, i still hate dakota fanning.

*robert & ben's work can be found here.

*ryan geiger's work, another amazing houston artist, can be found here.

open for business, bitches

2006-11-01T11:52:00.000-05:00

dakota
Originally uploaded by get that thing out of my face.

steph and i finally have our store up and running.

we're adding 3 new designs in the next couple of weeks, stay tuned.

STFU, MF!

2006-10-31T10:36:00.000-05:00

i actually found a non-starbucks cafe to work in today with free wifi in dallas. everything is great except for the fat ass at the table next to me who insists on humming to every motherfucking song on satellite radio. i'm going to order a large scalded milk and throw it at him so that he not only gets 3rd degree burns, but smells like goat cheese and baby puke all day.

halloween & whatnot

2006-10-30T14:24:00.000-05:00

um. yeah. essie and i dressed up as beer wenches for a halloween party on saturday night. after the party, we went to a sing-a-long of hedwig and the angry inch at the coolidge. this is what beer, magical cigarettes, and a wig will do to you.

"doble estanda", as they say in spanish

2006-10-03T13:25:00.000-04:00

i love how conservatives are always quick to blast liberals and democrats as morally depraved perverts for supporting gays and other heathens. yet, conservative former rep. mark foley gets caught soliciting young boys on the internet. it seems like this administration has been plagued by a slew of sex scandals be it gay, underage, or just plain adulterous. i want to make a shirt with steph that says, "republican senators: hate gay marriage, love gay prostitutes".

i just came from the alamo and it SUCKED.

2006-09-28T09:51:00.000-04:00

i was in san antonio yesterday for a couple of meetings and i had a little bit of downtime in the afternoon. what is one to do in san antonio when they have free time? visit the alamo, of course! it was disappointing to say the least. i was expecting someone dressed as davie crockett to tour me around the grounds, but to no avail. the best part of the experience what when i sent out a text message to about 10 of my friends declaring my journey to the home of texan independence. here are the responses:

Kipp: Remember the Alamo! Did you send that email to Jimmy?

Steph: OMG.

Travis: Nice! Now you'll see how inaccurate PeeWee's Big Adventure was!

Amy: HA! Remember to ask where the basement is. It's pathetic that I see the word 'alamo' and the first think I think of is Pee Wee's Big Adventure.

Tim: Oh sweet! My fave dinner spot is cappy chino's up broadway in alamo heights. It's a wine bar/rest. with good kobe burgers. The gay area is hood gay.

Katie: Yay pee wee's big adventure! Can y'all say adobe?

Jon: Take pictures!

Lauren: What's the alamo? Do they have shopping?

cruel and unusual punishment

2006-09-22T15:46:00.000-04:00

i am addicted to chapstick. i have chapsticks scattered in various locations all over my house. i have at least 3 packed in my suitcase for business trips to potentially arid locations. there is a chapstick in every jacket i own. there is a chapstick in the console, trunk, and glove compartment of my car. give me moist lips or give me death. my body needs it like it needs water. the stupid government has banned carrying chapstick on planes because it's kinda, sorta like a "liquid". this is an extremely difficult rule to abide by when you travel every week for work and you're addicted to lip-balm. yesterday i flew from dallas to boston with a 2 hour layover in chicago, which means i was in an airport/airplane for approximately 8 hours of my day. do you understand what kind of trauma my lips were enduring? 5 minutes before boarding my flight from chicago to boston, i ran to the closest drug kiosk and bought a 3-pack. i ripped open the packaging like a junkie and smeared the sweet, greasy substance all over my mouth area. god, it was better than sex. it was like i'd been walking through the sahara for days and finally stumbled upon an oasis. it was like i had been at barney's after christmas sale all day without my credit cards and found $1,000 cash in a marc jacobs loafer. nobody caught me. nobody frisked me looking for "gel-like" substances, so i'm just going to keep a chapstick handy until they figure out my rouse. if i have to travel with dry lips, then the terrorists have truly won.

vacation retardation

2006-09-20T22:39:00.000-04:00

yeah. we went to provincetown back in august and essie finally downloaded the pictures from our camera. we had a balls-out good time. click on the flickr link to the right to see more.

knuckle down

2006-09-18T21:30:00.000-04:00

spending excessive amounts of time watching CNN in marriotts around the country will fuck you up, man. i keep thinking how we'll look back 50 years from now and see iraq and the bush administration as the blunder that it truly is. i just hope that my kids won't have to flee to Saskatchewan to avoid the terror mongering instigated by dubya and his cronies. so, pontificating while in that general vein of bad news hovering over my head like a swarm of mosquitoes in the Louisiana bayou, i transcribed this ani-outtake from a live cd of hers:

"i've begun to think of peace as just a product of balance. you know, it's natures, it's written all over the world. the real one...that takes over when that high pitched tv tone goes away. i had the incredible fortune to go to hiroshima, japan recently and went to the museum there and just cried and cried and cried... the mayor of hiroshima sends a letter every time there's a nuclear test and some weapon is blasted off somewhere...he sends a letter going, 'you know, take it from me...' but all the way through the museum there was just one thing i saw missing in all the governments that make war: fundamentally out of balance. men, while being quite cunning and real good at making a lot of really cool shit, just can't do it on their own. it's not natural."

9/11 orgy

2006-09-10T20:15:00.000-04:00

in the wake of the worst attack on american soil, the media is jerking off all over itself in the form of tv specials, a presidential visit to ground zero, hollywood portrayals, and real-time footage of planes crashing into the world trade center. i can't help but think that "our lessons are still hanging in the air"; what else will it take to wake us up? my favorite little folksinger puts it best:

yes,
us people are just poems
we're 90% metaphor
with a leanness of meaning
approaching hyper-distillation
and once upon a time
we were moonshine
rushing down the throat of a giraffe
yes, rushing down the long hallway
despite what the p.a. announcement says
yes, rushing down the long stairs
with the whiskey of eternity
fermented and distilled
to eighteen minutes
burning down our throats
down the hall
down the stairs
in a building so tall
that it will always be there
yes, it's part of a pair
there on the bow of noah's ark
the most prestigious couple
just kickin back parked
against a perfectly blue sky
on a morning beatific
in its indian summer breeze
on the day that america
fell to its knees
after strutting around for a century
without saying thank you
or please

and the shock was subsonic
and the smoke was deafening
between the setup and the punch line
cuz we were all on time for work that day
we all boarded that plane for to fly
and then while the fires were raging
we all climbed up on the windowsill
and then we all held hands
and jumped into the sky

and every borough looked up when it heard the first blast
and then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed
and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar
looked more like war than anything i've seen so far
so far
so far
so fierce and ingenious
a poetic specter so far gone
that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling
over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and on
and i'll tell you what, while we're at it
you can keep the pentagon
keep the propaganda
keep each and every tv
that's been trying to convince me
to participate
in some prep school punk's plan to perpetuate retribution
perpetuate retribution
even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution
is still hanging in the air
and there's ash on our shoes
and there's ash in our hair
and there's a fine silt on every mantle
from hell's kitchen to brooklyn
and the streets are full of stories
sudden twists and near misses
and soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters
with tales of narrowly averted disasters
and the whiskey is flowin
like never before
as all over the country
folks just shake their heads
and pour

so here's a toast to all the folks who live in palestine
afghanistan
iraq

el salvador

here's a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation
under the stone cold gaze of mt. rushmore

here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors
who daily provide women with a choice
who stand down a threat the size of oklahoma city
just to listen to a young woman's voice

here's a toast to all the folks on death row right now
awaiting the executioner's guillotine
who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads
to find peace in the form of a dream

cuz take away our playstations
and we are a third world nation
under the thumb of some blue blood royal son
who stole the oval office and that phony election
i mean
it don't take a weatherman
to look around and see the weather
jeb said he'd deliver florida, folks
and boy did he ever

and we hold these truths to be self evident:
#1 george w. bush is not president
#2 america is not a true democracy
#3 the media is not fooling me
cuz i am a poem heeding hyper-distillation
i've got no room for a lie so verbose
i'm looking out over my whole human family
and i'm raising my glass in a toast

here's to our last drink of fossil fuels
let us vow to get off of this sauce
shoo away the swarms of commuter planes
and find that train ticket we lost
cuz once upon a time the line followed the river
and peeked into all the backyards
and the laundry was waving
the graffiti was teasing us
from brick walls and bridges
we were rolling over ridges
through valleys
under stars
i dream of touring like duke ellington
in my own railroad car
i dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches
in a grand station aglow with grace
and then standing out on the platform
and feeling the air on my face

give back the night its distant whistle
give the darkness back its soul
give the big oil companies the finger finally
and relearn how to rock-n-roll
yes, the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting there
so it's time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets
and clear the air
get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand
of someone else's desert
put it back in its pants
and quit the hypocritical chants of
freedom forever

cuz when one lone phone rang
in two thousand and one
at ten after nine
on nine one one
which is the number we all called
when that lone phone rang right off the wall
right off our desk and down the long hall
down the long stairs
in a building so tall
that the whole world turned
just to watch it fall

and while we're at it
remember the first time around?
the bomb?
the ryder truck?
the parking garage?
the princess that didn't even feel the pea?
remember joking around in our apartment on avenue D?

can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design
following a fantastical reversal of the new york skyline?!

it was a joke, of course
it was a joke
at the time
and that was just a few years ago
so let the record show
that the FBI was all over that case
that the plot was obvious and in everybody's face
and scoping that scene
religiously
the CIA
or is it KGB?
committing countless crimes against humanity
with this kind of eventuality
as its excuse
for abuse after expensive abuse
and it didn't have a clue
look, another window to see through
way up here
on the 104th floor
look
another key
another door
10% literal
90% metaphor
3000 some poems disguised as people
on an almost too perfect day
should be more than pawns
in some asshole's passion play
so now it's your job
and it's my job
to make it that way
to make sure they didn't die in vain
sshhhhhh....
baby listen
hear the train?

© 2001 ani difranco / righteous babe music

trading predatory conservative journalism for trannies

2006-09-06T22:30:00.000-04:00

seriously. why not? i spend too much time in my hotel room watching CNN and it's really wearing me out. if i hear one more loud spoken, honey-glazed, tub of bacon grease republican label all democrats as unpatriotic socialists, i'm going to poop on nancy grace's chest. maybe i could just kidnap her and swap her out for ladybunny. i mean, they pretty much look the same, and lady bunny would really shake things up. go ahead, tell me which one is cnn's nancy grace and which is the drag queen...

believe me, nancy won't be missed.

lunch on the D list

2006-08-15T15:06:00.000-04:00

yesterday i missed my flight to kansas city so i found myself trapped in the dulles airport, outside of D.C. i sat down to lunch in a nearly empty airport restaurant. i glanced around at the other patrons and noticed that marc summers of nickelodeon's double dare was sitting a few tables away. i knew for sure it was him because i had a gay-childhood crush on marc and remembered seeing a recent E! true hollywood story about him dealing with a particularly afflicting case of obsessive compulsive disorder. he has actually aged pretty well. i considered asking the waiter for "THE PHYSICAL CHALLENGE", but decided to go with the cobb salad instead.

everyone needs to feel special

2006-08-10T13:11:00.000-04:00

i'm sitting in the dallas/ft. worth airport which is packed because of all the terrorist/bombing liquid whatnot. all the texans think that they're somehow under attack, like someone is going to put jetfuel in their dicky's bbq diet coke. anyway, this retarded girl is sitting right next to me. she keeps leaning over and touching my leg when i'm looking away. when she sees me notice her she pulls her hand back to her body and giggles. when she's successful in touching my leg, she applaudes with great glee. it's like everytime she touches me, it suddenly becomes the 4th of july, there are fireworks overhead and her teletubby doll magically comes to life and dances around the airport. she keeps pushing my limits though. a minute ago she tried going for the pocket. at first it was cute and playful, but i think she's gonna start going after my junk. what if i got sexually harassed by a retard at the airport? what if she tries to give me a full-on handjob? ...oh god...she's going to sneeze and it's going to go all over my laptop screen, i have to find a new seat.

until next time...

living large in the marquis

2006-07-31T21:09:00.000-04:00

hertz somehow stuck me with a grand marquis as my rental for this week in st. louis. i usually get a ford taurus or some ford SUV. i get off the plane, already running late for my meeting, and had to just take the car they assigned me and get on the road. i didn't realize until i arrived at my appointment, how foolishly large this car is. the marquis' butt stuck out about 4 ft. past the parking space. i can barely see over the dashboard and i'm 6'3".

it's so embarassing driving around in this beast mobile. i feel like people think i either a) just dropped my grandpa off at the doctor and i'm running some errands for him or b) i'm a drug dealer.

i went to whole foods to get a salad for dinner and tried to swing out of my parking spot and into the road. i couldn't quite make the radius so i had to do a 3 point turn which resulted in 2 cars waiting for me to finish my elaborate maneuver. one of the drivers who had to queue for me was a skinny blonde in a saab who snarled and shook her head in disgust as i passed by. i wanted to scream at her: THIS IS NOT REALLY ME! I'M ONE OF YOU, I'M JUST TRAPPED IN THIS CAR FOR A WEEK AGAINST MY WILL!

i really hope i get a taurus next week.

6 reasons to fall in love with austin...

2006-07-25T10:21:00.000-04:00

mmmm...cocktails.

i heart my patio

fancy adidas.

acoustic junction.

wake me up, before you go-go.

bitch, make me a sandwich!

Googlism for "Essie" (My Boyfriend)

2006-07-19T23:09:00.000-04:00

essie is a glamorous figure for me
essie is the pussy power cat
essie is the therapist for you
essie is modeling her silk and lace victorian dress
essie is told she has only months to live
essie is called to testify before huac; with charming belligerence
essie is adored in her perfect childhood dream
essie is not as much like her as amber is like me
essie is smart
essie is emmeline's best friend at klc
essie is buried in griffin cemetery
essie is pleasant and lets you know how special his business is to him
essie is strong no nonsense woman
essie is made from muslin
essie is the only polish worth its weight in gold
essie is a dancer with two left feet who takes lessons from
essie is unexpectedly involved in another story
essie is 'n lid sedert 22 april 2002
essie is ofa good
essie is delighted to be surrounded by three men
essie is a ballet dancer
essie is making this run to bring awareness of the efforts of harriet tubman
essie is interviewed in slave quarters
essie is reading law
essie is a cutie
essie is responsible for the technical and scientific aspects of nutrition education research and the analysis of large national data sets to help respond to
essie is komkommerkoel
essie is entangled in the search for the killer
essie is 21 years old and lives in the rotterdam area
essie is a pixie in toeshoes
essie is the devoted wife and mother
essie is a junior and served as a two year jv goalkeeper
essie is not a generic term and
essie is already a java junkie
essie is somewhat more sophisticated and involves exploration and practice in addition
essie is missing a few teeth
essie is the director of the middle school and an assistant head
essie is capering about in a tutu; ed is playing the xylophone; mr
essie is beautiful and she knows it
essie is in the square bottle
essie is in love 15
essie is a sweet
essie is based on the oral history of moabite essie white
essie is dedicated to her family and church
essie is quick to show me a 52ff
essie is the wife of rev
essie is a typey girl with exceptional motherhood abilities
essie is the daughter of nancy jane
essie is a talentless ballerina married to a talentless musician
essie is lee's sister
essie is a painter/printmaker currently completing a fine arts degree at deakin
essie is 102 years old
essie is from cincinnati and has a brother with a developmental disability
essie is going to sign the contract she suddenly passes out
essie is right and we all > know it's true about the number of people who rely on > both prescription drugs and otc medicines
essie is right and we all know it's true about the number of people who rely on both prescription drugs and otc medicines
essie is reliable and efficient
essie is still too young to gauge
essie is a one year old standard female
essie is showing her rap talent yet again
essie is two years older than the census marie
essie is worried
essie is preceded in death by her parents; two sisters
essie is very popular
essie is
essie is home again
essie is on a train into manhattan to meet erik face to face
essie is sponsored by
essie is currently in rehearsal for a streetcar named desire at the national theatre starring as stella opposite glenn close`s
essie is almost as good and the colors are superb
essie is male and married to hattie
essie is risk neutral and payoffs are shown in the following table
essie is aunt of larry hefner of forrest > city who > has helped us with reunion
essie is not her merciful dying and release from her broken body; what i remember is her daily lifting her head up
essie is busy collecting seeds from the many plants and already planning for next year
essie is quite well she asks about you very frequently
essie is returning to her small white
essie is dana?s mother; the car is registered in essie callaway?s name
essie is the evening’s warmest performance
essie is deceased
essie is calling me i got to go
essie is a true springtime delight
essie is very ill with low
essie is the daughter of katy chaiken and the granddaughter of louis chaiken
essie is the latest fuzzy family member

hot for yoga teacher

2006-07-19T22:44:00.000-04:00

i had a really attractive yoga instructor today...so hot he inspired me to write the following verse, i call it "hot for yoga teacher":

your downward doggie make me wanna blow up your spot
your garurasana make me wanna tie you up in knots
namaste
are you gay?
does it matter anyway?
put your feet behind your head
i'll give it to you any day
pranayama in and out
show you what it's all about
padangustana in your face
take the bikram tantric route

put you in child's pose
crying cuz it hurt so good
padahastasana flexing like you never knew you could

turn up the heat
turn down the lights
lay on your mat
savasana's right
take off your speedo
pumped up libido
tadasana
break you like a dorito

fuck you america

2006-07-12T13:59:00.000-04:00

180 people died in the bombings in india yesterday and over 700 people were injured. i saw a peripheral blurb about it on cnn this morning. as i picked up the paper and checked cnn.com, the major headlines were plastered with information on the jessica lunsford case and tiles falling in the god-forsaken big dig in my hometown. since when did methodically crafted mass murder take a back seat to our shoddy tunnells and murder trials? don't major US businesses have substantial investments in operations in india? isn't anyone pissed off? sympathetic? where is the news coverage?

"i must admit
today my inner pessimist
seems to have got the best of me
we start out sugared up on kool-aid and manifest destiny
and we memorize all the president's names
like little trained monkeys
and then we're spit into the world
so many spinny-eyed t.v. junkies
incapable of unravelling the military industrial mystery
preemptively pacified with history book history
an i've been around the world now
and i can see this about america
the mind control is steep here, man
the myopia is deep here"

-ani

...just another example of the media mind-fucking us all and ignoring major news when it doesn't specifically impact our geo-political interests (read: oil).

i HATE homosapiens

2006-07-12T02:24:00.000-04:00

i wouldn't eat next to a homosapien. i wouldn't sit next to a homosapien. i wouldn't even LOOK at a homosapien. homosapienism is disgusting. i read the bible, matthew 24:17, "thou shalt not be homosapien". that's right, the homosapiens will eternally burn in the firey pitch of HELL! jesus will send them down to satan the devil who will ship the homosapiens down that little black river of hades where their sinful sapien flesh will burn to a toasty crisp and then he'll roast them on a FIREY SPIT like a pork butt on the 4th of july. i wish i could to that to a homosapien.

what i really hate are the homosapiens going around tryin' to get everyone else to be homosapien with them. i mean, why must you parade around? they're trying to get our children to accept their homosapianity. it's just wrong.

what's worse are the bi-sapiens. i mean, what do you like you bi-sapien? MAKE UP YUR FREAKIN' MIND!

do not forget, my dear christians, the homosapiens can be SAVED! sweet jesus, they can be saved.

...but they can never sit next to me in heaven.

girlfriend?

2006-07-12T02:03:00.000-04:00

i'm definitely not closeted in most social situations, but since i've taken this "on-the-road" sales job, there have been a number of occasions where it would have proven to be socially awkward if i had been totally honest about my sexuality. it's important to note that some of my work travel spans rural texas and arkansas. i'm pretty good at changing pronouns on a dime, but sometimes my responses to questions about my "special someone" catch me off guard. this is often the case when i walk into an office with "CHRIST IS OUR CORNERSTONE" plastered across the reception desk and i feel totally disorientated and scared. here's an example:

(texas financial advisor in italics)
so, i don't see a ring on your finger, you got yurself a lady friend?
well, i recently got engaged, thanks for asking.

congratufreakinlations! what's your fiancee like?
oh...you know...6'2"...240

(silence)

big hands...size 13 shoe.

you sure are a funny guy there andy! ...makin' us thank yur a queer! whut's she do fur work?
demolition

good christ! she must be in pretty good shape!
yeah, she can bench about 280.

she got a nice set?
yeah, they're pretty big. she shaves them too. i've actually figured out how to unhinge my jaw so i can fit them both in my mouth.

this is my life.

om shanti

2006-07-10T21:29:00.000-04:00

over the past 5 weeks or so i've become obsessed with yoga. i started doing bikram yoga on the road because there are studios in just about every city i have to travel to. i'm losing my beer gut and i feel so freaking good all the time. i don't even crave coffee in the morning anymore. i think the key is to practice regularly, drink lots of water, and wear a hot pink leotard.

2 years

2006-06-21T20:39:00.000-04:00

he's alright. i think i'll hang on to him for a little longer. or maybe forever.

dallas

2006-06-21T12:12:00.000-04:00

work this week has been really stressful.

unsavory

2006-06-15T14:20:00.000-04:00

ladies, pull your pants up when you're sitting at a bar...especially if you have a severe case of dumpass like this chick.

note to self:

2006-06-14T15:15:00.000-04:00

do not jerk off with the free orange ginger body lotion at the marriott.

what's up, babs?

2006-06-14T15:12:00.000-04:00

the other day on "the view" barbara ripped ann coulter a new one. she even called her a heartless bitch. don't fuck with barbara walters. you cannot FUCK with BARBARA WALTERS!

i want the world

2006-05-31T20:17:00.000-04:00

I want the whole world
I want to lock it all up in my pocket
It's my bar of chocolate
Give it to me
Now!

I want today
I want tomorrow
I want to wear 'em like braids in my hair
And I don't want to share 'em

I want a party with room fulls of laughter
Ten thousand tons of ice cream
And if I don't get the things I am after
I'm going to scream!

I want the works
I want the whole works
Presents and prizes
and sweets
and surprises
Of all shapes and sizes
And now
Don't care how
I want it now
Don't care how
I want it now

all the pot in the world

2006-05-30T22:03:00.000-04:00

couldn't make me want to eat this. if i see the add for this fucking bowl-of-white-trash-pig-slop one more time, i'm going to fucking wretch.

perfect

2006-05-24T20:22:00.000-04:00

i'm in dallas where it's 1,000 degrees, i've got a cold, my hotel room is next to the ice machine which makes sounds akin to a helicopter landing on my forehead every 10 minutes and my rental car just started wildly smoking for no apparent reason. tomorrow is my birthday, my 25th birthday, which means i'm officially old. at least i don't have cancer yet.

**UPDATE** the customer service rep at the car rental agency was like, "can you drive it back to the airport?" and i was like, "um, no, i don't think it's a good idea to drive a smoking car down the freeway". he's like, "well, we'll cover the towing but if we can't find anything wrong with it, you'll have to pay for it". then the bitter queen came out, "well, i'm pretty sure the clouds of smoke and the drivers next to me honking and pointing at the impending explosion will vouch that there's something wrong with the car, so why don't you get on the horn and call a tow truck". *two snaps up*

brokeback makes me want to dance!

2006-05-24T12:38:00.000-04:00

i went out pretty hard with my friends amy & travis last saturday night when essie was out of town (when the cat's away...). we ended up at the eagle a.k.a. "the dirty bird". surprisingly, they always play pretty good music there even though most of the men are hideous.

i don't know how many tequila shots into the night i was but i faintly recognized the song the dj was playing. "is this the theme to brokeback mountain?...remixed?" "uh...yeah", says travis. i couldn't freaking believe it. leave it to our vapid, roid-raged, circuit party queens to remix the fucking brokeback mountain themesong. way to convert a blood-stained cowboy shirt into a fucking pink bikini.

highway renegayd

2006-05-23T21:30:00.000-04:00

i think the city of dallas has about 30,000 tolls. also, i think i drove through every one of them today. since i've been working all over the southwest, i've probably passed through dozens of tolls without paying. it's not that i just don't want to pay, it's just sometimes i'm not expecting them, i'm on the phone with a client, i'm rocking out to ani difranco, i don't have any change, or i simply don't feel like paying. if there's no change machine or tollbooth attendant, i'm obviously going to drive right through. so far i've done this in oklahoma city, tulsa, houston, dallas, and denver. surprisingly, i haven't gotten a ticket. i have 2 theories on the issue:

1. the municipalities of these states don't really care if you don't pay their tolls--it's strictly based on the honor system.

2. i'm in a new car, with new plates, from a rental agency every week. in boston, the first time you blow through the tolls, they send you a slap-on-the-wrist warning. if it happens again, you're toast. since it probably costs the toll company more money to research my plates, contact the rental car agency, and then forward the bill on to boston, i think they just let me slide.

another possibility is that one day i'm going to get slapped with an $80,000 fine for years of flipping off the tollbooth cameras. at this point, i'm willing to take that risk. fuck the tolls, i'm living on the edge.

le petit loser

2006-05-19T01:45:00.000-04:00

remember what it was like to be the biggest freak in school? in my case, i was 10 feet taller than everyone else and gayer than mario cantone on the rag. tonight, i think i had what they call in french: le post-traumatic episode.

i guess i haven't been out at a club by myself for a few years now and being on the road from monday to whateverday has changed all of that. i've got many nights to myself, so i generally try to get out and see the sights. currently, i'm at a conference in quebec city, which is beautiful and pretty gay. after my obligations with the 50 year-old borings, i ventured out to the bars. i saw a great drag show and sort of made friends with some french canadians. ...or so i thought.

we were all on the dance floor and all of a sudden i felt like they were making fun of me. i felt like they thought i was chasing them, begging them to be my friends. i'm pretty sure, in reality, i didn't come off that way. i couldn't have. i'm so cool in boston. i can hold my own in LA or NY or even Barcelona, for that matter. it was probably all in my head. maybe it's the self-consciousness of not completely knowing the language and being in a new town, but have you ever just felt like you were the big, fat, fucking zit-faced 16 year old girl in a room full of well-groomed, french speaking hotties? ...i felt it tonight. ...like they thought i was totally lame. i wanted to just go off on my own but at the same time didn't want to let them know i was afraid of them thinking that i was afraid of them. does that make sense? madonna blaring in the background, i'm pretty sure they were all saying, "loook at ze silly ah-mahr-eeeh-KAHN". *takes drag of cigarette*

fuck you canada.

when did i start caring about fitting in? i'm usually the motherfucking bomb of the party. tonight karma totally knocked me town like 50 pegs. i didn't fit in with the 50 year-old stock brokers, i didn't fit in with the 21 year-old gays, i felt alienated and rightly so.

so now i'm cleaning out my minibar and living it up in my amazing suite in which people can only make fun of me in english and to my face.

at the risk of sounding cheesey and drunk-blogging: here's a toast to all the fags who don't fit in with other fags. to fags who also don't fit in with their paycheck signing breeders whose asses they're supposed to kiss. to fags who make their own party wherever they go. to fags who idenitfy with a sigularity, who don't succumb to a bitchy elite. to fags who follow a path lead by their *generally* non-judgemental, english-speaking hearts.

...i also just realized that i stepped in dog shit on my way home.

tranniccino

2006-05-16T10:40:00.000-04:00

i was just served an iced coffee by a black transsexual. important note: i'm in downtown little rock, arkansas this week. what a breath of fresh air. i wanted to high five her or give her "two snaps up" but i was with a client and thought it would be inappropriate.

jesus help me

2006-05-11T12:52:00.000-04:00

i just spent an hour and a half between appointments, sitting in a parking lot deciding whether or not to cut my hair. i want to grow it out and wear it shaggy but it's probably not going to look very professional and will give away my age. i still haven't decided.