Don't you just hate it when your ex-boyfriend, whom you have been trying to get over for the past 6 months, leaves an away message stating that he just found out about National Masturbation Month and is now celebrating, and plans on ending the celebration with a big bang? Especially when you thought you were finally getting over him because that one episode of West Wing was on, the one that always made you cry because of him and you didn't cry this time but now you have these thoughts of him permeating your mind because he used to make the greatest faces when he was about to cum and you can’t get the pictures out of your head, and you don't want to act on your impulse to join him because damnit! you're over him now, or at least you tell yourself that over and over because it's not like he's going to call you to help him celebrate because you haven't spoken in five and a half months and he's three states away but if he did call you'd be on the next plane because he still holds that much sway over you--FUCK!
Erm... I mean, this, uh, happened to a friend of mine...a friend of a friend, really. Barely know the guy. I obviously am not talking about me here.
You all buy that, right?
May 31, 2004
Memorial Day plans. Tentative.
-Oogle over Allison Janney and Rob Lowe in the West Wing marathon.
-Laundry.
-Team up with Hulk Hogan, He-Man, and Mr. T to fight Voltron and George W. Bush
-Make rocking t-shirts with my sister. Ideas include: keep on rockin in the free world, you're no rock n roll fun, dance this mess around, and self-depricating bones and skin.
-All you can eat sushi buffet tonight.
-Watch this movie, which would be overdue today, but I'm given an extra day because of the holiday.
-Most important. Do my patriotic duty.
May 30, 2004
OBITER DICTUM:
that which is said by the way or in passing
(from Latin: ob=by, iter=road or way, dictum=pronouncement, saying)(Addtional datum: Dictum was the name of my first online blog, which was over at diaryland. ::falling star across the screen:: The More You Know...)
Sane, paululum linguae Latinae dico-- sic faciunt omnes. Vero, Latine loqui non est difficilissimum. Revera linguam Latinam vix cognovi, sed simulo.
My favorite Latin saying:
Latin class is over for the day, I'm afraid. Anyway, I switched commenting systems, because squawkbox had been acting up, and I wasn't all too pleased. The version that comes with blogger is teh shittxor, or whatever the l337 kids are calling it nowadays, so I'm at haloscan, along with everyone else on earth, practically.
None of you care, do you? I didn't think so. I don't mean to bore you with this stuff. I'm just letting you know that I'm starting over with comments, and, instead of having something plain like "(1) Comment(s)" I have it in Latin, because I'm scholarly or whatever. So don't be afraid of the odd scratchings next to the timestamp, and pretend that it's just a plain ol' comments link.
Now you know. This way, if someone is hovering over your shoulder while you're reading my blog, and they notice the Latin and ask what it says, you can answer them before you shove a tic tac in their mouth and tell them to get back to their own damn orifices.
(from Latin: ob=by, iter=road or way, dictum=pronouncement, saying)(Addtional datum: Dictum was the name of my first online blog, which was over at diaryland. ::falling star across the screen:: The More You Know...)
Sane, paululum linguae Latinae dico-- sic faciunt omnes. Vero, Latine loqui non est difficilissimum. Revera linguam Latinam vix cognovi, sed simulo.
My favorite Latin saying:
Fac me cocleario vomere!
Gag me with a spoon!
Latin class is over for the day, I'm afraid. Anyway, I switched commenting systems, because squawkbox had been acting up, and I wasn't all too pleased. The version that comes with blogger is teh shittxor, or whatever the l337 kids are calling it nowadays, so I'm at haloscan, along with everyone else on earth, practically.
None of you care, do you? I didn't think so. I don't mean to bore you with this stuff. I'm just letting you know that I'm starting over with comments, and, instead of having something plain like "(1) Comment(s)" I have it in Latin, because I'm scholarly or whatever. So don't be afraid of the odd scratchings next to the timestamp, and pretend that it's just a plain ol' comments link.
Now you know. This way, if someone is hovering over your shoulder while you're reading my blog, and they notice the Latin and ask what it says, you can answer them before you shove a tic tac in their mouth and tell them to get back to their own damn orifices.
May 29, 2004
My away message.
Had the villain in "The Wizard of Oz"
been an elitist snot rather than a
snarly old lady in greenface, the
movie's "I'm melting!" scene might
have looked like I do now.
been an elitist snot rather than a
snarly old lady in greenface, the
movie's "I'm melting!" scene might
have looked like I do now.
Cat on the Wall
I heard our song on the radio
It wasn't long before I think of you
Can't get the sound outta my head
Don't look now it's coming round again
I saved your voice from the telephone
I play it back on the message machine
It really sounds like you're having fun
I'm going out into the midday sun
Come night, I'm gonna step outside
Take a walk, I'm gonna clear my mind
The radio, still playing our song
You got me jumping like a cat on the wall
Turn up the radio
They play the radio in my dreams
Takes me back to when I was 17
Dancing in circles on the kitchen floor
I'll play this song 'til I can't take anymore
It wasn't long before I think of you
Can't get the sound outta my head
Don't look now it's coming round again
I saved your voice from the telephone
I play it back on the message machine
It really sounds like you're having fun
I'm going out into the midday sun
Come night, I'm gonna step outside
Take a walk, I'm gonna clear my mind
The radio, still playing our song
You got me jumping like a cat on the wall
Turn up the radio
They play the radio in my dreams
Takes me back to when I was 17
Dancing in circles on the kitchen floor
I'll play this song 'til I can't take anymore
May 28, 2004
This is me.
One nation under a groove,
Getting ME down just for the funk of it
One nation and we're on the move,
Nothin can stop us now
I'm in a funk. Not a P-Funk, mind you, but you get the idea.
I've tried many things. I have tried to dance my way out of my constrictions. I have pigged out on many fattening foods. I even watched a fucking Audrey Tatou movie and still, if this were a cartoon, my ears would be emitting little wisps of smoke, I'd have a raincloud hovering over my head, and my guardian devil would be beating the shit out of my guardian angel on my right shoulder.
I could elaborate on why I'm down, but then again, I'm posting on a Friday night. That should be explanation enough.
Fuck.
Getting ME down just for the funk of it
One nation and we're on the move,
Nothin can stop us now
I'm in a funk. Not a P-Funk, mind you, but you get the idea.
I've tried many things. I have tried to dance my way out of my constrictions. I have pigged out on many fattening foods. I even watched a fucking Audrey Tatou movie and still, if this were a cartoon, my ears would be emitting little wisps of smoke, I'd have a raincloud hovering over my head, and my guardian devil would be beating the shit out of my guardian angel on my right shoulder.
I could elaborate on why I'm down, but then again, I'm posting on a Friday night. That should be explanation enough.
Fuck.
May 27, 2004
Oh I miss these days
Normally I love a good conspiracy theory.
These are all fine and dandy, but the thing about this one about Nick Berg is that I wouldn't be surprised if it were true.
Redneck zombie aliens shot JFK?
Sure, why not?
Elvis lives, is a construction worker?
Darn tootin, he is.
Princess Diana was carrying Boy George's love child?
And I bet that's just the cutest lil fetus.
Wacko Jacko weds Brooke Shields in Vegas?
They made a really cute couple.
Britney Spears eats her backup singers in Satanic ritual?
I mean, who hasn't?
Biggie and Tupac: alive and married in San Fran?
Eat that, Eminem
There's a vast left wing conspiracy out to control the media?
You don't say?
These are all fine and dandy, but the thing about this one about Nick Berg is that I wouldn't be surprised if it were true.
May 26, 2004
Boys kissing is sexy love.
Boys kissing is sexy love.
I finally got around to reading "Brokeback Mountain," the short story of Annie Proux's off of which what is sure to be my new favorite movie is based. I mean, it's hard to go wrong with Jake and Heath making out and doing the nasty. There's even rumors of some nudity. Hells yeah.
I've been meaning to read the short story for a while now; I'm not a fan of Proulx's, so I've been putting it off. I've had the book checked out from the library since I returned home, and it's been lingering on the shelf ever since. I always seem to check out another book that caught my attention more. The story's the only one of Proulx's I actually finished; you can take that as a back-handed compliment, if you like.
Unfortunately, it looks like Jake is a bottom, which isn't going to help me out with any wet dreams. <TMI> I'm versatile, but if I were given the choice, I'd really want Jake to fuck me, as opposed to me him. I bet he'd make really great faces when he's getting fucked though, so I guess it's worth it. </TMI> I don't want to spoil the ending for those of you who aren't going to read the book, but let's just say that Brokeback Mountain is surprisingly close to Laramie, Wyoming: infer from that what you will.
All in all, I'm getting more and more excited for this movie to come out, and hopefully start a new wave of actual gay cinema. I mean, there's finally going to be a gay tv station, so I guess the gays are moving up in the world. Good for us.
3 quick things.
I updated my biography, in case anyone is interested.
Also. I stumbled onto George Bush's Amazon.com wishlist. It's mildy amusing, but I still wish there were some kinky republican sex guides or something. The comments are cute, though.
Most important. I found my ring. It was underneath the computer keyboard. Don't ask me how it got there. I'm just twitterpated that I've found it, and it renders moot the mix cd of the last post. Oh well.
Also. I stumbled onto George Bush's Amazon.com wishlist. It's mildy amusing, but I still wish there were some kinky republican sex guides or something. The comments are cute, though.
Most important. I found my ring. It was underneath the computer keyboard. Don't ask me how it got there. I'm just twitterpated that I've found it, and it renders moot the mix cd of the last post. Oh well.
I believe in the healing power of mixes
This is the "Holy shit it's been five months why the fuck aren't I over you yet I guess I'd better make an angry mix cd in hopes that the anger will rub off on me and I can finally get back on with my life, even though I still miss you and that makes me really pathetic" mix cd that I worked on this evening. It's a bit too long and I'm not positive of the order yet-- consider this a rough draft. I can't find any blank cds so I'll have to go to the store tomorrow; if you have any suggestions as to other songs that will fit in, leave a comment and I'll see what I can do.
1 My Friend Peter-Alkaline Trio
2 Be a Man- Hole
3 Hope It Felt Good- Nikka Costa
4 Why I Write Such Good Songs- Kleenex Girl Wonder
5 No Girl So Sweet-PJ Harvey
6 The Wretched- Nine Inch Nails
7 You Dumb Fuck- Crackout
8 Tainted Love- Shades Apart
9 Fuck You (An Ode to No One)- Smashing Pumpkins
10 Write Me Back, Fucker- Sleater Kinney
11 Song For the Dumped- Ben Folds Five
12 You're So Last Summer-Taking Back Sunday
13 Another Piece of My Heart- Janis Joplin
14 You Oughta Know- Alanis Morrissette
15 Ugly Kid Joe- I Hate Everything (About You)
16 Fagetarian and Dyke- Team Dresch
17 I Hope You Die- Bloodhound Gang
18 Caught Out There- Kelis
19 Bye Bye Bye- Further Seems Forever
20 Vow- Garbage
21 Fuck It (Don’t Want You Back)- Eamon
22 Rocks Tonic Juice Magic- Saves the Day
23 Break Up Song- Veruca Salt
May 25, 2004
Ode to Oscar Wilde
Oscar Wilde was the greatest fag who ever lived. (Speaking of great fags, Jonno made the title link way back when. Oh those were the days.) I'm not a big fan of the word, but I think Oscar would have called himself that, were he still around.
Everyone who's anyone is a fan of his work, it seems, be it as a novelist, poet, playwright, or from having something in every single quip and quotation collection possible. Most people don't realize that Oscar's first claim to fame was on the lecture circuit, where he expounded upon his aestheticism. Right now, I'm reading a collection of his essays and speeches, and one essay in particular stuck me as oddly topical. It seems like the entire thing is talking about gay bloggers.
I mean, wouldn't that be marvelous? Oscar Wilde, greatest gay writer of all time, with his own blog? I don't use the word marvelous very often, but I think this qualifies as a need, not a want, to use the word.
I've taken my favourite epigrams and quips from that essay (Phrases And Philosophies For The Use Of The Young), and compiled a list of the ones I think have an eerie resonance with today's blogging scene. Even though I'm not in the 'scene,' per se, but I think if I were on the list with the rest of the in-crowd, these would be pertinent.
All right. So maybe some have to do with just being gay and fabulous than with being gay with a fabulous blog, but still you've got to admit that Oscar was ahead of his time with a lot of these. Or maybe we're still just trying to catch up to his ideals on life. Point to ponder.
::edit:: Apparently he was a true fag to the end, despite claims of a 11th hour conversion. His alleged last words were "Either that wallpaper goes, or I do."
Everyone who's anyone is a fan of his work, it seems, be it as a novelist, poet, playwright, or from having something in every single quip and quotation collection possible. Most people don't realize that Oscar's first claim to fame was on the lecture circuit, where he expounded upon his aestheticism. Right now, I'm reading a collection of his essays and speeches, and one essay in particular stuck me as oddly topical. It seems like the entire thing is talking about gay bloggers.
I mean, wouldn't that be marvelous? Oscar Wilde, greatest gay writer of all time, with his own blog? I don't use the word marvelous very often, but I think this qualifies as a need, not a want, to use the word.
I've taken my favourite epigrams and quips from that essay (Phrases And Philosophies For The Use Of The Young), and compiled a list of the ones I think have an eerie resonance with today's blogging scene. Even though I'm not in the 'scene,' per se, but I think if I were on the list with the rest of the in-crowd, these would be pertinent.
The first duty in life is to be as artificial as possible. What the second duty is no one has as yet discovered.
Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others.
Dullness is the coming of age of seriousness.
In all unimportant matters, style, not sincerity, is the essential. In all important matters, style, not sincerity, is the essential.
Nothing that actually occurs is of the smallest importance.
Only the shallow know themselves.
One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art.
It is only the superficial qualities that last. Man's deeper nature is soon found out.
The condition of perfection is idleness: the aim of perfection is youth.
To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance.
All right. So maybe some have to do with just being gay and fabulous than with being gay with a fabulous blog, but still you've got to admit that Oscar was ahead of his time with a lot of these. Or maybe we're still just trying to catch up to his ideals on life. Point to ponder.
::edit:: Apparently he was a true fag to the end, despite claims of a 11th hour conversion. His alleged last words were "Either that wallpaper goes, or I do."
Still no ring, alas.
(My previous post tells the whole sordid, sad tale. But since the last few posts are kind of mopey, I decided to fake a happy face, which gets to be a bit obnoxious by the end.)
I still may be down and out because of the ring But! I did drown my sorrows in the sixth season of Sex and the City, so I'm slightly less frazzled about the whole thing. Charlotte just got married for the second time. In all the quizilla quizes, she's always my alter ego, so I'm happy for her.
Also! The Fox Academy of Rocking Out is now more or less fully up and operational. We are now accepting applications for the 2004/2005 school year. Mention my name and you get a discount. Maybe. Depends on how pretty you are.
Most importantly! Morrissey on Kilborn! All week! Stay up and watch it! Your co-workers all think you're grumpy anyway, so you might as well stay up! Look at the excessive amounts of exclamation points I'm using! This means that it's important that you watch! Or it might just mean I'm turning into an obsessive fangirl! Either way, I'm done now!
I still may be down and out because of the ring But! I did drown my sorrows in the sixth season of Sex and the City, so I'm slightly less frazzled about the whole thing. Charlotte just got married for the second time. In all the quizilla quizes, she's always my alter ego, so I'm happy for her.
Congratulations! You are Charlotte.
(from another quiz with an ugly graphic so I edited out that sucka)
You are Charlotte. Beautiful, shy and girly. All you really want is a huge wedding and a wonderful husband but you are slowly working your way through the male population in your quest to find mr right, not that you'd readily admit it! You always end up with mr perfect...but.. and the but is usually some kind of bizarre or disappointing bedroom activity.
Also! The Fox Academy of Rocking Out is now more or less fully up and operational. We are now accepting applications for the 2004/2005 school year. Mention my name and you get a discount. Maybe. Depends on how pretty you are.
Most importantly! Morrissey on Kilborn! All week! Stay up and watch it! Your co-workers all think you're grumpy anyway, so you might as well stay up! Look at the excessive amounts of exclamation points I'm using! This means that it's important that you watch! Or it might just mean I'm turning into an obsessive fangirl! Either way, I'm done now!
May 24, 2004
Have you seen my ring?
Exactly five months ago, my boyfriend and I broke up. Well, five months and one day ago, to be exact. He wouldn't be so mean as to break up with me on Christmas Eve. That would be wrong and cruel. Christmas Eve Eve, however is a different story.
A while back, on my birthday, he gave me a ring. It was right after we saw this movie, which I wouldn't recommend. There's a part where one of the (for lack of better term) inmates is not allowed to speak to her son, so she speaks to her ring and hopes that the sound will travel to her son's ring, which he wears around his neck. (She's cognitively disabled in the movie.) Well, we were due to leave for our prospective colleges in a few weeks, and he gave me a ring and said that whenever I needed him I could talk to the ring and I'm dumb enough to believe that. I'm sure this sounds hokey and stupid, but at the time it was really sweet.
And while I never actually spoke to the ring in hopes that he would hear me, I did start wearing it every waking moment, and even slept with it on for a while. That thing rarely, if ever, left my fingers. (I can't find a decent picture online of it, otherwise I would have done a mock up of a "Missing Dog" poster.)
But now it's gone. I took it off this morning when I was putting clothing in the laundry (it's a little big, and sometimes it slides when it's underwater) and I thought I put it in my pocket, but I'm not sure. I don't know where it is, and I've spent most of the day trying to find the damn thing. I feel naked without it.
One major reason why I'm freaking out is that I'm still not over him. He is the guy I was talking about here, along with dozens of other allusions throughout this blog. I still sleep with a body pillow and pretend it's him next to me at night. If he called right now, and asked me to come over, I'd be on the first plane.
I haven't spoken to him since we broke up (well, I did get one mass email when he moved with his new address and phone number, and he IMed me once in January to see if I could do a favor for him), and it gets less and less likely that he's going to IM or email me and ask me back.
It was really hard for me when we broke up; I couldn't listen to the mix cds he made for me, I couldn't watch some movies that were on TV because we had seen them together, I couldn't go shopping at the grocery store near his house. I'd like to think that I wasn't a complete wreck, but in hindsight, I probably was. I mean, I wrote this post, so I must have been really out of it. Hell, the first month of this blog is crap. I must have really been a wreck.
Even now, the ring is the only thing that I can bring myself to actually use of his without getting all misty-eyed.
I really, Really, REALLY need to find that ring.
A while back, on my birthday, he gave me a ring. It was right after we saw this movie, which I wouldn't recommend. There's a part where one of the (for lack of better term) inmates is not allowed to speak to her son, so she speaks to her ring and hopes that the sound will travel to her son's ring, which he wears around his neck. (She's cognitively disabled in the movie.) Well, we were due to leave for our prospective colleges in a few weeks, and he gave me a ring and said that whenever I needed him I could talk to the ring and I'm dumb enough to believe that. I'm sure this sounds hokey and stupid, but at the time it was really sweet.
And while I never actually spoke to the ring in hopes that he would hear me, I did start wearing it every waking moment, and even slept with it on for a while. That thing rarely, if ever, left my fingers. (I can't find a decent picture online of it, otherwise I would have done a mock up of a "Missing Dog" poster.)
But now it's gone. I took it off this morning when I was putting clothing in the laundry (it's a little big, and sometimes it slides when it's underwater) and I thought I put it in my pocket, but I'm not sure. I don't know where it is, and I've spent most of the day trying to find the damn thing. I feel naked without it.
One major reason why I'm freaking out is that I'm still not over him. He is the guy I was talking about here, along with dozens of other allusions throughout this blog. I still sleep with a body pillow and pretend it's him next to me at night. If he called right now, and asked me to come over, I'd be on the first plane.
I haven't spoken to him since we broke up (well, I did get one mass email when he moved with his new address and phone number, and he IMed me once in January to see if I could do a favor for him), and it gets less and less likely that he's going to IM or email me and ask me back.
It was really hard for me when we broke up; I couldn't listen to the mix cds he made for me, I couldn't watch some movies that were on TV because we had seen them together, I couldn't go shopping at the grocery store near his house. I'd like to think that I wasn't a complete wreck, but in hindsight, I probably was. I mean, I wrote this post, so I must have been really out of it. Hell, the first month of this blog is crap. I must have really been a wreck.
Even now, the ring is the only thing that I can bring myself to actually use of his without getting all misty-eyed.
I really, Really, REALLY need to find that ring.
“I often wish I had the strength to commit suicide, but if I did, I probably wouldn’t feel the need”
-O’Hara
‘sometimes’ he said ‘yer nothing more that a hoard of distractions’
‘yer so blue that little dutch boys’ pants have nothing on you’
i stopped to listen to that damn cat--
"hang in there, baby"
yes i'm hanging, strung up by my inadequacies
weighted down by my shroud of apathy
equal parts fascism & battery acid
i’m a byproduct of exhibitionism
an aesthetic maelstrom
& my ‘bohemian-epicurean-linguistic-
underground-artistic-
subursive-intelligentsiac-
mafioso-bourgois’ façade will not budge
& I can’t seem to decide if that’s a good thing or not
i feel so abstract and unnecessary i should blow my brains out in the Guggenheim
under the placard "boy, interrupted"
like a suicide note with wisecracks
the life I’ve been leading is a joke
a constant excuse for one-liners
a rip-roaring farce through the depths of hell
a zany, free for all comedy
that sizzles, especially when I’m
getting burnt at the communal stake
i can always hope there's blue skies up ahead
but i'm a raincloud
and parched love is always in vogue
so i’m just going to pour like there’s no tomorrow
and let the clichés flow like wine
until you let me get drunk off you again
May 23, 2004
You get three guesses.
If there is one person you can't stop thinking about, post this same exact sentence in your journal.
May 22, 2004
Another crappy letter stating old news.
Dear Jake Gyllenhaal,
If you are still going through your gay phase, or if you feel another phase coming on and just want to get it out of your system, please drop me a line. Or, better yet, if you feel the need to become a "Method" actor, let me know. (It would probably be better if you told Kristen that so she can't get too angry.) I promise I won't bite (unless you're into that sort of thing.)Love,
Bob
Dear various newspaper organizations,
If I see a headline about the Spanish fighting over the Great Masturbator, I'm going to read it. Never mind that I don't particularly like Dali and the painting isn't all that great. My interest is piqued.
I'm pretty sure that if you start renaming news articles, you're going to see a bump in your circulation. I know that newspapers are dying. If this story were renamed 'Teenage girls learn to give A+ blowjobs,' there's a better chance that I might read it, and might actually learn somthing in the process. Same if this story were renamed 'American bastards try to ruin lap dances for us all' or this one 'British politicians don't like boobies.'
Sure, it may be a bit of false advertising, but if played properly, you should be fine. 18-25 year olds may be a bit quiffed that they're reading about art, not masturbation, but then again, Holy shit. They just read a news article about art. Think of it as using food coloring to trick kids into eating their vegetables. You might be using a bit of trickery, but at least they're getting their nutrition.
Maybe this is what Al Gore had in mind for his own news station. 'The news station where not only the owner is wooden'... Nah, that's pretty forced. 'We're hotter than Bill O'Reilly'
Now that's better.
Love,
Bob
Bob
May 21, 2004
schooled on a dreaded sunny day
It’s a dreaded sunny day spent
meandering past the gates of the school
yard. Staring at me through the fence
is a precocious little girl in blue-
“I have a boyfriend—” with a very lady-like expression
on her face “—and I love him and he’s
going to marry me and we’ll live in a mansion
and have a hundred babies.”
My quizzical eye is cocked. “Oh really?”
“Yes and he’s going to be an astronaut
and a fireman and he’s going to save a lot
of lives and I’m going to be president and a movie
star and we’re going to be rich and famous celebrities.”
“A fireman and an astronaut?
Your boyfriend must be very smart.”
“He is very-very smart. He got
a gold star on his dinosaur report.”
“You know, I used to have a boy—”
stumble-cough-pause “a, uh....friend
like that too but not anymore...I—”
“Was she your girlfriend?-gasp!-Did you kiss her
on the lips?” “Uh—”
To think I used to dread the recess bell.
She bid me adieu. “You look awful
sad, mister—you should stop by
for lunch we’re having pizza and I—
ooh--can you can come to our wedding?” She asks.
“Maybe. But you should probably get to class”
I watched her queue, childish goose-step to
the metal detectors to daydream through
math or science or spelling or whatnot.
I crossed the street and turned the block,
a drop of sweat after each step it’s so hot
It’s the end of May, cusping on a heat wave
so now it’s a dreaded wedding day; still all I want
is to be wanted more than anything in the world.
meandering past the gates of the school
yard. Staring at me through the fence
is a precocious little girl in blue-
“I have a boyfriend—” with a very lady-like expression
on her face “—and I love him and he’s
going to marry me and we’ll live in a mansion
and have a hundred babies.”
My quizzical eye is cocked. “Oh really?”
“Yes and he’s going to be an astronaut
and a fireman and he’s going to save a lot
of lives and I’m going to be president and a movie
star and we’re going to be rich and famous celebrities.”
“A fireman and an astronaut?
Your boyfriend must be very smart.”
“He is very-very smart. He got
a gold star on his dinosaur report.”
“You know, I used to have a boy—”
stumble-cough-pause “a, uh....friend
like that too but not anymore...I—”
“Was she your girlfriend?-gasp!-Did you kiss her
on the lips?” “Uh—”
To think I used to dread the recess bell.
She bid me adieu. “You look awful
sad, mister—you should stop by
for lunch we’re having pizza and I—
ooh--can you can come to our wedding?” She asks.
“Maybe. But you should probably get to class”
I watched her queue, childish goose-step to
the metal detectors to daydream through
math or science or spelling or whatnot.
I crossed the street and turned the block,
a drop of sweat after each step it’s so hot
It’s the end of May, cusping on a heat wave
so now it’s a dreaded wedding day; still all I want
is to be wanted more than anything in the world.
Mom! Morrissey called me the quarry! Make him stop it!
Señor Morrissey? If you don't want people to think you're gay, you probably shouldn't pose for your album cover in a maroon pinstripe suit, with a pink and white striped shirt and a lavender tie against a pink silk backdrop. It doesn't matter that you're holding a gun-- I mean, holy Velvet Mafia, Batman!
Your new album isn't bad, but damn your backing band sucks. It sounds like a bad eighties rock opera or something.
(In a terrible attempt to copy Vividblurry's devotion to Britney)
1. America Is Not The World America, you've bought that hamburger. Morrissey, you know where to shove that hamburger.
2. Irish Blood, English Heart Let me guess, you're still mad at the Queen. How quaint.
3. I Have Forgiven Jesus Good kids, regardless of the weather, do not go around mooning Jesus. And why is Thursday pathetic? They're not all that bad of a band.
4. Come Back To Camden Go back to the studio and get fire whoever wrote the backing track to this song.
5. I'm Not Sorry Who do you think you are, George Bush?
6. The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores This song makes you a crashing bore, by the way, Morrissey. The chorus reminds me of a vocal warm-up we used to do in elementary school.
7. How Could Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel They found out for themselves, that's how.
8. First Of The Gang To Die Poor Hector (of the Pretty Petty Thieves fame) died first, so he wasn't able to hear this song.
9. Let Me Kiss You You're a bit old for me, but ok.
10. All The Lazy Dykes Nobody cares about lazy dykes. People make care about horny dykes or about married dykes, but not about lazy dykes. As a result, nobody cares about this song.
11. I Like You Do you like me? Circle Yes or No.
12. You Know I Couldn't Last Wow. It must be terrible to be a rock star. I sympathize with you completely.
Yes, ba-da-bum-ching, to be sure. I'm not that funny, and the album isn't that bad, but it's not a run-out-immediately-and-buy-it sort of thing, either. I'll end with a few of my favorite lyrics--those lines for which Morrissey is known; the kind that mopey kids will plaster all over their notebooks, the gorgeous "no one likes me" lines.
Your new album isn't bad, but damn your backing band sucks. It sounds like a bad eighties rock opera or something.
(In a terrible attempt to copy Vividblurry's devotion to Britney)
1. America Is Not The World America, you've bought that hamburger. Morrissey, you know where to shove that hamburger.
2. Irish Blood, English Heart Let me guess, you're still mad at the Queen. How quaint.
3. I Have Forgiven Jesus Good kids, regardless of the weather, do not go around mooning Jesus. And why is Thursday pathetic? They're not all that bad of a band.
4. Come Back To Camden Go back to the studio and get fire whoever wrote the backing track to this song.
5. I'm Not Sorry Who do you think you are, George Bush?
6. The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores This song makes you a crashing bore, by the way, Morrissey. The chorus reminds me of a vocal warm-up we used to do in elementary school.
7. How Could Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel They found out for themselves, that's how.
8. First Of The Gang To Die Poor Hector (of the Pretty Petty Thieves fame) died first, so he wasn't able to hear this song.
9. Let Me Kiss You You're a bit old for me, but ok.
10. All The Lazy Dykes Nobody cares about lazy dykes. People make care about horny dykes or about married dykes, but not about lazy dykes. As a result, nobody cares about this song.
11. I Like You Do you like me? Circle Yes or No.
12. You Know I Couldn't Last Wow. It must be terrible to be a rock star. I sympathize with you completely.
Yes, ba-da-bum-ching, to be sure. I'm not that funny, and the album isn't that bad, but it's not a run-out-immediately-and-buy-it sort of thing, either. I'll end with a few of my favorite lyrics--those lines for which Morrissey is known; the kind that mopey kids will plaster all over their notebooks, the gorgeous "no one likes me" lines.
"I have forgiven Jesus for all the love He placed in me \ when there's no one I can turn to with this love"
"There is something I wanted to tell you \ It's so funny you'll kill yourself laughing \ But then I, I look around, And I remember that I am alone, Alone."
"Under slate grey Victorian sky \ Here you will find, despair and I"
"I'm slipping below the water line \ Reach for my hand, and the race is won \ Reject my hand and the damage is done"
"This world is full, So full of crashing bores \ And I must be one 'cos no one ever turns to me to say \ Take me in your arms and love me"
"Because you're not right in the head \ and nor am I \ and this is why I like you"
"The whispering may hurt you \ but the printed word might kill you"
"You know I couldn't last \ Every -ist and every -ism thrown my way"
May 20, 2004
Dear Motherfuckers at Stevens Point,
Please eat my (newly shorn) balls.
Despite your efforts to trap me at your crappy-ass school, with your gross incompetence in sending transcripts and shitty professors, you have failed, like the failure of a school you are.
I am now a Badger of sorts. Please don't ever associate with me again after you refund my deposits and send a finalized transcript. And this time, don't take fucking 3 months to send a piece of paper.
Seriously. Don't ever speak to me again. I don't even want to pretend to be 'just friends.' I wish you dead, and that your corpse becomes bloated and zitty.
While I am positively beaming at my acceptance to my first choice school, I do have a few qualms. One of which being that Stevens Point has to send another copy of my transcripts. It took them 2 and a half months and 3 tries last time, and that was with me coming into their offices and laying down some smack. They better not fuck up again.
Also, on my acceptance letter, it says that everything needs to be received by May 1. To which I make a quizzical face.
I have left a quizzical message on an answering machine to match my countenance, asking what is the dilly-o, and hopefully things will work out, and I will get into all the classes I need.
But man oh man am I pleased.
Despite your efforts to trap me at your crappy-ass school, with your gross incompetence in sending transcripts and shitty professors, you have failed, like the failure of a school you are.
I am now a Badger of sorts. Please don't ever associate with me again after you refund my deposits and send a finalized transcript. And this time, don't take fucking 3 months to send a piece of paper.
Seriously. Don't ever speak to me again. I don't even want to pretend to be 'just friends.' I wish you dead, and that your corpse becomes bloated and zitty.
May you rot in hell,
Bob.
Bob.
While I am positively beaming at my acceptance to my first choice school, I do have a few qualms. One of which being that Stevens Point has to send another copy of my transcripts. It took them 2 and a half months and 3 tries last time, and that was with me coming into their offices and laying down some smack. They better not fuck up again.
Also, on my acceptance letter, it says that everything needs to be received by May 1. To which I make a quizzical face.
I have left a quizzical message on an answering machine to match my countenance, asking what is the dilly-o, and hopefully things will work out, and I will get into all the classes I need.
But man oh man am I pleased.
The Seven Deadly Questions. Nothing too interesting.
Everyone in their right mind is addicted to fleshbot, and, 1, being of sound mind and body, am no exception. Today, they guided me to a lovely magazine called Junk, which features mostly naked boys, artistically shot, along with a handful of articles. It's a most excellent site.
Even though you're not going to get any mostly naked pictures of me, I am going to answer the questions that the models are asked. There's no real reason for this; the questions aren't even all that interesting, except that memes will be the death of me. Sorry about this.
The Seven Deadly Questions
1. Name three guilty pleasures and three pet peeves.
Guilty pleasures: the spice girls, chicken tenders, campy mystery novels where the detective owns a cat who helps out with the investigations (you have no idea how many series that constitutes)
Pet peeves: really badly written lyrics(eg "She Hate Me," "100 Years"), poetry written by teenagers, stupid people in large groups
2. Have you ever stolen anything?
Not really. I used to work at a Subway, and occasionally an entire batch of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies would magically disappear, but that doesn't count.
3. What's one typically unsexy thing you find sexy?
A guy acting paternal around his kids is always hot.
4. Have you ever heard a rumor about yourself? Wanna start one?
I made Natalie Portman cry.
5. Who (or what...ya freak) do you masturbate to?
I love the faces guys make, especially when they are being entered or are about to cum. I think it's something about the eyes, how the guys are so into it, they can't even keep their eyes open, coupled with a gaping mouth that really does it for me.
6. What's the one thing you're most jealous of?
People with trust funds who are able to persue their dreams. Becoming a professional poet is hella unrealistic for a working stiff like me.
7. Assuming every member if your preferred gender shoots you down, who's the first member of the other gender you start hittin' on?
Allison Janney is the hottest woman on earth.
Even though you're not going to get any mostly naked pictures of me, I am going to answer the questions that the models are asked. There's no real reason for this; the questions aren't even all that interesting, except that memes will be the death of me. Sorry about this.
The Seven Deadly Questions
1. Name three guilty pleasures and three pet peeves.
Guilty pleasures: the spice girls, chicken tenders, campy mystery novels where the detective owns a cat who helps out with the investigations (you have no idea how many series that constitutes)
Pet peeves: really badly written lyrics(eg "She Hate Me," "100 Years"), poetry written by teenagers, stupid people in large groups
2. Have you ever stolen anything?
Not really. I used to work at a Subway, and occasionally an entire batch of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies would magically disappear, but that doesn't count.
3. What's one typically unsexy thing you find sexy?
A guy acting paternal around his kids is always hot.
4. Have you ever heard a rumor about yourself? Wanna start one?
I made Natalie Portman cry.
5. Who (or what...ya freak) do you masturbate to?
I love the faces guys make, especially when they are being entered or are about to cum. I think it's something about the eyes, how the guys are so into it, they can't even keep their eyes open, coupled with a gaping mouth that really does it for me.
6. What's the one thing you're most jealous of?
People with trust funds who are able to persue their dreams. Becoming a professional poet is hella unrealistic for a working stiff like me.
7. Assuming every member if your preferred gender shoots you down, who's the first member of the other gender you start hittin' on?
Allison Janney is the hottest woman on earth.
I DECLARE THIS THURSDAY, MAY 20TH, NATIONAL CARB AWARENESS DAY.
"That's right. Spread the word. This Thursday everyone--including you--will eat a gratuitous carbohydrate. No, not your daily dose of granola; we're talking a mega-cupcake, or a big black and white cookie. Thursday, we're going start a revolution and start it right. And if you have a website, please spread the word. The more people who know about it, the greater the impact we can make. Plus what else do you have to do? It's not like you have a vibrant social life. I'm just saying.
"So, in conclusion, don't do it for your country. Don't do it for your God, or your mother, or your accountant. Do it for the organ that matters most. No, not that one. Do it for your stomach. Only you can save the carbs, America. Won't you?"
(via the The Carbohydrate Manifesto)
May 19, 2004
BLOG: Boring Losers, Online Gobbledygook
"HI! My name is Iain, and my blog is so boring all I do is mock other people's blogs. It's a good thing only 3 or 4 people read my blog every day, otherwise everyone would know how egotistical and lame I really am."
::rolls eyes::
Blogging about how you think you blog better than everyone else makes you a huge cunt. Just to let you know.
::rolls eyes::
Blogging about how you think you blog better than everyone else makes you a huge cunt. Just to let you know.
May 18, 2004
A hodgepodge of half ideas, because I'm too lazy for coherency or a complete thought.
I suppose the best lesson I've learned that it's ok for me to be a spite-filled misanthrope if I am good with words, because once I die I will be hailed as a genius and future English students will be forced to slave over my work. I can even suggest things like consuming the tender flesh of children and no one will bat an eyelash. I'm really looking forward to being a dead genius. I bet that will be the best part of my life.It is assignments like this that make Liz one of my favourite people.
.....
Also, David Leavitt? Let's play a game. It's called the "Let's write a book and it's not going to suck" game. It's your turn. See, when a middle-aged gay guy writes a novel with a 40-something 1960s suburban housewife as the narrator, well, people laugh at him because the narration seems maladroit and skewed. I'm only 30 pages in, and I'm dead bored. This book better get better, tout suite.
.....
Remember how a few posts ago I wrote how letter writing is hot and sexy, and therefore everyone should drop me a line? Well, Nate did. Nate is a good guy; y'all should stop by.
.....
Leo (July 22-Aug. 22)Does this mean that my haircut will magically become hot and trendy on Monday, and it will bring all the boys to the yard? Man, I hope so.
The stars once had a dog named Gianni DiMarco Antonio Batista. He was cute: a Shiatsu-Rastafarian mix with erratic dreadlocks, a charismatic underbite and, for the first few weeks of his stay, a large white plastic cone around his neck so he wouldn't lick his freshy neutered crotch. All the other dogs in the heavens made fun of Gianni for that cone. In fact, they abused him so much little Gianni developed a complex, walking around with his tail between his legs long after the cone was removed. With Venus in retrograde, you might be feeling a lot like little Gianni DiMarco Antonio Batista – irrationally insecure, harboring the psychological burden of childhood chunkiness or adolescent acne. The stars would like to take this opportunity to remind you that you are no longer wearing a cone and that starting on May 24th, all the dogs in the park will be in heat.
The Fox Academy of Rocking Out: Autumn 2004 Course Offerings
The Fox Academy of Rocking Out is currently taking applications. Please contact Dr. Rock or Bobby S with any questions you may have.
You must pay all fees before registering for classes.
Also, please mark your calendars for the all-school retreat, where students will become aquainted with faculty, other students, nicotine, valium, vicodin, marijuana, ecstasy and alcohol (and cccocaine). Our hope for this first retreat is to initiate students with these tenets of rock and to prevent any Whitney Houston look-a-likes.
From rock to RAWK! studies the importance of being earnest in one's lyrics but emphasizes the need for grammatical inaccuracies to maintain indie cred.
How to Make Your Milkshake Bring the Boys to the Yard lets students cultivate and nurture their milkshakes until it is better than yours. And, with the help of the Fox Academy of Rocking Out, damn right it'll be better than yours. (In order to teach this class, we may have to charge.)
Lady Macbeth Complex. Sometimes the arm candy is worth more trouble that she is worth. This class explores the unholy power given to rock star's girlfriends, with an emphasis on Nancy, Yoko, and Courtney.
Go Rimbaud will trace the influence of the French boy poet on the lyrical and philosophical overtones of the CBGBs crowd. (Students will have to supply their own creepy old married man.)
Introduction to Shoegazing. Once thought to be a dead art, shoegazing is slowly experiencing a comeback in certain indie circles. This class will allow students to create their own feedback-laden soundscapes while standing motionless on the stage. (Students will have to supply their own flannel.)
Political Rock, or, How to Rock Out and Influence People. Students will learn how to be political without totally alienating their Southern base.
(How to Use a Ridiculous Amount of) Parentheses in Song Titles (Without Going Overboard). (Class pending as the cost of parentheses is highly unstable in today’s market.)
Ring My Cowbell. True fact: Every song can become 32% more kickass when cowbell is added to the mix. Students will add cowbell to the entire Billboard Top 100 in an effort to de-suckify contemporary popular music.
Jesus Plays Tambourine will allow students to foster and nurture their growing hatred for their sworn moral enemies: Christian "rock" bands.
Svengali 101 will allow the faculty to abuse the students in any demeaning way possible to alleviate stress and waste an afternoon. Parental consent required for this course.
Baby. This class explores the social and cultural ramifications of the superfluous amount of the word "Baby" in rock music. Prerequisite: last semester’s Da, Yeah, a look at the fall of the Soviet Union as instigated by the amount of informal agreement in rock music.
Self-Mutilation 101. No, the students will not be left in the computer lab with the access codes to bypass the school filters (Shift+F7, but you didn't learn it here) and a hankering for fleshbot. Rather, students will roll around on broken glass, etch sexual epithets into their stomachs, and pierce themselves where no one has ever been pierced before to hone their masochistic showmanship.
How to Rip Off the Clash In 3 Easy Steps. The Clash are the only band that matters. Students will learn how to plagiarize their music, attitude, and style to create their own punk rock band.
Lead Singer Syndrome teaches students how to be the primus inter parus. Students will learn how to usurp the spotlight, how to get the best lighting in photo ops, how to dominate the interviews, and how to attract movie star girlfriends who make good tabloid fodder.
Rock Banter 101 gives students the opportunity to learn proper inter-band banter--how to signal to the drummer it's time for his solo, how to kick off the killer guitar solo, and motion to the band that you haven't fainted, but are merely badly imitating James Brown.
Rock Banter 201 allows students to warm up and introduce themselves to the maddening crowd, evolving beyond "Hello Cleveland--Are you ready to Rock?"
A Brief Biography of the Headmister of the Institute of Hardcore Studies.
Legend has it that the Infamous Bobby S grew up in a small town somewhere in the Midwest, but details about his past are hard to come by, as he has spent years leading interviewers on a wild goose chase through his childhood, and it is hard to separate the fallacies and the facts. He currently resides in Wisconsin, as there is a constant source of idiocy against which he can rebel. Bobby S' hobbies include rocking out, imitating Elizabeth Peyton paintings, shimmying until the break of dawn, fawning over dead poets, and being elitist. He is currently the Headmister of the Fox Institute of Hardxcore Studies.
You must pay all fees before registering for classes.
Also, please mark your calendars for the all-school retreat, where students will become aquainted with faculty, other students, nicotine, valium, vicodin, marijuana, ecstasy and alcohol (and cccocaine). Our hope for this first retreat is to initiate students with these tenets of rock and to prevent any Whitney Houston look-a-likes.
From rock to RAWK! studies the importance of being earnest in one's lyrics but emphasizes the need for grammatical inaccuracies to maintain indie cred.
How to Make Your Milkshake Bring the Boys to the Yard lets students cultivate and nurture their milkshakes until it is better than yours. And, with the help of the Fox Academy of Rocking Out, damn right it'll be better than yours. (In order to teach this class, we may have to charge.)
Lady Macbeth Complex. Sometimes the arm candy is worth more trouble that she is worth. This class explores the unholy power given to rock star's girlfriends, with an emphasis on Nancy, Yoko, and Courtney.
Go Rimbaud will trace the influence of the French boy poet on the lyrical and philosophical overtones of the CBGBs crowd. (Students will have to supply their own creepy old married man.)
Introduction to Shoegazing. Once thought to be a dead art, shoegazing is slowly experiencing a comeback in certain indie circles. This class will allow students to create their own feedback-laden soundscapes while standing motionless on the stage. (Students will have to supply their own flannel.)
Political Rock, or, How to Rock Out and Influence People. Students will learn how to be political without totally alienating their Southern base.
(How to Use a Ridiculous Amount of) Parentheses in Song Titles (Without Going Overboard). (Class pending as the cost of parentheses is highly unstable in today’s market.)
Ring My Cowbell. True fact: Every song can become 32% more kickass when cowbell is added to the mix. Students will add cowbell to the entire Billboard Top 100 in an effort to de-suckify contemporary popular music.
Jesus Plays Tambourine will allow students to foster and nurture their growing hatred for their sworn moral enemies: Christian "rock" bands.
Svengali 101 will allow the faculty to abuse the students in any demeaning way possible to alleviate stress and waste an afternoon. Parental consent required for this course.
Baby. This class explores the social and cultural ramifications of the superfluous amount of the word "Baby" in rock music. Prerequisite: last semester’s Da, Yeah, a look at the fall of the Soviet Union as instigated by the amount of informal agreement in rock music.
Self-Mutilation 101. No, the students will not be left in the computer lab with the access codes to bypass the school filters (Shift+F7, but you didn't learn it here) and a hankering for fleshbot. Rather, students will roll around on broken glass, etch sexual epithets into their stomachs, and pierce themselves where no one has ever been pierced before to hone their masochistic showmanship.
How to Rip Off the Clash In 3 Easy Steps. The Clash are the only band that matters. Students will learn how to plagiarize their music, attitude, and style to create their own punk rock band.
Lead Singer Syndrome teaches students how to be the primus inter parus. Students will learn how to usurp the spotlight, how to get the best lighting in photo ops, how to dominate the interviews, and how to attract movie star girlfriends who make good tabloid fodder.
Rock Banter 101 gives students the opportunity to learn proper inter-band banter--how to signal to the drummer it's time for his solo, how to kick off the killer guitar solo, and motion to the band that you haven't fainted, but are merely badly imitating James Brown.
Rock Banter 201 allows students to warm up and introduce themselves to the maddening crowd, evolving beyond "Hello Cleveland--Are you ready to Rock?"
A Brief Biography of the Headmister of the Institute of Hardcore Studies.
Legend has it that the Infamous Bobby S grew up in a small town somewhere in the Midwest, but details about his past are hard to come by, as he has spent years leading interviewers on a wild goose chase through his childhood, and it is hard to separate the fallacies and the facts. He currently resides in Wisconsin, as there is a constant source of idiocy against which he can rebel. Bobby S' hobbies include rocking out, imitating Elizabeth Peyton paintings, shimmying until the break of dawn, fawning over dead poets, and being elitist. He is currently the Headmister of the Fox Institute of Hardxcore Studies.
May 17, 2004
A day which will forever live in infamy?
Well, the heads of the AFA are currently exploding into flames, right after they had pronounced that Mitt Romney has grown horns, spouted a tail, and his legs have turned into that of a goat.
They're married.
I'm pretty sure every blogger and his mother will be posting about this or have already posted about this, so I recommend just playing with my links to your right until you find someone who's eloquent about it. I realize that when I get political, I get boring, so I'll take a pass on this.
I will say, however, that it doesn't seem to be as big of a deal. When I was flipping through channels, I didn't see any loving pictures of gays just married. I mostly saw punditry, and it wasn't as righteous or passionate as the SF marriages. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I'm hoping its a good thing, because I really want to get married someday.
Well, in honor of the blessed day, I rented Trembling Before G-d, a documentary on Orthodox Jewish gays. It was pretty straight-forward (and no, that's not a pun), unfortunately. See, on the cover, there are two nice looking twenty-something jews who look like they're about to make out, but the movie is filled with, well, average-to-less than average looking overweight jews talking about how hard it was to come out. Since Wisconsin is not really known for its Jewish population, it was hard to relate or to form a frame of reference for a lot of the stories. I had hoped that cute gay boys would help regain my attention, but alas! it was not meant to be.
All right. While being politico is fine and dandy, that's not the most important thing that happened today. In fact, it almost made me re-evaluate my thoughts on God, because I don't want to live in a world where something this bad could happen to such a good person. (Note the hyperbole. I don't want to step on any religious tail here.)
I received the worst haircut of my life. We're talking god-awful, jaw-dropping, pointed whisper, grimaced expression, eye-shielding haircut.
I don't know why this is happening to me. I went in prepared and everything. I brought along a magazine with a few pictures from the John Varvatos spring collection (why yes, I do like guys--how could you tell?) and pointed at the model whose hair I wanted. It looked something like this or this. It would have been hotttt with four Ts.
Instead, the haircut made me look like Hilary Swank in Boys Don't Cry. It was not the haircut I had come in to replicate. The picture was of a hot male model, not of a transexual.
I doubt that many trans people are able to grate cheese on their stomachs, and even fewer show their lovely treasure trail while wearing a $4000 outfit.
Now don't get me wrong. Hilary Swank is a fine young actress, but she's not on my list of movie stars whom I wish to imitate fashionwise. She's not even on the top 100.
I mean, murdered transexual chic really isn't "in" at the moment.
I spent my night running around with my sister (none of my friends are allowed to see me like this!), desperately trying on hats. Stupid Ashton has made trucker hats all the rage; hence it is sooo 5 minutes ago. Plus, novelty wear really isn't my thing. I couldn't find anything, so I'm a homebody now, doomed to spend the next six weeks praying that my hair will magically heal itself.
If anyone knows any spells that will make my hair look good again, please I beg of you, get to work. If you know any hexes, please direct them to the Cutting Edge Beauty Salon.
They're married.
I'm pretty sure every blogger and his mother will be posting about this or have already posted about this, so I recommend just playing with my links to your right until you find someone who's eloquent about it. I realize that when I get political, I get boring, so I'll take a pass on this.
I will say, however, that it doesn't seem to be as big of a deal. When I was flipping through channels, I didn't see any loving pictures of gays just married. I mostly saw punditry, and it wasn't as righteous or passionate as the SF marriages. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I'm hoping its a good thing, because I really want to get married someday.
Well, in honor of the blessed day, I rented Trembling Before G-d, a documentary on Orthodox Jewish gays. It was pretty straight-forward (and no, that's not a pun), unfortunately. See, on the cover, there are two nice looking twenty-something jews who look like they're about to make out, but the movie is filled with, well, average-to-less than average looking overweight jews talking about how hard it was to come out. Since Wisconsin is not really known for its Jewish population, it was hard to relate or to form a frame of reference for a lot of the stories. I had hoped that cute gay boys would help regain my attention, but alas! it was not meant to be.
All right. While being politico is fine and dandy, that's not the most important thing that happened today. In fact, it almost made me re-evaluate my thoughts on God, because I don't want to live in a world where something this bad could happen to such a good person. (Note the hyperbole. I don't want to step on any religious tail here.)
I received the worst haircut of my life. We're talking god-awful, jaw-dropping, pointed whisper, grimaced expression, eye-shielding haircut.
I don't know why this is happening to me. I went in prepared and everything. I brought along a magazine with a few pictures from the John Varvatos spring collection (why yes, I do like guys--how could you tell?) and pointed at the model whose hair I wanted. It looked something like this or this. It would have been hotttt with four Ts.
Instead, the haircut made me look like Hilary Swank in Boys Don't Cry. It was not the haircut I had come in to replicate. The picture was of a hot male model, not of a transexual.
I doubt that many trans people are able to grate cheese on their stomachs, and even fewer show their lovely treasure trail while wearing a $4000 outfit.
Now don't get me wrong. Hilary Swank is a fine young actress, but she's not on my list of movie stars whom I wish to imitate fashionwise. She's not even on the top 100.
I mean, murdered transexual chic really isn't "in" at the moment.
I spent my night running around with my sister (none of my friends are allowed to see me like this!), desperately trying on hats. Stupid Ashton has made trucker hats all the rage; hence it is sooo 5 minutes ago. Plus, novelty wear really isn't my thing. I couldn't find anything, so I'm a homebody now, doomed to spend the next six weeks praying that my hair will magically heal itself.
If anyone knows any spells that will make my hair look good again, please I beg of you, get to work. If you know any hexes, please direct them to the Cutting Edge Beauty Salon.
if you ask me to jump on the bandwagon, i''ll ask, "are you high?"
[Choose a band/or artist and answer only in song TITLES by that band] [I used my two favorite artists; both of whom are coming out with CDs this month.] [The person who started this meme must have been a fan of brackets, so I'm continuing along those lines.] [This is c/ped from my livejournal--I should have a real post sometime later tonight.]
PJ Harvey
[Are you female or male] "Man-Sized"
[Describe yourself] "Kamikaze"
[How do some people feel about you] "The Darker Days of Me and Him"
[How do you feel about yourself] "This Mess We're In"
[Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend] "Send His Love to Me"
[Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend] "The Desparate Kingdom of Love"
[Describe where you want to be] "A Perfect Day"
[Describe what you want to be] "Rid of Me"
[Describe how you live] "Long Snake Moan"
[Describe how you love] "Beautiful Feeling"
[Share a few words of wisdom] "The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore"
Morrissey
[Are you female or male] "Used to Be a Sweet Boy"
[Describe yourself] "Now I am a Was"
[How do some people feel about you] "I Am Hated For Loving"
[How do you feel about yourself] "Please Help the Cause Against Lonliness"
[Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend] "He Knows I'd Love to See Him"
[Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend] "I Want The One I Can't Have" (technically Smiths)
[Describe where you want to be] "Me, Satisfied"
[Describe what you want to be] "The Last of the Famous International Playboys"
[Describe how you live] "There's a Special Place in Hell for Me and My Friends"
[Describe how you love] "Why Don't You Find Out For Yourself?"
[Share a few words of wisdom] "The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores"
PJ Harvey
[Are you female or male] "Man-Sized"
[Describe yourself] "Kamikaze"
[How do some people feel about you] "The Darker Days of Me and Him"
[How do you feel about yourself] "This Mess We're In"
[Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend] "Send His Love to Me"
[Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend] "The Desparate Kingdom of Love"
[Describe where you want to be] "A Perfect Day"
[Describe what you want to be] "Rid of Me"
[Describe how you live] "Long Snake Moan"
[Describe how you love] "Beautiful Feeling"
[Share a few words of wisdom] "The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore"
Morrissey
[Are you female or male] "Used to Be a Sweet Boy"
[Describe yourself] "Now I am a Was"
[How do some people feel about you] "I Am Hated For Loving"
[How do you feel about yourself] "Please Help the Cause Against Lonliness"
[Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend] "He Knows I'd Love to See Him"
[Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend] "I Want The One I Can't Have" (technically Smiths)
[Describe where you want to be] "Me, Satisfied"
[Describe what you want to be] "The Last of the Famous International Playboys"
[Describe how you live] "There's a Special Place in Hell for Me and My Friends"
[Describe how you love] "Why Don't You Find Out For Yourself?"
[Share a few words of wisdom] "The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores"
Just a quickie.
No, not a quickie as in sex. I wish. It's getting to be almost six months, people. If I knew the proper emoticon for college student with Puritan undertones who needs to fall in love and get some post haste, well, just imagine a row or two of ugly yellow circular faces here. But that's not why I'm posting. I'm posting to let everyone know I survived the trip back home, and have almost finished unpacking my things.
Ugh. I'd forgotten how much I hate living at home.
Case in point:
I do not have a bed. I have a mattress, no frame, on the floor of what used to be our attic. There's still old desks, boxes of stuff, and other crap right next to my bed. I don't even have a door--I have a sheet handing in the doorway held up with push pins. There are layers of dust over everything, and I don't remember anyone ever vaccumming that room. There is no central air or anything in that room; even the windows don't open. I am très not pleased.
</whine>
Anyway, I hate to complain in the blog because it's boring to everyone else, so that's enough of that. I'm just writing because I'm slightly excited about something that really, in the long run, means absolutely nothing. Remember how a few days ago, I posted something about how my home-town newspaper wants more pro-Bush letters to the editor? Well, I submitted it to the Democratic Underground, and my suggestion made the list of the Top Ten Conservative Idiots. I don't know if I'm the only one who submitted this, but I'm taking credit, damnit!
Anyway, it's not all bad at home. I spent the afternoon watching far too many Sex in the City episodes that I checked out from the library. By far too many, I mean the entire fifth season on DVD. I also found David Leavitt's new book, which makes me orgasmically happy, and I started reading The First Time I Met Frank O'Hara, which I'm enjoying immensely.
That book, in fact, is starting to inspire me a bit. It reads like a selection of essays, or rather, a series of blog posts about his favorite gay authors. Using blogger's handy new profile thing, I've written over 58,000 words, which seems to me to be about one novel, or maybe a novella. And that's only for my blogs under blogger. I tend to be pretty damn fickle with my choice of blogs, and usually switch after a few months. What with the three blogger sites, the xanga, diaryland, and the livejournal, there's got to be a coherent story line in there somewhere that adds up to a thick stack of tree carcasses. I'll have to work up more of a starting base, and then come November, I'll whip up something and blow the publishing world away!
Ha. I totally will forget all about NaNoWriMo by then. Plus my life is pretty damn boring, and I'll have to quit the poetry and move on to the fiction if I ever want to make the NYTimes Best Seller list. Oh well.
Ugh. I'd forgotten how much I hate living at home.
Case in point:
I do not have a bed. I have a mattress, no frame, on the floor of what used to be our attic. There's still old desks, boxes of stuff, and other crap right next to my bed. I don't even have a door--I have a sheet handing in the doorway held up with push pins. There are layers of dust over everything, and I don't remember anyone ever vaccumming that room. There is no central air or anything in that room; even the windows don't open. I am très not pleased.
</whine>
Anyway, I hate to complain in the blog because it's boring to everyone else, so that's enough of that. I'm just writing because I'm slightly excited about something that really, in the long run, means absolutely nothing. Remember how a few days ago, I posted something about how my home-town newspaper wants more pro-Bush letters to the editor? Well, I submitted it to the Democratic Underground, and my suggestion made the list of the Top Ten Conservative Idiots. I don't know if I'm the only one who submitted this, but I'm taking credit, damnit!
Anyway, it's not all bad at home. I spent the afternoon watching far too many Sex in the City episodes that I checked out from the library. By far too many, I mean the entire fifth season on DVD. I also found David Leavitt's new book, which makes me orgasmically happy, and I started reading The First Time I Met Frank O'Hara, which I'm enjoying immensely.
That book, in fact, is starting to inspire me a bit. It reads like a selection of essays, or rather, a series of blog posts about his favorite gay authors. Using blogger's handy new profile thing, I've written over 58,000 words, which seems to me to be about one novel, or maybe a novella. And that's only for my blogs under blogger. I tend to be pretty damn fickle with my choice of blogs, and usually switch after a few months. What with the three blogger sites, the xanga, diaryland, and the livejournal, there's got to be a coherent story line in there somewhere that adds up to a thick stack of tree carcasses. I'll have to work up more of a starting base, and then come November, I'll whip up something and blow the publishing world away!
Ha. I totally will forget all about NaNoWriMo by then. Plus my life is pretty damn boring, and I'll have to quit the poetry and move on to the fiction if I ever want to make the NYTimes Best Seller list. Oh well.
May 14, 2004
holla.
I'm in the middle of packing up all my stuff to move back home for the summer, and am about to disconnect my computer and put the cables into a box where they will all commingle and tangle in a serpent-like orgy. I don't think I'll have my own computer, or at least have my computer hooked up to the internet while I'm living at home, so I'll be stuck sharing the family's computer on an old dial up connection, sharing it with two teenage sisters and parental units who need to use the computer for work occasionally, but don't want to spend the extra money for dialup.
It'll suck hardxcore.
You can tell it'll suck a lot because there's a superfluous x in hardcore. That shows I mean business.
I have no idea what kind of effect this will have on my posting schedule, but suffice it to say that I probably won't be posting anything for a few days. Just an FYI--I don't expect anyone to care all too deeply, but just to let any clandestine stalkers know not to fret.
Later gaters.
It'll suck hardxcore.
You can tell it'll suck a lot because there's a superfluous x in hardcore. That shows I mean business.
I have no idea what kind of effect this will have on my posting schedule, but suffice it to say that I probably won't be posting anything for a few days. Just an FYI--I don't expect anyone to care all too deeply, but just to let any clandestine stalkers know not to fret.
Later gaters.
May 13, 2004
You have gorg'd me with the dearest morsel of the earth!
Please sir, I beg you! Ease back your attack so that I may compose myself to compass the admission of that stupendous head of your machine!
Man. I know I've expressed my views on the death of the love letter, and how the Victorians wrote gorgeous, passionate love letters while today we're lucky with a "u r gr8 sexx i cant wait til 2nite" text message, but they even screamed out eloquent moans, much more than the "oh yeah, that's it" that permeates Cinemax programming.
Oh my dearest, pull out your mighty stallion and let my thighs and linens receive your effusion!
(via the Victorian Sex Cry Generator, my favourite automated meme since the surrealist compliment generator)
Man. I know I've expressed my views on the death of the love letter, and how the Victorians wrote gorgeous, passionate love letters while today we're lucky with a "u r gr8 sexx i cant wait til 2nite" text message, but they even screamed out eloquent moans, much more than the "oh yeah, that's it" that permeates Cinemax programming.
Oh my dearest, pull out your mighty stallion and let my thighs and linens receive your effusion!
(via the Victorian Sex Cry Generator, my favourite automated meme since the surrealist compliment generator)
May 12, 2004
Why can't life be like a Mary Kate and Ashley movie?
You know, I'd run into a hot guy with perfect blue eyes and impeccably coiffed hair; I'd fall in love at first sight, and I'd procede to bump into him at the museum, the punk rock show, and at the beach (and of course he's got a body to die for). We'd have small talk and he'd be so witty and flirtacious. He's just about to tell me he loves me, but as it turns out, he's a millionaire-daredevil-prince-rockstar-artiste, and his family doesn't like me or somehow some wires cross or something. After moping around for a chorus of a sappy ballad, my friends come along and we have makeovers and go shopping and act like dorks around remarkably clean landmarks while listening to a pop-punk medley and then he comes along with an apology and a magical solution to all my problems and then we make out.
Man, that would rock.
Man, that would rock.
May 11, 2004
sonnet composed on a cafeteria napkin
Breakfast (working title)
Men may be pigs and
I may be a vegetarian
but I’ve got a sweet spot for bacon
and sausage, you understand
me? with a side of hot crossed
buns smothered in warmed up
freshly tapped syrup--
oh! how I love that sauce
as a midnight snack
or at breakfast time.
it gets so sticky and sweet
it makes me blow my stack
all over. Yes, I’m
a vegetarian but I love my meat
I'm going to write you a letter
My newspaper at home is in the midst of a conundrum. Their opinion section is being overrun by 'bleeding heart liberals;' there aren't enough letters extolling the virtues of our fair president.
Hmm... I wonder why.
Dear Editor,
I find it terribly offensive that there are millions of people under a leader who was not democratically elected, who is legislating hatred for minority groups, who is ruining the country's economy with nationalistic wars, who is controlling the media outlets, who keeps a layer of secrecy around the government's actions, who is ruining the environment, who jeopardizes the safety and legitimacy of those who oppose him, and who, quite frankly, doesn't seem mentally capable of running a country. I full heartedly support any means of ridding the world of such leaders.
Sincerely,
Bob.
(edit: The newspaper has since reworded the article since they received too much flak. If you scroll down, though, you can read the original article that asks for letters of Presidential support.)
We've been getting more letters critical of President Bush than those that support him. We're not sure why.
Hmm... I wonder why.
Dear Editor,
I find it terribly offensive that there are millions of people under a leader who was not democratically elected, who is legislating hatred for minority groups, who is ruining the country's economy with nationalistic wars, who is controlling the media outlets, who keeps a layer of secrecy around the government's actions, who is ruining the environment, who jeopardizes the safety and legitimacy of those who oppose him, and who, quite frankly, doesn't seem mentally capable of running a country. I full heartedly support any means of ridding the world of such leaders.
Sincerely,
Bob.
(edit: The newspaper has since reworded the article since they received too much flak. If you scroll down, though, you can read the original article that asks for letters of Presidential support.)
May 10, 2004
Some people try to pick up girls and they get called assholes. This never happened to Gertrude Stein.
It takes a lot of time to be a genius, you have to sit around so much doing nothing, really doing nothing.
God I'm so bored from sitting around and doing nothing all the time. Really doing nothing.
From a bookjacket:
English Awards were the other night. I lost. More specifically, I lost to a poem called "Captured in a Friendship." Guess what it was about. Second place went to a different poem; I stopped listening when the poet read the phrase "Tears burst forth from out of her soul." He was kind of cute, but I tuned out after that line. Third went to a poem about how her grandfather died. The grandfather liked to eat pie; sometimes he couldn't remember things, but he liked to eat pie.
At least I've got a few things in the literary magazine, and they've made me an editor next year. According to an email I received this afternoon, I'm already a senior editor. Trust you me, I'll be laying down some new ground rules.
First rule: No crappy poetry.
Second rule: No crappy poetry.
Poetry sucks unless it makes me money.
God I'm so bored from sitting around and doing nothing all the time. Really doing nothing.
From a bookjacket:
"I do not know what Miss Stein is talking about. I do not even understand the title. That, Miss Stein tells me, is because I am dumb."
English Awards were the other night. I lost. More specifically, I lost to a poem called "Captured in a Friendship." Guess what it was about. Second place went to a different poem; I stopped listening when the poet read the phrase "Tears burst forth from out of her soul." He was kind of cute, but I tuned out after that line. Third went to a poem about how her grandfather died. The grandfather liked to eat pie; sometimes he couldn't remember things, but he liked to eat pie.
At least I've got a few things in the literary magazine, and they've made me an editor next year. According to an email I received this afternoon, I'm already a senior editor. Trust you me, I'll be laying down some new ground rules.
First rule: No crappy poetry.
Second rule: No crappy poetry.
Poetry sucks unless it makes me money.
May 9, 2004
100% Geek-ified
Blogger has been completely redone! I'm playing around with some of the new options, like xml feeds and posting via email and all types of hot hot stuff.
I think I'm in love.
This post is mostly just to play around and tinker with some of the new features, but as not to completely bore you, here's a photo of a new artwork that I'm thinking of tweaking for a new masthead, since the Otto Dix one is ugly depending on the size of the browser. I don't want to discriminate against those with browser deficiencies. The only downside to this photo is that it's from a "You too can be a professional artist!!" type website, and I can't find proper credit.
Let me know what you think. There should be a new set of comments set up (thank you Blogger!). I know you're there, I can read my stats. Leave a comment and let's see how the new features work!
Edit: The new comments feature sucks so I'm keeping with the old version. You can still leave a comment, though, if you want.
I think I'm in love.
This post is mostly just to play around and tinker with some of the new features, but as not to completely bore you, here's a photo of a new artwork that I'm thinking of tweaking for a new masthead, since the Otto Dix one is ugly depending on the size of the browser. I don't want to discriminate against those with browser deficiencies. The only downside to this photo is that it's from a "You too can be a professional artist!!" type website, and I can't find proper credit.
Let me know what you think. There should be a new set of comments set up (thank you Blogger!). I know you're there, I can read my stats. Leave a comment and let's see how the new features work!
Edit: The new comments feature sucks so I'm keeping with the old version. You can still leave a comment, though, if you want.
May 8, 2004
Modernism is Dead!
The only thing the Nazis did right was to kill Modernism. Why can't the school dance department let it rest in peace?
(Yes, I know it's hard to pinpoint exactly when Modernism ended and post-Modernism began, but I blame the Nazis. Well, I don't blame them because I find Modernism boring, but they did it. I'm not saying that Nazism was a good idea, nor do I agree with their views on 'Degenerate Art', but the end of Modernism was a good thing in the long run for the arts.)
Fortunately, they followed a 45 minute piece on survival in a post 9/11 society (or as I called it, "mitigated Modernist shit in pseudo-cathartic attempt at relevance") with a Beach Boys medley with the entire dance company in their tighty-whities.
Now that's my kind of dancing. Mmmm...
Normally I don't like sitting in the front row, but the show was almost sold out and I didn't have much choice. But when the cast started taking off their clothing, I flip-flopped like Kerry's voting record (oh I'm so topical!). Let me just say that the dance belts under their skivvies are sure going to give me some sweet dreams tonight!
(Yes, I know it's hard to pinpoint exactly when Modernism ended and post-Modernism began, but I blame the Nazis. Well, I don't blame them because I find Modernism boring, but they did it. I'm not saying that Nazism was a good idea, nor do I agree with their views on 'Degenerate Art', but the end of Modernism was a good thing in the long run for the arts.)
Fortunately, they followed a 45 minute piece on survival in a post 9/11 society (or as I called it, "mitigated Modernist shit in pseudo-cathartic attempt at relevance") with a Beach Boys medley with the entire dance company in their tighty-whities.
Now that's my kind of dancing. Mmmm...
Normally I don't like sitting in the front row, but the show was almost sold out and I didn't have much choice. But when the cast started taking off their clothing, I flip-flopped like Kerry's voting record (oh I'm so topical!). Let me just say that the dance belts under their skivvies are sure going to give me some sweet dreams tonight!
May 7, 2004
Another meme. I promise actual content for tomorrow. C/Ped from my LJ.
On your current playlist, hit shuffle and pick the first twenty songs on the list (no matter how cheesy or embarrassing), and write down your favorite line of the song. Try to avoid putting the song title in the line. Then, have your friends comment and see if they know the songs. No cheating!
NB--This is from my entire collection of music on my computer, as my current playlist was a mix of one artist (the Magnetic Fields) and that's too easy. I edited out songs in foreign languages (no Mr. Credo for you!), live songs with humorous openings (sorry Courtney), covers (sorry Ciccone Youth) remixes/mashups (no "Smells Like Booty") and the instrumentals (though it would be interesting to see how many of you are up on your Ravel).
1. I hate that damn machismo!
2. Gertrude Stein: she was never called an asshole.
3. Hit me with the bloody techno!
4. Fucking him was like Waiting for Godot; he never came and I was happy when it ended.
5. Art is not cheese--it should not be shredded!
6. You can look but don't touch my dear, I might be butch but I am queer!
7. Let's talk about spaceships or anything except me and you, okay?
8. We talk about our future: we say that marriage is for us (even when our country says it's not)
9. The condom on your dick's the tie that binds
10. I want a raise, I want to go home, I want sex, I want a cookie.
11. Long came a spider who sat down beside her and said "Hey Bitch! Gimme some head!"
12. God, I hate Belgium designers.
13. I'm a dog, I'm a slag, I'm a disco queen.
14. When I punk through the club I'm a debutante
15. My daddy called me devil: I call me "Ambisextruous"
16. In some ways I think like someone like Redd Kross would be easy to manage
17. Your mouth is big and dirty but I'd kiss you if I could.
18. Mommy's in the closet finding God, I'm on my knees finding you
19. Why'd you come in here lookin like that when you could stop traffic in a gunney sack?
20. Don't be miserable like Morrissey just let me do you underneath the Christmas Tree
NB: #2 is technically a cover but there's enough of a difference so that I'm counting it as a separate song, 4 is a spoken word thing by someone on my buddy list, 8 is also by someone on my buddy list, and 13 could either be 'slug' or slag' (there's an odd British accent). Good Luck!
NB--This is from my entire collection of music on my computer, as my current playlist was a mix of one artist (the Magnetic Fields) and that's too easy. I edited out songs in foreign languages (no Mr. Credo for you!), live songs with humorous openings (sorry Courtney), covers (sorry Ciccone Youth) remixes/mashups (no "Smells Like Booty") and the instrumentals (though it would be interesting to see how many of you are up on your Ravel).
1. I hate that damn machismo!
2. Gertrude Stein: she was never called an asshole.
3. Hit me with the bloody techno!
4. Fucking him was like Waiting for Godot; he never came and I was happy when it ended.
5. Art is not cheese--it should not be shredded!
6. You can look but don't touch my dear, I might be butch but I am queer!
7. Let's talk about spaceships or anything except me and you, okay?
8. We talk about our future: we say that marriage is for us (even when our country says it's not)
9. The condom on your dick's the tie that binds
10. I want a raise, I want to go home, I want sex, I want a cookie.
11. Long came a spider who sat down beside her and said "Hey Bitch! Gimme some head!"
12. God, I hate Belgium designers.
13. I'm a dog, I'm a slag, I'm a disco queen.
14. When I punk through the club I'm a debutante
15. My daddy called me devil: I call me "Ambisextruous"
16. In some ways I think like someone like Redd Kross would be easy to manage
17. Your mouth is big and dirty but I'd kiss you if I could.
18. Mommy's in the closet finding God, I'm on my knees finding you
19. Why'd you come in here lookin like that when you could stop traffic in a gunney sack?
20. Don't be miserable like Morrissey just let me do you underneath the Christmas Tree
NB: #2 is technically a cover but there's enough of a difference so that I'm counting it as a separate song, 4 is a spoken word thing by someone on my buddy list, 8 is also by someone on my buddy list, and 13 could either be 'slug' or slag' (there's an odd British accent). Good Luck!
May 6, 2004
Gakked from chrisafer, who got it from Vanity Fair.
I hate memes, but I fill them out anyways because I'm lazy.
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
Cuddling with a loved one.
Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Rimbaud
Which living person do you most admire?
Kathleen Hanna
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Insecurity.
What is your greatest extravagance?
Picking up the check at restaurants with friends.
What is your favorite journey?
To the bathroom for a post-coital, shared shower.
On what occasion do you lie?
When I think the truth isn't interesting or provacative enough
Which living person do you most despise?
Fred Phelps
What or who is the greatest love of your life?
Peter
When and where were you happiest?
This fall, when the ex would come and visit for a weekend.
Which talent would you most like to have?
Schmoozing.
What is your current state of mind?
Lonely
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Being allowed to teach at Renaissance.
If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
An overly-nice kindergarten teacher
What is your most treasured possession?
My computer. It's got all my history in its files.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
University of Stevens Point.
What is your favorite occupation?
Writer.
What is the quality you most like in a man?
High brow wit
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Sarcasm
Who are your favorite writers?
David Leavitt, Oscar Wilde, Carole Nelson Douglas, and Tennesse Williams
What is your motto?
A witty saying proves nothing. (Voltaire)
What is your idea of perfect happiness?
Cuddling with a loved one.
Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Rimbaud
Which living person do you most admire?
Kathleen Hanna
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
Insecurity.
What is your greatest extravagance?
Picking up the check at restaurants with friends.
What is your favorite journey?
To the bathroom for a post-coital, shared shower.
On what occasion do you lie?
When I think the truth isn't interesting or provacative enough
Which living person do you most despise?
Fred Phelps
What or who is the greatest love of your life?
Peter
When and where were you happiest?
This fall, when the ex would come and visit for a weekend.
Which talent would you most like to have?
Schmoozing.
What is your current state of mind?
Lonely
What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Being allowed to teach at Renaissance.
If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
An overly-nice kindergarten teacher
What is your most treasured possession?
My computer. It's got all my history in its files.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
University of Stevens Point.
What is your favorite occupation?
Writer.
What is the quality you most like in a man?
High brow wit
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
Sarcasm
Who are your favorite writers?
David Leavitt, Oscar Wilde, Carole Nelson Douglas, and Tennesse Williams
What is your motto?
A witty saying proves nothing. (Voltaire)
May 5, 2004
Ode to Potatoes
At dinner tonight, they served tater tots. It was amazing. I almost made an entire meal out of them.
I honestly believe that potatoes are God's gift to vegetarians.
Scratch that. Potatoes are God's gift to all humans.
Think about it. Potatoes are the world's most perfect food.
Mashed, fried, tator tots, scalloped, baked, twice baked, French fries, wedged, bread, American fries, croquettes, hash browns, pancakes, au gratin, casserole, the list keeps going.
I don't know why the Irish complained. They were lucky bastards.
"Waah waah waah. We have to eat potatoes two or three times a day because we can't afford anything else. Britain is ruining our economy waah."
And we call France the pussies. (Note the sarcasm.)
...
If they made potato flavored lubricant, you can bet your sweet ass that'd I'll be all over that.
Or rather, it'd be all over my sweet ass.
I honestly believe that potatoes are God's gift to vegetarians.
Scratch that. Potatoes are God's gift to all humans.
Think about it. Potatoes are the world's most perfect food.
Mashed, fried, tator tots, scalloped, baked, twice baked, French fries, wedged, bread, American fries, croquettes, hash browns, pancakes, au gratin, casserole, the list keeps going.
I don't know why the Irish complained. They were lucky bastards.
"Waah waah waah. We have to eat potatoes two or three times a day because we can't afford anything else. Britain is ruining our economy waah."
And we call France the pussies. (Note the sarcasm.)
...
If they made potato flavored lubricant, you can bet your sweet ass that'd I'll be all over that.
Or rather, it'd be all over my sweet ass.
Using the internet to justify hatred is fun!
I had always thought that people who vote Republican were stupid, but now there's proof.
May 3, 2004
a one night stand with the night
a one night stand with the night
it's him or me, baby
his cacophonous life
merging with my body
he'll give it up
he'll get it good then get gone
back against the wall
another notch on my belt
one night stand with the night
pistol in his starter
with his libertine life
I'm going make him harder
if he's got the goods
then I'm going to get him good
witching hour getting lewd
with all of the young dudes
if I get with you I'll get you off
if I get with you I'll get you off
if I get with you I'll get you good.
swapping spit with the night
like a first grade spelling bee
red crayon, paper is white
I'm the easiest thing you'll ever see
a one night stand
is wasting too much time
I've got to find my man
a man in my prime
if I get with you I'll get you off
if I get with you I'll get you off
if I get with you I'll get you good
bathing in the red light
dripping wet from sweating sin
checking out the guys
squirting novels on my skin
no I don't 'hold hands'
I don't want to meet mom and dad
I'm just a big fan
of wicked tongues tasting everything
if I get with you I'll get you off
if I get with you I'll get you good
good good good
This is what happens when I listen to the yeah yeah yeahs during class. God bless inner ear headphones. Obviously it's a rough draft. It started off as a gay rewrite of this poem by Frost, because we were discussing it in class, but then it got dirty because I got to daydreaming. There really should be a class on turning homework into porn. Maybe then I'd pay attention in class.
(Also. I started working on a masthead as per his recommendation. A rough draft is up now. I don't think I like it--depending on the size of the browser window, it can leave awkward spacing. If anyone knows the HTML for the picture to automatically resize itself, or some other HTML trick to make things pretty, drop me a line. Merci.)
May 2, 2004
The Letter
Put the pen to the paper, press the envelope with my scent
Can't you see in my handwriting the curve of my g?
Who is left that writes these days?
You and me, we'll be different
Take the cap off your pen
Wet the envelope--lick and lick it
It turns me on to imagine
Your blue eyes on my words
Your beautiful pen-- take the cap off
Give me a sign and I'd come running
Sometimes I open letters from my friends and I weep for the English language. Well, not really, but when the entire email is three or four sentences long, without any capitalization or proper punctuation, it gets on my nerves. I can tolerate it from a few people: my Russian, with whom I stayed when I was working on the Chemical Weapons plant in Shchuch’ye, for example. (I worked on the gallery and artwork in the foyer and didn't actually work with any hazardous waste.) He didn't speak any English at the time, or rather he only knew a few key sentences, like most people know Spanish. He's taking classes in school, and writes to me sometimes to practice his English, which is better than my Russian.
The sad thing is that his letters are usually more grammatically correct than most of the emails sent to me by my American friends. I assume that he spends more time on his letters, and sometimes a few sentences sound as if they were copied out of an English phrasebook, but he's trying. It's always in stark contrast to other letters that I receive from friends, fragments of phrases without time or thought put into them. Misplaced modifiers, dangling participles, prepositions ending the sentence, those I can accept, but some letters that in my Inbox make me want to rethink my friendships. I wish there were some technology that would limit the amount of exclamation points allowed in a single email; 21 exclamation points for 9 sentences (which includes the greeting and signature) is just wasteful--doesn't he know that there are children starving for punctuation in Rwanda?
I read a lot, and it makes me so sad to read correspondence from earlier generations. The letters between John and Abigail Adams are gorgeous, full of romance and intellect, friendship and affection. Going through some old emails from my ex, I don't get the same feeling; at best I get "I miss you" and then a few lines on his day, and occasionally a short story of something amusing that one of friends said. None of them are anything like Napoleon's letter to Josephine, Zelda's letter to F. Scott, or Robert Browning's letter to Elizabeth. I know that these were written by some of the greatest minds of their generation, by people who made their living off of their words, so I shouldn't expect much, but comparing these letters to 1KB, paragraph-long emails makes me realize the deteriorization of the English language. I know I'm an English/Creative Writing major who was dating a chemistry major and my expectations are high, but some sort of effort on his part would have been nice.
To be fair, I know that I'm no master of English--in older blogs I didn't capitalize, and I rarely capitalize in IM conversations, I use too many qualifiers in speech (quite, very, really, et all), my sentences can be somewhat Faulknerian. But when I write letters, there are usually paragraphs involved, with thought given to the flow, rhythm, and aesthetics.
Sometimes I think I'm a sapiosexual, attracted to intelligence, or that I suffer from Ruben's Syndrome, emotionally aroused by great works of art. Like the t-shirt says, "Good writing is sexy."
Turn me on.
May 1, 2004
Five Links and/or Thoughts as of 3:07pm:
1. I'm always pleased when I find news articles that extoll the virtues of my guilty pleasures. Today (or maybe yesterday), Slate.com came out with a review of a cartoon that, when my roommmate catches me watching it, I feel guilty: The Fairly OddParents. Now if they'd only come out with an article about Recess I won't have to quick change the station when my roommate drops by.
2. I just found out that I'm scheduled to read at the English Awards ceremony during the finale of Friends and I don't know if I feel comfortable admitting that I like the show enough to cancel or buy a blank tape.
3.Today is the first of May, and you know what that means: First of May, First of May, Outdoor Fucking Starts Today!
4. I have a new desktop; it's a self-portrait of Otto Dix, a German Expressionist whom the Nazis abhorred.
5. I have found the worst poem in the world, at least in my opinion. I feel really bad for discouraging art, but since the title is "Im So Gothic, Im So Pale, Tragedy, Pitty Me, Pitty Me" I hope to god that it's a parody or mockery and not at face value.
2. I just found out that I'm scheduled to read at the English Awards ceremony during the finale of Friends and I don't know if I feel comfortable admitting that I like the show enough to cancel or buy a blank tape.
3.Today is the first of May, and you know what that means: First of May, First of May, Outdoor Fucking Starts Today!
4. I have a new desktop; it's a self-portrait of Otto Dix, a German Expressionist whom the Nazis abhorred.
5. I have found the worst poem in the world, at least in my opinion. I feel really bad for discouraging art, but since the title is "Im So Gothic, Im So Pale, Tragedy, Pitty Me, Pitty Me" I hope to god that it's a parody or mockery and not at face value.
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