Gratuitous Flesh Friday!

Whatever mancrush I had on Brad Pitt has now gone.

Brad and Angelina are in talk to star in a big screen adaptation of "Atlas Shrugged."

I can never look at him in the same way again.








Ah, who am I kidding? I still wouldn't kick that out of bed.

Service with a smile

The closer it gets to finals, the less impressive the applications get for summer employment. First it started out with cushy editorial assistant jobs, then working at the children's museum (DILF-central), then a transcribing job, and, with a week until finals (aya!), it's come to this: food service.

I suppose it's nothing to really be ashamed of. I mean, it's a summer job, and lots of people work food service, waiting tables well into their twenties and thirties while waiting for their big acting break, or working on that great American novel, or washing dishes while taking dance lessons on the side. It's natural, and in movies it always leads up to a well-executed kiss-off, with the throwing off of the apron and the witty retort and the joyful saunter out of the restaurant to the cheers of the patrons, the owner with an 'aw, shucks, you get'em, tiger.'

I can sublet downtown for dirt-cheap this summer, so all I really need to do is make enough to justify staying here as opposed to living at home again, without my own room or computer, living on superslow dialup. We're really only talking about part-time here, provided that I keep the drinking in check and refrain from late-night amazon.com trysts.

And to whom should I turn in an application, but infamous former hookup CoolKid? The same CoolKid who has taken to drunken text-messages at bartime? hey wats up im horn

Lovely.

"Hey."

"Hey."

::pregnant pause::

"How've you been?"

"I've been good, I guess. You?"

"Just working too many hours. So what's up?"

"Um, I'm turning in an application, actually."

I suppose the awkwardness can't really be expressed in a blog post, how neither of us really knows how to make eye contact, how I've got my hand behind my back, fiddling with my ring. He copped up to the drunked text message, surprisingly enough.

"Yeah, I think I texted you when I got drunk the other night"

"Oh... well, I can't really get text messages. I mean, I get them, but I can't read them. I just get error messages."

He's smiling, I'm smiling, I don't really know what to do. The restaurant is dead, so I can't hide behind a customer, or use an onslaught of patrons to excuse myself. I hand him the application, and he grabs a pen and writes "REF: COOLKID" in sprawling letters on the top of the application, obscuring my middle initial (P) and the first few digits of my social security number.

"I just became the trainer here. I'll give it to John to check your references and stuff, but that's kind of a formality."

Goody goody gumdrops. There's nothing like relying on an unsuccessful hookup for your summer employment.

On the upside, I suppose sleeping with the boss to get the job with iconic enough to be fun. Or maybe it's just cliched. I don't know.

At least I don't have to ask if you want fries with that.

Explanation of the Lost Post

My original plan was to post a spoof of Best Gay Blog's recent featurette on blogcrushes. I chose eight blogcrushes, either for purely physical reasons (thank you, HNT), writing style, or I thought that if they found out they might send a shitload of reciprical hits my way.

Ultimately, they didn't end up as funny as I had originally thought. They started out funny, sure, but the next morning they were all not as funny as a whole or just too mean sounding. And when blogger decided to futz out, I kinda had second thoughts on the matter.

Here's the hypothetical entry as to why I would like to make out with Toby. I'm pretty sure he doesn't read this blog anyway. Judge for yourself as to why I didn't post it.

---

What blogger do you have a crush on? VividBlurry
What attracts you to this blogger? I like lushes with gay-looking hair.
If you had a night with this blogger, what would your dream date be like? We would go to an all-you-can-eat-buffet. After his third trip, I would make a comment about his weight. He would excuse himself to the bathroom, where I would go in and lick the tears rolling down his cheeks. I would cum in my pants.
If this blogger were available, what would your come-on line be? My name is Bob, and I'm an alcoholic. Hi, Bob
Why do you think this blogger would prefer you over another? I have a handle of vodka in my freezer with his name on it.

---

See what I mean? It's mildly amusing, but ultimately it's not as funny as I would like it to be, and more catty than I like to be. I've only talked to one of the bloggers online, and haven't met any of them, so it would be so big of a deal, but over half of them read to me, and I'd hate for them to get pissed off and remove me from their blogroll. At any rate, eight or nine of those spoofs in a row got to be too much, and they just didn't have the same 'punch' to them as I would have liked.

There were funny moments, but they were few and far between. Like, the reason I thought one blogger (who I judge to be coasting on his looks and definitely not his brains) would prefer a date with me is that if he swallowed my manjuice, he would gain 10 points to his IQ. Or the bloging duo whom I would strip naked and have them wrestle in oil for the chance to date me, and as they lie panting on the floor exhausted, I would jerk off on their faces. Or I would set up an elaborate roleplay with one blogger and make him clean my room before I would touch him. Or the reason why one blogger would choose me over the others is that he's easy and my cock's kinda thick. Or the pick up line to one blogger would be to ask whether the bad dye job included his pubes, and as part of our date, I would take a pernament marker and draw on the chest hair that he religiously waxes. Or my reason to date one blogger was that I had been having trouble falling asleep lately, and in real life I would be out like a light.

And now I bet you guys all want to know who I was talking about. Well, nyah.

A Few Minor Notes

I'm going to wait one more day before revealing the answer to yesterday's post. With all of the problems with blogger lately, I figure I should make sure everyone's had a chance to vote. There's only one answer that's tangentially close. Think cattier.

---

Of course, the post I had planned for today was another quiz, a 'Four Lies, One Truth' thing. And so I've got to postpone it as well. Bitches.

However, a scene from the as-yet-untitled Sarah Silverman tv project has been leaked, and it's pretty awesome. Well, it's not awesome, but it's good enough, and also probably not safe for work. Well, it might be safe for work. I can never gage these things.

---

This week, on campus, there're having an "All-Campus Bash" for students to shake out all of their sillies before the stress of finals hits like a brick. Every day, there are a few events, like free pizza if you wear UW Apparel, or a Battle of the Bands, or a mini-State Fair on the campus lawn, and an all-school pickup kickball game.
Yesterday's event was an exercise marathon put on by the UW Athletics. All of the sports teams oncampus worked out, an hour at a time, on the Library Mall, promoting physical health and begging for tips.

On my way to class, lo and behold, it was the Men's Swim Team's turn to exercise on the library mall. About ten tan men in speedos were stretching, and a few were jumping around in the little fountain. I decided I didn't really need to get to class ontime and sat on the grass with about two dozen other girls who were sitting and pretending to do homework, and get a clear view.

At least four of them were circumsized, that I could tell. It was so hot. I wish I would have brought my digital camera, or a jacket to cover my lap while I watched them.

Lost Post

This isn't a sort of self-imposed sabbatical, though with the amount of papers I have due next week (two poetry portfolios due Monday, a paper due Tuesday, two papers due Thursday) I could probably justify one. Blogger's eaten my last few posts.

I had a different post written for today. It was pretty long and had lots of pictures, but when blogger wouldn't publish it, I decided it was a sign. It was kind of a mean post, pretty out of character for me, and I was having second thoughts about posting it. It was pretty funny when I started it, but by the end, I was pretty sure I would't post anything so catty.

Leave your guess in the comments as to what the post would have been about.

Dmitri

I was thirteen years old at the time, the age of burgeoning sexuality and awkward erections while sitting in class. I had already had a few crushes on boys, most notably Phil, who moved to our school in fifth grade and all of the girls had a crush on him. Me? I hoped my dad would die, and his mom would, and that they would get married and we would have to live in the same room and his older brother would harass us and make us do stuff together.

My first crush on a national figure, however, was Dmitri from the movie Anastasia. A cartoon figure. I can find few screencaps of the movie, which is unfortunate since he was so hot. Long dark hair, angled face, broad shoulders, a kind, giving nature. He was totally crush-worthy. I would sit and watch this movie for hours; I'm pretty sure we still own it on VHS at home. I used to have all of the songs memorized.

Although now I hate John Cusack, who voiced Dmitri, at the time I didn't know who he was.

Later, on the long plane ride to Russia (I spent a few weeks abroad during high school designing murals in our sister city) we got to talking about movies about Russia, or guest visitors on Sesame Street who had Russian accents, and Anastasia came up, and it turns out I wasn't the only one who had a crush on Dmitri when they first saw the movie. In the hotel room where we stayed our one night in Saint Petersburg, we got a little tipsy on some vodka and sang "Have You Heard? There's a Rumor in Saint Petersburg!" (The word for 'water' and 'vodka' is very similar in Russian, and it was a mistake that we decided not to correct.)

Even on the IMDB message boards, there's a list of all the girls posting on how Dmitri is the sexist cartoon character, on the same par as Aladdin or Prince Eric (from Little Mermaid).

In Russia, we were always on the look out for "Sexy-boy Dmitri" look-a-likes, but were sorely disappointed. (The myth of the Russian twink is greatly exaggerated.)

I'm pretty sure this is the beginning of my adoration of the Russians. In addition to this blog (named after my favorite Dostoevsky novel), the accent, the iconography, the misunderstood romanticism of Communism, vodka, the decadence of the czars, the passions in the revolutions, pelmeni, I'm all about the Russians.

I can add Dmitri to the top of the list.

Little Suri with the Fringe on the Top

So yeah, they had their baby. But now the question is, who's going to be the first to write a parody of "The Surrey with the Fringe on the Top?" Will the bloggers beat out Best Week Ever? Will Talk Soup come up with something?

Will the first pictures of little Suri feature a headband with fringe on it?

Thoughts on Dan Savage's Lecture

Last night everyone's favorite sex advice columnist, Dan Savage came and spoke on campus as part of the Distinguished Lecture Series. His coming was originally independant of 'Gaypril,' though it was eventually co-opted. I have a five page paper that I need to start, so I don't have time to write a detailed post, but I do have the time to write a few bullet points on the subject.

• He opened with asking for a show of hands of all the straight people in the audience, then the gay people, then the closeted gay people. Over 80% of the audience raised their hands for being straight, which surprised both him and me, then a few scattered hands for people who admited to being gay, and no one admitted to being closeted. And, as one might expect in a room full of straight boys whose sexuality might be questioned, the room reeked of cologne, and nothing gender neutral: this was the manliest musk possible short of sweat, and it hung in the air like London fog



• Probably the most entertaining part of the lecture, both for the audience and for Dan Savage, was the sign language interpreter at the side of the stage. There's nothing quite as funny as watching an overweight middle-aged woman sign things like "shove his face into his pussy" or "sliding his tongue into his pooter". Once Dan realized the humor possible, he let loose with a string of sexual acts that made her appear to have manual Tourettes: masturbation masturbation fist fucking cocksucker faggot masturbation dyke pussylicker anal whore.



• He didn't so much make a speech but take written questions from the audience, which he answered with glib remarks and told an occaisional antedote. He brought a pitcher of beer onstage with him instead of the usual water (that's the way we roll in Madison), but it made me think of how pretty much any gay guy I know could have done the same thing, with a little alcohol in him. I mean, it's not so hard to compose a witty, sexually charged retort to most questions (there can only be so many questions he can answer before he starts repeating himself).



• I guess ultimately I left amused yet disappointed. I would have preferred it if Dan Savage had come in with prepared remarks or even a short speech about something instead of just composing a rehash of his article onstage. I find his books and longer personal narratives to be much more interesting than his column, which I think gets to be an experiment in finding new ways to answer what amounts to be the same six or seven questions.



• Perhaps the most interesting thing, for me at least, was the fact that I bumped into DPB in the lobby beforehand. He's looking good, definitely lost weight, but more importantly, he smiled and said hi as we passed each other. (I suppose if I were more clever I would have asked Dan Savage the question on what that means, and DPB would know that I was talking about him, and we would have run across the auditorium and embraced in a Hollywood style.)

The Lost Weekend

Well, it wasn't so much a lost weekend, but it seems that way. Alcohol was had, to be sure, but I can remember what happened. It's just that the events don't really work together as a coherent blog post, without too much exposition and faking too much dialogue. It's hard to recreate the decadence of lounging on a chaise lounge, a UV Blue/Lemonade in hand, letting the barbs fly. Not to toot my own horn, but I was on fire, living up to the 50s homosexual stereotype: a drink in one hand, a witty retort for everything, with tongue-in-cheek sexual innuendo coming out every orifice.

My drinking buddy had a friend visiting for Easter, and I "couldn't find a ride home," and there were a few other holdouts who stayed in town this weekend. My drinking buddy's boyfriend went back home for Passover, and so we drank at his house. He's designing a website for a used furniture on the east side, and has thousands of dollars worth of merchandise at his place as payment, hence the chaise lounge, the big screen tv, the wrap-a-round couch, and mahogany coffee table. His dorm puts my family's living room to shame.

We spent much of Saturday night watching bad television and drinking his alcohol. Through the magic of video-on-demand and way too expensive cable, we re-lived our childhoods with the help of vodka, from All That to Power Rangers to Hey Dude to Salute Your Shorts, while watching the first Harry Potter, recreating the scenes. It was beautiful but totally impossible to recreate in a blogpost.

At any rate, it was close to bartime, and there were six people left: my drinking buddy, her friend (also a girl) and four guys (including me). My drinking buddy's friend doesn't have a fake ID, so those two were going to stay there and keep drinking, while the three other guys wanted to go out and hit the bar, maybe find some drunk girls to take home.

And what was I going to do?

"Well, it could either be boys' night out or girls' night in."

I guess you had to be there. And drunk.

I ended up walking with the guys to the bar, but going off and grabbing some food (mmmm... Palmeni) and going back and talking about hot celebrities with the girls.

I'm not entirely sure what that says about me, but I've got class soon and I don't have time to fully dwell on it.

It's Not OK/To Be Gay

The other day there were anti-gay protesters oncampus. We get them every so often, right on Library mall. There's usually only three or four guys, middle-aged with beards and lovehandles, one with a Bible in hand, the rest holding posters made with the help of Kinkos. When they first showed up last September, they caused a minor sensation, just with people standing around and watching, mostly making fun of them. By now, most people are ignoring them on their way to class.

While I find them annoying, I do recognize the power of the 1st amendment, and while I don't agree with what they say, I'm fine with the fact that they do. That's why I have an mp3 player.

The problem I have with the protesters is my friends feel the need to inform me every single time it happens. I'll wake up at 10 and have four or five IMs from my friends on my away message, saying that the protesters are back and that I should check them out.

I'm not entirely sure what they want me to do about it. I mean, there's a certain point, usually right after someone comes out, where they are all about activism and indignance, but I've past that stage. Even then, while walking to class there's not much you can do. You could take out a piece of notebook paper and throw together a makeshift poster, or you can yell obscenities at the protesters, or you can you can just sit there and let the anger simmer then go home and write a whiny livejournal post.

I guess, ultimately, that's my biggest problem with Gaypril. For all the talk about building a community or creating safer spaces or whatever the buzzword is that year, nothing really happens. It's like the weekly protests about the Iraq war oncampus; its not like anything that happens when thirty people gather on the stairs of the Union with posters. It may feel good, and let you feel like you're doing someting, but in the end it's a waste of time and posters.

Watching movies about transsexuals and inviting lesbian performance artists is fine and dandy, but in the end, nothing's really going to happen. It's like going out of your way to watch the anti-gay protesters: ultimately there's no real point, it's more voyeurism than activism, and most people will end up going home and writing something stupid in their livejournals.

Insert "I Wish I Knew How to Quit You" Reference

I've had the Brokeback Mountain DVD for over a week. The morning the DVD was offically released the package arrived in the front office, which means that Amazon must have been eager to send it out. I unwrapped it as soon as I brought it upstairs, and left it sitting on my little coffee table thing ever since. I've read the back dozens of times, but I still haven't seen the movie. Even though I was one of the first bloggers to express my extreme pleasure that Jake was thinking about playing gay in an upcoming movie, I've yet to see it. But it didn't come to Wisconsin until late, when the marketing campaign, the bloggers, and bad sketch comedy had inundated me to the point where I had Brokeback overload, and the movie wasn't even showing in the state yet. And once the movie came to Madison, I was at home for Christmas break, where it wasn't showing, and once I returned for Spring Semester, everyone had seen it.

By now, it almost seems like a chore. I mean, I bought it because I believe in getting free shipping on all orders over $25, and I had to buy Giovanni's Room for one of my classes, and I figured it was a movie I should buy. But now, there's so much pressure on this movie, the awards, the Oscar hoopla (I thought Crash was terrible, FYI), etc. Even guys requesting hookups on gay.com are asking me whether I've seen the movie. I reread the short story for one of my classes last semester, and this time, my desire to identify with the text didn't overwhelm the fact that Annie Proulx isn't a very good writer.

That's what I'm starting to think about the movie, even though I've yet to see it: it's probably very good but very long and sort of slow (e.g. The English Patient), but the desire on the gay community and the 'allied' community to turn this into a masterpiece, in addition to all of the cultural and societal implications about the film, and how it does in Red States, and how its a cinematic watershed moment, etc etc etc, is ultimately stifling.

And so it sits there, in the pile. Waiting.



Sure, Jake bared it all in Jarhead, but not even Jake's trysts with Heath can bring me to watch the movie, so you know that the cultural/societal pressure is overwhelming, and how intimidated I am by something as silly as a movie.

Craigslist Woes

People in other cities always seem to have the best luck on Craigslist. There are hot guys giving away sex, planning sex parties, giving away couches, and all types of fun.

Here in Madison, we're stuck with shit like this.


EDIT:: Stupid Craigslist. Deleting said post.

A twentysomething guy, who looked sort of like this guy with shoulder-length lavender (faded purple, probably) hair was offering his sexual services to anyone who would buy him a pizza. He lost his job at Taco Bell a few weeks ago, and hasn't eaten much since then. He prefers the company of men, and has no limits. There were pictures that were probably worksafe, but definitely not lunch-safe.

Messing with the Danger Zone

It had been a long week before Spring Break. I don't remember the exact circumstances, but all of sixth grade was bad for me. In a nutshell, my best friend was dating a girl in that sixth grade way and tried having sex with her as part of his initation to a gang called the "Little Blue Devils," which, as far as I could tell, existed in my hometown only in his imagination. When caught, he lied, saying that I had threatened to hurt him if he didn't. It didn't take long for the teachers and police to see past his lies, but it still meant for a few days that weren't fun.

And so that first Friday night of Spring Break, cut off from my best friend, my parents allowed me to stay up as late as I wanted, watching tv and eating junk food. I was in sixth grade, and this seemed like a real treat. I checked out a movie from Blockbuster, which I remember starting but not liking.

We had basic cable at the time, so there wasn't much on tv, and late night television was even less geared towards 12 year olds than it is now. I was still young enough to think that Leno was funny, and Conan was still in his awkward early years. I went through late-night reruns of Wings and other sitcoms and didn't enjoy them, and fiddling through channels, nothing really caught my eye. I was still wired from the soda and chips I was devouring, and wasn't ready to go to bed, but was getting kind of bored.

The American tryouts for the mens 200 m run were being rerun on some cable network, presumably ESPN. Muscular yet thin guys in singlets, and as they ran, their bulges bobbed, with visible penis lines. I don't think I fully knew why yet, but I was transfixed, and my right hand slipped beneath the blanket I was using.

I'd climbed the tree in our backyard a few times and ground my hips into the wood, not really understanding what I was doing but enjoying it nevertheless, but this was something different. This was my hand doing the work, and this was inspired by something, by the long legs and compact bulges, the closeups of sweaty brows and of men stretching. I wrapped myself in the throw blankets, worried that someone would find me, but no was awake.

I don't remember if I actually orgasmed or not, though I'm pretty sure I didn't actually grab hold of my cock, only rubbed it with my open palm. I was twelve at the time. But that was my first time, or at least the first that I can remember.

And if practice makes perfect, well, I'd be winning gold medals by now.

Three Half-Posts

1. I went out to the bars Tuesday night. (I don't have classes on Wednesday, so I'm not an alcoholic.) We ordered our drinks and sat at a table near the bar. As we nursed our Cherry Manhattans, we overheard the bartender talking to a drunk guy at the bar--

"Have you read Ayn Rand? She was this libertarian writer who wrote about how man is an independant force onto himself and is the only person responsible for his own happiness, and he has to get it no matter what."

I leaned across the table and said that we were not tipping for the rest of the night. I would have insisted that we leave then and there, but it was starting to drizzle, and I haven't had a Cherry Manhattan in a long time. It was close to bartime, and we didn't get another drink anyway, but the thought was there.
2. Remember the cute but terrible poet in my workshop last year? I bumped into him at a poetry reading the other night. He'd gotten cuter, and to top it off, he was wearing shorts. (One of the problems of taking classes during the winter is that you don't get to check out the legs of hot guys.)

Throughout the poetry reading (which was better than I thought it was going to be but still not great) I was staring at his legs, trying to decide if I liked them or not. His calves were sculpted lovely, with very little body hair, and very pale. His thighs, however, as far as I could tell, were the same size as his calves, which made them fairly thin. All in all, I decided that I would still hit it, as long as he didn't write a poem about it.

3. There was a local election on Tuesday, about half a dozen things I couldn't care less about (e.g. school board, comptroller, etc) and a referendeum on the war. It turns out that the city is against it. So am I, but I still think it's dumb and doesn't really send much of a message, or rather that the message is landing on deaf ears anyway.

I mean, I'm for bringing the troops back, if only for the reason that there'll be a lot more guys in uniform available who will jerk off on camera, and those can be pretty hot.

Tentative class schedule for next semester:

Creative Writing Thesis (Independent Study)
LGBT Studies Thesis (Independent Study)
Intro to Television
Intro to Theatre
American History: Civil War to Present.

No classes on Fridays, no classes before 11.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Senior Slump has now begun. Which will hopefully lead to some Senior Hump

I'm drained.

It turns out, the problem wasn't my supernumery tooth, the problem was that I was suffering from ANUG: Acute Necrotizing Ulcerative Gingivitis. Isn't that lovely sounding? It's not the gum disease known as.... gingivitis, at least not in the way you're thinking. It's the rarer, less dangerous yet just as painful, form of the disease, not caused by improper flossing or my forgetting to use mouthwash on occasion. It's caused by stress.

I first noticed symptoms the week of midterms, so there's not much surprise there. Couple that with Guy's not calling, my inability to find a job for the summer, problems with the roommate, the beginning of the last stretch of the semester, and the generic 'oh-my-god-I-graduate-in-eight-months-what-am-I-doing-with-my-life?' thing.

And my body's rejecting it.



And, of course, my dentist said that I should be careful about kissing and stuff for the next week or so, since my gums are still sore and could still be prone to occasional bleeding. So there goes any plans to relive the stress with carnal desire.

I suppose I could find a wannabe sub, and not have to worry about it.



EDIT: WAAAAAAAAAAH. There. Hopefully that got all the whiny out of my system.

Gay-pril.

In addition to being National Poetry month, International Guitar Month, Keep America Beautiful Month, National Anxiety Month, National Sexual Assault Awareness Month, National Humor Month, Alcohol Awareness Month, Math Education Month, National Welding Month, Pharmacists War on Diabetes Month, National Garden Month, Couple Appreciation Month and Uh-Huh Month, the LGBT center of Madison brings you "Out and About Month."

There'll be wonderful events, which, like the gay student organizations, have absolutely no relevance to me or my life.

A selection of the events:
Coming Out in the Developing World
Magdalen Hsu-Li (bisexual performance artist)
Tongues Untied: Black Men Loving Black Men (while the camp value of this documentary is enormous--the interpretive dance on the evolution of the SNAP!--I've already seen it and it's not something that I could sit through again)
Transgeneration (a three-night series about the four transgendered students oncampus)
Blue Strom (a transgendered man, who underwent surgery to become a woman, then had surgery again to become a man)
Queer People of Color: Straight Talk (Not to be confused with the African American, Hispanic, or Asian talks planned)
Q-Law (for gay law students)
Christian Meet and Greet
Sexism in the LGBT Community--now open to both genders!
Lesbian Sexual Health Panel
and, of course, the Day of Silence

If it wasn't for Dan Savage's talk, and my interest on how Cowboy Bebop qualifies for gay anime night, it'd be a complete waste of a month.