So much for my resolution.

Surprise, surprise. I wasn't able to keep my resolution and have spent more time in the past week on gay.com than I would have liked. Which, of course, begs the question: Since I've returned from break, which one of these crazy charachters hasn't hit on me?

A. The wealthy 16 year old who offered to pay $50 if he could blow me in the sauna at the hotel where he is staying with his family while on vacation.

B. The 48 year old who wanted to know if I was into black men, as he loves watching young white boys worship his 12 inch mammoth cock and then ripping them a new one.

C. The 30-something "former porn star" who was flying back to CA in February and wanted some practice filming some "safe bareback" home videos before his flight

D. The 32 year old science professor who wanted to meet me in the bathroom in the science building of the local extension, stick my cock under the partition and let him feast.

E. The 22 year old Chilean grad student who wanted to try and take both my cock and his boyfriend's at once.

Oh gay.com. If I'm ever at a loss as to what to write about, you always pull through.

You're a Bigger Jerk than Me

After preparing an awful poem for my creative writing class and a subpar 'reading response' to 2 King Henry IV, I've pretty much given up trying to come up with anything for today.

So instead I'm just posting a song:
"You're a Bigger Jerk than Me" by the Karl Hendricks Trio

Sometimes I dream that I can be saved
You laugh and say to me 'I will write that on your grave'
And when I’m lying there with you
I know exactly what I have to do
But I’m awful good at pretending that I haven’t got a clue.

Do to me
What you wish you were doing to him
And if we don’t talk about it,
I guess it doesn’t have to be a sin
We’ll make it so easy
I don’t even have to be scared
And just then, when you touched me,
It was like you were almost there

There are sometimes when I’m almost glad I’m here
And when two people are this lonely
I guess it doesn’t matter who buys the beer
And I guess if we keep drinking
There are things we don’t have to see
But if you think you’re happy now
You’re a bigger jerk than me.

Do to me
What you wish he were doing to you
And if we don’t talk about it
I guess it doesn’t have to be true
We’ll make it so easy
I don’t even have to be scared
And just then, when you touched me,
It was like you were almost there

oh NBC we love you get up.

I miss NBC.

After Steve Jobs' coup of Disney (and really, that's what it was), UPN and the WB merging into some sort of teensploitation megatron, and FOX turning into the American Idol network, NBC is just sort of left there, in the dust.

It's so sad. I mean, I came into my own with NBC at the top of the world, the network that could do no wrong, when Seinfeld, Will&Grace, Freaks and Geeks, Mad About You, ER, Fraiser, West Wing, Cheers, Golden Girls, Saved by the Bell, Conan, Jeopardy, and Third Rock from the Sun ruled the airwaves. I could probably come up with more classics from the NBC vaults, but these are the shows that came quickly to the tip of my tongue/fingers when thinking about my teenage television viewing habits.

These are some classic shows. NBC practically owned the late nineties and early oughts, in my formative years. It was beautiful.

NBC is still my favorite of all the networks, even though I barely watch any of the shows on there anymore. They cancelled or are in the process of cancelling my favorites, even though the West Wing and Will & Grace which are slowly regaining some of the magic that they had back in the day. The Book of Daniel, which quickly became my mom's favorite show, the only show she watches in primetime other than the Simpsons, caved into conservative hogwash and was cancelled.

Its affiliates, like Bravo, the History Channel, A&E, TRIO, and the Sundance Channel still rate amoung my favorites. Why can't NBC stand up anymore?

I've been trying to watch more NBC this week. Even though I'm not a Nieslen household, I still like to think I'm doing my share. And overall, it's not so bad. Sure, it may be a little stale (I mean, how many Law and Orders do we really need?)

NBC needs a breath of fresh air. It needs the quirk. It needs more shows like My Name is Earl or the Office or the Book of Daniel or Scrubs. It needs quirky, metatextual, forward-thinking, critically acclaimed shows. It needs to lure Curb your Enthusiam and Larry David to NBC, it needs to revive Carnivale from HBO, to grasp the new Aaron Sorkin show, it needs to snatch up Arrested Development from the gutter.

The problem is, now that America is getting much dumber, NBC has been struggling to get the rednecks, the lowerclasses. And they need to stop. They need to stop grasping for the lowest common denominator; Fox already has a strong hold on that niche market. It needs to be the high-class, elite, it needs to be Fraiser and West Wing and Freaks and Geeks and all that sort of stuff.

C'mon NBC! You can do it! Live up to your potential!

Oh NBC we love you get up!

No One Likes It When I Get Political

As those of you who read Towleroad may well be aware, four students are being charged for a hate crime which occured last weekend in the UW dorms. They went to the GLBT liason's room, screamed obscenities and threats at him sporadically throughout the night, ripped down every GLBT event calendar and poster in the building, wrote "I fucking hate faggots" on his white board, and spit upon and defaced his picture in the 'get to know your RAs' bulletin board. As a result, the four men, two UW students and their two friends, are being charged with a total of 17 felonies, from drunk and disorderly conduct and hate crimes.

I'm not saying that there is a silver lining to all of this. Don't get me wrong, hate crimes are hate crimes, and this is actually the fourth such incident this year on the UW dorms (but the first time that anyone has been caught). Last semester was a lot worse, GLBT-wise, than all of last year, in my opinion, at least.

But one good thing coming out of all of this is the student newspaper's bending over backwards to write 'pro-diversity, anti-discrimination' editorials.

And there have been some doozies. Just god-awful things, things that make me embarassed to go to school here, or just amazed at how beautifully idiotic and hyperbolic they are. It's times like these that remind me why people make fun of student newspapers. A few selections from this week's editorial board.

Take, for example, this paragraph:

The attitude that "nothing will be done" is almost as common on our campus as the hatred and discrimination that causes to much pain to too many of our fellow students. Some examples: hazing that continues to occur but isn't ever reported; people referring to things or people as “gay” without thinking twice; and people labeling others as JAPS (Jewish American Princesses/Princes) without realizing that some people consider it anti-Semitic.

Or, take this beautifully hyperbolic, over-wrought gem: Wisconsin is black America’s worst nightmare.

Or take this article, which posits that the only reason that the event made the front cover of the newspaper is that we had just started a new semester and there wasn't much other news to report:

Ignore the radical feminist inching her way toward the provost’s office and you will discover that until Wednesday, the University of Wisconsin was in the midst of a terribly dry news cycle....Then again, it is always the slow news days that find some way to end with the biggest headlines. And Wednesday proved no exception.... And if that means converting a mole hill into a mountain or two, campus leaders — especially students — are perhaps all to eager to step up to the plate.

But this girl really takes the cake in trying to prove that the 'stereotyping' of coasties is the biggest problem facing the UW system: UW ‘Coasties’ suffer from discrimination. It is, quite possibly, the worst article I've ever read in my life. And its Hilarious!

I really, really hope that I'm not the only person into meta-bigotry oncampus, and this is all going to culminate in some grand joke in Friday's article. Otherwise, man, I'm embarassed.

Palpable and mute\As a globed fruit

Two things about my poetry class.

1. In the beginning of most poetry workshops, everyone goes around the room, stating their name, major, hometown, any previous creative writing classes, their favorite poet and why. It's pretty much standard opening, at least for all of the classes I've taken.

Yeah, I'm Bob, I'm an English major, originally from Wisconsin, and uh, this is my third workshop. My favorite poet is Dorothy Parker, because she has a great sardonic wit and her poems really come together as a whole well.

All right. Class goes on, and I clandestinely did the school newspaper's crossword puzzle. We go around the room, and the professor hands out copies of "My Papa's Waltz." We started a close reading of the poem, and everyone started jumping on the 'child abuse' bandwagon. Blah blah blah, 'hung on like death', blah blah 'battered' blah blah 'beat', blah 'whiskey and fathers is a bad combination.' You know, whatever. I raised my hand to make some point that the poem really isn't about child abuse but instead about awkward, drunken paternal affection. She pointed at me, and struggled for my name.

"And, um... you--the, uh, Dorothy Parker guy."

Bitch!

Though oddly coincidental, that she would refer to me with the pseudonym I use for an ex, particularly the ex I've been talking about more and more since the semester started, not always in the most flattering of terms.

Even though there's no way for her to have known that, (well, I suppose there is a way, but I doubt any middle-aged poetry professors read this) it still means that class, for me at least, didn't start out on the right foot.

2. However, that soon changed. This boy, with a really soft looking beard, proceeded to eyefuck me with his brown eyes all throughout class until my orifices bled. (No, I will not make a joke about his third brown eye. At least not yet.)

After class I was all ready to go over to the other side of the room, start up a conversation and possibly give him my number, but some lesbo bitch with two lip rings and hair like a cactus was chatting him up before I could get there. I had to go to the bathroom, and by the time I finished and was making my way to the lobby/elevators, both of them were gone.

The problem is, poetry classes only meet once a week, so I'll have to wait until next Monday for another eye molestation. Oh well.

No Wonder I'm Single

MyHeritage.com has this fabulously interesting demo feature, where you are given the opportunity to scan your picture in the computer and it will generate a list of the celebrities which you look like. So addictive.

Now, I think I'm an ok-to-decent-looking guy (the zit that currently resides on my nose notwithstanding). I mean, I'm not going to be winning any beauty contests anytime soon, but I don't have to wear a paper bag over my head either. Cute: maybe. Hot: that's a stretch. Ugly: not really.

However, the list that was compiled really made it painfully clear that, well... ouch. The problem is, they show the pictures of the celebrity, and there's always enough of a similarity that if you squint, you can sort of get the resemblance. I can't just pass it off as a computer bug. Goddamnit.

You'll see what I mean.

Grace Kelly
Sylvia Plath
Bob Hope
Celine Dion
Audrey Tautou
Eric Idle
Julie Andrews
Benito Mussolini
Courtney Love

No wonder I'm single.

At any rate, the silver lining to all of this is that I'm pretty sure my infatuation on DPB is over: according to myheritage.com, he looks like (shudder) Ayn Rand.

You guys were all right. He is bad news.

Seeing Exes Drunk is Fun!

Now, it might have been fun (read: awkward) walking into class on Tuesday to find Dorothy-Parker-Boy in the front row, covering his face and pretending not to know me.

However, it pales in comparision to seeing him out at the bar last night, and then going outside with your roommate from last year, trying to bum a cigarette off of someone, only to find DPB and friend out there, and watching DPB in a drunken stumbling mess before passing out on a bench, whereupon his friend had to literally carry him back.

I spent the first few months of this blog obsessing/regretting my first boyfriend, and this semester is shaping up to be a few more months of ex-talk. Whee.


Check back later this afternoon for more details. As for now, I need to get dressed and dish every single detail with my fag hag over lunch.

I'm not gonna snatch you from your mother, I'm an art lover.

There are some new mastheads up. They're listed below, with more details available on the art link in the sidebar.

Bum bum BUM

I believe it was Ivana Trump in People magazine who said that you should always overdress to success, that if you show up in a meeting in a powersuit while everyone else is in jeans, you de facto own the room. It just lends an air of confidence that projects itself onto everyone else, and subconsciously you’re given an aura of power. It's not just Ivana, either. There was this other article in People about this charity organization that gave make-overs to women on welfare who were looking for jobs. If you dress the part, you're more likely to stop being a burden on the state and start to pull your own weight. (Remember, I read my mom's old People magazine while I'm waiting for the dialup connection.)

I try and take that adage to heart. Take, for instance, finals last semester, where I dressed snazzily, tie and all. Everyone else was kind of stinky and burnt out from cramming, while I breezed in, freshly showered, shaved and dressed for success. I got an A in that class. I'd like to think the tie helped.

And so, yesterday, the first day of classes of the new semester, I decided to kick it up a notch. I dyed my hair a few shades darker this weekend, got a haircut Monday morning, and tamed my eyebrows a bit. I wore a button up maroon shirt, with matching underwear, lowrise buttonfly vintage wash jeans, and a new pair of shoes from Aldos. I had a sexy new jacket from Target and a new backpack that was very stylish and very much a manpurse. To paraphrase the Gay Pimp Daddy's disappointing follow-up to "Soccer Practice," I was looking cute and feeling good.

That is, until lunch, when the soda machine had too much pep in it, and my soda kept fizzing even after I removed my glass from the nozzle. It was about to overflow, so I leaned in to grab a sip, but was too late, spilling drops of cherry coke carbonation on the front of my shirt.

Well, shit. I meant to head back to my room to change after lunch, but the time got away from me, and I had to get to my next class.

I made it to class with only a few minutes to spare. I walked past the door, about to breeze in nonchalantly and coolly, when I think I spy Dorothy Parker Boy in the front row. Our eyes meet, and I keep on walking past the door.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Dorothy Parker Boy, for those of you just joining us, is a guy with whom I went on a few dates last October. I fell hard. I thought things were going well, seeing a concert together and making out on the docks and staring at clouds and other cutesy stuff, until one night, after IMing him one too many times that week when he was about to head to the library to study, he said that he wasn't into me as much as I was into him. He was the guy I've been most into since my first boyfriend, a Russian Literature major who would put up Dorothy Parker poems as away messages and had really pretty blue eyes and a great smile. We would have been a great duo. Hell, we were for those two weeks or so.

And there he was, front row. Why the fuck is he in my Shakespeare class?

I'm a big fan of 'out of sight, out of mind' and I really enjoyed not seeing him, so I would remember just how much I liked him. It really works well with exes and former crushes.

I walked past the room, stopped, took a deep breath, and turned back around. I walked past the door, not even looking to see him, and high-tailed it to the bathroom.

I primped at the mirror, working my sexily disheveled hair to its full glory, bit on my lips a bit to get the full red kisabillity, straightened my outfit, and positioned my backpack just so, covering the Cherry Coke stain. A few deep breaths, and I was ready.

I stood in the doorway, head held high and looked for a place to sit. DPB was looking down at his syllabus, covering his brow with his open palm, obscuring most of his face. Grr.

And, to top things off, to his right was sitting a girl who lives across the hall from me, the girl with whom I went drinking the night before (whoops!), who proceeded to greet me and ask me why I was dressed up so much, which sort of ruined my plan and my suave entrance.

The class was pretty boring (I'm sure I'll talk more about it later), but afterwards I got up to talk to the girl from across the hall, and DPB darted out of there like a bat out of hell, he was gone gone gone gone. I chatted with her as she got her stuff together, and as we walked out of the room, there was DPB standing by the stairs, checking his voicemail. He made a pronounced movement when he saw me, completely turning around to listen to his phone, blocking me off.

Well, so much for a second chance.

Fuck.

All to the tune of a hickory stick

School Days, school days, good old fashioned rule days. Some reading, lots of writing, and fingers crossed, a minimal amount of arithmetic. Back in the dorm, classes start in T minus whenever I wake up and post this. I'm not exactly sure what my schedule is this semester. I'm still working on trying to get into the gayest classes possbible.

But now that classes have ostensibly started, life can resume its normalcy. All my New Year's resolutions are starting up in earnest today. I'm planning a salad for lunch, and am hoping to spend some time just futzing about downtown, making sure that I won't spend every day just watching tv in my room.

And, of course, jerking off.

---

I don't really have my own room at home. My sisters moved into my room, and so I stay in the computer room, which has a bed sort of in the corner. That computer, it should be mentioned, is dialup, so any hopes of hitting queerclick or tominparis are shot into a kleenex and thrown in the garbage.

Of course, it wasn't all so bad. I barely even noticed.

No, honestly.

I was lying in bed one night, right after the new year, about to fall asleep, when I realized, "Wow. It's been a while. I suppose I should get on that." And get on that I did, more out of obligation than a spontaneous outburst of primal urges. It wasn't even that great of a load, really. It must have been a week or so building, but in the end it wasn't bigger than an average load. Thicker, yes, like filling a turkey baster with ranch dressing, but sizewise, nothing amazing.

But of course, I come back to my dorm Sunday afternoon. My sister drives me back, we go out for lunch and do a bit of shopping, I unpack and hit the websites I've been missing: the aforementioned queerclick, the bad boys, the way big, webpages that would have taken days to load on my dialup.


I found this picture on my
computer. I'm sure I meant to upload it
earlier, but forgot or something.
I whipped out a load, and then unpacked some, and then whipped out another load, and then watched some tv, and then whipped out another. I probably would have whipped out another one except my roommate came back. Then he went out for a cigarette and I whipped out another load, just a quick "wham-bam, thank you forearm."

It wasn't even that I was blue-balling down to my knees, walking bow-legged. It just, I don't know, seemed like the thing to do.

Damn that high speed internet (though that's a topic for another day).

I dunno. I think the internet is a bad influence on me. The porn was there, my penis was nearby, my roommate wasn't around, it was just a convergence of opportunity and boredom, and well, it beats watching a rerun of Next.

So, the school year is starting. Time to start eating salads, doing more situps, getting out more, and getting off more.

Three posts that didn't happen

1. It was my mom's 50th birthday the other day. She'd never had a martini before, and had mentioned a few days prior that she wanted to try one. For my gift, she and I went out to a local bar and each had a martini. Martinis, as it turns out, are awful, and it ended up not being nearly as interesting or traumatic as I would have thought.

2. My dad was in the hospital yesterday. I was about to leave for work when he came home, saying that his stomach sort of hurt. He was just going to take some painkillers and sleep it off. I got back from work to find out that he spent the afternoon in the hospital.

3. I bought a jacket at Target this morning. It is the sexiest thing you've ever seen, doubled by the fact that it only cost $8.37. If Target were a human being, I would have to drop out of school and become its sex slave.


Oh well. I go back to school this weekend, and classes start Tuesday, so chances are I should be getting back into the swing of things real soon.

A Note

My least favorite question on earth, one that has been repeatedly asked all break, comes after I mention that I am now a senior in college, majoring in English. (I haven't really mentioned the GLBT minor to anyone yet.) That's graduating in 3.5 years, by the way. None of this 4 and a half year shit. Everyone asks that question, from grandparents to my dentist to my mom's coworkers to guys looking for sex online to everyone inbetween. I assume most college students go through something similar, but they can start their own damn blogs to complain about it. (Actually, chances are they probably have.)

At any rate, my teeth grate and a forced smile comes on my face whenever I hear the following question.

"So, what do you want to do? Teach?"

I've always thought of teaching, but the fact that an English degree and teaching is so... synonymous in people's mind, that being an English major means you will teach high school English, makes me want to teach even less. I mean, I think I'd be a good teacher, and it's probably what I'll end up doing, but I just don't want it to be so evident.

I've been using this excuse lately, or a variant, and I've found it's a good conversation ender.

"So, what do you want to do with that?"
"Grad school."
"What are you thinking about studying there?"
"Applied particle physics in the macroscopic world. Supersymmetric gauge theories and topological quantum field theories and stuff like that."
"Really?"
"Yeah, actually there's a lot of overlap. You'd be suprised."
"I'll....bet."

Shuts them up every time. If anyone asks any follow up questions, well, I did read part of Elegant Universe back in high school, and most of the phrases I remember are enough to scare most people into talking about the weather. (We got sun yesterday! First time in 18 days!)

If not, well, most experts in the field of superstring theory admit that they don't really know what they're talking about, so I figure I should be able to fake it enough.

Addresses

          v. Coda
this is the day I leave
leave the landscape I love
the way lovers love love
watch me how I leave
I have begun to shake
the hours are fleet
yet expansive as at death
I pack one suitcase
the lake plashes and hacks
Canada geese subtract
their gossip from the field
deer evacuate the sumac
their rough thick tongues
sandpaper the distances
they say Don't look back
I leave I look back

--Spencer Reece

Joke!

What do you call a slut with a runny nose?

Full.
___

The threesome isn't going to happen.

It was sort of a big game of chicken, to see which one of us would have flaked out, the boyfriend or me. And the boyfriend flaked out first.

And then the guy with whom I set up the actual deal got mad at his boyfriend for flaking out, and wanted me to come and have angry sex with him anyway. And then he declared his intentions of going out and finding some other guys in the area for some fun, since his boyfriend wasn't up for it. It was all very angry and unhealthy sounding.

Of course, I probably would have flaked out eventually, since I think I'm coming down with a virus of some sort. I've had a runny nose, a fever, and been feeling achy for the past few days.

And while doctor roleplaying can be hot, sneezing on a guy or letting your snot drip down in disgusting viscous drops on a guys chest isn't.

Oh well. This is all baby steps anyway. This time I got myself psyched up for something new sexual. It means that next time, should a similar situation present itself, I should be more prepared. Mentally, at least.

junk

Joey, fellow blogger, writer of my favorite online comic and blogcrush, was recently interviewed by junk magazine. It features a picture of him in his underwear.

Less Than Zero

Why didn't anyone ever tell me that Less Than Zero is like, the most perfect book ever to read during a visit home from college during Christmas break?

It left me with a huge pair of blue balls, and its not even that sexy of a book. It's all in the gorgeous writing. I've read other books of his, and watched the movies based off the books, but damn is that a good book.


Also, in a related note, I really wish I would have been clever enough to come up with this:

Bret Easton Ellis Sues Paris Hilton for Copyright Infringement

'Resolutions'

Perhaps I jumped the gun with yesterdays post. Perhaps I should backtrack.

I don't use the word "resolutions" as I think it's dumb, but I do have a few personal goals for 2006.

1. Stop spending so much goddamn time in the gay.com chatrooms.

2. Lose a couple pounds. I'm not fat, but I am starting to get softer around the middle. They're not love handles, but they could possibly qualify as 'infatuation handrests' and I want to nip that in the bud.

3. Don't be such a prude.

For a while, being able to count your sexual partners on one hand was fun, a sign of strong inner strength and old-fashioned values, I'm a good boy, or something like that. But then, sometime around this summer, I started to think that maybe it was just a sign that I couldn't get laid.

I've tried to go baby-steps with this goal. Remember a few weeks ago, when a foot fetishist wanted to give me a footrub? I thought that would be a good introduction. It's not a gangbang or a gloryhole or anything like that, but a fun way to give a guy masturbatory fodder. He ended up flaking out, but I still think it could have been fun.

I don't want to turn into a whore, I just want to be able to have more fun and not obsess or feel guilt about it or anything.

So I guess this story starts out like all other stories of mine.

A few weeks ago, right before break, I was chatting online with this guy, a pretty good conversation and he was pretty cute. We'd chatted a few times last semester too, but then I hadn't seen him online for a while. I'm making jokes, he's making jokes, neither of us is speaking in aimspeak (e.g. LOL) when out of the blue, he makes a sexually charged comment. Thinking it was a joke, or at least a setup to a joke, I went along in that vein, elaborating a humorous conversation.

He lives in DC, and said that he would be visiting his boyfriend, who is a grad student here, during break, almost exactly when I'm at home. They haven't seen each other since this summer, and he said something implying that he and his boyfriend would spend the entire week fucking like bunnies, and that all they'd need is a good chinese delivery place or a cute pizza delivery boy for sustenence. He then asked if I had a pizza oven and a uniform.

Thinking he was joking, we bantered a while about how much fun recreating a porn scene could be. We were faking stilted dialogue, innuendo about sausage and 12 inch personal size, and adding the occasional 'whaa wahh' and 'boomchickchicka' when the music suggested it. I was having fun.

Turns out, he wasn't joking. He was visiting his boyfriend during break, and was hoping to have a threesome during break, just something to mix it up. He'd never done it before, his boyfriend had never had one before, and they were looking for another guy who wasn't creepy or old to maybe have some fun with them during Christmas break. He saw my picture and liked it, and enjoyed our conversation, and wanted to set something up.

Imagine my surprise.

I reluctantly accepted, saying that I was hoping to drive back to Madison at some point during break, to hang out with friends and do a few errands. Maybe one of the errands could be a threesome. I was excited and tentative and intrigued and all sorts of other emotions.

Unfortunately, we set things up as that I would talk to him online (via AIM) when I got a day off of work and such. I haven't seen him online since I've been back, and don't have an email or a phone number to contact him. I do have a few days off of work this week, and have been talking to my parents trying to work out the car situation. I know he leaves town sometime the first week in January, I just don't know when, or how/if things are going to work out.

We'll just have to wait and see.

Read: Slim

There is a (slim) chance that I may be having a threesome later this week.

I'm not sure if 'having' is the right word. 'Participating in?' 'Enjoying?' 'Taking part of?' 'Engaged in?' 'Partaking in?' 'Experimenting with?' 'Forming a sexual triumverate?' 'Freaking out about until I flake out?'

We'll just have to wait and see.