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)
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.

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 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.

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.

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"

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.

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.

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)

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.

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.

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.)