italian wedding soup for the soul

The cold comes and things change. That’s how it goes. I remember the cold starting five years back. Five years back I wanted to be a frat boy. Four years ago I wanted to be in love. Three years from this I thought myself a slut who could control sex. Two years ago I sought control. A year ago I wish for warm and now, now... I spent this weekend wondering what this cold will bring. My friend tells me to blame this feeling on the cold medicine but baby, I’m clean.

I sprayed-painted over my dali prints and sealed a crack in one of the walls with some red nail polish if only for the fumes. Bit the nails on every other finger just so I could keep all of my options open. Are you out there/ my shift key is broken. Can you fix it/

I am not misleading you. The capitalization is automatic.

bittersweet chocolate symphony of string cheese

i went to the symphony. bought tickets at the last minute and cursed myself for it when i realized i was 4 rows from the worst seats in the house. it's music, what have you got to hear? that isn't it. it's my pretension. i am wearing a theory overcoat, matching pants and a tailored boss shirt and people are seeing me in this, walk all the way up here. stupid pretension.

i sit down next to a woman who is there alone. she is takes pictures until the usher yells. i cringe for her but she is sweet and the scene is kind of sad. two lesbians sit directly in front of me. they wear something like crushed velvet dresses that could be from deb's. they are eating tater skins, bacon-cheddar flavored until they are stopped by the usher and i think, how horrible. these seats. that bacon. those taters.

and then i god damn remember five years ago, almost to the date, after a varsity basketball game hot-boxing my beige toyota corolla with 4 friends and driving 90 minutes to a strip club in southern iowa. it was so foggy that we couldn't tell whether the fog was inside or out. we were visiting pulsating suzy. she was our favorite. i remember her doing a trick with my hat that left it permanently stained and i remember her telling me that she thought i was sweet. where does sweetness go then?

what am i fighting and why? just who the fuck do i think i am?

the next time i go to the symphony i will bring funyons. because one, four, seven years to every day i was doing something down to earth and... oh, maybe pringles instead. pringle claws!

HOPE. the change we need.

this of course, being the countdown to when my tribute videos start.


i think this blog makes me seem gayer than i actually am. okay, time to snuggle up with my stuffed unicorn. night, y'all.

fancies

i had some demerol this morning and in between drooling, i was thinking: if i could have any superpower in the world, what would it be? well, i know a lot of people wish they could fly but isn't that what hovercrafts and weed are for? and x-ray vision? this is new york city, i see more skin on a saturday night than maual uribe has covering his fat (square footage wise, at least) and if it's girls you're looking for just send me a quick message and i'll shoot you the link to my friend allie's webcam. message her and ask for "the labia tutorial", i casually asked her if the clitoris was bigger or smaller than an oreo one lonely sunday and the next thing i knew she was ringin' her taco bell for me in glorified 2-D. on a completely unrelated note, should i mark this blog as containing adult content?

what was i talking about? oh, superpowers. so if i could have a superpower i'm pretty sure it would be the ability to command all of the rats in new york city. i want this power for several reasons. first and foremost, for my own protection. i would mobilize them frequently, any time i am provoked. i would use them to shutdown all of the restaurants in new york city that don't serve shirley temples/kitty cocktails (edit: it has been brought to my attention by my jewish editor michael, that these are indeed called kiddie cocktails in some regions of the country that aren't my brain). lastly, i would use them for street cred, so that i could be known as "rat commander" or "king of the underworld rat lairs", something like that.

ugh, my dad is visiting this weekend and he keeps telling me to stop picking my nose and "eating my hands" which translates to "stop biting your nails". but he did let me spent 500 dollars at bed, bath and beyond; i bought a nosehair trimmer and big pot. and some other stuff. the best part was when he asked a store associate if they, "carried anything fancier than a george foreman. i need fancies." oh, and when he asked me if i've ever used alli to lose weight.*

Town reaches settlement in 'dirty dancing' case**


*Strangers reading this post should duly note i am 6'1" weighing in at a svelt 164 lbs
**Rebecca Willis is my alias when I travel.

oh, my: a list of exotic animals i would like to eat before i die and why, oh why.

1. swans: they are so damn full of themselves.
2. dolphins: to prove they AREN'T smarter than me, once and for all.
3. ostriciches: their eggs are big and delicious, how are their rumps?
4. butterflies: why butter?
5. beavers: obvious.
6. seals: because they just think they can flop around and effin' eat defenseless lil' penguins.
7. snakes: to prove i ain't got nuffin to be afraid of.
8. bears: just cause.

let them eat cake. seriously...

Well, as many of you have probably surmised, I am a homosexual. It’s likely that my blog background color swatch, a slimming and subtle black, tipped you off. Or it might’ve been the understated inclusion of “post tags” whose first letters can be scrambled to spell out abbreviated versions of movies starring Queen Latifah. Regardless, I am a homosexual and I am going to address this Proposition 8 tomfoolery because everyone is Melissa Etheridge this, Melissa Etheridge that. And while some of her points are relevant, the day we start listening to lesbians is the day we let them win!

So that Proposition 8 shit passed, for those of you confused by the yes/no language, I’ll put it as simply as I can: the right for gays to marry was revoked in California. A lot of people are talking about the unconstitutionality of the measure and while I appreciate their high-level conversations, I think the low-brow shit could use a little more beef. It’s presented to the middle class that this is an issue of equality and that voting for the proposition is voting for hate, I think it’s important to highlight that voting for the measure also makes you look dumb. Dumb people hate to look dumb (this isn’t as obvious as one might think… smart people, for example, like to look dumb; they think it’s cute).

Basically, what we have are a lot of people making the generalization that homosexuality is unnatural. They disregard the fact that the basis of homosexuality has been proven to be biological time and time again and instead highlight the socio-cultural impact, that if us gays get what we want, we will rollerblade around in our jorts performing fellatio on lollipops, humming showtunes and paying your teenage sons to wash our cars. While some gays, like me, are truer to the stereotype than Queen Latifah is to the stereotype of the strong, black woman, there is nothing unnatural about homosexuality and the people that have been infected by it. It’s useless to beat this point to death, arguing science is rarely effective when it comes to zealots. Some of them deny the existence of dinosaurs as they listen to Bill O’Reilly and insist monkeys and human share no common-ground as they blindly follow George W. There is no point convincing the extreme, you have to argue to the middle. A lot of regular, pretty smart people voted for this Proposition.

It’s important to mention to these regular, pretty smart people that the argument something is intrinsically unnatural has been used time and time again on such varied, and now resolved, debates as women’s suffrage and interracial marriage. Heck (see, a gay man can talk masculine-like), white supremacists oft justify their hatred of blacks on a genetic superiority that when articulated is just as painful and presumptuous as Proposition 8: I can have, you cannot. This is my right, not yours. And while it may seem out of line to play the race card, it should be noted blacks were the most distinct demographic to have voted for this measure: shame on you, I really mean that. I don’t think we are going to turn this around for a long time and sure, we can celebrate record turn out but don’t tell me America grew one hundred fifty years in one night when Barack Obama won. Until the cheers in Chelesa are just as loud as the cheers in Harlem I will not believe anything is possible (I of course am speaking sort of symbolically; Chelesa is disgusting). My only satisfication is in my confidence that people will look back on this and the other flagrant violations of homosexuals' civil rights in recent decades with disgust. It is only this sick satisfaction that soothes the sting of the victory of the other side. Congratulations. May your sons, grandsons and great grandsons be gay and marry your friend's sons, grandsons and great grandsons. Oh wait...

A lot of my friends are likely surprised by my disgust as I tend to be one those jaded homosexuals that prefer serial dating to cereal in bed with someone special. Well, aside from the fact that I’m human and this about common decency, a large contingency of my friends are gay and actually do want to get married to the one person they love.

And I want wedding cake. Really, really wanted it. Nom, nom, nom. I didn't want it to come to this, belittling my argument with threat BUT denying me food is a terrible, terrible idea. I once shutdown a buffet on a cruise, hell I almost shutdown Miami after a particularly extensive binge. So if you value your food supply (I don't really know how it's come to this) and so you can someday tell your kids you weren't only of those stiff idiots that kicked dirt in our glitterdust: no, no no. And no, no, no. And no, no, no... until you lose your head from all that shaking.

rosie o'donnell was skinny in 'the flintstones' and other childhood luxuries that we'll never live again

1. we could "skip-it" in our driveways and other kids wouldn't walk by and laugh; they'd want to join.

2. the homoeroticism of he-man: master of the universe generated no controversy. we didn't get velma was a lebso and that shaggy was also baked.

3. we were scared of aliens. now we are scared of illegal aliens in the dark alleys of alphabet city armed with shanks and nothing to lose.

4. my sister could call her african-american doll, "chocolate baby" in public and be perceived as cute.

5. larisa oleyink was pretty:eesh.

6. candy with trans-fat was delicious.

7. we thought easy bake ovens actually worked. and the cakes we baked made us feel good about ourselves. now, i can spend 45 hours on a research-based ppt and feel like shit about my abilities.

8. life was so much more innocent when we didn't know how to read:


really, the only benefit i could think of is that i used to cower in fear when my grandma would tell me she was going to "take the wooden-spoon to me". now, when an old person makes the same threat i get excited about the prospect of making 200 bucks.

oh, and now that i'm old i don't look up to the stars like ravin simone and zac effron that children revere. strangely enough, i do still find myself constantly asking WWEBD- what would elizabeth berkley do? old habits die hard; and ankle tatoos fade slowly...

Knock, knock? Who is there? Batter? Batter who? Batter up and all around meat. Corn dog? Corn-doggone-it you guessed my joke

You know that eerie feeling that someone is following you? No matter how quickly you turn around you can’t seem to catch the culprit. And that similarly unsettling sister experience when a song follows you to every restaurant and bar you poke you head in only to be playing in the cab you jump in to escape it?

Well, I have been living a twisted combination of the two for the past week except it isn’t serial killer or song has been hot on my tail (and what a hot tail it is). It has been corn dogs: corn dog this, corn dog that. I will now recount all of my encounters with corn-dogs in the past 7 days.

1. SATURDAY, my apartment:United Mileage Plus catalogue recommended item on my personalized page: corn-dog maker
2. SUNDAY, my apartment: Special on corn-dogs airing at 3 AM on the Food Network.
3. TUESDAY, US Post Office: Homeless man spits what appears to be piece of corndog at me and tells my female co-worker she is a, "white whore".
4. WEDNESDAY, the internet: best friend and fellow internet celebrity, Allison Meyer, in an attempt to conceal the NSFW for nature of conversation about dildos tells me she'd like "to be at a corn-dog buffet".
5. THURSDAY, my apartment: I watch, "Troop Beverly Hills" starring Shelly Long who kind of looks like a corn-dog.
6. FRIDAY, the internet con't: best friend and fellow internet celebrity, Allison Meyer, creates an extended metaphor by backtracking to Wednesday and saying, "all the weiners. nom, nom, nom."
7. SATURDAY, Clearview Cinemas: extended joke in Universal Pictures, "Role Models" making use of a 'bagel-dog'.
8. SUNDAY, near Central Park: I give it and eat a corn-dog.

genesis

back when everyone was reading "perks of being a wallflower", listening to dashboard in secret and feeling sad about the dates they weren't being asked on... back when everyone had baggage and airlines weren't charging extra, i was very young. brian molko put it best: just 19, a sucker's dream. i guess i thought i had the flavour?

luckily i got out of it all without permanently scribbling any five point stars on my body (suckers). in fact, all that is left from the early to mid 2000s is a couple of dusty journals and about 4,549 kbs over at livejournal.com, which admittedly contains quite a few photo sequences inspired by bad movies like the rules of attraction and party monster. that blog, which began as a tool for garnering attention, expressing deeply-seeded emotions and exhaling subtle secrets (hay, guys i think i miiight be a gay) slowly morphed into something less serious (or more serious, depending on how you looking at things) and became a way of recording what happened during black out(s). [4 am: rode home in a shopping cart, punched in the face for trying to steal a vacuum cleaner, made out with a cop (maybe) and a bouncer (definitely) and a girl, am i pregnant, going to eat a donut, bye.] it all eventually ended, rather abruptly at that. imagine the sequence in britney spears' "lucky" where she crones out "stop" and it does.

i graduated from college, traveled for a bit, lost some beer belly and settled down (ha) in the city that never sleeps. not that i ever slept in the first place.

well, i was pre-gaming alone last friday when i had a divine vision. god spoke to me from the bottom of my dolly parton dixie stampede boot mug and told me that i needed to blog again. he did, he really did! you see, blogging has been the 'it' thing to do for about a year and a half now, since i went on my hiatus. god has told me to come back and show everyone how it is done once again. hosanna hey!

now, i don't want you to think i am big-headed or self-absorbed (i might be the last one, but if i am it's not in a bad way). i am by no means perez hilton and i don't just mean i'm not super morbidly obese. firstly, i really was chosen by god for this. i have long been a prophet of sorts. proof? i have nearly died 6 times. secondly, i have a tattoo of the internet. thirdly, my best friend also has a tattoo of the internet.

i hope this first post didn't set any sort of tone or garner any expectations. this is the prologue, the necessary nonsense. i just had to lay the pipework down.

i'll clog them later.