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.