Wednesday, January 29, 2003

Watching the President's address last night, I couldn't help but wonder -- oh, just kidding! Did you really think I was going to talk about that? That I was caught up in a political stupor for the past week or so, preventing me from sound slumber? You did? Well, that was dumb. I mean, I would try to care about anything, but it's difficult when you have the attention span of a gnat.

Oh but I do have some sort of application to things, such as reading. While sitting around the apartment toady in hopes of receiving a phone call from one of several temporary employment agencies, like the whore I've become, I read Mrs. Dalloway in one looong sitting. (If I were a graduate student, that sentence would have read, "...I reread Mrs. Dalloway..." But seriously, folks.) I was inspired by the three-tiered film The Hours, which I loved. I was also inspired by the fact that I no longer have a cell phone, and I'm on house arrest until I find a plan. Yeah. Isn't that interesting? Of course it is.


See. I've been saying it for years: redheads are just that mor e sensitive, and in need of our very own soothing aloe strip. We should be federally funded, too, in fact.


Tuesday, January 28, 2003

Seventeen years ago today, early afternoon, the Space Shuttle Challenger explodes midair, taking seven astronauts with it; NAMBLA heartthrobs Elijah Wood, Nick Carter, and Joey Fatone are born in 1981, 1980, and 1977. respectively; and a resolutely sedate Mary Jane Keeling, eschewing both natural childbirth and nature's timeline, has her abdomen sliced open, where upon preemies Brock and Sarah are shocked headfirst into life as we know it. And it's been a bumpy ride ever since.


Wednesday, January 22, 2003

Me: I'm so having trouble sleeping these days.

Not Me: Really, have you tried chamomile tea?


Tuesday, January 21, 2003

I was discouraged (and pleased) to discover that a fistful of readers were upset (with me) at something I wrote. What joy! And what's more, this small group is made up of females -- females unhappy by my thoughts on sexuality, which is strange since (a) I'm gay and (b) women don't register on my spectrum of sexual desire (see point 'a'). Also, how anyone can personalize what I write is beyond me; in fact, I can't even personalize what I write. (After all, a reasonable person would be wise not to read any written text as autobiographical. Never. No, never.)

But what's most disheartening is that someone now thinks I'm an "asshole" based on a momentary view of sexuality; based on a short paragraph; based on a blog, not on character. How crude. The last time that happened to me I was eighteen and living in Orange County. I guess it's a morality thing, something both San Francisco and Orange County share in common.

Really, though, I'm chockfull of compassion -- brimming with it, actually.


Let's all wish Jol a happy birthday. You heard me, wish it! It's been almost a year to date since he loaded the wagon, sold all of his properties, and moved out east. Sigh.

cracking down,

Friday, January 17, 2003

GWM ISO one-way ticket to New York City, spacious studio and/or loft @ $550/month. Require high-pay, low-stress job and semi-permanent, semi-prominent boyfriend. Serious replies only.


Thursday, January 16, 2003

We are powering through January, and how. And I finally broke through its frosty ceiling by stopping my nightly doses of Ambient for sleep. Want to know how I take them? Sure you do. I crush them in a mortar and pestle, mix powder well with a 1/2 cup (or so) of water, swallow. But that, sadly, had to come to an end. See, I've been having terrible and uncharacteristic mood swings of deep melancholia around noon-ish for the past few weeks, and me thinks the sleeping pills are to blame. Not to worry, though -- a friend has donated a few Xanyx to the Save BK's Sanity fund for an easier, more airy comedown.

Ok, that was a lie. I caught Reversal of Fortune on TV last week, and have since been obsessed with Glen Close's Sunny von Bülow crushing her daily regimen of pills into liquid vials, concealing them from her personal maid. Heh. The only opiates I can afford these days are generic Sudafed and zinc tablets. Yum.

Also, my libido shrank, incredibly. In an attempt at libidinous revival, I viewed some online porn, and all I could think of was, "I bet they haven't even showered. Ew."

So, I was livid -- livid!! -- to read Todd's daily caloric intake. What's he doing with all of those carbs? All of those starches? Really, what self-respecting Los Angelesian rebukes the all-protein zone diet? I'm going to slap his hinged wrists the next time I see him.

But who am I to condemn? He has an incredible body -- one for which I would commit hara-kiri.

scrabbling through life in a billowy Von Furstenberg,

Thursday, January 9, 2003

I've been asked to play the role of Tinker Pop in The Cubby Creatures' video Tinker Pop, now in its primary stages of production. Really, it's just the most. The director, Jake, and my agent finally agreed upon a contract the other day, so I've been going through a rigorous age-defying beauty regimen ever since. God, a Cubby production, it's been so long. So many sepia-toned memories, so many ghosts of yesteryear. I'm thrilled. But, after talking to skeptical friends, I'm now hesitant, afraid, and downright frightened to play the part. It turns out that I'm not that good of an actor. Oh, sure, I look utterly dashing up there, perched high on the silver screen. And my sloe eyes fit the medium du cinema like a finger to a clit. But my acting sucks. I mean, it does in a smell-of-the-theater-roar-of-the-crowd-42nd-Street-Tony-Award-fetish kind of way. Alas, being from So Cal continues to have its price. Still, I want to do it. I'll just have to take a few pulls on the old bong of creativity between scenes to release my inner Mabel Nomand. Besides, this will now give me the chance to catch up on some long overdue opium abuse and prima-donna vase throwing.

Oh my. That was a choppy paragraph.

Brain and I are playing Scrabble these days and nights nonstop. I need to stop as I'm doing little else. Like finding a job. Or paying Discover Card. (Yes, I do have a Discover Card. Shut up.) Also, whenever we play it in a cafe, people sometimes feel the need to come over to us to comment something to the effect of, "Oh, I love Scrabble! I play it where we make up our own words!" And like, hi, that's not Scrabble. That's laying tiles down on a Scrabble board. That's not a game. That's retarded.

very witty,

Monday, January 6, 2003

Yeah, that's right. I liked it. As a matter of fact I loved it. And?

At the gym tonight -- which was the first Monday of the new year -- every sweaty body was fresh-faced and new. Lord. Why, it was like the first day of my sophomore year of high school what with all those naïfs. I had to swallow the urge to lock someone inside their locker, or snatch some scrawny twink's Power Bar money. Heh. I'm tough, man, and don't you forget it. No, not really. I'm not one of those many fags who were picked on in school, who in turn become adult bullies themselves. Which is too bad. That's what I get for having a popular twin sister.

Speaking of my sister, she befriended all of chola chicks while in school, too. The bloodthirsty ones with the heavy eyeliner and five-inch-high bangs? Yeah, my bitches.

And speaking, again, of ethnic ladies, I lifted weights next to a dark and lovely black woman -- around my age, give or take -- with a nice bubble butt. The best part? I think she might be a lesbian. Eeee! And what if we get chummy? Eeee! I daydreamed us the best of friends, taking her around town, having her buy me dinner, laughing and saying, "bitch is a fucking retard, yo." It was magical. And when she sneezed in the middle of her set, I said, "Bless you." It's a start.

For those of you keeping score at home:

No job. No boyfriend. No Scrabble wins.

colored triple word score red,

Thursday, January 2, 2003

Look! A picture of me! Putting something (a pill, perhaps?) in my mouth! And more of me! And more of others! At 4:00AM-ish! New Year's Morning!

Enjoy them before they're pulled off in a fit of self-doubt!

2003: all in vain.