Drunken happiness.

My mom was in town for a conference with my dad this past weekend so I had the good fortune of being spoiled and taken out to a nice dinner with two of my closest friends- LCL and Wagin. My mom isn't like the other moms she's a "cool mom"... kidding, but it’s kind of true.

We all met up for drinks at Veloce (my mom, her friend, Wagin and LCL), a favorite of mine and Wagin's for a late night glass after I get out of class and she is heading home from the studio. It was crowded as hell on a Friday afternoon with nasty office ladies wearing cheap perfume, ugly furs, and hair so teased and sprayed you could hear it move when they turned their heads (kind of like rustling leaves in the distance). Apparently there was some horrible office function going on (should have been tipped off by the bald men with guts and ties) and a birthday party for some woman named "Sharon" who likes "Proskecceco"- yeah she couldn't get it right. We moved on to the gayest possible venue- Elmo.

I escorted my entourage of 4 women, two in their early fifties, two in their early thirties, and had that brief panicked thought of "Oh god, this is what life is going to be like for me... taking care of crazy ladies" thankfully I knew there was expensive vodka waiting for me and the thought passed. When we arrived at Elmo the techno music was pumping, the gay boys were drinking with their sugar daddies and bitch faces were in full effect. My mom loved it. In her mind she thinks these are places I go, just like those ones on "Will and Grace". It was just like she imagined (which is funny because if I took her to the real dives I drink at she would be horrified). I quickly ordered drinks and began to play waiter for all the women in waiting at the high tables by the window. I told the bartender (straight of course, they always do that at any gay bar to drive us all crazy) that I was with my mother, it was on her tab, keep it open. No sooner had I finished delivering the first round, I was on my second.

My friends enjoy my mom because she likes to have fun; she can drink with the best of them and APPEARS to be able to talk about anything. My friend LCL takes this as an opportunity to talk about inappropriate things like the size of the guy’s dick she is dating- how HUGE it is and how good the sex is. Ok, my mom may be cool, but not that cool. I could see in her face the "I am cool, yeah this is cool, and sex is fun..." frantic look. I tried to butt in but LCL just kept right on going. My mom ordered another glass of wine.

My mom is of the mindset that eventually everyone needs to settle down and find their "best friend" to marry. Many of my friends don't believe in this- least of all LCL. My mom tried to give the "dump the young guy and find a serious man" pep talk to LCL when she was finished. She tired the "why waste your time" tactic to no avail. LCL argued her position as to why good sex and a big dick were all that mattered right now, my mom nodded and smiled. I kind of wanted to tell LCL to shut up and not talk about these issues with my mom; she is still a MOM after all. The girl needs to learn to reel it in once and a while. Then again, this is why I love LCL and my mom does too. Their conversation continued, my mom nodded and I got another round like a good son.

Eventually the topic came to me and my dating life. My mothers friend asked me about it, my mom listened eagerly pretending she had heard it all before. My friends backed me up on the "I have no time and New York is tough" crap. It didn't go over too well. My mom pushed in at this point and started with the whole "what about that online dating you were doing" to which I shot back "Mom, that lead to nothing and everyone was not what they said" (half the time it was just for getting laid). She went on and on as to why I need someone, should have someone etc. This is the first time I realized how concerned my mom was for me and I guess I could see why- there I was, single, late twenty something, never been in a serious relationship, hanging out with two thirty something women all the time, in a circle with fifty something year old women and no man in site. My mom looked around and saw plenty of gay men hanging out, touching each other, enjoying each other- Why not her son?

She pressured me more like I had some dark hidden secret. When she used to do this I thought it was a fear of me not getting laid until one time I said "MOM if this is about sex, YES I have it and it is fun!" By the look on her face I could tell this was not what she was looking for.

My mom went on to who she could set me up with back home, who could I be set up with here- even went so far as to aske "what about your new gay doctor- does he know anyone?". She would have freaking asked the bartender to set me up if I let her get out of her seat but thankfully I was blocking her. I tried to explain that people have different paths in life; some don't include relationships as priority number one. Right now I am one of those people.

This was not what mom's like to hear. She began to well up. Her eyes were glassy, the frown was assuming its position and tears were about to flow. I have only made my mom cry once before as an adult and that was because I was poking fun of her when she was drunk. Now here she was again, tipsy and I was telling her I am single because I just am (it’s like a daughter saying she doesn't want kids or something). She reached out and grabbed my arm.

"Aren't you lonely? Don't you want someone? I just want to see you happy honey, you don't seem happy..." *sniffle*

I explained I am happy, as happy as a stressed out person in this city can be. If I focus on being lonely that is all I focus on. I am happy with my friends, granted they are all women. I am happy with work, ok yeah, I hate the head of my department and my daily tasks but the people are nice. I love school, even though I have no time for it and would rather eat my eyeballs than go to class half the time but I am happy DAMN IT... Shit...I am HAPPY. Her friend gave her a light hug and said "We know, its just all mothers want to see their sons with someone." Great, just what I needed, an "all mothers" comment.

That is the truth, I am happy. I am happy until someone brings my happiness into question because they themselves would not be happy in my situation. I think that sucks. I feel as though it is a judgment on my life. Adding a relationship would be great but I can not spend all my time and effort looking for that elusive someone who I may or may not enjoy spending time with- I got shit to do right now. It will happen when it happens... that’s what I keep telling myself.

After tears were dried, hugs were had and Wagin quickly changed the topic (thank god for Wagin) I found out my mom had not eaten in two days from stress (she is under the gun right now at her job - see, we are so much alike) thus the extra emotions and the touch of sluring that had creeped in. I sent Wagin off to order some food for the table to munch on while I paid some extra attention to my mom in her fragile state. She seemed to perk up after a few bites and was back to herself in no time asking about dinner and more drinks. She did keep giving me the "why does no one want my son" eye but I am used to that at this point. We had a few more drinks, I got the tab (to which the bartender said "wow your mom treats you and your friends well!", I blushed of course and over tipped him and his straight ass) we packed in the show and hopped in cab for dinner with more drinking and PROSECCO. I may dissapoint her in the relationship catagory but I know I can show her a good time like no one else.

The Institution of Marriage

It has been debated for several years now what the "institution of marriage" is. I looked online for a formal definition and found this definition of Institution;

Institution –noun

Sociology. A well-established and structured pattern of behavior or of relationships that is accepted as a fundamental part of a culture, as marriage: the institution of the family. --- Dictionary.com

Is the institution of marriage about family? A union between MAN and WOMAN? A legal word? A spiritual union? If this institution is indeed a "structured pattern of behavior or of relationships accepted as a fundamental part of culture" as the definition suggests- haven't times change enough where the establishment is anti-establishment, patterns of behavior have changed, people's views on other people's heritage and race have changed? For example, it is no longer acceptable to throw your bathwater out the window- but at one time that was very acceptable, established and normal. There was a time when people could not marry others of a different race in this country, which was changed because it was ludicrous. Why use this term "institution" for something that is fluid like love, relationships and family.

People believe we must defend this "institution" from all the unacceptable parties, namely the gay and lesbian population. President Bush has used this issue like a WMD to get voters attention during election seasons, to rally the masses- namely the conservatives who think it is their duty to uphold this "institution". I found this lovely quote from Mr. Bush in the New York Times on Friday October 27th

“Yesterday in New Jersey, we had another activist court issue a ruling that raises doubts about the institution of marriage,” Mr. Bush said at a luncheon at the Iowa State Fairgrounds that raised $400,000 for Mr. Lamberti.

The president drew applause when he reiterated his long-held stance that marriage was “a union between a man and a woman,” adding, “I believe it’s a sacred institution that is critical to the health of our society and the well-being of families, and it must be defended.”

...excuse me; I just puked a little in my mouth...

What exactly are we defending here? Is it the right to quickie Vegas marriage that results in divorce? The rights for married couples to overpopulate the world cheat on each other and then break up a family? Why is this so "sacred"? The health of our society is already in danger from many things- least of all if gay people decide they want to have the same rights as the heterosexuals in society.

I find this whole idea and defense of the issue sickening. It is obvious to me this has nothing to do with marriage, if it did, why not outlaw divorce? If your concern was family- heterosexual families screw up kids all the time, just look around. Why not broaden your term of family from a white picket fence image with 2.5 kids and a dog. In this day and age a "family" can be innumerable beneficial situations (Uncles raising Nieces, adoption, family friends raising kids, friends raising friends, look at the Golden Girls for fuck sake, they are a family). No this is not about the "institution"; this is about open discrimination taken once again to a national level and being confused in the semantics of marriage.

What I am learning as I get older in this society as a queer individual is that - its ok to be who you are... in certain places. Those places are the arts, salons, fashion, entertainment reporting, etc. You can act and function in society in those realms and under those circumstances. Nevertheless don’t show anything that woman in Texas eating her Doritos doesn't want to think about. Quite honestly this suites me fine- I am not going to Texas (they say everything is bigger their but somehow I doubt the things that matter are) but Texans and all other conservatives like to visit me and my "type" as an issue repeatedly. I am ok with not acting out all the time as a gay man, in fact I prefer it. Who I sleep with or choose to love is my business not anyone else’s (unless I am trying to sleep with them of course). I do not choose to define myself by my sexuality- it is a facet, like the fact that I am interested in silent film. Having said that- I do not like being told when it is or isn't ok for me to be who I am, least of all by people who have no business telling me how to run my life. Many gay men say “Who cares about that breeder tradition! Let them have it!" I do. I care because it means something more than a tacky ceremony and broken promises.

With this discussion of marriage being brought up again and again I am realizing it’s not ok to sit back and let people tell me to hide who I am. I spent many many years filled with self hatred, praying to not be gay (thanks god), training myself to not talk too excitedly, look at my hands the correct way, sit with my legs uncrossed to look macho, play sports I hated etc. I fought to be who I am and continue the struggle everyday. I am now openly being told that I am a second class citizen not only by bullies, assholes, and ignorant people but by the President. According to Mr. Bush, as a queer man I do not deserve the same rights as a heterosexual. This is what I care about. (On another note only good thing about this whole gay crap is that “Don’t Ask, Don't Tell" bullshit- I am TEELLLIINNNGG - I don't want to go to freaking fight a war over oil. PLUS half those army boys fuck each other and film it- as much as that would be fun, not my scene.)

I have no idea what the future holds and if marriage is in the cards for me however I would like the option like everyone else. It seems the heterosexual community needs to rethink what the hell they are talking about. These conservatives need to take a step back and look at their heterosexual divorce rates, adultery, and the amount of broken homes produced from a crap marriage. Why not focus on these things if it really is an issue of upholding that already weak foundation on the "institution of marriage". I somehow doubt anyone of these conservative battle leaders will because ignorance is bliss and it seems this is not the real issue at hand.

I have so much more to say about this and this is a very long rant -it will have to be another blog at another time...

*note- people who see marriage as a biblical thing- I would like to point out we are all going to hell according to your book written thousands and thousands of years ago so give it up- remember "judge not"?

*note 2- My parents have been married for over 30 years and they are going strong- I commend them for upholding their vows to each other, not to an "institution" like the church or marriage itself.

Break ups and hair cuts don't mix

The young woman who cuts my hair lately has been doing a pretty good job. I met her because I had a hair disaster a while back and she was my saving grace. I went in for a cut at a training school (mistake! mistake! cheap ass mistake!) and came out looking like George Michael circa 1985, complete with bouffant. It was one of those cuts that everyone gives you a fake smile in the salon and says "Oh.. that’s a... GREAT CUT". I knew it wasn't, I hated it. As soon as I was out of the place I pulled out my hat, went down 5 blocks and into the nearest salon that did not have a bad name like "Palace of Elegance". There behind the counter was a young blonde Brooke Hogan look alike complete with extensions. Not a fan of Brooke Hogan but when on a budget and desperate, beggars can't be choosers. She was bubbly, chatty and did exactly what I asked to fix the cut. The whole affair was reasonably priced and I was sold. She had a new client.

Yesterday I went for my monthly haircut because my mom is coming into the city and I wanted to look nice for her. Brooke Hogan greeted me with smiles, had my hair washed and met up with me at her station. I knew something was wrong with her when she distractedly asked "Do I use clippers with your hair?" instantly I replied "NO!!". She shrugged and started combing my hair back and forth, back and forth, preparing it for the shears.Trying to start a light conversation I asked her how her Mojito party went from the previous time. She paused.

" I just broke up with my boyfriend, I had to move out, I don't live there anymore" she gathered a bunch of my hair up and SNIP off went a good inch (when your hair is short to begin with an inch is a lot).

"Oh I am sorry to hear that, that sucks." I feigned interest. I really did not have the patience to hear my hairdresser's story seeing as after the cut I was going to meet my best friend to talk about her break up drama (which I actually care about).

"We went out for 4 years"

SNIP, chunk gone.

" I knew him for10. I mean it’s like I don't know we had different goals...(snip) he was a pot head....(snip) I have never been alone...(snip, snip, snip) " the more she talked the balder I was becoming. I didn't know what to do I was in a state of hair cut panic. I am the type of person who never interrupts a hairdresser because one bad snip and you can get cut, lose a chuck of hair, an ear or who knows what- those are some sharp weapons in their hands.

When I thought the torture ended- she continued on and talked about being single- just what every single gay man wants to hear about. Next thing I knew I was was being sheered like a lamb with the same damn buzzer we discussed her NOT using. Looking like a deer in headlights I shakily replied "uh huh..." to her every quip.

ZZZEEEUMMM up my neck.

"Is my hair line going to be halfway up my head! please stop there, I like the line natural the way you usually do it" I weakly pleaded.

"Oh, its okay I was just fixing it" (by the way my neck still burns from that stroke).

I was now freaking out- this is my fucking HAIR! I have to WALK AROUND with this shit in PUBLIC. I am single and can't afford to look like a freak with a bad haircut. I was done and decided to stop her since it was pretty much over and anything futher would have left me ready for the Army.

Next she turned me sideways and ZEEEUMM.

Off with my sideburns.

"OK! That’s good , thanks you can stop there!" I touched the soft patch of red skin where my sideburns used to be. “You took off my side burns..." I quivered wanting to cry.

"Oh.... I thought you said you wanted me too. I mean you always come in here and they are such a mess, I can't stand that. I thought you wanted me to clean them up." For the record, I never said anything about my sideburns. I like my sideburns. I had no idea she thought they were a "mess".

"Clean them up is different than taking them off " I smiled, killing her with kindness.

"Oh... Sorry hun, well, next time I'll just trim them."

She brushed off the curls that lay around me. "Product?"

I hate this part- they always put way too much, don't know how the fuck to style my hair and then try and force my curls to go a different way and say they love the look. I figured I had no curls left so what was there to lose. She took out half the tub and worked it into my head and then did the usual force of the hair unnatural ways and said "I just love this length and this curly messy look!". Um, what curls? what length? I had no hair left!

Suddenly excited she declared "Hey! next time you want to grab a drink at that place you mentioned with Mojitos, give me a call! I'll give you my number!" she flipped her hair extensions and trotted off to get her card. I guess now that I was bald she felt better.

Ok the girl is nice, I tipped her well, she means well, she was just a mess this time... I hope. Now because of that break up, my hair is a mess. Wagin told me it’s very "boyish". I am too old for boyish. Wagin assured me that it doesn't look bad. I asked her if she would really tell me if it was- because everyone knows they wouldn't really tell someone a haircut looks awful. Wagin shifted her eyes around and looked away "OF COURSE, don't be silly...hair grows back". Not too sure my trust in Brooke Hogan will.

Clear and Copious

Whenever I am at a urinal, starring at the wall in an attempt to not notice anyone else peeing right next to me, I hear the phrase "Clear and Copious" and it brings me back...

This phrase was passed on to me by a 60 something year old "proprioceptive movement" teacher I had in college (if you are thinking "what the fuck is that?!"- think about how a bunch of spoiled little 'actors' felt in that class, laying on the floor 'feeling' our backs and being told to lift our knees to our chest and release for months on end). This woman, Kayla, was pretty intense. She wore the same purple knit draped sweat outfit and every week would complain about having to wash it when it developed "knees"- which makes me think she did not wash it often as it always had "knees". She had short gray hair and looked like a cross between Gargamel, the evil wizard from the smurfs and Bea Arthur. I imagine at one time she must have been very striking but age was not her friend and her ear/nose growth did not become her. She was a former dancer having done ballet then onto modern and experimental work. She was a proponent of the Alexander technique and constantly talked about posture, alignment and how it could change your life. Whenever she would demonstrate you could see the years of training exude from her large pours.

She let it be known from day 1 that she hated actors- I respected that. I hated actors. At the time I was in crisis and had no idea what the fuck I was doing in an acting school with a bunch of "look at me" show offs. I thought "hey we could get along". Nope. She was very tough on our class and often was shouting and yelling at us because many annoying people could not focus. I dreaded that class every week with every fiber of my being.

Kayla would often start each class giving us tips and advice on eating and remaining 'healthy'. She once asked everyone how often we ate, what we liked to eat and what out favorite dessert was. She then berated every girl for their diets (or lack of one) and told every guy that what they liked was disgusting. I was pissed when it was my turn and I told her I liked pecan pie and her response was "UGH that is DISGUSTING, how can you eat that, its all butter and sugar" I responded in my tart, bitchy tone that was becoming notorious with teachers on campus "Yes Kayla, that’s why I like it. If you are going to respond that way to everyone when you ask a question, why bother asking at all".

Yup, I was that little shit in the class.

This did not go over well and she gave me a look of death and you could feel the room gasp. After a moment to collect herself and her death rays, she doled out the advice that everyone should exist on a diet of iceberg lettuce with black pepper, no need for dressing. She assured us this was "delicious" and very nutritious. The anorexic girl in our class agreed as she jotted down notes and muttered to herself.

Kayla and I often butted heads over her comments and treatment of everyone. As I stated before, I agreed, I did not like actors, I hated the school, I wanted out- but I still thought yelling at everyone, telling us we were disgusting annoying people who should only be eating lettuce to keep ourselves pure was not cool. This all came to a colossal head the day of the now notorious (amongst friends) "confrontation". After weeks of people flitting about and singing, not rolling on the floor and knee bending as she asked, she had it. She ordered a pow wow . The idea was to express our "feelings" on how the class was going. It just ended in the usual toung-lashing. She did not let one person finish a thought and kept interrupting with her opionons on how much we sucked. I, being the feisty fag, jumped in and began another embarrassing moment in my life. I was ready to pop and sick of this old bag bitching at me and some of the people I considered my friends (most were not and I could have cared less-but those of us who tried, it was awful to be yelled at all the time). I took a deep breath ready to let it all out.

" Kayla- SHUUUT UUUP!! God you are just so EVIL, you walk into a room and you just set TENISON!" . This was at the top of my well trained lungs... red faced...to a 60 something year old woman. I had no idea what had happened- I think I even went deaf for those few seconds.

Once again, I was that shit.

Death rays met me yet again but I was prepared. The room did not move. No one breathed.

She slammed her books down hard on the floor and pushed her tired body back into the chair. I gave her a defiant look. A pipe creaked, we stared, and I swear you could hear that western whistle in the background. I was the first to crack

" I am outta here." I said, put on my shoes and went to the door.

She replied with " I NEVER!" and did not finish- nor did I finish walking out the door.

If I had left it would have been the end, I would have looked even more terrible than I already did, throwing a tantrum and storming out. I promptly turned around, went back to the circle, took off my shoes and said

"I am not leaving" in snot nosed tone and sat down.

She was flabbergasted. People began to snicker from the tension, mouths were agape, and no one would look at me. I didn't give a shit, I was not backing down. I was there to explain myself and my thoughts- plus take what she had to say. What was her response? A few deep breathes, a deep stare that went right through me then -

"I am glad you came back. I am glad you expressed your view, now lets work on this."

To this woman’s credit she freaking DID. She finally saw we were a bunch of wound up assholes high on butter and sugar who needed attention so desperately we were willing to go sing and dance for it in amusement parks. I think she finally felt pity for our dumb souls. Personally, I would have told my 19 year old self to fuck off,get over the situation and flunked my bitchy ass.

Kayla no longer berated us, she told us interesting things. She talked about self confidence, the light that we should imagine following us and a bunch of spiritual crap that the girls in the class loved. She told us not to starve and instead began to talk about the importance of water. She said "Be sure to drink enough water to where your urine is Clear and Copious. If you do, you will have more energy, get sick less, and fell better, I promise. The more yellow your urine, the more toxic your body, the more toxic your soul" You know what- she is right- its the one thing I found I could agree with whole heartedly that she had to say (you also loose weight because often thirst is mistaken for hunger).

Kayla died a few years ago. It may seem strange but every time I see my clear, copious piss, I hear the old woman saying "clear and copious".

Public masturbation

There is a homeless woman who sits outside our building that Jamaica and I call "peeln'eat shrimp" why? You guessed it; she is always eating peel and eat shrimp. It’s very strange. She sits there with her cart, velour sweatpants and oversized jacket chewing on a bag of shrimp. I have been informed she has been seen eating sushi platters as well, bitch likes it raw I guess. I am not one to tell a homeless person how to eat, it’s their money, it’s their stomachs- I just don't know about discounted sushi and shrimp- but more power to her.

Today I noticed PeelnEat had her hands somewhere that was not in a bag of shrimp- they were in her pants. Not in the "stay warm" way but in the "working up a sweat" kind of way. Yes folks she was working her privates over in front of the fruit stand. I was shocked, but if anyone knows me, I like shock- so I looked for a few more seconds to makes sure it was real then continued on my way. The craziest thing- this is not the first time I have seen a homeless person, or any person masturbate in public- but it is the first time it has been a woman.

Once on the fourth of July a drunk smelly man was touching his rather small erect penis by a garbage can near some poor women (yeah I looked, yeah I watched, yeah I did nothing- I was drunk too). The woman called out "There's a MAN EXPOSING himself over here!" over and over as he swayed back and forth to the rhythm of her voice saying "shut up ... I am uhhhhh... shhhhhh". Eventually the police arrived and carted his exposed ass and erect penis out of the station and onto the street where exposing yourself can happen in a nice quiet back ally.

Another time there was a homeless man sitting in the station having what I thought was a seizure. I went over to see if he was ok. The guy was shouting up a storm saying "oh yeah! Oh LORD, oh" and jerking like no tomorrow. When I was within 10 feet of him I soon realized it was no seizure, it was intense and deep masturbation. At that point a concerned young woman had called the police down to go over and see if he was ok- she too thinking it was seizures. What did the police do- nothing. They came back to us and said "he's homeless". Umm NO KIDDING REALLY! I felt sorry for the guy however, I was not about to go over and give him money for masturbating on the subway platform.

This public masturbation is not limited to the crazies or the homeless. Oh no, many young women will tell you of the business men standing next to them on the subway rubbing one out in their pocket. My good friend WAGIN has had a man come up to her with his penis in a book, open it up and show her the "hairy potato" as she calls it and smile. She jumped up immediately calling him a bastard and thus looking like the crazy one. I know if I had been on that train down the car I would have thought "who is that crazy bitch screaming".

My favorite was the one time a man in elastic waist pants, heavy gut and dirty t-shirt sat across from me and rubbed away like nothing was strange about it. There were several people and children in the car- granted it was 2am and children should be home and asleep but that is not the point. I should have moved but I didn't- once again, I like shock and also I was drunk (again). I just sort of watched and stared him down. I was once told by a young woman I met at a bar that if you do that, stare, they leave you alone. She then informed me that if that doesn't work laugh at them. When flashers and public masturbators do their thing many times they want a look of shock to go home and jerk off to- or to stand by the trash and jerk off to- whichever is closest. If you aren't shocked, which a number of New Yorkers tend not to be, they lose their erections and go away. Neither worked in this case and I went into "subway mediation". In hindsight, probably not the best thing to do when drunk at 2am and man is masturbating across from you.

I enjoy masturbation a good deal. I love it in fact. After seeing this woman today I wondered what it takes to get to the point where its ok for you to masturbate in public like a monkey in a zoo. The closest I have ever come to public masturbation wasn’t even masturbation- it was a blowjob in a stairwell- but that is another story. One never knows when they could snap in this city. All the pressure we are under, all the people we see day in and day out, one day you could be walking down the street a normal average city citizen, the next thing you know SNAP you have a taste for day old sushi and masturbating in the park. Well at least thats how I see it happening...

Turn that frown...

This past weekend was a rough one- spent most of the time berating myself for allowing resistance to take hold of my life (read this damn book about artist blocks, not sure if that was a good idea). I spent most of Sunday freaking out about how this could have happened to me, where I went wrong and what the hell I was doing with my life (good times). After a bottle of wine (resistance), a cleaning spree (resistance), frustrated image searching online for flowers on branches for a project (semi-resistance) and masturbating about 4 times in two hours (major resistance)- I passed out.

Today I woke up, was ok until I rolled over and realized it was 7:45 and I usually leave my house at 7:50 to have my morning torture, uh commute. The day did not start off right. I had no idea how this manifests itself in my face until my lovely train ride to work...

This morning I had the good fortune to be lugging around a heavy camera, a tripod and my usual 80 pound book bag with me. I was happy to get a seat (rare that late in the commute). I was even able to read my AWESOME book "How Computers Work" for my systems class. I did not feel it necessary to stand up for the old ladies or the pissed off looking young women in heels huffing and puffing (normally I would- yeah I am nice like that... but seriously young ladies, don't wear the freaking heels if they hurt). A man got on two stops after me and started mumbling to some younger man who was standing by the door "You know if you only moved 12 inches it would make this whole thing a lot easier". I hate when people verbalize inner monologues on the train- it just leads to trouble. An argument ensued where the younger man defended himself and the older man said "You know I am a parent, I am glad you are not my son". I loved this- “I am a parent" whop de fucking doo, doesn't mean you know best jackass so shut up and stop complaining.

I took a good look at this man, parent, verbal ass to see what his deal was. When he finally turned I noticed he had this awful look on his face- a deep intense scowl. He looked like he had been smelling rotten garbage and pungent cheese for about 10 years and someone smacked him on the back to freeze his face that way (as urban legend would have it). When he finally pushed an old woman down to get a seat (yeah parent and polite my ass) he started staring at me. His scowl pierced my skin; he was just so UGLY with this nasty face on. I tried to brush it off and read an amazingly interesting chapter on how dot matrix printers’ work- he just looked at me more. I turned the page to view more diagrams... more stares. I put my book away to do "subway mediation" and block him out - out of the corner of my eye there he was, scowling at me. I was getting pissed and wanted to punch him.

I finally arrived at my stop, excused and pushed my way off the train and pouted up the stairs. My shoe came untied so I had to stop over to the side, drop my bags, kneel down and tie the damn thing. I caught a glimpse of myself in a window reflection as I went down to tie. I had the same freaking face that man did. I was scowling- not only was I scowling, you could almost see the pissed off negative energy waves like heat coming out of my head. I was shocked. I knew I tended to walk around with an "intense" look (years of being made fun of taught me it’s the best look to tell people to back the fuck off) however, I had no idea that look had turned to an off putting scowl. After staring at myself for several minutes in a crouch some woman’s purse hit my head and I was brought out of my stupor. Is this me? I mean yeah its me but really is this what I want to put out there. I beat myself up on a daily basis, now I have to worry if that is showing on my face? And what the fuck, that woman didn't even say excuse me or sorry- bitch that hurt! No scowl, no scowl, smile... I am happy to go to my job...

WAGIN's ex was a scowler- often radiating extremely negative energy. He was constantly getting mugged, spit on, punched and beaten. Negative begets negative. He always played the victim in these scenarios but now I realize that he welcomed these events by displaying his deeper negative emotions to the world. I don't want to be like that.

I may be miserable like most New Yorkers but I guess part of the trick is learning to turn that fucking frown upside down and kill people with kindness... ugh I feel sick even thinking about it.

La Dolce Self Indulgence

People in New York, Porn fans and gay men know- Michael Lucas, the self loving former "model" turned pornographer- has been working 'hard' on a remake of La Dolce Vita. This man is out of control. I can not even believe I am going to put the link to the "teaser" (complete with sad, deep, sounding piano, fashion show and blowjob). La Dolce Self Indulgence

I am a fan of his porn. I think it is well shot, all the guys are hot, have nice cocks, go from wild to mild so I can pick my flavor depending on my mood, etc. I even met the man under some interesting circumstances and was 'star' struck- all of which is a another story. It changed my perception on porn but was enlightening and he was very nice.

The problem with this movie is it is so "look at me everybody I am making an artful movie with graphic sex scenes and I am in it as well, look at me damn it, look at me, look at my cock, now look at me, I am a good looking man, LOOK AT ME I AM AN ARTIST" (all said with his Russian/euro accent).The guy LOVES himself, which is great- I wish I loved myself a third as much as he does- but when remaking an Italian Cinema classic loving yourself is not enough. Dude you make porn, no matter what you say its porn. Its good porn, but its porn. People have tried since the invention of porn to incorporate a good plot- NO ONE CARES. It harkens back to the days of shock cinema in the 30's- no one cared about the plot, they just wanted to see the ape woman on screen.

People don't watch porn for plot. No one wants to watch bad actors who are stiff (not that way... yet), can't deliver lines, their eyes are all shifty and constantly looking at or off the camera and have deep Hungarian, Russian, chezck or faggot accents- its just not what your interested in when you have a bottle of lube next to you and your hand ready to go. Porn actors are in the movie because they look good having sex- plain and simple. How many gay men are REALLY going to watch this for the 'art'? If they tell you they are, they are full of shit. Gay men are all going to fast forward most of the shit dialogue and poor performances to see who makes out with who, who has a bigger cock, who sucks who, who fucks who, how they look when they cum and who had a nice money shot. No one is interested in the "scenery" of New York, the 'costumes' (which look pretty much the same as his other movies- Euro Trash chic. You know this look well- the black suite, a bright colored open shirt with a chain and wet over styled hair) racy plot lines, or how he updated it and transferred it to New York (starring himself of course). If he was really going for a cinematic feel he also would have used film (now he could have but it looks an awful lot like it was shot on HD or 24p). No one cares that Amanda Lepore makes an appearance, there are women in the film (a rare thing for a Lucas production, in fact I don't think I have ever seen a woman in one of his movies) and he got access to all these interesting locations. It is just so ridiculous.

Michael Lucas, I love you. I would gladly work in post production for you doing titles, graphics, touch ups whatever (had to throw that in there). I think you are one of the great characters in the world of pornography, you are an excellent artist of sex- that is your medium- not film. I appreciate the attempt, I think its great you gave it a try- but in the future stick to what you know, Fire Island cruising 1,2 &3.

Cheetos and Boones anyone?

This news disgusts me.

Pop star Britney Spears is trying to boost the sales of her husband Kevin Federline's debut album by sponsoring a contest where the fan who helps sell the most albums gets to party with the couple on Halloween. According to MSNBC's The Scoop, the couple are having a special CD release party on Halloween night to promote the aspiring rapper's debut album Playing With Fire. The second prize is a pair of sneakers that Federline wore when he performed at the Teen Choice Awards in August. The third place winner gets a $200 gift certificate, while 10 runners-up get a replica of a medallion that Federline wears.-- imdb.com

What the fuck! Help make a rich couple richer and you can "party" with their sorry asses on Halloween! What exactly does that entail? I can imagine meeting them at their diaper smelling, cat piss, dirty house where you have to sit with K-Fag on some torn leather couch and watch a spoiled brat roll around on the floor (no not brits) while the big woman of the house pops out in rollers, chewing gum, with a fat baby hanging off her hip saying "Be ready in a minute- can I offer you some strawberry Boones, its real good y'all!" in her trailer trash way. She hands you a red plastic cup "We done broke our 2 fancy glasses for the sparkling stuff when we were filming our sex tape on that sofa after Kev's CSI premiere y'all" (chomp chomp, eyelashes falls into cup as she pours). After some crap wine she drops the baby into the crib, wipes her hands on the front of her dress and says "lets go ya'll! PARTY!", She chugs another bottle of Boones then flashes her tits. Then you head out to some shitty party reeking like cheetos, baby shit, and Boones and listen to Britney cry about how hard it is to be her.

If you are the lucky runner up you get to have a pair of USED FUCKING SNEAKERS!! Hello, you just helped them buy another freaking car (shooting low here people) and some more shitty shoes K-Fag never wears- you deserve more than a fucking pair of used sneakers. I would rather third prize of a 200$ gift certificate- but lord knows what that shit will be for- probably for Britney's new perfume cart in the mall. The best is the 10 people who get an UGLY replica of some cheap jewelry! What the HELL!

The prize should be a percentage of their album sales- and not some measly 1% I mean like 30-50%. You deserve it if you convinced people to buy shit that makes their ears bleed.

I say NO to this contest, I say NO to them, I say fucking stop the selling of this album, boycott it, snatch it out of acne filled teenagers hands, prevent anyone from buying it, tackle them, hurt them poke out their ears. It is time to bring that trash down, I am sick of their stupid asses being in the "news" and crowding my gossip pages for nothing other than eating freaking taco bell. I have a contest for you- prove to me you stopped several people from buying the album and I will give you some damn good head... well maybe.

Than again, if you manage to hock that shit to stupid people (without buying it) to meet the king and queen of trash, more power to you. I bet Trent from Pink is the New Blog is all over that (in an ironic way mind you) like cheez wizz on Britney's toast.

What happened to the whore Brit, the one I liked? I miss her.
OH- and since when does K-Fag have fans?

Don't they use CGI for that?

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Bartenders revisited

Anyone who lives in New York City knows that bar life and night life is a main staple in your own life. I enjoy going out to meet friends in a public spot- look at people around me, enjoy the atmosphere (when it doesn't smell like bleach and vomit like the Johnson’s- vomit,coke, teenage testicles, vag and smoke like Lit- or strange cheese like Subway Soul hosted every month at Rififi- but I endure because once your nose adjusts the music is good, the people are fun etc.). The possibilities for a good night out in this city are endless. What I do not enjoy is the sneaky bartenders who are looking to make a buck and prey on what they assume are "unsavvy" customers.

LCL and I were out on our first SFDN (spontaneous fall date night). We headed over to the Flatiron district (someone was calling it Chelsea, it wasn't) to one of those bar art shows ( I am not sure how I feel about the bar as a venue for art but I digress). The space was ok, nice booths and plenty of space but the lighting sucked for viewing work and each other (the BEST lighting in a bar is Big Bar on 7th- I highly suggest this little spot for first meetings and intimate conversations, the pink hues in the light make everyone look nice and glowing). We ordered our drinks right away- makers on the rocks for me and stoli and soda for the lady. I asked for the total 18$. I took a step back and said "what?!" but accepted it and pulled out my card. "Ummmmmmmm yeah, there is a 30$ minimum for using a card?!..." came back at me in the BITCHIEST tone from some short troll looking hooker behind the counter. I decided that was fine, I would just switch out the cards and get cash around the corner when we wanted to leave.

The artwork was not my thing- lots of rockabilly Goth art, pin ups etc. having said that it was of the better variety for that sort of work. We decided that with 18$ for two drinks, lame art,no one cute for either of us to flirt with and a desire to get stoned it was time to leave. I went to the atm around the corner, got my cash and went back to the bitch troll hooker to ask for my total again.

Bitch gives me the up and down and slyly says "ummm yeah... 20$".

I smelt someone who not only needed to douche but was trying to pull one over on me "ummmmmmm YEAH (I mocked back), well you said 18$ last time, what’s up with that?"

"Ummmmmmm yeah well lets break it down..." she proceeds to hide the piece of paper as she tells me " makers on the rocks was ahhhhh 9$ and stoli and soda was niii ummm- eleven, yeah eleven that makes... umm 20$". 11$ for a drop of stoli and flat soda water with too much ice and no fruit! I was livid at this point.

I know what she was doing- jacking up the price to pocket the extra and get a better tip. I did not think to ask for the slip when she slyly "tallied" it away from me. The bitch couldn't even do math when she way lying to me and pausing with her ummmmmmmmnmmmmms over and over. You could see the skanky gears turning. I, being the bitch I am, threw a 20$ at her and said "That’s all your getting out me!" and walked out. Yeah an over reaction, I admit, I mean the bitch was already smitten with ugliness why did I need to rub something else in her face- regardless I hate being played a fool.

This is not the first time some young whore has tried to change prices on me. I just think it is ridiculous when they do this. It may work on some straight guy staring at their tits but thank god I am not so dumb and am looking at their faces and reading their eyes. Once again, I understand everyone is trying to make a buck in this city but ripping people off is another story.

I love bartenders usually- so to all of you out there I say - STOP FUCKING ME OVER AND JUST POUR A GOOD STRONG DRINK... because thats when I give you a good tip, a generous tip because you deserve it. Damn I need a drink.

High School as a late twenty something

I am the type of person that talks about my dreams, knows its annoying for anyone else to hear, and am annoyed when others tell me theirs (unless I am in them- like this one friend of mine had this boyfriend, straight, he used to have dreams of me sticking things in his ass. The best part - he liked it, found out later he was into anal pleasure. Crazy right?) YET I still talk about my dreams despite knowing all these things. I have stopped doing it as much but my poor mom hears them a lot and just replies with "mmmmmm... its craaaaaazy".

I have these fucked up dreams constantly about being back in high school. Not my public high school but the school I transferred to as a Junior (see previous "walk on by" post about the school for artistically inclined spoiled teenagers). This school was intense. It took the most of the rejected, teased, and often times gay teenagers from all over the country, plopped them down on a campus that looked like a Swiss ski lodge and told them to interact. I was in shock when I went there. It was the first time I was not the only boy who knew the all the words to Into the Woods, Godspell, Les Miserables, Hair... ( I really should not continue or I will embarrass myself). I could sit with a group of guys and girls and sing Sondhiem patter songs without missing a beat and have it be considered "cool"- by whom? I don't know because now I cringe when I think of that. I got to take an Art History class (thank god for that eye opener), write and direct a play, act like a fool, sing and dance- everything I had ever wanted. This was the best thing to happen to me since I discovered masturbation- yet the worst thing to destroy my teenage, weak as a dollar store paper plate ego but I digress.

I dream about this place a lot. I used to dream about meeting Madonna ( who I think would be the biggest most boring bitch if I ever met here) but as of the past few years it has been all about this place. I am always my current age and I am going about my normal business in classes, auditioning for shows, being broken down by asshole teachers, friends are backstabbing me, I am thrown on stage not knowing lines for a show I wasn't sure I was cast in to begin with- the usual anxiety dreams. There always comes a point in the dream where I realize - wait, I have my high school diploma don't I? Hold on, didn't I already go to college? Wait, I fucking stopped doing this musical crap right? What am I doing in high school? Then someone, usually some little shit I didn't like in school, tells me "oh no, they screwed up, you need to do this again". My stomach sinks and I accept the awful fate that has been bestowed on me in dreamland. I wake up sweating and VERY glad it was only a dream.

Last night was the first time the dream happened where I had made the conscious(well unconscious) choice in the dream to go BACK to HIGH SCHOOL. It seemed so real that I said "Gosh I can't believe I used to dream about this all the time and here I am , I should pinch myself and make sure this is real". I pinched and it FREAKING WAS! At one point in an anxious fit I even offered to have sex with a teacher, now normally if this were a "dream" we would have had sex right there and then ( I am notorious for that in my dreams. I used to have these dreams where guys were trying to kill me and I would say "don't kill me, don't kill me- please... i will suck your cock" and it would work, we would suddenly be having sex, hot rough nasty sex sometimes vampire sex.) However this time- nope he turned me down and said it was "flattering"- which added all to much to the realism of the situation. A number of flustering, awful, terrible, never want to happen in real life ( in the dream of course I thought the were happening) events ensued.

I woke up in exhausted and with a stomach ache in a horrible mood. This mood was then combined with a ride on the good ole F train, seeing a dead body on the street (yes really, one of the local crack heads had a stroke in a doorway. They merely placed a sheet over his shocked face and it kept blowing around while the police picked their ass) and general nastiness throughout the day

I really wish my high school would stay in the past- stop haunting me or standing in for anxious situations. I have had so many cool things happen in my life since then. I loved college, lived abroad, moved around and lead an interesting life- why can't I dream about those things?

Dreams are just so fucked up and so was that place...

This one's on the house...

I was out last night with WAGIN and LCL, my two best friends ( WAGIN is also Prado for anyone who actually is following this, I think that is no one but whatever) celebrating the fact that I am not flunking out of graduate school - I am in fact doing quite well. I finally handed in work and got results back. I thought I was failing miserably on tests in my systems class- ahh nope, did extremely well (phew). I thought my project for compositing sucked- ahh nope, it was pretty freaking cool and the professor dug it. It was all such a giant relief that my stomach finally stopped churning, I regained my composure, and decided drinks to celebrate versus drink to drown my sorrows.

I met up with LCL and WAGIN at Beauty Bar- their favorite hot spot for checking out cute, dirty, skinny boys. They were in full force on their third round laughing and talking to strangers when I pranced in with my test in hand to show everyone like a freaking first grader. Our favorite bartender was there (with a bad hair cut and a shirt that was a little too tight) so we were happy. The three of us began the chatting, the bitching, spilling secrets one of us told the other not to tell the third and then we all laugh at how we can't keep secrets- it was like a slumber party in public without the panty freezing.

I had two Makers on the rocks- at 7$ a pop and a 2$ tip on each drink. I am broke so this money was my allotted 19$ for the week ( bought a coffee earlier)for those snacks and drinks that pop up. I had decided drinks and liver damange to celebrate were as good a reason to blow that money than any so I spent it all- high roller here. When it was time to get going our bartender came around and gave us a free round letting us know "This one's on the house". Cool right!? I was in the middle of a conversation but managed a "Wow, cool, thanks a lot man." and left it on the bar as the ladies contemplated their fifth free drink and said "eh fuck it" and went for it. I was deep in conversation and whisky f's me up so I didn't touch my drink for a bit. A few minutes went by and he comes back " This one's on me... Ok man", taps the bar and looks at me sternly. I said "thanks"- went back to my conversation. A few minutes later he looked over at me not touching my drink and gave me the "sup" nod.

I realized he was looking for a big freaking tip- the money I would have spent on the drink to go in his pocket. I know bartenders, I worked at a bar for a while as a shitty cocktail waiter (bad move when you work with all women at a down scaled version of hooters. Guys get pissed when they expect a waitress with big tits or a nice ass to serve them beer and a sassy faggot with a mouth of a sailor comes up to them and asks what they want. Of course 6 beers later their attitude changes to "a mouth's a mouth" and they think you are a hot riot... I never went there mind you but you know what I mean). Back to the tip issue- as I stated before I am broke, I had 1$ in my wallet, 1 meager little dollar to get my coffee in the morning without having to scrounge for change. I reached in because I knew he wanted it. I then turned to LCL and said "do you have any cash" she did but all large bills so she gave me her only single. I put down the 2$ after he glanced at me a third again. I was livid.

The point of "on the house" or "on me" means FREE. Not - give me your damn money like its a hold up. I would not have ORDERED the fucking third drink as I did not have the money. He put it in front of me and insisted I take it - twice verbally and once visually with his eyes! I should not feel obligated to tip his stupid ass for forcing booze down my throat. WAGIN came stumbling back from the bathroom and I told her the situation. She quickly offered to put money down for me and I said "NO! I didn't order the drink, I understand it was a favor, I gave him the tip I would have given him if I bought the drink and that should be enough." and I stand by that. We downed the drinks and left.

I am not cheap when it comes to tipping- I believe in tipping well. I understand the thought process of bartending, how it works. My close friend all throughout college was the head bartender at TT the Bears in Boston and I would visit her all the f'n time to drink and hear music. I befriended bartenders all over the city of Boston thanks to my various waiting jobs and they always gave me free drinks or bought rounds because I was generous. They also wanted me to stick around and keep them company, make them laugh, protect them from all the slime in the bar that really wanted their attention (it tended to be the female bartenders who liked me- but a few guys liked my money). Money, aka good tips, get you stronger drinks and faster service (most of the time, unless its some dumb fucking ho' in a bikini shaking her fake tits- then it gets you a fake tit shake).

The most important thing to keep in mind is they are POURING A DRINK. They are not jacking you off, massaging your feet, carrying your bags, etc. so a tip should be reasonable (I think 2$-4$ on a hard drink depending on difficulty , 1$-2$ on a beer) anyone who expects more is a greedy ass.

When the bartender buys you a round or says its on the house it is usually a THANK YOU for your generous tipping and I feel one should not be expected to fork over the 9$ they would not have spent on a drink they didn't really want anyway.

I love Dlisted

I love this blog.

Dlisted

The only problem is sometimes you have to click the header a few times to get to the most recent updates- but that is seriously because I check the thing constantly.

The guy is really funny who writes it and he is ALWAYS the first to report on celebrity trash.

I used to read "Pink is the new Blog " before that fag started talking about his new boyfriend constantly, how he is in "lurve", his trip to Paris, and then all his shameless self promotion (people, well fat girls and fags, holding up shitty construction paper signs with 'Pink is the new Blog' on it). Then he was all into the fact that he was in GQ, met Madonna, was at the MTV awards- I admit all these things are cool but I don't want to read 3 paragraphs on how great you are- I want to see nipple slips and read who punched who at the after party- maybe a little snide comment here and there. Its like "Dude you write a fucking gossip blog- and not even a good one because you are too busy saying lame ass shit like 'lurve' and 'skrinks'". Seriously. He also moved to LA and thinks he is fabulous now- LA does not make you fabulous, money makes you fabulous (kidding that was a Madge inspired quote from Truth or Dare aka In bed with Madonna). All it means is he wakes up 3 hours later than the east coast and his gossip is stale, all the other bitchy fags have already found those pictures of Nicole Ritchie pretending to eat or Britney at Taco Bell made their comments and moved on. I guess I shouldn't TOTALLY diss him- I still read the trash- its something I love to hate- like the new plus sized Tyra Banks.

Anyway Dlisted RULES. It is just too damn funny. I love that the guy goes way over the edge and doesn't apologize. He is always updating the thing, has caption contests, celebrity birthdays, slut of the day and week (was Jennifer Saunders last week- nice one man). He gives all the bored office workers and teenagers something new to read every few hours and I appreciate that.Someday I want to hang out with his bitchy ass while we drink proseco and watch top model yelling at Tyra's cheesy ass when she strikes a pose "like THIS" (imagine Tyra striking some cheeky ridiculous pose with her eyes bugged out). Hats Off man! I highly suggest checking it out.

Dlisted

I'M SO EXCITED I'M SO EXCITED I'M SO.... SCARED

"There's no time... There's never any time, I don't have time to study! I'll never get into Stanford! I'll let everyone down! I'm so confused!"- cut to pill popping- " I'm so excited, I'm so excited! I'm so... scared."

Anyone who knows anything about pop cultural crap knows this scene well, has seen the youtube remix with Le Tigre singing ( clip here- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jzxTNWW2ifA&mode=related&search= ) and witnessed the shear brilliance of the Jesse Spano "caffeine freak out" as only Elizabeth Berkley can deliver (the craziest part of the whole clip is the total preview to her Oscar worthy turn as Nomi Malone, the whore/stripper/Vegas bitch with a heart of well, shit, in "Showgirls". I wonder if her agent submitted this clip to Paul Verhoven when they were casting with a note "you want a crazy ass bitch to get naked and freak out a lot - Elizabeth is your woman"). The even funnier part of the whole thing is I actually remember seeing this when it aired on Saturday morning for the first time. My sister loved "Saved by the Bell" so I would watch it with her to avoid chores. I remember thinking Jesse Spano looked my neighbor, Megan, and acted like one wound up, egg head, whore. I remember this episode so clearly, in my jams and neon t-shirt, loving me some Zach but really just wanting to be Jesse so he could shake me around and tell me it would be all right.

This is not such a funny clip when one wakes up everyday reliving it in their head, as I have been for the past 2 weeks. I, my folks, have become Jesse Spano (minus the Zach shakes unfortunately). No, not the pill popping crazed singing maniac- I got rid of that phase my first year in college (No Doz, Vivarin- Now SING you fool, SING SING SING- and dance while you do it- faster, faster, I said FASTER! ). I have become the person who is constantly feeling like there is no time. I feel like every minute I waste (like right now) has awful dire consequences and it makes me sick to my stomach.

Working full time in a shit job and going to school at night until 10pm, Monday- Thursday is just wearing me down. My apartment is a mess, there are dishes piled high and I can't find the sponge. I can hear the mice clawing in my walls again to get the crumbs on my floor. The roaches are back (I saw the biggest freaking roach I have ever seen in my medicine cabinet this morning - seriously I could have shaken its hand! I tried to squish it beind a shaving cream bottle but it was TOO BIG and its head and butt stuck out... ewww it was gross). I have no clean clothes- well I did manage a load of underwear. I am behind on my studying. I have not slept a good night sleep in three weeks from anxiety. I haven't been to the gym in a week and I have no desire to eat because my stomach is churning (the only good side effect to any of this- wait did I say that). Now where is the educational, life lesson, building character part? Oh I forgot- all those things ARE the lessons thus far, I see, I see...ugh.

Sure, not so bad you may be saying- what about the weekends, what about when you get home from class. You know what I say- what about FUCK YOU! I wasted my Saturday morning in the sound room at school trying to practice an assignment and the fucking speakers weren't working plus the woman who asked me to help her never fucking showed (which was the only reason I went in that morning to begin with- I would have cancelled but I didn't have her phone number- silly faggot). I spent the rest of the weekend working non-stop on a freaking 15 second clip for a composite class. I didn't study for a test I have Tuesday, go over my programming for an assignment due on Wednesday nor write a paper for Thursday. * cue Jesse Spano.

I can hear my mother now "You do better when you are busy honey, trust me" and ok I do- less time to think about crazy shit- but what about being too busy? I like reflecting in the park while sipping coffee- I never did that, but its nice to know I had the time to. I did enjoy watching my cooking shows on Satuday morning combined with cartoons, going to the farmers market, taking long walks and working out for two hours. I liked when my biggest worry was what to make for dinner or if I would pick up a brush and paint that day.

If this is what grad school is about I am not sure its for me... then again I am not sure what is for me anymore.... and does this really even matter now that North Korea has nuclear capabilities? I am such a whiney fag today...

Where is Jesse with those pills damn it!

Impress your boss with an online degree?!

Ok, I figured I moped enough and it was back to some serious bitcherie.

While looking at my e-mail today I made the mistake of paying attention to the blinking banner above. It was for one of those money stealing shit houses disguised as a University. The design was a bunch of ripped notebook paper and tape all over the pieces and the text read "Impress your boss with an online degree in:" and listed the various useless degrees they offered. Seriously- who the hell sees that and says "you know what that WOULD impress my boss" and on that note- what "boss" is saying "You know what I find most impressive about you, your online degree- way to go tiger. Way to show me your lazy, cheap, initiative.". I mean what the hell- I feel bad for the people who think it's a good idea to throw away your money like that.

Which brings me to another online add that pisses me off- the Tru and Gay.com personal adds that seem to flood my myspace account and my inbox (You visit one porn site and its all over). I hate those things. First of all its the HOTTEST guy ever in the add and I am sorry, I have done the online dating thing and NO ONE online looks like that. Maybe they did when they were 19 but not when they are 32 , balding with a beer gut- that's why they are online. The worst is when I have met people with fake pictures. Its like they think they are going to get away with it. I mean what, I am not going to notice they look 15 years older, have manboobs and no hair? Its awful. I also am not into seeing these dumb single adds because they are constant reminders of how 1. I am single 2. I need to stop eating in order to have a six pack 3. I am ugly and that's why I am single and 4. I fell victim to those sites- believing the guy in the add was actually on there (told you I am not the brightest bulb sometimes). I fucking hate those things.

Am I a computer....

If you know me , you know I am currently in the process of getting and MFA. The area I chose to study, wise or not, is Computer Art. What? YOU!! Well let me explain...

I went to an undergraduate college that was heavy duty on theory and the philosophy of art. I was taught that the idea is the most important thing when creating works of art, which I completely agree with, however the one thing that began to suffer when I was so focused on idea was craftsmanship. Being involved in art that is digitally enhanced or produced (I was a mutlimedia artist with a focus on video in undergraduate) it was important that I had a grasp of how things worked. I often would rely on the lab tech in the video department when I could not figure out how to make something work. He would sit down, show me, I would do it and forget it thinking "eh, I'll hire someone to do that for me in the real world." This eventually lead to the chair thinking I was indeed a tech wizz and I became a lab assistant. Sure I could help everyone with learning the basics of Final Cut Pro, how to import, get a clean shot, basic 3 point lighting- but when they showed up with fielding issues, color correction questions etc. I was at a loss.

Whenever I had ideas that were grander than my scope of technical understanding I relied on my intellect to find a reason to not have that projection be the size of a wall and make it on a TV instead. It was a great gift and often worked in my favor. I could back up any of my pieces and choices in making them a particular way with research, philosophy, arguments and would even have specific references on hand if they were needed. In a school where no assignments were given and grades were based on how well you defended your work- I became an expert at the argument, the discussion, the theory behind the practice. Once again, knowledge is power but my reasoning with myself to avoid a new challenge became a bigger problem.

When I graduated I disappointed many a professor by proclaiming I was moving to the land of commercial entertainment and greed- LA. The choice for me seemed clear- I had friends there, they were forming a business, asked me to be part based on my weird "arty" experiments in Boston . They needed that "fine art" element to give the edge so to speak. I saw it as an opportunity to finally learn more about the craft in film making, video, and design. I jumped at it- lied about my proficiency in programs and told my family I was headed out west (my mom cried).

Los Angeles was the smartest move for me at that time. I learned more about the technical workings of video in one month than I ever had in undergrad. Why? Clients didn't want to hear that you decided this rough look was better because it referred to the lyric in the song "I was so dirty, I would never be clean". They wanted results, smooth, slick, in your face RESULTS. I fought this at first and made many a first timer mistake by challenging the client- soon it became an issue of needing to make rent. I suddenly stepped up and learned programs on the fly because I had to. I had a very good friend sit down with me and patiently describe how things worked so I could assist him with larger projects, calming me down and helping me along. This eventually lead to me heading up the smaller scaled projects and building trust with them so my voice actually counted in the group- instead of being the "resident gay artist" I was becoming a part of their thinking. All my buddies showed me the joy in geeking out and learning technical things like what new program gives you a cleaner alpha channel on a green screen shoot or what compression codec works best for the web- can all be fun too.

After about a year of this the honeymoon was over. I was tired of wasting my personal ideas to sell a newspaper, an album, a song. I wanted to get back to what I wanted to do- what was that? I wasn't sure but I knew it wasn't making the lower thirds on the Blink 182 Iraq special for MTV2 or making another loser band look cool. I wanted the art world back.

I decided to leave and come to New York City. I wanted to go to graduate school. I wanted to find a program where I could combine the two elements I liked the most- art and my new found appreciation for computer technology. I wanted to be proficient enough to not need a pasty, pale, geek with man boobs telling me the "flux capacitor in your computer hooks up to the thing-a-ma-bob which is now not running due to a 404 error". I knew this was bullshit- I just didn't know why. I decided COMPUTER ART. There you go- that's the way. I wanted to learn the ins and outs, the inner workings, the binary language, the secrete code to geek speak. I wanted to combine this technical skill with a fine art practice to make the works I wanted to make- to realize I did indeed know how to make the wall size projection and even have it interact with the viewer through a series of sensors placed in the floor. No more reasoning out of it- no more slick for slick sake. Making things that were true to how I wanted to express myself and the topics I thought were important.

Which brings me to the present. Here I am- in the midst of this brilliant idea I had to become a computer and I am screaming. I don't get it. I quickly learned there is a reason those computer geeks never leave the house. Between the programming classes and systems classes on things like "how RAM works"( I am not talking that general " it just does" BS, I am talking electrical diagram crap so you can truly understand the "concept"). I am extremely confused and it seems that no one will clarify as this is a "graduate" program. When I write to the teacher of one particular class explaining my concerns he will tell me "I just want you to understand the general concepts, don't stress" yet when the fucking quiz is handed out- its not general, its pretty specific if you ask me and I AM STRESSED.

I know its a process, I understand that its a journey, you can't jump from point A to C without experiencing B. My problem is when the process is confusing as hell and no one is explaining it what can you do? I have no time to put any of what I am learning to practice because I am too busy trying to understand it. I spent over 4 hours trying to comprehend how a fucking computer reads bitmapped images with nothing to show for it and then no lecture to clarify. I had a few people want to start a study group but the cost of a tutor to lead the group is too much for me. It is a nightmare - it reminds me of this nightmare I had when I was really little- frankenstien was chasing me and I fell down a flight of stairs. There he stood above me, this man made monster thing shooting laser beams out of his eyes and I thought "well I guess this is what I have to do to survive so he won't eat me"- I would then wake up crying.

The thing is I want to understand, I want to get it- I am trying my damn hardest to hold on to the idea of what this could lead to. It just seems that right now it is only inhibiting me from making work, not helping me- making me feel even more stupid than I normally feel on a day to day basis (which is pretty stupid). I feel out of place amongst the groups of 3D animators and Computer Science majors. I feel uncomfortable when I over hear people speaking disparagingly about fine art( in my one art based class that in turn is also a history class), saying that a screening of Bruce Naumans "Make Up" is really not significant and full of shit. I know its their naivete that is speaking - but where can I draw the line. I can only speak up so often about the importance of artistry in computer driven work- but will anyone really hear- do I start to sound like that crazy preacher outside the school who says god is love? Will I become a computer like so many of these people seem to have done? Will I too forget that sometimes simplicity is best? Will I forget that sometimes bells and whistles are just BELLS and WHISTLES and do not help to clarify an idea? Will I too begin to think that something that was so signifigant in the beginning of a rich history has no signifigance now due to my lack of attention span from staring at a vibrating image all day long?

I want to see the forrest through the trees but right now it looks like a bunch of ugly bushes and everyone knows I don't like bush.

Having said all this a I am sure my tune will once again change when the learning curve hits slaps me across the face.

New York State of Mind

a little down today so bear with me...

I was out last night attending an opening for a photographer friend of mine, doing my usual talking too loud while drinking cheap wine, not obeying the 30 second 30 feet rule (There was a girl next to me with a gut and a white boob tube revealing the most HIDEOUS rash all over her chest, it looked contagious so I had to point it out to every fag in the room. Unfortunately she heard me and I felt bad watching her adjust her hair in front of the rash. Ok, so I only felt bad for a second then I thought " wait-you are the one exposing that nasty rash and wearing a boob tube"... yeah still mean, oh well.). I had some nice conversations but one really disturbed me- one about the New York state of mind. It was brought to my attention from a native Manhattanite that people in this city are selfish, they are always looking for the next hot thing to make them better, always talking about what they want, when they want it, and not willing to compromise. Hearing this gave me the shivers.

The thought haunted me as I went to have a drink with my best friend- let'’s give her a name- Prado- as in the museum in Madrid. So I am going to meet Prado to discuss our lives, her particularly stressful work situation, the new dress she bought, and hear all about her bosses lectures and show (she works for a prominent artist). We of course come to a favorite topic- her current relationship, her past relationship, how I view her relationships (which makes me feel important that she cares) and the same old shit (basically its a circular discussion where nothing is accomplished). I bring up this selfish thing and wonder if she agrees, she looks at me for a second then spouts "well of course why do you think all those women in their forties suddenly want babies and husbands- spent to long being selfish and unwilling to compromise" and went back to sipping her white wine. She then must have noticed my facial disappointment and retorted "You are different, you just don't want to waste your time, you know what you want- I wish I could do that."- ouch. (For the record - I am not a woman and I don't want babies either.)

I thought New Yorkers were supposed to be different than that. I thought New Yorkers were supposed to have heart, spirit, culture... as I was thinking this in the supermarket this morning some dumb bitch cut me off on my way to grab the last Greek yogurt in the supermarket -Seriously- cut me off for a yogurt, which just confirmed my New York selfish thoughts. I was even naive enough to think the gay men in New York were going to be different. I thought they would love each other, support each other, care about each other- instead its one hair snatching event after another while they gold dig their way through Smelsea lisping like leaky tires, looking for younger hotter men or richer older men to fuck. What happened?

Am I one of these people ? Did I subconsciously move here for a chance to live in a city of selfish people and not be called selfish- instead referred to as "driven", "determined", "uncompromising" which of course I don't hear as much as I hear "bitch". Am I really not willing to compromise and only thinking of myself all the time- is that why I am alone, frustrated and failing school? Am I going to suddenly wake up 50 , single, living in a studio apartment in queens with a leaky toilet, broke, no pension plan, no health insurance, sleeping in the tub because rats have infested my apartment, thinking "what happened?" - the way things are going, probably (there all you cynics I beat you to the punch). (OH! and that last thing with the apartment is a the true story of someone I know who just moved out of the city at the age of 54- single and broke).

I know its probably not New York and it is just human nature- but when surrounded by people all the time, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week it seems like the world is New York City (selfish New York thing again) so for the moment- New York has got me down...

Excuse me Representative?

I am sure everyone has been made fully aware of the latest sex scandal in politics involving Representative Mark Foley and his sexually explicit e-mails to an underage congressional page. I must admit, I am happy because the man is a Republican from Florida who got caught with his pants down (so to speak and well maybe not, you never know). I have no sympathy for the man, no sympathy for the Congressional Page (please, when I was 16 I was e-mailing sexually explicit material to older men as well- I was horny damn it), least of all sympathy for the Republican party. The worst part about this "scandal" is Mark Foley's pathetic excuses and attempts to cover his old poor ass judgment.

"I was drunk" um HELLLLOOOO we have all been drunk and made asses of ourselves but we also all know that there is a small kernel of truth in every drunken move ( also everyone knows- or should know- you never get near a computer, phone or fax when drunk for fear of sending stupid e-mail, myspace messages, aim, looking for sex because you think its funny.... wait never mind).

" I am an alcoholic" ok fine, but you're still a big ole faggot in wolves clothing. Get your stupid ass to AA, maybe you can meet some man your own age to fool around with.

"I have mental problems" ahhh yeah apparently- you were in public office lying all those years, not just to yourself but to all the hicks dumb enough to vote for you- that's enough to make anyone "mental". The whole world has "mental issues", why do you think we fight all the freaking time- no excuse you mo.

" I was molested". This one takes the cake. What is he trying to do here? The man basically discredited himself with all the "mental" and drunken behavior over the years now he wants us to believe its because he was molested between the ages of 13- 15? I think not my friend (This reminds me of that rapper who claimed he was "raped" by a fan and then impregnated her- dude in order to get someone pregnant you have to cum inside of them which means you were hard, which means you were stimulated and got off. "Man rape" is usually in the ass, not fun and very painful plus NO ONE ends up pregnant). Mr Foley, Tell me you were abducted by aliens, given the anal probe, you loved it, couldn't get enough, even asked the aliens to take a probe home- now they visit you on a regular basis to check your colon. I have an easier time believing that than this "molested" by a priest thing. It's just too many excuses all at once- leave the church molesting accusations to the men and women who aren't sleazy politicians and have actually suffered from the incident. Molested or not, Mr. Foley, you are gay- gay gay gay gay gay.

Which brings me to this point- His "coming out". Now that he was forced to come out of the closet he wants to be championed as a gay hero? This reminds me of a stupid article I read in New York Magazine that featured the horny New Jersey Governor's publicity stunt - talking about his "gayness" to promote some lame ass book. That article was awful. My best friend and I talked about this and were disgusted. He wants to be viewed with sympathy? I tell you who I sympathize with- all those men and women who had the balls to come out when they were young and got the shit kicked out of them by closeted homos like McGreevey. I sympathize with people whose lives are hard because they are being who they ARE not because they are hiding who they are for personal gain (let alone political). I sympathize with McGreevey's freaking WIFE and DAUGHTER whose lives are now a circus because of his selfish aspirations. McGreevey is slicker than a lubed up cock ready for anal- talking about the thrill of tricking everyone- dude shut up, you look like an ass ( actually you know who looks like a bigger ass- that guy he was knocking it with Gloem or whatever his stupid name is. The man called up Oprah and claimed he was a victim- oh shut your pie hole man, you were not a "victim" , please refer to "rapper rape" in previous paragraph except in this case Mr. G, you asked for it in the butt).

The most disgusting thing of ALL - and this is my final thought- is an article I read today in the New York Times. Here is a quote

"With their party under attack because of the scandal, Governor Bush and other Republicans suggested that Democrats were hypocrites for taking them to task. In particular, Democratic leaders have attacked Representative J. Dennis Hastert of Illinois, the House speaker, who is said to have learned about some communications between Mr. Foley and a 16-year-old page months ago.

Mr. Dinerstein said he and other Republicans intended to trumpet the story of Mel Reynolds, the former Democratic congressman from Chicago who was imprisoned for corruption and for having sex with an under-age campaign worker. Former President Bill Clinton pardoned Mr. Reynolds before he left office.

“If the Democrats want to fight on the issue of who's protecting the public and the children and all that,” Mr. Dinerstein said, “God bless them, because two weeks from now Mel Reynolds will be a household name.”

HYPOCRITES!!! HYPOCRITES!!! I just ate when I read this and suddenly tasted my breakfast again. Do I really need to point out the fallacy- all the witch hunts the Republican party has done, the lies they have told,scandals they have covered up (WMD, Hi how are you?). I can't even begin with this or I will burst another blood vessel in my eye (yeah I did that last week from stress).

My solution to all this crap is as follows
1.Take the damn horny teenagers out of capitol hill and hire some hags to do their jobs (All the teens are learning is how to flirt with old men anyway).
2. Take away prescriptions for Viagra from men that are in public office (most men should have this done to them but I am sure I will be singing a different tune when I need the shit).
3. Make each politician involved in this travesty take a good look in the mirror and ask themselves as leaders "is all this finger pointing and Lohan/Hilton fight behavior really doing the country any good".

I think you will find the answer is NO. Leave the bitch fights to the bitches, put your wrinkled dicks away and do your F'n JOBS.