Thursday, May 31, 2007

This woman might be my hero

I love this article about Barbara Holland, author of The Joy of Drinking.

"I was getting sick and tired of being lectured by dear friends with their little bottles of water and their regular visits to the gym," she says. "All of a sudden, we've got this voluntary prohibition that has to do with health and fitness." She pauses. "I'm not really in favor of health and fitness."

But isn't it good to be healthy?

"I suppose so," she says, "but it's largely a crapshoot. The ghost of my sainted mother hovers around, talking about how self-centered it all is. They're always thinking about themselves -- how far I ran, how much I can bench-press, how I ate three servings of broccoli. For heaven's sake, get over yourself."

Come back to the five and dime, Lindsay Lohan, Lindsay Lohan...

The official start date of my new drugs/alcohol position--which I have been doing, along with my current position, for about two weeks now--is tomorrow, and as Terrentiala put it, "Everything after Friday is 'research'".

The difference between me and most people is that instead of ever learning my lesson, I just keep taking the re-test. Last night I once again failed the tests known as "Using Good Judgment", "Having a Decision Making Process", "Don't Be Embarrassing" and "Have Some Kind of Restraint in Spending Money" and "Have Some Kind of Regard for Your Own Personal Well-Being and Safety". I am the Lindsay Lohan of poor, ugly, gay males.

And speaking of Lindsay, my compassion and concern knows no bounds. The NY Post should replace Andrea Peyser with me.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Sound It Out

The 80th annual Scripps National Spelling Bee starts today. Best of luck to all the contestents!

Tuesday, May 29, 2007

"Hire A Driver"

Perhaps you have read about and seen pictures of Lindsay Lohan knocked out after a night of hard living only a day after her DUI and reports of her being in posession of a "useable amount of cocaine". In all seriousness, I think that drug and alcohol problems stem from trouble in dealing with one's problems. Despite the fact that she is a self-made multi-millionaire, beautiful, and I dare say talented young woman, La Lohan clearly has some self-esteem issues, a desperate love for attention (media and otherwise), an inability to cope with the demands of that attention, and a self-destructive streak to boot. Someone on the X17 site commented, "She'll be dead in two years." I hope that's not the case, but she's certainly polishing the crystal ball on that one.

I have to agree with Britney Spears, who, in a diatribe about her recent troubles including rehab, wrote on her website, "I think the whole problem was letting too many people into my life." Indeed. I hope that my Britney and Lindsay can both find some sincere friendships that will help them just, cope, with being rich and beautiful, which is just so hard.

Oh and this is something else. These little bitch-feuds are the real scourge of "young hollywood"!

Saturday, May 26, 2007

All Over Me

You put me in a trance,



And in case you've forgotten the original,

BUG A BOO

I have to stick with my plan to never, ever answer calls from numbers that I do not recognize.

On Thursday night I went down to Christopher Street, as I am known to do, and as I am also known to do I gave my number out all willy nilly whenever I was asked. There was this one man who I might have possibly kissed but at the end of the night it was the kind of thing one might be ashamed of and even wish would be erased from the memory. Now there are plenty of men that I meet that I really want to call me, to possibly develop our little intimate moments into something more but of course these men never do call. However, the ones that I wish would just forget they ever saw my face call constantly, verging on harassment even. So the aforementioned kisser has been calling and has somehow managed to figure out how to mark his voice messages “urgent” which is simultaneously humorous and kind of scary. Honey, there is nothing urgent between us given that I’ve only been in your presence ever for about twenty-five minutes. Damn!

Tonight I’m planning on going out and gonna try to be a little more Hilary Duff* than Lindsay Lohan, if you know what I mean.

*Her CD is entitled “Dignity” whereas her rival’s is entitled “Raw”. Mmm hmm.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

It's a Jungle Out There

The movie Summer of Sam implies that the incessently barking dog in David Berkowitz's backyard helped drive him to the insanity of serial killing. Well the incessently barking dog in my own "backyard" is driving me to just want to kill the damn dog. And possibly its owner. As a country boy who cherishes the 2nd Ammendment, I am beginning to understand why guns are not allowed in NYC. The temptation to use them is JUST TOO GREAT.

My apartment is on the back side of the building, so through the bedroom window we have a view of a little courtyard/parking area and the back side of other apartment buildings. Somewhere in there is that fucking dog, that I have never seen. (There are also cats that sound like screaming human beings when they fight and/or go into heat.) Last night it would seriously not shut up, but I was kind of sleeping through it, dreaming about the barking more than really hearing it, when suddenly I am jolted from sleep by a Spanish-accented yell from God-knows-where, but it felt like it was in the room with me: "SHUT UP YOUR STUPID DOG! STUUUUUPIIIID!" It of course didn't work, made the dog bark louder and caused other dogs to chime in, but whoever she is and whichever apartment she lives in, I love that woman.

Monday, May 21, 2007

"I think we're dying."

Lord, honey, the paranoia really kicked in:

Peer Pressure?

Here are some cute young guys humping a futon, who likely have no idea how insanely HOMOEROTIC this is:

Rowing

by Anne Sexton
from The Awful Rowing Towards God


A story, a story!
(Let it go. Let it come.)
I was stamped out like a Plymouth fender
into this world.
First came the crib
with its glacial bars.
Then dolls
and the devotion to their plastic mouths.
Then there was school,
the little straight rows of chairs,
blotting my name over and over,
but undersea all the time,
a stranger whose elbows wouldn't work.
Then there was life
with its cruel houses
and people who seldom touched -
though touch is all-
but I grew,
like a pig in a trenchcoat I grew,
and then there were many strange apparitions,
the nagging rain, the sun turning into poison
and all of that, saws working through my heart,
but I grew, I grew,
and God was there like an island I had not rowed to,
still ignorant of Him, my arms and my legs worked,
and I grew, I grew,
I wore rubies and bought tomatoes
and now, in my middle age,
about nineteen in the head I'd say,
I am rowing, I am rowing
though the oarlocks stick and are rusty
and the sea blinks and rolls
like a worried eyeball,
but I am rowing, I am rowing,
though the wind pushes me back
and I know that that island will not be perfect,
it will have the flaws of life,
the absurdities of the dinner table,
but there will be a door
and I will open it
and I will get rid of the rat inside of me,
the gnawing pestilential rat.
God will take it was his two hands
and embrace it.

As the African says:
This is my tale which I have told,
if it be sweet, if it be not sweet,
take somewhere else and let some return to me.
This story ends with me still rowing.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

"Up a steep and very narrow stairway, to the voice like a metronome..."

Friday night K-to-the-ROC called with an invite to attend the ballet. Never one to turn down a cultural experience, I marched my ass down to her office in the Hearst building intent on seeing La Bayadere in a hoodie and sneakers. While at her office, I not only got mad schwag from candles to skin products, but I also was photographed sitting in the chair of a certain multi-billion dollar mogul who shall remain nameless – a photo which I sadly cannot post here.

La Bayadere was fabulous. Though the story is set in ancient India, with the exception of two asian girls the entire cast was lilly white, but I do suppose it’s hard to find brown people trained in ballet. Nonetheless, the story is filled with snakes hidden in baskets, violent struggles, opium smoking, idol worship, secret affairs, a vengeful ghost, and mass murder by the angered Gods. Basically everything I look for in theatre.

Today I had a dim sum feast followed by a pedicure. There was so much more I had to report, but it is all a distant memory at the moment.

Friday, May 18, 2007

Hey You

Madonna has written a new song for Live Earth, available for free download from MSN. MSN will donate 25 cents to the Alliance for Climate Protection for each of the first 1 million downloads.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Moulin Rouge is Lame

Today the We channel (Women's Entertainment) has been showing Moulin Rouge on a loop. This movie reminds me of Ricky because he really, really loved that movie and I could never figure that out for the life of me because it is pretty stupid. Moulin Rouge is like Napolean Dynamite in that people clutch the pearls and become angry with you when you tell them you could take it or leave it, but you'd rather leave it. I mean the Rouge is pretty to look at in parts, I guess, and the choreography is nice, I guess, but I find it unwatchable. I told him that I didn't really like it, and he says to me, in his typical flip-of-the-hand fashion, that you have to be "artistic" to appriciate it. Okay, what the fuck does that even mean? And this movie is so "artistic" that they couldn't even come up with an original score? Give me a break. Two thumbs down.

Speaking of brothels of sorts, regarding my previous post on the Cocodorm, I was contacted by the company -- Flavaworks -- and made a "complimentary screener" complete with free videos as they come out, free subscriptions to the magazines, and free access to the websites. Bascially more porn than you can shake a stick at. I of course accepted this, despite my interst in the scandals, controversies, and accusations of intimidation more than the actual porn.

In other news, Melinda Doolittle was kicked off American Idol, so, the show is dead to me. First the American Idol voters rip my heart out with offing Sanjaya, and now this.

Tomorrow: Operation Stroll Tries to Destroy Himself, My Part-Time From-Home Gig That is Vastly More Tedious and Time Consuming than I Had Anticipated, Delusional Parasitosis and Bed Bug Update, and The Bartender I Am In Love With.

Monday, May 14, 2007

The House Next Door

This post about Cocodorm, the porn site whos constant scandals and goings-on are endlessly fascinating to me, makes the point that the alleged rate of HIV infection among the Cocoboys -- a staggering 46% -- is just about the same as the rate of HIV infection among all black gay men, and that therefore, it is not really any more dangerous to be in the Cocodorm doing your thing than it is to just be living your daily life. In other words, as a commenter there puts it, "These men put themselves at the same risk as anyone else having sex."

All that's neither here nor there, but the news story on the house, and the "expose" styling of it, is clearly sensationalism and demonization, complete with filming them through the windows and showing up at the front door "Shame on You" style. And it's amazing how the the WTVJ six o'clock news "discovered" that this is going on in such a lovely South Florida Neighborhood, what with the whole point of the thing being to broadcast it live on the internet for all the world to see.

A commenter on the WTVJ site writes, "It's amazing that such a horrible offensive thing was going on in this neighborhood. So visible and obvious that no one living in that neighborhood knew it was happening. How can this sort of thing happen in such a clean cut town as Miami, Florida. Next thing you know, there'll be bars, strip-joints, and politicians turning tricks for campaign contributions." Indeed.


By the way, the shocked-looking "guy from the front door" goes by the name "Breion", and is a personal favorite. :)

Not only are they hideous, they disfigure children!


Image from the Palisades Mall

"CROCS", or "rubber clogs" as I prefer to call them, are pretty ridiculous, but only today did I learn that they are in fact evil as well. Did you know there is a blog devoted to tracking how they conspire with escalators to rip the toes off of small children? I didn't either.

Friday, May 11, 2007

Astoria Boulevard N/W Subway Station



Still waiting on S.D. -- to quote the aforementioned Sandy Bernhard, "I'm waiting, as often I am" -- so I'm posting this because I love it for some reason.

People In Trouble

Yeah hi, The Butch Stroll Gone Wild Season Two is about to start up in this piece, and I am fresh from the shower for it. Stand back. S.D. is at the gym and while all other complicit parties have bailed, we're still gonna take it to the streets. I've already consumed mass quantities of Bicardi and Diet Cola (just like the commercial tells me to!) and had a little deep inhale in my right nostril, but that's neither here nor there.

At The Butch Stroll Season One, aka My Party Last Weekend, I had on Truth or Dare as the visual. So tonight it is still in the DVD player, and I've been watching it. I had forgotten how much I loved it when I was a young, gay high school student, and how the Madonna of Blond Ambition is but a shadow of the past these days. Don't get me wrong, I love her as much as I ever did, but Blond Ambition was perhaps her defining moment, and the first time that I looked up on the big screen and saw real life unashamed gay people who were fabulous and making mad coins. I know she is not the great liberator and sexual equilizer that she has been said to be, but I love the woman. What can I say. I feel a deep sense of loyalty to her, as I've said before, and while I can't get behind the Kaballa nonsense, I love her. She's done far more, in my opinion, for The Gays, than has Elton John and Boy George, for example, who continuously read her to filth.

Anyway, there's a part of Truth or Dare where ole Madge says to Sandra Berhnard: "I'm desperate." To which Sandy replies: "For what honey?" And Madge replies, "For some fun." As much "fun" as I have, and as much time as I spend on The Butch Stroll, I know how she feels.

The fact that I have my new, and as yet still top-secret promotion to the Drug Use and Related Ass Kicking Prevention department, I am officially a hypocrite on 05/11/2007. Because I'm planning on mad toot and ass kicking tonight. Don't judge me.

Also I have a new part time gig that, thankfully, will be work-from-home. News as it develops, but I'm going to have a) more money than I know what to do with and b) no time on my hands, so what follows the = in the formula in my life is EXTREME FRUSTRATION. I'm getting it all out tonight. Holla.

You know, people think that being gay is about being debauchrous, having no one to answer to, hunting drugs and sex and despite the desire forgoing relationships and anything meaningful. Being vapid. Doing what you want when you want. Having a good time despite the fact that you are consumed with "deep thoughts." Being out there and not missing a thing, throwing caution to the wind and taking it as it comes.

To quote Madonna herself: "And you know what? They're absolutely right."

Cancer as an STD

Here’s something new to worry about: oral sex increases one’s risk for throat cancer.

This is related to the widely common human papillomavirus (HPV), the virus that causes a variety of things, from warts to cervical and anal cancers. HPV and its relation to the development of a variety of cancers has been the subject of a lot of study in recent years. It is not yet known whether the “controversial” vaccine known as Gardasil, which prevents HPV infection in women, will prevent oral transmission of HPV.

Thankfully, “’[…]the overwhelming majority of people with an oral HPV infection probably will not get throat cancer', said study author Maura Gillison,” but still! Also thankfully, the study says that while smoking increases one’s risk of throat cancer it does not increase the risk even more when combined with dick sucking.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Fat Ballerina

My little get together was an unprecedented success. I think everyone had a good time. You know it is not a party until someone gets sloppy and I was not let down. Only one person from work made an appearance which was probably for the best, as the lone co-worker seemed a little freaked out by the … cast of characters. Nonetheless it was a lot of fun and I have so much shit left in my fridge that I could, in theory, do it again this Saturday.

George is a long story that I won’t get into but I did not hear back from him so he is dead to me. That is until I hear from him again, at which point I am liable to say something stupid like “I love you”. Desperate times, measures, all that.

During the party, K-rock began pitching herself as the Fat Ballerina. It has been a while since I have laughed so hard. K-rock, who is not as fat as she thinks she is but is not a waif either, gave her presentation complete with dance moves and monologue. Fat Ballerina would be, well, a fat ballerina, among her colleagues who are of course all 13 years old and rail thin. Dripping with sweat, gigantic breasts bursting from the leotard, a big fat roll in the middle, broken toes from going on point…fascinating and compelling! I volunteered to produce and direct the documentary. Maybe you had to be there but it was hi-larious. I thought Aarondrala, who looked on in horror, might have been traumatized (as he has never met K-rock) but the next day he replied to my text message stating that he is a huge fan of Fat Ballerina and is looking forward to her next performance.

Some of us moved on to ye olde Albatross where J-Boogie got down like I havn’t seen her get down in a while. A frantic phone call later describing herself as “on a corner somewhere” terrified me, so I called her husband who went out on the street and promptly found her lost only a block away from her home.

What follows is too much information.

Right before my party began, I noticed that my toilet suddenly decided that you have to hold the handle for it to flush. As the night wore on and came to an end the toilet became increasingly resistant to flushing at all, and now just a little trickle of water runs around the rim in a desperate attempt to flush. Knowing how I am prone to blow it up in there, I didn’t want to risk not being able to get the, well, you know, down, so I borrowed access to S.D.’s commode next door. As luck would have it, his commode clogged on me anyway (luckily all the shit got down in phase one of flushing, so only a little paper remained) so I spent he better part of an hour in the clothes that I had worn the day before, in someone else’s bathroom, plunging their toilet with increasing force, trying to dodge splashing toilet bowl water, really hungry and with a bit of a hangover. This, somehow, is a metaphor for my life.

The super is coming to tomorrow so hopefully I will be able to once again have a pot to piss in, literally.

On a final note, I got a promotion effective June 1. This news comes just as my present position is about to make me cry, and make myself bleed to death via paper cuts and repeatedly banging my head against a stacks of urgency.

Saturday, May 05, 2007

If I had him I wouldn't let him out

My little party officially starts in, like, 55 minutes. Kevondrala and Jo Jo are on the way, as is J-Boogie, to help set up, etc. I think I have mostly everything done, I cleaned the hell out of this place, although I am concerned there might not be enough seating--but there is always the floor, WHAT? I do have to heat my crabcakes. I'm nervous so I of course turn to the blog. I just hope everyone is fun and talkative and drinky. I, in fact, have a little beer buzz going already. Yeah hi.

My little tradepiece with whom I'm infatuated might come, though he didn't call a bitch back for direction re-confirmation so who knows. Anyway this whole thing is going to be such a wierd mix of people from work, the stroll, the inner circle, the hood...I just think it will be so clumsy and fabulous!

My toilet has decided that today, on the day I'm going to have like 15 to 20 people in this piece, that you have to hold the handle to flush. I hope this is not indicitive of a larger problem.

Holla.

Friday, May 04, 2007

Someone sent me this at work.



Genius.

Thursday, May 03, 2007

The flattery never ends

on MySpace.



If I had a nickel...

This is what I'm feeling right now, but with no one to feel it for.

"It is the courage to make a clean breast of it in the face of every question that makes the philosopher. He must be like Sophocles's Oedipus, who, seeking enligtenment concerning his terrible fate, pursues his indefatigable inquiry, even when he divines that appalling horror awaits him in the answer. But most of us carry with us the Jocasta in our hearts, who begs Oedipus, for God's sake, not to enquire further." --Schopenhauer in a letter to Goethe


For John, Who Begs Me Not To Inquire Further
by Anne Sexton


Not that it was beautiful,
but that, in the end, there was
a certain sense of order there;
something worth learning
in that narrow diary of my mind,
in the commonplaces of the asylum
where the cracked mirror
or my own selfish death
outstared me.
And if I tried
to give you something else,
something outside of myself,
you would not know
that the worst of anyone
can be, finally,
an accident of hope.
I tapped my own head;
it was glass, an inverted bowl.
it is a small thing
to rage in your own bowl.
At first it was private.
Then it was more than myself;
it was you, or your house
or your kitchen.
And if you turn away
because there is no lesson here
I will hold my awkward bowl,
with all its cracked stars shining
like a complicated lie,
and fasten a new skin around it
as if I were dressing an orange
or a strange sun.
Not that it was beautiful,
but that I found some order there.
There ought to be something special
for someone
in this kind of hope.
This is something I would never find
in a lovelier place, my dear,
although your fear is anyone’s fear,
like an invisible veil between us all…
and sometimes in private,
my kitchen, your kitchen,
my face, your face.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Are all the girls coming out for a public affair?

I’ve been walking around the house for the past few days finishing off a bottle of “Chateau des Plassons” strait from the bottle, and falling out in a haze of confusion and euphoria. You know how we roll. Seriously, can somebody get me on the waiting list for Promises?

I just sent my little Evite for my first ever party at Chez Stroll. I hope it’s not a bust. Beer and Crudités, I can’t go wrong, right? The whole scenario will be “mixed company” so to speak which will make things maybe weird but at least…interesting.

There was so much I wanted to give you my dear little blog, regarding my trip to the ‘Cut, but I just don’t have it in me to do so anymore as our relationship is increasingly strained. I have been displaced from my cubicle at work like some kind of refugee, after being away slaving at the meeting last week, and for two days now haven’t been able to get on my own computer or really do what needs to be done. Finally I’m back in action but I’m so behind and so overwhelmed by it I would have cried today, if I cried at all.

Anyway. In the cut this woman, let’s call her Mary, who is about ten years my senior and nice enough, totally had me dying. She used to be a stand up comedian, which is kind of hard to see, but I know she can be fun because we’ve been at happy hour (the femme stroll kind) a time or two. Well out of nowhere she catches me smoking (I sneak around my co-workers as if no one can smell the reek that emanates from my clothing), bums a cigarette, and proceeds to ask me which of the people at this meeting of old fogies I would sleep with! I was like, “I know this game! I play it on the subway!” So we went tit for tat on this for a minute, me saying things along the lines of how low my standards are BUT STILL EW, and she making suggestions that made me double over in laughter. As these are all church folk, being as it is a churchy meeting, there were jokes about Missionary Style and inviting bishop so-and-so up to your room for a little “laying on of hands”. Maybe you had to be there but it made the whole trip so worth it. She’s totally invited to my party now.

In other news, I am a hot mess, and I am continuously reminded by myself of the old adage, “Check yourself before you wreck yourself.” Among others, on Monday night I met this man George, the details of which are not suitable for this here family-blog, but I could be in love with him, Medusa tattoo and all. (Yes, he had a tattoo of Medusa, about which I asked, “What shoe know about Medusa?!”) Just pretty much perfect as far as my sense of perfection goes. This of course means I will never hear from him again. This raises a few questions. First, what am I doing out on a Monday night? And two, why do I find myself on Christopher street so much, which is these days the heart of an immense darkness and a place where, as my mother would say, “Nothing good will happen after midnight.” Hey, at least I started around five.

More later.

Gratuitious Sanjaya

Ten Things We'll Miss About Sanjaya:

An Excuse to Post This Picture



The Better Late Than Never Party
A Little Get Together at Chez Chadrene
Astoria, Queens
Yes, QUEENS!

Saturday, May 5, 2007
8:00 PM – 11:00 PM
with a departure afterwards for a night on the town

Celebrating Spring, Easter, the Sign of Aries, Chad’s Birth, Cinco De Mayo, and Anything Else that Comes to Mind

Bring your friends and a spirit of rowdiness.

please RSVP poseface@yahoo.com