Google Bombs!

A Google bomb is an effort to skew Google's patented and superior search results to call attention to a web site. Google's search system scans the web for how often a search term appears, increasing its relevance and position on the list of found sites.

Since the mainstream media -- especially the pop media like the networks news, CNN and Fox news -- have abdicated their responsibilities as stewards of the public trust, as journalist seeking truth, and as reporters of fact, some progressive activists have decided to raise the "profiles" of certain Republican candidates for higher office.

To do this, they need blogs and web sites to link these candidates with heavily researched articles that paint them for the slime that they are. This post is my contribution to the Google bomb. Check out some of these stories and look at who the GOP is putting up for Congress this year.

-AZ-Sen: Jon Kyl

--AZ-01: Rick Renzi

--AZ-05: J.D. Hayworth

--CA-04: John Doolittle

--CA-11: Richard Pombo

--CA-50: Brian Bilbray

--CO-04: Marilyn Musgrave

--CO-05: Doug Lamborn

--CO-07: Rick O'Donnell

--CT-04: Christopher Shays

--FL-13: Vernon Buchanan

--FL-16: Joe Negron

--FL-22: Clay Shaw

--ID-01: Bill Sali

--IL-06: Peter Roskam

--IL-10: Mark Kirk

--IL-14: Dennis Hastert

--IN-02: Chris Chocola

--IN-08: John Hostettler

--IA-01: Mike Whalen

--KS-02: Jim Ryun

--KY-03: Anne Northup

--KY-04: Geoff Davis

--MD-Sen: Michael Steele

--MN-01: Gil Gutknecht

--MN-06: Michele Bachmann

--MO-Sen: Jim Talent

--MT-Sen: Conrad Burns

--NV-03: Jon Porter

--NH-02: Charlie Bass

--NJ-07: Mike Ferguson

--NM-01: Heather Wilson

--NY-03: Peter King

--NY-20: John Sweeney

--NY-26: Tom Reynolds

--NY-29: Randy Kuhl

--NC-08: Robin Hayes

--NC-11: Charles Taylor

--OH-01: Steve Chabot

--OH-02: Jean Schmidt

--OH-15: Deborah Pryce

--OH-18: Joy Padgett

--PA-04: Melissa Hart

--PA-07: Curt Weldon

--PA-08: Mike Fitzpatrick

--PA-10: Don Sherwood

--RI-Sen: Lincoln Chafee

--TN-Sen: Bob Corker

--VA-Sen: George Allen

--VA-10: Frank Wolf

--WA-Sen: Mike McGavick

--WA-08: Dave Reichert

Into the Belly of the Beast

Tomorrow is my 10 year high school reunion. After much deliberating, I – along with my best friend and others from our “group” – decided to attend. I’ll be taking my boyfriend.

Wow.

I wasn’t out in high school. Now, I’m very, very out. I’m really happy about it. I don’t know how it will go over. For 10 years, I’ve spent my energy surrounding myself with like-minded folks for whom gayity isn’t an issue – under any circumstances. Tomorrow night, I’ll be partying in a room of a couple hundred of people, many of whom may really, truly hate gay people. I’ll be partying with my wonderful boyfriend on my arm. With these people.

It’s easy, living on the Westside of Los Angeles and working in social services, to forget that not everyone like gay people. I need to remember that there are some people, probably too many people, who truly hate us without provocation.

Sitting at home tonight, Friday, I’m waiting to pick my best friend of from the airport and it’s late. With little to do, I’m watching Real Time with Bill Maher. One of tonight’s guests is Barney Frank, the openly gay Democratic congressman from Massachusetts. Congressman Frank just reminded me how much we really are hated.

Taking the conversation to the subject of gay Republicans and the recent outing of GOP Senator Larry Craig (eww!), Barney Fag – he was once called that by the majority leader of the United States House of Representatives, a man named (get this) Dick Armey! – pointed out the foulness of the modern Republican Party. The modern GOP truly believes that my lifestyle should be illegal, that my relationship is a crime.

Hyperbole, you say? Not so fast. Remember, just a few years ago the Supreme Court was faced with this very question in the Lawrence vs. Texas decision. The state of Texas wanted to jail a gay couple for having an intimate relationship in the privacy of their own home. In Texas, their relationship was outlawed. They were criminals because of whom they loved. This was just a few years ago.

President Bush said he supported the Texas law and wanted it upheld. He was joined by most Republican leaders including prominent conservative voices like Justices Antonin Scalia and Clarence Thomas. They really believed that homosexuality was a crime. Their disappointment was palpable when a five-person majority on the court came down on the side of reason.

They hate us.

I hope not too much. I don’t want to get beat up at my high school reunion. That would be sad.

UPDATE: First of all, this is a clip of Barney Frank on Real Time with Bill Maher:


Second, the reunion was a blast and 100% positive. I'll write more about it later today if I time.

Is my bag of M&Ms trying to tell me something?

As seen on my desk this afternoon...

Good Morning, Captain Douchebag

So, John McCain supports gay marriage? Oh, no. He goes on to say that, ""I think private ceremonies are fine. I do not think gay marriage should be legal."

Well, I think John McCain could be innaugrated President. I mean, like a little ceremony and all. Certainly, it shouldn't be legal because this man is a moralless pussy.

What's worse, an arch-conservative, bigot looking out only for the wealthiest in the country, or the spineless "moderate", former POW who is called a traitor and who's multi-racial family is mocked but who then goes on to campaign for the re-election of the bigot who attacked him? John McCain -- wow -- he sure likes to... um... FLIP FLOP!

As Andy Towle, of Towleroad, says: "And blacks can sit in the front of the bus, just as long as it's the back and they're pretending it's the front."

What to do?

I have a problem which I have decided to solve by doing nothing. I don't think it will work.

We live in a duplex -- my roommates and I share the 3-bedroom upper unit and our neighbors share a 2-bedroom lower unit. There are 2 parking spaces in the building's carport and and a space in front that is small, but can hold a parked Honda Civic, like mine.

The downstairs neighbors moved in because my old roommate knew them and told them about the place, so we know them a little, although I know them the least of everyone. Since they moved in in January, we shared the 2 carport spaces -- one each -- and our unit dominated the front space saying we had always had it. Occassionally though, the short fat one parks his truck -- which only fits by blocking in his roommate -- in "my" space.

The facts: No lease, neither ours nor theirs, discusses the parking assignments. We have a 3-bedroom vs. their 2-bedroom. We pay more rent because of this. 98% of the time, the space is mine. He only parks their when the parking on the street is bad.

I'm afraid, though, that this trend is becoming more common. What should I do?

Should I say something to him? Should I demand he stop parking in my space? Should I create a schedule which we use to share the space? Should I slash his tires and his on his upholstery?

Help!

Good-Bye Ron: An Argument for Same-Sex Marriage

There are few issues that I am more passionate about than marriage equlaity. I support full marriage rights for same-sex couples. I oppose any half-assed compromises that cheapen human relationships and the concept of full equality under the law. Only uncompromising civil marriage rights will protect all American families. I've written about this in the past. Today, I have first-hand evidence.

From March 2004 to November 2005 I lived in a 3rd floor apartment of a 100 year-old Victorian house in Los Angeles. The "apartment" was actually the old servants quarters that had been converted several times over the years. The owners of the house were a quirky gay couple, Bruce and Ron.

Bruce and Ron had been together for probably more than 30 years. I don't know for sure. Bruce was an artist and all-around handyman. He could do amazing work around the house. Ron was a retired postal worker with a long career in government service. They had owned the historic home since the 1970s. When they bought it, it was in disrepair having once been used as a boarding house. They spent much of the 70s and 80s restoring the house to its original condition only to be devastated by the Northridge earthquake in 1994. The house slipped off the foundation and much of the insides were destroyed.

Ron and Bruce were a couple of moderate means. Being that Bruce didn't work a "day job" and was so handy around the house, he would fix the house himself. This is no small feat and to this day he's not close to being done. Ron played the role of supportive, patient husband.

Ron is one of the most gentle souls I've ever met. Truly a sweetheart and everything I'm not. Unfortunately, some time back he was diagnosed with a likely-fatal condition that I believe is similar to leukemia. When I was still at the house he was in and out of the hospital at City of Hope. Thank god for that government pension and health care.

I heard this week that Ronnie has passed away. Clearly he was suffering and I have faith and hope that he's finally at peace. I am heartbroken by Bruce's loss.

The pain that Bruce is going through will likely be made worse by the reality that his life of more than 3 decades ceased to exist when Ronnie passed. As a committed same-sex couple, in the eyes of the government, Bruce is no one. After sharing his life with Ron, after nursing him through illness for almost 2 years, after sharing every pain and joy with Ron, Bruce has no legal connection to Ron. And so, unlike the countless spouses of government employees before him who stood to collect that pension -- or a portion thereof -- Bruce has nothing. Ron worked as hard as any of his peers but will receive less compensation because he was gay.

I imagine that in the coming months Bruce will face a tough reality. How will he support himself as he approaches retirement age? Where will the twilight of his own life take him? Will he have to sell his beautiful home that he built with his partner, lover, and husband?

Thirty years and nothing to show for it.

When I lived in the house, Bruce decided to remodel our apartment. It took him forever, but the work he was doing was amazing. When he gutted the kitchen, he stripped off some panelling put up in the early 80s. Bruce had done that work himself as well. At some point during the work he had taken a pencil and scribbled on the wall. "Bruce. Lover of Ron." This was uncovered more than 20 years later but was as true as the day it was written.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

There's someone in Washington (either DC or state) thanking his lucky stars he lost an election back in 1994. Who? This guy:



Thank the lord, for George Nethercutt. In 1994, Congressman Foley -- Tom Foley -- and Democratic Speaker of the House lost his re-election fight. If he hadn't, there could quite possibly be 2 "Congressman Foleys" in Washington DC, and well, there might be some confusion when you read these headlines about "Congressman Foley":

US congressman Foley: A modern day online Jekyll and Hyde?

Disgraced Congressman Foley was a Moderate "Pro-Choice" and "Pro-Gay Rights" Republican

Local Party Representatives React To Congressman Foley's Resignation

Disgraced Ex-Congressman Foley Caught Logging Online Tuesday While Supposedly in Alcohol Rehab

...and there's plenty more.

So, the lesson: Be careful with your name. So says, Ambassador Tom Foley. (The former congressman who was run out of town by the voters and not a bunch of pissed off male pages...) You wouldn't want to get caught up in that one!

Benefits of iPod Hell

It's 2006. I finally got an iPod. Go figure!

I've been using, and loving, iTunes for some time now. I like the format. I like the user interface. And, I actually like paying for things that I am using. Freak.

So, for my birthday, my folks got me an iPod. I thought it would be the most wonderful thing ever. No more burning CDs. I can just listen to all the fabulous songs that I've found.

The iPod-life isn't as grand as I imagined. I'm disappointed that you can't use it to "sync" multiple iTunes -- for example, making my work iTunes and my home iTunes the same. Don't even get me started on the crappy iTuner thingee that is supposed to tune my iPod into my car radio. LA has way too much radio clutter.

The benefit of these downsides? Today, I said, "Fuck it, I'm gonna listen to my new Scissor Sisters tracks if it kills me." So I've been sitting at my desk working, wearing earphones and rocking out to "Ta Dah".

And because I'm wearing earphones, no one wants to disturb me in my office. It's fabulous... a little forcefield to repel the idiocy that is my workplace.

I love my iPod.

Abercrombie & Fitch Scares Me...

Last night I headed to the Grove, near my old hood, with the gentleman friend (he's back... more on that later) and another to catch a flick. The film was decent and the movie-going experience was mostly uneventful. However, prior to the movie, I had the sh*t scared out of me.

Casual friend in the company needs a new hat. He lost his last one. Trying to figure out where to go in his search, we suggested that staple, Abercrombie & Fitch. The Grove has had an A&F store for some time. Well, apparently they changed it. Casual friend was afraid of the store. "Hogwash," I said. He dared me to enter it. He'd be waiting outside.

Now, let me put up a disclaimer. I'm not a huge Abercrombie fan. I really only like their baseball caps, a trend that started in college when my residents bought me one for a birthday gift. Since then, I've own probably 2 or 3 things from the store. I used to like one of their scents. I had a sweater from there I loved. But I'm not a huge A&F billboard. Mostly because I think the store's attitude sucks.

My first trip to Abercrombie was about 1998. I was in college and the brand was slowly becoming really popular. I was an RA and one of my residents worked at the South Bay Galleria store, so I checked it out. It was weird. The sales staff didn't do a lot of selling. They basically ignored you. Over the next 8 years, I'd learn this was by design.

They always hired pretty people and told them to ignore the customer. That get's old really fast. My dollars found their way in to friendlier stores.

I've always like the look of the Abercrombie & Fitch stores though. Clean. White. Easy to find stuff, which is important because the staff ain't gonna be much help.

The new store at the Grove, one of 2 flagship stores (the other is on NYC's 5th Avenue), really was scary.

All the white is gone. The posters of have naked men greeting you at the windows gone. Simplicity, gone. The windows have been covered by massive shutters blocking any view of the inside. All the wood is dark, and it's everywhere. The lighting is dim and the music is loud.

Oh, and the clothes, they are under glass! All the jeans are stacked high to the ceiling behind a counter with display numbers under glass. Each counter is staffed with a salesperson. Presumably, you look at the jeans you like under glass and the salesperson will retreive your size for you. Like buying jewelry. And since each pair of jeans will likely require a second mortgage on your house, the jewelry buying experience may be quite appropriate.

The store is huge. To give you an idea, I found this photo of the center staircase. It's big. The store is 3 floors and spreads out much farther than before. It's got a crapload of beautiful employees. All judging you. And now, you have no choice but to talk to them. Abercrombie & Fitch scares me.



Fortunately, I just turned 28, and really, I shouldn't be shopping there anymore any way. Lest I become one of "those" guys.

Drinking Patterns of Animals

You are at a bar. You are thirsty. You want a nice buzz, and wouldn't mind preventing urinary tract infections as well. What do you order?

Something tangy. Red. Made with vodka for a smoother hangover. Maybe a lime wedge. You can picture the drink. What do you order?

Do you order a "cranberry (juice) and vodka" or a "Cape Cod"?

This one, simple question is as accurate a way to determine one's sexuality as attaching electrodes to your genitals and watching a variety of porn.

Last night was my birthday. I like big birthdays, but being the control freak that I am, I also insist on coordinating it myself. I just don't trust my flakey friends. It was a "mixed" crowd, except the gay contingent was actually quite small in comparison. The vast majority of the party goers were straight. So to mix it up we end the evening with cocktails at a gay bar.

Boy are drinking patterns among gays and straights different!

1) Gays call their drinks cocktails. None of my straight friends did. They call them drinks. Bah!
2) Gays drink light beers out of bottles. Straights drink bold beers out of glasses.
3) Straights drink Jagermeister. I didn't even know this bar served Jager until last night.
4) Gays use the fruit that comes in their cocktails. Straights ignore the fruit in their drinks.
5) Gays mix with clear mixers (tonic, soda) or light mixers (cranberry juice). Straights like dark mixers like Coke.

Oh, and I definately would order a Cape Cod. Except I gave them up a few years back when I switched to a crisp vodka tonic.

Brian's No Good Very Bad Day

I am in a bad mood this morning like you've never seen. That bitch Hurricane Katrina has nothing on me today. So, word to the world, "Don't fuck with me or I'll mess you up, bitch!"

Being that, so far, you've been cool, let's dish on some other douchebag: a Mister Tony Tripoli. This fag is appearing as some fag in the mother of all fag shows, no doubt brilliantly written by the hilarious, handsome, and (I need another H-word) horny Rick Andreoli -- who I am sure already knows his last name bares a remarkable similarity to "areola". Mister Self-Important Nobody, not Rick but Tony, has an interview in the icon of journalistic integrity, the Paper of Record of sorts, if that record is what you use to beat off too and then simultaneously use to clean up the resulting mess. Miss Trip is interviewed in Frontiers Newsmagazine. (As if the "news" part was an afterthought.)

Clearly the Divine Miss Slut was interviewed because of the press machine behind Fashion House -- which I am sure is the greatest show on television. (Unfortunately, the cable people won't let channel 13, or rather, My13, come on in High Def and I just can't tolerate the pixelated "old stuff" on the roommies rediculous television.) But for some reason this bitch spends the majority of the interview, or what the writer chose to write, talking about Kathy Griffin.

Apparently, he was one of KG's "best gays" and was even featured on her reality show, which, honestly, I've never seen. After a decade of being in her shadow, I mean, of being her friend, KG and TT split -- along with his roommate and friend Dennis Hensley. TT and DH haven't spoken to KG in over a year. It's all her fault. How do I know? TonyT tells me. Even though, he doesn't want to...

You see, all Big Fat Tony wants is "to live in a world that has a little more kindness." He actually said that! The bitter fag actually said he wants to live in a world with a little more kindness. Do you know what else he said?

Kathy is the sun in her world and everyone else is planets revolving around her.

One friendship that has endured is the one between Tripoli and Hensley. Their chemistry was apparent the first time they met at a party, among a group of people watching a Vanessa Williams biography on the television. Both were annoyed by her speaking voice, which they decided was just a bit too self-important... “I made a rude remark, he agreed, and we just knew in that moment we were best friends who hadn’t met yet,” Tripoli says.

But before they began working, Tripoli was a little concerned about working with the actress, who is a staunch Republican.

Once the show airs, I’m hoping I can walk in here with a little bit more of an attitude. I can’t wait to have an entourage. That’s my plan for 2007, to be totally insufferable.

Mother-fucking-Teresa! Call Pope Benny, make this bitch a saint, today!

Assaulting a "former" friend and her ego. Political bigotry. Self-importantly ridiculing the self-important. And he wraps it up with a little auto-fellatio. Baiscally, he's the UN and Miss America all rolled up in one. He's flowers, and dew drops and puppies! I bet he cums Wendy's Frosties and keep fresh fries bedside for you when you're done. He's all kindness.

Of course, I'm not. But then again I've never longed "to live in a world that has a little more kindness." I like my world edgy and hostile. It makes me look like a fucking prince.

It's funny because at the end, he says that he aspries to be the Gay Oprah. Hey, bitch, we already got one and her name is Kathy Griffin.

That Bitch, Amber!

How did this little girl ruin last night's episode of weeds? Let's find out...



Meet Amber. Amber is a hateful little bitch who has a personal vendetta against quality television. That's the only explanation as to why her "alert" would interupt the greatest show on television, Weeds.

I was sitting in the living room with the roomies last night, including the new one for the first time, after a lovely family dinner. We turned on the television -- which is quite massive, as Ron brought back the big one! -- and prepared for a lovely evening of Weeds.

As the new roomie hasn't watched the show before, we had her sit through previous episodes while Ron cooked. We were all caught up and ready to watch...

About 5 minutes into the show, the screen goes black. It was about 10:05. We've been having some issues with the cable box and we all immediately panicked. We thought the night was ruined. Then we heard the ominous tone and a scrolling message came across the screen. It was an Amber Alert, an Amber Alert that would last for about 3 minutes and interupt part of our show.

A young girl was abducted in Palmdale at about 1:15 in the afternoon. Clearly, the public interest is served by having a bunch of twenty-somethings sitting in their living room in Playa del Rey on the lookout for the kidnapper. Almost nine hours after the abduction!

Dear CHP,

I really support any effort to return abducted children... so long as these efforts don't interfere with episodes of Weeds. Last night's Amber Alert was completely inappropriate.

First, if I were to abduct a child in Palmdale, I can promise you that you wouldn't find me in Los Angeles 9 hours later. In 9 hours I could practically be in Utah! Second, that last place I would go is into the quiet beach community of Playa del Rey. Perhaps the Amber Alert System could be localized to skip over our cable system. Finally, do you really thing people sitting at home watching Weeds are gonna jump right into action and find the missing girl? Unless the abducter is also a pizza delivery person, it's a safe bet that you could skip over television programming like Weeds as well.

I appreciate your immediate attention to this matter!

Sincerely,

Bri

Seriously, stop reading my blog!

Dearest readers! I love having you coming to my blog. I love the comments and the emails about what I wrote. I even love the nagging from Chris to post more often so he has something to do at work. But what I love more than anything is going to the statecounter and guessing where people are coming from.

This is a cool little tool. Like for example, since I set it up a couple of months ago, I've had just over 650 unique visitors and over 400 returning visitors. Monday I had the most page loads, but only 5 unique visitors. That was funny. Oh, and I can tell who's providing the Internet service. I have friends at CBS, Paramount, MTA, UCLA, USC... all who I know. There's one other company where I know one of my readers...

Except she hates me. Why the f*ck do you keep reading my blog? You sent me a hatefilled email that said horrible, hurtful things -- and yet you still come back to the blog a few times a week to see what going on in my life?

If you really are curious, call me. We can talk. I'm not upset about why we don't speak anymore. It was, from my perspective, a decision made entirely on your part.

If you want my witty reporting on my life, you know my phone number -- you can get it straight from the horse's mouth.

If you don't want to be my friend, and truly meant all those vicious things you said in that email, will you please stop reading my blog!?

How do you know? UPDATED

I've always wondered about this but haven't gotten the balls to ask my folks yet: Do parents know when their kids are gay? And if so, how could they tell?



Newsflash to Mr. & Mrs. Allen: Young Mister Zachary is as gay as the day is long! Love him. Cherish him. Buy him something sparkely!

I wonder if my mom and dad knew, and if so, when? Did they hide it? Fear it? Ignore it?

I know my sister-in-law had some idea. I think Ted and her were the first to ask. I lied of course. Really, though, do you know who the first to ask was? Eric Goldberg. I am pretty sure we were in 9th grade. We used to talk on the phone a lot. After that day, not so much. I was a little scared. Time to move on.

Eric and Jerilyn would be to straights with a lot of insight. Eric lived with Chris for years and he's as gay, as well, Zachary Allen in the above film. (Just kidding, Chris!) And Jerilyn has dated more gay men then I have!

I imagine that it would have been easier if those in the know had just told me. Said, "Hey, it's cool. Be gay. Here's something sparkely." I guess I had to bring them around.

UPDATE: Oh, and this guy... GAY GAY GAY

Happy Birthday Lewis Black!

This man is pure genius AND a year older today!

They call me "Little Miss Sunshine"

If you read this blog regularly, you know they don't call me "Little Miss Sunshine." This blog is full of all my ugliness, but mostly so that the real me maintains a facade of contentment.

I really am a happy guy. You should see me at 6:30 AM on Saturdays at the start of a new scuba class. You can't hide your real feelings at 6:30 AM on Saturdays, therefore, I must really, actually, be a happy fellow. And I have a lot to be happy about.

I live in a really great house near the beach. I have the coolest hobby in the world. My friends kick total ass. Even in his absence, the gentleman friend is a real rock star. (Although he is keeping me on my emmotional toes.) Oh, and my family would totally kick yours to the curb. My neices and nephews are just about the 6 greatest kids in the world -- amazing sicne they are half my brothers'.

A few months ago I wrote about expectations -- family expectations. That post was probably one of the most real I've ever written. But it all came full circle this weekend when I saw Little Miss Sunshine.

If you haven't seen it yet, don't blame me for spoiling it. The trailer doesn't do this film justice. You can't tell from the trailer that this moderately dark comedy is full of the funniest moments I've ever seen in film, all which deliver just about the most beautiful, heartfelt lesson in what really matters in life.



"Let Olive be Olive."

This little girl has taught me more about life -- in just under 200 minutes -- than the Church, 12 years of public education and 4 years of an EXPENSIVE private university, 13 years working, and countless "friends" have.

In the end, what's really important? I think whatever makes you smile. No matter how small. Is it that revolting video you found on YouTube that inspire a hate-filled phone call from your brother? Is it the total insanity of your co-workers? Is it finally finding that special someone in a weird time and place?

Whatever it is, just let Olive be Olive. Just be.

Can I ask you something?

Do you have periods?

"Does blood from inside your body go outside of your body through a whole between your legs?"

"Here, let me show you, I'm having my period right now."

And seriously, don't watch it for more than 3 minutes if you don't want to get sick.



Sorry. I had to share this.

Pups. Young Little Pups.

Cruising the blogs today there was an interest piece in a journal called "Inside Higher Ed". See, the year is 2006 and the average college freshman is 18 years old. That means the average college freshman was born in 1988!

In case you are wondering what these college freshman have lived, Higher Ed has compiled a list and I've highlighted some of my favorites:

34. They have always known that “In the criminal justice system the people have been represented by two separate yet equally important groups.”

Hard to believe that when I became obsessed with Law & Order one summer it was 8 years ago! And the show had already been on for 8 years! I don't think I've watched an episode of "Ol' Skool Law & Order" in about 5 years.

67. Disposable contact lenses have always been available.

I remember my mom putting in her "hard lenses" and freaking out! Glass on your eye, mom? Come to learn about a year ago that one of my former friends still wears hard lenses! Damn!

69. Oh, The Places You’ll Go by Dr. Seuss has always been the perfect graduation gift.

I got two copies when I graduated from college 6 years ago.

75. Professional athletes have always competed in the Olympics.

My favorite joke when I left the L.A. Gay & Lesbian Center two years ago was that I was ending my career as a professional gay and "going back to amateur status so I can compete at the Olympics." While not really "laugh out loud", or rather LOL, funny, it pains me to know that today's college freshman may not even get the joke.

Finally, I need some help from my Grammar Warrior friends. (Shout out to Ms. Granfors!). Number 39 is listed below but I am concerned that the "Inside Higher Ed" people might need some grammar help:

39. “So” as in “Sooooo New York,” has always been a drawn-out adjective modifying a proper noun, which in turn modifies something else.

If I am describing something as "Soooo New York" then New York is an adejective, making Soooooo an adverb. Right? Or am I wrong here?

UPDATE: Brian's Big Fake Reality

If you remember, practically 6 months ago I had my first foray into reality television. I did this date-set-up-thinggee with one of the trainers on an upcoming Bravo TV show.

Last month the show premiered. I've watched it out of obligation and have actually started to like it. I really, really like Jackie Warner, the "star" of Work Out. Besides the fact that they don't update the episode guide until after the episode premieres and the creepy Jackie-voiceover, I think its a fun show.

A fun show that will not feature Brian. Turns out I got cut from the show. Something about me being hotter, more interesting and charming, and all around a better "character" than the actual people on the show. Or I'm sure that's the way it went down. Mondo Ricko did the prying for me. Thanks Rick!

So, you know what this means. I'm still available. I did that whole game show audition a week ago. What do you say FOX? Get me while I'm hot and single...



NOTE: I'm too lazy today to find a new picture and upload it to photobucket, so I figured I'd reuse this one!

Appropriate Word Choice?

I was driving in to work today listening to "Day to Day" on NPR. The show started off the hour with host Alex Chadwick speaking with Charlie Brennan, of the Rocky Mountain News, about the sudden confession of John Mark Karr in the mysterious murder of 6 year-old beauty queen Jon Benet Ramsey.

During the course of their conversation, the issue of DNA evidence came up. With today's analysis of the "confession" possibly being a hoax, it's very likely that the DNA evidence will be critical in confirming the role John Mark Karr may have played in her murder.

According to Mr. Brennan, where would you find this DNA evidence? On young Miss Ramsey's "panties." (At about 4:15 into the story, Mr. Brennan makes the poor word choice.)

You know what Mr. Brennan, you could have chosen A LOT of words to describe the location of potential DNA evidence:

• clothing
• underwear
• undergarments
• sleepwear
  

Your choice of "panties" -- especially since the murder victim is a 6 year-old girl -- is a little salacious and definately inappropriate! Why must our media be so sleazy?

A Leafy Time

I get word that the gentleman friend has lost more than 10 pounds of fat and is bulking up in the 24-hour on-board gym. I hit crisis mode. I have 6 weeks to shape up. Last week I did a number of lonely trips to the gym. Now, what about that diet.

I don't believe in "dieting," but learned in my massive weight loss of 2005 to pay close attention to my "diet." That's what I need to do.

Saturday morning I rolled out of bed and hit the pool for scuba class. Teaching scuba is a pretty good work out. Typically, I'm starving by the time I hit the classroom portion. This Saturday, I decided to teach straight through. I wrapped up about 3:00 and need nosh real bad like. Panda Express? In-N-Out?

Gentleman friend's new lean exterior and posterior quickly came to mind. Crap. Something healthy.

For months I've driven past this place, Leaf Cuisine, on Washington Boulevard. They feature, get this, Organic Kosher Vegan Raw Food. This means everything is served is grown naturally, supervised by hippie Jews who haven't learned about fire yet. Sounds like a treat.

I had the Bedouin Burrito. Thank god for Star Wars, other wise I would have ordered a "Bed-doon" Burrito rather than the "Bed-oo-win" Burrito that I really wanted. It was some yummy hummusy like substance with some bean, sprouts and tomatoes rolled in big leafy collard greens.

It was good.

No, Amy, seriously, good.

Except for the crowd. How many deordorant-fearful, bra-less hippie chicks can you cram into a Culver City restaurant? Apparently, like 15.

They were the "faux hippie" type of braless though. You know, the ones that live in Silverlake because its cool and "work" in graphic design. Not the trailer trash Whiskey Tango Braless that was once the queen of pop.

Zuma Dogg!

There is little doubt that I love politics. There is also little doubt that I HATE Los Angeles politicians. I have little respect for most of them. The majority of them are either life-long staffers who inherited their seats, former union organizers who have decided there's more money in elected politics, or overly ambitious street thugs who will do whatever it takes for that next office.

It's fun to watch this video of some guy -- Zuma Dogg -- that I know little about. What's fun about it? You get to watch intellectual lightweight Tom LaBonge get bitch slapped by Eric Garcetti and the City Attorney's representative.

Why Madonna?

Because of this. I stumbled on the old Lucky Star video on You Tube. What a fun song!

Change - UPDATED

Today, while avoiding work -- which is easier today with bosslady having fled the country for 2 1/2 weeks -- I stumbled across this video:



I don't know if it's a new concept, but I like. The woman took her photo every day for more than 3 years.

What speaks to me is how there is a lot of change, but a lot of consistency. No matter what she goes through, the core of herself is the same. The hair may be longer, the glasses different but it's the same woman. A little parable for us all.

Screw Jesus, we go You Tube!

UPDATE: Apparently, my Asian lady friend (ALF), while more attractive than Noah, is a thief. My friend Ben posted Noah's film on MySpace -- Noad did 6 years versus 3 years for ALF.

I wanted to send Ben a link to ALF's video, but it was pulled off YouTube -- for copyright violations. Smack! So, want you to still get the point, here is the same video with a slightly uglier, most likely Jewish boy instead of my harmless Asian lady friend who is prone to thievery.

National Underwear Day UPDATE

I just got word that apparently women wear underwear, too. Who would've known? So, to all the ladies and friends of ladies out there, Happy National Underwear Day to you, too!

Our Most Loyal Friend

In case the National Underwear Day post got you too excited, this horse-bitch is likely to cool down the fire below.

This is some great footage from the CBC. Unlike here in America, Canadian journalists aren't afraid to call an vile, horse-face lying bitch a liar. (I'm sure they'll call her a vile, horse-faced bitchy liar, but not on the telly, because frankly they are Canadians and they have some decency.)



I really think this nutcase is the best friend of liberals. How can you not hate her and side with us?

National Underwear Day

I was debating whether or not to do a post about this today. It's seems a little scandalous for my friendly little blog, but since the politics have been light recently, I might as well go with some flesh.

Also, I'm a little giddy over the spanking handed to Joe Lieberman yesterday. I wish the little twit would just slink away and cry, but it'll be fun to beat him twice.

Finally, apparently there are some who seem to think my blog reaks of the stench of depression lately. Clearly the sis-in-law didn't read this before ratting me out to mom. If near-nakedness in man-panties says anything, it's not depression.

According to Freshpair today is National Underwear Day. Clearly one of your more important national holiday. I can't quite figure out how I'm supposed to celebrate but I figured these pictures were a nice start.

Ironically, I was paying much closer attention to my own underwear today. When getting dressed I noticed that I appeared to be out of boxer briefs again. I swear I used to be able to go three weeks without running out. These days, I can barely can go a week. I'm too busy to do laundry all that often, but fortunately I've lost some weight these days and some briefs I've had are a little more comfortable than they used to be. Really, though, I need some new underwear. Maybe I'll check out Freshpair.

On another tangent, word from the gentleman friend is that he's slimming down and toning up on his adventure, putting pressure on me to finally do something about the flab. Damn, this going to the gym and actually working out thing sucks!



PS: This last photo, it's funny, right? You're laughing, too?

No Rain on My Parade

(Some photos. Click for larger versions. Especially the Black Pearl... read on...)

Do you ever have one of those days that just keeps getting better and better? That was my Sunday.

I was teaching a class of 8 on a smaller dive boat out of San Pedro. I got up early and was at the boat by 6:00 AM. How would the day go? How would the students do? I knew they were good, and had caught on well in the 2 weekends I worked with them, but there's always the nagging anxiety.

I probably could have fortold how the day would go by the first thing we saw leaving the harbor. It seems they were doing some filming recently and left a prop floating next to the dock. We got to see the Black Pearlfrom one of my current favorite movies up close. Pirates 2 really helped make me happy last month. The power of the Black Pearl is just as enchanting. This was super cool! And a good omen if there ever was one.

The diving was great. The water was a warm 72 - 74 degrees. The visibility was about 30 to 45 feet at all the dive sites. And my students were amazing! All three dives went off without a hitch. I even got in a very relaxing 51 minute dive at the end of the day. I wish every class was like these guys! (Well, guys and girls because it was 5 women and 3 men. It's a rarity that women outnumber the men. Maybe that's a good sign, too!)

The boat ride back was a lot of fun. We did the requisite paperwork, had a little graduation ceremony and cracked open the beer! I love when we carpool and I don't have to drive home! Diving is such an amazing sport because you get to meet people that you would never encounter on a regular basis. Including one with intimate access to MySpace. My own personal "Tom." The students were super generous with tipping the crew and their instructor, which is very rare (but always appreciated). Good dive kharma is always a sound investment! (EDITOR'S NOTE: Yes, Brian is looking much hotter these days. A work in progress. A healthy distraction.)

The drive home was a little rough. Roomie was sad and so we talked and shared. I think it was good. I had a couple calls come in but like most dive days my mobile's battery was dying so I opted to let them slip into voicemail land. At 7:29 PM I got a call from 786-976-0002 that I really should have taken. Oops.

It's been 39 days since I last saw the gentleman friend. (38 days since I last heard his voice.) We've communicated through the most impersonal of communications, email, regularly since he left but email is hard. How do you communicate emotion in an emotionless medium? Getting through the next 144 days is gonna suck!

But what worse is, how do I know that he feels the same way? His emails are always sweet and fun. I can see his beautiful smile as he types them. I can hear his new friends -- I know he has plenty because who wouldn't want to be around him -- egging him on to hurry up and get to the lounge. I want him to be happy, but I want to know that I play a role in that new happiness. Somewhere, I'm there, in the back of his head.

Of course, my friends have told me I'm an idiot. Of course he's thinking of me. Of course he misses me. It so obvious. But what kind of fag would I be if I wasn't horribly insecure?

Thus the phone call at 7:29 that I should have taken. Roomie and I hopped back into her truck and headed home. "Oh. Voicemail. Where is area code 786?" (Did it ever dawn on you that techonology, with its mobile phones and caller ID, is making us freakishly impatient? Why couldn't I just wait for the message?)

The phone number was probably a pay phone. It was the gentleman friend -- not sounding too happy. Shit. Fuck. The call. Met someone great. Really happy. Hope you are too. Bye.

Ah! But you remember, this post is about the perfect day. So you know where I'm going with this one.

He misses me. Really. Okay, so those in the know have been saying it for 39 days. But the first time I heard his voice in that long, it was to reach out to me. I don't want him to be sad. That hurt -- and honestly, made roomie and I cry a little -- but the emotion was strangely refreshing and real. It was nice to have emotion again. The sterile environs of email has been shattered. 144 days. I can get through it.

Especially since I am going to bankrupt myself this month on a trip to Seattle to spend 3 hours with him. Emotions are expensive!

And I think this photo best sums up how great a "scuba day" can be and my overall sense of contentment.
(That's not me by the way. One of the super students passed out with beer in hand. That's a good scuba day!)

Marriage Day

Before I begin, please watch this video. I think it's really important.



Today's is my parents' 36th wedding anniversary. On this day, 36 years ago, two relatively devout Catholic officially began practicing for an important feat, which would culminate around New Years in 1978.

I am proud of my parents. Watching them for nearly three decades, I've seen first hand that marriage isn't alway easy. Occasionally you get sick of each other. Occasionally your sons put a massive whole in the wall the day the house goes on the market. Occasionally your youngest son is a homosexual. Did I mention that my brothers basically broke the house?

Maybe one day I can try to live up to the beautiful model my parents created for me. I hope that I will one day be as good as husband as my father has been. One day, maybe I'll be able to as supportive of a spouse -- although admittedly less naggy -- as my mother.

I promise to work hard on my end to find the right guy. What I need from you dear reader, is to make sure the government doesn't fuck it up for me. Now I know not all of you are the most liberal people on the block. (Well, okay Shelley, I've seen your block. You probably are the most liberal there.) But think about all this crap about same-sex marriage and think of how stupid it is that this is even an issue. Constituional bans. Defense of Marriage Acts. STUPID!

You know why it's stupid. This is why. When I called my folks to wish them a happy 36th, I couldn't speak with my mom. She was out buying a baby gift for a family friend. A year ago, this friend had left her husband, a raging conservative from a "good Chrisitian" home. It seems that he was a little abusive with her and had a drug problem -- hooked on Hillbilly Heroin after an injury. I got to hear all about how difficult this was for her. Especially since it was her second husband. A year later, she's spawning again with the same husband.

If she can make decisions this stupid, I should be able to as well, right?

The Fight for First

Everybody likes to be the first at something. For example, there is a pretty good chance that I was the first in my family to vote for a Democrat.

In an attempt to avoid pulling together a report for work, I decided to learn more about the Boston Common. I referred to Wikipedia which is, admittedly, full of errors. That's when I found this fun one:



Notice, highlighted in yellow, that the Wikipedia entry describes the Park Street Station as "the first subway station in America." I don't think that is necessarily true. There was, likely, at least two stations that can claim that place in history because one subway station wouldn't do you much good. Where would you take the train if there was no other place to stop? Did they really build a subway that is nothing more than the Disneyland Railroad, looping around the city? I don't think so.

A Smile from My Past

Like any person trapped in unsatisfying office jobs for the better part of this millennium, I am enrolled in the major social-networking sites. It all started with Friendster a few years ago (I signed up in June 2003). Last year, I gave in and signed up for MySpace and have been shocked out how interesting the MS community can be.

Granted, I think these sites are best for stalking learning about new friends. I'll confess to going home after meeting the gentleman friend and doing a quick "background" check. Single, check. Employed, check. College educated, check. Naked photos... dang!

Any time any "real life" friends go on a date, typically a link to their beau's MySpace preceeds any details about the actual date. It's great. I get photos, movie and music preferences. A little peek deep into their soul without the boring details of what appetizer they ordered.

Today, I was greeted with an email from my kindly Friendster administrator letting me know I had gotten a "smile" -- their version of virtual flirting. Naturally, my interest was piqued because not only did I have no idea who would be sending me the smile, but because I thought Friendster had become a little passe.

The message was from a fellow Westsider. The fun part -- I know this guy. I've met him lots of times through a mutual friend. I've known him for years... and really did not like him. He seems vain, shallow, and indifferent to the world around him. He's one of those guys who won't bother to remember your name but can recall the "labels" of every part of your wardrobe. (The fact that I just referred to clothing as "part" and that most of my labels are simply "Gap," "Old Navy," or Target's beloved "Mossimo" should tell you how well we hit it off.)

I haven't seen this guy since I lost over 30 pounds. I haven't been out with that crowd in some time. Lord knows what's going on in his world. But I imagine that he doesn't recognize me at all. Why the sudden interest? Who knows? (Maybe the 30 pounds?)

But I promise the gentleman friend has nothing to worry about on this front. My life already has enough shallow, vapid people in it. One. And he's sitting at my computer typing this blog entry right now.

I'm What?

According to MySpace, which is owned by Rupert Murdoch and is thus the authority on all that is righteous and decent in the world, I am invalid. Invalid!

It seems, at least for the morning, that I cease to exist in the MySpace world, and since MySpace is really better than the real world, I barely exist at all. It's like in the movie Back to the Future when Alex P. Keaton sees himself disappearing from photos.

I am assuming that this is probably a broader MySpace glitch, as some other friends appear to be "invalid" right now, too. Of course, most of them are known homosexuals so maybe there was a purge over at NewsCorp. Maybe all those Republicans figured that they could get rid of us gays in real life -- after all, who would design their tailored suits, style their hair, decorate their homes, oh, and write, produce and star in all the movies that make them all their money -- so they decided to exact a virtual holocaust on the gays.

UPDATE (10:12 AM): Turns out that the march on Washington, the resolutions from the UN Security Council, and pleas from His Holiness the Dalai Lama have paid off. MySpace (kind of) restored the account. Must be a bug in their system.

Things You Should Know

Yesterday y'all got to see the big haircut. I really like it. It takes no work to maintain. And the price was just where I like it: Free!

So, here's the deal for all of you living in my world. I like my hair. I'm happy with it. I don't need everyone telling me how great it looks. I like compliments, but they need to vary a little. Therefore, I expect to hear a "have you lost weight?" or "I love your tan" for at least every "your hair, wow, I like it" that I have to endure.

Also, big blog news. I just found out today -- a week after her first post -- that Amy Witry, that bitch, has started a blog. I'll add her to the blogroll soon. Go check it out. Her first post may sound a little familiar, but I promise we did not collaborate on it. We both just love this city.

Perspective People, Perspective!

First, I apologize for the blog diarhea of recent. It seems I'm getting the bug, writing multiple posts in a day and then making you wait for days for the next post. I'll try better to spread them out.

I've been in a slump recently. I've found ways to deal with it and, honestly, I'm really happy when I take the few seconds to put everything in perspective. Oh, and when I shave my head. This weekend, taking a hint from all the great woman-scorned movie cliches, I locked myself in the bathroom, blasted the stereo and shaved my head. It really was quite therapeutic.

I used to have a friend -- maybe for a future post -- who would talk with me about perspective. It seems we had some friends who always seemed miserable. As in, the neighbors to their 3 bedroom townhouse at the beach always parked funny. Or, when they took their Lexus in to be serviced, the bill was $100 higher than expecting. We would say, "You really need a healthy perspective on your problems."

So, I'm sad. Reading funny stories cheers me up. Trolling the Internets for some funny stuff I come on this blog archive. This woman is really funny.

The archive is from 2002, so I wonder what's happened with her recently. So I go straight to the regular URL.

She hasn't updated it in a year. But from reading it, you might be able to figure out why. There's a good chance my new friend Natalie is in prison. For up to three years. Oh, and her husband left her leaving her and her three kids -- one of them under 5 -- homeless. I guess she was living with her dad for a while, but she eventually had to leave. Oh, and she had to take a job in constuction.

Really, it puts things in perspective. Makes me feel a lot better about my own lot. I still have awesome friends (I even get to see Jen Mac in a few days), a fantastic hobby, a killer house, and, well, less hair. Hair grows back. Friends come home. It'll all be okay.

Is the fat one still fat?

Today's big news is that Lance Bass is coming out -- not of retirement but out of the closet. Who's Lance Bass? Lance Bass is "the gay one" from N*Sync. Aren't they all "gay ones," you might ask. In fact, no they aren't/weren't. As anyone who fell into the horribleness that was turn-of-the-century-boybandedness can attest, each member of N*Sync, in fact, has a unique identity.

• The cute one was Justin Timberlake. Still just as cute.
• The talented one was JC Chasez, my personal favorite.
• The old one was Chris Kirkpatrick. He was more than 10 years older than the youngest member. (He doesn't have a web site of his own. Hmmm.)
  
• The gay one was, of course, Lance Bass, who confirmed our near decade of suspicions.
• And, ironically enough, the fat one was Joey Fatone. How's that for self-fullfilling prophecy?

Now, Lance coming out is big news. Really, even if no one cares about him at all these days, it's still big news. Gay celebrities need to come out, especially if they are trying to pursue the "gay lifestyle" anyway. Little closeted kids seek out anything to identify with to help them understand what they are going through. If they don't have a cool gay uncle like me or Jason (Jason's Room is one of my new fave blogs), then they turn to celebrities like Ellen or Rupert, or characters on TV and in movies like Dawson's Creek's Jack, the many 'mos of the Real World, or the entire cast of the Broken Hearts Club. If they aren't exposed to those elements, then they get depserate and turn to the whack jobs that pop-up on Jerry Springer. Having an openly gay, happy with his lot in life, former pop star to identify with can only be a good thing.

Of course, this also comes back to that classic little N*Sync story from my days at Paramount.

"Papers, please. I'll need to see your papers."

I shouldn’t eavesdrop on people’s conversations. On one of my flights home from Aruba – the Miami to Dallas leg – I was sucked into the conversation of the three people behind me. I’m gonna name them.

Cyrus was a native of Texas. I think you know what that means. In addition, I believe he was the distant cousin of Larry the Cable Guy. Or maybe not so distant.

Opal was a vacationing school teacher from Arizona or Nevada. I couldn’t quite figure it out. Where ever she’s from, it ain’t Phoenix or Las Vegas. She was wearing wire-framed glasses and a turquoise tye-dye jumpsuit to match her turquoise jewelry.

Clive was a globe-trotting product manager for Perry Ellis, who apparently handles the licensing for a bunch of Nike products, living in downtown Los Angeles and working in Irvine. Clive is from Cleveland, Ohio. As I learned from the Drew Carey Show, “Cleveland Rocks!” Drew Carey, however, lives in Los Angeles.

The threesome spent about 45 minutes talking about how horrible Los Angeles is. They started, at the suggestion of the Texan, with the air quality of all things. While Los Angeles air in the heat of summer isn’t pristine, it certainly can't be much worse than Houston. And as someone who is smart enough to live near the beach, I can testify that our air isn’t that bad at all. Only those idiots who live inland really see the brown stuff up close.

One needs to ask why is our air quality poorer than say a city like Cleveland or Dallas. Two things are at play here: 1) a lot of people want to leave here so its congested and they want to live here because it's a cool place to live, and 2) those really cool mountains that give us lots to do like hiking and camping and skiing trap the bad stuff in, unlike say in Texas where it's flat as shit for hundred of miles with no diversity of view!

Naturally, any criticism of Los Angeles has to include the traffic. Clive is losing it with the traffic. Of course, he’s chosen to live 70 miles from where he works, but clearly that is the fault of the city planners – and I am assuming the planners of all 100 or so cities he has to commute through on that journey.

I have spent some time in Portland, Seattle, Baltimore, New York, Philadelphia, New Orleans, Boston, and San Francisco. Everyone single on of these cities has, by my experience, traffic as bad as or worse than Los Angeles. It’s what you get when you live in a city.

I will not tolerate people from Cleveland, Texas and somewhere in the middle of the desert ripping up Los Angeles. My home isn’t perfect, but it is nice. It’s definitely the most diverse city in the country, and for some of us blue-staters, that’s a plus and not a minus. There is a lot of opportunity, whether for your career or your Saturday afternoon plans.

But what amuses me most about these types of people, the LA-haters, is that if the city is so horrible then get the fuck out! We don’t want you here. You are just using up our thick, brown air and overpriced housing. You’re clogging our slow-moving freeways and filling up are vapid, useless nightclubs. And for every one of you that “want” out, there are probably ten that want in.

It’s not communist East Germany. You can move freely around this country. Try it. Get out!

Born Different

This is really cute and important. Check it out. (Click on the drawing if you need to.)



Were you born different, too? I bet you were!

Long May it Wave

I understand the world. For years, we Americans have heard how we are hated. The “terrorists” hate our way of life – our freedom and “democracy” – and so they target our planes and skyscrapers. The Republican Party has built an entire platform on this Ameri-phobia.

I figured out, on my recent trip to the Caribbean, that it isn’t our freedom they hate, it’s the little things. The pushiness. The cheapness. The vulgarity.

Our family spent 2 weeks in Aruba. It’s was a very relaxing vacation and I love the Arubans. That being said, most places in the Caribbean aren’t that exotic. There are parts of Los Angeles that are more exotic than Aruba. I’m less likely to find an employee at the McDonald’s near work who speaks English than I will find a busboy in Orjanestad that speaks Enlgish – and Dutch, Spanish and the native Papiamento.

Vacationing in Aruba is a little like hitting a classy version of the Jersey shore. More guidos than you can shake a stick at. It’s still a lot of fun, but even the Aruban government admits that nearly 70% of the tourists in Aruba are Americans. It’s an island of just under 100,000 residents that gets nearly 1,000,000 tourists every year. Divide those tourist by 12 and multiply by 70% and you’ll find that about 1/3 of the people on the island at any given time are Americans.

The locals know this and they cater to it. I told you they all – even the least educated (which is by Dutch standards so that’s puts their least educated on par with our, well, President) – speak four languages so as to cater to us. They can convert their native “florin” into American dollars and back all in their head. The hotels – many owned or operated by American companies – fly the American flag outside. So, why did some redneck feel it necessary to bring their own American flag with them and post it on their hotel-room balcony?

I shit you not. I won’t even mention that the flag was hung in violation of accepted standards, having been secured by all four corners. But this ass – clearly a red-stater – brought his flag – surely one of many – into a foreign land to fly it, as if he had laid claim to that hotel room for the great imperialist power that is the United States. God Save the Queen!

I love this country as much as anyone, but we need to get a grip. Americans need to learn that there are 300 million of us and 5.7 billion of them. We’ve already pissed off most of the Middle East, Russia and much of Europe. Surely we have few friends in Africa. If we can’t even play nice with the Dutch West Indies, we’re gonna be in trouble when they all come looking for us!

NEWSFLASH: Thor identified!

Remember Adventures in Babysitting? I loved that movie. While catching up on my blog reading, I noticed on Pen15 Club that Disney is remaking the movie. They're gonna do it all "The Wiz" style with black folk -- former Cosby-cutie-turned-Disney-Ho Raven Symone will play the babysitter.

The post had a little nugget I never put together. The garage attendant who fixed the station wagon was played by none other than Vincent D'Onofrio. You might remember that Sara, the girl being babysat, was obsessed with comic-book hero "Thor." When they showed up at Dawson's Garage, she instantly confused Vinnie the Mechanic with the Nordic stud Thor...

What has happend to poor Mr. D'Onofrio? Growing up, I remember thinking "Thor" was hot!

Absence... Heart... Fonder... or something?

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

I've decided I'm in transition.

Today is my first day back to work from a 2 week absence. I don't sense that anyone is any fonder of me today then when I left. For that, I am relieved. I couldn't stomach these leeches trying to befriend me all of the sudden.

The living sitch it a little weird with the sudden departure of one of my roommates. It's definately better having her gone, but the house is a little more empty -- absent some furniture. We need to figure out if we replace her and with whom. (Do you know anyone looking to live near the beach?)

And the weeks before the vacay, I started seeing this boy. He left for a job out of LA on the same day I left for vacation. We only dated for like 6 or 7 weeks, but I miss the bitch! I hate being vulnerable.

Of course, you don't read this because you care about me. You want to hear about the whack-jobs I encounter regularly.

Upon my return to work, I was greeted with the envelope of cards to be signed prior to our monthly potluck. There are some farewell cards for employees leaving and birthday cards for the month. The whole thing is arranged by my nemesis. (I love having a nemesis, you should get one!) And her birthday is this month... and she put a card for herself in the mix! Is that a new level of patheticism, buying your own birthday card?

Why? Whhhyyy? Whhhhhhyyyyyyy?

Why do I find Johnny Knoxville hot? I'm sitting here with the roomies watching The Ringer, and all I wanna do is go spend some alone time... damn he's hot!

An Unfortunate Absence

It's been a little while since I've blogged regularly. I'd apologize and try to come up with some excuse, but really, I already give you so much and you give me so little in return. So you'll just need to learn to accept that you, my friend(s), are not my single greatest priority.

My reason are good. I promise. A little teaser: I met a boy. He is wonderful and kept me occupied for the past 2 months. He's kind of gone now -- in the gay navy for 6 months -- and I will probably blog more and be at work on time more.

I'm also in Aruba right now. Ain't technology great.

This little Caribbean vacay is giving me lots of stuff to right about. For example, tonight we are going to Texas de Brazil for dinner. It's a Brazilian Churracaria, or as I like to call it, Meat Sizzler.

The idea is good and I am sure in Brazil, they do it up right. Delicious meats slowly cooked to perfection on a skewer and served quickly. There's a place at the Farmers Market on 3rd that does it right. You buy the plate of food.

These places -- like the one I'm going to tonight -- are the bastardized American version where we eat ourselves into a food coma. I hate watching fat people eat. That's why avoid Sizzler. This is worse because its expensive and therefore people feel like they need to "get their money's worth."

I'll let you know how it goes.

Is it this city?

I was trollin' around MySpace today looking at my friends profiles. In reality, I was scanning through for references, photos, or shout-outs about me. I didn't find many. I did however find the page of a woman I used to work with at Paramount.

She kind of looks like a Euro-mutt version of Frida Kahlo, nay, a mousey-Euro-mutt-Kahlo. She was never really interesting. She has some office gig in the businessy side of a studio. And her MySpace photo is a headshot!

What the fuck is she doing with headshots?

Is Los Angeles really that place? You know, the place where everyone -- literally everyone -- secretly pines for fame and fortune, so much so that they'll drop $400 for some too close, black-n-white photos that don't resemble me at all because they'll hide all the fat, zits and wrinkles?

Make Your Own TV

Reality television has hit a new low. Tonight I am watching Gameshow Marathon.

The premise is simple. They recreate every single totally awesome gameshow from the 70s and 80s. Clearly the idea is because there hasn't been a good idea in gameshowing since the Price Is Right added the Mountainclimber game.

They've done Price is Right, Let's Make a Deal, To Tell the Truth. Tonight I'm watching them recreate the Match Game. They use celebrity contestants instead of actuall interesting normal people. Okay. Maybe not celebrities. Tonight was a showdown between Kathy Najimy and Lance Bass. Uh huh. Of course, the celebrities don't win the prizes. The interesting normal people at home do -- we just don't have to look at ugly normal people... just ugly celebrities. (Observation: Both Kathy Najimy and Lance Bass have faces too small for their heads.)

Oh, and despite all the different versions of shows they use the same annoying fucking host -- Rikki Lake!

The sound is bizarre. Rikki is loud as shit and doesn't appear to have ever seen these games before and the production quality is similar to when Damian and I made radio shows in his basement. Heaven help us.

Cowboy Drag

This weekend I ventured into Carson, took a seat on the floor at the Home Depot Center, and enjoyed four hours of awesome, live country music. How butch! I went with my brother and his wife to the Kenny Chesney concert. It was a great show with Kenny, Dierks Bentley, Carrie Underwood and surpise visits from Uncle Cracker and Eddie and Sammy Van Halen.

The highlight of the evening for me was discovering a new breed of heterosexual: cowboy drag. You expect to see your fair share of rednecks, country hats and tight jeans at a country concert. Naturally, the parking lot was full of pick-up trucks and more Confederate flags than have ever been in the mostly black and Latino city of Carson. It's more than likely that the whole state of California was leaning a little more into the ocean with the huge emmigration of white trash from the Valley of the Dirt People.

But I wasn't prepared for the Cowboy Drag. Maybe it's an LA thing, but the cowboy has gone metrosexual.

There were a number of fat men in tank tops, mullets, and real, well-worn cowboy hats. But from our good seats on the floor, we also saw a number of gym-bodies covered in tight denim, loose linen and rich leather boots. The chests were meticulously manscaped, being revealed by a few too many open buttons. Chiseled faces highlighted by perfect, line-less tans all over. These were not the cowboys of South Dakota or West Texas, but rather of the Castro and West Hollywood.

The most popular accessory: a slutty young blonde on the arm! These were straight guys!

The only explanation I can think of is "Cowboy Drag." These guys love their country music. But they love getting "dressed up" even more. As a gay man, I can appreciate that. Any holiday with costumes easily trumps ones with marshmallow peeps or presents under the tree.

I should have brought a camera. Instead, the best I could do was find these photos -- sprinkled throughout -- to demonstrate the gayness of the cowboy that I saw firsthand on Saturday night. The Home Depot Center will never be the same again.

Bloggin' the BOR: Security Smurity

The series has taken a brief hiatus but is back with a vengeance. Today, I bring you the fouth in the Bloggin' the Bill of Rights series, the 4th Amendment.

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

Certainly not one of the "glamour amendments," the big fourth has helped create the air of a constitutional right to privacy. That right of privacy has helped establish access to birth control, abortion on demand, and gay sex and buggery! YAY 4th Amendment! Hallowed be thy name.

In addition, the 4th Amendment has helped add significantly to crime television like CSI and Law & Order, as the fuzz has had to hit up the courts to get their warrants prior to a rough search of a suspect's nether regions.

This type of law is also responsible for my favorite legal concept -- learned from my Law & Order addiction of 1998 -- which is the "fruit from the poisonous tree." When evidence is collected without a warrant, and that evidence leads to the discover of even better evidence -- that quite likley was collected with a warrant -- it can still be thrown out of court. I know this because it's have at least 3 or 4 thousand times to Jack McCoy in the run of 15 years.

Now, in recent administrations... cough... Bush sucks... cough cough... this amendment may not be getting as much attention in the courts as say Anna Nicole Smith. The Bushies are running rough shod all over it with illegal wiretapping all in the name of the War on Terra.

This is a good amendment though. A keeper of sorts. Fight hard for it.



Previously in the series:
1st Amendment: Right for my religion to squash yours, you infidel!
2nd Amendment: Right to blow your infidel ass of the planet!
3rd Amendment: Right to be picky with whatever soldier shares your bed.

Crazy As Bat Shit Pops Up Again

I was hanging out this morning -- yeah, Tuesday morning on a school day, you figure it out -- with a gentleman friend who works at the Evil Empire of the scuba world. He was asking me about the Human Rights Campaign logo and the ubiquitous "equal sign" stickers that pop-up everywhere.

Why did this come up? "Because someone came in to the store with one on his tank." Too classic.

"Was his name, (crazy as batshit)," I asked.

"Yeah, how did you know that?" It seems my stalker is getting his scuba needs met elsewhere, but by someone who is meeting my needs. You gotta love the irony, right?

NOTE: The photo is not of "my stalker" but of someone with the same name.

NEWSFLASH: Fun New Game!

The esteemed Jen Mac just noticed that blogger has made a fun little addition to their "word verification program." If you want to leave a comment, you have to type in some non-sensical mix of letters and numbers so that I know that you are real live breathing person and not some slut trying to pimp out your web cam.

Jen noticed that there now appears a little "Handicappable" symbol next to the word verification box. (Not to be confused with "Handifat" or "Geri-Jewell". -- Thanks Rick!) Click on the symbol. It'll amuse you for hours!

Thanks Mom & Dad

My last post blamed my parents for my current funk. While that probably isn't their fault, keeping me away from great gay cinema is -- probably part of their up-until-now secret attempt to jam me back in to the closet.

Every year, the fam goes on vacation. We go to Aruba. I essentially get a Big Lots vacation -- I just pay my airfare and sleep on the sofa for 2 weeks.

I just noticed that every year, our trip seems to coincide with Outfest, Los Angeles' Gay & Lesbian film festival. This year, I'll miss the West Side Story sing-a-long. So, while I may feel pretty, o' so pretty, I certainly won't get to feel gay!

The Meaning of Life

I hate my job. The people I work with are fucking pricks. There, I said it. They are stupid, lazy, incompetent, obese, ignorant and naive. They champion Che, radical immigrant activism, and anti-American rhetoric while shoveling Winchells donuts down their gullets. They hate the global capitalist state, but drive hot new Acuras and Hondas and Lexuses. Half of them still live at home with their parents while smoking, snorting or drinking the majority of their paycheck. All of the younger ones -- everyone under 30 -- have dreams of completing law school and working to ameliorate the conditions of the poor, but will likely end up whoring out for the corporate capitalist establishment they despise. And I endure this for 40 hours a week so that I can go diving on weekends and travel with my family. This is my fucking life. Why?

I love my parents but I think they screwed me over. I think the parents of a lot of people screw them over, especially parents of gay kids. Our parents spend our entire lives building us up for a future we will likely never see. In all likliness, I won't spawn. I'll never have little runts keeping me up at night and pissing on me at the most inopportune times. So why do I think I need to build up this big career?

I used to make fun of my old roommate because he was 40+ years old and sharing a low-rent apartment with me. He was making about $60,000 a year and had few assets. Oh, he took at least one nice vacation a year. And had, how should I say, some hobbies. Some white, powdery hobbies. And a curiousity for sex clubs.

He grew up poor. His mom likely wasn't beating into his head the idea that he needed to work hard, make lots of money, buy a great house in a good neighborhood for his kids. Hell, she sent him to the grocery store to shoplift pancake syrup.

And, for the most part, I think he's happy.

I got thinking this week about boarding a cruise ship and teaching scuba diving to overweight midwesterners. Could I do it? No. It wouldn't pay very well. (An inside source says somewhere around $1,500 to $1,700 a month plus all living expenses.) $20,000 a year to service my debt with no "career building"? Impossible.

Except, what do I -- a single, gay 27 year-old -- need to build a career for? I'm not worried about my longtime girlfriend Mary Sue accidentally getting knocked up. Timmy and Jenny, my spawn, don't need a Blue Ribbon public school or high-end private education. Shit, my Mercedes doesn't even need refinancing. Why? Because I don't have any of that shit and probably won't.

Why can't I just get it into my thick head that I can just live life. I can call up NCL America, send them my resume and board a ship for 6 months.

My Name In Lights

The above image has been swiped from my dear, dear friend Jen Mac's blog. (Her name is Jen MacNeil but honestly, she been Jen Mac to me for years. Like this girl in college, Jennifer Miller. For the first few weeks of our friendship I never knew her last name. She had a distinctive face -- not ugly really, just distinctive -- and so for some reason I started calling her Jen Weedlebaum. I convinced myself that "Weedlebaum" was her actually last name and would be in shock whenever she was referred to as Jen Miller by anyone else. But I digress.)

Jen Mac is funny as shit and a writer, comedienne, actress and improvist. She lives and works in super hip Manhattan and I had the pleasure of seeing her back in December. I'll be making another visit this year and expect to stay with her. But don't tell her yet, because I haven't asked.

She uses her blog for writing projects. The first one was ingenius! She responded to people who signed her High School Yearbook. Now, she's scrolling through the blogroll and introducing her friends with blogs. Go read the wonderful things she has to say about me... and my penis!

And maybe even leave a comment!

A Rose by Any Other Last Name is Likely to be Whacked!

My name is Brian Davis. My parents names are Harry and Mary Davis. (My brother are Harry and Ted Davis.) The President's name is George W. Bush. His parents are George H.W. and Barbara Bush. My best friend is Suzanne Maness. Her parents are Charlie and Susan Maness. Are you noticing a trend here?

Most people have the same name as their parents. Of course, marriage and divorce sometimes break the trend. But for the most part names are pretty consistent. Except when weird shit happens in the news:

The mother of a Plattsburgh man who is accused of hitting her in the head with a bottle opener during a discussion about "American Idol" is upset with the media coverage the case is receiving.

"They are making it out to be a circus," said Jan Chagnon, whose 24-year-old son, Cory K. Favreau, was charged May 24 with striking her on the head when she told him she thought "American Idol" contestant Katharine McPhee would receive a record contract despite losing to winner Taylor Hicks.

This is hardly the first time I've noticed this.

The most obvious pair over the past year is missing Alabaman Natallee Holloway and her mother Beth Conway Twitty (Two names that aren't the same as her teenage daughter. ) There are others. Maybe I'll post them.

The moral: If you want you and your spawn showing up on A Current Affair or Geraldo: At Large, make up some weirdass last name. As long as its different than yours.

Burgermeister Meisterburger Opposes Gay Marriage!

Who is the sole Democrat standing with George Bush and the Hate Amendment? Why, the Bugermeister Meisterburder, of course!

While reading this article on how the GOP's bigotry-in-Constitutional-clothing measure will fail quickly in the United States Senate, I was shocked to see the uncaptioned photo below! When did we elect a Rankin/Bass Christmas icon to the U.S. Senate?

Rest assured, the Burgermeister Meisterburger was not sent to Washington, DC by the good people of Nebraska. That is actually conservative Democratic Senator Ben Nelson. He is the only Democrat who has not come out against the second assault on gays to occure on June 5. (Today just so happens to be the 25th anniversary of the first AIDS diagnosis, then known as Gay Related Immune Deficiency or GRID. Nice timing, White House!)

Fortunately, we don't need Senator Meisterburger's vote because the Senate will come nowhere near the two-thirds needed to pass the Federal Marriage Amendment. It's unlikely the House will too. Therefore, it's dead. And the White House and the GOP know this. That's why they'll push the effort -- to win conservative voters back without going down in history for wiping their asses with the U.S. Constitution.

The real question is where does the Heat Miser stand on the Federal Marriage Amendment? And is it possible that the Heat Miser is just an out-of-work Burgermeister/US Senator trying make the time pass?

Wedding Bliss

My wedding day was everything I ever thought it would! Wish you had been there!