of golden tongues

Hardwired.

2007-08-12T16:52:00.000-07:00

Hi, my name's John, I'm 22 and I drink cheap wine.

My mother's entering rehab tomorrow morning. Third time since November '06. If I doubt the effectiveness of this next stint, am I considered a bad son?

The Ex is leaving for Texas on Tuesday. I didn't care when he was here, but now that I know he's leaving I'm regretting the way things ended. Definitely a case of wanting what I can't have, because his breath was rank.

What a great way to jump back into things.

Lover's Spit

2007-03-26T17:03:00.000-07:00

[Photo Credit: Ali. K]

You know it's time
that we grow old and do some shit

Broken Social Scene - Lover's Spit

One thing I've learned about fairly new, young gay guys is the need to start a relationship. Homosexuals aren't on the endangered species list, so we should stop acting like it.

Another thing I've had the pleasure of learning the hard way is if you're hardly compatible as friends, the last step you should take is to start a relationship with that person. Unless they're hot, then at least the superficial part can keep you content.

But The Boyfriend isn't hot enough, therefore leaving me to deal with his personality. Which doesn't exist. Actually, I felt like I was bamboozled into this relationship. He was on the cusp of being funny our first few dates. It gave me hope. He was my diamond in the rough. Except now I've learned that he's more rough than diamond.

The saying "I'd rather watch paint dry" doesn't even begin to explain the levels of boredom he brings me. It goes beyond it. Fuck watching the paint dry; let me get a good whiff of the fumes and then the guy can talk about anything he wants.

I want to connect with someone on many different levels. I want romance. I want love, and the very fact that never once told him I loved him sums it up. I shouldn't give up and pretend that what I have right now is enough for me, that I should be happy with it.

For so many things in my life, I've been complacent, allowing myself to just take what's at hand, happy to take what I can get.

But this is one thing I won't give up on. I won't settle.

That smell? I totally thought it was you.

2007-01-08T17:53:00.000-08:00

Today's been a whirlwind of bus rides and walking, music and staring at myself (vain or just gay?) in store windows.

But it wasn't until right now that I figured out why I smell like a Taco Bell: I forgot to put on deodorant. I remembered to shower this morning, brush my teeth, do my hair, and yet that completely slipped my mind?

Opera Boy is in Texas right now, so we haven't been able to see each other in person since our emails, although we had some really amazing talks before he left. He'll be back by the end of the week, I think, and in the mean time all I can do is come up with some very graphic ways to say hello to him on his return.

I'd send an S.O.S., but I'm happy on the island.

2007-01-02T08:23:00.000-08:00

I've been without internet for the entirety of December and that'll probably mean a internet-less January as well. It's been like having my balls in a vise.

My two-week Christmas/Winter vacation has just come to a close, and my stint as a photography lab technician has ended, too.

But I'm "dating" a guy I actually wrote about back in September.I guess I should add, that contrary to what I wrote, he's actually really nice and he sings opera.

We've gone out on two separate occasions in December, but they weren't "dates" per say, just us doing things together. But on our second outing, we went to a museum and saw a Magrite exhibit, and while that was a bust (Boo, Surrealism!) we became really comfortable around each other.

Since then he's written me a lovely email telling me that I'm "cute, weird, and funny." Which is what a boy always wants to hear. And he's asked if I'd like to take things further into actual proper dating.

My initial reaction is to reply back with a "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING, YES!!!!!", but I'll try to prevent myself from bursting into happy, gay flames.

It's going to be a good year.

Anything but Tom Cruises's wife.

2006-11-10T17:49:00.000-08:00

Which NICOLE KIDMAN Character Are You?

"Ada" in COLD MOUNTAINYou're a girly girl, all swoony romanticism and heartbreaker beauty. But you've probably already learned that life is rough and joy can be fleeting. So get your hands dirty and live life to its fullest.
Take this quiz!

Quizilla |
Join

| Make A Quiz | More Quizzes | Grab Code

Normally I avoid posting internet quizzes, but I don't have the will power this time. It's Nicole-centric, after all.

"Yes."

2006-10-20T21:22:00.000-07:00

The beginning of friendships are wonderful times. There's an intensity to them, the constantly sharing and discovering of new things. Your jokes are funny because it's the first time they've been used. Your quirks are endearing and cute.

So in the past few weeks I've made friends with a few people from my Botany class, probably sparked by our mutual hatred for our classwork and our crappy professor. In particular, I've made friends with a girl named Sarah. And she's this darling 19 year old, quick witted and funny as hell.

Yesterday, I came out to her. Well, she prodded -- she asks so many questions, something she warned me about -- and asked me point blank if I was gay on the way to her car. This was the second time we'd gone down the "Are you single, how about a girlfriend....or boyfriend?" The first time we broached the subject, I clammed up. I don't think, at least initially, it was because I thought she'd reject me or start throwing rocks at me, but I just wasn't sure how far to open up to her. I tend to be a private person, for better or worse.

But on this occasion, when we went down the whole "Why are you single?" path and I couldn't come up with a coherent statement, she said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but are you gay?"

At this question, for the first time, there wasn't a pause. There wasn't time for me to drift inside myself and come up with an answer that would allow me to be vague and avoid answering the question, something I've become phenominally good at.

My heart was beating so fast, it felt like there was a hummingbird flying inside my chest, because as soon as she prefaced the question with "Don't take this the wrong way", I knew exactly where she was headed. So many emotions coursed through me in that moment, just waiting for her to ask the question, but none of them were fear. Not this time. I wanted her to ask, because this time I could answer.

"Yes," I said.

And on we went. Laughter. Music. Food. There was no awkwardness, no rejection. Just a day where I was able to be honest.

Argh!

2006-10-01T12:10:00.000-07:00

After the horrible week I've had, I'd kinda hoped that at least today I would try and settle down, possibly start a brand new week in the right direction.

So I started my wash. In that load of wash, I included two new shirts: a black polo and a baby blue polo. Also in that wash was a cranberry long john t-shirt that is so old that I was not worried in the slightest about it bleeding.

I am one stupid man.

The last thing I needed was to watch the "bloody" mess that evil wash machine left my poor baby blue polo shirt in. All those cranberry-colored stains. It's so bad.

I really just want to scream (and maybe cry), and it's not even really about the shirt at this point; it's just a stupid $30.00 shirt after all. But it's been a horrible week and I'm still on edge. I just need to release whatever pent up emotions I have, because I'm on the verge of an aneurysm.

Besides, I refuse to buried in a blotchy polo.

Who do I sue?

2006-09-29T19:36:00.000-07:00

5 hours later and I'm still burning mad.

I was in my Photo class today (you guessed -- 5 hours ago!) and I'd just finished developing a roll of film. I saw my supervisor Paul and I went up to him to go say hi. Before I'd even gotten a chance to open my mouth, he told me that my application still hadn't been processed and he didn't know what was going on with it, and that I should go find out what's wrong.

DEJA VU! The exact same thing happened last Friday, and I went in Monday morning and got some vague answer from the people in the office about my application not being lost, but probably being processed, so move along, whiny white boy.

I'm being taken advantage of at this point, and I'm ready to quit, which is kinda funny considering how I still haven't been offically hired.

You see, the guy that runs the lab, Paul, has us, the lab techs, work the first two weeks under what he calls training because it'll take the school those two weeks to process our applications. I think it's the fingerprinting thing that makes it take so long. Anyway, for those two weeks he'll pay us out of his own pocket.

Well, now we're on the verge of week 5 and as luck would have it only my application has been held up, and no one seems to know why. Everybody's giving me the run-around and I haven't been paid one fucking dime yet.

Someone's going to get punched in the throat. Seriously.

Ok, ok, think rationally. Here's what I'll do: contrary to what my gut is telling me ("Punch a motherfucker, John!"), I'll work my Monday morning shift and after that's done, I'll go to the Financial Aid office to find out what's the fucking problem, and this time I want some REAL answers.

And if I don't have something concrete, I'll tell my supervisor that, while I'm not quitting, I'm not working any more shifts till this is all worked out, so he'd better find someone to take over my shifts.

Ugh. This isn't satisfying in the least. I really want to punch somebody.

My splitting headache.

2006-09-25T19:36:00.002-07:00

I have a headache of monstrous proportions right now. All I can think of is the story of Zeus having such a headache that he used an axe on himself to relieve the pressure and Athena sprung forth. It's very similar. Ouchie.

So things are going well. I'm working my ass off for no money. I'm goofing off in Boptany class when I should be paying attention. My lab partners are partially to blame. We keep each other amused, like when I noticed that the large rubber band holding my sketch pad in place broke, I cried out, "Aw, my rubber broke!" And it wasn't until after that left my mouth that I realized what I said, and we were all laughing like crazy. Good times. Utterly immature, but still good times.

I'm in rut, musically speaking. I'm so tired of what I have and I'm in the mood for something new. Any suggestions. I'm listening to the new Ben Kweller album, and so far, so good. It's definitely something that could grow on me. Like a killer fungus.

My splitting headache.

2006-09-25T19:36:00.000-07:00

I'm not anorexic; I'm just broke.

2006-09-19T22:56:00.000-07:00

I just spent 13 consecutive hours on campus, and I went the entire time without one morsel of food. You have no idea how many times I was on the verge of snatching someone's chips and making a run for it. Stolen food tastes better, too.

I'm tired and hungry. But most of all, I'm angry that I missed today's Oprah. It sounded like a good one!

I'm pathetic and I'm OK with it.

Clarity.

2006-09-18T18:48:00.000-07:00

I don't know why meeting guys is so hard for me. It's like I produce a chemical repellent or something. Girls, on the other hand, flock to me like crazy. (There's some inverse relationship going on there and it's TERRIFYING.)

Today, for instance I tried striking up a conversation with a cute boy from my Botany and Anthro class. I know he's gay and in my mind that means we'd automatically click and live happily ever after with our matching chocolate labradours. Something along those lines, I guess.

I went pretty easy on him. I went the small talk route, asking about what he thought of the Botany quiz and other small talk type things. It was like pulling teeth. Nothing but clipped answers, and at one point he even turned his face AWAY from me while I was in mid-sentence.

Right after, class began and my brain went into overdrive. I questioned every angle of the situation wondering what I did wrong. Did I have a booger hanging from my nose? I bet there was, and I bet it was huge and gooey and it winked at him. Also, who talks about quizzes, John? He thinks I'm boring. God, I'm so boring!

But then my brain eventually made it's way back to reality, and it dawned on me: he's a dick and I'm far too nice a person to waste any more time on him.

That's progress...I hope.

Botany Bores Boy.

2006-09-13T20:40:00.000-07:00

Botany. You deceptive bitch. I took you because I thought it was one of the less overwhelming science classes. I mean, flowers and plants. What's so difficult about that?

And then it started. Words like "monoculture", "covalent reactions", and "organelle" got thrown about and my brain shut down.

Botany, you are boring me to death. I have a Sex, Gender, and Culture anthropology class and we discuss things like sexual assymmetry and types of intersexuality, and, today in fact, my professor told us about a culture in New Guinea that cuts off the finger joints of little girls to appease the ghosts of dead relatives. CHOPPED FINGERS, for Christ's sake! You can't top that, Botany; you just can't compete.

Ok, Botany, let's make a deal. You stop being boring and I'll start paying attention. Please do it soon. I really want to pass this class.

(I have a Botany test tomorrow and I am so thoroughly screwed. And I'm talking gay porn gangbanged type of screwed. Eww.)

Setting the bar low, oh so very low.

2006-09-10T15:36:00.000-07:00

Guess who has a job in their college's Photo Department? No, not George Clooney, you boob. ME!

There are a whole bunch of reasons why I should have passed on the position as a photo lab assistant - the low pay, getting fucked over on all the good shifts, and the smell that begins to permeate your clothes after spending so much time in the dark room. Seriously, you spend the rest of the day smelling like farts, and no amount of "I didn't do it!" looks will appease the cringing masses. I'm on the verge of hurling the old standby, "You smelt it, you dealt it,"

But - this is a big but - I get to use the lab whenever it's empty of other classes for whatever photo pet projects I might have, no questions asked. And this, my dears, is perfect because I'm already the slowest person when it comes to developing prints in my Black and White photo class, as evidenced by this past Friday's class. My professor spent the last 5 minutes of class giving me the Evil Eye while everyone was outside on their break before the lecture portion of class. So there I am, rushing to clean up my area, and he's continuing to tsk, tsk me., and telling me to be quicker. Like, NO SHIT. WHY DIDN'T I THINK OF THAT!? Bless you, kind sir, for parting with that nugget of wisdom. God, I hate people.

So after that demeaning spectacle, I refuse to be this photo class' resident fuck-up.

Well, maybe the doofus, but certainly not the fuck-up.

I almost forgot...

2006-09-04T22:50:00.000-07:00

It's Los Angeles's 225th birthday!

Happy Birthday, you dirty old whore, you.

I love you, flaws and all, and I don't care who knows.

Holy water cannot help you now.

2006-09-03T13:22:00.000-07:00

After the whirlwind that had been my first week back at school, this weekend has allowed me to relax and decompress. I honestly thought I was going to faint at some point this week. Not exactly the picture of manliness, but holy hell, was I exhausted.

Friday was my final class of the week, the only class that I had been actively fearing: Black and White photography. The moment we were given the tour of the dark room, however, everything seemed to click. All the fears and tension and exhaustion that I'd been faced dealing with earlier in the week were washed away in an instant. This is where I'm supposed to be, I thought to myself. It's restored something inside of me, a drive, a passion, that had been quieted long ago.

I'm a possessed man now. But at least I have a purpose.

Send help. No, Cheez-Its. Wait, no, help AND the Cheez-Its.

2006-08-31T10:58:00.000-07:00

I didn't know that by enrolling in college courses that run from Monday through Friday I'd be embarking on the best exercise regime of my entire life. There's the No Time for Eating factor, a big plus in my book. As a result my clavicle looks great. Nice and bony! (That's what he said!) I'm pretty sure I could use it as a drink rest if I'm ever willing to engage in a few minutes of Stupid Human tricks. Call me, David Letterman!

Also, I always seem to be on the go, either going to school, rushing from class to class, or trying to get back home. Doesn't that all sound so exciting! I bet it does. Aren't you jealous? Being so busy does have that affect on people.

Oh my God, someone please put me out of my misery now. Like, right this second, just make sure you feed me something first, because I am so hungry. Maybe some Cheez-Its? I like those. Oh, oh, oh, or maybe some of those Gold Fish crackers! Those are good, too, so before you kill me, give me a few of those to nibble on, then proceed to the hopefully non-bloody mercy killing of me, ok? Thanks.

Can you tell I'm not too happy?

Here's where I'd try to put a positive spin on things, like a big smiley face sticker on top of a mountain of poop, like, There's a mountain of shit, but hey, everybody, there's also a smiley face sticker on it. Isn't that just wonderful! So OK, yes I'm lucky to have some amazing professors, all entirely charming and funny, but guess what? I'm exhausted and there's the constant hunger pains in my stomach, so there is no smiley face sticker on a mountain of poop for me, just the mountain of stinky, gross poop, because I have to continue this inhumane cycle for 16 more weeks.

Jukebox Heartache

2006-08-26T14:40:00.000-07:00

I'm very protective of the musical artists I love. Cat Power, Jeff Buckley, Sufjan Stevens. Defame them and I'm likely to punch you in the mouth. (Well, that's how it used to be before I ended up with probation. Stupid assault laws!)

So it pleases me greatly when other people not only like the same artists and songs, but have the ability to sing them as well. I would think as an artist it must be one of the highest honors to have someone want to sing your song because they've connected to it on a deeply personal level. Unless you're singing something by Coldplay, then you're just a douce. (Kidding, but not really.) And so thanks to YouTube, I present you with my two favorite videos of the week:

1. Amanda B. covering Jeff Buckley's version of "Hallelujah", with a funny intro.

2. Matthew S. singing Ben Harper's "Waiting on an Angel." (Him being shirtless and rather cute had nothing to do with me watching it, oh, about six times. I swear.)

I came upon Amanda B's video through her website, which I'm a fan huge fan of. She's one of the most kind-hearted individuals you'll ever meet/read/stalk on the internet, even though she's raised orphaned squirrels back to health. Which I shall not hold against her, because as you all know squirrels are cute and cuddly-looking until they bite you on the face. She's just lucky she released them back into the wild before they had a chance to attack.

As for Matthew's video, I forget exactly how I came upon it, but that just means I'm one lucky fella and should thank my lucky stars for coming across it. He has two more videos, both superb covers of Sufjan Stevens songs.

Last piece of business before I go: 6things has made his final post, and that's a fucking shame. I've been a fan of his blog since I read his interview with Nathaniel of The Film Experience blog. Each of his blog entries are a series of numbered lists, hence the "6 things" title, and it's truly a unique way of communicating. You'd be hardpressed to find a journal as thoughtful, funny, and revealing of a writer's life as his, all wrapped up in a list of 6 things per post. Thankfully you can still check out all his wonderful entries through his archive. You won't be sorry.

The Inadequacy of Being a Guy

2006-08-25T00:50:00.000-07:00

If not for the kind and understanding ear of a friend, I think I would have gone insane by now. I can tell her anything and not worry about being judged, and I've really relied on her as of late to keep my from going under.

In my last email/unceasing rambling to her I wrote about how inept I feel when dealing with guys, both straight and gay. I grew up not having many guy friends. They were a huge source of anxiety for me growing up as a boy; a boy who didn't entirely understand the invisible, but very real differences that set him apart from the other boys, yet understood that those differences would mean being cast out as an outsider if ever revealed. And so I did my best to distance myself from having any real guy friends. I stuck to the safety of my female friends. And it's been nearly that way my entire life.

My female friends have always been a constant source of love and companionship, but I can't help feel like I've missed out on something special, the male bond. I see my brother with his guy friends and I see my female friend's brothers with their guy friends, and it makes me feel inadequate.

And I wish it were as simple as recognizing a problem and then it magically fixing itself, or that tomorrow I'd make a million guy friends, but it doesn't work that way, especially when I still find myself operating in a similar state of paranoia over the exact same thing that prevented me from making those male friendships back when I was a boy.

It's scary to wake up one morning and feel like you've failed one of the very basic acts of being a guy.

You do not want to be me.

2006-08-22T22:58:00.000-07:00

The highlight of my day was trimming my nose hair.

I miss human interaction.

I will survive!

2006-08-15T19:17:00.000-07:00

It's funny to watch a friend struggle with weights if they're doing a bench press and they think they can do just one more rep, like somehow that one extra rep is going to make all the difference, and then reality sets in as the bar sags, and the rest is history.

Until that person is you. And you spend the next 10 minutes wondering how the hell to get out of the situation because you are stupid and don't have anyone spotting you. Your life flashes before your eyes as the bar gets increasingly heavier and your arms strain to keep the bar from pressing down on your poor, girly man chest.

But I am resourceful and a survivor. Like Cher and cockroaches, who as you all know, are the only ones with a chance to survive a nuclear holocaust.

Except I don't know how I got it off, because I think I passed out for a little bit and woke up in my bed surrounded by Auntie Em, Uncle Henry, Hunk, Hickory, and Zeke. Oh, and Toto, too.

So everything worked out fine in the end.

Zestfully clean is a state of mind.

2006-07-30T18:21:00.000-07:00

Ok, here's a question: if it's already past 6 p.m., and I haven't taken my daily shower by now, can I just skip it? I mean, it's kinda pointless, right? The day's almost over and it's not like I have to make any public appearances today, and I'm not giving off stinky smells, so am I past the point of obligation?

Besides, if I have to take a shower, then I'll have to wash my hair, and then dry off, and then deal with putting on deodorant. That's just too much work...

Wow. I just talked myself out of being clean. Good job, me.

To sweat or not to sweat, I really don't have a choice.

2006-07-25T22:23:00.000-07:00

I promised myself that once this past college semester ended and I'd no longer have to deal with Finals brutally time-consuming projects, I'd start working out again. And for the most part, I've kept that promise. Which is shocking, actually, considering how susceptible I am to LYING. But for some reason, this time it stuck and I committed myself to cardiovascular workouts and lifting weights, the whole package. (Just between you and me, my man tits look great!)

And then the world got hot and I lost the will to do anything physical, much less workout. Sweating voluntarily, in this heat? You're kidding me, right? I mean, my God, just breathing is causing me to sweat profusely, and it's past 10:00 p.m.! Imagine trying to do a full hour of running or bicycling in the daylight hours, people. Just thinking about doing those activities in THIS type of heat is enough to make my armpits drip. (Although that's probably an unfair thing to say; they were already dripping with sweat. Now they're gushing. Too much information?)

I was doing so freaking well, honestly, I was, and then like I said, the world got hot and in Los Angeles it's 80 degrees before 9:00 am and it only gets hotter as the day progresses. But now I feel bad, like maybe I'm making a bigger deal out of the heat than I should. Like, grow some balls, suck it up and be a man. Ineffective macho shit utterings along those lines.

Then I remember waking up this morning at 7:00 a.m. with pit stains and a sweat moustache, and I forget ever feeling guilty about not working out in this weather.

Star of such movies as "Hole in One". I'm not kidding.

2006-07-23T00:20:00.000-07:00

I can honestly say the last thing I expected from a Kaiser Permanente commerical featuring a soothing voice over from Allison Janney was to recognize a former gay porn actor.

The first time I saw the commercial, I almost blurted out that I recognized him from somewhere, but then I caught myself in mid-outburst, because the last thing you want to do in a living room full of your family members is to scream out the name of a man who's dick you've seen, even it was only through the computer screen. Unless your family's into that sort of thing. ("SCOTTY ROBERTSON. And it was so wrinkly!")

Anyway, the commerical's still in rotation and it makes me smile each time I see him kiss his Fake Asian Wife because I can't help but think about the OTHER things he's done with that mouth, and, man, were they naughty.

Even my genes hate me.

2006-07-14T22:53:00.000-07:00

It's going to be hot tomorrow. 96 degrees of Fahrenheit deliciousness, is what the big-boobed weather lady is telling me. I'm fully aware that if I even try going outside to interact with my fellow human beings, I'm going to burn alive like the lily white boy I appear to be.

You'd think that being 50% Mexican would help me in some way, like some superior genetic benefit allowing me to fly to the Sun and back with nary a sunburn on me. (Oh, you didn't know all Mexicans could fly? Well you do now, you stupid gringo.) Or, more realistically, being able to walk outside for a few hours without my nose turning redder than Rudolph's and getting sunburned.

But you'd be wrong, and I have the currently-peeling nose to prove it.

Can't speak Spanish, can't walk outside without burning, and if I'm being completely honest, I can't fly either. I'm the worst half-Mexican, ever.