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.

My summer's been great. Well, almost great.

2006-07-13T17:06:00.000-07:00

I remember when summers used to last forever. Days that never ended and nights spent outside, running around the yard with all the other neighborhood misfits until my mother, behind the mesh of our screen door and always precisely at 7:00 p.m., called me inside.

And now I'm older and summer doesn't really have the same magic it once did. But that's to be expected, I guess.

So, I'm alive. Well, breathing and eating and sleeping, yes, but alive? That's debatable.

Jury duty turned out to be less of a menace than I thought it would be. I spent all last week nervously calling the jury service telephone number the night before a potential jury duty day to see if my group would be called in. For four consecutive days, nothing. I was so happy, so relieved.

Thursday night I called in for what would be the last time, perhaps a little too cocky, thinking I'd escaped the gnarled fingers of the Los Angeles court system.

Silly, John. Hope is for kids!

They called my group in on the worst day of all: Friday. Fridays are meant to be spent planning fake camping trips with friends, calling up my three-year old brother and telling him he looks like Charlie Brown (an activity my mother thinks is mean). Not jury duty.

But someone must be looking out for me, because after arriving and spending only two hours in the jury pool room, the case that we were all called in for was dismissed or settled, whatever.

And then I proceeded to get lost on my way home, even going so far as to get trapped in the LAX airport. Which, if I'm being completely honest, would never happen to my friends, because they are fully capable of managing a practical and efficient route home. Me, I am utterly at the mercy of my own stupidity.

My summer's been great. How about yours?

Choosey Kids Choose

2006-07-03T22:54:00.000-07:00

a movie to watch.

Here's what I have to pick from:
Best in Show
Groundhog Day
The Royal Tenenbaums
Bad Santa
Harold and Maude (It's just sitting there, so out of place and waiting to get picked, like a fat kid at a baseball game. Not gonna happen, H & M.)

I honestly don't care at this point. It's almost 11:00 p.m. and I just want something to play over the silence.

Oh God, how emo did that sound?

Pros and Cons

2006-06-29T14:01:00.000-07:00

His poems are bad. No, I mean real bad.

But he has the most gorgeous blue eyes.

His poems are riddled with incorrect spelling. "Dispair", indeed.

But when he smiles he reveals the cutest dimples.

The title of one of his poems is "The essence of death. Your last experience."

But he has a cute ass.

The fireworks came early this year.

2006-06-26T00:32:00.000-07:00

Holy freaking shit. There are lightning flashes going off like crazy, followed by these big booming monstrosities of thunder. There's no rain, though, and I'm not prepared to have the lightning and thunder without the rain. It seems almost wrong for them not to accompany each other.

It was in the mid-80's today. Not humid, just a typical summer day in Los Angeles.

I'm completely weirded out.

Look For Me (I'll Be Around)

2006-06-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

Things have been a bit tense and confusing as of late -- not knowing if I'll have a roof over my head being the source of all my problems. So I dropped my yoga class, something I'd been completely looking forward to since I enrolled and, which by the way, started this morning. But when you hear of behind-the-scenes talk of being kicked out, taking a yoga class seems frivilous, especially if I need to figure out my financial status in case the axe drops on me, Marie Antoinette style.

Anyway, I'm just taking things are they come, remembering to breathe, waiting by the phone to see if I get a callback from the place I applied at, a place I've always considered a backup plan. It's always good to have a backup plan, I say.

I think I'll be going to the beach tomorrow, work on my suntan (or sunburn, it's all the same), because if I stay home waiting for the phone call any longer, I'll give myself an ulcer.

Wouldn't it be great for me to come home, golden and "sunkissed", and have a message from my potential employers?

Yes, it would. Cross your fingers, please.

Heaven's just a thin blue line

2006-06-17T20:14:00.000-07:00

(Photo Credit: Stadtwald)

"If God’s up there he’s in a cold dark room
The heavenly host are just the cold dark moons
He bent down and made the world in seven days
And ever since he’s been a’walking away"

"Thin Blue Flame" - Josh Ritter

There are no words

2006-06-14T00:40:00.000-07:00

As soon as Cat Power appeared on the television screen, you could tell something was up. There she was, barefoot and dancing like a hippy at Woodstock. And this was before she started singing.

It was AWESOME. In the span of Cat Power's three minute performance, she managed to do the Chicken Dance, a Moonwalk, a couple moves that looked vaguely like something straight out of Lord of the Dance, and still sound amazing.

Rock on, my dear. Rock. The. Fuck. On.

The Greatest

2006-06-13T22:06:00.000-07:00

Oh, Cat Power: a mystery wrapped in an enigma, or however that saying goes.

Fragile. Moody. A musician that walks the line between vulnerable little girl and crazy woman with a gun. She's infamous for her tendency to perform either the best or worst concert of your life, but never one to leave people feeling iffy about her and the music; you love her or you hate it. That's the way it is. I'm sure she prefers it that way, too.

If you haven't guessed already, I'm one of those people that worship at her feet. But it's a shame just how much her stage name throws people off when you try to introduce them to her music, especially if your friends already think you ride the short bus to school. A typical conversation with one of my friends:

"So, John, what ya' listening to?"

"Um, Cat Power."

"...What?"

"It's her stage name."

"Forget I asked."

Anyway, the whole point of this post is to tell you Cat Power (real name Chan Marshall) is appearing on Letterman tonight and I hope to God she keeps her cool and manages to pull out one of her great performances. I just know she has it in her.

You can sample many of her tracks by using this mp3 aggregator to point to you the vast array of blogs offering her songs. But let's pretend you found it on your own, ok?

Song Recommendations: "Say", "Still in Love", "Colors and the Kids", "The Greatest", and "Evolution, and "Fool."

One-Way Ticket to

2006-06-09T20:03:00.000-07:00

(Photo Credit: Tjerk Bartlema)

Alaska. Iceland. Anywhere that doesn't require me to use a Scan Tron and a #2 pencil.

That sinking feeling...

2006-06-04T22:24:00.000-07:00

So I spent a combined total of 18 hours tediously painting and I'm finally sitting in my room, staring at my three separate art pieces and figuring out how to combine them in a collage, when it dawns on me: they look like pure and utter shit. And, wouldn't you know, this entire assignment is my Art Final.

I'm on the verge of a panic attack. I don't know what to do. It's too late to start new pieces, but I can't possibly turn in what I have finished. Do I just bail on the entire thing and hope my previous assignment grades are high enough to pass me? Do I pretend like I never had the revelation that my art project looks horrible and keep on working?

I've never known what it's like to cry and puke at the same time, or if it's even possible, but I have a feeling I'll be finding out before the night is over.

Must. Meet. Monday. Deadline!

2006-06-04T03:03:00.000-07:00

I kid you not, I just spent the last 12 hours painting. 12 HOURS. 2:30 p.m. - 2:30 a.m.

It's just...it's not fair. The sad part is I'm only about halfway through at this point.

Somebody shoot me now.

This is why I prefer being lazy.

2006-06-02T16:56:00.000-07:00

After such a long time without exercising and with my yoga class coming up this month, I wanted to get myself used to the repeated use of my probably-atrophied-by-now muscles.

Like a good boy, I did my hour of cardio, and can I just say, WOW, I forgot how much I sweated because, JESUS. Each time I wiped my face with a sleeve, it was like I painting in sweat. My poor shirt.

ANYWAY, I was feeling pretty good about myself and feeling like I could do anything (stupid endorphins!), and felt confident enough to take on my weight bench. Now here's the thing: I hate lifting weights, I hate bench-pressing, I just hate any exercise routine that requires me to push or lift anything.

Now, it'd been a while since I last used the weight bench and because I wasn't sure what I could do in my current state of non-musculature, I decided I'd start off pretty low in terms of total weight. And I did my routine and everything seemed fine, enough to make me rethink my hatred of weight training.

Holy crap, was I wrong. This morning, in one of those groggy states of semi-consciousness where you move around to change positions, my poor left arm was in so much pain. Like, any bending of my arm sent shooting pains to the, what's that muscle called right above the elbow? The delts? No, that's somewhere in the leg, I think. Tricep? I think that's located a bit higher, but anyway, whatever muscle thing that's right above the elbow was throbbing.

It's been that way ever since and only now, after hours of applying my generic Ben-Gay (Cold Burning, or Icy Hot, or some other insipid title. No wait, it's called Cool Heat. Heh.), I can now manuever my poor left arm to a 45 degree angle, even though it hurts like a bitch when I do it.

There's no bruising or popped bones or anything of the sort, so no need for a hospital visit, but still: stupid exercising!

FREEEE!

2006-05-31T10:33:00.000-07:00

Legend has it that in one of the school buildings, there is a mysterious room where you are allowed to print out 15 pages a day, free of charge. Since I've been going here, I've always thought it was merely an urban legend, except less gory and without the removal of people's kidneys.

Ladies and Gents, the room is real! In what was turning out to be the Worst. Day. Ever. has become slightly less bad.

Although the 5 minutes it took for me to find it was great, the 45 minutes spent just trying to figure out the wonky system kinda put a damper on my "I got shit for freeeee!" mood.

But still: freeee!

It's almost over!

2006-05-30T13:58:00.000-07:00

I'm swamped with school assignments. Art history paper that is due tomorrow? Working on it right now. Actually, STARTING IT right now is more like it. Like you're surprised. Final art project? I have no idea when that's going to get done and thank the Lord it's not due till next week or I'd have a heart attack right now. Psychology presentation on Humanistic Therapy? Totally going to wing it, because I just don't care and the whole reason for the presentations are so that my lazy ass professor can sit back while her students do the actual teaching. She could have gone through all the different types of therapy in one class and saved us all the time and effort, but no, she springs it on us that we're going to be broken up into groups and present the therapies to each other.

I'm getting the feeling she's purposely trying to make my life difficult because not only does she spring the presentations on us without any warning, but like any good student, I take it in stride and make a group with my class friend, an intelligent and funny guy, and some other seemingly smart guy, but then she has the nerve to take me out of my own group and make me join some other girl, who in fact was already part of a group. Yeah, I'm still pissed at that. It was such an elementary school teacher move to make. "No, you and you, I want you two in a group. Come over here."

Finals are in two weeks, thank God, meaning that I'll only have to put with with this shit for a short time and then I can egg her car. And once school's done, I can concentrate on other things, like yoga and Downward Dog and how the weird hippy guy up in front needs to think about returning those lycra shorts, because, dude, I can totally see your man-business.

Ok, all that happened in my head. Gotta keep myself occupied.

Tapped Out.

2006-05-25T15:25:00.000-07:00

My final art project has just been handed out: Chaos into Order, or, Order into Chaos.

We're supposed to incorporate any of the mediums or techniques we've used during the semester. I love the concept, but I'm just so tapped out on ideas. I continue to pull up blanks anytime I spend trying to hash out an idea. It's so frustrating knowing that the end is in reach and I'm thisclose to ending the class with an A but for the life of me cannot come up with jackshit.

I swear, each time I move I can hear the rattling of tin cans in my head.

Music has been playing constantly for the last few hours. Red House Painters. Sigur Ros. Xiu Xiu. Cat Power. Everybody that can conjure up images in my head in hopes of capturing it and turning it into art.

Nothing is happening.

There was some acting, but that's not important.

2006-05-19T23:34:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching Prime, the Uma Thurman and Meryl Streep movie, and I think I liked it. But maybe that's because Bryan Greenberg, Thurman's romantic interest, was shirtless. Alot.

I know, "Fuck acting! It's all about the hot man abs!" So typical of me.

I have free time and I want to read?

2006-05-18T23:42:00.000-07:00

That's right! I want a good book to read. I've been craving something worthwhile to consume and I just haven't had the time to put into looking for one. Not interested anything too weighty, like Tolstoy, or anything fluffly, like Evanovich. More in the middle, I guess. Thankfully all my classes have hit a lull in terms of tests and assignments -- the calm before the storm --, so this weekend will be my first in recent memory without any hideous college-related activies taking up all my precious "free" time. Pure bliss.

I taped Will & Grace, thus making it easier to fast forward through all the Will and Grace parts. Jack and Karen forever! The only reason I'm even watching it, though, is because it's the series finale and all. Sentimentallity gets me everytime.

Wait, what does the perm press button do?

2006-05-14T13:03:00.000-07:00

For the second week in a row I've managed to complete a load of laundry before 2:00 p.m. I'm totally an adult now, right?

1. 2. 3. CLENCH!

2006-05-13T01:38:00.000-07:00

The week went by pretty quickly. I managed to pick out my classes for the Fall semester and I'm quite pleased with my selection.

While going through my college's list of classes for the Summer and Fall, semesters, I noticed a yoga class offered during the summer months....and I enrolled. I'm always complaining about my lack of exercise and I've always wanted to take a yoga class, so it seems like the perfect activity for the summer. It's a morning class as well, so it won't prevent me from working and earning the dollars that have been chronically absent from my wallet.

("No, arch the back even more! Stupid human.")

My only concern is...um, farting. (Heh, "fart.") I don't know, maybe I'm crazy, but all those poses seem prone to inducing a case of the Butt Orchestra. Even though I have the utmost confidence in my superior butt-clenching abilities, I know if I happened to fart in the yoga class I'd be so embarassed that I would then be forced to erase my very existence from the annals of humankind. Or wipeout my fellow classmates in a Carrie-esque showdown. Whichever's the least amount of work, I suppose, although I should probably be aiming for whichever is least likely to get me convicted of murder.

Decision, decisions...What to do?

2006-05-08T22:31:00.000-07:00

My enrollment date for the Fall 2006 semester is this Friday. And I have no idea what I'm going to take. I mean, I know for sure that I'm taking a drawing class, but other than that, I don't have a clue.

I'm on the verge of hanging up the class listings on the wall and throwing darts at them to decide.

The "C. Montgomery Burns" Look, coming soon to a hand near you!

2006-05-06T21:22:00.000-07:00

I just spent the last six hours finishing up a week-overdue painting for my art class, slumped over the canvas, meticulously painting in each block of my quasi-geometric abstract design. I could have been done so much sooner if The Art Nazi hadn't insisted that each block/swirl/trapezoid, etc., be a DIFFERENT COLOR. Do you know how time consuming that is? Yeah, you guessed it. SIX HOURS. And that doesn't include the hours I've spent on it earlier this week.

My poor hands. Considering the hours I've spent painting, typing rough drafts for art history papers, and the furious pace at which I had to take notes during class lectures this week, I'm giving myself two years before I develop carpel tunnel syndrome. Or arthritis.

Typing this post didn't help my pre-arthritic hands. OUCH!

My nose is burning. Save me. [Part 2]

2006-05-03T10:43:00.000-07:00

Now I know y'all are out to get me, with the sending of the people who smell like farts to sit next to me. I'm on to you bastards.

I just...I want to be in a smelly-free zone, people. Can you do that for me, please? Is it too much to ask? Wipe your butts, put on clean underwear. Take the necessary precautions to not smell like the contents of a diaper. Help me to help you.

Sincerely,
The Pouty Boy Sitting Next To You.

My nose is burning. Save me. [Part 1]

2006-05-03T10:26:00.000-07:00

I wish so much right now that I were home. I want to go home, turn on my computer, blast some Modest Mouse and Jeniferever, and plop myself on the living room couch. Possibly take a nap while waiting for my ice cubes to solidify so then I can enjoy my cherry coke. Nothing beats a glass of coke with two ice cubes, seriously.

School sucks and waiting an hour for a class to start sucks even more.

Hey, you, Mr. Invading My Personal Space. Back the fuck off. Leaning on my chair while talking to your friend, that isn't going to fly with me. Besides, you smell. I highly recommend you switch to another deodorant. Or, maybe, just maybe, start taking showers. That always helps.

Man, I really want that glass of cherry coke right now.

OH MY GOD, you're back, Smelly Personal Space Invader. What is wrong with you!? Have you no shame? Go take your Silkwood shower, you freak. Ugh.

John is in love with a fictional character who has chiclet teeth. Go figure.

2006-05-02T00:51:00.000-07:00

I have the biggest crush on Jim, one of the characters from The Office. He's funny and cute, and as the character Pam pointed out, he has nice teeth. A fine specimen indeed.

Sunday night I went to bed stressed out because I wasn't as prepared for what I thought was Monday morning's psych test. But like a gift from the heavens (Thank you, Jebus!), I was blessed with one of those rare infectiously happy dreams that causes you to smile and feel completely refreshed as you wake up the next morning. You see, I dreamed I was in an episode of The Office. For some odd reason, which I'll chalk up to dream logic, we had to fill out questionnaires during our lunch break and one of the questions was "Which musician do you hate the most?" and I wanted to answer it with the lead singer from Maroon 5, but I couldn't remember his name or the name of his band, so I had to sing something really nasally until someone guessed who I was referring to.

Plus Cheri O'Teri made a guest appearance and clown make up was involved, but I think it's best that I don't remember why.

She was my best friend for a reason.

2006-04-29T22:55:00.000-07:00

She was the girl who drew beautiful celtic spirals and knots in class, the girl who planned on going to art school or enrolling in a fancy culinary academy and, honestly, could have done both because she was just that talented. She's the girl who helped you with your geometry homework in the morning and had to explain it to you again in the afternoon because you forgot how to do it. She's the girl who turned the phrase "Take my strong hand!" into a years-long inside joke that never fails to make me laugh.

But now she's the girl who can't spend the day with you without wanting to smoke a joint, not recreationally, but in an every hour type of deal. She's the girl you spent the day after your birthday with and who called you a pussy for not wanting to inhale nitrous oxide from a whipped cream dispenser along with her latest drugged out friend. She's the girl who makes you feel sad because you know deep down inside her, behind the glazed eyes, the old Nikole is still there, bright-eyed, smart, and full of the passion that doesn't seem to be present any longer. I just don't know how to reach her.

I always believed that we'd conquor the obstacles in our post-high school years together, leaning on each other for support each step of the way.

It's just me now and it feels fucking lonely.

I miss you, Nikki.

21

2006-04-25T00:07:00.000-07:00

Happy 21st Birthday, me. It's going to be a fucking great day to remember, even if my dad has royally screwed me over. I won't get into it, but I certainly wasn't surprised; a little hurt, maybe. But I am pissed at the disparity in treatment I get compared to my brother, the boy who makes my father's life a living hell, yet still gets treated like a prince. I don't pretend to understand it, and trying to make sense of it will only give me a headache and cause a rise in my blood pressure. I can't let that happen, now can I, especially if I plan on living until I have the financial means to send my father into the shittiest old folks home Florida has to offer, a place where the helper monkies beat the seniors with bamboo shoots.

Oh well, that's the way the cookie crumbles. I must remember that my birthday isn't about what I receive in material possessions, but what I get in wonderful memories and experiences with the people that I cherish.

Once again, Happy f'n Birthday, to me.

Countdown

2006-04-24T08:21:00.000-07:00

I ditched my art class. It's important that I make an effort to at least show up, but that class blows. Well, the teacher blows. The class just swallows.

But now I must find a way to fill two hours I would have otherwise spent in class.

Maybe I'll watch a movie. I know the library has a decent film section. Something old, perhaps an Audrey Hepburn movie. I don't think I've ever actually seen an Audrey Hepburn movie. I know, I'm shocked, too.

Or I'll just sexually harass the hot guy across the aisle from me in the computer lab. Yeah, that sounds like fun.

"C'mon, baby, you know you like it. Yeah, that's right, you dirty bitch."

Unwelcomed guest.

2006-04-22T23:57:00.000-07:00

The lip pimple, in all it's face-consuming glory, has returned. I've offered it money and promised it many, many supple virgins if it would just go away, but it's not taking the bait.

It's so big and red and very scary. I fear for my safety.

I just hope the lip pimple (Joe, Bobby, whatever, I feel like it needs a name) finds another host to torment before my birthday on Tuesday. Any chance of me getting laid will substantially decrease if the pimple starts talking and engaging in conversations with my potential suitors.

What happens when your Spring Break is one week long.

2006-04-19T15:25:00.000-07:00

Plans to visit friend in Santa Barbara?

There's no time.

Go paintballing while intoxicated?

There's no time, although in hindsight, maybe that worked out for the best.

Masturbate?

THERE'S JUST NO TIME!

Worst Spring Break, ever.

Democracy

2006-04-11T19:08:00.000-07:00

There's nothing more boring than voting in a local election. Like, who cares about the three-candidate race for city council? Or the only other thing on this lackluster Spring ballot, the ONE MAN RACE for City Clerk.

I don't know about you, but one candidate races seem a bit undemocratic to me. Where are the choices, people!? So, in doing my part to see democracy thrive in my fair little city, I made a write-in candidate selection: Seymour Butts.

The founding forefathers would be so proud of me.

Hanging by a nerve.

2006-04-10T18:20:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamed that my two front teeth came loose. I can still vividly recall the sensation of rubbing my tongue against them, feeling them jiggle, and the final tug of them breaking free.

A few weeks ago, my psych professor gave a rather interesting lecture on dreams, their origins and purposes. People started asking her questions about their own dreams. "I dreamed about bees. What do bees mean? How about when they're chasing you, what does that mean?" I expected her to laugh at the silly requests and move on, but no, Dr. Quack indulged and my Bullshit Meter has been off the charts ever since. (Actually, I'm sure it was the time she managed to equate Oprah with Martin Luther King, Jr. and Gandhi. Good times.)

But now all I can remember is the story she told us of a female student and the dream she interpreted for her. The girl dreamed she'd lost her teeth. Two weeks later she suffered a psychotic break.

I only lost two. That must count for something, though. Right?

The warm and fuzzy feeling I'll get just before I kick her in the face.

2006-04-05T18:11:00.000-07:00

I knew I was going to regret staying home Monday to play Halo 2 all day with my brother. But sometimes staying home to prevent space aliens from conquering the earth and becoming our overlords is more important than learning Maslow's hierarchy of boring pysch bullshit, y'know?

I just didn't think I was going to walk into class this afternoon to find everyone at their desks with Scan-tron sheets, all nervously reviewing their notes because, guess what, John, we have a TEST!

There are no words to explain how much I hate my psych professor, an evil human being who has the nerve to schedule a test two days after she announces it. HATE!

But even with that, my day could not be entirely ruined. In another class, we critiqued our collage art projects. My art professor has taken an unsual liking to me and my artwork as of late, and today was no exception. She was ecstatic over my collage, calling it excellent and pointing out my use of negative space, and I could not have been happier, because, seriously, I hated working on it and every waking moment spent on it made me want to yank out my hair.

I went into this semester just hoping to make it through the art class, having almost no discernible artistic talent, and now here I am, the teacher's pride and joy. It really helps soothe my HATE! rages, to tell you the truth.

"When it comes my time, I'll leave this old world with a satisfied mind."

2006-03-31T22:38:00.000-08:00

It always feels like we're being punished when it rains in Los Angeles, as if our city's held on to the sunshine for far too long and now this is what we get for being sun hogs.

Tonight I went out with a small group of friends to a little Mexican restaurant. We all showed up in some form of summery clothing: flip-flips, shorts, skirts. And we all knew that it was going to rain tonight, but we acted as though by ignoring it, the rain would realize we were giving it the silent treatment and would go away. Alas, the rain did not care for our stupidity.

The evening was pleasant and loud, everyone just laughing it up and talking at the same time and still managing to remain coherent. We're amazingly functional alcoholics.

A fun time was had by all, even though some of us won't remember that when we're kissing the toilet bowel tomorrow morning.

I'm going to go to sleep now, but I thought I'd post this YouTube video of Jeff Buckley singing my favorite of his songs, "Satisfied Mind."

Listening to the song always reminds me -- whether I'm sad, happy, or lost -- of the preciousness of life. We don't know how long we'll get to play this game, but while we have the chance, we should squeeze it for all it's worth; to make as many memories as you possibly can, especially with the people that make it worthwhile.

Man, I've managed to pontificate while having beer breath.

I need to go to bed, pronto.

America: Safe at last.

2006-03-30T18:03:00.000-08:00

I'd just finished reading one of the YAHOO! News articles about the Army banning it's soldiers from using privately bought body armor when I came across a heading that caught my eye:

I always knew there was a darker side to the man. I mean, he hates flip-flops, for god's sake!

Although I do hope they go easy on him. It's not like he's a puppy-killer or anything...

Sister John

2006-03-29T18:07:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while I like to try to grow out my hair. I say try because each time I do it, I realize how ridiculous it looks. And then I promptly regain my sanity and get a proper hair cut.

Today was the breaking point for me in my months long hair experiment. The locks of hair residing above my ears have begun to stick out at a 90 degree angle and I realize that technically, I now have hair wings.

Worse than my non-flyable hair wings is how much the entire thing looks as if I'm auditioning for a role in The Flying Nun.

Even dearest Sally is all, "Dang, you look fucked up."

I know, Sally. I know.

Dude...

2006-03-28T13:53:00.000-08:00

It's raining -- Hello, rain! -- and I'm sitting here with glue stick paste on my fingers, wondering how the hell I managed to get myself the one college art teacher still giving out collages as projects, when it suddenly dawns on me: I'm totally high.

First things first: It's not my fault. I didn't smoke anything, I didn't buy anything, and no, I don't sniff glue sticks. Besides, they're non-toxic.

Rather, I'm the victim of the awesome and cheapest way to get stoned, ever: the contact high.

The pot dealers below me started smoking scary Cheech and Chong amounts this morning and haven't stopped, like, at ALL, even as we go into the afternoon.

Having them live downstairs for almost a year and half now, I've adapted to their ways. Calling the cops doesn't solve the problem and the owner of the building turns a blind eye, so it's up to me to deal with it. If it gets too bad, I light tens of really poofy smelling candles. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

I could tell today was going to be one of the bad days by how ineffectual my really, really gay candles were. The rain had transformed the pot smell into something freakishly potent and it was overpowering my poor, really gay candles.

But now I have a headache and it's all their fault because they couldn't even do me the decency of smoking the good stuff, and in my book, if you're going to get someone high, you use the good stuff. It's like, the rules, or something.

God, I hate my neighbors.

Making a bigger deal out of things since 1985!

2006-03-26T13:14:00.000-08:00

I really miss taking photographs. Standing in front of a particular scene, whether it's the lighting or the colors that catch my eye, I wish I could capture it in the moment. My growing obsession with Flickr isn't helping matters.

Seeing as how my birthday is one month away, I've decided to request a digital camera. I've been doing some research for a while now, comparing the many models, and I'm nearly 100% sure I'm going to go with the Canon A520. It's price and abilities seems to fit in perfectly with what I want.

The only problem I'm having is being unable to locate it in any local stores. It's either not in stock or just not being sold, and I've checked them all. The big retailers, like Best Buy and Circuit City, and the smaller ones, like Samy's Cameras, none of them have it.

I know, I know: "What about Amazon.com?" They have it, and seem to be the only people with it, but I want to see it in person, I want to get a feel for it before the purchase. It's the crazy rationalization going on in my head.

"Well, just get it from Amazon."
I want to see it in person.

"Dude, just get it fro--"
I WANT TO SEE IT IN PERSON.

I think I like making my life more difficult than it needs to be.

Who says Christians can't be gay?

2006-03-24T22:07:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure why it keeps happening, but I find myself continuing to frequent the Trinity Broadcasting Network.

Ok, I just lied. I know why I keep watching.

It's not because Gary Busey, Dyan Cannon, and Dog the Bounty Hunter all seem to be on 24/7 giving their testimonials. True, each of them brings their own individual qualities to the "celebrity" show and tell segments: The Regis Philbin levels of overly bleached teeth, the incessent ramblings of crazy washed up actors and their reality "star" counterparts who have no idea how to string together words into sentences, and above all else, the awesomest mullet in the history of the world.

(Photographic evidence of the world's awesomest mullet)

Yes, those are all fantastic -- especially the mullet! -- , but you could find equivalent values of entertainment on any given season of the Surreal Life. (Somewhere Corey Feldman's ears are burning.) Where's the It factor, the something extra that catapults this network and it's gaudily decorated sets into the stratosphere of cheesy delights?

Please meet my reasons for watching: Paul and Jan Crouch, the married founders of TBN, and apparently, the gayest couple ever to be unaware of their blindingly obvious homosexuality.

His likes: male coworkers (allegedly!); pornstaches; phallic imagery.

Her likes: putting the best of Chelsea's and West Hollywood's drag community to shame; one-upping Tammy Faye; the color pink.

Seeing them together makes me believe there are such things as soulmates.

The present is so much better than the past.

2006-03-23T18:46:00.000-08:00

After nearly 8 years, I've been allowed the opportunity to move on.

I have a tendency to obsess over the past. And when I say "past", I specifically mean the time I spent at the private Christian school which I attended from 5th to 7th grade. The reason for this is how much those three years defined me as a person, for better or worse, and how vivid the memories of my time there still remain. It's hard to put into words how much the school left an impression on me, in both wonderful memories and emotional scars. But that's how life is, a clusterfuck of good and bad.

On any account, I've always wondered what happened to the kids I went to school with, even the ones I didn't like. I want to know how they've changed if at all, what they've become (crossing my fingers for a stripper or at the very least, a high class hooker), and most importantly, if Eddie C. is still smokin' hot. Closure, morbid curiosity, or the chance for schadenfreude? Take your pick.

Monday afternoon, I was given that chance and I must say, it felt great. I found out many interesting things, but the most titilating tidbit I learned was how the church that ran the school became scarily cultish as the years progressed, causing nearly half the congregation to eventually leave, including much of the students.

And thanks to photograhic evidence -- do I post it or not? -- Eddie C. still remains hot, although surprisingly heftier than I imagined he'd be. That's ok, though, I like my men how I like my peanut butter: chunky! (You have no idea how long I've been waiting to use that.)

Almost that time.

2006-03-20T23:40:00.000-08:00

I think I've gotten almost everything situated -- wait, why does "situated" look misspelled? Holy hell, I'm having one of those moments where if you stare at a word for too long it begins to look foreign.

And no, I was never dropped on my head as a child. That I know of...