Don we now our gay apparel, fa la la la la, la la la la

It's finally here. Tomorrow afternoon my whole family will descend on the parent's place for the holiday festivities. All sixteen of us will be together for the first time in a while. My parents, my brother and sisters and their respective nuclear families and me, the faggoty master of ceremonies/cruise director. Seriously, things go along fine through the eating and the present opening, but after that, without me, this clan would devolve into tv watching and napping. No. Sometime there is arm twisting, maybe even a few tears, but there will be FUN had by all until we fall where we may in our jimjams and comfy throws and viscoelastic pillows. Well, that last bit is me. I fall where I may. Everyone else gets a bed. What the? They know I can sleep anywhere. That's what I tell myself. It may not be what they're thinking, but it is true. Y'all wouldn't be surprised to hear about some places I've bedded down for the night, would you? Anyway, here's wishing everyone peace and love and joy and a blessed holiday full of family and fun and food and wine and whatever manner of Bacchanalian delights strike your respective fancies. See you next week, guys, and I'll show you my gifts if you show me yours. MUAH!

You're the fire that keeps me warm, how will I get through this storm?

I've been terrible about posting this week, but it's Meat Friday, and I'll always find the time to ogle a prime cut. I said I'd go older and more hairy and maybe chunkier this week. How's one out of three? Meats and cheeses, cuz is teh hot, ain't he?

Each day's a brand new life

Here in the Northern Hemisphere it's the winter solstice, yo. The shortest day and the longest night of the year. Transitions. And while showering just now, I knocked myself in the nuts with the handle of my loofah. What? No, not on purpose. Would you consider that an inauspicious start to the season? I like this day because it holds the promise of more daylight and warmer temperatures to come. Longer days and shorter nights to dream of. Is it selfish that, on the cusp of this new year, with so much trouble in the world, I'm mainly wishing that I have someone to burrow under the covers with for a long winter's night this time next year? This is Pipedreams after all, remember? Oh, it's also Haircut Day! Slide into your tightest low riders and those boots I love, Alan, sweetie, and I'll see you later today.
Added: While I was typing this, Kenny Loggins started singing Celebrate Me Home. That's in my Christmas mix. It makes me warm. Sometimes it makes me cry a bit. Like this time.

Lord, it's been a long time comin'

Dare I celebrate one small step in the right direction? The religious conservatives have been on such a relentless roll that I'll take a bit of pleasure with this swing back to reason. A judge decided today that 'intelligent design' cannot be taught in the science classrooms of Dover, PA. He accurately described the effort to introduce this hocum as a blatant attempt to sell religion in the public schools. Did we seriously need a judge to decide if there is some intelligence behind all this?

Tangentially, concerning the ongoing 'Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays' non-debate, my boy Tom has an interesting anecdote to share. It's good and I'm not just saying that because of, you know, the mad crush. Check it out, y'all. As with people of different stripes and persuasions, there is a time and a place for all these expressions, right? Is anyone honestly trying to argue that? Of course not. It's a manufactured controversy once again casting the poor conservative religious types in the role of the beleaguered. Ridiculous. They're so downtrodden that I feel I should send them their Christmas greetings a few days early. A pick me up for them. And me. And you. Who can argue with it?

We need a little Christmas, right this very minute

I wish I could say I've been running around to holiday parties or decking my halls or washing my horse (?), but instead I've been cramming in lots of work and doing continuing education online in my spare moments. Nothing says festive like a thirtysomething man in his underpants reading and answering multiple choice questions , eh? That's the continuing ed part. I'm not in my underpants at work. And damned but there's no multiple choice there, either. When will I have time to finish shopping and wrapping, never mind throwing together a festive red and green salad? In the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that I spent a good portion of my free Sunday reading two newspapers and watching 12 consecutive episodes of Arrested Development (Season 1). I've said it before, but it bears repeating: that shit's genius. I think it's lagged at times since Season 1, but precious fucking little. The worst episode of AD is better than 90% of the other sitcoms out there.

Am I real or still in a dream?

I know it's MEAT FRIDAY and all, but I ran across this picture of Julianne Moore over at D-Listed and goddamned if she isn't one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Are those really her kids? Kill me now. So gorgeous. I know this is the second time in as many weeks that I've fawned over a woman, but would you look at her? Never mind she's one of the best actors in like forever. Like Michael K. said--perfection.

So before y'all start making hetero jokes, I'll add that there is a fucking Matthew McConaughey FEST going on over at Just Jared. Have at it, bitches.

With gentle hands and the heart of a fighter, I'm a survivor

Can it be MEAT FRIDAY again already? I've often admitted that I'm not too proud for sloppy seconds, so despite my tastes normally running more towards man than boy, I can certainly appreciate the charms of these Survivor scraps. I'm flexible like dat. (This one's for you, Bodes)

photo by Lewis Payton via towleroad

Is there something I should know?

It's never gonna be very fun telling all your sexual partners that you may have given them an STD. Until now! Cute and quirky e-cards will tell your 'friends' that the itch they've been experiencing isn't so mysterious after all.

If I don't listen to the talk of the town, then maybe I can fool myself

Howard is the King of All Media. On this day of endings and beginnings for him, I've decided to out myself. You guys, I am the Whore For All Media. What? You knew all along? These things never work out like I think they will. Here's some sensory goodness I'm looking to absorb:

• MOVIES: Yeah, of course I'm gonna see Brokeback Mountain. When it finally gets here, that is. I'm guessing I may have to drive a few hundred miles and possibly cross state lines. That's not the movie I'm thinking about today. It's The New World. I love the trailer for this flick and I'm fascinated by the time period. Plus, hello(!), Pocahontas. She's played by Q'orianka Kilcher. This hot bitch is distant cousins with Jewel. How did I miss this? They're practically identical, Patty-and-Cathy-stizz! I'll check this out despite The Thin Red Line. I know that Malick is considered a genius, but I found that nearly unwatchable. What did that floppy bird mean anyway? I'm also gonna see The Squid and the Whale, Syriana, Good Night and Good Luck and King Kong. It seemed like months since there was anything I wanted to see, and now they are piling up.
• TV: Only three more weeks until 24 people! They are adding to the cast, almost daily it seems. We have Laurie Metcalf and Stephen Spinella now. Also Sean Astin, Jean Smart, Peter Weller, JoBeth Williams and Julian Sands. Damn. The truth is I'd trade them all if only they'd give me Dina Araz (Shoreh Aghdashloo) back. Behroooz! Boy, that never gets old, does it? Here's a little snippet from USA Today: The new season picks up 18 months after May's finale. Let's hope Jack has enjoyed that year-and-a-half, because odds are he's about to face another very bad day. Hell yeah!
• MUSIC: Dolly is up for a Golden Globe, guys, and she's tickled about it. It's for her song Travelin' Thru which she wrote for the movie Transamerica. Turns out Dolly employs a transgendered individual. Trannies, gays, Midwestern tourists in jean shorts and white sneaks....she loves us all! Plus she's basically a drag queen herself. She's nearly perfect. As evidence, here's a snippet from that interview: Parton told us you don't have to know the song is about a transsexual to like it. Given its Christian imagery, she said, "country fans may think it's gospel".

I haven't even gotten to books and the internets, but I have to get to the gym. Even though this media stuff pleases me, it's short-lived. But one more inch onto my chest and one subtracted from my waist will make me happy forever.

This is a man's world

Man, I had a horrendous day at work yesterday. We had six inches of snow in the morning. Around these parts, that grinds things to a halt. I work in a customer service job and not many folks were out and about. Some were, though, so I was here for 10 hours anyway. I was tired and bored and cranky when I got home to find that my cable was down. No television, no internet. What the fuck am I supposed to do? So frustrating. I felt much better after pulling myself off and I sat down with my big red and green salad to watch Martha Stewart cook a savory escarole and meatball soup with Il Divo. Oh, shutup. I did it in a manly fashion.
P.S. I'm not a Martha lover like some of y'all, but I do appreciate what you see in her. However, she should NEVER be allowed to do interviews. Horrid. I would have muted her, but I really did want to hear about that soup.
Added: The television came back while I was otherwise amused/occupied, but the internet never did.

All the favorite TV shows have gone out the window

Granted this season of The Amazing Race was overdue to be ushered gently into the dark night, but I gotta say it--I miss those crazy Linz kids already. Part of it is they were so familiar. They're from Cincinnati where I lived for many years. Cincy is just down the road from where I sit now (PS I'm wearing a nice crisp pair of grey wool pants with just a hint of lycra added to give where I need some give)(oh, and I busted out the 2xist briefs, again with the giving, and it's not even a special occasion). They remind me of how my family and friends were at that age. We weren't as hot as them, but otherwise. I never thought I'd say this, but now I want TAR All-Stars. Before you argue, it could be cool! Who would you bring back from TARs gone by? Reichen, no question, but Chip? Could we re-pair teams with different partners? Jon, yes! Kelly, no. The clowns! Chip and Kim. Remember Blake and Paige, that adorable pair who were not only brother and sister, but also (creepily) best friends? There are so many people I'd love to see again and no, not all of them are hard and hirsute. Of course it would be the standard teams of two, so we'd have to jettison some Linzs. I say we keep Nick and Bone, but possibly Alex. Megan's gone, of course.

Kill that calf and call the family round

Hey, guys! Johnny A Go Go is a Back Back! And not a moment too soon. If he hadn't come back, I just ....well, I would have.....ummm, I'm not sure but all that matters is he's back. J. Go was one of the first folks I read along with freakgirl and Max when I was cherry in the blogsphere. Love him a strangely disproportionate amount. There you have it.

Like a birthday or a pretty view

Yeah, there's Shanghai or Sydney, but maybe Rio, eh? Yeah, it's still two days until Meat Friday. Fucking sue me. How long would you spend around and between those quads, man? Damn, I could live down there.

picture by Lewis Payton via towleroad

Added: On an unrelated note, if you didn't catch GayWatch on The Daily Show, here's where you can check it out (video nsfw). That reminds me. I need to renew my subscription to Gaywad McGee's Scrotum Lovers Quarterly.

Everything you thought is possible if you believe

I finished Augusten Burrough's Magical Thinking over the weekend. Augusten's main mode is to bring the funny and he doesn't disappoint in this one. While he's being hilarious, he's also brutally honest and achingly emotional. Most of the essays in the last half of the book feature his partner, Dennis/The Schnauzer. The way he describes their love and their relationship has me pining. I'll just say it. I want someone to tangle limbs with every night, someone to inhale in the morning, and he may as well have lightly hairy pecs you could bounce a quarter off, you know, as long as I'm dreaming. This won't make me look good, but I've never had that for very long. The only lasting relationships I've had have been with women. With guys? It's been more random and often under the influence. Pretty, huh? Anyway, if you haven't read any of this dude's stuff, pick up Running With Scissors and thank me later. The movie is coming out next year, with a serious cast, yo. So, now I'm reading Breakfast at Tiffany's. After seeing Capote a few weeks ago, I felt the need to read something of his. I've read In Cold Blood before, so I thought I'd try this. Good so far. Truman can turn a phrase like a muthafucka. He's also gay, like Augusten. And an alcoholic, like Augusten. And swishy.

Five! Five! Five! Sing a song about five! How many is five?

• There will be no abs for Christmas, but you already knew that. As I told you, the effort has nonetheless proved fruitful. I've reached the lean end of my closet already, so what's next but for me to buy all new pants? Yay! I thought abs would be easier. If you knew how old I really am, you'd be more sympathetic to my plight. But I haven't given up. Instead of Christmas, I'm now planning on giving myself abs for Purim, which is still appropriate with Esther's fast and whatnot. To that end, I've resolved to limit myself to one handful of nuts per day.
• I've been sharing some Christmas music with a few of my favorite bitches. While I can't host songs on this chintzy blog like freakgirl is so generously doing on hers, if you are a ho for the ho-ho-ho like I am, send me a note and I'll include you in the yule goodness via email.
• I mentioned a while back that my beloved niece was hoping for All-American status for the cross country season. She got it! She's now one of only two girls in her school's history to get that in their first two years of competition. Tough as nails, that one.
• I was feeling a little down earlier today, but I'm feeling OK now. And more sleek.
• You know I've been jonesing for some travel. I booked some time out West for skiing, but that's not til Easter. My friends bailed on Australia, but I'm still considering it. Another friend just found out he's moving to Shanghai for at least a year! I've always threatened to learn Chinese (beyond "Where's the bathroom?" ,"Thank you", "I'm hungry" and "Dude, you're hot", so what better excuse? Will I have to blow someone to get that visa? No? You sure?

The wild and windy night that the rain washed away

If you've been around here much at all, you'll know my boy, Bodhi. He's part hilarious, part holy, part horny (a big part) and all about the apt lyrics, even more than me. He's got quite a tale to tell, as well. He's strong and brave as a muthafucka for doing what he's done and for sharing it. His path has been different from mine, but somehow feels familiar. There's a lot in his story that I can learn from. Maybe you, too. Check it out, y'all.

Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel

I had a wonderful time in Michigan last weekend. I hit the road early because of the weather, but really wasn't slowed much, so I made it by 4P on Friday. My only plans were for the birthday party on Saturday night. Plenty of time for me to gambol about, as a coltish sprite like me is wont to do. Care to see a highlight reel?

• Second guessing myself on the gift I had for OtherMom, I headed for the upscale mall, which is so chic btw, that it's not a mall at all, but a 'collection'. Heh. Not surprisingly (to me), I ended up shopping for myself. I couldn't believe, given the hour and the proximity to Christmas, that the crowd was minimal. It was nice and relaxing to roam around and window shop and try stuff on. See, all you girls need your very own homo homey for this reason alone. I'll watch you try shit on for a very long time before I even think of getting restless. Some other folks seemed a bit stressed, though, like the parents waiting in line with toddlers in tow for pictures with Santa. One little boy in his mini-Santa suit had a particularly furrow-browed DILF behind him. I decided to intervene and commented about how freakin' adorable the boy was and what a great memory this would be for them both. The DILF just lit up. Beamed. Stress lines vanished. It's Christmas, y'all!
• I worked out later. I usually hit the gym when I'm up there. This time I was a little bored and unmotivated. Then I saw Gaylord. Tall. Fucking BUILT. Bangin' ass. Black as coal. Total homo. I gathered he was a personal trainer, so I asked him to take me on with no appointment. It's the end of the day + I'll pay him under the table = He obliged. Me under the table, paying. Unnnhhh. Damn, I've never worked so hard. Was he that tough or was I just that desperate to please him? I can smell him still. Anyway, the gym was closing and we were in the locker room after. I couldn't help but stare at his ass. Would you believe he noticed and then let me hold it? The tip was generous.
• I spent a fair amount of time regretting that I came off as some kind of apologist for Ford over at freakgirl.com. I asked a few questions about what we should expect of a corporation. Upon further reflection, I think that we SHOULD expect companies to put civil rights ahead of fiscal concerns. That's why I like her joint. So very funny most of the time, but then suddenly, I learn something! If she posted more photos of hot guys, it'd be damn near perfect over there.
• Mom2 ended up LOVING her gift (a hand-thrown teapot with all her FAVE colors). Well, I'm guessing she loved it given that when we left the restaurant she frenched me a little. I know what you're thinking. Gross! Before you judge though, you should know that she's got a tight lil' chassis for a 65 year old. And a mom. What? She's not my real mom.

What else? Oh, I could go on. I love my family up there. The rest of the weekend was talking over coffee and breakfast, talking over lunch, talking over dinner, talking while we drove places, talking in the sauna. These Jews love to talk. About THINGS. REAL THINGS. I think I was switched at birth and should have been with them all along. One more thing. In this little recap, there's one lie. Care to guess?

Spinning, turning, watching, burning

I commented on this article from Slate last week, but I felt like making a post about it. We all know that the folks in the Clinton White House were masters of spin. Who could nuance the news just so like George Stephanopoulos? Scant few. Damn, he was a tight little Greek, wasn't he?The present Bush White House has taken a different tack. They are inventing the news whole cloth. Sure, sure, I know this phenomenon is not peculiar to the Republicans, but this administration has taken it to a previously unseen strata. Anyway, Jacob Weisberg spells it out much better than I could hope to. Check out his bidness. PS? Sight unseen, I want him to be my bf.
Added: Sight seen, maybe boyfriends for just a few weeks and then we become really good friends after.

And when she walks across the room, she makes my heart go, "Boom, Boom, Boom!"

I was reading this morning and I came to a passage that made me tingly. I once read a cover blurb for a novel (I can't recall which) that said the book contained phrases that make you want to claw yourself with pleasure. This little bit below did that for me. It's not flowery or complex. It's evocative, though. You can see this woman in your mind. And you want to meet her.

I went out into the hall and leaned over the banister, just enough to see without being seen. She was still on the stairs, now she reached the landing, and the ragbag colors of her boy's hair, tawny streaks, strands of albino-blond and yellow, caught the hall light. It was a warm evening, nearly summer, and she wore a slim cool black dress, black sandals, a pearl choker. For all her chic thinness, she had an almost breakfast-cereal air of health, a soap and lemon cleanness, a rough pink darkening in the cheeks. Her mouth was large, her nose upturned. A pair of dark glasses blotted out her eyes. It was a face beyond childhood, yet this side of belonging to a woman. I thought her anywhere between sixteen and thirty; as it turned out, she was shy two months of her nineteenth birthday.

It's good, huh? Anyone know her?

If you'd only let me be the one to hold you, and keep you here with me

I've never had a problem with leftovers. Seriously, I'm practically known for it. Bring on the sloppy seconds. For example, I'll gladly take her castoff, and hers, and now hers. You may not want him anymore, but I'll take whatever part of him you haven't used up, Miss Applegate. It's Friday, and he's the Meat.

I think both of these two were gettin' some Sweet Charity (read: dick) on the side. He is a butt pirate, right? I know the picture above is my boy, Jonathan, but I'm skeptical that's him pictured below. However, that morsel came up when I googled him (multiple times), so I thought I'd include it. You know, in the interest of full disclosure. Happy Meat Friday, y'all!

In that big somewhere out there

This is the view out my front door from less than five minutes ago. These guys and I are living on the same planet, but unlike them, my life is not all full of bougainvillea and board shorts right now. What's that? Oh, nice. No, does it look like my streets are paved with jacaranda, bitches?
PS Yeah, I know, the photo's not high art, but whaddya want when I'm standing on my front stoop in pj's and bare feet in the snow at midnight?

A horse is a horse, of course, of course

Ann Coulter cut short her speech at UConn the other day, unable to continue over the noise of hecklers. She instead went straight into a Q & A session, after snarking, "I love to engage in repartee with people that are a lot stupider than I am." Here's a sample of this woman's bile:

• When asked what she'd do if she ever had a child who came out as gay, she replied, "I'd say, "Did I ever tell you you're adopted?""
• She called US Senator Barbara Boxer a great candidate for Democrats "because she is a woman and learning disabled."
• She limped out this old one, too: "If the Democrats want to stick to the middle of the road, why did they pick Ted Kennedy. Didn't he have some trouble sticking to the middle of the road?"

I'm not convinced she believes half the shit she says. Some of this hate she spews is because it pads her bank account if she's provocative. In my mind, that's almost worse because she incites people all too willing to have someone give voice to their bigotry.

link via towleroad

More than just a finish line must feed this burning need

It's the holiday season. All those temptations to deal with/pay for. Anyone up for a run?

photo via Bent

Why do I have to share my baby with a monkey?

There was a ridiculous pseudo-debate in USA Today last week over intelligent design. Is it really a debate if both Cal Thomas and Bob Beckel believe we should present this sham of a theory in our classrooms, never mind there isn't a shred of scientific evidence to support it? In support of this farce, they argue that there are holes in our theory of evolution. No shit. Just because we don't have a full understanding of an area of science, does that open the door to teaching every wacky mystical theory someone can conjure? There's a lot we don't know about the brain. Let's bring back trephination! Idiotic. Anyway, someone responded to this lunacy with a great letter that appears in today's edition. I'm copying it here in its entirety. This lady says it better than I could hope to. And she's from Ohio. Holla!

Cal Thomas and Bob Beckel propose a public debate on the scientific merits of intelligent design, and Beckel wonders whether "the Darwinists will show up." You bet we will! In fact, we'll host. We challenge the top "intelligent-designists" to a debate of the scientific evidence for intelligent design, to be held at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland the first week of January. "Doubting Thomas" Cal's nihilistic suggestion to subject the Bible to scientific analysis is too big a project for this event, but an hour or so sounds like just about how long it should take to dispatch any scientific claims for intelligent design. The question is, will the designists show? Calls go out every day to present scientific data at scientific conferences. The designists are always busy that decade. Meanwhile, the scientific data supporting evolution continue to pour in on a daily basis and produce spinoff applications that create new medicine, more productive crops, cleaner water and better living for billions of people worldwide. The Darwinists show up to work every day in thousands of labs around the globe. Mr. Thomas and Mr. Beckel, your guys are the ones who don't show. January. Cleveland. The "science" of ID. Put up or shut up.
Patricia Princehouse, Department of Biology, Case Western
Reserve University, Cleveland

You go, Patty! Throw that gauntlet DOWN, baby!

To faggots, lezzies, dykes, cross dressers, too, to me, to me, to me, to you and you and you

It's time to clear out some bric-a-brac from my brainpan. It might be five things. Or not.

• If you accidentally set the microwave to 50 minutes instead of five minutes, and then start reading freakgirl and don't notice that it's running and running and running, after 15 minutes or so twelve oz. of broccoli and cauliflower will dessicate down to the volume and consistency of a healthy loogy. Did I eat it anyway?
• Nearly everyone has mad love for the iPod, but mine grows daily deeper when he shuffles through all my Christmas tunes and pipes them throughout the house (and yard!). Until now, I never realized that I have 205 holiday morsels. You heard me.
• Call me cynical but I tend to fall on the other side of Phoebe in the 'no truly altruistic act' debate. I brought many bags of non-perishable food items to the local St. Vincent de Paul's mission because it makes me feel good. Is it still a good thing if only some of my reasons are virtuous? I know some of y'all won't like a Catholic organization, but the food goes directly to the homeless and hungry in our own community.
• Speaking of Catholic things, over the weekend my niece (8 y.o) was questioning the existence of St. Nicholas. For those unfamiliar, St. Nicholas brings presents on Dec. 6 to all the good lil' girls and boys, provided they are acolytes of the holy and apostolic church, of course. Niece thinks he's dead and her Mom is providin'' the swag. Astute, I say. I mentioned this to a dude at work. He reported that when his son asked who St. Nick is, he told him, "He's Santa's poorer brother. That's why the presents aren't as good. And instead of a sleigh, St. Nick rides around in a rusted out van, so be on the lookout for him." The kid is five! That's hilarious/borderline abusive, no? Now, in my head, St. Nick looks like Chris Farley.
• Over the weekend, I saw Rent. Again. I liked it even better the second time. Hence the last few post titles have only a tenuous (at best) connection with the content. They're just what I'm singing in my head. Later, I went to Linens-N-Things, despite the fact that I despise how they spell their name. I was in Nate's section, surrounded by all his products and all those large head shots of him and his perfect hair and pristine complexion, and jesus help me, I swooned. Laid right down on one of his beds for a second. Now that's a faggy evening, Randy, no matter how you slice it. I bought towels. Why won't he offer the duvet I want in queen size? Anyone care to bite on that one?
• You know I'm gay, right? I'm not bi. And I'm certainly not questioning. Still, a few times last night during the Victoria's Secret thing I found myself thinking, "Damn, I'd really like to bury it in her." Thoughts?

It tastes the same if you close your eyes

Since Victoria's Secret has ensured that you'll see plenty of girlies in wings tonight, I thought I'd do my part to provide equal time to manly bits....in wings. Have you seen the new trailer for X-Men 3? This looks like some seriously hot shit. I have my reservations with the absence of Bryan Singer at the helm, but for now, I'm mollified. I can hardly believe this dude playing Angel is actually the SAME Ben Foster who was squirrely, creepy Russell from SFU. I would never have hit that, but this guy is tight, man. He growed up real good. Everyone knows that with all things X-Men a homo subtext runs through it, right? So this time around there is a 'cure'. Do you take it?
Also, hats off to the marketing folks at Victoria's Secret. Not content with merely a stranglehold on the straight folks and lesbians, they've seen fit to add both Ricky Martin AND Seal to the show. ::golf claps:: Ya got me.

ADDED: I can't believe I failed to mention one of the coolest things about X-Men 3. Shohreh Aghdashloo is in it! Behroooooooooooz!

Do you hate him because he's pieces of you?

I had grand plans to get so much accomplished around here yesterday (Sunday). Instead, I devoured A Million Little Pieces. Thanks Oprah! Thanks Bodhi! And my most special and effusive thanks to Nate! I couldn't stop reading this book. I mentioned when I started that I thought it was harrowing. It was. I should also mention I was initially distracted by the stream of consciousness style that James Frey adopts. It was a bit quirky and precious to me for the first 50 (OK, 100) pages, but after that I was so drawn in I didn't mind. By the end, I'll admit to believing that it added to the narrative. This man has a tale to tell, y'all. By turns raw and unflinching, then sweet and heartbreaking. I cried a few times. Check it out if you haven't, kids, and thank me later. So, yeah, I didn't get much else done on Sunday. One day this week, when you least expect it, I'll be commando.

I should admit that I mainly read this because of Oprah and Bodhi, but Nate did say he loved it, too, so I wasn't thanking him ONLY because he's so pretty. Who all clicked on his link? There's a nice story about him in USA Today, but it won't last long, so get him while he's hot.

Now I'm on to Magical Thinking by Augusten Burroughs. I've read all his other stuff, so I'm sure this'll be great. I mean, freakgirl said so. Also, thanks tothe aforementioned Mr. Frey, I'll be carrying the Tao Te Ching around for the next few months at least.

I can show you the world, shining, shimmering, splendid

It's my OTHER mom's birthday this weekend. So I'm gift shopping last weekend, right? This lovely bitch has everything she needs AND everything she wants. My bright idea was to head to Yellow Springs, a charming little college town near here, full of quirky shops. It's home to Antioch College, a small bastion of radical liberalism in the otherwise conservative desolation of Ohio. Yellow Springs looks just like the little town from whence I sprang. As we all know, looks can be deceiving. Whereas my hometown is full of anal retentive and God-fearing German Catholics, if you walk around Yellow Springs, after an hour or so you would not even glance twice at a backward talking dancing dwarf. Or Rip Taylor. Or the AWOL Dave Chappelle (this one's for reals). OK, I'm exaggerating a bit, but witness this lil' exchange. I'm in this shop looking at jewelry and the proprietor offers that all the clothes are 50% off. I say I can't possibly pick out clothes for my mom. She says, "Oh, that's no problem. I'm also a psychic and readings are half off today too, so for $15 we can know the perfect color and size!" Sure, I was taken aback for a second, but this is genius really. With the right marketing (and a personal makeover)(that include a full set of veneers) there is no limit to this woman's potential as a personal gift shopper. Later I saw dogs in clothes. Not cheesy shit, guys, I'm talking stylish clothes where you're all, "Damn, I wonder if that comes in human sizes?" I ended up getting Mom 2 a cool teapot, hand-thrown by some homegrown crunchy, hempy type who did not profess to any preternatural powers. She'll get a haiku, too. Mom, I mean, not the hempy bitch.
I mock Yellow Springs a bit, but this is a really cool town. Evidence is that they have made the first official declaration by a government entity against Ohio's recent amendment banning gay marriage.

The resolution says the amendment passed in November as Issue 1 is “against village practices and policies of inclusiveness and non-discrimination” because it threatens the rights of all unmarried couples and creates “an overall milieu if anguish and doubt as to the abilities of same-sex couples to provide for each other and their children.”

Issue 1 (the gay marriage ban) was defeated in Yellow Springs 2,238 to 408. Of course, the statewide results were considerably different.

I snapped the picture of the historic train station with my phone. The station is a little visitor's bureau now. Can you tell I loved this town? Jen, there is a fabulous little Craftsman bungalow we can have for a song!

news link via Gay People's Chronicle

Take me for what I am

If you didn't catch him last week, check out Josh on MTV's Made tonight (8 EST) as he goes from cheerleader to soccer jock. Dudes, it's a scream. Oh relax, I'm not suggesting that you laugh at him. You will laugh, though. Oh, you'll laugh.

He will bring us goodness and light

I wanna puke. Relax, I won't. If I can't get this feeling out of my stomach, then can I at least get something off my chest? The election is almost a year away, but the race for governor in Ohio has already begun. It's begun in earnest, people. I'm about to share one of the first salvos of this unholy war. If you're anything like me, even your new shea butter cleanser won't make you feel clean after. Here's a transcript of a tv commercial running in support of Jim Petro:

What does God expect of us? To do justice. To love kindness. Nancy and I have been married for nearly 33 years. We’re pro-life. We believe that we have to do all that we can to advocate the protection of all life. We believe that marriage is a sacred bond between a man and a woman, that allows for families to develop, to become the basic foundation of our society. Our worship and our faith give me the opportunity to make decisions that are more effective for people. Jim Petro for Governor.

Saddest part is that this shit will probably work. Fuck. Get me outta here.

commercial transcript via Faggoty-Ass Faggot
cartoon is from the Dayton Daily News/Mike Peters

With my face pressed up to the glass, wanting you

In defiance of (or, perhaps, in a twisted homage to) my strict Catholic upbringing and all those fish-filled Lenten Fridays, I am introducing a new feature at Pipedreams: Meat Friday. That's right, kids. Every Friday, I'm bringing a slab of beefcake who's caught my eye. I think we'll all agree there's no better guy to bust this segment's cherry than Trainer Bob. I was vaguely aware of him existing somewhere in the periph of my manscopic vision, but I only focused on him last week when I caught The Biggest Loser for the first time. I can't believe I've been missing out on him and that show. Both so fab. According to his site, he enjoys tennis, cycling, running and snowboarding. Me too, Bob! Well, not so much cycling, but otherwise, me too, Bob! Bob? I should note that Meat Friday will in no way supercede my previous practice of pasting up tasties pretty much all the damn time.

I've come to help you with your problems, so we can be free

They make our cars, so why not mix our Appletinis? In a tentative step toward a future they've been promising us since the 70's (at least), ladies and gentleman, I'd like to introduce you to RoboBar, your android bartender. It's kinda cool, no question, but I'll have to check with Max to see if it's so tomorrow. My sister works for the company that is making these, so she'll be partly responsible when, inevitably, they go all CRUSH! KILL! DESTROY! on our asses.
Added: For 200 G you can have this bitch in your rumpus room. Bets on how long til it shows up on Cribs?

I just can't get you out of my head

I won't go into all the details of how this came to pass, but earlier today this dude pulled up his shirt to show me his third nipple. He's a beefy, young guy. Built, but not cut. Leans toward chunky. Dark, dark eyes and features. It's the French ancestry kind of dark, you know? Anyway, I've had a busy day and I've worked and all, but I must say, it's practically all I can think about. That nipple.

PS I had a third nipple picture handy, freakgirl.

When it's over, so they say, it'll rain a sunny day, I know; shinin' down like water

December 1 is World AIDS Day. It has been for 18 years now. People live a lot longer with AIDS than they used to. Still, a stunning number of people are dying. 3 million people a year—an average of 5.7 deaths every minute of every day. Lots of things to read about today on the successes and failures in fighting this disease over the last decades. I've never lost friends to AIDS. I've barely known people with AIDS. For someone with a different perspective, y'all should check out what this dude has written. I read his blog often. He's a smart and funny faggot (a) with some astute observations. In spite of those qualities, he's also from Ohio (b), y'all! Before him, I'd always thought that was a Venn diagram with no intersection (c), yo. Holla Cleveland!

Open your door, I'll be your tenant

I know we just talked about Rent a few days ago, but all week I've had the soundtrack playing in my house and in my car and in my buds (except for the times when Max is in the hizzay). Is it a work of genius? Uh-uh. Greatness? Not really. There are SO MANY lines in there that I cherish, though.

There's only us, there's only this, forget regret, or life is yours to miss. No other road, no other way, no day but today.

Share love, give love, spread love, measure your life in love.

Without you, without you the hand gropes, the ear hears, the pulse beats. Without you, the eyes gaze, the legs walk, the lungs breathe, the mind churns! The heart yearns! The tears dry, without you. Life goes on, but I’m gone.

To being an us for once, instead of a them, la vie Boheme! To sodomy, it's between God and me, to S&M, la vie Boheme!

So let's find a bar so dark we forget who we are...where all the scars from the nevers and maybes die.

Take me for what I am, who I was meant to be, and if you give a damn, take me baby, or leave me.

I should tell you, I should tell you I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine.

Live in my house, I'll be your shelter, just pay me back with one thousand kisses. Be my lover , I'll cover you. Open your door, I'll be your tenant. Don't got much baggage to lay at your feet, but sweet kisses I've got to spare. I'll be there, I'll cover you.

There's only now, there's only here, give in to love, or live in fear. No other path. no other way, no day but today...

What? No, I'm not crying. Shutup. There's something in my eye.

Yeah, there is a whole lotta cliche in there, but who cares? Why is cliche so bad? It's tried and true, muthafuckas. I must admit that part of the goodness of these words is that they are sung by men in love and women in love and women and men in love and people living while dying....while in love. And they come in a movie that made me feel like an us instead of a them. I said shutup!

Just now I was washing my car and Jesse L Martin/Collins was wistfully singing about Santa Fe in my ears. He was kinda growling it in parts, especially at the end. Do you know the way to Santa Fe...tumbleweeds...prairie dogs....yeeaaaahhhh. Made me arch back a little. What was that about? He's teh hotness, yes?

And I live in a small town, probably die in a small town

One of the best things about living in a small town is that everyone knows you. One of the worst things about living in a small town is that everyone knows you. I usually hate it, but just now it wasn't so bad. There's nothing that I HAVE to do this afternoon, so I didn't mind it when the old dudes who work out in the middle of the day chatted me up. It was fine when I ran into someone happy to see me in every other aisle of the grocery. I even hung out for a few minutes at the coffee shop when I ran into one of our old employees out snackin' and yackin' with all her sisters. FYI, almost without effort, I can delight the ladies who lunch. You know, it's a variant of the whole 'invite at least one fag to your cocktail party' thing. So as much as I complain about this place and yearn for something bigger and faster, and as much as I sometimes chafe at the conservative ties that bind this quaint burg, every lil' while a small town can offer a comforting embrace.

It feels like somebody put something, somebody put something in my drink

I'm just back from the coffee shop. Got what I usually get when I'm feeling the midafternoon lull. I'm not sure what it's called in the true Italian coffee parlance, but I know it as a blackeye. It's a large coffee with two shots of espresso. Picks your ass right up. Anyway, I'm beginning to think they are putting something in their drinks. Remember a few weeks back when I ran into my old neighbor kid, all grown up into a self-conscious and fey twink? Well, witness this little exchange as I walked up to the counter at the same time as a military recruiter in his full camou gear:

ME: Oh, you go ahead.
GI Joe: Thanks, sir. I'll have a ummmm...a mocha please. I'm gonna be bad today.
ME: It's good to be bad sometimes.
GI Joe: Yeah, but I'm bad alot.
ME: Sugar, chocolate and caffeine all wrapped up in one convenient and attractive package. There are worse things. ::giving him the once over:: You look like you can afford it.
GI Joe: If I didn't work out so much, I'd be as big as a house.

Hmmmm, I think GI Joe was actually GI Mo (or GI Stephen). "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" indeed.

I ain't never seen an ass like that

To the pile of old man flap who, twice now, has insisted on doing naked deep knee bends and toe touches while within my line of sight in the locker room: I realize you are comfortable with your body, but I am not. Drape yourself, Geritol.

Then we open again, where? In Venice!

I finished The City of Falling Angels over the weekend. It was aight. With a love for Italy and a love for Berendt's last book, anticipation was running high. It was satisfying to start, but lost its steam. In the same style as Midnight, he centers his slice of life stories around a central crime, in this case, the fire at the Fenice Opera House. Trouble is, there's very little drama surrounding it. It's more about politics and unions and scapegoats and money. If that's your thing, fine, but how about some gay hookers with questionable motives or maybe an over the top drag queen? I know, I shouldn't want the same thing over again, but even when it was so good the first time?

Note: The church pictured is the Santa Maria dei Miracoli, the restoration of which figures prominently in the book. Pretty, no?

At Bodhi's urging, and Oprah's I guess, I'm now reading A Million Little Pieces. I'm about 100 pages in. Harrowing shit.

You better not pout, I'm telling you why

It's not even December yet, but if I have to hear the aural assault that is I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas or the treacly abomination that is The Christmas Shoes even one more time, I'm going to embark upon some manner of spree. No whining. I don't wanna hear it. Just giving you the heads up.

Does enchantment pour out of ev'ry door?

I know I've gone on and on about my porn star crush before, but guys, you should really check out Gus/Tom's posts from November. This guy is smart and beautiful and funny and he's a fucking DIY god and he's just the sweetest thing ever. Honestly, like Lizzy to my Darcy, he's bewitched me, body and soul. Pretend that wasn't creepy at all, OK?
This month, he details the renovations he's making to a house he just bought. Brotha can really build shit. Decks. And rooms. Unnnhhh. He's adding on expressly to make room for grand piano. ::sigh:: That's enough right there, OK? Then he talks about making gingerbread to bring to his inlaws for Thanksgiving. From what I gather, Tom's husband, Bruce, died a few years ago. The gingerbread recipe Tom posts is Bruce's and in his own hand. So poignant. This guy is a rare sparkling gem.

The PS is he's selling his old joint. Anyone care to go halfsies with me on a charming cabin in the woods just a quick train ride north of Manhattan? Loulou?

the photo of Tom/Gus at his piano is by his friend and professional photographer Hudson Wright (is it OK that I post that?)

You were my shelter from the pouring rain, you were my comfort even before the pain

A while back I made a stupid post about rudely answering my Bluetooth device. First, I must say that I'm often annoyed by how rude people are with their mobile phones. Often. So, on the day I posted that, I was taken aback when the rude guy was me. I was working outside in the yard and had stopped to talk to my neighbor. I have one of those Bluetooth earpieces and had it in my earhole at the time. It rang. I answered. The look on my neighbor's face must have mirrored the one I've given people a hundred times. You know, the people who talk loudly right next to your table at a restaurant and the people who drive stupidly because they can't do two things at once and the people who answer the phone during a seminar or a meeting or in the fucking toilet. I was them to her. She was right. I was wrong. My sister was on the line, though. She's my baby sister, but she's like a lifeline to me sometimes. She knows me like no one else. She gets me. I think she may have known I was gay before I did. We talk all the time. That little earpiece has been great for that. I can clean and cook and pay bills and iron and yeah, maybe pee while we talk. Or not talk. You do that? We'll just be on the line, silent. I'm doing something. She's doing something like maybe feeding her kid (or nursing in the old days). No talking sometimes. For a long time. So I picked sissie over my neighbor, like a schmuck. I needed to talk/not talk, as we do. Anyway, after I was rude with the Bluetooth, I restyled it into a post where I justified answering when I may have been boning some dude. Almost no responses from y'all. Why am I telling you this now when the post died a just and natural death? For one, I'm blessed to have the sisters I have, always there to provide comfort and shelter. My love for them is unparalleled. Second, that post was misinterpreted by one kind soul and for the first time that I know of, this weightless fluff called Pipedreams hurt someone. Kills me. I may talk tough at times, but please know that I'm innocuous. I mostly aim to please. Also? I'm blunt and rarely oblique. No need for inference. Sorry. That's all, then.

In the name of love, what more in the name of love?

This joint has definitely become more about what Mike's seeing and what Mike's reading and very little about what Mike's thinking. Anybody really care? I mean, my thoughts are pretty much about how I'll get through the workday, what kind of workout I'll do, how I'm not getting nearly enough cock and mentally tracking how many servings of fruits and vegetables I've eaten. OK, on to another movie review then? Besides Rent, I also checked out Pride and Prejudice this weekend. I said this last week, and I still swear I don't love everything I see, but this movie was incredibly well-written, indelibly acted and stunningly beautiful to look at. And the bonus action you don't really expect? It's funny. No, honest. You'll laugh again and again. Keira Knightley never really pinged my radar before, but she is great in this. She speaks volumes with a look, and often it's a look that flutters between surprise and amusement. Love. Her Lizzie is bright and funny and assertive and strong. I know that's how she's written, but she works this shit. Plus, she's gorgeous. Sit you down gorgeous. Matthew Macfayden, as Darcy, isn't upstaged by her, though. Dude brings it, man. You feel his discomfort from the outset. Not only is he uncomfortable with the trappings of society, he's uncomfortable in his own skin. He's prickly and awkward and he's got a huge forehead (fuck, he's me!). By the end, though, you see what lies beneath all that and the transformation is a physical one, too. Believe me when I say by the end of this movie, his fivehead is of no consequence. You'd perform whatever manner of depravity he required, fast and nasty. Finally, Brenda Blethyn and Donald Sutherland (he made me cry and also made me wonder if his teeth are that bad or was there a prosthesis to make him more British) and Judi Dench are fucking genius in this. See it. Thank me later.

PS I mentioned the movie is beautifully shot and it opens with a minutes long panning shot following our girl Lizzie as she walks around the house and grounds. There are a lot of scenes shot like that through the movie, to cool effect. It's not cheesy. No swooping or diving. God, I wanna see this one again, too. Come with?

No day but today

From the post title, you may have already guessed that I saw Rent this weekend. Alternately, given that you know I'm a big, flaming, showtune fag, you may have already guessed that I saw Rent this weekend. My impressions, you ask? Well, it was an awful long time from stage to screen and it's a bit of a stretch that these folks are twentysomething squatters struggling to survive in the East Village. The songs are just OK. The choreography suffers from the transition. It's Grease, really, only with AIDS and heroin. I almost added 'drag queens' but then I remembered that Stockard Channing was in Grease. She is a dude, right? And like Grease, despite or partly because of its shortcomings, I loved this flick. Loved it. Cried a bit. Sang a bit. Cold, dead heart soared a bit. Popped across the street to pick up the soundtrack a bit. Listened to it all fucking weekend. Oh, and Jesse L. Martin is to Rent what Jeff Conaway was to Grease (i.e. the one I wanna do dirty stuff with....loved me some Kenickie).

Added: In Light My Candle when Rosario Dawson is accused of looking 16 and she protests that she's 19? C'mon! Yeah, once you were 19. Last century.
So, who wants to see it again with me?

And as I recall, I think we both kinda liked it

I'm clearing pictures out of my phone and stumbled upon these two hangovers from NY. You know I'm totally that guy who'll bore you to tears with safari pictures, right? I really am digging these fuzzy camera shots. They have energy. That's what I'm telling myself, so shutup. In the first one you are looking up the elevator shaft to the Rockefeller Center observation deck. Remember how the ceiling is glass in there? They project old newsreel footage onto it as you're riding up. I happened to catch ol' Tricky Dick somehow. The second shot is from a street vendor's stand. I couldn't believe it. She was selling pictures of wingedman! I figured you wouldn't believe it either unless you saw it for yourself.

You know I wish that I had Jessie's girl

I'm not manic-depressive or anything. Not clinically anyway. Let's just say my moods are facile. Tragedies like this can easily tip me over the edge, guys. That said, the line forms behind me for Jessie's scraps.

You know my dreams, must be listening when I'm talking in my sleep

It's Thanksgiving, y'all! I'm thankful for my family and and my friends both old and new and also for all my bounty and whatnot. I whine sometimes, but I know I got it good. My horn o' plenty is spilling over with lots of juicy goodness. Marvel at my cornucopia!
I enjoyed myself today, while still exercising some restraint at the trough of victuals. Even so, nothing would be more lovely right now than a nap on the couch spooned up like the brothas in the photo. It's 19 fucking Fahrenheit degrees here people! That's -7.3 C for all you non-US bitches. Snuggle me, will ya? What's a boy gotta do to get some skintact around here? I should post a photo of the frigging meteorology that is happening right outside my window. Whiteout snow. Hmmm, I need to reconsider that January trip to the Southern Hemisphere. You only go 'round once. Well, at least in this guise anyway. Holla Buddhists!

Added: I got Luther playing for chrissake. Anyone?