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?

Lord, I'm a cynical bitch...gonna scratch that itch

So Robbie dropped his new nut, what, like 3-4 weeks ago? Where's the chatter? Did I miss it? It wasn't instant love for me, but that kinda love, while heady, is superficial. My love for Robbie goes deeper than that. I'm feeling him now. Youse?

Forget your troubles, c'mon get happy

5 Things Making Me Happy Today

1. Tomorrow is Haircut Day. I know, it's not until tomorrow, but the joy of Haircut Day perfuses the day ahead and flows at least for two days hence.

2. Dane Cook is hosting Saturday Night Live on December 3. Yay! And thanks for the heads up, Duane Moody. Grab a cashew and start practicing, boys.

3. They are predicting 1-3 inches of snow for tomorrow night. Yeah, I know for many of you that sucks, but I must admit I love to see it. I don't have far to commute and Thursday is Thanksgiving anyway so I can sleep in a bit and then put on some trail shoes and crunch and slip along for an easy morning run in the cold and snow. Love.

4. I did about 75% of my holiday shopping in the last two days, all of it online. The goodness of this is two-fold. No fighting the mooing crowds AND my chunk of a UPS man will come a knockin'. Multiple times.

5. I exfoliated last night and even at my advanced age, you'd like to run your hands down my spine right now. Trust me. Of course, you might wanna close your eyes and imagine someone else's head attached to my back, but otherwise, it's quite nice.

Gonna chase the clouds away, waitin' on a sunny day

I'm at work and it's killing me because my niece is running today in the NCAA Cross Country Nationals. Choices, choices. I took my trip to NY and now I'm paying the piper. Couldn't get out of a shift today to make the trip to see her. This is an amazing girl. I can say that because I didn't have anything to do with making her, so it's not bragging. She was an elite high school runner, national class. Now she's running for a Division 1 college and tearing it up. It's a tough school academically, too, and she's still aces. Sometimes I just wanna give her a hug and tell her to relax a little. You know, ease the throttle back on the perfection wagon. We all learn our own lessons in our own time, though. Meanwhile, I'm hoping she makes All-American today because I know that's what she wants. If you're reading this before 1:00 EST, send her your prayer/good thought/positive energy. Danke.

I'm your top prime cut of meat, I'm your choice, I wanna be elected

Who's up for an 'amazing parade of delectable meats'? Ummm, easy there, Andrew, we're talking Brazilian rodizio here. Steakhouse. In New York last weekend we checked out Churrascaria Plataforma on the advice of some friends. It was an interesting experience as young and hot Brazilian waiters repeatedly came a callin' sporting large slabs of glistening meat. On skewers. They came and came and came, until you cried UNCLE by turning your little coaster to RED. Have y'all ever been to a place like this? You actually could come along, A, because the salad buffet was divine, though a bit steep considering dining was prixe fixed at just over $40 per. I can honestly say I've never had so much meat in one sitting. I was thankful that I had opted for some soup and that smallish kosher dill at noon-- a warm-up.

My little demon, comin' on down

All I know is that I awoke this morning with the pillows on the floor, the sheets in a tangle, and my button fly unbuttoned. Also, there may have been residue. I'm not sure what happened, but I'm thinking succubus. Can they be male?

Then sitting like an ape on the sofa with a hankie and the same old porno tape

You might think that after hobnobbing with a true blue Broadway starlet (no lie..thanks to this girl there is only one degree of separation between me and Linda Eder, Idina Menzel AND..are you sitting?....Patti LuPone!) last weekend that I'd have had my fill of musical theater. Silly! The touring production of The Full Monty was in town this week, guys. C'mon, stay with me here. I must say that any show that has a hot stripper shaking his naked ass at me (seated in Row 1) within the first few minutes is gonna be forgiven a multitude of sins. No need. This is a funny show with sharp writing (by Terrence McNally...Ummm... Love, Valour, Compassion anyone?) and some good tunes that stick with you. I enjoyed the movie, but this play was actually a more satisfying visual and auditory feast. Well, OK, not a feast, but it was a lipsmacking snack that tides you over. Witty reparte + catchy tunes + men running around in their underpants (and two of the five are capital HOTT)= a fine way for this kind of boy to spend an evening (and a refreshing alternative to the title above).

The taste of love is sweet when hearts like ours meet

I saw two movies this weekend that I can recommend without reservation. Both were on my list of hotly anticipated flicks from a month or so back. Both came through with the goods. Seriously. Loved them. Top ten love.

On Friday I saw Capote. It's in a limited release around here (outer Bumfuck, OH), but I caught it at the lone arty theater in Dayton. Philip Seymour Hoffman's performance is reason enough to check out this film. Stunning. No, really. He's too large to be the elfin Capote and he doesn't look especially like Capote at first glance but he does mimic Capote's voice and mannerisms exactly. Wouldn't matter so much if he didn't. He's fascinating and complicated and when he's in the shot, you can't tear your eyes off him. I just loved the way this movie looked as well. Most of the shots are tight, so many closeups, and the scenes are small and conversational. It's deliciously claustrophobic. When we get some glimpses of rural Kansas mixed in, they are all the more panoramic and gorgeous (and eery) for the contrast. Wait, there's more. This film moves at the pace of life. The people, though a smidge extreme, are real. We don't always know their motives. They don't seem to know them themselves. Sound familiar? Love, love, love.

After having seen THAT goodness, the bar was set kinda high for the Saturday matinee of Walk The Line. Did Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny Cash raise that bar? Pretty fucking close, dude. This movie worked so well because, again, you are not seeing an actor doing an impersonation. This brotha is inhabiting The Man In Black. When he growls the trademark, "Hello, I'm Johnny Cash", you don't even think twice. Perfect and you're just along for the country rockin' ride. If you loves some Reese Witherspoon like I do (seriously, the girl can charm your socks off), you'll not be disappointed either. Reese as June Carter gets to charm and joke and cajole and break your heart. And they both sing their asses off. Sing.Their. Asses. OFF.

If you're thinking about seeing either of these, do it. Cash and Capote, though so completely different, were both men with some genius. They were both men with childhood demons. They were both men who battled addiction. They were both men supported by loving folks who recognized their flaws, but also their goodness, even when the men themselves could not. They are played in these movies by two protean actors in full, commanding flight. Yay!

When will my reflection show who I am inside?

I was AWOL for a week, loathe to whine again. For whatever reason, I find it hard to hide on here, so whenever I tried to post, it's the waaah that came out. I've only been doing this for a few months and how many times have I posted about feeling caged? Five? Ten? So, here I am anyway. If Pipedreams is me, then it can't be only bon mots and boners. Sure, that's like 95% of me, but there's a bit more. Surf away now, or explore my same old wound again.
So, I had an incredible time in New York. I got on fiercely well with my family and their friends. Sure, as I feared, there was lots of talk of kids and daycare and soccer practice and dance recitals, but as it turns out, there was also a quiet and clear-skinned lawyer in our merry band, 30something and single with an Alabama accent that could buckle your knees. And he loves architecture. And he could use a little style makeover (in my land, that last bit is a good thing). Mmmmmm. We all moved around the city, folks on a mission, and packed in as much as we could. The weather was gorgeous, the streets bustling, the food excellent, the show surprisingly brilliant, and the company giddy with the energy of all of it. So why did I come back so down? Guess. You know the feeling, don't you? Everything feels right and good and happy and true and then, courtesy of a quick cab ride and separate airport terminals, it's all gone in a few minutes and you're back to your sleepy non-fabulous burg with your job where you pretend to be content. I know, I know. I have a good life. Whatever limitations exist in it, I've placed on myself. So shut the fuck up and get on with it and all that. Still, this week I was overwhelmed by the abrupt shift from what I need to what I have. Trite as it is, there was waves of it crashing down. Ummmm...thanks for listening. I swear it'll be back to riffing on underpants and near constant allusions to genitalia in a just a moment. 95%, remember?
Oh, and YES, I did use a line from one of Disney's heroines to title this post. Shutup. Mulan is a hot bitch.
ADDED: It didn't help my melancholy that I missed, by just a few scant days, Linda Eder doing Garland at Carnegie Hall. And I don't know if you're ever around her Geekboy, but that is VERY gay, no matter how you slice it.

When I'm sitting down and losing ground, shelter me

I think I may have posted about the Pantheon before, but I'm too lazy to check back. Not that it matters, because I wanna talk about it again. There are places in the world that command awe. They have palpable power. Rome is rife with them. Or maybe it was just an awareness or a need in me at that time. I don't know. Either way, the Pantheon was singular in its whiplash grab of my focus. A testament to the wonder it inspires may be that it survives, nearly unchanged, from its first century construction. Rome is full of scavenged ruins, but precious little is preserved nearly intact. There was a great article in The New York Times that mirrors my feelings about this place. When I was there, I lingered for the better part of an hour. My friends, who had been in a produce market nearby, left because they assumed I had gone home alone. They couldn't understand why I'd still be in there. Meanwhile, I gazed transfixed at the oculus. I lingered at the genius Raphael's tomb. I lit a candle and said a prayer for my sisters, both pregnant at the time. Did it start to rain then or was that just a dream?

NOTE: The photo is mine. There is a free registration for the NYT article.

Roll me in designer sheets, I'll never get enough

Now where was I? Oh, yeah. So I took the call. Is that so wrong? I mean, I still had the Bluetooth mic in my ear so it's not like I had to squirm over to grab the phone or really even stop what I was doing for chrissake. What? Suddenly we're in love and you are my sole focus and inspiration? If you hadn't looked back, you'd hardly have noticed. It could have been someone important. Unclench, dude.

Hush-a-bye, "I'll buy you this and that", you hear a daddy sayin'

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This is another blurry phone photo that somehow works (at least for me). It kinda captures the energy around Times Square. I snapped it on our way into the show. You know what? The old line about "the city that never sleeps" couldn't be more true. And I couldn't have felt more at home. I felt a kind of moving on.

Before you know, you find yourself alone and looking down

Top of the Rock

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Stunning views were to be had from the Top of the Rock. Well worth checking out if you can. The elevator shaft is lit and the car has a glass ceiling so you can watch as you shoot up 80 odd floors. The tree (freshly cut from some New Jersey dude's yard) at Rockefeller Plaza was up and kids were ice skating to some canned festive music. Does it get more quintessentially New York? Oh, and shoppers were out in mobs. The women in the American Girl Place really skeered me and I'm not just talking about my sisters.

Cuz there's no one left to finger, there's no one here to blame

I'm not easily shocked, but I had some interesting shit drop in my email INBOX on Monday. Here's the backstory. There's this dude who I've known for some years now. We met online. No, no, it wasn't all nasty. No comparing dick stats and whatnot. No e-wanking. He made me laugh, and I tried desperately, clownishly, to make him laugh, too. You know, like I do. He's a cool guy. We were flirty, but he's in a longterm relationship, albeit a rocky one, so that was it. It was a friendship. Don't taint the beauty of it, bitches. We met for coffee a few times. Anyway, we kept in touch sporadically through the last several years, but it wasn't uncommon for months to go by between shouts. If one emailed, though, the other would respond. So, when he was all non-responsive to my high-larious missive in October, I was soon firing off another note, and only about half the offence was feigned. Again, silence. Huh? Wha? Bitch, you better not EVEN write back now, cuz there ain't no excuse good enough. You know I was all in my Glenn Close I will not be ignored crazy rabbit boilin' voice. So his reply finally showed up on Monday. About that 'no excuse good enough'? Ummm....never mind. Here's a snippet, edited to preserve his anonymity:

hey you! So seldom in life do we haVE a rock solid xcuse but I AVE one today. would you believe I had brain surgery on X-XX-XX. Emergency brain surgery at that!!!

Over a month later now. I have been home since mid Oct and today is the first day I checked my email.Chocked?? Yeah me too when I found out. I have very little memory of that event or the weeks that followed.
OH!! My condition no??? My vision is fucked up. The surgery was in my "vision area" of mybrain. Other than the vision and some short term memory issues, all else is well. Whew!!!

Sorry bout the typing BITCH!!!!

Crazy, huh? You should know that his spelling was never great, but otherwise he was fairly meticulous in his email. You know, normal sentence construction AND near coherence. Nothing like this wild garble. I was laughing and crying at the same time as I read this, both from relief/release. I can feel him behind those words, but for now at least, he's altered. Our relationship has been 90% online. It doesn't matter. I love him just the same, and it's been satisfying. Times like these, though, I wish he wasn't 300 miles away and that we were more than electronically linked. OK, I'm gonna get maudlin right now and you are just going to shut the hell up about it. Kapish? Hug someone you love tonight. Like now. No, not like that, really love on 'em.

This is prolly it for me this week, kiddies, because I leave in the morning. Hence the post title. Get your fingerin' in now, people, because I'm about to start the frantic last minute packing like I always do when I travel and you do not want your precious digits anywhere near me once that starts.

That thing baby!

Make me wanna stomp my feet

This is my dry run on mobile blogging from my phone. You know how I desperately grasp at my misspent youth by trying to stay au courant with the latest technology and youthified trends, right? I'm not snowboarding because it's all that fun, bitches. Sudden face plants lose their charm after the first dozen or so. Anyway, this pic comes from some stored on my phone. A shirtless tennis twink. Imagine! Next mobile sweetness you get from me, lovers, will be all Big Apple-y.

I'm a man with a one track mind, so much to do in one lifetime

How much time do you spend absorbing media? The only time I'm not spooging stuff into my brain of the pop culture variety is when I'm working or working out. Well, really only when working, because when I'm lifting I have Max's mixes in my skull and when I'm treadmilling, I watch CNN. Is this normal? Or, more precisely, do you recognize this in yourself? Am I you? Here are my current favorites. This is what presently bathes my neural net. My synapses are dipped in them. My brainpain spilleth over with what follows. Get it?

What I'm Reading: Yes, yes, I'm finally done with The Power of Myth. Sorry I prattled on about it, but it was engrossing as a muthafucka, yo. Now I'm ankle deep in John Berendt's The City of Falling Angels. Also great. Venice has been on my To Do List, but Berendt makes you yearn for it. He meets characters who pop off the page. You know how some people are all technicolor for you apart from the sepia crowd? Those folks that rock you and your eyes are fixed on them. They grab you and hold you. Did you picture some people you know when I said that? Love those kind of people. Did we know them in a past life? What is that feeling we get from them? Can I possibly digress more or be more random? God, I have a stack of books as long as my leg, but I keep falling into things that make me wanna SAVOR, slow-like. The ebb and flow rolling type of pleasure I get from that is precious. Is that my yin or yang talkin'? I'll never get through what I have now, but it didn't stop me from picking up Magical Thinking and A Million Little Pieces last week. It would be daunting if it wasn't so fucking wonderful. How much do I love the thought of all those books waiting for me? Lots.

What I'm Surfing: Well, of course I'm reading the usual suspects, but thanks to Andrew, over the last few days I've been devouring Coming Out at 48. As TOA already stated, this boy can write his ass off. He makes you feel it, people. I imagine it'd be the same for you if you are straight. I was going to use loulou as an example of that, but she's an ID-ish sexual island unto herself (although I suspect she has a busy harbour at times). Where was I? Oh, I read his entire blog archive in the last few days. I laughed and I cried, sometimes at once. I've not made a secret of my life situation. I've never been married like he was, but I'm not completely OUT myself. The work situation (aka the prison of my own design) is what I'm always whining on and on about. Well, I think this guy is helping me, whether he knows it or not.

Who I'm Listening To: Will Young. There. I said it. I am LOVING him. Max turned me onto Will's latest single, via the Top Gun themed video with a decided queer bent. It's this kid's ballads that have me in a lather, though! Leave Right Now is sublime. Oh, shutup! He's part Simply Red, part Fine Young Cannibals and all achingly plaintive. Hurt me, bitch. Only after I was hooked did I find that he's an Idol winner from Britain! Maybe that was best. His website is cool, too. Given the opportunity, I'd shtup him.

What I Want To Be Watching: The last season of Six Feet Under. This DVD can't get here soon enough. I watched this series on DVD from Season 1 over the last year, so I had a relatively constant fix of four seasons in one year. Until now. I'm jonzing for funeral parlor hijinx, kids. It reminds me of my youth.

If you love or loathe any of this, holla back, homes.

I want to wake up in the city that never sleeps

Initially, my enthusiasm for the impending trip to New York was unbridled. Hear any hoofbeats now, kids? Color me reined in. At first it was going to be a weekender with my sisters. There would be a Broadway musical, some nice dinners, roaming around Greenwich Village and Chinatown, shopping, a boy bar if I played my cards right....you get the picture. A gay weekend. Or maybe a girl weekend. Or both. Some of you have called me out on getting so hung up on that distinction, and rightly so. There was to be a sensibility, though, undeniably. Well, now some perfectly lovely people have been added to the mix and the recipe is decidedly changed. My brothers-in-law (love them..nice guys who treat my sisters well), a few college buddies of theirs, and my older sister's best friend from high school along with her husband, have all joined the fray. OK, straight or gay, tell me if you get this. One on one, I would enjoy spending time with any of these people, but in this group of married straight folks, all with kids, I will feel like a stranger in a strange land. Is it because I'm the sole gay? The sole single? Is it all just in my head? Do you ever feel that your whole sensibility is different than the group's and it makes you feel isolated and a bit lonely at the party? Never mind that the conversation will be dominated by either football, or the kids' sports, or daycare, or the McMansion with his and hers Lexi in the driveway. It's more than that. I'm not in tune with the vibe. I can't relate. You know? Call me a whiner, call me out (again), call me fetching, call me a cab for the trip into Midtown, because I'm going anyway and I'll have a great time, but I'm curious as to your take on my pathology. That said, here's a short list of FIVE THINGS I'll Do This Weekend in NYC:

1. Have a great dinner, maybe Italian, and catch my sister's friend in her Broadway debut.
2. Take in the view from the Top of the Rock. I'll take some photos to share later. If I figure it out, I may email/blog a phone photo instantaneously. I'm so NOW!
3. Get up early and go for a run in Central Park, no matter the weather. I imagine it'll be gorgeous right now, but I've done it before in cold and sleet. Still relished it.
4. There will be bars and there will be drinking. My brother-in-law suggested ESPN Zone. Now do you see what I mean? I'll order Tequila Sidecars one after another until I either feel I belong, don't care, or stumble home and drunkblog all y'all. If I find a good spot to drink, I'll then establish a beachhead for my next trip, a full-on gay assault of the city. Meet me for that one, freakgirl?
5. Stalk Toothy Tile and, should the opportunity present itself, pet his puggle.

Hold your breath. Make a wish. Count to three.

Oucha magoucha, he is teh hotness, ain't he? This Gap ad always made me wanna steal the warm spot in his bed.
P.S. Yes, that's what he's doing. If you've never tried it, don't knock it.

photo of Raoul Bova via Bent

They talk about amazing grace, it meant something when I saw your face

It's November and I catch myself thinking of my beloved grandmother. If you'll recall, she's the teensy, saintly, dead one. Her birthday would often fall on Thanksgiving. She'd be 95 if she was still around, but she hasn't been for 10 years now. She loved this time of year. Toward the end of her life, when her health was failing, she tasked me with buying all the gifts she'd give for Christmas. She'd make a detailed list and mail it to me months in advance. I was already a grown man, at least twice her size, but she seemed to delight in calling me her little elf. I saved what turned out to be the last Christmas card she'd send me. In her wobbly scrawl, she wrote this: You hold a special place in my heart. I have always loved you and I always will, my little elf. The last picture I have of us together is from that Christmas. Just before the shot, I stuck a Santa hat on her. Her eyes brightened, she cocked her head a little, and smiled. Perfect. After she died, and we were going through her things, I was amazed at how little she had; how little she needed. I was trying to decide what to keep of hers. It might sound strange, but I took her mixing bowls. Every year for my birthday she would make, at my request, not a cake but instead the most incredible apple dumplings you'd ever hope to taste. Her pastry? It was heaven, guys. Sometimes I'd drop by her place and help her bake them. She used the same mixing bowls all those years. You might not look twice at them. They're kinda 50's gaudy with stylized sunflowers all over in orange and yellow. They're beautiful. I don't bake, but I somehow find excuses to get them out anyway.

But baby if I'm the bottom, you're the top

Hmmm. Sounds different coming out of my mouth, though not at all distasteful, mind you. Sometimes you get an itch. I can't deny a penchant, when traveling, to climb atop the highest point. You know, for the vista it affords.
The scoop is that they just opened a spankin' new observation deck on top of the Rockefeller Center. I am SO doing this next weekend. I've been to the Top of the 'Cock. Next up, the Top of the Rock. It's another YAY, y'all.

The photos are by towleroad. Loves him.

C'mon baby light my fire

Deep down, we're all monstrous. You know that, right? Go find out what lurks inside you. I first read mine as "Maiden-Eating Killer of Emotion" and I thought all my high school girlfriends would surely concur. I never meant to hurt anyone, though. It was a confusing time for all of us. I'd hang with your brother in the pool as long as I could, leaving you in the hot tub alone. ::sigh:: I'm really sorry about that, Jules. You'd get off eventually, though. I wasn't heartless.

Did I just do one of the 12 Steps?

monster link via Lots of Co.

G'day, g'day, how ya goin'? What ya know?

If you've been paying attention at all, you'll already know of a few things that hold a special place in my heart (consider 'in my heart' and 'in my pants' to be interchangeable here....well, always). You know I have a longstanding love of underpants. I think that is what first brought a few of us together, actually. Also, I've played tennis since I was a kid. Playing it, watching it, reading about it--all good. A relatively new fondness of mine, that is growing exponentially, is for all things Down Under. Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Oi! Oi! Oi! So, if you combine all three, as the brilliant folks at Bonds were so kind to do, and stick former Aussie tennis pro Patrick Rafter in some nuthugging boxers, well, what can I do but stand and salute. Really. I have no choice.

link via Bent

Every move you make, I'll be watching you

Someone definitely should have given me the heads up on But Can They Sing?. This shit is seriously hot. Morgan Fairchild, Bai Ling and Joey Pants competing in a singing competition American Idol-stizz? Genius. Sign me up for the season. And my impression of Antonio Sabato, Jr.'s crooning Every Breath You Take? His pants were really tight.

P.S. The host? None other than (arguably) the most appealing of the Zappa sibs, Ahmet.

I've been looking the landscape over and it's covered with four-leaf clover, oh, things are looking up

The dark cloud has passed, so I'm gonna commence with the Yayin'. Just remember, as always, I'm a man of simple tastes and simple pleasures. I'm trying to stick with FIVE, in a small nod to a small friend.

1. I've realized that although I'm not likely to have abs by Christmas, all the focus on good diet and working out has left me with my pick of the skinny end of my closet. Yay! Still, the abs are most resistant (maybe age?), so you're not likely to get the pics I promised, bitches. That reminds me. Sara, are you still around these parts?
2. Just when I was almost over Madge's new single, finding an addictive mash-up of Hung Up with MIA's URAQT is a big Yay!
3. Starting to get riled up over the impending blowing of the sibling wad all over Times Square with my sisters makes me get wit the Yay!
4. My sweet, sweet nephew has made it to the State cross country meet this weekend. This, too, makes me go Yay! He's the kindest guy you'll ever come across. His big sister is a former national class high school runner and he's always running in that long shadow. So happy for him to get his chance in the sun.
5. Getting schooled today by freakgirl's chuck about the efficacy (and charms) of the neti pot is a Yay. Is there any fresher feeling than having all your orifi douched, guys? I'm askin'.

Boy, that was easy. I didn't even get to a few I had in mind. Should I throw them in now anyway? I'm gonna, because I'm all accentuatin' the positive right now, muthafuckas. First, if you haven't tried the Honey Crisp apple yet, run, don't walk, to your local grocer and pick up a few. I'm a Fuji man as a rule, but these little darlins are the crispiest, crunchiest apples you have ever eaten. Seriously, you bite into it and you swear there must be a tiny micro-chip inside making a cartoonish apple biting sound effect. Also they are a pleasant blend of tart and sweet and spicy, like my beloved Fujis. Yay! Finally, today at work I ran into this flirty, flirty dude who's got a body and a smell that'll dampen your shorts. I hadn't seen him in a year or two. He straight, but he loves to play with me for some reason. He's handsy and what hands! Both soft and calloused and also....fucking huge! Playing with a great looking, great smelling guy with outsized hands, even if he's straight and it's going nowhere, can still be a Yay, peeps!

ADDED: I had all kinds of grand life changing plans for myself in 2005, but it looks like it'll be going down in my annals as the Year I Fell In Love With Gorgonzola. Yay? That's right. I have annals.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight, won't somebody help me chase these shadows away?

Somebody like Clive Owen maybe. There is a great picture of him in the Life section of USA Today. His movie, Derailed, is opening and I think the shot is from the premiere. Damn, the boy can WEAR a suit. Oh, I think Jennifer Aniston is in there, too.

Are you ready to bone? Are you ready for dome?

It's not Porn Monday, but can we still talk about Meatscapes? It's not what you think. Well, if you suspect that it's a site with collages utilizing 50's era postcards and large lumps of meat, then it is what you think. I enjoyed this one of the area around the Duomo in Florence. When I was there, though, the Baptistry wasn't topped with a ginormous hunk of meat. No fair! For your viewing pleasure, I'm also including a shot I took after I climbed the 500 some odd steps to the top of the dome. You can see the tiny observation area I was on if you check out the dome tip in the meat shot. Hmm. Let's revisit that once more with feeling, shall we? Check out the dome tip in the meat shot. My photo is kind of a hokey perspective thing, but still, I enjoy it. I was really most interested in getting some detail of the marble spine and the individual tiles that make up the dome. Architecture dork. Still, I like how it turned out and you get to see the warren of streets around the cathedral. I'd go back to Florence in half a heartbeat. Wanna come with?
ALWAYS ready for dome

Oh, Johnny get angry, Johnny get mad, give me the biggest lecture I ever had

Holy crap was I in a foul mood today. Really, really bad. Like I wanna twist the heads off delightful Disney woodland creatures bad. You know what makes it worse? A couple things. First, just talking about it like I don't have any control of my own emotions? That burns me even more. I know I do have the power to change it, but still I don't. Fuck. Second, when I think to myself that I have no right in the world to be so angry? I realize I have life by the ass basically. Damn, realizing that just makes it so much worse, too. So, I'm going to spin off Andrew's Boos and Yays, but just sticking to the Boos. Five of them, though, TOA-stizz.

1. If you are going to ask my opinion, will you please have the fucking courtesy to let me give it before you start talking over me and telling me I'm wrong? BOO! And dude, although you will find "supposably" in the dictionary, it makes you sound stupid.
2. If you are having a massive herpetic outbreak, do not move in for a peck on my cheek after we hug. Seriously, just back off, Viral Vector. No offense to my friends out there with the herp. I love you. I do. Especially when you are in your dormant phase. This is just common courtesy and basic hygiene, no? BOO! Also, jesus, do you ever wash your feet?
3. While it's sad that a little girl found a piece of dog poo in with her Halloween treats, the local news does not need to flash a picture of the feces at me during my lunch. BOO!
4. I have an itch right now. Only one thing will adequately scratch it. That thing is not presently at hand. BOO!
5. I found another grey hair on my chest. BOO!

Pleasant, huh? If we're gonna be friends you may as well see it all, kids. Also you should know that if you were around here right now, you'd need to be sexing me, fast and nasty.

So Monday you found out I'm some sort of porn freak and now you know I'm a cranky old bastard. There's a personality flaw revealed each and every day here at Pipedreams, folks. That's some bang for your buck. Tomorrow, we may start through my list of phobias. Who knows? Stay tuned! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go trim up my pubes. That usually helps. Help me Lord if I spot a grey one down there.