On State Street, that great street

One of the best things about a real live boyfriend (vs. one who always needs to be re-inflated after major weather changes) is Sunday mornings in bed or on the sofa with coffee and the paper and something yummy playing through the speakers and nothing to do but read and snuggle and be quiet or laugh loud or just sniff around. (See how I just joked about a blowup bf and thereby implied that I don't have one without making an explicit denial?) I don't have a boyfriend, so I'm sitting here all solitary with the paper and my coffee (Seattle's Best Organic House Blend...divine, you guys) as Mozart rocks out his Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Quite without intention (well, initially), I've recently amassed a collection of Starbucks city-themed coffee mugs as I've been travelin' thru and to the last six months or so. I know. How pedestrian, right? Oh, fuck you. There's New York and SEE-attle and THE Atl and Vancouver, but this morning, in lieu of a real boyfriend, I'm sipping from the Chicago mug, in a horny homage to this kitten, on whom I'm currently smitten. That's cute, and not at all creepy, right? If you too would like to be my internet boyfriend, I can be had for the price of $9.99 USD or its monetary equivalent. Send me a Starbucks mug from your city, and I'm yours (say maybe Sydney or Austin or Malacca or Adelaide or KL or ...OK, some or all of them prolly don't have their own mugs, so to be fair, you can still have me for the embarrassingly low price of ten Georges/.1 Benjamins). FYI, even as an internet bf, I'm gentlemanly in public, and a dirty whore in private. And, not unlike my internet connection of late, I've been know to go down for days.

I am just a simple man with simple expectations

It's been a while since I've served up a steaming dish of detritus from my brainpan. Mmmmm....can't you almost smell it? PS- It makes for tasty leftovers. I like it straight from the fridge for breakfast, all congealed like yesterday's hot and sour soup. OK, now I'm hungry. Anyway, here goes:

• My mom has just phoned with the cash results after making the final hash marks in the book for her 2006 garage sale. Don't you love her? As every suburban hausfrau should, she revels in this annual feast of nickel and dime commerce, along with her sisters and friends and all my siblings (these latter contributing only sale items and no actual work). If you detect any note of sarcasm or derision in that statement, let me just disavow you of that idea right now. My mom is a near-saint in my book. Love her to pieces. Love everything about her. Thinking of being her for Halloween. So, my portion of the cast-off lucre comes to $389 USD. Does any money scream louder for wanton spending than this? Any suggestions for using my tag sale swag?
• I haven't recommended any books lately, mostly because I haven't been reading much, but over the last few weeks I've consumed a few. Care to hear where I'd put my thumb? On the books, I mean. Two of these were in my stack FOREVER, and the third was offered by a lovely friend while I was on holiday. If you like Christopher Moore, you'll no doubt enjoy The Stupidest Angel (A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror). Good stuff. Vintage Moore. Still, it doesn't stand up to the first thing I read of his/by far the best thing he's done--Lamb. That said, if you're anything like me, you'll laugh and laugh. I'm giving a heartier recommendation to The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurst. A Booker Prize winner from a few years back, this one is enjoyable for the very English comedy of manners pieces. It's not so plot driven, but highly enjoyable for precise passages of pithy dialogue that'll make you scorn your everyday boring discourse in your everyday boring Midwestern accent (or lack thereof). It's why I'm peppering my blog entries/comments with "darling!" so much. Oh, and it's very, very gay. I didn't realize it, but I read that prior to acclaim for this book, Hollinghurst was known as a "gay novelist." There is some hot public park man sex within the first 50 pages, and the central character is a gay man who attaches himself to a rich family. So when the matriarch of the rich family to which I've attached myself asked me to give her the book when I finished, I squirmed a little. Was she looking at me differently when we parted or was it my imagination? Finally, she traded me TLoB for the far superior The Child In Time by Ian McEwan. It's only my third favorite McEwan novel, but easily eclipses most of the other things I've read in the last year. This is earlier stuff from my boy Ian and you can definitely see glimpses of what will come to full flower in Atonement (simply, one of the best things I've ever shoved my face into). The Child In Time examines our very experience of time and the expectations that go along with aging from at least four intertwining perspectives. Central to the story is how the life of Stephen Lewis is irrevocably altered following the disappearance of his three year old daughter while on a Saturday morning trip to the grocery. Boy, if you're a character in a McEwan novel and it's a Saturday, best to stay on your toes, yo. OK, have you had enough from Mike's bookstack? I'm now re-reading Wicked (it's been TEN YEARS since the last time) in anticipation of seeing the musical next month. Since I've read that before, I can spread my focus (picture it), so I'm also a few pages into When We Were Orphans by Kazuo Ishiguro. His Never Let Me Go is on my wishlist, but this one was lying around the familia's vacation home, so I availed myself.
• Whew. I know, that was a marathon session. If it was a chore for you, I'm probably not your man. If it was more like a tantric, bring-you-repeatedly-to-the-brink festival of rumpled sheets and grunting, then call me, won't you? This afternoon I'll be attending a First Holy Communion (dirty?), and then tonight I'm going to see Kathy Griffin, guys! I'm just guessing, but I imagine the boys will be out en masse for that one, eh? LOVE. HER.
  

I am the very model of a modern Major General

Have you ever wondered what it might be like to dress exclusively from the International Male catalog, say for a week or so, in New York? Who hasn't, right? Well, follow along with Andrew Goldman as he lunches at the Four Seasons in a scarlet pimp suit, does a Jewish speed-dating session in a skin-tight, sleeveless, wide mesh top, and attends the launch party for Alan Cumming's fragrance (Cumming) while sporting a "Count Fuckula" ensemble, about which he opines:

I think I'd feel more comfortable wearing a sparkly black cape in public if it didn't fit so poorly.

link via Gus Mattox

Forget regret, or life is yours to miss

I know, I know, AGAIN with the Rent lyrics? I'm crushed right now you guys and I think you've known me long enough to realize I'm not the DRAMA variety of queen. Remember when I wrote about my friendly neighborhood (gay) buddy who grew into a pensive (gay) teen? He died last night. I'm not looking for sympathy. It was many years ago when he followed me around as a cute, precocious gayling. It is very sad, though, to think of all the potential and fabulosity that will go unspent. He was just 16. And here I sit so many times whining about things I want but I'm too scared to go out and get. I don't give a damn if you're tired of it, just please remember there is no day but today. Do something scary today. Do something fabulous today. Me? I'm doing this, scary for some of you, fabulous for me. (And no, I'm not actually in the show).

Added: OK, so maybe I am being a bit maudlin and dramatic, but in my defense, it was just Tuesday that I did the Catholic equivalent of sitting shiva for the mother of my childhood best friend. The Jews, per usual, have it right. And more festive. The Catholics have the organized grief fest. I actually considered not going after a harrowing day at work and still suffering from the time zone lag of vacation. My friend and I had lost touch over the last ten or more years. But I did spend many wonderful summer days at his house, specifically hanging out in his mom's kitchen, just talking and laughing with my buddy and his mom. So I went and the funeral brought all that flooding back. The receiving line loomed as a gauntlet (there were all ten children plus spouses). Little did I know. I offered condolences to the husband and older children fairly unscathed (notice how this is selfishly about how I felt), and then the dam burst. Kids 5-10 are five sisters and then my old buddy. They cried, they clutched, they said how much they missed me (or the "kid" me, I guess) and they all claimed that I was always their mother's favorite. I lost my shit, guys. I think they spent more time comforting me than vice versa. Not sure if all the tears I shed were for her and them or for what was or for who fucking knows. It was worth it for me, though, to know that the little gay boy I had been was appreciated, just like I appreciated my lil' gay neighbor. I seemed to be a great comfort to my friend, too. We reminisced. Rehashed old times. Caught up on our lives. Hugged a lot. He's single, btw. 41. No girlfriends in the last ten years that I'm aware of. He's gonna call me. Funny if that VERY funeral home would be the cause of me getting play TWICE, wouldn't it? AND back to me. Or did we ever leave?

Leave them burning and then you're gone

There's good news and then there's news so delicious that you just have to sit back and let it wash all over you for a few tingly moments. THIS is some of that kind of news. He's getting back with his boys from Take That, he's just recently been honored as the MEAT (doesn't get much more prestigious than that), and now he's taking aim at the gays. Now. Hee.

link via Queerty

So I ask you very confidentially, ain't she sweet?

His recent comedy Kitchen Confidential was short-lived (it was kinda uneven, wasn't it?), but he's evergreen in my heart and he's this week's MEAT. Everyone please give a warm Pipedreams welcome to Mr. Bradley Cooper. He was one of the best things about the best season of Alias (the first).Alias is finally back for its last hurrah and from what I hear, BC is coming back with it. Ahhh, how I was smitten with Will Tippin. And he was smitten with Sydney Bristow. And I was smitten with Sydney, too. While I'm not sure on the specifics of how our little threesome would sandwich, I do know Bradley would be the MEAT.He's almost unrecognizable in this last photo, but with all that leather and the rings, what was I supposed to do?

Also, while on the Alias tip, check out this post from Freakgirl for some hilarity surrounding Alias papa JJ Abrams' new movie.

Papa, can you hear me?

It's back up! The internet as Chez ME, I mean. Turns out my cable modem was just fine, but I had too many splitters on the line and it wasn't getting a strong enough signal. Apparently, a single man should not require four televisions. Who knew? Anyway, a new dedicated line shooting the good stuff straight into my modem has me up and running.

SO MANY THINGS have been racing through my mind. I've been DYING to share them. Funny how they are all escaping me at the moment, so I'm offering this little Bill Maher diatribe that I received in the email. I usually don't post FORWARD-Y things, but I just love this. Tell me if y'all have seen it already.

"Mr. President, this job can't be fun for you any more. There's no more money to spend -- you used up all of that. You can't start another war because you used up the army. And now, darn the luck, the rest of your term has become the Bush family nightmare -- helping poor people. Listen to your Mom. The cupboard's bare, the credit cards maxed out. No one's speaking to you. Mission accomplished.

"Now it's time to do what you've always done best -- lose interest and walk away. Like you did with your military service and the oil company and the baseball team. It's time. Time to move on and try the next fantasy job. How about cowboy or space man? Now I know what you're saying -- there's so many other things that you as President could involve yourself in. Please don't. I know, I know. There's a lot left to do. There's a war with Venezuela. Eliminating the sales tax on yachts. Turning the space program over to the church. And Social Security to Fannie Mae. Giving embryos the vote.

"But, Sir, none of that is going to happen now. Why? Because you govern like Billy Joel drives. You've performed so poorly I'm surprised that you haven't given yourself a medal. You're a catastrophe that walks like a man. Herbert Hoover was a shitty president, but even he never conceded an entire city to rising water and snakes.

"On your watch, we've lost almost all of our allies, the surplus, four airliners, two trade centers, a piece of the Pentagon, and the City of New Orleans. Maybe you're just not lucky. I'm not saying you don't love this country. I'm just wondering how much worse it could be if you were on the other side.

"So, yes, God does speak to you. What he is saying is, 'Take a hint.'"

Until we meet again

Lest you think I'm being rude (more rude?), you should know that I'm dying to chat and also to dish about my vacation antics, but the cable modem, he has let me down when I'm least equipped to handle it. Don't they all eventually, though? It may be DAYS, darlings, and work has been such that, whilst here, I can only manage the slightest nibble of your tasty blog pies. It seems dire now, but I'm sure to be savoring your tart goodness again one day very soon. Until then.....

C'mon-a my house, my house, I'm-a gonna give you candy

OK, I haven't posted all week whilst on holiday, so does it seem kinda skeevy that I'm returning to post some MEAT on Friday? I'm guessing the answer is two-pronged, the first prong being YES and the second prong being WE WOULDN'T EXPECT OTHERWISE. I'm sure I'll have lots to say about the trip laters, but to preface the MEAT, I have to say that the ski mountains of Whistler/Blackcomb are positively TEEMING with nubile, young Australians of both sexes. Quantas must fly them here by the planeload to service our every Western Canadian whim. Anyway, the young hotness with whom I rode the gondola (sadly, in only the more benign sense) Thursday put me in mind of this young hotness from House (love, love, LOVE that show), but in the end, I'm doing Hugh Laurie. Oh, I can hear the hue and cry already from all you prancing youth-obsessed nancies out there, but save it bitches. Hugh is fine. FINE. FOO-INE. Of course, for me, the limp he affects as Greg House don't hurt one bit.Note: Apologies to you, Maddie, darling, and Bodhi, darling, for temporarily ignoring your suggestion of the Hartnett. I'm looking forward to seeing his latest, but my tastes are running to more vintage models at the moment.

It's the devil that needs ya, so go out and play

With me gone for the next two Fridays, what are you going to do for protein? I feel bad that you'll be missing my rich mix, so I'm offering an early helping. Have I done Robbie Williams already? Mmmm. Give me a moment. To have done Robbie Williams. Anyway, who cares if I have? If anyone deserves Meat Friday redux, it's this cheeky monkey. He's always got a smirk on his face and often has his John Thomas hanging out. What's not to love? He's really been on my mind this week, thanks to freakgirl, who shared his Swing When You're Winning with me. I was a HUGE fan before, but honestly, this is my favorite thing he's done. Great duets on some old standards and I've never shied from admitting I'm a showtune queen. Same goes for the classics from Cole Porter and Gershwin et al. Robbie does these tunes justice, singing the hell out of them with just the right touch of camp. Check out his website for the lil' blog he's got going. Here's an excerpt:

12/01/2006: On swearing
"You daft bastard" is a favorite of mine at the mo....Incredible cos if you break it down it means....You are weak minded and you don't know who your father is....Which is a bit extreme say if someone's spilt their tea or misplaced their keys.

But I can see you, your brown skin shining in the sun

I'll just come out with it. I'm thinking of trying a facial moisturizer with bronzer.

How does it feel like to sail in on the breeze?

Seldom have I been SO ready for a vacation. I'm leaving Friday, bitches, and as always, I'm even looking forward to the travel day. I know some of you who travel frequently for business are so over airports and flying and connections, but I welcome it. Airports make me tingle in the brainstem and if I'm lucky, parts South. How awesome would a random Nate/Brenda-esque airport broom closet nasty fuck be? Really. Awesome. Anyone care to share? So, I'm heading to Vancouver for a week, to include all of the following: bonding mit familie, conversations that mean something, skiing, skiing, skiing, shopping, hot tubbing, drinking and hot tubbing, trail running, climbing, reading in a cozy nook, exploring Vancouver, and most likely logging on to check out the usual suspects. For me, that's heaven right here, y'all. Will you miss me?Added: I can't believe I forgot to mention my traveling companion! He's kind of a hot little piece. Compact and tight. Other than the 2-dimensional thing, he's SO my type.

Two feet firmly off the ground

Get it? Light in my loafers and whatnot. I've been tres busy today, what with working and mowing the yard (already!?) and starting to get organized for my trip (mo' on that lata) and coming out to various people and grocery shopping, which I'm about to do now. I slipped into my new kickin' around shoes (thank you, Zappos.com). You may love them (like me) or hate them, but you can't even FEEL them on your feet, guys. Perfect for some apres-ski shopping in Whistler Village (next week!) Love, love, love. Numostro. I mean, c'mon, it's got "mo" in it AND it sounds vaguely Italian? Muah!

Springtime is on my mind, flowers blooming all the time

Care to check out what's springing forth in Mike's Garden? Since my brotha Andrew was so kind to share blooms through the Australian spring and summer (honestly, it was a tonic on some cold winter days), I thought I'd reciprocate. I don't have his photography skillz, but nature's bounty picks up where I slack. Above are some hyacinths I planted some years ago, a gift from a well-travelled friend who picked them up straight from the FONT itself, the Netherlands. Below are some daffodils just blooming by my front stoop. Notice how they're all windswept, like that man in the old Maxell ad?

We'll get a table near the street in our old familiar place

Is it too late to recap my weekend? On Saturday night I saw Movin' Out, the production which connects Billy Joel songs into a narrative thread of love, life and loss in the Viet Nam War years. There is an elevated platform with the narrator (who sings all the songs and plays the piano) and a full band. All the characters are dancers who don't sing. Or speak. When I say that B.J.'s songs connect into a narrative, it's only by the most tenuous of threads. Anthony (works in a grocery store), Brenda and Eddie (were still going steady), and others interact strictly via costumes, sets and the balletic, acrobatic choreography of Twila Tharp. It's interesting. It's ambitious. It's an ambition not altogether realized. But you couldn't tell by the box office. It ran on Broadway for a long time and it sold out in our lil' burg for 12 days. In its defense, after the intermission things really pick up and the dancing is acrobatic and they really showcase the fact that these dancers are incredibly fit and gorgeous. Seriously, you walk out of there feeling slightly entertained and egregiously schlubby.

Would you believe I had a date to this show? With a woman? Me either. I think that's what it was, though the Magic 8 Ball says, "Reply hazy, ask again later." I went with my best friend's ex-wife after she laid a guilt trip on me worthy of a Jewish grandmother....or a Chinese divorcee, apparently. Divorcee. Hee. So retro. Anyway, here's the skinny: Drinks and Appetizers: $60 Theater Tickets: $140 Nightcap: $30 Spending over $200 and no one touches my whanger: Huh?! Wha?! She knows I don't date that way (anymore), so I was played, right? This makes me sound cheap, but she's one of those people who I have NEVER seen pay for cab fare, so it grates after a while.

Hey farmer, farmer

I just had an organic apple (on sale at the Kroger). With apologies to my boo, Joni Mitchell, do we really need ALL the birds and the bees?

It's the apples for dessert (the crisp, tart flawless Fujis, not these verchacta mushy ones) that claim partial responsibility for the new jeans I bought this weekend. The jeans are in a nice light wash for spring. My self-congratulatory point? The jeans are 32x34, bitches.

Don't need no hateration, holleratin'

So if three out of four leading posts deal with the faggots, will you hold it against me? Part of the blame/credit goes to my TiVo wishlist ferreting out the broadcast "gay". Another show that I caught this weekend on PBS, NOW with David Brancaccio, dealt with gay adoption in Florida, the only state where it is completely banned. Check out the link for great information on the topic. You can read for yourself, but I want to share a bit from the story of Curtis and Scott, a couple who have taken in two sisters who were shuttled from foster home to foster home. They had suffered from abuse at the hands of their biological parents. Curtis and Scott took them in and gave them a home, albeit a foster home, as there can be no adoption by a homosexual, single or coupled, in Florida. A complete ban. This family has suffered periodic reviews of their case where the children were hours from being taken away from their only stability, their only real home. One of their daughters wrote this letter around the time when their living situation was being reviewed:

Dear Dad and Daddy, I love you and you love me, when I am bad and when I am good. You gave me a home when no one would. I am here forever. Love , Your Home Slice Angelina

A Republican judge ruled in favor of these sisters staying with Dad and Daddy, thanking them for "stopping the cycle of abuse" and writing that Curtis and Scott demonstrated "phenomenal parenting skills" and "commitment when the State of Florida prohibits them from legally committing."

Did I hear right that there are 100,000 kids in foster care that prove difficult to adopt out? There was a lawyer who specialized in these cases on the show. He had this to say:

There are people in the state of Florida who are homosexuals who would take these children. I don't know how many. I don't know if it's one, if it's a dozen, or if there are hundred and I don't really care. But I'll tell you who cares. This child cares. ::shows series of pictures:: She cares a great deal. And what the ban does is prevent good outcomes for those kids. It prevents them from finding someone to love them.

So, can the supporters of this ban honestly say that they have the best interests of children in mind when they regard the state as a better parent than a homosexual?

We believe all sorts of things that aren't true

Have you all read about the Judas gospel? It's interesting to me even if I'm not so much an acolyte of Catholicism any more. There was an article in USA Today regarding this surprisingly explosive topic and there is a PBS special about it tonight. Some of the critics disingenuously dismiss the documents as having been written hundreds of years after the time of Christ when they know all too well that the other gospels were as well. The whole concept of how history forms, and how it cements itself over time, fascinates me. OK, permit me to offer some lyrics from my new religion, namely showtunes. These are from Wicked and are sung by the Wizard:

(spoken) Elphaba, where I'm from, we believe all sorts of
things that aren't true. We call it - "history."

(sung) A man's called a traitor - or liberator
A rich man's a thief - or philanthropist
Is one a crusader - or ruthless invader?
It's all in which label
Is able to persist
There are precious few at ease
With moral ambiguities
So we act as though they don't exist

For those so quick to condemn and subjugate others using a few vague phrases from an ancient text, I doubt that understanding the fluid nature of what they see as solid would make any difference. If they knew the gospels weren't written by the same named apostles, but hundreds of years later from hearsay by people who obviously never knew Christ, would that matter? Judas' "evil" nature is established by only 18 verses in the Bible. We gays are condemned by far fewer that that. There is a long history of "infallible" Popes who have altered the Bible and branded alternate gospels as heresy, effectively banishing them from "history" forever. There were once as many as thirty gospels until it was arbitrarily decided that there should be just four. So if you were basing your life on the words in a document, and going so far as to restrict the basic human rights of others based on that document, wouldn't you be curious as to where it springs from? Would you be satisfied with your grade school catechism explanation that it is the word of God? Like the old Wonderful Wizard says, we're not comfortable with moral ambiguity, so we pretend it doesn't exist.

Happy Easter!

Friday, I'll be heading to where the snow is still deep, where the health care is universal and where the gays can roam and marry freely (for now). Heaven? No, but for the weaker currency and lower national self-esteem, it might be. Canada. No Easter celebration for this lapsed Catholic, as I'm continuing my long tradition of spending the week slopeside with my Jews.

You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn

Sure he was adorable in Stand By Me, but this guy only really caught my attention with his memorable turn as Quinn Mallory on Sliders. How much did we love that show, people? In honor of his tasty Men's Fitness cover shot this month, Jerry O'Connell is the meat today.In a note only tangentially related to meat, I had a woman in my office just now who mentioned that her future son-in-law is from Porka Rico. No, seriously, I finagled the conversation so she repeated it at least three more times. I enunciated it clearly to see if she'd catch the hint. Nope. Porka Rico. Remember the Pepsicola, Florida lady from some months back?

Finally, it's HAIRCUT DAY. Impending Avedagasm. Anyone else have goosebumps? The word for the day is close-cropped, my preferred cut prior to the ski vacation. This time next week I hope to be knee-deep in the pow-pow, my babies.

I'm always chasing rainbows

I don't get HBO so I won't be catching All Aboard! Rosie's Family Cruise tonight. Sounds like it's a nice look at how there are all kinds of families. Maybe a few heartwarming moments thrown in for good measure. I know she has her detractors, but Rosie has done a lot of good with all that daytime talk money. I don't know that a show like this will change minds, but it's worth the effort, isn't it? Here are a few takes on the show:

• After watching this sweet and often moving HBO documentary from filmmaker Shari Cookson, I've got just one question: where do I put in to have a gay couple raise my kids? Ray Richmond for The Hollywood Reporter
• Tolstoy said, "All happy families resemble one another." All Aboard!, a touching, sometimes amusing special about a Rosie O'Donnell-sponsored gay family cruise, which dares to posit that families led by two gay parents operate pretty much like most other families. How sad such a simple, obvious position will be enough to stir up hatred in some quarters. Robert Bianco for USA Today

That poster is just OVER THE TOP. Great, isn't it?

Cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other

Remember a while back when I posted about Gay Cowboys on Ice? Well, as fab as the stills were, you definitely need to check out the video. Jamie Salier (who I love after her turn on Olympic Ice for the USA Network) introduces the segment by suggesting the women in the audience are really going to enjoy this. Yep. The women.And would you believe there's more to be added to the Pipedreams archives filed under gay, cowboys, video? Sure you would, cuz it's a wonderful world we live in. How much am I growing to love Willie Nelson?

links via Queerty

That's me, I'm your handy man

I need to stake a tree. It's a pretty little redbud that I planted (well, had planted) a few years back. Last year it was damaged in an ice storm and now it's a little bent. I heard that you should stake it in the spring when the sap is running and it'll be more pliable. So I'm in the hardware store just now and the staking kits are out of stock. The cute lawn and garden girl, who I'm assuming grew up on a farm based on her biceps and her lat spread, suggested that I just take a length of some old garden hose, wrap it around a sturdy branch, thread some wire through that, and then use an old 2x4 that I have lying around as a stake. Frankly, it was like she was speaking in a foreign tongue. Cracked me up. They're calling me when the kits come in.

Make it one for my baby, and one more for the road

I submit this lovely ad especially for my Sarandon lovin' sista, Jen, but also for all of us who should consider an organ donation card, if we haven't already. The radiant Susan is using her celebrity to spotlight the shortage of donor organs, specifically kidneys. Give.

There is no future, there is no past

Craig Wilson, a columnist at USA Today, writes The final word every Wednesday. Love him. He's homespun and funny. He was born in a small town (like me), he's now urban and lives with a cool guy who does cool stuff (like I'd like to), he has a Wheaten terrier (like I used to), and as you've gathered, he's a big ol' mo (like I am). I enjoy his work. Check out his no day but today themed article from today's paper. I know this theme is recurrent here at Pipedreams. So fucking sue me.

On an unrelated note, with TAR now at 8EST and Lost at 9EST, Wednesdays are suddenly my FAVORITE tv night.

Sometimes love don't feel like it should

• So I finally busted out that guitar I bought the other weekend. I spent about 90 minutes with it last night. I now know how to tune it and I can play two chords. OK, I can kinda play two chords. You can congratulate me now.
• This week I surpassed my vacation induced weight loss goal. Thank you, Fitday. And thank you, Obsessive Twice Daily Workouts. But alas, no abs. Can it be that the age when that was possible for me has passed unobserved? I so missed it. And miss it. Still, I did steal those board shorts today, so I might amuse you later with a picture of them. On me. Holding your breath?
• Who am I to say that you MUST use your turn signal when driving? That's a choice you can make but I feel it should come with some consequence. Like you should be required to drive with the turn signal stalk shoved up your ass.
• Until the SFU Season 5 DVDs showed up on my doorstep, I didn't realize how much I'd missed you dear, dear Fisher family. Especially you, Keith, my big, black sex cop. I can't wait to see how it all turns out for each one of you.

It's not unusual to find out that I'm in love with you

For a common sense, hard-to-argue-with take on same sex marriage, mosey on over to this editorial in USA Today. Jonathan Turley argues that it may not be in either political party's best interest for this issue to go away. It's keeping the party rolls long and the coffers full. Still, he distills the debate to what matters:

Consenting adults should be able to assume the obligations of a civil union regardless of how their neighbors view their morality. As in other areas, adults should be able to follow the dictates of their own faith so long as they do not endanger or harm others, particularly minors.

Whether damnation awaits monogamists or polygamists or same-sex couples is a matter between citizens and their respective faiths. The government should address that aspect of marriage that concerns its insular needs: confirming the legal obligations of consenting adults. As for our politicians, there are levees to be rebuilt, corruption to end and wars to win.

Personally, the only thing that would interest me would be the legal contract anyway. Equal protection under the law. I don't give a tinker's damn about the religious stuff. I'd venture to guess that most homos feel the same way. Not that the distinction will matter much to the conservatives.