Parthenogenesis

Maybe a month before I left New York for Pittsburgh, Kenny & I went to see an art installation by the photographer and artist Angelo Musco. Kenny had been to see some of his installations before, and I'd been to a party given by he and his partner, where I'd seen some of his photographs and other art works.

This one was entitled "Parthenogenesis," and was done with a large construct in which a number of pregnant women in white wigs and white contact lenses posed while Angelo and his team photographed them for later manipulation. So it's a two-fold process: There's the actual installation -- which was really interesting and odd and fascinating, watching those pregnant ladies struggle to hold still all the while these people wandered around and gaped at them, and then there's the photo manipulation, which eventually is printed or posted on Angelo's website.

Kenny just forwarded an e-mail announcing that "Parthenogenesis" was online. Check it out and tell me what you think.

Twice the Twice the Fun

Suh-weet!

I got to spend Memorial Day in the company of the Lagemæ again! They treated me to a movie in honor of my birthday and then took me out to dinner! I'm either the luckiest or the free-loadin'-est human on the planet! I've yet to decide.

We went to see Madagascar, about which I'll admit to having had major reservations. It was, in my pre-movie-viewing opinion, the best option only 'cuz it was serving as a substitute for more serious fare. I wanted to see Crash and a couple of other movies, but just wasn't in the mood -- it being a sunny summer holiday and all -- for a depressing-ass filmic experience.

Well, I'm here to eat a little crow, my friends. I found Madagascar thoroughly delightful. I'm generally very suspicious of DreamWorks/PDI animated movies. I'm the only person in the whole world who wasn't blown away by Shrek and actually didn't like Shrek II. The thing about them is that they're generally really pretty to look at (kudos to all the artists out there in DW/PDI Land), but they generally lack any sort of heart -- I'm never sucked into the story emotionally like I am with just about any Pixar flick. My least favorite Pixar movie is probably Toy Story II, and that thing just plain kicks ass!

So it was not just a pleasant surprise, it was delightful. The thing that I dislike about DW/PDI movies, generally, is that they go so out of their way to cram in pop-culture references that I generally walk away feeling as though most of them ended up in the story just so the creators could feel pleased with themselves with how clever they are. And people who're smart and are generally pleased with how smart they are annoy the living hell outta me.

Anyway, this one was different. The American Beauty reference practically made me pee my pants.

After the show, we went to dinner at P.F. Chang's, which I always enjoy. The food's good, the service is very personable, and it doesn't hurt that they seem to hire a collection of the most comely young people in Pittsburgh. God bless the Chinese, say I.

It's days like this, you know, that remind us why we work.

Twice the Fun

One Lageman is a ton of fun, but two are exponentially greater! And I got to hang out with them both today.

After today's show, the delightful Robin W invited us to a picnic at her house on the South Side Slopes. The view from up there is really quite something -- I crawled up on her roof and snapped some shots of the Pittsburgh skyline. Sadly, since they're on film, you've gotta wait 'til I get 'em developed and scanned to look at them.

The party was really delightful; I got to see a number of people I haven't seen in an age, including my friends Brian and Fred - the two gay men I know with the longest-lived relationship of any of my contemporaries. They give me something to shoot for. I hope someday to meet someone and have the kinda longevity these two have.

So it was a great picnic -- and a wonderful reminder of how great it is to have friends.

I've talked a lot over the years about how much I enjoyed having a really small circle of really good friends - and how happy I was to just let the myriad other people passing through my life to just be acquaintances -- but I've had time lately to really regret that line of reasoning. And it's hard to just decide to stop thinking the way you've thought for twenty years.

Up until the past few years, I've been content to not know a lot of people, to keep the number of people I know to a minimum. It was partly a reaction to my paralyzing shyness in meeting new people, and partly my in-bred belief that if you think of someone as your friend, you need to be in constant contact with them; that you can't let their lives slip away from you. And that requires a lot of work. A lot.

So I was content to let the acquaintances pass through my life without making any particular emotional commitment to them, and keep my small circle of five or six really good friends; The Lagemæ, Ken B, Toni, and more recently Chris. They managed to fill up my life, and they were -- I thought -- about as much as I could handle in the sense that I could keep track of their lives and work to be a really big part of them, and, as importantly, make them a part of mine.

But here's the thing: The Lagemæ have left New York. It's a pretty fair bet that Kenny'll be gone in a year, and Chris is considering leaving as well, though he has no specific plans.

So that's where my brilliant "I only want close, true friends" plan gets me. Alone in New York City without a support structure. Thus my obsession with expanding my circle of friends. I'm not saying that I need to cultivate a new crop of people as important to me as Kenny, Kevin, Kirsten, Chris, and Toni -- I'm just saying that I need to be a little more open.

And who knows, maybe being open will net me a lovah, or even better, a boyfriend!

Wireless Mooch

You know, just about anywhere you go these days, you can turn on your wireless-enabled laptop and find a wireless signal. It's freaky, yo.

I'm backstage at the City Theatre, waiting for our second show to start, and I turned on the computer to write some e-mails, and what do I find? Not just one, but three, count 'em three wireless networks in range of my computer.

So I'm mooching someone else's signal. I'm a wireless thief, y'all.

I've been blinded by my own obsessive need to make a romantic connection lately. Re-reading the early-morning entry I made after this date (which really wasn't as bad as I make it sound -- When I'm half liquored I tend toward the melancholy and melodramatic, remember), I was struck by how crazy I've been.

Not padded-cell crazy, but that sorta crazy you get when you become disconnected from your life -- from what's important. From for instance, your friends.

My own folly was brought home in the best way possible. Several days ago a large package arrived at the theater, sent to me by the delightful Kenny B. The outside of the package had very specific instructions on it that it wasn't to be opened 'til my birthday.

When I got home from my date, I was dog-tired. It was nearly 4 a.m., and I was bushed. But the package was sitting there on my bed, waiting for me. I was so tired, that all I could do was peel off the outer packaging, revealing four brightly wrapped presents. Just sitting there looking at the yellow and purple paper, packages all artfully arranged despite their odyssey through the US Postal system, made me content and soothed my battered ego after the blah date.

I'm feeling pretty darn blessed.

Happy Blah Date

Thank god for my friends, that's all I can say.

It was my birthday yesterday, and my friends at the theater brought me a cake, and the inimitable Marty G. bought be a really fine bottle of wine.

So rather than do the smart thing and spend the evening drinking with and being feted by my friends, what do I do? I make a date with a man I've met once before, thinking that it's a good thing I'm expanding my social circle.

I wasted my birthday on what was, essentially, a blind date.

A blind date that sucked, by the way. In a classic sense. Talked incessantly about the ex. Enjoyed the drinks I bought him but couldn't be bothered to buy me one. Brought me back to his apartment despite the fact that he clearly wasn't into and proceeded to just lay there through the sex that was, ultimately, the least fulfilling I may have ever had. And you know, I've had some bad sex. The problemwith dating a 23 year-old is that they are completely without artiface. They don't mask their disappointment well, and they certainly don't fake it very well. It's really depressing to be given the boot as soon as the, uh, "deal" is, uh, "transacted," especially when he thinks he's being subtle and un-obvious when he's talking about how late it is and how early he has to get to work in the morning -- when I already know that he doesn't start work until 3:30!

I really have to learn to give up on men altogeher.

Got a Life

People are accusing me of having gotten a life, since I haven't blogged in nearly four days.

That's most assuredly not the case. I'm still wasting way too much of my time on useless pursuits and ultimately bring no satisfaction. Most especially in the romance department.

So all is right with the world.

Tuesday, for our final preview, the theater was papering the house, wanting to fill the joint up because it was selling lightly and a reviewer was going to be there. The last thing you want to do when playing comedy is have a small house. People in small groups are intimidated about laughing.

So the theater invited us to let our friends know they could see it for free, and the place was packed. And not just packed, but packed with friends and family, so it was a raucous night. What a delight. The audience screamed with laughter. They were really generous.

The opening night audience was a bit more quiet. For the most part they were more smilers than laughers, but there were a lot of theater people in the audience, and it reminded my why I don't like theater people as audiences.

The place was chock full of actors and playwrights and directors I know. And not a one of them cracked a smile the whole night. There was one guy sitting up front -- right in the spill of the lights from the stage -- who not only didn't crack a smile, but had a look on his face as if he'd cracked a tooth.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not convinced that this is the best show ever, but it's not a bad one. So there ya go. Theater people shouldn't go to see theater. It just seems to make them angry.

Dance, Monkey! Dance!

So, yeah. I'm like one of those ten-cents-a dance chicks. Or maybe an organ grinder's monkey. I'm blogging for my supper, or, more specifically, for my new camera.

You'll note the addition of a link on the sidebar to donate to my new camera fund. -------------------->

Working with film is bankrupting me, yo! I'm 9 rolls into my visit to Pittsburgh and I've already blown close to $100 on film processing. This shit is expensive! And of course I'm, apparently, completely unable to not document my life by taking pictures. Color me addicted.

So, in the tradition of clever maniacs and moochers the world over, I've added a donation link to my blog. What the heck, right? I mean, I have a birthday coming up, and rather than guilting my Gentle Readers into forking out money for a sweet gift, why not sucker them into dropping a fin or ten-spot on my one hobby, all from the comfort of sitting on their own asses?

Welcome to the American Dream.

"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."

That Thoreau was a real yuckfest, wasn't he? I'm not saying he was wrong, but still. Jeez.

I've been seeing a lot of quiet desperation around me lately, and experiencing very little of it... by my usual standards.

Just to clarify, we all know I'm a worrywart, right?

Anywho, I've not been sleeping very well. Typical "while working in theater" stuff. The brain is still racing when the show finishes, and so I end up staring at the ceiling until 3 a.m. I get to sleep in, of course, since rehearsals aren't until noonish or 1 p.m., but then it feels like the entire day was wasted, and as I get older I absolutely hate that feeling.

In the halcyon days of my youth, I didn't give a squat about sleeping 'til 2 p.m. after a night out with other theater-folk, but these days I can't shake the feeling that something's being missed. Even aside from the practical life considerations -- bills that I should sit down and write checks for, e-mails or phone calls to friends, opportunities to send a voice demo to some producer or other I've met -- I just feel that there's probably some impossibly unique moment going on somewhere that I'm missing out on. Especially on a particularly beautiful day, when there might be enthralling cloud formations passing overhead, or some flower out there just waiting to be photographed, or -- for those of you out there who always prescribe more purient interests to my people-watching -- some particularly hot guy to undress mentally.

I guess the long and the short of this is that I'm a little surprised to find myself in this place. Seems like a lot is changing in my head; not sure what to call it.

Growing up?

First Preview

So last night we had our first preview, which is generally the first time a full audience sees a show. As you already know, we'd had the Shepherd Wellness Community benefit the night before at our final dress rehearsal, so we kinda had an idea of what to expect.

All things considered, I think it went pretty well. The audience seemed to enjoy it. I'm told the real test will be with the preview audiences the rest of the weekend. Apparently the older fan base at the theater likes to go to the previews, and don't always respond as enthusiastically as other audiences. But I found -- when I did the show in Philly -- that the older audiences generally love this show; I mean, they're the only ones to whom the idea of somone's undies falling down in public is even remotely titillating. So we'll see.

As you know, my digital camera has been dead for a while, and one of the things I found in storage at my sister's house is my 35 mm film camera, so I've been a real, live shutterbug the last few days. Eight rolls of film worth. This is, clearly, gonna bankrupt me. But rather than take a couple hundred dollars and buy a cheap digital camera, I want a nice one. One that uses SLR lenses. So the saving up will have to be piecemeal and long-term. 'Til then, I'm discovering two things: First, I'd forgotten just how great the picture quality of film stills is, and second, the jpg files that come on the "picture CD" option when you have your film developed are unadulterated crap. The color on the jpg's bear no relation to the colors on the film, and they look even worse than the files that came directly off my crappy two-megapixel camera during its final decline.

But I'm not bitter. Do I sound that way? I really should consider putting a link my website to let my faithful readers donate toward the New Camera Fund. I love Paypal. We'll see.

In the meantime, check out the crappy versions of what are, in my humble opinion, some of the better shots from my adventures in photography.

What kind of blogger are you?

I Am a Life Blogger!

Your blog is the story of your life - a living diary. If it happens, you blog it. And make it as entertaining as possible.

What kind of blogger are you?

Life Upon the Wicked Stage

So tonight we have our first audience -- it's our final dress rehearsal. There's a local organization that services people living with HIV called Shepherd Wellness Community, and once a year City Theatre donates a final dress rehearsal to them for use as a fundraiser.

Quite cool, I think.

I've done these shows before, and they're usually a raucous and fun audience. They are, however, generally liquored-up, so there's a lot of people trying (unsuccessfully) to slip quietly out and make for the restroom. Lots of backed up alcohol, don't you know.

One of the reasons I'm so fond of Shakespeare in Love is Geoffrey Rush as Phillip Henslowe, and his insistent that, no matter how bad it seems the show always works out in the end. Of course we know that's not true; sometimes the show just plain sucks. But regardless of whether or not it does, the curtain manages to rise, and then 90 or 120 minutes later, it manages to come down without anyone having died. Usually.

Here's hoping tonight works out that way.

By the way, did I tell you that my dear friend Super K got the job she really, really wanted when she moved back to Pittsburgh? I have much joy for her. The Lagemæ's move back to Pittsburgh is working out fabulously for them, which -- while painful for me (at least in the distant future when I get back to NYC) -- is a wonderful thing for them. They're much more relaxed and playful than I've seen them in quite some time.

So cheers to you, Super K! I'm very, very excited for you!

Thoreau argued that the necessities in life were pretty simple: Food, shelter, clothing, fuel. But I would suggest that we live in a more enlightened age (or at least we should and could) than he envisioned. We need contentment to really live, if you ask me -- and that's something the Lagemæ seriously lacked in New York. I'm hoping they find it here.

So I'm on my break having a nice lil' tuna melt at Tuscany, and a huge-ass Hummer just drove by on the street outside.

I don't know why those things raise my ire so much. I mean, your right-wing nutjob would crucify me as a liberal tree-hugger for even opening my mouth about the whole thing, but really: why does any private citizen need one of these things? I'm all for the military having one -- soldiers do, after all, have to drive through bombed-out, infrastructure-free landscapes, so have at 'em, say I! But show me where the fuck Suzy Homemaker has to cross a freaking minefield to get to the Wal-Mart. There's just no need for it.

Feel free to change my mind.

So there!

Certain unnamed friends have, in the past, given me shit for using the phrase "I'm like to burst like a ripe melon," insisting that overripe melons don't, indeed, burst.

Well, I stand before you, my friends, an exonerated man. At least insofar as use of the phrase goes. I can't swear that I know for sure that an overripe melon will, indeed, burst -- but I've always suspected that that's exactly how the plant propogates its species: the melon bursts and spreads the seeds on the ground.

But even if I'm wrong about that, I'm still not that unusual in using the phrase: It's rampant in bad writing!

Consider this a big ol' nose-thumbing to the naysayers! Mwahahahahahahaha!

Backstage

So I'm backstage at our first "ten out of twelve" rehearsal. For the uninitiated, that's when we do a technical rehearsal before opening, adding costumes, lights, sound, and finishing touches on the set. And they're usually scheduled to last ten hours over a twelve-hour period. There's a two-hour break in there somewhere for dinner.

Imagine how many times you can do a 90-minute play over the course of ten hours of rehearsal.

This one's physically demanding for me -- lots of pratfalls and physical comedy, you see.

So I'm a little tired.

Yesterday, I got to hang out for most of the afternoon and evening with RJ, who -- through the good graces of his company, Local Business Web -- hosts this very website. A big cheers to RJ, please.

We had take-out with his wife, Ange, from a kick-ass Chinese place near their home, and then he and I went to see Kingdom of Heaven. I have to say, I didn't hate it. But it was a little heavy-handed in its "Muslims & Christians should all get along" message. And of course it's the noble caucasian guy who saves the day. Still, I enjoyed it. And what's not to love about the delightfully vacuous Orlando Bloom?

He even manages to take his shirt off at one point. See? Who says that God doesn't love homosexuals? He gives us shirtless celebrities to look at!

Liquored Up!

I'm beginning to think that maybe the best time to blog is when I'm completely snockered. As I am right now. There's less filtering of what I'm thinking -- something that's grown over the last few years. The idea that what's not politic might not be the best thing to write.

The upshot of which is that I'm snockered and I'm blogging.

Here's the thing: I'm looking back, halfway through a weekend that's not yet done, and thinking to myself that what could be a really depressing weekend is -- on balance - a bit of a kickass experience.

How so, you're asking yourself?

Attend:

Last night I was nigh unto obsessive about the guy I blogged about -- he of the multiple sightings since my return to The 'Burgh.

But here's the thing: Last night, the Asylum Street Spankers came to town, and I dragged the Lagemæ and Patti along with me to see them. They -- in a word - rocked! It was a great show, only marred by the fact that it was the second time I saw The Guy™. Still, I got to see one of my favorite bands, along with some of my favorite people, and that's just kick-ass fine.

Tonight, Patti and I went to see the Pittsburgh Symphony*, and afterward went to Tuscany, where I saw a fellow who -- over the last couple years -- I've sorta debated whether or not it'd be a good idea to ask out, only to discover that he's got a boyfriend, a step son, and an adopted son! Needless, to say, I need to let that one pass.

But the discovery that this guy I'd sorta crushed on was no longer available somehow seemed to embolden me, so I followed the prompting of a friend and decided to start chatting up this other cute guy I'd seen at Tuscany a couple times before, only to discover that he is, in fact, a straight guy with a lot of gay friends who hangs out there and likes to flirt with the gay guys.

Still, I'm giving myself a ton of credit for deciding to engage the guy in coversation at all!

Anywho, I ended up chatting -- through the good graces of my dear friend Lissa -- with this really charming guy who turned out to be a -- of all things -- gynocologist.

You can only imagine where that conversation led.

The upshot of all of this is that the Old Joe would have considered a night in which I chatted up 3 guys and went home alone a total failure, but I'm actually elated to have had the experiences, the conversations, and the cameraderie that I'm walking away with.

In the end, what more can you ask for?


*Remind me sometime to tell you about my thoughts on the works of John Adams (the composer, not the Founding Father).

Ugh.

So, this is how lame I am.

In the three weeks I've been back in Pittsburgh, I've twice run into this guy upon whom I had the most hardcore crush when I first came out. In fact, I think the crush actually started even before I was out.

Anyway, long ago in my fumbling I-just-came-out-and-I'm-not-sure- how-this-works kinda way, I put the moves on this guy and he just plain rejected me. Actually, he didn't even have the balls to reject me out and out, he just sidestepped it and left me feeling like a total loser. Which, I don't doubt, is part of the reason I'm so gun-shy about coming on to anyone to this day.

And how do I react, seeing this guy again after all these years?

I get depressed and feel like a big fat loser all over again. Suddenly, no time at all as gone by, and I feel like the wallflower watching the cool kids dancing. I'm the poor not-quite-ugly-but- not quite-cute-enough roly-poly guy that all the Chelsea clones look right through.

A decade of progress wiped out in ten minutes.

Sometimes you really, really can't escape your past.

Here it comes!

Time to start punishing the Blue States!

Fickle, Thy Name is Weather

Boy, today started out really beautifully, but the storm clouds have just rolled right the hell in since this morning. I wish I'd taken advantage of the sun this morning, since it doesn't appear we're going to be getting a lot of sun in the next few days. There's an old saying here: "What follows three days of rain in Pittsburgh?"

"Monday."

The weather here just plain kinda sucks. It's one of the many reasons I'm glad to have moved away. I with all the people I love weren't here. Why can't my mom & dad, my sisters and brothers, the Lagemæ, and Toni Schlemmer live in, say, Key West? Or Santa Monica? Someplace like that.

Just wondering.

By the way...

... whatever happened to Ricky Martin, and why is he never dancing scantily-clad across my TV screen anymore?

Mock me if you must for lusting after him. At least he's age- appropriate.

Lions and tigers and...

So, dig it:

I'm sitting in Tuscany and there's some sort of convention of bears here! And into the midst of it all walk these three little twinkie guys, who plop down in the middle of this group of bears (who -- seriously -- are having some kinda pow-pow in the back; there're agendas and everything!) and start smoking and drinking up a storm.

I'm happy -- in fact, a little too delighted -- to report that these three youngsters do absolutely nothing for me. Further, they're kinda making me laugh at them... they're just so young!

Then again, the bears aren't exactly lighting my fire, either. Here's a weird thing: One of the bears looks like my dad as a young man. It's a little freaky.

Yet another metaphor for my life. Surrounded either by men who don't want me, or who I don't want. Go figure.

I had a rather kick-ass day off yesterday, if I do say so myself. I got up a wee bit late, but dragged myself off to run some errands, then went to Tuscany for some lunch, and sunned myself on Flagstaff Hill all day.

Then I went back to my sister's, had dinner with my brother-in-law, and caught up on e-mail before doing my laundry.

I haven't felt this productive in quite a while.

Day Off

Whew. I made it through to another day of rest. I'm exceedingly grateful. In a big way.

I don't know why -- it's not like I actually work for a living -- but I was really tired at the end of this week.

I need to get better sleep, clearly.

Mother's Day

Not surprisingly, I've been thinking a lot about my mom lately. But I haven't been thinking about her as my mother -- for some reason I've been imagining her as a young girl, before all the kids came along.

I've been thinking of my mom not as a mom, but as a daughter. As a woman who grew up loving her mother, desperately wanting her approval, and alternately loving and hating her father, anxious to be out of their house, to be married to the man she loved.

Before I left New York, I was digging through some old family photos and I came across one of my mom not long after she'd had her first child. She was so young. Or, at least, seemed so young. I imagine at that point she was only 21 or so.

Looking at her kissing that baby -- who was probably my brother Bill -- just kinda breaks my heart. I wonder if she knew the stuff that was in store for her, if she'd have been strong enough to go on. Had she had any idea that her little baby would die way too young, that there'd be family strife and scandal and anger and pain associated with his death, how would she have gone on. I can only imagine that I would fold under that kind of strain, and run away.

Which, I guess, is why I admire her so. Although, to be frank, I don't know that she wouldn't have run away if she'd been able to see the future -- but knowing her as I do, I doubt she would have.

It's true that they just plain don't make them like this anymore. My parents were raised to persevere, not to run away. Don't get me wrong: I think unhappy people should get divorced and do their best to find happiness, but my generation takes that idea a bit far sometimes, I think. We're a bunch of people who -- if you'll permit me the gross generalization -- don't try all that hard. We give up too easily, wherein personal relationships are concerned. I certainly gave up too easily with Gavan.

So it's times like these that I wonder what my mom thinks about the sacrifices she made. Did she, I wonder, dream of being a doctor? Did she dream of writing the Great American Novel?

I wonder what she thinks of her life. And I wonder whether she knows how aware I am of the gifts she's given me. How grateful I am. How much I love her.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Since You Asked

I keep seeing lots of bloggers doing a weekly top ten of whatever songs/books/whatevers they're currently loving. And since you know I'm such a fucking lemming, I figured I'd jump over the cliff as well.

I'm also just enough of a rebel that I don't like to completely conform. Accordingly, herewith is presented the first fifteen songs currently lined up on my iPod Shuffle (chosen randomly by iTunes - let's hear it for iTunes):

1. Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate The Positive - Ella Fitzgerald - Harold Arlen Songbook
   
2. Over the Rainbow - Stanley Jordan - Stolen Moments
   
3. Le Blues - Ernestine Anderson & the John Clayton Orchestra - Boogie Down
   
4. Sunrise - Norah Jones - 2005 Grammy Nominees
   
5. Genius - Duncan Sheik - Daylight
   
6. Moto Perpetuo, Op. 11 - Wynton Marsalis - Carnaval
   
7. Heaven - Los Lonely Boys - 2005 Grammy Nominees
   
8. Digga Digga Do - Asylum Street Spankers - Mercurial
   
9. 1999 - Asylum Street Spankers - Bootlegged
   
10. Danger - Badomi Decesare - A Foreign Affair with Badomi Decesare
    
11. It Ain't Right - Badomi Decesare - Almost Texas
    
12. Somewhere Over the Rainbow - Me First & the Gimme Gimmes - Are A Drag
    
13. Haydn Concerto for Trumpet & Orchestra (Allegro) - Wynton Marsalis -
    Baroque Music for Trumpets
    
14. Blackbird - Dionne Farris - Wild Seed, Wild Flower
    
15. Someone To Watch Over Me - Blossom Dearie - The Diva Series

Jesus Votes

And you all wonder why I rant and rave about the separation of church and state?

Give it time. It'll be happening everywhere.

"Viva la teocracia!"

Bow Chicka Bow Bow.

I was standing at the counter at Tuscany, waiting for my tea, and this guy -- who was obviously a mechanical of some sort and really kinda cute in a fleshy, way-too-fond-of-beer sorta way -- says to the counter guy, "I'm here to fix your dishwasher. Mind if I go down?"

Who needs gay porn when life presents little gifts like that?

A Reminder Never Hurt

Lip Service?

So, yeah. I'm making a really earnest effort to change my tastes in men. Not for me any more, the guys who're woefully too young for me. Not for me the nebulously straight guys upon whom I waste my affections. It's not really risking your heart, is it, when you're guaranteed to fail?

But, boy, it's hard to consciously change that to which you're attracted. There's a reason for attraction, I think. I don't know that I especially know what it is, but I know there's a reason for it. Maybe you're attracted to someone because of an abundance of a percieved deficit in yourself? Or maybe you're attracted to someone who represents -- at least in the little fantasy you make up of them -- what you ideally want to be? I dunno. I'm not that good at really piercing self-reflection. I skim the surface. I'm a deeply superficial person.

Amy told me the other day she'd been exposed to the phrase "straight acting" through Ira Glass' This American Life and how offended she is by this homo-on-homo prejudice. Which, of course, it is -- in the same way there's prejudice in the African American community between light- and dark-skinned blacks.

It's a form of internalized homophobia; some expression of self-loathing. But my problem with it is less about the fact that many men aren't attracted to "sissies." You're attracted to who you're attracted to (says the guy who sweears he's swearing off young men).

No, my problem isn't that. It's that men who only want "straight acting" men want someone who acts in the first place. How do straight people act, anyway? The appeal of the straight man --- or at least the myth of the straight man that so many of us have concocted -- is that they don't act. Their sexuality is enitrely unselfconscious. They just are.

So yeah. There's gay-on-gay prejudice.

"Hello kettle! You're black!"

Show me a world where people don't fall into cliques, groups, and fraternaties against "the other" and I'll show you a world where everybody's dead.

So yeah, there's gay-on-gay prejudice, and it's wrong. So's white-on-black. So's democrat-on-republican. So's male-on-female.

What is it that Edwin R. Murrow said? "Everyone is a prisoner of his own experiences. No one can eliminate prejudices - just recognize them."

By the way: Happy National Teachers Day. I wouldn't have known it's National Teachers Day had it not been for the fact that Google changed its logo gif for the occasion. Where would I be without Google?

Okay, so I know I don't have crushes on straight guys anymore, but if I did, my current crush would be Josh Lucas. You should see Around the Bend.

I loved him in Sweet Home, Alabama and he managed not to fall into the black hole of suckiness that was the acting in The Hulk (don't get me started on that, by the way... I didn't think it was possible for Ang Lee to make a sucky film until The Hulk). You should also check out Undertow.

And This Is a Surprise How?

Now, really, did you expect anything different?

Lookee Here!

My friend Doug made it into the New York Times. How about that!?! He's over halfway through his stint in Alabama, and seems to be having fun.

I kinda envy him. I'd like to have more Shakespeare on my resume.