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| January 30, 2003
The Great Gay Sports Bar Conversation This evening, out with M & N, I brought up Jimbo's interest in a gay sports bar in DC. They were puzzled at the idea at first. It seemed so not-gay. I mentioned that I really would love to have a place where I could go and watch March Madness yet still be able to talk about how incredibly hot Luke Recker is. The girls got on board once we decided it would need a proper name. Tossed around a few--MVP's, The End Zone, some other lame ones. Then I thought, Catchers. This would mainly be fun for the beer specials..."Come get Pitchers at Catcher's!" Jimbo needs to find a backer for this project toot-sweet! Black Sheep of the Day: bars that run out of Stoli Vanilla. For shame! Bitchy Grammar Queen Alert At the risk of sounding like the Chief Moose of the grammar police, I want to sound off on one teensy issue I have. This from an email sent around the workplace...."Completed forms should be given to myself or Jane." NOOOO! Wrong, wrong, wrong. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck raise when I hear this. "If you have any questions about this, see Mary or myself." Once and for all, I can see you, but only you can see yourself. All better now. January 29, 2003
The Mother of All Bores 
Someone doesn't want me to work on the computer unless I pay attention to him. Bitch. Since I love interior design (AND amateur internet porn) I'm gaga for Obscene Interiors (via SoBlo). I could say many things about the SOTU address last night. But I'm tired of fighting the power. Sometimes you just gotta say whatever and focus on more important things. Like the adorable guy I saw playing with his weiner dog on the way to the Metro after work. I think they should do one of those big gay picture books of men and their dogs. It would be very sexy. Of course, I wouldn't buy it and couldn't be in it (see above), but I would leaf through it at Lambda Rising while Bubbles is engrossed in the porn section. Black sheep of the day: my imagination which seems to have gone on a vacay. January 28, 2003
Verbage I Hate (or How I Learned to Stop Working and Love Making Fun of Officespeak) Last Friday, I was one of the fortunate people in my office to be invited to attend our retreat. It could have been worse. A friend once had to go to her office's "advance" (as in, we're so full of shit that we think by saying we're going to an "advance" as opposed to a "retreat" that it will mean anything other than locking the staff in a room until someone cries). As I was sitting there doodling furiously after my fourth cup of coffee, I had a flashback to my old job. We had WEEKLY staff meetings that were more torturous than having individual pubic hairs tweezed by a half-blind person with Parkinson's disease. One of the things I hated most was the "officespeak," a blight on the English language perpetuated by people who think more syllables means more smarter. For example, a perfectly good word like "sign" becomes "signage," as in We need to ensure that the signage is clear. Similarly, in Friday's retreat, someone blurted out, Perhaps we could find linkages between this project and other agencies. Idiots. Or is it a high level of idiotages? In my old office everyone constantly complained about their "plates" as in, Oh I don't think I can't take that project on, I have too much on my plate. And terms like "value-added," "think outside the box," "best practices," and "benchmarking" mean absolutely nothing to me. I wish people would stop thinking that this nonsense talk makes them sound intelligent. Black sheep of the day: Mattel, for making such a big deal over this one-hit wonder that would have faded into oblivion, resurfacing only every seven to eight years on a VH1 special hosted by a C-list celebrity. On the flip side, kudos to the judge in the case who noted that the "original 1950s Barbie resembled a 'German street walker'." January 27, 2003
I'm Proud to Be a Coal Miner's Jimbo is today exploring the wonder that is Wilkes-Barre, PA. I've only been there once or twice when I was little, but I have family there. And my family has history there. My grandfather's grandfather, who came to the US from County Cork in Ireland, worked in the mines of northeastern Pennsylvania. When he died (from black lung?), his oldest son, my great-grandfather, went to the coal company to get a job. At 11, he was the "man of the house." If he didn't work for the coal company, his family would have been evicted from the company house in which they lived. When he went to the company's office, they told him he was too young, that he needed to be 13 to work there. He came back the next day and said he was 13. The following day he was in the mines. When I picture this, I always see the men running the coal company as robber barrons. Top hats and moustaches like Mr. Monopoly. I picture them lighting cigars with $100 bills. Greedy, bitter old men. 
This is probably why I hate rich people. Actually, not all of them...just the ones who don't appreciate it. Black sheep of the day: Mother Nature. Damnit, woman, if you're gonna make me suffer through an arctic blast, at least give me a motherfucking snow day to go with it! January 25, 2003
One to Grow On Claudia said, "But, Mrs. Frankweiler, you should want to learn one new thing every day. We did even at the museum." "No," Mrs. Frankweiler answers. "I don't agree with that. I think you should learn, of course, and some days you must learn a great deal. But you should also have days when you allow what is already in you to swell up inside you until it touches everything. And you can feel it inside you. If you never take time out to let that happen, then you just accumulate facts, and they begin to rattle around inside of you. You can make noise with them, but never feel anything with them. It's hollow." --From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E. L. Konigsburg
Something Jimbo said the other day about the need for periods of stasis brought the above quote to my mind. I remember reading that book with my sister when I was a kid. It's amazing that this one idea stuck with me more than twenty years later. It's something that I truly believe. Mrs. Frankweiler is the kind of person I want to be. And she's been played by both Ingrid Bergman and Lauren Bacall. My negativity was getting the better of me for a while, so I took a little hiatus from having black sheeps of the day. One thing has been bubbling up inside of me for almost a week now, and I need to call it like I see it. Black sheep of the day: The personal assistants and stylists (who you know had to be bitchy queens) who told Lara Flynn Boyle that she looked good in this outfit.  And does anyone else remember on Twin Peaks when LFB had a normal figure? She used to be very sexy, attractive, and healthy. Now she looks like a broom stick with ribs. When will Hollywood women stop starving themselves? Do straight men really find these twigs hot? I'd be afraid to have sex with most of these girls...I might hear a big *snap* in mid thrust. January 23, 2003
Close Quarters I was reading the musings on state quarter designs at the Beaverhausen Blog, one of the newest additions to Jimbo's blog roll. So I thought I'd see what other states are proposing for their commemorative coins. I was quite surprised at the honesty of Florida's.  Go Jerry? My Life as a Blog Tonight on Chrisafer. . . . Eight hot, shirtless men join me as judges in a talent competition to pick the next pop superstar. The whole while, these eight gorgeous men are pitching woo for and with me since I only have four roses to give them (only four!). The singers parade before us, thanking god a little too much. (Jesus said you need a vocal coach, Mary). Backstage, an annoying blond "dude" interviews the prospective popstars, one of whom is the "plant" sent to destroy the auditions. Annoying Blond Dude (who is surprisingly just as annoying even without annoying brunette dude) attempts to discern which of the contestants is the plant. Since A.B.D. has difficulty holding a thought and microphone at the same time, he is unable to see that I (of course) am the plant, and I won't pick any of you. Not a damn one of you gets to Hollywood this time! Not even if you promise to arrange for Scott Bakula to meet me in the decontamination chamber for an antimicrobial gel rubdown. Well, maybe then. Just this once. I've gotta find something better to do on Wednesday nights.... January 21, 2003
Affirmitive Inaction On the eve of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday, the Bush White House announced that it would increase support for historically black colleges and Hispanic-serving institutions. Coming on the heels of the same administration weighing in against the University of Michigan's admissions policy which considers race as a factor in the selection of students, this announcement troubles me. These two statements seem to me to suggest an almost pro-segregation attitude for higher education. Did the spinmeisters think "we'll throw them this bone, and that will be that." Don't even get me started on the irony of a C student who got into two Ivy League schools (no preferences there, of course) suggesting that race shouldn't be a preferential factor. No one complains about preferences given to athletes. Of course not. We all want to be on a winning team. But that's not the point of college. We've allowed higher education to become a minor league system for many sports. That's a shame, but because it brings money and national attention to schools, it won't change. Legacies (like Bush at Yale) are often given preferential treatment in admissions. Like preferences for athletes, this is to please alumni in hopes that they will give more money to the school. Look at this point from Joe Conason's Journal in Salon: "The children of alumni are about twice as likely to be accepted by Yale as other applicants. Whether their qualifications are twice as good, nobody seems to know. In the class of 2004, according to this interesting essay in the Yale Herald, the largest identifiable group of matriculates is from "families with some kind of Yale affiliation." Many universities have preferential programs for "displaced homemakers" (translation: older women whose husbands either died or left them high and dry, without skills to get a new-fangled job). Where are the people complaining that "the Widow Kravitz from down the street took my Susie's spot at State U?" I received preferences in my admission to the University of Maryland as the son of a university staff member. Did this make me more deserving of my admission than a classmate who had similar grades and SAT scores but whose mother worked for NASA rather than the university? Probably not, but in lieu of higher salaries for its staff, this is a benefit that the university can offer its employees and (more importantly) use to attract better faculty for all students. The idea that these preferences are different than race troubles me. Perhaps people want to think that racial diversity doesn't add as much to the university climate as sports, helping women get back on their feet, or happy faculty and alumni. We want to be color blind. We want an even playing field. But that assumes that college admission is a numbers game. It's not. It is a subjective decision. And I, for one, think it should be. Playing by the numbers, one could say SAT scores, GPA, rank in graduating class--these are the factors to consider. Not race. Not background. But does someone with a 2.5 GPA who took honors classes deserve less attention than someone with a 4.0 who took remedial classes? Who's a better student? Would someone who worked to support his family after the death of a parent bring a different perspective to the classroom than someone who never worked a day in his life yet still got a Jeep Grand Cherokee on his 16th birthday? How are we preparing the next generation of leaders, if we don't prepare them to encounter people who are different from them? January 19, 2003
We like the cars, the cars that go boom Bubbles and I went to see some gentleman peddling their wares for MAL, and who should we see but Jimbo being stuffed into a brand new pair of leather pants. Good show! He will no doubt be dancing those pants off this evening at Nacion. I, on the other hand, am going to a Golden Globes party at my friend's house. (That just sounds so gay.) Then we'll go to Feint or to see a former fellow English grad student spinning at Bossa or, if the spirit moves us, to both. I think someone needs to reinject the culture with old-school girl hip-hop. Of course, I mean this with no offense to Foxy Brown, Li'l Kim, or Eve. And no one can touch Missy. I just wonder what L'Trimm have been up to? Maybe JJ Fad could kick it out with "Supersonic 2003." MC Lyte, I cram to understand why you've scrammed. Where have you gone, Oaktown 3-5-7? A nation turns its lonely rumps for you. Tell me we don't need more lyrics like this these days. Black sheep of the day: those who made this sentence possible... Kangaroo Jack tops the box office. Methinks these are the end times. January 17, 2003
"You must change your life" 
Last night I saw "The Hours" with N & T, two of the many literary women in my life. Like Michael, I too wanted to protect these characters. To keep them from people who can't understand them, or won't. There are times when a work of art changes you. When the experience of it gives you words or images to express something you hold back within yourself. As I walked home from the metro last night, a line from a Rilke poem came to me—"You must change your life"—from "Torso of an Archaic Apollo." I could go on about this, but I won't. I'll just say this movie came to me at just the right time. In less artistic news, I have to say that I'm never going to see a Tom Cruise movie again. Is being called gay bad? Is it $10 million bad? If so, then you obviously don't need my money, honey. Black sheep of the day: Shaq. January 15, 2003
Two thoughts and a baby pic Me: Is it possible to be born jaded? Friend: Only if you're raised Catholic Musing over Bush with my "sister" on im: maybe he's still on drugs and has hallucinated the last two and a half years for us all a la pam on dallas we'll all wake up and gore will be in the shower  Dig the Winnie the Pooh PJs! January 14, 2003
Fear I try to picture it. I walk into the gym. I'm calm, cool, collected. I work out. I feel better. It's just that simple. But I can't seem to do it. I want to work out. I want to gain strength. I want to feel more power in my muscles. I want to look better naked. I want to live longer. I want to enjoy life more. Why am I afraid of something millions of people do every day? Apparently, I have a lot more in common with pre-teen girls than the mere ability to name all the members of NSync. I'm afraid of not doing it right. Of being stared at by people (guys) who have more experience and endurance than I do. Of sticking out. I try to picture it being a comfortable experience but end up picturing a series of faux pas, torturous encounters with men who could snap me in four, and embarrassment, always embarrassment. Surely this is ridiculous. Most of the people in a gym are focused on their own bodies. I'm not horribly out of shape. I won't be the skinniest, scrawniest person there. Even if I am, at least I'm there. I won't be the ninety-pound weakling who gets sand kicked in his face. I can be easily intimidated by things I know little about. At the risk of sounding cocky, there were a lot of things that came easily to me...I tended to pick up things quickly in school. The flip side of that is I get frustrated when I don't know what I'm doing. I hate to ask for directions. I hate to look like I don't know all the answers. If I want to achieve my goals, I need to get past this. I need to admit that I don't know what I'm doing and seek the answers. And maybe, by saying that in a semi-public forum such as this, I'm starting to do just that. Black sheep of the day: me, when I'm my own worst enemy. January 13, 2003
Breaking all the Rules Last night I had dinner with my sister from another mister--let's call her Tippi. It seems that Tippi had an eventful weekend and needed to talk. She hooked up with a certain young man she's been courting. Well, sort of courting. They had gone out to dinner a few times, but neither was sure if those were dates. I've been on an accidental date or two--where you go out with someone for dinner and suddenly realize, This person thinks this is a date. I thought it was just dinner. How can I handle this properly? Tippi and her beau, however, were not on accidental dates so much as incidental dates. Neither had properly defined the evening as a date, but it had all the trappings of a date and neither party would object to the idea of it being a date. Romance is tricky stuff. He stands as you enter the restaurant. Your eyes meet his. Inside your head, Etta James' "At Last" swells (the score of your life is cued to perfection). Your heart swims in your chest, monstrous butterfly strokes. You apologize for running late, say hello. He meets your greeting with a witty rejoinder, just this side of bawdy. His hand lightly touches yours as you settle at the table. Is it always this warm, or have you just been out in the cold for so long? He pours you a glass of wine. Conversation flows easily. You never stammer. When he smiles, he stares directly into your eyes. No awkward silences. Just perfect silence. Perfect conversation. You have so much in common and so much to learn from each other. You and he, alone in the world. Nothing between you. Something between you. It's not like this. Well, not always. But it can be every once and a while. And that ain't so bad. As she recounted her weekend, I teased her (as any good brother would) for gushing. Inside, though, I was happy for her. Simultaneously, Tippi and I cited the lyrics from a certain Liz Phair song: "I want all that stupid old shit like letters and sodas." This is why we are brother and sister--our bizarre habit of not only thinking the same thing but also expressing it the same way. We both have big sarcastic hearts. It's more fun to be a hopeless romantic when you can ridicule yourself for it. We talked about when and if she should contact him, what she should do and say. There are "rules" and "industry standards" for these things, right? But sometimes, you lose when you play by the rules. Sometimes the best way to win is not to play the game. Black sheep of the day: the naysayers. Three Truths and a Lie a> I've been a guest on Black Entertainment Television. b> I've been in the same room with every president since Jimmy Carter. c> I lost my virginity on the fifty-yard line of Byrd Stadium. d> I've gotten every job I've interviewed for except one. January 12, 2003
"In Xanadu did Newton-John, a stately roller rink decree..." Friday night, Jimbo and Corey came to Casa de Chrisafer for a little cheesy goodness. As I watched, I realized that it is in many ways worse than I remember and in many ways better. The dialogue, plot, and most of the acting is ridiculous. There are some really good songs, though, and with the resurgence of E.L.O.'s "Mr. Blue Sky" in commercials for VW and "Adaptation," it just might be time for the nation to reexamine "I'm Alive," "Magic," and "Xanadu." Other than that I've had quite the uneventful weekend. I did shave off my experiment in facial hair. My moustache was coming in too blond, my chin too black, and Bubblicious just couldn't get used to kissing me with it. Although I did get some compliments on it, G has the veto power. Black sheep of the day: moviefone and fandago...they said nothing about "The Hours" playing in DC, but it's at THREE theatres in the area. Bastards! January 10, 2003
It's Raining Men I've spent a good portion of the day thinking about my celebrity crushes. Obviously, things are hopping here at Chrisafer's gubmint job. Anyway, I've come to the conclusion that the sexiest things for me are sarcasm and intelligence.  Although the love of my life is blonde and bears somewhat of a likeness to Anthony Michael Hall, I tend to like men with dark hair, and even darker senses of humor. Whether he's the faithful best friend, a cheeky carpenter, an exhibitionist/masochist, or a suicidal skier, I seem to have a thing for smartass losers. Who knew? Black sheep of the day: the stupid cop who shot the dog, again. January 09, 2003
Like a Patient Etherized Upon a Table Soooo bored and tired today. And it was vury, vury purty weather today. I wish I had more energy to enjoy it. "You just mad cuz Payless ran out of plastic pumps for the after party" - Missy Elliott, "Gossip Folks." No, Missy, I'm actually mad because it appears that "The Hours" isn't opening in DC this week as I had thought. It's open in NY, LA, San Fran, Chicago....but not DC. Part of me feels that if Bush weren't the POTUS, it would have been in DC by now. Is that a stretch? Black sheep of the day: these bastards. So sad. January 08, 2003
Dead Women Make Good Food This evening, I had a wonderful dinner that Glenn (aka Bubbles) picked up at Whole Foods or Fresh Fields or whatever we're supposed to call it now. Anyway, it was Macaroni & Cheese from the Linda McCartney collection. Bubbles commented that it was eerie eating food named after a dead woman. I wonder, though, is Mama Celeste still kicking? Betty Crocker's long gone, I'm sure. And don't even wonder about Aunt Jemima (even if now she got a perm). Tonight I also made some snickerdoodles. Yum. In other unhealthy pursuits of the evening, I watched the Real World/Road Rules Battle of the Sexes. I must find a way to avoid fluff like this becoming so routine. It's awful, but seductive. There's drama and hot boy half-nakedness, so it is a difficult siren to avoid. Black sheep of the day: as much as I fear I may offend some close friends and family members, I must be true to myself....SUV drivers. And now there's even a commercial to explain part of my hatred for this wretched bunch. January 07, 2003
Random Thoughts Tuesday I am so desperate to see The Hours. More so after Michael's delicious post about it. Unfortunately, I don't seem to be able to find out when it will finally open in DC. I must find it. In their menswear section Ross has "Active Tops" and "Active Bottoms." This never ceases to make me laugh. In Miss Ross's alphabet, there is an extra "C," "L," and "S." This must be since she has so much CCLLASSSS! When running CNN.com through the Snoop Dogg Shizzolator, one gets the following: "Big Baby Bush touts 'growth 'n jobs' plan President Big Baby Bush formally announced a 10-year, $670 billion "growth 'n jobs" economic plan today, telling a Chicago audience 'we can't be satisfied until every part of izzle economy is healthy 'n vigorous n' shit'." Sad thing is I'd prefer if he spoke like that instead of that fake-ass hick talk he usually inundates us with. He went to Andover, Yale, and Harvard, and we're supposed to believe that "plain-spoken feller" load?  Black sheep of the day: people who don't see that the term "San Francisco liberal" plays off of the homophobia of middle America. January 06, 2003
One Year Out Yesterday, I did something I haven't done in about a year. I went to church. My family decided to mark the one year anniversary of my grandmother's death by attending mass and having a big breakfast afterwards. I definitely am not a practicing Catholic anymore. Especially after hearing the new "Prayer for the Unborn Children." sigh. Anyway, it was for my grandmother, so I made it through. Grandma was the glue that held our family together, a quiet matriarch. I don't know if I ever heard her say a cross word. She taught me the power of being a good person. She taught me not to be afraid of being honest. About nine years ago, when Glenn and I first started dating, when I was just coming out, I wasn't sure what would happen. My family had always been so important to me--despite how much as I complained about family obligations, but I didn't want to deny the importance of Glenn in my life. At about this time, my sister and Grandma were talking on the phone. All of the grandkids were coming down one weekend in the spring to help clean out the yard and garden at my grandparents' house. She grew the most beautiful roses. Grandma asked my sister, "Is Glenn going to be there?" My sister replied, "I think so." "Good, 'cause if he wants to be part of this family, he's going to have to pitch in." With that, I didn't care what anyone else in the family thought ever again. I knew that Glenn would always be welcome, because she had made it so. What strikes me most is how much she is still with me. And although I never thought I'd do this, I want to share a poem I wrote about her. While I don't feel it is one of my best, it is about her and in some ways prescient about how she will always be with me, a quiet smile, a tremendous heart. Slide The painted shadows form a shape upon the wall. In plastic-filtered light, I see my Grandmother's smile. Behind her, an orange river flows out from the earth. A tourist's flower necklace joins her string of pearls. From the picture, she waves to us, sitting in her living room, watching the magic of light and dark, of liquid and stone. January 02, 2003
The List
Since childhood, New Year's Day has meant one thing to me. The Washington Post's list of what's in and what's out. Every year I would run to the front door to grab the paper, grab the Style section, and read the list over and over to ensure that I was "in" and not "out." If that wasn't a sign to my family that I was gay, I don't know what more I could have done to prepare them for the inevitable. Of course, they may have also wondered when I picked out the hot pink (girl's) bike that had "I love the Fonz" decals all over it when I was five.  Didn't anyone else wonder what he meant by "sit on it"? This year's list has some interesting tidbits. I don't really know what to do with my hair anymore since my favorite stylist decided that Hawaii was more exciting than DC (imagine!), so it will end up looking like Jake Gyllenhaal soon. If only my stomach could look like that if I didn't do a thing with it. The older I get, the more I realize that this list is not as hip as I thought it was. At least now they have a gay man writing it. Still, rabbit corkscrews are not in. They're very cool, but they've been out long enough that I just don't see the point of bringing them up. Speaking of wine, Rosé is not in either. They might as well be pushing box-of-wine. Black sheep of the day: My Launch station. It's supposed to learn more and more about me as I rate songs. I can deal with it suggesting a little hardcore gangsta rap or some Bette Middler torch songs (even though both are a tad bit off my tastes). But today, today the algorithms must have been all screwed up since it suggested "I'm In The Lord's Army" by The Wonder Kids Choir. WTF? January 01, 2003
After Midnight Happy 2003! I'm a little spent after a trip to the wonder that is western PA. The one thing that stands out for me is last night getting a chance to stay up late (like 5:00 AM late) with my buddies Dan and Paul. Once upon a time we shared a house while all going to school, and those were some of the best times I've ever had in my life. Staying up way too late and finishing off some wine while HBO played a Sex & the City marathon, we sort of recaptured some of the fun of that old house. Time isn't important in those situations. Talking too much isn't either. There is just something about being there with people you love and who love you, and knowing that there isn't anything you need to do to prove yourself to them, just being in the same room, doing the same thing, and appreciating each other's company. If the rest of '03 is like that, I'll consider it a win. I have so much swimming in my head right now, but very little energy to expound. Good thing the next few weeks will be quiet ones as I feel quite a few good stories in me. Black sheep of the day: those hick towns along I-70 who say "Chick-Fil-A, this exit" while it ends up being 3+ miles away from the highway. Damn you! |
Sister Bernadette's Barking Dog: The Quirky History and Lost Art of Diagramming Sentences - Kitty Burns Florey  Sublimation Point - Jason Schneiderman 
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