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| February 28, 2003
I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Outta War! With news that strange bedfellows like Emmylou Harris, Missy Elliott, Fugazi, and Jay-Z have come together to speak out against war, I've noticed a new thing in the media: Bashing celebrities for espousing their political beliefs. At least if they're progressive. It must be fun to take Sheryl Crow down a peg or two for being anti-war. Maybe they're onto something. When actors get into politics, perhaps nothing good can come of it. In all seriousness, I think saying someone shouldn't share her or his opinion simply because they are a celebrity is undemocratic. But for the record, I'd rather have her speak for me than him. Black Sheep of the Day: Boyfriends who make you go out to dinner with their co-workers after work when you really want to go home and relax for a little bit. Not that I know anyone so rude. Shirtless! the Musical Yeah we are dancing tonight Under a strawberry light And it's our time All the girls are dressed in leather And the boys are wearing feathers It's our time And we will blow Until it glows It's on fire! "Our Time" Imperial Teen Last night I got to spend quality time with Jimbo, Gurly von Gurlerton, and Jonathan at a little tavern down the road a piece. Apparently, they give you free drinks if you take your shirt off. Who knew such things existed? Who knew I am that cheap? Well, most people know that I guess. Though I prefer "thrifty." February 27, 2003
Snowpocalypse Now Redux As Mother Nature readies her strap-on (I've long suspected she was a fan of the Bend over Boyfriend series) and begins yet another snowy assault on the DC area, I can't help but feel trapped in some Robert Frost poem. This time, though, I hope I have to go to work tomorrow. I know I'm jinxing it for the rest of my compadres, but I have a lot of stuff to do right now. And I've already been out sick once this week. My immune system usually handles minor colds and infections well (unlike G who can be sick on and off for weeks--the whole time trying to infect me with his tempting kisses). And I thought I had this one down pat. Then it came back with a vengeance yesterday. And I hate to take sick days when I'm actually sick. I prefer to save those for "mental health days." Black Sheep of the Day: the 47% of registered voters who still don't get it. February 25, 2003
Confessions of a Languorous Mind I have a confession to make. I am the Laundry Fairy. 
For years, I've lied to the man I love about how our shared wardrobe magically reappears freshly washed, dried, and pressed every few days. It just seemed easier to avoid the inevitable guilt he would feel for not washing his own unmentionables. So I fabricated the Laundry Fairy. With years of brighter brights and whiter whites under my belt, I feel it only fair that I come clean. I deserve the adoration my creation has been getting. That Spring Breeze™ fresh scent, the Snuggle© softness, these are not the workings of some magical creature who frolics in the lint trap while G & I go about our daily lives. No, my friends, I am the Laundry Fairy. Oh, and don't even ask about the Bathroom Bunny or Kitchen Claus. Black Sheep of the Day: The producers of this show. February 22, 2003
I Can't Stand the Rain I'm in a very, very Missy mood. And that's a damn good thing. His compare and contrast of Missy E. and Georgie W. raised many questions for me: What would her stand be on trickle-down economics? Who would be her VP? (I vote Li'l Kim or Mya). Would she incorporate body-contorting special effects into the State of the Union? That would definitely up the ratings. If John Cusack won't accept his drafting to the presidency, I propose we work on Missy. She's got four more years until she's eligible. Just enough time. February 20, 2003
In Space, No One Can Hear You Yawn I'm bored with this whole return to work thing. I had a dream about terrorism last night. This is the first one I remember, but there may have been others. No one I really knew was in the dream. Just people whose blogs I've read occasionally. It was very bizarre. I wasn't ever truly afraid in the dream, just felt like I had to get somewhere despite all the obstacles. A few nights ago I dreamt I was hanging out with the Osbournes. Ozzy and I went down waterslides--the tube kinds, not the open ones--and then went to a cybercafe/bookstore. While I was waiting for my vanilla latte (with an extra shot) from the barista, Ozzy was having trouble logging onto the Internet. He kept walking back and forth from the terminal to the counter across the room from me. Finally, the woman behind the counter started yelling at him, What are you an idiot? Quit bothering me. You're going to break that, you moron. Apparently this offended my dream self a great deal. I, in turn, started yelling at her, Who are you to yell at him? Don't you know anything about customer service? How dare you berate someone like that! My adrenaline soared me from sleep. Black Sheep of the Day: the scourge of the ACC. February 18, 2003
Snowpocalypse Now Ah, yes, the familiar sounds of a Washington winter. The rioutous chant for "bread, milk, toilet paper." The call for those who have no need to drive to "stay at home, please." And the heckling of northern transplants who find the tizzy the area brings upon itself to be just plain silly.  This has been a wonderful break from reality. I got to hang out with Gurl and the boyfriend as the snow blanketed us in on Sunday. Yesterday, I swung by Dan's place for some 7&7s and some Stargate Monday. Today a little fun with Gurl and G again down at the Circle. And now, I find that I have yet another day off tomorrow. The joys of gubmint employment--though G and I are wondering if we will actually get paid for these days off or if our new governer (who could use a good stylist) will make state employees take that time as a furlough due to the state's budget crisis. Black Sheep of the Day: Buffy dissers. February 13, 2003
I Can't Believe I Watched the Whole Thing Wow. I've got one heck of a case of Dorito syndrome. This is when you do something that is the equivalent to eating an entire bag of Doritos in one sitting. You feel bloated, disgusted, and like you've done something horrible to your mind and body. Tonight's case of Dorito syndrome was brought on by the mind-numbing two hours I spent watching Are You Hot: The Search For America's Sexiest People. Now, I like to look at pretty people, but there was something just dirty about this. Especially when the fashion designer judge made this poor kid open his mouth wider in order to point out the flaws in his teeth and admonish him for not getting caps. The poor guy was shaking he felt so bad. The judge could have approached it more diplomatically. (But he did deduct points from one of the guys for shaving. I'm with him there. It may be better for showing off muscle, but I say if you've got fur, wear it.) So, aside from that he was a total bitch. Not to mention the fact that Lorenzo Lamas (another judge) is just one of the dirtiest people on earth. I nearly puked when he whipped out his laser pointer to focus in on the flaws of one woman. It reminded me of stories of sorority hazing where the sisters strip the pledges down and circle "problem areas" on their bodies with permanent magic marker. One girl I knew told me how she scrubbed her thighs raw in the shower trying to erase the embarrassment. And really, does Mr. Lamas have any room to talk about looks these days, did he ever? Falcon Crest and Renegade does not a beauty king make. I don't know if I can watch this again. But if I did, I'd be rooting for Lisa on the women's side and either Travis or Jonathan on the men's side. Not that looks matter, of course.   
I probably wouldn't have watched crap like this if I could feel more comfortable watching the news. I know I live in a major city that has proven to be a target of terrorists. I really do. I don't need the local news to remind me of that. My sister called me the other day, though, to share this: "If we do have some sort of terrorist incident, you get Mother." Fine by me, I said, so long as some sort of sedative (for me or for her) accompanies. Black Sheep of the Day: Lesbian Gangs Frenchie UPDATE: Lesbian Gangs In an e-mail this morning my friend said her girlfriend heard on the radio this morning that "AmIdol/Fox did not go digging around to find the Frenchy porn story, but rather that Frenchy's ex-gang, a gang of LESBIANS, turned her in!" If this is true, this gang of lesbians must be brought to justice! February 11, 2003
Schoolhouse Rock Bottom According to the third item here, ON-J and Vinnie Barbarino are reprising their roles for Grease 3. I guess the people behind it were so impressed with the money-making machine that was Grease 2, it was a simple decision. I'm too depressed to watch the news anymore. Now, apparently, I need to pull together a Junior Bio-Chemical Decontamination Kit™ to go with my John Ashcroft Li'l T.I.P.S. Informant Kit™. If I can find anything on the shelves of Home Depot that is. And in other frightening and tragic news for DC locals. USA Today reports "Frenchie Davis, the full-figured brassy-voiced American Idol semifinalist from Washington, D.C., has been eliminated from Fox's talent competition after she acknowledged she worked for an adult Web site four years ago." Guess that means Jimbo won't be able to compete for American Idol 3 after his stint as UPS Guy # 4 in Inspect All Packages 2. Damn you Simon Cowell and your morals clause!  Frenchie, we hardly knew ye. Black Sheep of the Day: Paula Zahn. Stop being so goddamned perky about war, death, and disaster. Someone replace her high-octane morning crack with Folger's Crystals, please. February 10, 2003
February 08, 2003
Winter Wonderland There's nothing like a snow day. Waking up early to see this through your window  and (if you're lucky and work at a sane institution of higher ed) hear the radio announcer say you don't have to work. Bonus three-day weekend.
Good thing we were off too, since Gurl won free lunch for 10 at Chipotle yesterday. Glenn and I were more than happy to take him up on that offer. Most common search query to this page: mister blue sky from adaptation Most likely to be disappointed: shirtless athletes Most frightening phrasing: people who like sheep too much Most frightening rationale for search: donate plasma paid college station Most boring: blog chrisafer Black Sheep of the Day: Details magazine for their January/February 2003 cover reading in big bold type, "Have you had sex with Colin Farrell yet?" It's bad enough I have to see him there, biting his lower lip, a look both inviting and pissed off, just imaging his voice, his accent, the way he walks, sigh. No, it's not enough for this picture to spark fantasy within, the cover has to blurt it out. Make it known that we all want to fuck him, and maybe, just maybe, we all will have a chance. Or, at least it seems, hook up with his doppelganger. February 06, 2003
That's the Anthem, Get Your Damn Hands Up Why is it that everyone who tries to be different does the same thing as everyone else trying to be different? It was 1989 (another summer [get down], sound of the funky drummer) and I was working in a dry cleaners. Let no one tell you that there is a worse torture than a dry cleaners with faulty air conditioning during the summer. We all had to wear blue polos with the establishment's name stitched on them. By the end of the day, our shirts would get this white build-up on them. I realized a few weeks into the summer this came from the salt of our sweat crystallizing on the fabric. I was too young. And I met her. Marcy. She was alterna-girl. She was what I was supposed to be after. She loved Echo & the Bunnymen, OMD, and the Smiths. like me. She invited me over to her house for my first real "date" experience. We watched The Accidental Tourist on the VCR in her living room and she kissed me. I didn't feel comfortable kissing back. Some may say this was because she was a girl and I was gay. I would say it was because her father kept coming into the kitchen, just behind the living room, to get ice, or water, or whatever. I just felt that he was watching us. Watching me, I should say. Watching the boy trying to defile his daughter. If only that were the case. His daughter was way ahead of me. Later, at work, she told me that she thought I was gay. I was offended. Not because she figured it out, but because I thought it was presumptuous for her to think that me not wanting to make out with her while her dad watched made me queer. Anyway, flash forward to my freshman year in college. I started dating a young woman who happened to work with her at the convenience store on campus. Jen was an amazing girl that I still miss in some ways. She was my "first time" and made that as good as it gets. What I mean is she was gentle. She knew what she was doing, but didn't make me feel like a buffoon. So, one night, I went shopping with one of my first-year-in-college preppy friends (from Maine, no less). He and I went to Hecht's. I bought some very preppy Timberlands. I went to the convenience store. I showed my girl my new shoes. Her more-alt-than-thou friend, who I still think resented my lack of interest in making out with her, looked at my new shoes and laughed. "Oh God, those are so tacky. Get yourself a pair of Docs and we'll talk." That's when it hit me. She knew, Jen knew, I knew, pretty much everyone knew I wasn't a preppy asshole. I had good taste in music. I just didn't wear black all the time. I didn't feel bad about wearing my favorite A&F rugby. But apparently she had to make me feel like I needed to wear the uniform to fit in. I was confused. This is when I started pondering the question this whole thing started out with: Why is it that everyone who tries to be different does the same thing as everyone else trying to be different? It was then that I realized that I couldn't trust the alt crew any more than I could the preppy boys, the jocks, the yo boys, or any group only discernable by their outfit. I could only trust myself and the way people made me feel. Marcy made me feel less than cool because she felt Doc Martens and a Misfits shirt were the key to happiness. She was wrong. Anyone can wear a costume, it's a lot harder to be yourself. Black Sheep of the Day: people who have the power to give out snow days, but withhold it. February 04, 2003
Don't Start, Lucy A rough approximation of mornings at La Casa de C & G:  vs. 
I've never been a morning person. In fact, I prefer not to speak for the first hour of being awake. This has always been a sore point in my relationship with Glenn. There is something so comforting about bed in the morning. I could lie there for hours, especially with him. I'm not surprised that there may be a hormonal difference between morning people and those like me. My family is full of night owls. In fact, it's not uncommon to find my two teenage nieces on aol at 2:00 AM on your average evening. Such is life. I am trying to make a conscious effort to be a better boyfriend in the morning. The problem is I am rarely truly conscious then. Maybe Miss Love shares this problem. What other reason could there be for her being "verbally abusive"? Shock. Horror. Black Sheep of the Day: The Beeb. Admittedly, this new Russian duo isn't exactly fighting for lesbian equality so much as playing off the straight boy girl-on-girl fantasy. I wonder, though, if this were a kiss between an 17 year-old boy and an 18 year-old girl would there be this much of an uproar? I doubt it. February 03, 2003
On Being Superficial, Subficial, and Just Plain Ficial It is wrong to look at these sites. I know this. Sometimes, though, it's fun to see cute 19 year-old boys who spend too much time working out and not enough time lurning to spell. And now for your reading pleasure, actual quotes from movie reviews I wrote for my high school newspaper--which I happened across this evening while going through some old things... On Heathers: Winona Ryder and Christian Slater are terrific as the couple who decide to rid the school of the people they most hate. This movie is a realistic portrayal of high school, (rough transition there) especially the cliques found in almost every school: jocks, preps, nerds, burnouts, and bops. What the hell is a bop? Was I referring to cheerleader types? Did I make that one up? Your guess is as good as mine. On No Way Out: This movie is wonderfully acted by Kevin Costner and Sean Young. The chemistry between them is unstoppable, until she is murdered. Then the real fun begins. I think I had a secret crush on Costner back then. Maybe it was the Navy uniform. On A Streetcar Named Desire: Adapted from the Tennessee Williams play, the movie is spellbinding and leaves you asking for more. Jeez, could I have used a more trite summary? And what straight 15 year-old boy would write a review of this movie? On Hellbound--Hellraiser II: With a skinless Julia, this movie may portray the most disgusting case of necrophilia in film history. Wow, I'm surprised I got that one past the principal. I do wonder, though, what other cases of necrophilia I could have been comparing this too. I did actually write some good pieces for the newspaper. Good enough to be the editor in my senior year, which is one of those geeky things that I'm proud of deep down. I wrote a column complaining about low government funding for AIDS research, one about the dangers of the PMRC and censorship, and for the January 1990 issue, I contributed a stunning "Decade in Review" that my journalism teacher called a witty and sarcastic indictment of Reagen-Bush policies. And now I'm back here hacking away again at another Bush and making awkward observations. It's the circle of life, I tell you! Black Sheep of the Day: The media for playing the Columbia tragedy. Maybe it's just me, but if I lost my son in a horrible accident, I would not want to have Katie Couric ask me two days later if "the enormity of this has sunken in." This is one of the few times you'll ever hear me say this, but I agree with Andrew Sullivan on this. February 01, 2003
Happy Friggin' New Year Today is the lunar new year--the year of the black sheep according to the Chinese calendar. I guess that means I'll have a productive blog. I think next year is the year of the red-headed stepchild--so expect more of the same. This afternoon, I went to the newly-located Idle Time Books. The smell of fresh carpet and paint seemed strange against the familiar scent of old books. Something about that place makes me happy. I like having no idea what will be on the shelf. Unlike the ordered rows of Borders or B&N with their 20% special for Times Bestsellers, used book stores are places for serendipity. I relish scanning the shelf, wondering who owned these books before, why they parted with them. Bubbles thinks I'm a packrat. I say he throws things away too easily. I collect things, not because I need them, but because I may. I like looking back through old notebooks at the doodles I drew in my Intro to Literary Studies class, which makes me think of that summer--the summer I met him. I was trying to be straight, trying to fit in. Then I met him. I don't know that I believe in love at first sight, but I knew right away that I could love him. I knew that if I didn't break down those closet doors I would miss that chance. So I want that notebook. I want to remember that feeling forever, that nervous happy scared excitement. And part of me worries that if get rid of the things that remind me, I'll forget. Take a look at the reflection in this tv and tell me what you see. Black Sheep of the Day: The Washington Times. That the word gay "has meant mirthful since Middle English" in no way whatsoever means that its definition can't evolve or grow to include other meanings. Language, it appears, evolves faster than right-wing thinking. |
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