2009 07 01 archive

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Two Foot Small

“So why don’t I ever hear you telling me about your girlfriends?”

“Um..what?”

“I mean, most guys your age have girlfriends–you’re certainly old enough and you’re a good looking guy.”

“………..”

The fuck?” She doesn’t say it but she thinks it, it’s all over her face. The light changes and along with it the conversation. She starts talking about all the things she has on her mind; classes, discussion board posts, this and that. I almost interject “and a gay son” but she went on and on about qualifications she has to fulfill to become a psychotherapist in the state of Maryland.

“So why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Erm, because I don’t want one?”

“Well, why not?”

“Some people prefer boyfriends.”

“What, are you gay or something?” That look comes back on her face.

“Is that a problem?”

“Are you?”

“Yes; is that a problem?”

“No.”

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

To Waste Your Time Away Like This

My first hands-on experience with cancer was in 2004 when, sometime around my 14th birthday my grandmother was interred at the hospital to undergo an operation for the disease. Naturally it was so far along that chemotherapy, while miserable in its own right may have proved less painful in the longrun, was just not an option. Half a colon and no apartment later (how else do you think the operation got paid for?) the real fun began. Having the two of them under one roof, a unit that I soon learned never got along well at all (“That woman has never once told me ‘Good job, I’m proud of you.’ Never.”), in addition to the unwelcome guests dementia and incontinence mean it’s been a damn long five years and counting.

This past September when I left for Ohio University, I went not because I wanted to but because I had to. Sure enough though, ten weeks free of a decaying grandmother slowly driving my mother to the brink was exactly what I needed. That plays no small part in my saying that going away for college is the best decision I’ve made with my life to date. However with the highs come the lows; when winter break finally ended I was ready to start pulling my hair out, and this summer has been especially taxing on my own sanity. Not just because of that though. It seems like everyone I know now knows someone who has or is undergoing treatment for it. I know South Park said cancer was in at the moment, but damn.

But before the cancer and the dementia there was the Breyer’s Vanilla Fudge Twirl ice cream, The Price Is Right, and the cities on her living room floor I made with paper bags for skyscrapers and index cards for billboards and Hot Wheels cars for traffic that I was always sure to clean up before my mom came and got me after work. These are the kinds of things a friend suggested I reminisce with her about now, “even if she doesn’t remember them.” I’m at peace with her dying soon but the much more likely reality of her not remembering all the good times we had is what broke me. He apologized a thousand times over for making me cry but the fact remains that I can’t bear what’s become of her. And that, I think, is why I’m ready for her to go on.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Things I Do Not Give A Fuck About

Imagine that every time you had something to say about an important topic, you had to wait for some horrible thing to happen before anyone other than the choir would listen to you. And even then, they’re really only paying lip service. Nobody’s really listening to what anybody has to say about the topic at hand and the drama surrounding the event fades. Then, a couple months or years later, something else terrible happens and the process repeats. Fuck that shit, right? People shouldn’t need a problem thrust in their face in order to pay attention to it. Your waiter or waitress doesn’t even have to walk with their hips for you to notice they have a nice ass, so why does a black man need to be arrested by a white police officer for someone in a suit and tie to come along and say “racism is a problem in America”?

Every time one of these ‘national conversations’ start, I can imagine someone in their own little corner of the world thinking, “hopefully after this we can all learn to better get along with one another” or something else unflinchingly adorable yet ignorant and enraging. It’s one thing to believe this if you’re 14, another if you’ve witnessed how these things turn out. The cycles are always the same and they never stop. I would go so far as to say the only things Americans have learned from 9/11 are how to irritate each other at the airport and be distrustful of Muslims. ‘National conversations’ are constructs of the mainstream media. It gives them an excuse to drag a nonsense story out over days, even weeks, and have panel after panel of ‘strategists’ and ‘experts’ wax poetic about shit they really don’t know anything or care at all about. All because the people at the networks know that the masses nom up shit like that. It’s profit-driven insanity. And I don’t know who’s more in the wrong: media conglomerates for letting capitalism define news, or people for being so damn short-sighted. Flip a coin.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Bruno-No-Go-Go

As a man who prefers the company of other men I know I’m supposed to hate Sacha Baron Choen and his latest brief-pseudo-social-commentary Br no. Baron Cohen is a homophobe looking to bank off of the sentiments of hateful and/or ignorant Americans such as himself. After actually seeing the movie (late, I know, and only because plans to see Harry Potter fell through) I can safely say the aforementioned stance is just about as valid as people calling Baron Cohen a xenophobe over Borat. Maybe it’s just because I refuse to assume the worst of people.

That being said the man’s latest is nothing like his previous movie. While not sophisticated, Borat had a lot of smart comedy and legit social commentary immersed in its stupidity. It was the kind of movie smart people could laugh at, and stupid people can laugh at too without realizing they’re the ones being made fun of. In a sense it largely preached to the choir and I doubt anyone who went into the theater hating minorities came out loving them. Still though, it was a damn funny movie. Br no, on the other hand, is a much lazier film. Most of the humor hinges on the outrageousness of the title character instead of the unknowing stars and their reactions to uncomfortable situations. And, at least where I watched it, the moments in the film that challenged patrons to walk out didn’t work (except for one old guy). To be fair, I didn’t really pay attention to people’s faces as a 20 foot penis was being waved around on the screen ahead.

I will say though, the one moment in the film that made me feel a bit resigned about the sorry state of the United States was the climax. I won’t spoil the movie by saying too much, only that I wish the entire 81 minutes could have been as sharp as those five. Br no was still a funny and somewhat-intelligent movie, but it wasn’t as all-around excellent as its predecessor. Too often it missed its mark and made an ass out of the gay guy and not the supposed butts of the joke. That feeling I got in my stomach during much of the movie must be a hint of whatever the Kazakhs were feeling in 2006. Lucky for myself and other homosexualists though, I doubt Br no will change anyone’s mind about anything, much like Borat came and went without a long-lasting effect on things.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Poetry In Motion

Maybe it’s because it’s the name of a professional wrestling move but the above phrase sounds incredibly corny to me. But at the same time I adore it; it’s (the words, not the move) exactly what comes to mind, not necessarily what I think, when I type out a post in one sitting. Something that doesn’t happen very often with me anymore. I don’t know if you can tell it or not–you probably can–but just a little bit of the passion for this has been stolen. During the school year I genuinely didn’t have time, and so I was looking forward to the summer where I would be able to get back in the proverbial groove of things. Naturally, as soon as summer hit I lost myself and was unable to write for a myriad of reasons/excuses (that I am not going to discuss here because it’s too tiring).

Not too long ago I was considering seeking professional help. I mean, I’m still going to pay the extra $40 for counseling once school starts should I need it but I’m fairly certain I don’t want to go through that trouble this summer. Headshrinkers are expensive as fuck. While I still feel a bit lost and clueless I’m not nearly as bad as I was this time last month. If I told my mother I wanted counseling she would lose her mind even more than she already has. She needs me to be stable so I’m going to be stable. My very close friends are doing a decent job of holding me together (and I appreciate their effort very much). Another friend of mine got referred to a psychiatrist who literally serves as his licensed drug dealer; he just asked “What and how much do you want?” If I so desire I can get drugs without paying a psychiatrist, thank you.

Ask A Black Dude this Friday, it’s been a while.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Even When You’re Down And Out

I still loves you, porgy. Keep your head above water.

Monday, July 20, 2009

It’s Not Me, It’s You

You know, I’ve got to learn to be a better asshole. That’s not to say I’m going to go around telling people to piss off at random. Rather, I need to be able to tell people the hard, fast truth even if they don’t want to hear it. I think, and I’ve been told repeatedly, that I care almost to a fault. It’s the byproduct of being raised in an unintentionally over-sheltered existence. On the other hand I’ve also been told there’s no such thing as caring too much. But after handling everyone’s problems for the better part of five months now, once they begin to drag me down with them I respectfully disagree. Fundamentally, I’m tired of my happiness being tied to the happiness of others. Even if they are my friends. if one of them isn’t happy with me for some indiscernible bullshit selfish reason (like one of them is right now), I no longer see why I should care.

A couple weeks ago I had a friend advise that I talk to everybody the way I talk to him. I’m secure enough in my friendship with him that I know I can tell him any truth and it won’t make him want to murder me. When he first told me this I figured I would give it a trial run, and it went beautifully. I felt better about myself, and the person I was talking to didn’t seem to mind. Why didn’t I continue with it? Maybe I’m a dumbass; that is after all how I got myself in this situation in the first place. Lying, bending the truth, doing and saying things I didn’t want to to provide a temporary happiness under the guise of caring. All it does is hurt everyone involved, anyway.

The post may seem jumbled but that’s because the thoughts still aren’t exactly clear in my head. What I do know though is that I’m going to placating upset people. Their problems don’t go away, and more importantly they come back to dump their shit on me again. It’s a cycle. They’re going to hear the truth whether they want to or not because I’m done dicking around with this shit and letting other people bring me down. They might like it and they might not, but if they can’t at least respect it then they can piss off. “Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Believe It Or Not, I’m Not An Alcoholic.

For the past couple of days I’ve been making drinking games out of the most mundane things. And no, that’s not what I’ve been doing all this time instead of posting, smartass. So far I’ve got one for a Beatles song, one for “Gran Torino”, and a couple are in the works including one for a gay porno. But this isn’t just your run of the mill production featuring Brent So-And-So taking X number of cocks in his sweet hole, oh no.

“The Revolution Is My Boyfriend” is 90 minutes of overdubbing, abysmal acting, sodomy, and socialist propaganda. Breathy messages about how there can be no revolution without sexual revolution, and there can be no sexual revolution without homosexual revolution scroll across the screen. The flashing text reminds you “fuck copyright” as one of the young revolutionaries is chin-deep in his German comrade’s dick. Oh, and there’s a scene where they have sex in the trunk of a moving car. The first time I watched it I didn’t know whether to laugh or masturbate; clearly you can see why it’s a ripe candidate for drinking games. So far I’m scheduled to play it with two straight men and a homo. After all, heterosexuality is the opiate of the masses!

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Do The Right Thing (And Shut The Fuck Up)

Allow me to not be the first to say that Sarah Palin is full of shit. To be fair I did not watch the entirety of her random press conference, nor have I been paying much attention to the pundits’ reactions to it. I learned during the campaign that just about none of them know how to do anything other than yell. But her insanity and the inanity of people’s reaction, one in particular, serves only to drive me more towards misanthropy than the whole of Nazi Germany could ever hope to.

John Tantillo is not a political pundit. He may have come up with the name for Bill O’Reilly’s show, according to wikipedia he’s got a masters and a doctorate in two different fields of psychology, and he’s apparently some sort of marketing whiz. But if his opinion piece is any hint that doesn’t mean he’s intelligent. And in the esteemed tradition of Fox News, anyone who has even a clue as to what the fuck they’re talking about dictates what to do, think, and believe to the middle class. Pawns of the liberal elite to manipulate Americans and turn this great country into Europe Lite.

‘She’s not a loser or a quitter, she’s a maverick with a bright political future.’ Doctor Tantillo contends that the reasons she offered–because of the wasteful spending and time consuming nature of investigations against her administration, and the media treating her family like shit–are valid and need not be questioned. Ask yourself, how much sense does this make: Palin leaves office, and the authorities immediately drop all investigations against her because she left office. The offender is gone and therefore they and their cronies don’t need to be brought to justice. So if I kill someone in Ohio and then drive to Pennsylvania all is right with the world. I left the scene of the crime, right? State and federal tax dollars will continue to be spent on the investigations (frivolous or not, it doesn’t matter), and the new governor will still be hamstrung by the probing authorities. Just because someone runs away from their cloud of shit doesn’t mean the cloud of shit miraculously disappears and nobody cares anymore.

Of course media coverage about the Palin family has been unfair, irrational, invasive, probably inaccurate, and definitely stupid. But again, just because she’s no longer governor doesn’t mean the media is going to leave her alone. She’s still a MILF, a severely retarded 30% of the American people still like her, that means there’s still money in the media obsessing over her and her family. At this point, Sarah Palin is a lot like Obama in that she has a very noticeable celebrity factor. But for a second, let’s pretend that after a few weeks the media will leave her alone in Wasilla. If she is as poised to grow as thew good Doctor suggests, what makes you think that as soon as she steps back into the limelight the media won’t stalk her again?

Personally I don’t know what her motivations are for quitting (because that’s what she did, she fucking quit, don’t try to romanticize it) her job. My first thought was that she, like Mike Huckabee recently, realized there’s more money to be made in the private sector than the public. But I can’t pretend like I know what she’s thinking, she might have even believed the things she said. Sarah Palin the politician is just as short-sighted, senseless, and stupid as her fans. The 25% that believed Jesus would return in 2007 (and have probably upped their rapture date to ‘sometime in 2009’) probably form her core constituency. Whether or not Dr. Tantillo can be found on the corner preaching damnation is an unknown. What is known, however, is that he’s a bold-face dumbass incapable of thinking for himself. Stick to marketing, John.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

I Don’t Want To Set The World On Fire

To make things easier for people in Ohio I tell them I’m from DC, since whenever I mention Rockville–even if I say it’s a DC suburb–they assume it’s in the shadows of Baltimore. Idiots. While I like the city well enough, I only spent the first six years of my life there. I like going back but I don’t get to do it too often because my friends here rarely seem up for adventuring in the big bad city. I will concede to them though, it’s a strange city. Political jokes aside (really Joe?), any city that has fried chicken stores with barbed wire lining the roof is not your typical residential area.

Another odd thing about DC is who the people there like, and I can think of no case better than former Mayor and current City Councilman Marion Barry. If the name sounds familiar, it should. Marion was first the Mayor of DC from the glorious years of 1979 to 1991, and just before that final year he was caught on camera in an FBI sting smoking crack with an ex-girlfriend/informant. When the feds burst into the room and arrested the Mayor, he offered the hidden camera the classic line “Bitch set me up.” After spending 6 months in jail, the people elected him to a 4th term as mayor. Currently he’s on probation for tax evasion. And as a personal sticking point, Marion was also the sole dissenting vote on the city council regarding a bill recognizing same-sex marriages performed elsewhere. Why? “All hell is going to break loose…we may have a civil war. The black community is just adamant against this.” If that weren’t enough, yesterday he was arrested for stalking a woman. How many steps back is it this time?

Barry’s people insist the accuser is full of shit, claiming she’s accused him of stalking several times. You know how hoodrats get when their friends are threatened; it’s always everybody’s fault but the actual perpetrator. Just like little children. People love him in parts of the city but I never hear anything about what he did to benefit the community, whether it be black people, Ward 8 (most of comically-downtrodden Southeast), or the city as a whole. He’s just a pretty cool guy, and doesn’t afraid of anything apparently. Gliding through life sharply-dressed with a tongue that kills. Of course it seems typical that the residents of southeast, of all parts of the city, would fall for this time and time again. Like his 1992 council campaign slogan said, “He May Not Be Perfect, But He’s Perfect For D.C.!” Idiots.

Friday, July 3, 2009

“Bobby. You’re George W. Bush, and Love is 9/11. Do Not Invade Iraq!”

Last night was a bad night. I was in a bad way. My BAC was .00 and I still haven’t smoked anything since mid-May. And no, that’s not why I was in a bad way. Last summer I was afraid to leave Rockville, and this summer I’m afraid to stay here any longer. I miss everything about Athens, from the parade of drunkards on Court St. literally ever night to the brick streets and genuine masonry in the buildings. Rockville is like one of those dull, depressing small towns you see in those coming-of-age stories, except they’ve dressed it up real pretty in tree lined streets and prefab, generic-European-looking storefronts in “Rockville Town Square”, about four square blocks of overpriced food and stores full of things nobody wants to buy. The library’s pretty nice, though.

Most of what I miss about Athens though is definitely my friends. That fact became alarmingly clear when, a little while ago, one of them drunk-dialed me. It didn’t even matter that he had way too much. Just hearing his voice made be so unbelievably happy. A week removed and I still can’t put it into words. And that caught me a bit off guard; I’ve spoken on the phone with other friends and while I was glad to hear from them, I wasn’t anywhere near that happy. Then again, this guy and I have a bit of history. We’ve only really known each other for a couple of months now, but for two gay men who aren’t an item we spent a lot of time together. A lot of flirtatious time. Now, I like it as much as the next guy but I had no idea it would lead to this. From the very beginning I thought my attraction to him would remain a physical one and nothing more. Sure enough, as time went on I thought about him more and more. Just how much I miss him hit me in the face again last night, with a simple question prompted by a facebook status: “what’s wrong lil lumpkin?”

I told him everything. Without names. I don’t know what I was thinking, I was so tired and I didn’t know what to do. But I told him everything. Throughout the whole conversation, he didn’t even pick up that I was talking about him. But the one word I didn’t want to hear out of the five hundred thousand in the English language did surface, several times: love. He said it, not me. There’s so much about this I’m clueless to. How did something like this gain so much power over me, am I right to be telling anyone, am I worrying over nothing, do I really like him this much, why/how am I writing this post, did I just miss a golden opportunity to come out to my mother, why did I tell him specifically who I–in his words–am in love with. I didn’t want to hear that word but it so perfectly sums up what I’ve been feeling. And they call this shit beautiful.

Like a fatass crab molting its shell, I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life; not necessarily expecting but certainly being afraid of getting boiled, gutted, and eaten. He said he wasn’t weirded out–“in fact I’m flattered.”–but of course that doesn’t satisfy my mind.

He’s just saying that,” my brain goes.
“Please shut the fuck up,” I respond, “this is all your goddamn fault.”

“At least he didn’t brutally shoot me down, or just stop talking to me..”
Not yet.
“I swear to fucking god, if you don’t hush the fuck up right fucking now–” Silence, for a second anyway.
“‘Maybe when school starts’? I mean, I can’t expect him to promise to wait; that’s basically a long distance relationship and it’s unfair to expect that out of him. I don’t even want that.”
Okay so he didn’t outright reject you. He’s just letting you down easy, fall quarter will turn into ‘sometime later maybe’ and we both know that’ll never come. You’ll be lucky to remain friends.”

You probably find yourself sitting there, thinking “what has this boy gotten himself into?” Is it love or is it just, uh, confusion? As soon as I know I’ll clue you in.