Still packing; life blows. Today's question . . . how did I end up with so many goddamn Mardi Gras beads? And so much artwork? Ah well. I should be done packing pretty soon. Then I just have to get the movers over. God, let this be finished soon.

On a related note, I'm loving my new apartment. Except I don't have blinds yet, so the folks in the building behind me have gotten a couple of free shows. Nothing they wouldn't see if they happened to be in a bar with me after a rugby game while I was plastered. You get the idea.

Went to a managers meeting for the Pride Dance tomorrow. Only a couple of my guys have backed out. We should be okay (pray for us). We'll be working the coat/bag check area from 9 a.m.-11 p.m. If anyone else bails, I'm screwed. I'm still not sure how I wound up in charge of this (and Sports Ball). Some one else better do this next year.

On the up side, I think one of the HoP guys was hitting on my tonight. Or he's just naturally flirty. I'm hoping he was hitting on me though. Kind of cute.

Fuck you, Gov. Perry. Fuck you, Sen. Santorum. The Supreme Court did the right thing and struck down the Texas sodomy law.

Okay, this is to one of my readers (he knows who he is), the rest of you . . . move along.

I . . . um . . . I just saw the . . . um . . . pictures of . . . you-know-who . . . and . . .

HOLY FUCKING CHRIST

Now, I'd probably take a life for a night with that.

Though, there is something not quite right about it. Are we sure this isn't fake? Clearly the first picture is him and it was taken at the event. But the second picture . . . are we sure? And bi? Three-way? The fuck is up with that?

Since no one took me up on my offer to give them all my worldly possessions, how 'bout just the porn? That should save me a few boxes. 646Guy? Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?

And why in the hell can't I seem to throw out any of my books?

And how the fuck did I end up with over 400 CD's?

AAAAAAAA!!!!!!

I just lost a document that I had been working on for an hour in a computer crash. My head is about to explode.

Anybody want all of my worldly possessions? I'm beginning to think it would be easier to throw everything out than move it.

I'm up to my fucking eyeballs in work, administrative crap for my rugby club and the apartment move (which I'm beginning to think I should never have tried to do). So chances are I won't be blogging for a while. Or if I do it will be incoherent (more so).

I suppose I could also mention the song that is currently stuck in my head. "I Want to Be Happy." This treacly little song was from a 1925 musical called No No Nanette which was, like most musicals from this time, a little piece of fluff.

Now here's the odd thing. I saw a Joshua Sobol play/musical in London . . . must have been back in 1989 . . . called Ghetto. It was about a group of performers in the Vilna ghetto during WWII. It was a disturbing show with an amazing cast; it's worth reading if you can find a copy of the play.

Anyway, there was a Nazi commandant, very mercurial: friendly and playing with the musicians one second, killing people at random the next. And he sang a little bit of this song to one of the Jewish guards in the ghetto, "I want to be happy, but I won't be happy, till I make you happy, too." This was especially creepy since it was after he had done something monstrous like ordering a certain number of children or old people to be killed. I just remember the character of the guard cringing while this man sang that little snippet and then being forced to smile at him.

Needless to say, I've never been able to hear the song and think of anything other than evil singing Nazis.

Which leads me to this, there is some commercial now which uses as jazzy version of the song. Sounds like Ella singing. I think it's for some sort of make up or whatever. Either way, it always makes me cringe when it comes on.

I was going to write about seeing Gypsy as part of the fund-raiser I went to Wednesday night. But I don't have the program with me and I kind of need it to talk about the actors, so I guess I won't.

I could also talk about the ACLU event that I went to last night, but I'm not really in the mood. I guess I'll do that later.

So instead I'll leave you with this tidbit. The deadliest flood of the 20th Century was the August, 1931, flood of the Huang Ho River in China which killed an estimated 3,700,000 people.

This is part of an ongoing discussion with the 646Guy. It was simply too long to leave in the comments section on his site. So the rest of you can ignore it.

Okay, let's look at it this way.

The mayor's office wants to continue to crack down on quality of life offenses, but because of budget cuts, he's got a smaller force. So he tells the police commissioner, "We need the police to be more productive. There are fewer men, but we still need the city to be safe. Get them to give out more warnings, more tickets, don't let the criminals think that they can get away with anything if there is a smaller force" Police commissioner tells the officers.

Now most officers are probably cool with this, after all, many of them live here too. But a couple of them, we'll call Officer Laze Round and Officer Chris P. Creme don't like this at all. "What do they mean we have to work harder? We already do lots of work, too damn much if you ask me." So they complain to the PBA. "They're making us follow quotas."

The PBA calls the Daily News . . . "Psst, the Mayor wants quotas." Daily News, seeing a way to sell more papers, screams out "QUOTAS!!!!" They send out their reporters, "Find some stupid tickets, things that will make it look like the cops are giving tickets for anything at all." Then after they report a stupid ticket or two (or a ticket they make to sound stupid), they ask their readers for other examples. Everybody who's ever gotten a ticket that they consider unfair (and who has ever been "fairly" ticketed) then writes in. The News picks the best of the bunch. Then the PBA reads the News and says, "see, clearly there are quotas." And the News says "see, the PBA says there are quotas." And the Mayor says "look at the facts, tickets are down, we're giving out fewer than last year, and we're responding to the people's desire for a higher quality of life." To which the News and the PBA reply "Facts? Who needs facts? We have the vox populi, even if they're only repeating what we've told them."

And after all, if the people say it's true, then it must be true. Just ask Richard Gere.

This to me is all about sour grapes and warped perception. No one likes getting a ticket. And everyone has an excuse. How was I supposed to know . . . But I was only . . . You're only doing this because I'm . . . Everybody else does this . . .

Now imagine if the cops actually said okay every time someone made an excuse. Take for example the kids in your neighborhood who are too loud at 2 a.m. "But officer, we weren't being loud. That person who called you is just a crank." "Well, you look like nice kids. I'll let you go with a warning." You'd be livid.

Or if the ladies who were talking too loud were in your building's hallway. Or the girl sitting on the stairs had been blocking your path and refused to move.

If people really have a problem with this sort of thing, talk to your elected representatives. Tell the city council that you want it to be legal for people to sit out on milkcrates. Tell them you think it's about time people were allowed to loiter. Maybe make it legal to hold open subway doors. We should only have to recycle when it's convenient for us. If people want to block the stairs, then by God, they should be allowed to.

Meanwhile, I'm going to try to obey the law to the best of my ability and thank God that someone is cracking down on all the quality of life crimes.

Okay, so I went to this charity thing Monday night. Very cool. Celebrity sightings: Diane von Furstenberg (okay, this wasn't really a sighting . . . I was told she was there. I know the name, but I wouldn't know her if she bit me on the ass), Melba Moore (singer, actress, Tony award winner . . . but ditto on actual recognition), Kristine Zbornik (cabaret star whom I saw in Forbidden Broadway . . . hilarious, as part of her act she sang the theme to Star Trek. I bet you didn't know it had words. Or wouldn't admit to knowing), and three cuties from the cast of Zanna, Don't (which I believe closes fairly soon . . . go see it. Now! And just for the record, Robb Sapp, one of the cast members who was at the benefit, is absolutely adorable. I wanted to stick him in my pocket and take him home. FYI, they won't let you do that.).

Alcohol tally: 2 Cranberry vodkas and a Sea Breeze. It was a school night after all.

Money tally: Well, I'm not going to give an exact figure, but here is the story. There was a silent auction at the benefit. Now, I'm a good sport. When I attend these things, especially when I'm invited by friends like 16Candles, I step up and do my part. If this means bidding at a live auction, I do it. Silent auction, same thing. Raffles, you bet. So I did my usual thing; I bid on six items, being sure to bid less (often much less) than half their actual retail price. This way, I figured I would bid, drive up the price and walk away not owing anything since I'd easily be outbid.

Wrong!!!! Apparently the queens who were at this benefit were there for the free drinks.

So at the end of the evening, I had won 5 of the 6 items I'd bid on. And the only one I really, really wanted . . . some fucker outbid me.

So if you see me dining at Florent, rushing the waitstaff because I don't want to be late for my season tickets at the Atlantic Theater Company, with a date (platonic) who's wearing a fabulous Roberta Chiarella bracelet and bouncing a basketball signed by the New York Liberty, while we both flip through a bunch of home decorating books, you'll know why.

At least it's for a good cause.

Other interesting developments . . . at the first event (the AALDEF cocktail party) I got cruised by a couple of cute attorneys. And at the other event (the one I just talked about) I think I was being hit on by a drag queen. They tend to be so shamelessly flirty that it's hard to tell, but . . . it's just a feeling I got. And the funny thing, I saw a picture of him out of costume and he was kind of cute.

For the silent auction, the rugby team donated a signed ball, team photo and two memberships in the Armory, our supporters club. Cool thing about the Armory, for $50 you get to go to all our post game drink ups. Free food and beer. Hell, most of us burn through $50 worth of food and beer in the first hour . . . and most drink ups (especially at our home bar) last for three or four hours. You also get to witness us drunk, partially or totally naked depending on how the game went, singing bawdy songs and otherwise carousing. Hey, what's not to like?

Well, 2 a.m. I suppose I should try to sleep. The crazy cursing person outside my window apparently has been scared away by the rain. He was chasing cars and pedestrians while yelling obscenities. This may give him too much credit. He was basically yelling fuck (and variations upon that word) while chasing whatever got near him.

Glad I'm moving to Chelsea.

Saw the apartment again today. Moved a few bags of stuff down. Place seems a little smaller than I remembered, but who gives a fuck. I don't have to share it with anyone. Which, if you think about it, also highlights my current lack of a boyfriend (sigh), but as Scarlett said "Tomorrow is another day."

And as Prissy said "I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies." Not applicable to the present discussion, but true nonetheless.

And with that, good night.

Homer Simpson quote o' the day:

Son, when you participate in sporting events, its not whether you win or lose, its how drunk you get.

Homer should have been a rugger.

Lots of sturm und drang at work today. Really ready to go home now.

But first a few shout outs to my peeps (yep, that sounded as ridiculous as I expected it would):

WeHo Mark, welcome home. I hope the margaritas canceled out the heat. More to the point, hope you had fun.

646Guy . . . you are getting sleepy . . . very sleepy . . . you cannot resist . . . now, tell me all the details about Codelicious.

DanceGirl, see you tonight. Dinner then viewing the new apartment.

Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.

From the Houston Chronicle:

"Man killed after falling from pickup on freeway
Copyright 2003 Houston Chronicle

A man was killed Friday night when he fell out of a pickup on the Southwest Freeway and was run over by it and other vehicles, police said.

The man, identified as William Thayer, 23, was riding in a passenger seat in a Ford pickup when he opened the door to urinate on the freeway while the vehicle was moving at freeway speed, police said."

Now, this is just an educated guess, but I bet there was liquor involved.

I feel it's worth mentioning that today's was the worst hangover I've ever had in my life. Headache that felt like I firecrackers in my skull. Stomach . . . queasy most of the day. Just an all-around bad time.

When I was younger, I didn't get hangovers. Not at all. Back in college I would drink and drink, then eventually I'd pass out. Well, pass out isn't exactly right. I'd fall down and be unable to get back up; I'd still be lucid. My friends would help me back to my room and in the morning I'd be right as rain. I also never used to throw up from drinking too much.

Then after college, I was visiting a friend in Huntsville, TX. I drank Jaeger, Purple Passion (she was still in college and that drink was the fad), some vodka and an entire bottle of Barenjaeger. And it was hot and humid, as deep East Texas tends to be. Just to show you how drunk I was, I spent the evening making out with a girl.

Well, I was sick as a dog and not just from the girl kisses (I'll skip the gory details except to say that the girl [not the make out girl] who was putting me up for the evening [my friend, Jill, hooked up at the party and left me] drove me around East Texas in the middle of the night for nearly two hours so I could stick my head out the window and try to sober up . . . or at least stop puking). And I woke up to my very first hangover; a real doozy.

After eating a couple of crackers and half a glass of water (then immediately throwing it all back up), I vowed never, ever to drink that much again.

Even then I knew that was bullshit.

So ever since that day, the floodgates, so to speak, have been opened. Not that that has stopped me from indulging, mind you. I just am better prepared for the consequences.

But last night still caught me a little off-guard.

See, I didn't really think I'd had too much. In fact, I was fine until we left the restaurant (I'm going to ask the boys if they thought I was wrecked before then). But once we got upstairs, everything was a blur. I blame Coach Bob and the tequila he forced me to drink. I'm sure it had nothing to do with the bottles of wine I consumed around it. Or the fact that I didn't have much dinner (there weren't too many vegetarian options).

Today, in an effort to soothe my headache and queasy stomach, I had a big plate of fresh fruit. Mango, banana, green and red apples. And I'll tell you, it sure seemed to help. Of course it could also have been the aspirin and tons of water. But I'm going to give credit to the fresh mango.

I've almost finished the Ed McBain book I mentioned before. Ice. This is only the second novel of his I've read, but I'm loving it. I want to run out and read everything else I can find of his. He really captures the traditional hard-boiled detective tone in his books. And he does it without sacrificing the characters. They aren't cardboard cut-outs like some of the characters in books by less talented authors.

I'll probably knock it out before I go to bed. Luckily tomorrow is a lazy day. Oh, shit. It's also Father's Day.

Okay, click on this; it's funny.

Judging by the hangover I have today, my fuzzy recollection of being in an East Village club, my inability to remember how I got home, and waking up at 5 in the morning because I had passed out on my floor, I seem to have had a good time last night.

Alcohol tally (estimated): a couple of bottles of wine and a shot of tequila.

I picked up an extra umbrella at some point last night. I hope it didn't inconvenience the person I must have taken it from.

So as I said, last night was a blast. The boys were in good form; though I imagine the diners upstairs didn't much care to hear our rambunctiousness. The awards were handed out; both serious and ridiculous. I got the "most likely to take over for David Hasselhoff in the Disney production of Baywatch." I could explain that; I simply choose not to.

This was the first rugby party in ages that didn't feature public nudity of some sort. Maybe it's because we were in a semi-nice restaurant. Or we were on our best behaviour because the coach's wife and friends were there. Yeah, that's probably it. Well at least we had the bawdy songs.

Damn song is stuck in my head. Of all things, it's I Know Him So Well from Chess.

So today's quote of the day is:

No one in your life is with you constantly
No one is completely on your side
And though I move my world to be with him
Still the gap between us is too wide.

This pretty much sums up every "relationship" I've ever had.

Why couldn't I get a happy showtune stuck in my head? I guess I'll sit here humming You're Just in Love from Call Me Madam until my mood picks up.

I hope the police and firemen think of this the next time they are negotiating their contracts.

And speaking of Jude Law, I've seen his penis.

Not exactly what I want put on my headstone, but still something I'm oddly proud of.

Stole this from WeHo Mark's site. Posting it because I think it's damn clever (and I love haikus).

A "Matrix" haiku:

hailstorm of casings
doesn't anybody smile?
I must have his coat

Now, I didn't much care for the movie (plot holes you could drive a truck through) and I have no desire to see Matrix Reloaded, but if you're into that sort of film, you should check out the much better eXistenZ. This David Cronenberg film has that same "what is reality?" vibe, but does it so much better. And let's face it, Jude Law is a much better leading man because . . . well, he can act.

But I do agree with Mark's observation . . . cool coat.

And just because my blog has been a little Daniel Cudmore deficient of late, here are some Daniel Cudmore photos from the WireImage.com site. Since I can't link directly to the page with the pictures (damn it) I can only link to the main page and tell you to run the search for Daniel Cudmore (or anyone else for that matter).

Hey, WeHo Mark . . . what do you think of the photos? Not the greatest pictures, but I believe you'll agree with me that even a not-so-great picture of Daniel is still pretty damn good.

And just a quick note about WireImage, for $10 a month you can get access to tons of celebrity pictures. It's a pretty great deal. Plus it has pictures of just about everybody you could imagine, from every party and event, and best of all, you can search images by photographer (which is kind of cool if you are familiar with a particular photog's work).

I don't usually do commercials (I feel I should use my blogging powers for good, not evil) but I did like this site.

Just to follow up on a previous entry, Aaron Price, the student who savagely beat another Moorehouse College student in the shower with a baseball bat because he thought that student was hitting on him, was acquitted of the hate crime charge. Apparently, beating someone with a bat and calling him faggot while you're doing it, doesn't mean you were targeting him because he was gay. At least in Georgia.

Just saw this headline on the NY Times site:

Cheney, Rumsfeld Salute Army on Birthday

I'm sure Rummy reminisced about his childhood watching the soldiers fighting the redcoats and Angina Dick thanked the army for their continued sacrifices . . . such as their veteran's benefits which were recently slashed in order to pay for tax cuts for the rich.

But remember, it's the Republicans who support the troops . . . right?

I'm sick. And I'm pissed off. Not a good combination.

The weather here in the Big Apple has been . . . somewhat erratic. The unifying condition has been humidity. Now, I can't fucking stand humidity. I sweat, can't sleep, feel lethargic, etc. The "can't sleep" part is the biggie, though. So two nights ago, I slept with my fan pointing directly at me. Felt great. Good night's sleep.

However, I woke up with a sore throat and cough. That was yesterday.

Last night, I didn't have the fan blowing on me. Didn't sleep well and still have my goddamn cough and sore throat.

I probably shouldn't drink tonight and should go to bed early.

Since I won't be doing either of those things, I'll probably be sick as a dog this weekend. Which will complicate my packing/moving schedule. Oh well.

I'm pissed off for a number of reasons that I think I'll choose not to go into right now. On to happy things.

Next week promises to be a full and exciting one. I have charity benefits on Monday (double booked at the Asian American Legal Defense and Education Fund Cocktail Party and Village Care of New York's Tulips and Pansies Event), Tuesday (Lawyers Committee for Human Rights Reception . . . I may bail on this), Wednesday (Gypsy fundraiser for Lawyers Alliance for New York), and Thursday (ACLU Gay & Lesbian Rights and AIDS Projects Reception). Busy, but fun week ahead.

I've been looking through catalogs to see how much it's going to cost to furnish Casa de Maricon (my new apartment), in a Spanish style. Lots and lots of money.

Time to start hustling again . . . joke (though I do have a friend who makes a rather handsome living hustling).

Now you may be saying to yourself, "Spanish style? Why, you don't have a drop of Spanish blood in you."

Well now, me boyo, don't be so sure. One look at me sainted grandmother and you'd know that she's black Irish (dark hair, dark eyes). Now, if you subscribe to the theory that the black Irish are descendants of shipwrecked sailors from the Spanish Armada, then I could be a little bit Spanish (and a little bit rock 'n roll . . . sorry).

But that has fuck all to do with wanting to do the apartment in a Spanish style. I just like heavy wood furniture and earth tones.

Maybe I'm really a lesbian.

Someone just found my site by searching "pictures of gay men grinding in a night club." What the hell?!?

Sad day. I just heard that Gregory Peck has died. What an amazing actor. I can't read To Kill A Mockingbird without picturing him as Atticus Finch.

Everything is at half-staff today (literally). Burin, the beautiful bartender at the Web, left to pursue other opportunities. Check-your-pants night will never quite be the same again. Sigh. Ah, Burin, we hardly knew ye.

The Gipsy Kings were great. They only played for 45 min. or so, but it was still fun. Hung out with some attorneys, people from the charity, etc. Loads of fun. And free drinks. Alcohol tally (thank you WeHo Mark): 3 cranberry vodkas.

Speaking of WeHo Mark, he keeps sniffing after my man, Daniel Cudmore. Mark, don't make me come out there.

Or at the very least, can we arrange some sort of joint custody?

Anyway, that's all I've got for now.

What's amazing is that this guy claimed that he beat the other student with a baseball bat in self-defense. Unless Gregory Love was a basilisk or a gorgon, highly unlikely in Georgia, he wasn't going to be able to hurt Aaron Price. But rather than taking a chance that the other guys in the dorm might think he's less of a man for having a man hit on him (which of course wasn't even what Mr. Love was doing), he brained the other guy with a bat.

What a fucking waste. Two lives fucked up over nothing.

Just got this off the New York Times site:

Ex - Student Convicted in Hate - Crime Trial
By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

Filed at 6:00 p.m. ET

ATLANTA (AP) -- In the first trial under Georgia's new hate crimes law, a former college student was convicted Wednesday in the baseball-bat beating of a dorm mate he thought was giving him the eye in the shower.

Aaron Price, 19, was found guilty of assault and battery charges that carry up to 40 years prison. The jury continued to weigh a hate crimes charge that could bring an additional five years.

Gregory Love suffered a fractured skull in the attack in a Morehouse College dormitory bathroom in November.

Price said he interpreted Love's stares in the shower as a sexual advance, and claimed he was acting in self-defense.

Love said he did not have his glasses on and mistook Price for his roommate.

The beating evoked strong emotions at the historically black college, where some gay students said homophobia is rampant. The incident prompted administrators to set up discussion sessions promoting diversity.

Too many cool things to do in this city. Tonight I have tickets to see Ghosts at B.A.M. but I've also been invited to a party where the Gipsy Kings will be performing. I like Ibsen and I love Ingmar Bergman's directing, but the Gipsy Kings are going to win tonight.

First, I'm still hungover. Second, I only got four hours of sleep last night. Third, a combination of the first and second points makes the idea of sitting through a long play, especially one in Swedish, unbearable. Fourth, tapas. Fifth, dancing. Sixth, it's a charity event. Still, I hate to let the tickets go to waste.

I've enjoyed the little spike that came from being mentioned in the Slate article yesterday, but it really brought home the fact that people are reading this and judging me based on it. Am I coming across as weird? Too gay? Boring? Stupid? Too much/not enough about rugby? Now everytime I start typing, I worry about it.

Fuck it. I don't know you. You don't know me. I guess that's part of the fun.

Speaking of rugby, our end-of-season party is Friday. If you happen to find yourself walking in Chelsea in the high teens and 7th Avenue late Friday night/early Saturday morning and you see a bunch of big, burly, really drunk guys doing things that ought not be done in public, that's us. Say hi. We won't bite. Well, actually we probably will, but I promise you'll enjoy it. Or you can just meet up with us at the Eagle. We usually wind up there eventually.

Speaking of Chelsea, if you hear any weird noises in that area tonight, it's probably just my friend Mike. His boyfriend just came back from a two-week vacation; I imagine the entire island will be rocking tonight. Ah, to be young and in love. Or in love with someone young. Whatever.

Lucky bastard.

Ummmm. Did I just get quoted? Shite!!!! (and yes, I meant to put the e on the end of the word).

Now I'll be paranoid that people are actually reading what I say.

Four twenty in the afternoon and I'm drunk. Woo hoo. Started drinking at noon. If I were WeHo Mark, I'd tally the number of drinks I've had, but I lost track after about 10.

Work related function. Booze, karaoke, food.

Now I'm at home trying to get the damn room to stop spinning.

Of course, it just hit me how much work I'm going to have to do in the next few days.

Breathe in, breathe out. Calm. Calm. Calm.

I GOT THE APARTMENT!!!!! HOT FREAKING DAMN!!!!

Two new hits from google. Someone visited me looking for Johan Paulik's childhood photos. And another was looking for wrestlers getting hard-ons.

Lovely.

At least I'm still getting lots of hit from people looking for pictures, porn or anything else Daniel Cudmore related.

Lazy, lazy weekend. Went out with Catherine on Friday; saw Turtle, et al, at the comedy club. Good comics, bad comics. Pretty much what I expected. Turtle did okay, but they Michael Moore'd him off the stage when he went way past his time. Once he gets over his nervousness, he's going to be pretty good at this.

Trying to decide what to do about the "guy who likes me." I just can't help thinking about the old Groucho Marx line, "I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member." I would never date anyone who would consider going out with someone like me. A little peek into the dark and twisted psyche of your host.

Still, when we said goodbye (he was at the comedy club, too) he did this whole tongue on my neck thing that, had he not been doing it in public, would have been really, really hot.

Then Catherine and I went out to dinner at a little Mexican place near me. I had such a good time. Hanging out with her is like hanging out with Mike used to be. Naturally, she's moving in a month. This is going to blow. She won't be around. Mike won't be around. Now all I need is for Steve to get a boyfriend and I won't have anyone to hang out with regularly. Luckily I've got the rest of my rugby boys, but I only go out with them every once in a while. Most of them either live in places that make it difficult for them to stay late in the city or they just run in different circles than I do.

Ah, well, this will force me to run in different circles, too.

Made it to the gym both days this weekend. Love that bike and Precor. Now, all I have to do is workout about two more hours a day and quit eating between now and September and I'll be in fighting shape for the fall season. Or dead. Tom-a-to . . . tom-ah-to.

Went over to Mike's on Saturday for a while. Watched The Browning Version which I had never seen all the way through. I think I'll eventually wind up like Albert Finney in that movie. And, my God, Julian Sands looked good. Not as hot as in A Room With a View (that was the ultimate hot skinny-dipping scene), but hot in that tweedy Oxford don sort of way.

Today was a nothing day. Was supposed to get together with Mike but that fell through. Did a little packing. Some reading. The usual.

I'm juggling a few books right now. Jean Cocteau's White Book; not in French, mind you. It's been too long since I've studied French to be able to pull that off. Ed McBain's Ice. So far a pretty good crime novel. Rainbow Mars, a horrible little piece of crap shit out by Larry Niven. As you can tell, I'm not really enjoying that one. I'm going to try to choke down one more chapter. If I can't, it's off to the gym's "library" with it. I'm also rereading Ripley Under Water by Patricia Highsmith. Not as good as The Talented Mr. Ripley, but still pretty amusing. In that dark, amoral sort of way.

I'm also doing a little research in Greek myths for the play I mentioned earlier and am doing some light reading about opera librettos. Or would it be libretti? Yeah, I'm betting it's libretti, too.

Anyway, I'm off to bed. The Puerto Ricans in my neighborhood finally seem to have stopped celebrating Puerto Rico Day or whatever it was; either that or they've been driven away by the garbage trucks that have been rumbling through. Got to hand it to the Puerto Ricans, they are a giving people. They are willing to share their music, their car horns, their screams of "Bouricano" with their neighbors, no matter what time of day or night. God bless each and every little one of them.

The other fun thing I did last night was attend (at least for an hour) Boards, Balls and Blades at XL. The monthly party thrown by Jeff Kagan was a promo for the hockey boys' new calendar.

Now, I'm not an XL type, but I tend to enjoy these BB and B events since they draw a less Chelsea-type crowd (though a lot of the hockey boys are kind of Chelsea to begin with). Point being, I had fun, drank a few drinks, schmoozed a little. Ran into Steve and Hugh on Seventh Ave. after I left XL; they were on their way there.

One of the hockey guys wanted to talk about having a joint rugby-hockey party/fundraiser thing. I think it sounds like a great idea. Could be a lot of fun. He thought we could have some contests (he suggested drinking contests . . . we would so kick their asses) and other things.

Considering how well we did on our bachelor auction (we raised over $9000), I can't help but think that some of the groups are trying to piggy-back on our success at fund-raising. In fact a couple of the straight rugby teams we play wanted to talk about doing a joint fund-raiser . . . they like us; they really like us - or rather our ability to raise money.

But I still think something with the hockey boys would be fun.

So I went to the opening at ICP yesterday night with Mike. There were three new exhibits: Dreaming in Pictures: the Photography of Lewis Carroll; Cuba on the Verge; and Poetic Images.

The Lewis Carroll one was interesting (see the Times review for a better explanation than I'm capable of giving). Mike pretty much hated this one. I liked it the best, but I've always enjoyed portraiture.

Mike enjoyed the Cuba exhibit. Yawn. But a couple of the photos were amazing. More for the architecture, that sort of neglected grandeur, and for the faces of the people. But otherwise pretty much what you'd expect.

The last exhibit was photographs used in books; pictures by famous people or of famous authors. Unusual.

Saw a couple of pictures of Joseph Jefferson (don't worry, I only know him from my theater history classes . . . famous 19th Century actor who was primarily known for playing the lead in Boucicault's Rip Van Winkle. Despite all his other work, this was what everyone knew him as . . . kind of like Russell Johnson, the Professor on Gilligan's Island [poor guy]). Pictures of Dumas pere et fils (dear God, those men were huge . . . hell, they make me look like Callista Flockheart), a couple of photographs of Tennyson. Some truly amazing stuff.

My teammate, Turtle, and his friend Molly are doing stand-up tonight at 6:30 pm at the Gotham Comedy Club
34 West 22nd Street, between 5th and 6th Avenues (subways F, N, R, 1, or 9 to 23rd Street)
[Call (212) 367-9000 You must make a reservation. $8 + two drink minimum. Molly and Turtle say "Believe us, the liquor helps"]

If you feel like laughing at, not with, a big ol' hairy rugger and his lovely friend, you should be there. Hell, I'll even buy you a drink or two.

Just read this article on CNN. Am I the only one who thinks "Grinding Nemo" sounds like a Greek porn film?

Taking a page from WeHo Mark, I've decided to start listing my celebrity sightings/run ins. Now bear in mind that I don't watch much TV or go to many movies, so my celebs will likely be theater or literary stars. What can you do?

So last night, while enjoying some of the best BBQ in town at Virgil's, Mike and I were at a table next to Craig Bierko and a bunch of his friends.

Two things: he's really cute in person and he acts like a clown (as in silly, funny, entertaining).

Not exactly as cool as the time I met Patrick Stewart, or saw Keanu walking with a very attractive male friend, or Macaulay Culkin out walking a dog, but it was a celeb sighting nonetheless.

Didn't make it to the gym. Let the recriminations begin.

The meeting with the co-op board rep. was odd. Don't know what to think. Hopefully it'll turn out okay.

Okay, day two of going to the gym. Did 30 min. on the bike. Not great, but not bad.

Tomorrow (technically today now that it's after midnight), I have to go in the morning since I've got a party and photography opening in the evening. Ah, such a busy social life I have. Now if I could just get a date to do this kind of stuff with.

Oh, well.

Well, I'm babysitting a meeting and find myself with a little time to kill. Guess I'll write.

I'm going in tomorrow to meet with the co-op board; actually, just one person. It shouldn't be too bad. I think I'm a good prospective tenant. This is a great apartment. Smack dab in the middle of Chelsea, near a couple of really good French (sorry, Freedom) restaurants, close to Mike yet far enough for me not to get on his boyfriend's nerves any more than I already do. Plus it's a really spacious studio (around 500 sq. ft. which is big by NYC standards). Sunken living room, seperate kitchen, dressing room, roof deck, doorman, Deco building. God, I hope I get it. (Quick, name that musical)

I've been tossing around a couple of ideas for new plays. One of the things that I've wanted to do (more to see if I could than from any illusions of them being popular) is to write a play in the style of the ancient Greek plays. As I'm sure you all know, erudite bunch that you are, the Greek dramatists (I'm thinking of Sophocles, Euripides and Aeschylus) would write plays for the Festival of Dionysius. Normally, they'd write a tragedy and follow it up with a satyr play, which normally made fun of the play or the characters in the play preceding it (satyr . . . satire, get it?). Well, I have an idea for a tragedy and for a satyr play (it doesn't actually make fun of the play I'm writing, but of Philoctetes by Sophocles). Well, I'm going to try my hand at following the proper form, etc., and see what happens. If nothing else, I should learn a lot. Or lose my love of ancient Greek drama.

I'm also still working on my novel. My horrible, horrible novel (not that the novel is bad, it's just not as easy for me to write as plays are).

I don't know why I've been in such a writing mood recently. I'm just going to keep riding the wave till it runs out.

Now that it looks like the move is going to happen, I need to buckle down and start packing. I hate doing that. Anybody want some clothes, furniture, porn, books, etc. The less I have to move the better. Just kidding about the porn though. Wouldn't want to give that away.

Luckily the meeting with my boss went fine. Just me worrying about nothing, it seems.

Short entry tonight because I'm bushed. Had a dream last night that I got fired for blogging at work. Thus, didn't blog at work today.

So, Monday . . . worked. Crappy, crappy, crappy day at the office. Something huge has gotten fucked up and, while I don't think it's my fault, I have no proof that it isn't.

I have a meeting with my boss tomorrow.

I came home from work fully intending to go to the gym. Turned on the TV instead. Bad move. But I avoided the temptation tonight.

Just a little background. Rugby season starts back up remarkably soon. Now, I have no intention of playing 7's this summer. I'm not a runner; I just knock people down. 7's are made for runners. So I made a deal with myself that I'd train my ass off in order to get into shape for the fall season. Vegetarian food (focusing on veggies and fruit), workouts, no liquor. Well, zero out of three isn't bad. I've been okay about veggie food, but still eating too much bread and cheese. Liquor . . . well, I think I had around ten drinks or so on Sunday. Workouts . . . I went tonight, not a great start considering I was supposed to start when the season ended (weeks ago).

So I give you all permission (except you, Brian) to call me lardass or something similar any day that I don't mention going to the gym. My goal is to get my stamina up so I can handle playing two games of rugby every Saturday, instead of just one. My strength is good, but I'll work on it, too. Mostly though I just need to start running. Lots.

One of the guys, the Mysterious Wrestler Boy from Brian's blog, invited me to start jogging with the team (he's leading the jogging party). Another asked if I wanted to join his marial arts class (what do you think Brian? I imagine I'd have had a stroke during warmups). But I'm thinking I'll just start hitting the gym, doing the treadmill and bike, swimming and taking the occaisional yoga or tai chi class.

Anyone have any other suggestions?

Oh, I finally heard some feedback about my (God willing) new apartment. I've made it over the first couple of hurdles. The next step is a meeting with the co-op board on Thursday. Wish me luck.

Lifetime, Television for Women and Gay Men, was showing a Golden Girls special tonight which included the first and last episodes. I had forgotten that the final episode had two really funny lines which I've quoted in the past.

Lucas to Dorothy: Pussycat? Nobody's called me that since the Navy.

and

Dorothy to Sophia: You are a furry gnome and we feed you too much.

So on an unrelated note, Sports Ball 6 was a lot of fun. Lots and lots of hot guys, including wrestlers in singlets. Woof. Wound up making out with a teammate. Yep, I was drunk. Ah well, at least he was a good kisser.

Well, for whatever reason I haven't been able to access my blog all day. All I get is a blank screen. Anyone have any ideas what this might be? I can still access blogger and other weblogs, but mine is fucked. Oh, well. As long as I can still write, I suppose it's okay.

I'm just worried about the poor Daniel Cudmore fans who won't be able to find out there is no X-Men porn on my site.

Today was also my field trip to the galleries with Mike. We went to the Luhring Augustine Gallery to see Larry Clark's newest exhibit punk Picasso. Pretty amazing stuff, but not for the faint of heart. There is a reason that he has been accused of being nothing more than a pornographer. A lot of his photos are of young men/boys with hard-ons or of young guys and girls having sex. He also has a lot of photos of kids doing heroin. I've always thought that he's trying to show that this ideal childhood that we've created in our minds isn't based at all in reality. That the sex and drugs and anarchy is really more representative of youth. But then, I know jack shit about art.

We also saw the new Pierre et Gilles exhibit at the Robert Miller Gallery. Wow. These photo/paintings are so lush and amazing. I've always been blown away by their books of photos, but seeing these things full-sized is stunning. They are so beautiful.

My favorite of the exhibit was one called "Un Dimanche Apres-Midi." It's one of the pictures on the Robert Miller Gallery site. It's a photo of a beautiful boy, in full rugby gear, covered in mud. Mike saw it before I spotted it and warned me that the next photo would make me pass out or shoot (or words to that effect). While, in fact, I did neither of those things, I did instantly fall in love with the guy in the photo.

I really loved hitting the galleries. I've got to start doing that more often.

I take back every evil thought I had about my teammates in recent weeks. In addition to Mark stepping up and taking over the booth at the Expo (I'll be naming my first child after him . . . unless they're twins in which case I'm sticking with my original names of Mango and Wombat), all the guys who said they'd attend this stupid meeting regarding the dance were there . . . on time and everything. This dance thing is going to suck, but what can you do? I got to say, even if the dance sucks, I'll be hanging out with my brothers all day so that will be fun at least. And the guys that volunteered to do it are some of the really good guys on the team. And, like everyone on the team, they're hotties.

So the Expo/Sports Ball is looking like it's going to be fun. In addition to everyone stepping up and helping with the booth (think A Charlie Brown Christmas the part after he leaves and the rest of the kids make the Christmas tree beautiful and you have the idea), I've been able to sell more of the tickets. It looks like we may actually make a few hundred dollars off this event. Thank God. Even better than the money, there will be more of my team there. And a few co-workers which is cool/scary. Cool because it's co-workers I like; scary because . . . well, read my entries for 5/13 and 19.

Despite being a little pissed with everyone recently, I love these guys and I love spending time with them. I've made some amazing friends since I joined. And you couldn't party with a better group of guys. Even the straight teams we play admit that.

But the real fun will be in a couple of weeks at the team banquet. I hope this restaurant knows what it's in for. Rugby banquets tend to be really, really raucous. There is generally drinking, singing, drinking, moderate nudity, drinking, a kangaroo court, drinking, dinner and some drinking. If you want an idea of what these events are like, check out this page which is for a British team the Old Redcliffians. Nudity, straight boys snogging, drinking . . . is it any wonder we decided to start a team? (On a related note, the Old Redcliffians seem to have removed some of the more . . . interesting pictures since I originally found that site. If you want to see what you missed, let me know, I saved the pictures).