A loaf of bread, a container of milk and a stick of butter.

Tonight after work (looking all business casual in my khakis, polo shirt and blue blazer), I went to Bed, Bath and Beyond to buy two things (well, four things actually . . . but three items were the same thing). I needed a package of lifts for my bed (men, add up to 5" to your bed non-surgically) and three TV trays. That's all. Bed lifts and TV trays. Made myself a list to that effect, too.

So tell me why I walked out of there with a $130 coffee grinder.

Wasn't on the list.

Yet it's in my bag.

Crap.

Well, it's pretty. And I did need a coffee grinder. And it was 20% off.

At least I got the bed lifts.

Since I find that I have nothing to say and I feel that something must be said, I'll simply leave you with this, for now:

Gonads.

On Saturday, I was a timekeeper for the first game, so while I did watch the game, I wasn't as "into it" as normal.

I got to be a fan in the Gold side match; no responsibilities.

Best moment for me was when Kevin, one of the newer guys, made this awesome tackle. I mean he just grabbed the guy with the ball and slammed him right to the ground. Beautiful.

After the game, he told me that after he made the tackle, he looked up at me, saw me looking at him with a huge, goofy smile on my face, screaming "Fuck yeah, that's a tackle", and it made his day.

Made mine hearing that. I may not be able to get on the pitch with my boys, but I'll be on the sidelines screaming my lungs out.

Well, let's see . . . the weekend. Obviously, Saturday was a rugby day.

Update on my teammate, he's still in the hospital and will be having surgery on Tuesday to repair some disk damage in his back. After a particularly hard tackle (he was tackling one of the Montclair boys) he suffered a brief bout (just a minute or so) of quadriplegia, but was able to move his legs and arms rather quickly. Our wonderful team therapist took care of him until the ambulance arrived (I can't believe all the teams don't have someone like her . . . she's kept us all in one piece for quite a while now). The people at Harlem Hospital are doing a great job and hopefully he'll be home by the end of the week.

Probably will be the worst accident all year (touch wood). Last year, one of the guys fractured a vertebra and wound up in a brace for quite a while. We tend to have lots of little injuries, sprains, black eyes, broken fingers, etc., but luckily the big ones don't happen that often.

Me, I've fractured a finger, had a bit of nerve damage around my left knee (there is a spot about the size of a half-dollar that has no feeling), lost a couple of toe nails, had to get a knee drained, and now walk a little gimpy.

Mom wants me to play a different sport.

Makes sense.

Ain't gonna happen, though.

Sunday was pretty good. Went to the Youth Rugby event. Bad, rainy weather. Needless to say, the kids had a great time getting wet and rolling around in the mud. This is a great organization; I'm glad to be helping out.

After that, I just did stuff around the house for a while. Went to the market, bought chicken breasts, a couple of game hens and lots of stuff to cook with them. Got home, opened the chicken to start cooking it . . . it was bad. So I went back to the market. I was going to exchange them for another package, but the smell of rotten chicken was in my nose and the idea of buying more really didn't sound appetizing. I decided to get my money back instead. I went to the Chelsea Market and bought a bunch of veggies; much better choice.

After that, I went to the gym. I'm bound and determine to get in shape to play in the tournament in London next year. I don't care if I play on the A or B side, I just want to play.

Hung out with Dino for a few hours Sunday night. Had a great time. We went to Rita's and had coffee, then just wandered around the Village for a while. Just the kind of relaxing, fun evening that I needed.

Then it was back to the apartment and a frenzy of cooking and laundry. Ah, the wild life of a young, single Manhattanite.

Today has been a little laid back. Hope it stays like this.

Forgot to mention that one of our guys got hurt and had to be taken to the hospital. No word on his condition yet, but I hope he's going to be fine. In the meantime, if you'd send him some good vibes, thoughts, prayers, etc., it would be appreciated.

AWESOME DAY!!!!!!

Rugby was great. I'm still injured so I didn't play, but the games were terrific. We got our asses spanked (and not in the good way), but we scored our first ever Met NY Union points. For those of you who may be on more established teams, this may not sound like much. But when you consider that the majority of our guys never touched a rugby ball before joining our team, it's pretty amazing.

It would have been great if we'd had a better score in the end, but fuck it. We had a good time, good party and played some good rugby. Damn, what a day!!!

I'm sitting here sunburnt, exhausted and deliriously happy. Not drunk, sadly. I didn't drink at the post-game party since I don't drink beer and that's all we had. No biggie. Lots of time to drink later.

Another cool part of the day was getting to watch a little of the Columbia v. NYU game which was played after ours. A couple of our guys joined in with the NYU team (from Stern, I believe) because they were short a few players. But I've got to say, the Columbia team . . . woof. I nearly pulled on my boots and played, too, just for the opportunity to tackle one of them.

Of course, once I'd watched a little of the game I was glad I didn't. These teams were young and were playing rough. Hot, but dangerous for an old out-of-shape guy like me.

After the game, I stopped by Meyers of Keswick, the neighborhood British goods store and picked up Scotch Eggs and Sausage Rolls. Perfect end to a great day.

Now to balance all the fun, I'm going to go do laundry and unpack some more. Not too fun, but very important.

Quote of the Day
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
-Groucho Marx

Totally forgot to credit Mykull with the link below. The 'Apocalypse Now' cartoonist is a friend of his. I've seen a couple of her cartoons and think she's effing brilliant.

I've received mixed reviews (mostly good) on the beard. It's fucking itchy, but I'm sticking with it for now.

And funny thing happened today. I've been trying to shut off the constant negative feedback that I provide myself with every single second of every single day. Because, as you know, negativism is self-fulfilling. If I walk down the street saying to myself that I'm stupid-ugly-old (or whatever the anti-mantra of the day is); I will, of course, feel that way.

Stupid as it sounds, I sat around repeating "I'm in a good mood" and "I look good today" in my head. I tend to hate that sort of touchy-feely crap, but I read something on Margaret Cho's weblog today and . . . well, point being, I decided to try it.

And funny thing . . . I got cruised. Twice. Once by a nice looking guy who locked eyes with me and smiled. I smiled back.

The second time was right outside my building. And the guy was hot. Hot, I tell you! Black hair, black shirt and pants. Good build. Great face. And he locked eyes with me, too.

And after he passed, I turned back to look at him (following the three step rule) and he was looking back at me.

Naturally, I ran back to my building as fast as my little feet could carry me.

I'm taking baby steps into uncharted territory here, after all.

But the point is, I would never have even made eye contact before. It would never have occured to me that anyone would make eye contact with me.

My fear is that this is just a house of cards and my next dip into depression will destroy the little scraps of self-esteem that I'm pulling together . . . but as Scarlett says, I'll worry about that tomorrow.

After all, tomorrow is another day. And a rugby day, at that.

'Apocalypse Now'. Condensed. With Bunnies. Click here.

The answer in today's $1 Million Subway Game Question was indeed Potential Mate One. Unfortunately, neither MAK nor Jeff complied fully with the rules of the game (i.e. they did not say why I chose PM One), so I'm afraid that neither of them will receive one million dollars tomorrow. Good try, gentlemen, and good luck next time.

MAK did point out that I was using the Subway Game without proper compensation for the creator of the game. Because this is true and by way of just compensation, I will offer him the alternate prize: a baseball cap and a sock.

I tend to think of myself as fairly masculine (shut up, Brian). But I'm sitting here singing along with my mp3s of the Buffy The Vampire Slayer Musical (Once More With Feeling).

Might as well have a dress on. Or, since I'm singing along with Tara and Willow, flannel and Birkenstocks.

Ah well, at least I'm not drunk on tequila singing showtunes like some people . . .

Stolen from Bob (who I keep forgetting to add to my list of links)

What's in my wallet:

Driver License (with my old address, which was incorrect anyway . . .)
AmEx
MasterCard
Citibank ATM Card
Insurance Card
Crema Lita Card (punched enough times for a free ice cream)
Tasti D-Lite Card (ditto)
Duane Reade Dollar Rewards Card
Starbucks Card (empty)
World of Video Card
Subway Map Card
Three taxi receipts that I keep forgetting to turn in at the office
$5
Temporary Macy's Card (the real one arrived two weeks ago)
MetroCard
Receipt for dry cleaning that I picked up a week ago
Two free passes to the Bronx Zoo
Coupon for $1 off Benadryl

My boss just offered to enter me in the Ernest Hemmingway lookalike contest in Key West. I'm choosing to take it as a compliment.

Not unlike the addition of the words "in bed" to every Chinese fortune cookie, Dave Barry has recently been adding the words "in my pants" to various newspaper headlines. So I'm going to do it, too.

From BBC News:
Singer Brel's album causes upset in my pants
Saving the Asian elephant in my pants
Rivals to beef up security in my pants
Spanish warned about strangler in my pants
Oil workers were suffocated in my pants
Palm returns to the source in my pants

From the NY Times:
Immigrants' Rights Drive Starts In My Pants
American Sprinter Jerome Young Could Lose Sydney Medal In My Pants
Parents Schedule In a Little Dawdle Time In My Pants
Taxation Without Gyrations In My Pants
Judge Allows Antitrust Case Against Seed Producers In My Pants

Others:
Red Lobster CEO out after all-you-can-eat fiasco in my pants
Fall proves a prime time to vacation in my pants
Tourists have a taste for salt cathedral in my pants
Chicago cops find 10,000 pot plants in my pants

Silly, sure. But it still makes me giggle.

I just ordered my copy of Dancing Barefoot, Wil Wheaton's book. Though I know it will contain a lot of stuff I've already read on his blog, I'm still looking forward to it.

For those of you who only know Wheaton as the kid from 'Stand by Me' and Star Trek:TNG, you should visit his blog. He's a very good writer and has some really amusing stories to tell.

As I have mentioned in my blog, Thursday is mashed potatoes day at my company's cafeteria. Since I have no boyfriend, my plays aren't being produced, and I'm stuck in a dead end job, I take a certain small comfort in my simple and pleasurable routines. Mashed potatoes day being chief among them.

I just went upstairs to get some milk for my coffee and noticed that there were no mashed potatoes. There was saffron rice.

Saffron fucking rice?????!!!!!?????

Oh, the humanity!

Ever since MAK suggested it, I've been playing the Subway Game. Generally, there isn't much competition. It doesn't help that I'm only on the subway for two stops. I get on, see a cute guy, choose him, then I'm at my station.

Today was different. Among the usual nose-pickers, trolls, women and other undesirables, there were nestled three prime candidates.

Potential Mate One: tall, thin, blond, mid-twenties, handsome, too stylishly dressed to be American, wearing a dark blue suit with a subtle green check pattern, white shirt and kelly green tie. Reading the NY Times.

Potential Mate Two: tall, trim with a nice upper body, short dark hair, very Eastern European looks, sadly a little reminiscent of Mr. Bean in the face (Mr. Bean as he would appear in a Bel Ami movie perhaps), probably early twenties, wearing black shoes and jeans and a dark gray mock-turtleneck. Added bonus, kept making eye contact.

Potentail Mate Three: short, late-teens/early twenties, kind of a crewcut thing going on, not in or out of shape, very NYU-ish, wearing black Keds, blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a long-sleeved white t-shirt under it. Great smile, cute face (but he won't age well).

So who did I pick as my soulmate for the ride? The first person to guess the correct answer and my reason for picking him will win one million dollars*.

Ready, set, go!



*The $1 million prize is contingent on being the first with the correct answer and reason why I chose that person and on me winning this week's Mega Millions Lotto. In the event that you submit the right answer and I do not win the Mega Millions Lotto, the alternate prize will be a baseball cap chosen at random from the pile of them in my closet and a sock which has lost it's mate.

Those of you who are good cooks will likely be unimpressed, but tonight I made a dish that I was very proud of. Chicken breasts baked with roasted garlic, artichokes, mushrooms and port.

If I do say so myself, it was fantastic.

Bitch to clean up, though.

In other news, I didn't go see Jonny Lang last night. I decided I'd be better off saving the money. Instead I made plans to go see 5 Chinese Brothers with Mike'nDavid. Unfortunately, we were all exhausted. So we just blew it off.

I'm getting old.

Itchy beard.

Well, I'm buggered. And not in that cool sodomy way. I'm fucking-tired-haven't-slept-Jesus-God-let-me-rest buggered. For whatever reason, my brain has decided that it doesn't want to sleep at night. So for the last two nights, I've gone to bed at a resonable (for New York) hour and have stared at the fucking ceiling for 3-4 hours before finally dropping off. Last night I was able to get a whopping 2.5 hours sleep.

Funny, but that doesn't make for a very productive day.

I don't know what the deal is, but I hope I can sleep tonight.

The weekend was okay, not much to it as I've mentioned. Yesterday, though, was great. After not sleeping well and having to deal with wicked bad allergies, I decided to call in sick to work. Hung out with Mike all day for the first time in ages. We went shopping, got coffee, went to lunch at Florent (David joined us for this) because I had a $70 gift certificate, then Mike and I went back to his place and watched TV (always a treat since I don't have a TV of my own). Then he, David and I had dinner. It was a fantastic day. Just what I needed. Other than the lack of sleep, I feel pretty damn good today. I think I needed a mental health day and this was just the ticket.

I've also decided to grow a beard. I haven't had a full beard since grad school. Time for a change, I guess. Sad to say the damn thing is growing in with lots more white than last time. But then, I started going gray in high school, so it wasn't like I haven't had time to prepare for this. Still a little disturbing.

At this point, I'm four days into the beard. It hasn't reached the itchy God-what-was-I-thinking phase yet. Depending on how bad that gets, I may just trim it down to a goatee. Or I'll just chuck the whole thing and go back to my natural baby-face. Only time will tell.

'Mambo Italiano' . . . not the greatest movie I've ever seen, but still pretty funny, all in all. And lots of eyecandy. Oh, yes, lots and lots and lots.

Now I want to track down the play that the movie is based on and see what it's like.

Considering the hit or miss quality of the movies I've been seeing lately, I consider this to be money well spent.

I'm still on my Joe Orton kick. I finished 'Prick Up Your Ears' and read a couple of stories that Joe Orton and Kenneth Halliwell wrote called 'Lord Cucumber' and 'The Boy Hairdresser.' I just started one of Orton's novels called 'Between Us Girls.' Interesting stuff.

I'm in a surprisingly good mood today. Didn't do much of anything this weekend. Yesterday, I pretty much slept all day. Went to the gym. Hung out with Mike for a couple of hours, which is the most I've hung out with him in well over a month. We used to spend lots of time together, but now he has a boyfriend. Can't even blame Mike, 'cause if I had a boyfriend, I'd want to spend all my time with him, too. Still kind of sucks for me though.

Anyway. I did some stuff around the house today. Cleaned about two months of black gunk from the bathtub. Realized that the funky smell in the kitchen was the dishes in the sink. Cleaned 'em. Went shopping over at Western Beef, the only market in the city that has things in bulk. Bought lots of chicken for the week. Still trying to do Atkins, though I've been really bad about it recently.

Stopped at Starbucks to read for a while, but the guy next to me wanted to chat. Being a polite Southerner, I listened. The guy was a true blue New Yorker. Sounded like Archie Bunker and everything. I kept waiting for him to call me Meathead. As it was, he kept referring to me as Kid. Kind of nice actually.

Went to the gym both days this weekend. Feel great too. I didn't eat today; I know that most people think that's unhealthy, but I tend to feel better if I fast for a day or two every once in a while. Makes me feel more focused. May just be psychosomatic though.

So I'm sitting here killing time. I'm going to go see 'Mambo Italiano' tonight. I don't have high hopes, but I figure it could be funny. What the hell, it's worth a try.

That's pretty much it.

'Underworld' sucked.

I haven't blogged today because I'm in a really bad mood. Not one of my usual "life sucks and I'm going to die alone" bad moods either. I'm in an angry bad mood.

In an effort to overcome this bad mood, I'm going to go watch 'Underworld' tonight. Hopefully watching vampires and CGI werewolves rip each other to shreds will lighten my mood. We'll see.

In other news, I've decided not to go to the rugby game tomorrow. I'm not really up for a long trip just to watch the other guys play. I think I'll just go to the gym and clean house. My sofa and comfy chair should be here some time next week, so I've got to make some room for them.

While it was fun going out with Brian for his birthday, I'll admit that I was disappointed by the San Gennaro Festival. I was expecting something more like a festival you'd see in Italy. This was just another street fair, albeit one with more Italian food and more guys in velour track suits and gold chains. But there were still all the usual vendors with Greek food, African masks, reggae music, etc. Just like you'd find in Italy? I think not.

That being said, there was so much eye candy, that I don't even care about being disappointed. Italian boys. Dark hair. Light blue eyes. Fair skin. Mmmmmmm. Sure, most of them had accents that would make a Southerner's ears bleed and were obviously dumb as dirt, but oh so very pretty to look at. I also saw one guy who was my ideal type. Blond, thin, young . . . very Nordic (he even had a German (?) accent). Anyway, small, wire rim glasses, pretty smile. I was smitten.

Unfortunately, he sold me the worst calamari I've ever had in my life, so he is somewhat sullied in my memory.

The food was good, not great. I had the best canoli I've ever had in my life, though, so that was a good thing.

But it was a good time generally.

I went to the church and saw the statue of San Gennaro; I didn't burst into flames when I crossed myself with the holy water, which I consider to be a positive sign. Bought a rosary and a few medals (Sts. Jude, Christopher and Michael and one with the Ecce Homo on one side and the Virgin on the other); all of them were blessed by the priest. All in all, when the vampires rise up to take over the world, I'm ready.

Crash the Vampire Slayer. Somehow I don't think it would catch on.

My other disappointment of the evening, the disposable camera I bought to record the revelry and general brouhaha didn't have a fucking flash. And said rather plainly that it would only be good in sunlight. Damn.

Well, I'll get one with a flash for Saturday, because I plan on getting Brian totally plastered.

Celebrity sightings of the evening: Robert Pastorelli with his daughter enjoying the San Gennaro festival in Little Italy. I loved him in Murphy Brown, liked him in Cracker . . . but I hated the show (just watch the British version).

The other sighting was in my lobby of all places. Frank DeCaro from the Daily Show, chatting with Buddy and Pickles' daddy (Buddy and Pickles are two adorable dogs that live with their daddy in an apartment on my floor of the building).

My alcohoroscope, taken from Scott by way of the other Scott. Just to show you that it is somewhat accurate, I've decide to bold the parts that really fit well. Note that I'm bolding things that are only true when I drink in a good mood. When I drink in a bad mood . . . well, it just isn't pretty.

SAGITTARIUS

Drinking Style:

Vino veritas -- and, for Sagittarius, in booze blurtiness: When buttered,
they'll spill all your secrets and many of their own. Tactlessness aside,
Sagittarius is just plain fun to drink with. This is a sign of serious
partying (what else would you expect from the sign of Sinatra, Keith
Richards, the Bush twins and Anna Nicole Smith?). They're the people who chat
up everyone in the room, then persuade the entire crowd to travel somewhere
else -- like a nightclub, or a playground, or Cancun. Good-natured hijinks
are sure to ensue (including a high possibility of loopy groping; spontaneous
Sag is a brilliant booty call).

Trademark cocktails:

A travel-loving sign, Sagittarius might be intrigued by drinks like Moscow
mules, Singapore slings -- perhaps even a Long Island iced tea (not a bad
option, given how much Sag can put away and still stay vertical). Party
monsters that they are, they're attracted to shots, like the ever-popular
lemon drop. Sag rules pears, and could use a nice pear cider right about now,
come to think of it.

Drinking buddies:

The Bush twins, Margaret Cho, Noel Coward, Betty Ford, Lucy Liu, Brad Pitt,
Keith Richards, Frank Sinatra, Anna Nicole Smith, Britney Spears

I just took this life expectancy quiz. According to the results, I'll live to be 70. That means my next birthday will be the halfway mark.

In December my life will be half over.

Good thing it's all theoretical.

But I still kind of want to go lie down for a while.

Here's a cool description of the last big hurricane I went through.

It was amazing watching huge oak trees sway in the wind. But going without electricity for over a week in the hottest part of summer sucked.

I'm loaded. It's official. I'm the 46,418,565 richest person on earth! How rich are you? >>

One more celebrity sighting that I forgot to mention. This one was Saturday night (ironically). I saw Molly Shannon at the Chelsea Clearview movie theater. She looked about 11 months pregnant (and I'm not saying that she looked fat, just that she is a small, fairly thin woman and the pregnancy is very, very obvious). And she is just as cute as on TV. She has one of the best smiles I've ever seen.

Celebrity spotting on the way to work: Bill Hemmer from CNN lookin' all pinstriped and buttondowned.

Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday, Dear Briiiiiiiiiaaaaannnnn
Happy Birthday to you

Forgot to mention that I'm continuing my Joe Orton kick. I'm still reading 'Prick Up Your Ears' which is very interesting. Yesterday, I read a play called 'Cock-Ups' by Simon Moss that was an interesting (and somewhat absurdist) look at Joe and Ken's last hours. Hints of Orton's style with a little bit of Stoppard thrown in. Very good read.

I saw the new Heath Ledger movie, 'The Order', this evening. Really enjoyed it. I'll write a little more about it tomorrow.

Other than that, didn't do a damn thing tonight.

An hour on the phone with a crazy person. I need a vacation.

I should never, ever pick up the phone. People are fucking insane and all of them seem to have my number.

On the one hand, it's nice to be busy. On the other hand, it sucks donkey dick.

I have to deal with somewhat unstable people on a daily basis. Today I'm dealing with a lady that's a couple of props short of a scrum.

Can I please go home now?

The Family Guy Quote of the Day
Stewie (who's found out he's getting a present): Let me guess, you picked out yet another colorful box with a crank that I'm expected to turn and turn until -- OOO! big shock -- a jack pops out and you laugh and the kids laugh and the dog laughs and I die a little inside.

Okay, turns out the youth rugby thing did happen this weekend. I was just in the wrong place. Oops.

Now I feel like an idiot.

And my celebrity sighting of the day: Mayor Ed Koch was in the lobby of the movie theater that I went to. Lucky for him, he saw a different film.

The next time I decide to go see some new gay independent film that comes out, I think I'll just take a $10 bill out of my pocket, shred it, then poke myself in the eye for an hour and a half. Because that would have to be a great deal more fun than sitting through the movie I just saw. The film was called 'Luster' and it was pretty darn bad. Maybe, and that is a big maybe, in college I could have sat through a piece of self-indulgent crap like that and have thought it was deep, or even interesting. Nowadays, it's just self-indulgent crap. The story is simple: Poetic Rebel Boy (PRB) works at record store and writes a 'zine, the title of which suggests Big Rock Star (BRS) is gay. Best Friend (BF) runs the store and pines for PRB, but subtly. Yuppie Stalker (YS) pines for PRB, in a not-so-subtle way. PRB pines for Pretty But Evil Boy (PBEB). BRS likes PRB's 'zine and hires PRB to help him write songs. Then there was something about a cousin, a couple of lesbians, one of the guys from Pansy Division, and a bunch of other stuff that didn't really matter much to the plot. Then BF kils himself because he can never be with PRB in the way he wants to. And PRB is so saddened by the loss of his friend and the startling revelation that PBEB is, well, pretty but evil, that he decides to settle for YS and maybe fall in love with him . . . you know, like, someday . . . hopefully. But in the meantime, YS has a great house and money so, you know, I guess it will be, like, okay.

Most of the actors seem to have gone to the Porno School of Acting, with the exception of Shane Powers (who played BF) and actually seemed not only to understand what he was saying, but attempted nuance and characterization. And disappointingly, the other exception was Willie Garson who I understand was on 'Sex and the City' as a nebbishy gay guy and is a veteran character actor. I've seen him in tons of tv and films. He's actually a very good actor who, overall, delivered his lines well. But he was frightfully miscast in this. BRS was supposed to be this kind of Moby-ish rock star (not that we ever hear any of his music, mind you), who you find out later to be this disgusting, horrible sadist. Garson, while good at the Moby-ish thing, couldn't pull off disgusting or horrible. Picture Woody Allen trying to play Hannibal Lechter. Not exactly the right analogy, but it will have to do.

But according to the promo stuff that I've read about 'Luster,' the movie is all about unrequited love. And here is what it says. If you are in love with someone who doesn't love you back, you should stalk them (YS). Or you should kill yourself (BF). Or you should sleep with him once and then send him back to the midwest (PRB and his cousin . . . don't ask, it isn't important). Or you should take him in, only to have him rape your cousin (PRB, PBEB and the cousin . . . again, don't ask, it isn't important). And once you've done all this, you give up your infatuation and settle on someone you don't love, but who stalked you. Healthy LA lifestyle.

Well, needless to say, I don't recommend this movie.

Well, the pissiness continues. Dragged my ass up to Inwood today for the youth rugby thing and there was no one there. Apparently it was canceled. Didn't get any info about that, though.

Ah, well. At least I'm up and about. Normally I sleep till one or so on Sundays. Now I can go to Starbucks and read my book. I'm reading 'Prick Up Your Ears,' the Joe Orton biography by John Lahr.

I'm in a pissy mood. Which is loads better than a bad mood or a self-pitying mood. Though I suppose the self-pity thing plays into it.

It pissed me off not to play in the game today. Even though I know it's entirely my fault.

Mike was supposed to come to the game. I knew perfectly well he wouldn't show; it's just how he is. But it still pissed me off. He could have told me he was bailing, but he didn't even call.

Plus when I'm at the game and I'm not playing, there is an assumption that I am therefore at everyone's beck and call. (Brian, for the record I'm not bitching about helping to deal with the food . . . you actually bothered to ask me.) I want to help out; I genuinely do. But it pisses me off when people tell me to do things. Especially when they're telling me to do things that are in no way, shape or form my responsibility.

Then one of the coaches was giving me a hard time for not being up and cheerful at the drink-up.

And no one else from the team is coming to the youth rugby event tomorrow. Which means I'm sitting out there alone again, working the administration table while the others are off teaching the kids. I don't mind working admin. at these things . . . in fact, with my knees the way they are, that's exactly what I should be doing. I just hate working it by myself.

I've got a lot of other stuff to do tomorrow as well. And a conference on Monday. And a morning meeting Tuesday. Blah, blah, blah.

Now, on the "keeping me from getting too pissy" front, it was a great day for rugby. And the team has shown a marked improvement. Everyone seemed to have fun including the fans who showed up (that was kind of cool).

The other thing elevating my mood is that I finally watched one of the Buffy DVDs that Dino gave me. Watched the first four episodes. God, Xander was cute (or rather Xander reminds me of a guy I was fooling around with in college, so he brings up some of the cool feelings associated with that.) And David Boreanaz was really, really cute. He has certainly not aged well.

Well, off to bed so I can go to the youth rugby thing in the morning. 9 a.m. sharp. Bollocks.

No huge surprise here.


avoidant


Which Personality Disorder Do You Have?
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I love San Antonio, but this is why I'll never live there.

And this is just fucking hilarious.

The Family Guy Quote of the Day
Olivia (the snotty girl in Stewie's "Rising Stars" acting class): You are the weakest link. Goodbye!
Stewie: Oh gosh that's funny. That's really funny. Do you write your own material? Do you? Because that is so fresh. "You are the weakest link, Goodbye!" I've never heard anyone make that joke before. Mmm. You're the first. I've never heard anyone reference, um reference that outside the program before. Because that's what she says on the show, right? "You are the weakest link, Goodbye!" And yet you've taken that, and used it out of context, to insult me in this everyday situation. Gosh, what a clever, smart girl you must be, to come up with a joke like that by your self. Mmm. That's so fresh, too. Any Titanic jokes you want to throw at me while we're hitting these phenomena at the height of their popularity? Because I'm right here. God you're so funny!

Useless fact of the day
The sea cucumber, when threatened, will eject its internal organs from its anus. It later grows them back.

It's intestines are apparently very sticky and will bind to predators. I guess they get grossed out and swim away.

I love that people put links in their blogs. Always a lot of fun to click on something and see a page that I might never have found on my own.

However, I wish people would give me fair warning if the page I'm being sent to will start blasting irritating music. One, it startles me and frankly I don't need startling. And two, my office is right around the corner from one of the biggest of the bigwigs at my company.

Well, this is rather depressing. Kinda true, though I wouldn't say my losses have been on an unimaginable scale. More like a million little papercuts.


You are Loss.

Your life defines tragedy. You have experienced
great hardships on an unimaginable scale and it
has jaded your view of life.


What Emotion Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

I forgot to mention a celebrity sighting from Tuesday or Wednesday (the days are just running together this week): muMs from HBO's 'Oz'. He played Poet. Reading his bio on IMDb, it turns out that he went to the same High School as my friend Mike (and Sean "Whatever the hell he's calling himself these days" Combs).

muMs was crossing 7th Ave. down in the 20s. He'd dropped some weight since his Oz days; looking pretty good, except he was wearing one of those 'jiffy pop' knit caps.

I just got one of my more unusual hits. Someone from the Vatican (yep, the one in Rome) googling "'fred phelps' freezer wife." Since the Holy Father is on the road, I'm pretty sure it wasn't him.

I just wonder if the Vatican googler (who I choose to believe was exiled Cardinal Bernie "Chide 'em then Hide 'em" Law), was thinking of that other self-proclaimed "Christian," Tony Alamo, who after his wife's death in 1991 kept her embalmed body and urged his followers to pray for her immediate resurrection.

Psychos do the darnedest things. Right, Bernie?

I'm not going to practice tonight. Since I haven't been playing, I don't think it's going to matter much. Part of it is, I'm working late. By the time I get home, practice will alread have started and would be half over by the time I get out there.

But there is another reason. In the previous post, I mention Mark Bingham. He was one of the men on Flight 93 who was credited with helping to bring down the plane in Pennsylvania instead of in the Capitol Building or the White House. He was also the co-founder, of sorts, of my rugby club. I say "of sorts" because he died before the team started. He was talking with gay rugby players in the city about starting a team, but it hadn't gotten much further than that. One of our coaches/players/co-founders, Scott, made sure that the team became a reality. In memory of Mark.

The reason I'm glad I didn't go to practice is that Scott will very likely talk about all of this. And we'll likely have a moment of silence. All good things.

But things I can't handle now.

I've spent the day blinking tears out of my eyes. Remembering everything that happened that day. Being bemused at hearing about a plane hitting the tower; trying to figure out how that could happen. Thinking that it must have been some poor pilot who had a heart attack or stroke and lost control of his plane. Never dreaming that it could have been an airliner full of people.

Going to vote; it was a primary day. Coming home, taking a shower and coming back into my room to hear my mom leaving a very frantic message - her third during the 20 minutes or so I was showering - trying to make sure I wasn't downtown. She was the one who told me about the second plane. I turned on the TV to see the footage of the second plane hitting the tower. That footage burned itself into my mind like the Challenger explosion when I was in high school. A raw primal violence well beyond anything Hollywood has ever given us.

Mom knew I was sometimes downtown for my job. Receptions, meeting with clients, things like that. Luckily I wasn't. I was supposed to go down there that evening though. Cocktail party and awards reception.

The subway was still running to Times Square so I made it to work. The footage from the Pentagon was on all the screens in Times Square. I stopped for a moment to watch. It was so quiet. Everybody was just staring at the terrible images. When I reached the office, the first tower had just collapsed. By that point, the Internet was down. Most of the phones were, too. I called my dad to let him know I was okay; couldn't get through. Couldn't reach my mom. Or friends who were only a few streets away. I reached a friend of the family and asked her to call my mom. I'm sure she knew I was okay, but the news was full of stories about more planes that were unaccounted for. Times Square, Grand Central, the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building. All potential targets and all nearby.

Then the second tower fell. I realized at that point that I didn't know where two of my roommates worked. One was in finance. The other a temp. The last two were students and I knew they would have been at home or Columbia. But I was afraid for the two who I couldn't account for. And what about my other friends?

The office started to empty. No trains. The city was locked up. Where was everyone going? I stayed at the office. Would I be any safer on the streets? Friends at the office wondered if they should try to get to their apartments in Battery Park City. They set off walking. I don't think any of them made it lower than Houston before hitting roadblocks.

I lived uptown. No worry about getting there. I stayed at the office listening to the news. More planes missing. One shot down in Pennsylvania. Another shot down over DC. Planes diverted to Canada. Maybe a hijacked plane coming from Canada. Rumors, stupid of them to broadcast, but they had to do something. Maybe 10,000 people in the towers.

I finally reached my dad later in the day. He sounded okay. I asked him to call mom since I still couldn't get through. I found out later he had been trying to get through to me all morning. He knew that I was nowhere near the WTC, but he too knew I used to be down there from time to time.

I even reached one of my roommates who told me everyone was okay.

By the afternoon, my train was working so I went home. I just sat at home and watched the footage. Trying to absorb it. By the end of the evening, I could smell the burning plastic smell that was to hang over the city for weeks. I was nowhere near the buildings, way up on the Upper West Side, but I could still smell it.

And I saw the footage of the jumpers. If I could remove any image from my brain, it would be those. Most of the networks weren't showing it, thank God. But I flipped past Telemundo and there it was. They showed one person after the next, just jumping out into space.

I cried off and on for months. It was weird. Most of the time, it had a trigger. I would read one of the profiles of the victims in the NYTimes. Or would walk past a missing person flier. People were so hopeful that somone would be pulled from the wreckage. Or when I was working at one of the disaster relief locations a couple of months later and walked past the stuffed animals that the people of Oklahoma City donated to the children who'd lost parents in the attacks. Wept like a baby at that one, I did. It didn't help that I'd spent the morning working with people who had lost their jobs or spouses or both and were applying for emergency loans from the government and various charities.

But other times, it would just hit me. No warning. Just tears.

And I certainly couldn't talk about it. My throat would close up and the tears would start. And I was one of the really lucky ones. I didn't know anyone in the towers. Coworkers lost spouses, in-laws, siblings. Friends lost family or other friends. My office lost clients, whole businesses that just disappeared. But I didn't lose anyone. So why the hell did it feel like I did?

But bound up with all these bad feelings are the good things that I remember coming out of it. Lines of people at the blood banks. Hundreds of lawyers going to the Bar Association to volunteer in the way they best could. Moments of silence all over the world. E-mails and calls from friends that I hadn't spoken with in years, just to make sure I was okay. Moments of true selfless humanity.

And all of these feeling, good and bad, are lurking right below the surface today. And it would take so little to trigger a flood. Hell, I've been wiping away tears the entire time I've been typing.

And I'm okay with crying right now, by myself. I just don't want to do it in front of my friends. I want this to be mine. Maybe not the healthiest thing in the world, but there we have it.

Jesus. I intended this to be a little post. Guess I blew that. Sometimes when things get started, it gets a little tough to reign it back in.

This is a great article/interview with Alice Hoglan, Mark Bingham's mom. I got to meet her at the Bingham Cup last year; she's a really remarkable woman.

Wil Wheaton has a good 9/11 tribute on his blog today.

Just sort of makes you wonder:

Your soul is worth £42015. For your peace of mind, 17% of people have a purer soul than you.

What is your soul worth?

The funny thing about this is you can take away the word "dwarf" or the word "kangaroo" and the headline is still funny.

Funny, I always thought that Barbara was a Catholic name.

Just one other little note. It's been two years but I still can't talk about it without tears. Since the anniversary is tomorrow, naturally that's what people here are talking about.

Two years.

Hard to believe it's been that long.

Stayed up till two watching Family Guy. Had to be at the office at 8:45. So very, very tired.

And freakishly busy. So this will be a short entry and I'll write a little more this afternoon.

The Family Guy Quote of the Day
Stewie Griffin: Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but you're a bitch.

I got season three of Family Guy in the mail today. Woo hoo!!! I'm about to watch "When You Wish Upon a Weinstein" the episode that was banned in the US.

Tired. Drunk. Drank on an empty stomach. Bad Crash. Bad! Bad!

Anyway. You'll notice I now have two comment systems. Feel free to leave comments on either or both. As me sainted mother would say, whatever tickles your fanny.

Busy, busy, busy day.

I'll blog tonight, after rugby practice.

For a change.

The Buffy the Vampire Slayer Quote of the Day
Giles (on American football): I think it's rather odd that a nation that prides itself on its virility should feel compelled to strap on forty pounds of protective gear just in order to play rugby.


So true Giles, so very, very true.

Most days, I feel like the ugliest gay man on the planet. I know, I know . . . I'm not. God knows one trip to the steam room at the 14th St. YMCA puts that worry to rest. But we're talking about perception tainted by self-esteem or lack thereof. And most days for me, it's lack thereof.

The point is, every once in a while I look good. Now in reality, I no doubt look exactly the way I normally do; it's just that I perceive myself as looking good.

Today was one of those days.

I see it as a combination of factors. One, I got a haircut this weekend. I'm one of those guys who doesn't think about such things until someone says, "So you're growing your hair out, I see" or "Jesus, why don't you go get a haircut?" Then I actually take a look at myself and realize, yeah, I'm looking a little fuzzy. Then I get my crewcut back and all is right with the world.

The other thing was that I went to the gym. An hour on the bike revs up those endorphins and makes me feel good about myself and about the world generally.

Finally, I dressed up for work today. Normally, I go completely business casual. Today I dressed it up because I thought I was supposed to attend a meeting this afternoon that turns out to be Wednesday afternoon.

So there we go. I'm looking good today. And when I get this feeling, I smile, make eye contact and genuinely enjoy myself. And of course people resond to it.

Here, then, is the $10,000 question. How do I make this last? Why is it so easy for me to lose this feeling? Because I'll tell you, I like the way I feel now.

The Family Guy Quote of the Day (dedicated to Palochi since he used it first)
Stewie Griffin: Oh I feel so delightfully white trash! Mommy, I want a mullet!

Okay, why am I not surprised that this is being held in Beaver Falls?

The Family Guy Quote of the Day
Peter Griffin (seeing neighbor Joe coming to play baseball): Holy crip, he's a crapple.

Good weekend. Got a ton of stuff done on Saturday, saw Mike I., all that. The fire wasn't too terrible. I still don't know what the story was, but the basement reeks of smoke and burnt plastic. Found a box of porn that one of my neigbors had put in the recycling bin. Can you even recycle porn in that way? I decided to assist in the recycling process by taking three films: Apprende (which should have an accent aigu over the last e), CatalinaVille (which no doubt will feature hot surfer boys), and Norwegian Wood (a title which makes me giggle).

So there, Mother Earth. I'm doing my part.

Now I just need a TV and VCR.

Two celebrity spottings while I was fleeing my burning building. Tom Mardirosian (who I see so often that I will cease to consider this to be blog-worthy) and Mario Batali, who looks like, and I mean no disrespect to him or to short people everywhere, he is the official chef of Munchkin City. Or perhaps someone who should be stirring chocolate for Willy Wonka. But I hear he's a marvelous chef. My folks love him.

Today I did next to nothing. Slept really late (my allergies have been extremely bad which makes me hibernate). Got up, read, went to the gym and rode the bike for an hour (while continuing to read). Finished the book (a Madeline L'Engle book 'Many Waters' which is part of her 'A Wrinkle in Time' series) and started reading a book of Mae West plays because there is one that I'm planning to rip off . . . I mean "adapt". . . in the near future. Then I ran an errand for the rugby club, which should have taken 5 minutes but took closer to an hour (you owe me, Brian!) and got my Crema Lita chocolate peanut butter ice cream. Yum.

So here I am. And now I'm off to bed.

The Family Guy Sight Gag of the Day
Sign outside of a meeting hall reads "Tomorrow: Dyslexic Film Society presents Chevy Chase in 'Feltch'"

Small fire. Out now. And I have no other details.

On the up side, lots of woofy firemen in and around the building.

My apartment building appears to be on fire. I think I'll head out.

I'll let you know what happens.

I'm sitting here listening to Hanson (screw you, don't judge me). It is impossible (well, difficult) to be in anything but a good mood while listening to three relentlessly perky teenagers singing in harmony. That coupled with the fact that I managed to go to the Farmers' Market, Chelsea Market, read for two hours at Starbucks, get a haircut and order my loveseat, chair and ottoman, means that I'm in a remarkably good mood.

I also got to spend about ten minutes with Mike'n (David was working) and with Mike I., my Kentucky friend who is in town for the weekend for a friend's mother's birthday. I wish I could have spent a little more time with him, but it's enough sometimes just to see a face, hear the voice and feel the arms wrapped around you. Some --

Mmmm-Bop . . . sorry. I love this song (screw you, don't judge me). Now, I must dance - - be right back.

(Okay, that was one of my sillier spontaneous moments. For shits and giggles (as me sainted mother always says) I'll describe what just happened. My need to dance swept me up. Lacking a great deal of space because I've been unpacking, I just kind of hopped around twirling my arms for a minute. Then I started jumping/dancing up the stairs from my living room. It was sort of like Shirley Temple in 'The Little Colonel' if instead of a cute, curly haired little girl, Shirley had been a big, hairy, rugby guy with a buzzcut. I think that would have hindered her career, however. All I can say is thank God I don't have a webcam. You know, considering the crappy mood I've been in of late, I really needed that.)

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Making a serious point about the nature of friendship. My point was I love talking to my friends who are all over the country, but sometimes I just need to see, hold, smell and touch them. Remind my body that they are real. Sometime friendship needs to be tactile.

I don't know if that made any sense, but that's the best I can do to describe it.

Anyway, I got this from Wayne's site and thought I'd put it here. Read on and learn . . .

10 bands/singers you've been listening a lot to lately:
1. Hanson (screw you, don't judge me)
2. SClub7 (ditto)
3. Tracy Chapman
4. Tasmin Archer
5. Indigo Girls
6. Jimmy Dorsey and His Orchestra (I'm working on a play set in a 1940's nightclub)
7. Glenn Miller
8. The Andrews Sisters
9. Benny Goodman
10. The Carpenters

9 things you look forward to:
1. Blogging
2. Hanging out with Mike'nDavid
3. Going to the Farmers' Market
4. Drinking with the rugby boys
5. My comfy chair
6. Mashed potato day at the office cafeteria (Thursdays)
7. Fall (my favorite season)
8. My birthday dinner (I always go out for a really good steak)
9. Weekends reading at Starbucks

8 things you like to wear:
1. Boxer briefs
2. My glasses
3. Obsession for Men
4. My Ohm ring
5. My Celtic ring
6. My "Faux"vado watch
7. Hiking Boots
8. My rugby t-shirts

7 things that annoy you:
1. Humidity
2. Cell phones and the people who use them constantly
3. Loud music
4. People who break plans with me
5. Paper cuts
6. The constant pain in my knees
7. My stereo which is on the fritz

6 things you say most days:
1. I'll look it up for you
2. Can I get that to you later this week?
3. Oh, I've wasted my life (from the Simpson's spoof of "The Omega Man")
4. Upstairs? Noon? (to my work lunch buddy)
5. It's me. Call me back. (Phone tag with my friends)
6. Cool.

5 things you do everyday:
1. Shower
2. Blog
3. Question my life choices
4. Eat
5. That thing that makes Jesus cry

4 people you'd like to spend more time with:
1. The friends I've lost touch with
2. My grandfather (I miss him terribly and would give anything I own just to be able to hug him one more time. You never realize until it's too late)
3. My mom and dad (they get on my nerves sometimes, but I'd be lost without them)
4. Any of the people I've been lucky enough to call my best friend

3 movies you could watch over and over again:
1. Beautiful Thing
2. Young Frankenstein
3. My Favorite Year

2 of your favorite songs at the moment:
1. Fast Car
2. Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy

1 person you could spend the rest of your life with:
1. Moot point until I find one that would spend the rest of his with me.

I actually accomplished things today, both at work and at home (good boy!). So as a reward, I'm going to buy me a sofa and comfy chair tomorrow. Of course, that means I won't have the sofa and comfy chair for 6-8 weeks, but that is beside the point. I will have my sofa and comfy chair in spirit.

I only have 10 more boxes of books to unpack. Then of course the boxes from my mom's will arrive, including about 7-8 more boxes of books. Do I have enough shelf space for all of them, you ask? No. C'est la vie. The last time I did a major move (from East Texas to Eastern Pennsylvania), I had to get rid of hundreds of books because I simply didn't have the room for them. Most of these were hardcover, first editions. I hate the fact that I had to do that. I mean paperbacks, unless they are rare out-of-print ones, aren't really a loss. But hardcover . . .

Someday, when I'm really, really rich (or married to someone who is), I'm going to have one of those big, oak and leather, laddered, 'Room With a View,' typically English, manor house libraries. I'm going to grow old sitting in a leather club chair, next to a fire, drinking my port and reading.

I've quoted it before and I'll quote it again: I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library.
-Jorge Luis Borges

From my office, I can see into the office across the hall. A new guy has been moved in there. He's gay. He's cute. And for some reason he's leaning over the desk.

My word, he has a cute butt.

If life were like a Chi Chi LaRue movie, we'd be having sex soon while speaking stilted, badly-wrought dialogue.

Sadly, my life is never like a Chi Chi LaRue movie. Or a George Duroy movie, which would be infinitely preferable.

Mine seems to be an Alan Smithee film. And I have to say, the plot is lacking, the lead is miscast and the special effects suck. And would it be too much to ask to get a decent soundtrack?

The Family Guy Quote of the Day
Peter (to Gloria Ironbachs [say it outloud] who has just told him he has to attend a gender sensitivity seminar): If I wasn't so sure you were a lesbian, I would say you were coming on to me.

Some Song Lyrics That Sort of Fit My Mood
written by Bruce McCabe and David Z
performed by Jonny Lang
from the album Lie to Me

Lie to me
and tell me everything is all right
Lie to me
and tell me that you're stayin' the night
Tell me that you'll never leave
Oh and I'll just try to make believe
That everything
everything you're tellin' me is true
Come on baby won't you just
Lie to me
Go ahead and lie to me
Lie to me
Go ahead and lie to me
Lie to me
and it don't matter anymore
It could never be
the way it was before
If I can't hold onto you
leave me somethin I can hold on to
For just a little while won't you
won't you let me dream
Come on

Oh anyone can see
that you love him more than me
But right now baby
let me pretend
That our love will never end
Lie to me
Come on baby
Go ahead and lie to me
You know just what I'm talkin about
Lie to me
Go ahead and lie to me
I just want you to lie to me

Between my work e-mail crashing and Blogger crashing, I'm just about ready to call it a day.

Wrote a long post this afternoon. Eaten by cybergremlins, it was.

Wrote two big-ass e-mails (or rather one big-ass e-mail twice) for work, both times the system has crashed.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck!!

No huge surprise here:


Which Family Guy Character are you? Take the Quiz!

This (and of course the fact that I'm butt-ugly) is the reason that I don't go home with strangers.

The Family Guy Quote of the Day
Lois Griffin (to Peter who has recently had plastic surgery): Peter, did you paste a new picture of yourself on our wedding picture?
Peter Griffin: Yeah I think it looks better.
Lois Griffin: You pasted it over me!
Peter Griffin: Yeah I think it looks better.

Okay, now I have SquawkBox and YAACS as my comment systems. Only SquawkBox is available now because the other one is down for a week. I don't know what I'll do when they're both up and running. Fuck it. I'll deal with that later.

My friend, Lee, sent me this link in reference to something I had written about Paul Hill (it has been changed). I'm not entirely sure that I agree with everything that I've read so far (it's a bit dense so I only read a couple of chapters), but I thought it would be interesting to get some feedback. If the comment system ever comes back up, let me know what you think.

Well, I stand corrected. They executed the fucker.

I fully expect that home-grown terrorist Paul Hill will be spared at the last minute; after all he's the sort of fellow the Republicans normally suck up to.

It also begs the question; if I'm supposedly going to hell for breaking some obscure Levitican rule (20:13 if you're interested), why does he think he's going straight to heaven after breaking one of the Big 10?

And while I'm at it, why is it that people seem to be so keen on making me live under Leviticus 20:13 when they get to pick and choose which of the Levitican laws they want to follow?

Yes, I'm amusing and I like algebra. Well, at the very least, I think I'm amusing and I like algebra.

I posted this as a comment on Palochi's site; I thought it was amusing.

a + b - c = d

a = rugger
b = beer
c = women; a civilizing effect, especially for the straight boys who are trying to get into their pants
d = wild times

xa + xyb - c + e = d to the power of xy

x = a number greater than one, likely around 30 (the minimum number of players on two rugby sides)

xy = the number of ruggers (x) times the number of beers each will consume (typically between 6-10)

e = rugby songs, joyful hymns to drunkeness, deviant sex and rugby; a strong uncivilizing effect

d to the power of xy = puke-in-the-street-wake-up-with-a-stranger wild times

Somebody go buy me this. NOW!

Here I was all psyched that the comment system was up and running, and now the bloody thing is off again. Crap.

I skipped rugby last night. It's clear to me that I won't be playing this season. Oh well. My own fault, really.

Truth be told, I've been so depressed for the last . . . well, it seems like months . . . that I've been finding it hard to be motivated to do anything. So last night rugby was the casualty. All I want to do is sleep and I can't even do that. I go to bed and stare at the ceiling for hours. Between the nightmares and the anxiety attacks, what sleep I'm getting isn't terribly restful.

I think this is all some sort of mid-life crisis, albeit a little early. I always was rather precocious. I can't help but think that I've done nothing with my life so far. So here I am. Living in a city that I have no ties to. In a job that holds no future for me. Spending so much on my apartment and various other "New York" expenses that I have no real savings at hand. No boyfriend. Trailing around after my friends, hoping that they'll fill some of the void in my life, but they have their own lives to lead. As I've bitched about before, there just isn't anything in my life for me to feel passionate about.

And the worse part is, I know it's my fault.

I keep myself numb. I don't allow myself passion because it's dangerous. If you feel passion about something, you can be hurt by it. And I suppose I'm too scared of being hurt. Lame excuse, but there it is.

So, time for some changes.

My writing is always one of the first things that gets shoved aside when I'm depressed, that and the gym. So it's time to kickstart both of those. I may not play rugby this season, but I'll be damned if I'm not going to be playing in the spring.

I keep getting ideas for plays then I set them aside. My new goal is to write for at least an hour a day. Not enough to feel overwhelmed, but enough to prime the pump and get me going again.

I'm also going to look at some of the local universities to see what their Ph.D. programs are like. Clearly the job I'm in will always pay more than teaching, but I'd rather be on a campus somewhere. The environment is better.

So, let's see if any of this helps bring me back to the world of the living.

The Family Guy Quote of the Day
Peter Griffin: Listen Lois, I know you're a feminist and I think that's adorable, but this is grown-up time and I'm the man.

Well, looks like blogspot is down again. Not that you'd know it by going to the blogger "status blog." Nope everything is hunky dorey there.

Dimwits.

Well, who cares? I guess I can still write and that's all that's important. Not that I have anything to say right now. In fact, I'm going to log off and go to bed now.

No Haikuesday poems from Palochi or Daddy Biscuits so I'll start. No stated theme, just pick up on the general feel of the thing.

My innermost thoughts
Posted here for all to see
Funny how this works

Pepys, Orton, Anne Frank
All wrote a similar thing.
Or did they really?

Did Sam Pepys know then
That generations later
He would still be read?

Anne Frank's diary
Was meant for her alone but
Millions have read it

Orton's rise, Ken's fall
Captured in his journal; hints
Of their tragic end

What then of my words?
Are they clues to my future?
Echoes of my past?

My words are read now
Will they be read once I'm gone?
Should I really care?

Is it some sort of
Immortality I seek
Or instant feedback?

Motivation is
Not that important I guess.
J'écris donc je suis.

Someone just found my site looking for the lyrics to Ladies Who Lunch. I ran their search to see what other sites it would turn up. One of them was the Barenaked Ladies fan site.

The image that popped into my head was Barenaked Ladies Who Lunch.

It made me giggle.

And for those of you who haven't noticed, my comment system isn't working. So if you want to let me know how interesting and brilliant my posts are, you'll have to e-mail me. There's a link on the lower right side of the page.

If the comment system doesn't start working soon, I may have to find a new one.

I'm fucking exhausted today. I stayed up way too late last night reading the Joe Orton diaries. Fascinating stuff. I read them years ago in college. Funny how a decade or so will change your attitude toward things. Much more interesting this time through, especially since I catch many more of the references.

Now I have to dig out my copies of his plays and read through them. Who knows, I may even make a trip up to Boston to see the John Lahr collection and read some of this stuff first hand. Much better reading that way.

Odd thing to think, Joe Orton died when he was younger than I am. Well, makes me feel like I haven't accomplished a damn thing in the last few decades. But then again, I haven't been beaten to death with a hammer like he was, so all things considered, I suppose I'm doing okay.

One of the funnier things from rereading the diaries, there was to be a filmed version of Entertaining Mr. Sloane (don't know if it was filmed or not) with Patricia Routledge. When I first read the diaries, that name meant nothing to me. Now I know her as Hyacinth Bucket from Keeping Up Appearances. Hard to picture her in something as edgy as Mr. Sloane, but then this was thirty-five years ago.

I mean, if Charlotte Rae could do a sex farce, I guess I can see Patricia Routledge doing Orton.

Odd though.

The Family Guy Quote of the Day
Doctor: Mr. Griffin I'm saying you're fine.
Peter Griffin: Now what? Are you coming on to me?
Lois Griffin: Peter, he's not coming on to you. He's trying to tell you you're healthy.
Doctor: Can't it be both?