Gay Men I Admire

Oddly enough, this entry contains spoilers for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. You have been warned. But honestly, if you haven't read the book yet, you're probably not too concerned.

1. Ian McKellan - Total class act.
2. Lance Bass - I know "envy" is different than "admire", but I want his hot boyfriend.
3. Albus Dumbledore - Ok, bear with me. First of all, obviously I admire the man. Everyone does. Okay, and my friend today at lunch mentioned how he's so obviously gay. Think about it! Never married... no documented female companions of any sort, and then that mysterious and attractive Grindlewald shows up and suddenly they disappear together for hours, days at a time. Even years all those years later, Dumbledore still wanted his hands on Grindlewald's Elder Wand. Dumbledore? More like DumbleWHORE! Ok, I'm done.
4. Ok, I can't think of any more.

So that's one person, one fictional character, and one "don't really admire." That certainly failed. Here's a picture of Iceman.

UPDATE 10/20/07: Totally called it!

Oh, and I should probably say that clearly I don't really think Dumbledore is a whore. I just can't resist such an easy pun.

Thoughts on the announcement. Another 2-minute blog entry. Don't expect much.

Unoriginal Whiny Gay Blogger Crap Based on Sweeping Stereotypes, Canned Emotions, and a Severely Limited Homosexual Worldview: My Annual Allotment

In Which I Am Deluded Enough to Believe I Am Different From Everyone Else

The results of my poll have been overwhelming. Of one participant (so far) 100% of responses indicate that indeed everyone in New York City is an emotional fuckjob.... at least among gay men, which is pretty much what I meant.

As it turns out, if you're not a loser with no future, then you're a crazy workaholic who only has time for a little after-hours bump-n-grind as long as you're up for your conference call. If you're not falling in love with everyone you meet at the drop of a hat, then you can't commit to more than a "you seem cool" because you're seeing three other guys.

You've all dealt with this. Then, FINALLY, you find someone who wants to properly date, but after going out a couple times, oh it turns out they have GROSS emotional problems and run away or smack you (true story) or otherwise make you wish they didn't exist. What the hell is everybody's problem? Sex and the City was supposed to be fiction, people!

Look, I know not every guy I meet is going to be a candidate for Mr. Righthood. I have no problem with a one-night stand or a shallow, just-for-fun relationship because sometimes that's all that something's gonna be. It takes all types, right? Those things are fine as long as it's established (even non-verbally) that that's all the relationship is. But doesn't anybody want to try out the long-haul thing?

Let me rephrase that. Doesn't anybody my age who's not socially deficient want to try the long-haul thing? Because I've met enough internet-trolling basement dwellers taking their monthly break from World of Warcraft to try and cast Lvl 16 Romance on me to last a lifetime. (...said the member of the NYC Buffy the Vampire Slayer Fanclub.)

I'm also well aware that some people are just not into me. I mean, fine, we go on a date, you change your mind. Whatever. But sometimes, GOD, can't people smell chemistry? If we spend an awesome evening together doing dinner and drinks and walking without a break in the lively conversation and then go home and spend an even more lively night together... WHY not call me back? But, fine. If we spend all week together fawning and gazing and being more comfortable than we've ever felt with someone so early on in a relationship, why suddenly stand me up with no explanation?

It's a matter of respect. That's what I'm upset about here. If you don't want to be with me, ok, but don't put on a show. Don't act all perfect gentleman on our first couple dates only to call me a couple days later asking to come over and fuck. Don't just disappear without a trace when it's clear we owe each other more than that. Don't pretend I'm the only person you're seeing if all you want to do is casually date a few people. I won't care! I won't care until I get invested, and I'll only get invested if I think you are.

Since I moved to this city, I've dated exactly two people who I was into and who were relationship-oriented, level-headed, and respectful. I remain friends with both of them. They didn't work out, but you'll never catch me bitching about them. Everyone else I find myself liking has played some sort of game that involved not being up-front with me. And I'm tired.

Poll

Is everybody in New York City a complete emotional fuckjob?

Circle one: yes or no

Passive-Aggressive

Dear Diary,

Today I was an asshole.

We're getting a phone system installed at work for no reason, and the office phone is at my desk. So this guy came around looking for it so he could put the new phone model next to it to wait for the installation people to come on Friday. He was looking all over the place and walked by my desk like 3 times, but didn't see the phone. I'm in a shitty mood, so I decided I wasn't going to help him unless he asked because the phone is totally visible.

Anyway, then someone suggested that I help him out, and I said "What do I care? He'll find it on his own." Only I said it really loud and he heard me and looked at me. Then he came over here and put the new phone on top of my flip-top cabinet, which is pretty much the stupidest thing ever done because if I open the hatch like I do 20 times a day, the phone would crash onto this other girl's desk and probably kill her and break the phone. So I got up and moved while saying "What kind of idiot would put this thing here?" I'm not sure if he heard that one.

It was the best day ever.

Hello, Salazar... IF that's your real name!

Holy crap, I totally forgot to tell you this story! So I'm sitting at the park in Union Square one gorgeous morning very recently. I had a latte and some pound cake and nothing to do.

Well about 10 seconds after I sat down, this kid walks up to me and smiles and sits down next to me. He's short, oddly-dressed, younger but attractive. He had this weird glove thing on that might have once been a striped sock. His whole outfit was a bizarre Hot Topic mess, but somehow it endeared me to him. Not in a sexy way.

He said hi and asked me if I was gay, which was awkward, and then he told me I was attractive, which ok, made me feel a little weird, but he was nice enough and how often do you just get approached in the park by potentially interesting strangers? So I kept chatting with him without flirting back.

It was entertaining enough, but about 10 minutes into the conversation, I realized something. Based on his body language and a few subtle things he had said, it dawned on me that the kid was totally 100% full of shit! Nothing he had said to me was true.

It wasn't like he told some out rageous lie that clued me in. It was little things. He was "a little off" in general, but on top of that, there were tiny inconsistencies in his stories, and he was a little too quick to agree with me and change his opinion to suit mine. At one point, he was talking about filming a movie with a friend in high school, but then he said something about the "audience." Very weird. I concluded that he didn't work at the restaurant he said he worked at. I also concluded he didn't live with a friend in Brooklyn. Then he mentioned that he had been in Hairspray on Broadway for about a month, and that sealed the deal. B to the ullshit, if this kid was in Hairspray, then I'm Brooke Shields.

I don't know why she just popped into my mind.

Anyway, I decided to have fun with it and see if I could really catch him in something. We had talked about ancestry for a minute, so I went with that. He said both of his parents were Romanian and that he was born there, moved to America as a baby, but sometimes goes back to visit. First he said he wants to live there. Then he said it's depressing and everyone wears grey. I said "A minute ago, you said it was beautiful and you loved it." That's when he started going off on how goth he was.

Goth people are bad enough, but someone claiming to be goth when he clearly is not is really a sight to behold. We talked about Hellraiser and gross horror things. He made up some cock-n-bull story about a Tim Burtonesque play he did in high school that was WAY to edgy and horrid to be believable, especially if he really grew up in Idaho or whatever state he claimed to be from. I forget. Sadly, he did not seem interested in my recommendation that he read The Sandman. I started inserting lines from Mean Girls and Clueless into the conversation, and when he got them, I told him that no self-respecting goth would ever watch those movies, especially not enough to appreciate my citations. I told him I hated gory depressing things and only liked happy things like Pokemon and Harry Potter, and he was pretty on board with that, so I dismissed the goth thing right away as a total effort to be different. Lame.

Anyway, I wasn't done with the ancestry thing, so I said "Wow, so Romania, huh? Do you speak any Romanian since you've been there so much?" And this is the VERY best part of my story. He told me he only knew one phrase, so I told him to say it, and do you know what he said to me? He went: "Ssssssaaya-haasssssassshhhhheee."

I snorted. Obviously this little con-artist didn't know he was dealing with the biggest Harry Potter fan in the tri-state area. I looked right at him and said "That's Romanian? Y'know, that sounds a lot like Parseltongue." He went "Oh... uh.... yeah, I guess it sounds a little like it, but it's Romanian." My ample buttocks it's Romanian! That was the exact effing phrase Harry used to open the Chamber in the second movie! A little like Parseltongue!!? Bitch, please!

He said it meant "Have a nice day." I said it sounded like a death threat.

Then he changed the subject, and we ended up talking about my plan for the rest of the day. I said "cleaning my apartment", which was true (you should see it, it looks so good right now.) He wanted to help. When I said having people help made me uncomfortable, he said he wanted to watch. When I said "I don't want anyone watching me clean, that's so weird" he fessed up and said he wanted to fuck. Hm. Yeah, whatever. I'd bet money that homeboy didn't have a place to stay and wanted a roof over his head, at least until I fell asleep and he could make off with my valuables. HA! Wouldn't he be disappointed! The most valuable things I own are my Buffy DVDs, a plastic model golden snitch, and a little stuffed Jigglypuff, and I don't think "sentimental value" has a very good exchange rate on the streets.

So I said no to his offer of unprotected sex and a free STI with purchase, gave him a fake phone number, and left for the subway.... but not before he asked me to spot him two dollars so he could "get a snack."

I have a feeling I may have stumbled on an established New York phenomenon: the lying gay homeless weirdo who uses flattery and pretty eyes to exploit the needy hearts of successful young men. Anyone else had an experience like this?

Respect the Cruller

Ever thought you were doing one thing with one friend on a Saturday night, but it turns out you're hanging out with numerous members of the NYC Watcher's Council, the local Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan club? I have! Now I'm a chartered member of geekdom.

The event was the Buffy the Vampire Slayer Once More With Feeling Sing-Along, which started at freaking midnight and therefore didn't get me home until 3:30. I've never been awake and sober out in the city at that hour. It's an unusual perspective, of which I think I've had enough.

Anyway, the sing-along was super fun even if the audience wasn't very lively. I was singing louder than anyone on the Spike and Giles songs. They fit my range really well and make me feel like a real boy and a rockstar. I bombed the trivia contest because I am the dumbest person I know, so I didn't win the Cordelia "The Wish" action figure. I went home and cried about it because nobody realizes that the turquoise dress/cardigan combo she's wearing in that episode is one of my favorite costumes of the Whedonverse. (Also on the list are Dawn's slutfest get-up from Season 7's "Him"--"What is that dress made of? Paint?"--Anya's bunny suit, and that horrid pink thing Kaylee wears to the ball.)

Yeah... ok, anyway, that's what I did Saturday night. I'm actually proud of myself because I usually shy away from singing in public unless I'm intoxicated, but I really got into it without any chemical assistance. I don't care what you think of me, my Saturday night was cool.

Yesterday, I went to the Frick gallery with a lovely friend from college to remind myself that I don't know shit about art. Luckily, unlike last time when I was on a date with a gorgeous Icelandic boy I really wanted to impress, I didn't worry about being judged by my companion yesterday. I absent-mindedly put a finger on a table at one point and got yelled at by a security guard, but other than that the visit was pleasant and not embarassing.

Now I want to learn something about art history. My goal is that next time I go to an art museum, I want to share at least three (3) facts with whoever I am with even if it's stuff they already know. The best part is that if they're really simple facts, not only are they easy to learn, but also I can say them in such a way that it sounds like I know a lot more but don't want to overload my companion's plebian mind with too much culture. That will mean I finally have class.

Template: "I like your _______." Easy!

I'm just gonna come out and be honest about it. I've had a fair number of admirers in my life.

By no means do I think I'm some drop-dead gorgeous hot commodity or anything, but every now and then, there's a guy who digs me. Hooray, right? Most of them are about 1,000, but it's still good for the ol' ego to hear now and then that people appreciate me.

For a long time, I wasn't able to take a compliment from anyone. Tell me you like my eyes, and I'd look away. Admire my hair, and my hand went up there to fix it. It's a messy combination of shyness and lack of self-confidence that we won't get into because I'm over it. Or if I'm not over it, at least I've learned to be gracious about it.

But one thing people constantly say to me with the best intentions always makes me totally uncomfortable. There isn't one graceful response, I don't find it the least bit flattering, and it makes me instantly dismiss any prospect of dating a guy who says it.

It has many variations, but the gist of it is: "Wow, you're so smart/fun/sexy/faaaabulous/neat WHY DON'T YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?"

I know. They're being nice and saying I deserve a wonderful guy. But it sounds like they're trying to figure out what's secretly wrong with me. And what they're REALLY making me think--rather than "Oh, that's so sweet"--is the answer to that question, which is "I have no idea, why don't you ask all the guys that reject me?" or "Well, I've had a couple, but my gross emotional problems preclude the sustainment of anything lasting."

I used to respond with something awkward to try and communicate how their question wasn't really flattering at all like "Because I am afraid to love" or "I am shy and lack self-confidence, so I am unable to accept when people like me and eventually drive them away with my depression and social anxiety," but then people started thinking they'd be my Saving Grace Fucking Messiah Of My Heart, so I had to stop that.

I mean, hell, even agreeing with the question makes me sound like a self-righteous asshole. "Oh, I dunno, I mean you're right, I am after all practically perfect in every way; it's a wonder people are too thick to figure out that I'm the man for them." The only proper answers are "Thank you" and "I don't know" but they're both lies because I'm NOT grateful and I DO know. It drives me nuts.

So, yeah, I'm enough of an asshole that I just wrote an entire blog entry complaining of how people compliment me. But please, you can't tell me I'm wrong. That's an awkward thing to say! So never say it to me, ok? Just pick a feature and tell me you like it. Don't try to delve into my torrid relationship history and drudge up memories of failed romance. It's not the way to get me going.

You Broke the Code

Evidently, though nobody saw fit to inform me of this, my ZIP code has changed. From sometime recently on, the east side of Manhattan between 77th and 80th St. has been 10075. I found out because Netflix sent me an e-mail telling me they updated my address. That's how I found out. And since I can't depend on other organizations being as intelligent or courteous as Netflix, I have to contact EVERYBODY to let them know. My bank, my bills, my gym, my work, my mom, probably a million other things I won't remember. It's a pain in the ass, and for what!?!

10075. What a bullshit number.

I just got totally caught blogging at work, so you'd better appreciate this

I know I never post this much in one day, but check out this guy's blog post for a glimpse into a parallel universe.

Watch the video before you continue.

That video is like one of those puzzles in Highlights magazine where you have to find things that are different between two pictures. You stare at them both and they look the same, but there's something wrong. Then suddenly something jumps out and turns your world upside-down.

I think the casting change is good. That dumpy guy playing neat-freak Danny Tanner? I think not.

Spaghetti Ice Cream

Yay or nay?

The Statement of the Great Mint

This morning in Grand Central, I saw two women walk into eachother's path. When they noticed eachother, they both stopped, looked irritated, and went around on their slightly less merry way. Big deal, right? Typical morning traffic.

The thing is, these two women looked exactly the same! Their noses, their red hair, their cheekbones, eyes, fashion sense, scowl--every line and wrinkle was an exact clone. I was amazed, and they didn't even notice! These were well-kept women, too, who obviously spend a fair amount of time in front of the mirror every morning. I watched for one of them to at least do a double take and acknowledge her doppelganger, but nothing.

It's true that people have a hard time noticing when someone has a resemblance to themselves, probably because we're so intimately familiar with our own features. Even when it's pointed out, the most you'll probably get from someone is "Oh, yeah, I guess maybe." But I'm not sure how to impress upon you that these women were exact copies.

I don't know if they were just too wrapped up in getting to their crappy jobs or what. New York commuters do seem to have a certain glaze. (I know I often find myself at work one minute and home the next with no memory of the interim.) It's just so sad that they missed it.

Being adopted, I have this fun avenue to fantasize that I have a twin brother wandering around somewhere out there. It's one of my favorite things to daydream about. (That and my Princess Diaries-inspired "I'm the last remaining blood kin to a billionaire royal family in some other gay-friendly country and I get to marry a sexy prince and be rich with him and produce no heirs" fantasy.) Anyway, I'm always secretly on the lookout for this brother of mine because I am convinced that our body chemistry and secret psychic connection you have driven us to live in the same city.

If I ever found him, I would probably freak out and faint, but he'd do the same thing so I wouldn't be embarassed. And then we'd get to talk and see how we turned out different (because it doesn't work out in that bullshit Sister Sister we're-the-same way, I'm way too much like my parents for that to be possible. P.S. Tia rules, Tamara drools.) Maybe we'd get drunk and make out, I dunno.

The point is, I certainly wouldn't scowl and stalk off. Clearly these women have no imagination.

Y'know what would suck? If both of my fantasies came true. I bet my twin would be 20 seconds older than me and would get to wear the crown, and I'd be stuck being some shitty duke or something. And then I'd have to kill him, and the only benefit of that is getting to impress you with my knowledge of cool words like fratricide.

Not in Kansas

So. Anyone else pissed by the lame tornado that bopped on through? There was a thunderstorm attached.

I did not move out of the Midwest for this. And yet... if this were the midwest, I bet the entire freaking city wouldn't have shut down. How come every time it rains, the transportation system can't handle it? Don't they plan for these things? I'm sure when they were building the subways, it must have rained a few times. Did they all stand around afterwards thinking "Wow, I'm glad that will never happen again?"

UPDATE: I didn't actually get hit by the tornado. I just wanted to make that clear. I did, however, have to walk to work this morning, which was a royal suckfest because the torrential rainstorms didn't even have the courtesy to drive the humidity away.

Xanadu

Xanadu! Xanadu-woo-woo! Now we are here IN XANADU-OO-OO-OO!

Ok, I saw this show last night, and it was the most fantastic thing ever to grace a Broadway stage. It's based (a bit loosely) on that ridiculous movie from 1980 with Olivia Newton John. The show last night starred Kerry Butler and Sex.

We had on-stage seating, which was a ton of fun. First, I got to stare at the sexy man's ass the entire time. (I guess for the sake of Google search hits, I should say his name is Cheyenne Jackson naked. He has a lovely voice.) Anyway, it was fun, and I made my Broadway debut as a dancer! They gave us all glow sticks so we could get up and dance during the Finale. Mine was blue and I still have it with me glowing in my bag. Ooh, also, the girl playing Calliope sat next to me at one point and I ate her popcorn and she complimented my hair because we were both fake redheads.

Anyway, I don't know anything about theater and I'm not going to pretend I do. But every one of those actors was spot on and having the time of their life. Kerry Butler was hilarious and charming, and I sorta want to marry her. My friends were commenting that the finale was tighter than it had been in the past, which is good. I didn't really notice because I was too busy trying not to look retarded with my glow stick.

So anyway, I wanted to recommend this show to everyone who might ever consider being in New York. But you should see the movie first or it won't be as funny. You might also want some background in theater, Greek mythology, 80's fashion, camp, and gay culture.

In fact, just BE gay for a night, ok? I won't tell.

Meow.

Hey, guys, I made my cat a Facebook profile so now you have to go be friends with her.

Life's Questions

I had lunch with my friend Harry today so we could get Buffy #5 at Midtown Comics, and we had a couple of intellectual, philosophical conversations that did not reach a conclusion, so I need to ask the Blog-o-Dome (blogosphere is so over) for some input to get these important questions answered.

First, I posed the question: Are people red meat or white meat? Harry posits that since we are mammals like cows and lambs and deer and horses, we should be red meat. Also, he says he saw it once on a true crime show. I countered that MOST mammals are red meat, but what of pork? "The other white meat." He suggested that pork is really red meat that is just KINDA white for the sake of advertisement. So does anyone know the answer to this?

The other issue we pondered was the origin of using the sound "nom nom nom" to indicate eating. We couldn't figure out why that was such a universal (to me, at least) device because nobody actually makes that sound when they eat. Except Cookie Monster. So now I am wondering whether Cookie Monster is the origin of "nom nom nom" and we are so used to it because it has been shunted into our brains since childhood. On the other hand, perhaps it started BEFORE Cookie Monster, who simply adapted it because he knew it would be a clear sign he was eating the cookies rather than smashing them to pieces and letting them fall out of his mouth.

I really need to know. Any answers?