The New Black.

Dear Readers,

Tonight we'll be addressing a pressing issue facing Homosexual Americans, nay, homosexuals worldwide. You're walking down the street, you see a guy - maybe you check out his ass, maybe you make eye contact, maybe you just gasp and stop the world for a second. As you ponder approaching him (or maybe just ponder leering for a little while longer), something happens. Maybe he opens his mouth and says something unexpected. Worse, maybe he leans in to kiss his girlfriend. Not merely a friend who happens to be a girl, but his opposite- sex, non-platonic life partner. (I know, I know. Gross. Bear with me. Method to this madness exists).
You my friend, have just been stung by the modern day bee that is the FauxMosexual.

FB made observation of the proliferation of the FauxMo this weekend while we were out rummaging through after-Christmas sales. While the term isn't something he coined, it really hit the nail on the head for me. We're not talking about closeted guys (They-Don't-Know-Mosexual), once out but now back in the closet "reformed gays" (FormerSexual). And we are definitely not talking about straight guys who like the occasional manicure or get their eyebrows waxed (the ever-popular Metrosexual).

The men in question may be "completely" heterosexual (if such a thing exists - yuck!), but nevertheless they have been in love with someone of the same sex their whole lives: The man in any given mirror. He is indeed the sexiest bitch on the face of the Earth God has the good sense to gift him to. And it is with the help, both witting and unwitting, of the modern homosexual male (Homo Superior) that this cunning parasite finds himself a partner. A platonic partner, natch.

Maybe it's because men are more visual creatures than women. Maybe it's because, lacking male role models, gay men often model themselves after strong women to attract other gay men. Maybe it's a combination of that and other variables. The fact remains undeniable that gay men often pay an inordinate amount of time making sure they look good. It was only a matter of time before this positive aspect of gay life would be exploited. Makeover after makeover and Metrosex City, U.S.A. was suddenly a reality.

In other words, a few years ago, "Gay" became the new "Black." Not simply in the fashion sense (as in, "Black is always the new black"), but in the way many suburban white kids took (and continue to take) cues from their perception of "Black" culture. Queer Eye For The Straight Guy was the harbinger of it all. Suddenly, owning a pair of tweezers and a bottle of Oil of Olay night cream is OK for straights. Don't get me wrong - the dropping of stupid gender straitjacketing isn't a bad thing. But this is not where it ends for the FauxMo.

The modus operandi of the FauxMo is as such: use the outward tools of their perception of "Gay" to garner attention. What kind of attention? Generally, it doesn't matter. You see, the FauxMo is a narcissist first, and homophobe second, if at all. Any attention is good attention, because it means someone finds you as irresisitible as you find yourself (as if that were possible!). In the end, these guys also use their skills to work into the lives of women. Women who like gay men (FagHags, Fruit Flies, Graces - as in Will &...) will feel less threatened on first contact, probably because she'll think he's Flaming 'Mo as opposed to an imposter. Inevitably, he will work his "charms" and bewitch the occasional woman. Let's face, what girl isn't a little turned on by gay guys. We listen and make funny jokes in between, and we almost always take your side. Like, the Viceroy Butterfly or the Scarlet King Snake, he looks and walks like a duck. But sister, he ain't a duck.

Ladies you will never - no matter how hard you try - love the FauxMo as much as he loves himself and he will never love you as much as that, either. You will always come second to arched brows, tight shirts, and temper tantrums. The looks of the unsuspecting gays at the mall will mean as much to him (if not more) as the way you look at him. And while he may be great help picking outfits to wear and shopping, this has more to do with making sure you don't show him up, while at the same time complementing his own look. Don't say you haven't been warned.

Yes, I know, there are larger social issues (such as the "good enough to groom us, not good enough to be grooms" mentality of many closed-minded straights) at hand. But my point is this: It's great that straight men are taking an interest in their appearance. But I miss the days when men were men and Mos were not. As the lines blur, it just becomes harder to know who to hit on. Brokeback Mountain isn't helping any, either. I guess we're all stuck with the direct approach when it comes to finding a boy. Just ask if he's gay. That or doing what I find works best: paying for sex.

Just kidding, kids! Have a happy and safe New Year if I don't manage to post by then!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the FauxMo Years! Committee.

I'm not a Jew, but I play one on my blog.

Jayberg, here, reporting as your honorary Jew for this Season of Lights. I have to say, being Jewish is a lot more work than I expected. I thought I could just throw some Neil Diamond and some Bette Midler on (don't even suggest Streisand - that voice makes my blood curdle), make a few harmlessly dated jokes, and WHAM! Instant Jew. I mean, I made latkes for a class project during my senior year of high school. And despite the fact that I graduated from a Catholic high school, the two girls whose lockers were on either side of mine had the last names of Gordon and Glassman. No, I'm not Jewish by birth, but I'm definitely Jew-friendly. And being raised an uberCatholic, I think I've got the guilt thing down.

But who knew a Menorah was so much work?

First of all, the candles presented a problem. They wouldn't stay put in the weeks prior to lighting them. I finally had to cheat and light the bottom ends and stick them into their respective spots. The melting wax held them in place. Then there was the actual lighting. FB was witness to the first night. Chilarity ensued when the first night spontaneously begat the second night, followed soon by night number three. To follow tradition, you see, I placed my lit Menorah on my balcony, where all of my neighbors could see. The wind (or the Holy Spirit, if you wanna be Gentile about it) had other plans. So I decided to end the night early and blew out the candles. I'm sure the Maccabees would understand. Which brings up an important point: Chanukah, for the record, is not simply "Jewish Christmas." It's a beautiful story about a miracle and a story of standing up for who you are in the face of people not getting it. If you're interested, go read here.

Night two was pretty much a repeat of night one. Except this time I wised up and dropped water onto the wicks of nights three and four, just to be safe. All was well. Well, except for the fact that there was a gas leak in my apartment. FB was concerned for our safety. I kept arguing that G-d would protect. FB argued that if we were actual Jews, maybe that was the case. Given the Chosen People's track record of bad stuff happening to them, I thought it best that end night two early as well.

Last night went off without a hitch. The candles all stayed lit or un-lit, as they should be. Pity that my plan to make latkes went kaput as the oven had to be shut off for our safety. As far as setbacks go, that ranked pretty minor on the scale.

Tonight, as you can see above, the lights look beautiful. I will no doubt need replacements for the next few nights candles, but I think I'm getting the hang of this. And, truth be told, I'm actually finding it more than a little beautiful to leave those candles for all to see in my neighborhood. Who knows? Maybe this will become a tradition in my house. The Jews and the Gays have more than a few things in common. For one,we're often the underdog, but we keep a sense of humor about it. A lot people don't get us. Screw 'em, I say.

In the end, I think I get a C- as Jews go. In place of the traditional chocolate gelt, FB and I broke into the lovely box of See's Candies that Armi gave me (in Chanukah paper, no less!). My first choice? A marshmallow caramel. So. Not. Kosher. Also, I'm getting a tattoo this weekend, which means I cannot be buried in a Jewish cemetary. Not that I was planning on it, but still, a boy likes to keep his options open.

To paraphrase Walter from the Big Lebowski: "Three thousand years of beautiful tradition, from Moses to Sandy Koufax..." I am proud to have "lived in the past" a little this year.

Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam
Blessed are you, Lord, our God, sovereign of the universe
shehecheyanu v'kiyimanu v'higi'anu laz'man hazeh. (Amein)
who has kept us alive, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this season (Amen).

Don't worry - I'm not changing my name to Esther or anything.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the L'Chaim Coming Out Committee.

Humbuggers Unite.

Greetings Gentile Gentle Readers!

It's been some time since I posted with any regularity. But that seems to be the humbug going around. Ah, the end of the year shuffle...no wonder my knee hurts.

Apparently, my family found my plans to spend Christmas without, um, plans, a little sad, cause everyone called and wished me a Merry Christmas. I didn't feel like having the whole "I'm over Christmas" discussion so I just said, "Thanks, Merry Christmas to you, too" and moved on. Little did they know I had plans indeed.

As mentioned before, I spent Christmas Eve in West Hollywood, dancing through the stroke of midnight at Micky's with FB. No matter how dead a gay club may be for the evening, throw on some Madonna and the place is suddenly full. Sure enough, once "Hung Up" started, the floor inevitably swelled with half drunk, half dressed boys - not that I think that's a bad thing. They threw in a remix of "Erotica" as an free gift! All in all, no cover charge and two strong drinks (a gin and tonic for me, thankyouvery much) later, J. had a very Mary Merry X-Mas (look it up people, that's not pagan of me, just a little lazy. And what have you got against pagans, anyhow?!!).

The Day itself was a quiet one. I opened the gifts I got, sat around and watched TV and ate candy and junk food. I didn't even shower until 3pm. All in all, that was the best gift I ever could have given myself. To top it off, my oldest friend stopped by his old hometown and we got to hang in the evening. Sure, my inDemand programming pissed us all off by not having The Comedians of Comedy ready to go, but still, another good time was had.

Yesterday was perhaps the most atypical for me. I ventured out to the mall. Now I don't do this under normal circumstances, much less the day everyone and their grandmother decides to return their unwanted presents. But I had an Old Navy gift card burning a hole in my wallet, so off we went. In case anyone was wondering, the Old Navy in Glendale sucks. And their employees don't understand basic calendars, so I couldn't find out if I won $100,000 in their stupid contest. Apparently, "Come in and see anytime between Dec. 26th and Jan. 31st" actually means, "You have to come back after the 1st." Silly me and my high school education. I thought it meant, I could Come in and see anytime between Dec. 26th and Jan. 31st! My bad.

The rest of the Glendale Galleria was a little kinder. The Gap had some great pants on sale and I found two kick ass novelty t-shirts (which I think we should call NovelTees^TM) . Plus, all the walking had to count as cardio. So not only did I spend way too much money, I burned off a few off the calories I'd hoarded during the hibernation on Sunday! Good news, since the pants are a little snug and I can't afford to fall off the wagon. But seriously, if you must shop the day after Christmas, leave your kid at home, especially if you don't know how to supervise them. Your lack of family planning isn't my fault. Also, whistling and clicking noises are appropriate ways to call Sparky or FiFi, but your kid has a name (and guess what! you gave it to them unless you're a total loser, so chances are 50/50). Use it. Or better yet: Get. A. Freakin'. Babysitter.

Finally, as I shopped yesterday, two stores made me laugh out loud with signs that advertised sale items I didn't expect to see. Thank you, Anchor Blue & Hot Topic:

I didn't ask if they came in my size, but obviously Hot Topic had a better variety to choose from. Figures that that the S&M set in-training would have tops and bottoms whereas the straight acting, former Miller's Outpost would only have bottoms available for their clientele.

Tomorrow: I will regale with tales from the first few nights of my new holiday celebration. That's right, kids: Chanukah Chilarity is coming!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Mall Madness Committee.

Have Yourself...

Or anyone else, if you prefer, for that matter. Seriously, though, Merry Christmas to all you kids who will be waiting up for Santa tonight. Me? I'll be out with my best friend, dancing the night away in Boys' Town. Since I'm boycotting a big Christmas this year, the man with the bag shouldn't mind that I won't be home. I saved him the trip by setting up the Menorah this year, after all. I will, however leave you with my Christmas playlist:

River, Joni Mitchell
Happy Xmas/War is Over, John Lennon
Sleigh Ride, The Ronettes
2000 Miles, Pretenders
Please Christmas Don't Be Late, The Chipmunks
Little Saint Nick, The Beach Boys
Fairytale of New York, The Pogues with Kirsty McColl
Silent Night, Emmylou Harris
Winter Wonderland, Eurythmics
Christmas Wrapping, The Waitresses
12 Days of Christmas, The Muppets and John Denver
You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch, Boris Karloff
I'll Be Home For Christmas, Tift Merritt
Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, Aimee Mann
My Favorite Things, Tony Bennett
The Christmas Song, Nat "King" Cole
The First Noel, Frank Sinatra
White Christmas, Mahalia Jackson
What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?, Ella Fitzgerald
Christmastime is Here, Vince Guaraldi trio (with the Peanuts kids)

See you all for the lighting of the first candle tomorrow night!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Real Menorahs Love Jesus Committee.

Coming Out of the Medicine Cabinet

I've debated the idea of blogging about this for a while. On the one hand, I'm not one of those who opens up a vein and starts typing. On the other hand, I am a big believer in honesty leading to better creativity. In the end, I've had more than a few folks tell me, "Write for yourself" and I can't disagree - I've even passed along the advice. So – Scientologists be damned - here goes nothing.

I'm on antidepressants (yes, that is my Grandma-style pillbox on the left).

The decision to go on meds was made about two months ago and not made lightly. I’m not ashamed of the fact that I’m on medication or that I am a walking anxiety and sleep disorder, with a side of occasional depression. Yahweh knows I'm not the only one. So why didn't I write about it? I really just didn’t think there was a funny or insightful way to approach my situation as a blogger. When it all comes down to it, if I can’t find a way to make it funny, I’m not inclined to write. After all, I ought to get a kick out of this, too, right? Lo and behold, life gave me lemons. Ladies and gents, I give you lemonade - or a lemon drop martini if you prefer.

I made my appointment with the doctor. As the day approached, I was nervous and a little scared. I mean, it’s not easy to admit you have a problem. If you have a cold, you caught from something and it passes. Mental illness is more like an STD. Sure, you didn’t catch it from anyone (unless it’s genetic), but you still don’t want to broadcast that you have one. But I did it, I bit down and walked into that office and spilled my guts. We detailed my history and my present symptoms and mapped out a program. I walked out of there with a clear plan of action, a sense of accomplishment, and prescriptions for Zoloft and Rozerem (a sleep medication).

I held onto that slip of paper for almost a week before walking into the local Sav-On Pharmacy. I went one night after the gym and walked sheepishly up to the counter.

“Um, I need to fill a prescription,” I whispered. I could barely hear myself.

The nice lady behind the counter took my slip and my insurance card. Have you ever looked at what they place right next to that counter? Condoms, condoms, and more condoms. Also, a lot of incontinence-related products. At least I wasn’t picking something up for that. Equally fascinating are the myriad of pillboxes – they’ve got big ones, little ones, fancy ones that rich hypochrondiacs use. Then the lady uttered words I was definitely not expecting to hear:

“The medications aren’t covered.” She then proceeded to tell me that they would run be about $250. Suddenly, all of this political rhetoric about prescription plans for seniors meant something to me. I felt so stupid for not checking with my doctor to see if the meds or their generic equivalent were covered. I swallowed hard and paid for it. I think I heard my debit card cry a little when it realized I was spending this much and not getting a freakin’ iPod out of the deal.

I walked next door to the grocery and picked up a few necessaries. As I waited in line to pay, I reviewed my receipt. The lady overestimated a little: $246.79. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud as I heard the thought for in my head: “Being depressed is so expensive, it’s fucking depressing.” The people in front of me in line started looking at me funny, making it impossible to stop laughing.

Suddenly, I wasn't depressed or anxious. I realized if I still had my sense of humor about me, all would be good. I've been making great strides since regular sleep and regulated moods have set in. Worth way more than $246.79. Of course, I can say that now, since I have a flexible spending account that I reimbursed myself out of. But even if I hadn't gotten the money back, I wouldn't regret a thing.

So now I'm the generic for Prozac and Ambien (like those rested, happy people in commercials). I really like paying only $15 for the co-pay on two medications. Fuck Tom Cruise if he has a problem with that.

Love,
J.

This post was sponsored by the Fluoxetine Off The Handle Committee.

Guilt in a box.

My brilliant sister made the observation not too long ago that as a child she was jealous of me for all of the things my parents gave to me when we were younger. She said that she realized now how much my parents were compensating for a lack of connection with me by spoiling me rotten. I couldn't help but think of this when opening an unexpected package tonight and discovering these five (the dog even got me something!) gifts. Aww...my mom evenb wrapped them to match my color theme this year. And she put star tags on them because she knew about the Menorah. I will wait until the actual day to open them - or perhaps I will open them for the first five nights of Hannukah. I have to be getting another three presents from someone. In any event, as soon I've actually bought their gifts (Target, here I come!!!), I'll be packing my own guilt in a box and expressing it out on Friday. Since I'm writing about the gift giving and all lately, I thought you'd like to see my Hannukah decorations.

(At left: A Charlie Brown Hannukah. Right: Hannukah blue accompanied by the lil' silver fiberoptic tree I bought this year.)



If anyone wants to come over and make potato latkes or spin the dreidel, I'll be here all month - just swing by and bring a bottle of Manischewitz Wine. Just a warning - I'm hanging the misteletoe if you're cute.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Wrapped Up Committee.

Mall Madness and More.

I don't think that people actually get stupider as Christmas approaches. I just think the stupid congregate more freely during this time of year. In a way, it's much like what the Statue of Liberty welcomes in: tonight at the mall and later at my local Target I definitely saw the poor, the tired, and the huddled masses. You know those people who stop in the middle of the aisle - not the left, not the right, not in front a product, but right in the middle of the aisle? I hate these people. If I could, I would hit them with a cart. Luckily for them, I very rarely need a cart when I am at Target. Unluckily for me, I can also never find one of those baskets for my stuff. I always end up carrying it to the register. But I digress...

In the end, I failed to buy any gifts, save the one for my work exchange. I did buy my grandmother a gift on Saturday, but the parents and the sister are still presentless. I just can't get it together this year. Not that I'm usually together, but this year it's especially difficult. There is no rhyme or reason - it's just not happening. I know I'm going end up that typical prodigal child who sends well-wishes and gift cards or worse - cash. I hear tens and twenties will do.

Personally, I will not be celebrating Christmas this year, in case you're wondering. Just because I want to, I've decided to celebrate Hannukah. My Jewish co-worker was nice enough to give me a spare Menorah and a book on the ritual. I decorate every year in blue and silver anyway, so the color continuity's perfect. And because I don't actually have anyone to celebrate it with, I get to give myself gifts for eight nights! Also, I do like the idea of connecting with a tradition not my own.

Besides, around this time of year, Jesus would have celebrated Hannukah, right? It'd be pretty rude of him to make a big deal about his own birthday - in an inacurate month, no less! And it'd be pretty rude of us to expect him to give us gifts on his birthday. I'd hate my friends if they did that to me. So celebrating Hannukah is my way of giving Jesus a breather for his birthday.

There - now I know what to tell my mother when she asks. Shalom!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Gentile But Firm Committee.

I hear phones ring in my nightmares these days.

Although I no longer work in a call center like I did some years ago, picking up the phone in my current department is a necessary evil. But with this new setup at work, it’s hard to tell apart the rings between the departments they have sandiwched together on our sweatshop-like floor. Does anyone else ever pick up the phone at home and answer with your at-work greeting? Embarassing as it sometimes is, it has gotten me out of some telemarketing calls lately. Folks think that I’m actually at work and apologize for bothering me. The moral? There’s an upside to your job slowly rotting your brain.

Another upside to work? The annual holiday party. The Princess and I descended on the Kingdom of Anaheim Saturday night and had a blast celebrating the 10-year mark of our prom date. (That’s right – we were Will & Grace well before there was a cultural reference point. And we’re still genuinely funny). The food was great, bar was open for the first hour and much laughs were at – many at my expense. Don’tcha just hate it when your friends and co-workers hit it off, only to conspire against you? There are pictures forthcoming (pending access to a scanner and the Princess’ consent to be pictured on the blog), but I hate to disappoint – none of them are incriminating. I was on my best behavior.

However…

I did, as promised, get up for a number during the karaoke segment. I wasn’t going to, but then they mentioned that there was a free Disneyland pass to be won - if you performed, they entered your name. I tore down the house with Ray Charles “Unchain My Heart” but alas, I did not win the season pass. That went to a deserving young lady who I like a lot and I hear did really well (I was out of the room during her number). Trouble is, now I can’t live down my “American Idol” reputation. Apparently, I really impressed the folks who heard me.

Sigh. I used to have a fairly anonymous little existence in this cubicle. Now everybody knows my name and wants to go out drinking and singing with me. Oh, the horrors of popularity!!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Hit The Road, J. Committee.

Long-haired, freaky people need not apply...

To the left is the most abusrd side effect of this remodel at work. Apparently they think we're gigantic idiots. Either that or a legitimately gigantic idiot had some trouble getting through this new doorway. In any event, it's been the subject of much observation among my co-workers and I. You see, this door leads into our workfloor from a relatively secure but slightly public area. It requires no security badge to unlock. You just: (that's right...) Turn handle. Pull door open. VOILA! You're in.

From the other side? Not so much. Indeed, I must use to security badge to get myself out of my work area but not to get in it. This way, you see, the shooter will be forced to press the emergency push-bar on the door. Oh, I didn't mention that it doesn't have a handle and that whether or not you badge in, pushing said bar triggers a silent alarm? My bad. No wait - that would be someone else's. They've put a sign on that side of the door (sadly, I neglected to capture that one) asking that nobody press the bar. Most people do anyhow. Some - horrror! - don't even badge out. They just push and go. The Keystone Cops at our security desk have given up trying to stop us. They're too busy with crossword puzzles and hassling people who have worked in the buidling for a quarter of a century for ID while letting members mill about the lobby without glancing at them.

In slightly related news, my work holiday party is Saturday night at the Disneyland Hotel. I am taking The Princess, as is only right, since she got me into Disneyland for hers. Ever the generous girl, she's getting me in again on Saturday before I make an ass out of myself by Karaoke-ing something over the top in front of my co-workers. The Carpenters' "Superstar" comes to mind, but we'll see.

Tomorrow's the 9th. Jeez, I guess I should start shopping for those folks I have to ship presents to. Hmph. Maybe I'll just send a card and say, "What?!?! The money must have fallen out!!!" when they ask why no gift.

Later,
J.

This post was sponsored by the One Man Blogtastical Ham Committee.

Hello. My name is J. (Hi, Jay!)

I'll admit it. I am addicted to MySpace. The random people you can find on something like this is incredible. Stephen Dorff or someone who really wants to be him is on. (I looked him up because apparently we went to grade school together for a few seconds in the early '80s). I've also found people I know - not that I've contacted even a fraction of them. I have no desire to catch up with most of the people I lost contact with over the years. The majority of that was by choice. Also, you may recall that I was found not too long ago, with hilariously disasterous results. But finding out who's gotten married, who's gay, who's fat, you know, the usual details we're all looking for, has sucked me in, night after night lately. For the record, that old "friend" who tried to booty call me is now listed as "Straight" and "In A Relationship." Duly noted.

Is anyone else as sucked in as I am? FB noted recently, "MySpace is a disease." I can't disagree. Of course, I'm barely at stage one, despite my addiction. I don't have my full name listed and I am not on the friend list of any random people just for the sake of a count. But I still expect to be found by some more weirdos from the past. It happened on Friendster, it'll happen here. And expect some more kick ass blogging to result from it.

In random and unrelated news, I saw this calendar and thought of Jake:



Now, I don't imagine that he writes BAT while wearing such an outfit, but you get the idea.

The embers of slumber are calling my name. Night kitties kiddies!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Hey! You! Get Off Of MySpace! Committee.

When Bloggers Collide.

Good Lord, but it's been a while! I haven't blogged or read anything blog-related in about a week. The move at work took more out of me than I expected, cutting down my writing time (what - you expect me to work?!?!) and the last few days have been a blur, particularly last night's trip to Disneyland with a group of drunken employees. I am sososo tired I can't concentrate. And I didn't even drink! But onto this past weekend's most fun event :

A Meeting of the Bloggers: OK, so truth be told, Armi and I have been great friends long before the word blogging entered the lexicon. But this, believe it or not, was the first time we'd seen each other since her blogging experience began. A lot has happened since then, including her entire pregnancy. It's amazing how with great people and good friends time can pass but you can drop in like nothing at all. Such is the case with Miss A.

Such a fun time was had by all, especially by me getting to know the family dog, Ginger. I should have snapped a pic of her - next time, I suppose, but I was too bust enjoying the mashed potatoes, butter biscuits (sooo good) and otherwise stuffing myself. A good time was had by all, even if I did zonk out on the couch at about 10:30p. Sometimes a boy just needs his beauty rest, y'know?

Pictures from the Disney adventure are forthcoming. Rest assured, the Happiest Place on Earth becomes even gayer when A) decorated for Christmas (complete with carols piping out of speakers everywhere) and B) a bunch of employees descend upon it for their holiday party. The Gatorade and vodka spikes didn't hurt any, I'm sure. If you've never heard a 'Mo break out into "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" while overlooking the crowds in line for Space Mountain, you haven't lived.

Happy December, kids! Is anyone as ill-equipped for the holidays as I am?

-J.

All we need is a chalk outline.

They're doing some major renovations to the building at work - probably to compete with the Yahoo! folks across the street. My department is being moved from the posh, private third floor, down to the first floor and into a new area that looks like a sweatshop in less than a week. Seriously, thank God that FB started fashion school - I'm gonna need some pointers when they move in the sewing machines I start making Gucci on the sly. The old area was right next to the executive, one-at-a-time washrooms. The new one doesn't even have an employees-only men's room. I have to share with the public. Granted, I won't have to wait in line like the billion ladies down there, but still. Anyhow that's not the point. The point is the second floor is downrght frightening now. They're tearing down basically every wall except for the bathrooms and making one big room out of what used to be about six different large rooms, each housing about two departments. They've laid down sheet plastic on the ground so as not to ruin the carpet. When you get off of the elevator, this is what you see (interior view of the padded-wall elevator follows):



Proceed down the darkened hallway, toward the light and push through the sheet plastic...


...until you hit total devastation:
Did I mention people are still working on this floor during construction? Makes my brush with the public bathroom seem, well...ah, hell - who am I kidding? No matter how scary that second floor gets, I'm still pissed of about that!

-J.

This post was sponsored by Tear Down This Wall! Committee.

Thanksgiving '05: The Post Game Wrap-Up

After last year's fun but ultimately draining Thanksgiving, I declared that this year I wasn't cooking or hosting. So when friends invited myself (and everybody's pal FB) over, I jumped at the chance. I even managed to slip out of most of the softball assignment I got - a salad and a bottle of wine. FB lovingly labored over the salad, perfecting the taste to his liking, leaving me to choose a wine for myself, which I did in less than five minutes at the supermarket (a 2004 Pinor Noir, FYI). FB almost bought a wine called Cockburn's but he decided to go with something, um, less in your face. I know - I was surprised, too.

We arrived about a half and hour before food was set to start. Salad was set down, hellos were exchanged, introductions were made. Oh, and wine was poured. Freely. And Often. A little background: as people are wont to do on days like this, breakfast was skipped. As lunchtime approached, FB and I realized we'd ruin our appetites if we ate lunch. Not wanting to insult our gracious hosts, we did what any sensible gay man and his BFF would do - we went to The Coffee Bean and got one large Iced Blended apiece to tide us over and keep our energy. Needless to say, that first glass of wine did plenty more to me than it usually would have. By the third glass, I was almost falling over in front of new people. Luckily they seemed amused by it. The food was served slightly late, leaving me no choice but to have a fourth glass. Tipsy and social, with plenty funny to boot, I felt like Goldie Hawn (more on her later). Anyway, the meal was delicious. The man of the house outdid himself. My favorite dish was the stuffing - the sausage stuffing, that is. That elicited as many giggles at the table as it did as I typed (and hopefully, as you read it!).

The cast of characters was as rich as the menu. Besides the adorable host and hostess, there was a British actress and her husband, a hilarious single gal who was so funny she deserves two sitcoms and a Friar's club roast, a young and lovely married gay couple, a young and lovely married straight couple, a really cute and funny 'mo, and a smattering of other hilarious folks ("The Rest") who came in a little later, and of course FB and yours truly. At any point, I expected a live reenactment of Clue to break out. It would have been awesome. Alas, something even better happened: bad dating and Hollywood horror stories. Being that more than half of the attendees work the back half (aka the thankless jobs) in the entertainment industry, there were quite a few brilliant stories shared about "the talent." I can't share the names* of the horror stories because I don't want to get anyone in trouble. But I can tell you what I learned without names:

1. Certain pop stars are very attached to their dogs. And while they leave said dog in their suite in order to flit about an amusement park, their boy toys will sometimes venture down a strip club and bring home a "friend." This cause much hilarious I Love Lucy-like scrambling in order to avoid a full-on diva explosion.
2. B-level sitcom stars can get really demanding and bitchy for no good. Karma's a bitch as they very often end up out of a job and without a limelight.
3. B-level movie stars can be even worse, despite an even steeper drop from fame's heights.
4. A-level superstars can manage to travel without demands, just the basics.
5. A-level movie stars often book out all of first class so they can bring along their same-sex "friend."
6. Certain Oscar winners are very cheap and try to cheat you out of more comped tickets than they deserve.
7. Executives are, of course, far worse than stars could ever be.
8. Goldie Hawn is exactly as you would imagine, only nicer and funnier apparently. (OK, one name just to tide you over).
9. If a guy with a really, really small penis invites you to Micronesia, say yes. Just because the joke is too good to be passed up.
10. A 20-minute long blind date may equal disaster, but it makes a for great party joke story.

I learned more, but you get the point. A good time was had by all and a drama-free Thanksgiving was had. Next year, maybe, just maybe I'll cook again. But if I'm promised gossip and red-wine drunkeness within minutes of arriving, I'm taking the invite and bringing the salad, no question.

-J.

*Yes, if I know you in person, or if we ever meet, I will happily blab the names and details to you. Duh!

This post was sponsored by the Sausage Stuffing (tee hee!) Committee.

So we end as we began...

The Week In Reviews, Day 5:
The Week In Reveiws

That's right, folks, I'm so lazy that I'm going to do a review of five (ok, four) days of reviews. I justify this because A) I'm lazy - were you not reading a second ago? and B) It serves as a good recap post for those who may have missed this week because of the holidays and such.

Monday we discussed Jane Austen, or more specifically a high school production of Pride & Prejudice. I considered paying to see the movie and compare the two, but I still say Keira Knightley owes my nudes of Orlando Bloom. Also, because my little aside about Bridget Jones' Diary, I had a a dream this week where I beat up Renee Zellweger. Hardly a fair fight as I eat three square meals a day, but I felt better when I woke up. (Can I say that?!?!) Grade: A.

Tuesday I went into Kurt Loder-lite mode, weaving two music reviews into one post. I kinda lost the plot halfway through this post, possibly because I was listening to both CDs and shaking my booty and/or singing loudly as I typed. Still, any excuse to give a shout out to Cyndi Lauper is good enough for me. She's seriously underrated. And that damn Madonna CD is growing on me by the day. I can't help but bounce to "Jump" and "Push" brings out the Justin Timberlake wanna-be B-Boy in me. Just when they thought I couldn't get any gayer... Grade: B-.

Wednesday we ventured to the movies. I do really think this was my favorite Harry Potter adventure yet. I'm no fanatic and I haven't read the books, but I really enjoy these movies. The onset of puberty at Hogwarts is a little dusturbing, but one you get over how pretty Hermione is getting or the fact that Harry has armpit hair, it's a rollicking good time. The beauty of that Superman Returns trailer didn't hurt. And neither did my roommate getting those people kicked out of the theater for bringing their child to a 10:40p showing. Grade: A.

Thursday was a big day. For those of you joining just for the recap, this was not only Thanksgiving, it was my year anniversary as a blogger. Granted, many of those first months had maybe a post or two, but pobody's nerfect. And I would be remiss (as I was in that post), if I didn't thank FB: for his invaluable contributions, for being the only reader for those first few months, and for pushing me to blog in the first place. I know you guys miss him and I do, too, even though I get a ten posts worth from him on the phone every few days. T-Day left me pretty tired and I worked today, so this post lacked a true synopsis of a great feast with lots of funny characters. That's coming Monday, as it did last year. Grade: B+.

So, yes, today's post was lazy, but actually a lot of fun to write. I always struggle on Fridays, especially since nobody really reads and I post later than most folks read on normal days. Here's hoping those of who weekend-read or early-morning Monday read enjoy this. I'd give it a B- for spunk and laziness coming together, meaning the week looks better than most of my report cards ever did. I'm gonna treat myself to ice cream for this one - Score!

See you Monday, kids. I hope every gets a restful, leftover-filled weekend. Only a month of shopping days left! (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Wanna Be Boy Committee.

Giving, thanking, blogging.

Today is Thanksgiving Day. More on that later. Today is also my one-year Blog-o-versary. I don't think many of you were here for the first post. Here's a recap:

In the beginning...

It's really come to this. After years of annoying friends, family, and anyone within the sound of my voice, I feel compelled to bother anyone and everyone who Googles certain subject matter. Let me start this one of on the right foot: Sorry about that. Feel free to hit that handy little "Back" button on whatever portal it is you've gotten here through now. I promise I won't be offended.

That all still applies. But in a show of gratitude appropriate to the day, I feel compelled to say Thank You to all of you haven't hit that "Back" button. Thanks to those of you who have blogrolled, commented, emailed and generally wished well. This has been an amazing experience and continues to be. As if I didn't spend enough time in front a computer, you all have given me some great excuses to fritter away more hours. I hope you find that I've done a little of the same.

Last Thanksgiving, I was grateful for a few things. This year I'm still grateful for those things and tons more. The loved ones who've stuck by me in good and bad are at the top of the list. This year I spent T-Day with a group people I'd never met and had the best time sitting around and talking TV and the backside of the entertainment industry. It was the kind of Thanksgiving after-dinner conversation you could only have in L.A. - I wish I could share details but unless I know you in person, I can't share. But I will have as complete a write-up as possible tomorrow. Funny stuff and most of it will be true!

Nobody's reading over the holiday, I imagine, but like I said, I'm thankful anyone's reading at all. Here's to another year, kids.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Thank You, Indians Native Americans Committee.

The Week In Reviews! Day 3:
Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire

OK, so we've done live "theater" and music so far. The time has come for a movie review. But really, it'll just be a review of the moviegoing experience. The movie is great but I won't spoil it for the handful of you interested folks who haven't seen it. Suffice to say, the Harry & Ron sex scene doesn't disappoint...

(And I can just say how hard it was not to make a Thanksgiving joke out of that title? The Giblet of Fire or
The Gobble-It of Fire were both contenders but ultimately I decided to waste your time by putting it here, instead. Tee hee! )

Before actually going into the theater, my group (the roommate, her boyfriend and her younger brother and sister) ventured into the Barnes & Noble next door. It wasn't long before the obligatory celeb sighting occurred. Indeed, Steve from Sex & The City was there - barely taller than me and very gray with a closer cropped haircut than I"m currently rocking (yes, I got tired of growing my hair out and shaved it last weekend. It's been a hit, oddly...) But once you get your nightly celebwatch out of the way, it's time to hit the stadium seating.

Our hopes were raised when we arrived and were the only people seated. Lil' Bro made shadow puppets and played around with the stupid ads for real estate before people finally started filtering in. Seriously, how many people see a 10:40p showing on a Tuesday? Apparently a lot - including the people next to use who brought their four-year old (she might have been three). Even my child-hating ass felt sorry for this little girl who was obviously up way past her bedtime. Halfway through the trailers, my roommate displayed her greatest superpower: The Tattle Tale of Death. She was gone from her seat only long enough to miss the Superman Returns trailer (a thing of beauty, really. This geek nearly cried!). She returned in time to witness the manager follow the dad down the stairs as he took the child to the restroom. He returned less than a minute later alone. Now, I don't understand Tagalog, but I distinctly heard the word "complained" as he ushered his wife out in shame. Score one for the girl who pays half the rent.

Other than that, the most profound observation I have to offer is that the state of animated films is in the toilet. A Madagascar rip off - I know, so soon? - called (Over The Hedge) and some stupid penguin adventure where every voice sounds like Robin Williams are all I remember. Here's hoping Disney and Pixar kiss and make up pronto. Oh and that fake animated trailer about the plucky eagle who rescues her father turns out to be an "Turn down your cell phone, idiot!" ad. If only they had a, "Silence your child (or God forbid, get a sitter!) lest J's roommate bitchslap you" ad. King Kong looks like some darn good CGI work, but how can you tell this story in anything more than an hour and a half? Still, that fight with the T-Rex looks pretty cool.

But we all know that Superman, even the Tom Welling version, could beat them both up. Seriously, I'm choking up a little right now...

-J.

This post was sponsored by the The Cryin', the Witch, and the Homo Committee.

Moms just wanna have fun, too.

The Week In Reviews! Day 2:
Confessions On A Dance Floor, Madonna & The Body Acoustic, Cyndi Lauper

In 1983, there was a less catty and more interesting discussion in pop music than the Britney vs. Christina debate - Madonna or Cyndi Lauper. When two plucky Italian gals burst onto the pop charts, music critics did what they do best: compare apples and oranges. Most agreed that Cyndi was the more talented and picked her for the long haul. Madonna was a flash-in-the-pan who would be forgotten in a year or two. It's hard to argue with their initial reaction. She's So Unusual remains one of the most striking debuts in pop music history and it spawned four top five singles. As solid a dance record as Madonna was, it was a hardly breaking ground. But we all know how the story goes: Ms. Lauper scored only a handful of hit singles (most notably "True Colors," "I Drove All Night" and, yes - "The Goonies 'R' Good Enough") through the rest of the decade while Ms. Ciccone proceeded to take over the world.

In truth, there was never any contest in the business department. Cyn, like most of us, lacked Madge's business sense and naked ambition (that pro wrestling stint didn't help album sales, I'm sure) even while her own vocal talent far outshone any other measure of success. Her two follow-ups to Unusual were creatively spotty at best and the two studio releases since were great but received little attention. Far from a has been, but also far from a star anymore, she's perhaps been most prominent in recent opening act duties for divas like Cher and Tina Turner. Anyone at those shows can attest to the fact that the successful sales couldn't match passion and vocal fireworks she puts on, to say nothing of her standards showcase, the spare a beautiful At Last album from a couple of years ago. (I saw her win over a Tina crowd with a set that included only three big hits mixed in with all-new material. Did I mention she was six months pregnant at the time?)

But that's a fixed fight, too. Nobody has ever listened to Madonna for her voice. Well, not her singing one, anyhow. So with their most recent releases out within a week of one another, the opportunity came to reappraise the years gone by.

The Body Acoustic is obviously the idea of some record exec, right down to the misleading title (electric instruments show up - this ain't an Unplugged session) - it's a mix of hits, overlooked songs, and new numbers. Given that there are already two domestic hits collections, this is hardly necessary. But the fact that Cyndi Lauper is obviously not bored with those first five hits (yup, half of She's So Unusual is revisted here) sells this more than it has the right to be sold. If "She Bop" comes off a little serious for a number about masturbation, "Money Changes Everything," in particular really comes alive in it's new clothes. Not surprisingly, it's the newer numbers that seem most at home here, though. And "Shine" (the title track from a "lost" album only available in a Japanese import pressing) screams "I shoulda been a hit, dammit!" C'est la vie. She was barely concerned with stardom then and is making a good life and good music these days. And it's hard not to get into an album when you already know and love 80 percent of the material. If Sony would just let her release an album of original material now that she's done what they want, maybe they can convince her to record a fourth version of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" in 2015 when she's in her 60s!

Madonna, on the other hand, couldn't be more concerned with reconnecting to the public. Although there are no re-recordings on Confessions Of A Dance Floor, it's so rife with winking and nodding by way of referencing old songs, dyed-in-the-wool fans will have no end to playing the "catch the lyrical/melodical" game (FB's great catch: listen to "Push" and sing along the lyrics of "Like A Prayer"). There's even a little shoutout to Kylie Minogue's "Love At First Sight" on the very Kylie-sounding "Get Together." Rest assured, this isn't a sign of being out of ideas - it's a calculated move to make you shake your booty and remember why she made you fall in love with her despite the vocal shortcomings in the first place. On that level, Confessions succeeds brilliantly. "Sorry" is already making the buzz as the next single and the gays (especially Chip) seem to love it. As far as attempts to get back into public good graces after a flop, it's pretty darn ballsy to put out an all-dance record with no breaks between tracks. One caveat, though emptores - turn up the bass. Like your mom getting you take out the trash, the record sometimes needs to thump you to make you move. It took a few spins for me to like it, but even my two left feet can help but move more than a little now.

I'm not even going to attempt the score. Yes, Cyndi Lauper is still by far a better singer but Madonna is still a brilliant tactician who can't be counted out. My record collection, like my gay resume, wouldn't be complete with either of them. But despite Cyn's wrestling experience, I bet Madonna's Pilates & Yoga routine would ensure her a win in the squared circle...

-J.

This post was sponsored by the She Bops Like A Virgin! Committee.

Jane Austen's Diary

When I was in high school, I was a journalism geek. My senior year was spent toiling as the editor of the news section. I didn't like it, but I had a talent for it. To keep myself happy, I wrote music and film reviews. This week I thought I'd indulge and do a little of the same, especially since with the holiday coming up, I'll be sporadically in front of my home computer at best. So here I give you:
The Week In Reviews!
Day 1: Pride & Prejudice

That's right, kids. I spent some time with Jane Austen this Saturday. No, I didn't spend money to see Keira Knightley sloppily kiss her Mr. Darcy (I don't care if Judi Dench kicks ass in another 5 minute cameo. After Domino, Keira owes me nude pictures of Orlando Bloom!). I went back to my old high school and saw a real-live teenage production. The results were, predictably, mixed. Some kids have it, some kids don't, and some just lack the ability to gauge when they're "screaming" as opposed to "projecting" in a black box production where the sound reverberates and stings your ears. Such are the problems with high school productions. For kids, by kids. As they say, "This ain't Shakespeare." Even when it is, it usually sucks.

Now, my alma mater does have an above-average drama program. This time around it wasn't to be, but usually the productions are quite good. But the performances weren't the problem this night. It was the subject matter. I can't stand stories where women are defined by their choice in men. While Pride is ultimately not that, there is enough to it (especially in the first act) to make me mad.

For those among us who are Austen challenged, this key might help. Bridget Jones' Diary is loosely a modern spin on the story. The character of Elizabeth is Bridget Jones. Mr. Darcy is Colin Firth (autuer Helen Fielding liked his performance in a BBC production of P&P so much that his last name is Darcy in Jones as well) and Hugh Grant is the buffonish Mr. Collins oops! Thanks to Lady T. I now know he's more Mr. Wickham (see what happens when you don't read kids?). Now, the comparison isn't perfect. For one thing, Elizabeth is waay smarter than Bridget - she dumps her oaf early on while Ms. Jones toils over a rather obvious choice. Also, I can't stand Renee Zellweger. But that's another point entirely.

The point is that the director of the drama program is very staunchly feminist. I can get behind that, but I realized that she's fond of stories that are heavy of female leads (men are more of a plot device in this piece than anything else), yet they do nothing to edify women. "The girl is incomplete without a boy" message is the reason I hate Winona Ryder movies. Not that I'm an expert or anything, but if there aren't good roles out there, I'd start going with broad comedies and brooding dramas.

Granted, Pride & Prejudice is set during a time when women couldn't own property. It's not Jane Austen's fault there. But I think you get my point: When life makes you choose between the foppish cute guy whoe won't grow up or a man who's handsome smart and combative, choose Colin Firth. If you doubt me, watch Love, Actually.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Clueless was a better Austen update than Bridget Jones! Committee.

Hate Night

I know I can seem like a nice guy. Much of the time, I am. But I'm also an evil little prick sometimes. For example: on Halloween we saw two adorable little twink fluffs dressed as soldiers confessing their tweaked-out love for each other in the middle of a crowd neither could see because their eyes were locked in each other's gaze. Recapping the evening later, The Princess pined to be that innocent again. "Oh, they'll learn soon enough...", she said, meaning nothing more than that their hearts would break eventually. My response? "Yeah. Either that or one of them will overdose." Laughs were had, jaws dropped, and a friend simply responded, "Well, it's all roses and sunshine for you all the time isn't it?" Just par for the course when it comes to me. Some days the twin whose mostly sunny with funny, sarcastic jabs is in charge. Others, the sarcastic twin with a few sunny observations is at the wheel. Either way, my confirmed status as a hater is well-earned and worn proudly. What's my point? There is no point. Some days, I just ramble cause something's in my head. What else you here for - if you want smart and informative, dial up Jake.

***

You know what makes me laugh? Old people swearing and children crying. Now before you think that I'm a total ass, let me explain. I don't like kids to genuinely be in pain, but some situations are undeniably. Like many, many years ago when I was watching an old wrestling tape (don't ask) with some high school friends. "Macho Man" Randy Savage was tied up in the ropes by Jake "The Snake" Roberts. Jake produced, after some theatrics, a cobra which proceeded to bite the Macho Man on his steroid-filled biceps. (Come to think of it, I wonder who was in more danger there. I hope the snake got a tetnus shot.) Cut to the shot of a boy, maybe three, four years old in the crowd: crying and screaming and clearly yelling, "Mommy!" before burying himself in his mother's shoulder. I'm sorry - maybe you had to be there, but this was hilarious. I had no interest in wrestling, no matter how tight the shorts got, but I made them rewind that several times for my amusement. Who brings a three-year old to a wrestling match? Probably the same family who brought a kindergartner to see Domino a few weeks ago. I know, I know: "Thanks for sharing you sick, twisted, child hating bastard." You know what? I 'm still laughing. I'm just that kind of hater. Join the Armi if you're looking for a genuinely nice, kid friendly person.

***

Alright, that's enough filler for one night. We're only one week til Thanksgiving and the blow-out Thanksgiving Day post. Trust me, you won't want to miss it. T-Day will be a big day for Hot & Fresh. Hotter, fresher, and dare I say it? cuter than usual. Be there or, um, catch up the next day. It's not like TV where if you don't have TV you'll have to set a tape or watch it during hiatus. That's what the Snark-hives are for.

G'night kids!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Macy's Day Haterade Float Committee.

The Welcome Wagon.

So I'm getting new neighbors. They've been tearing up the ground and laying down subterranean parking for months now a few blocks from my place and across the train tracks from work. I found out a few weeks ago, but just yesterday the sign went up and alerted the whole world:It appears that the fine folks at Yahoo! Search Marketing (can anyone explain to me what they do exactly?) are moving to Burbank. As a transplant myself, I thought I'd take the time and give them a few pointers:

1. No, that is not an earthquake. The trains go by all day and if your building expects to survive the inevitable quakes, it's on rollers. Trains simulate this gently. It also means that when a real one hits, unless it's a pounder and something above a 4.0, you won't think anything of it until it's passed.
2. Oddly, the planes flying overhead aren't that loud. Unless they insulated your building cheaper than they did my apartments. If they did that, I'd quit and go work for, um AltaVista or something.
3. This guy parks right across the street from you. If he's working for you, don't fire him but encourage him to quit. Having a red Civic is just tacky.
4. Watch out for the cops. They're bored and they only have one city to patrol, unlike the LAPD. They'll bust you on anything, especially if you don't look like a native.
5. There's a Target, a Best Buy, & assorted food places just down the street. Unfortunately, it is often packed with the dregs of humanity. Go during off-peak hours, which is to say: avoid until January.
6. Yield for pedestrians, especially when they have a walk signal. This isn't Glendale, fer cryin' out loud!
7. If you like Thai food, you can't beat Thai House. I recommend the Lard Na, but I hear the Chicken Pad Thai is awesome as well.
8. There are three AMC theatres in about a block radius. Don't go to the one inside the mall (unless you're seeing an art house film the other two aren't showing) - it's full of teenagers and all of the screens are tiny.
9. A short distance from you is an area called Toluca Lake. They call it that, but we all know it is just Burbank for rich folks. The difference is, because they're stupid, they have to call the LAPD for assistance. Also, it is mostly populated with screenwriter/actor/delusional transplants who try and run you over with their carts at Trader Joe's.
10. Finally, if you see me walking around - I'll be the cutie, probably in some Superman t-shirt, ignore me. I have enough friends, dammit!

Well, that turned out to be more than I expected. Not just good advice for the new Yahoos moving in, but for all who might visit/move to/work in the grand city of Burbank, California, home to me and the great Patton Oswalt!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Yahoo! - Serious? Committee.

Hola, kids! I took an double extended weekend feel much better for it. Can anyone else believe how soon Thanksgiving will be upon us? I sure as hell can't, but there is a great post coming here on Thanksgiving Day. Tune in - I promise you won't be disappointed or your money back. I'll be shaking my booty to the new Madonna disc (good, but not consistently great, IMHO)* while doing some Fall cleaning for tonight. I leave you with this:

While wandering the aisles at my local shopping center the other night, I stumbled upon something in a Christmas aisle which made me think of our good friend Jake:



The shelf was full of stuff that had nothing to do with the season in question, so I have no idea what the ornament was supposed to be, but if I were coming out with Cher-inspired Christmas products I would call the line Do You Believe? and it would definitely include A Three Kings music box that plays "Gypsies, Tramps, & Theives" (I once heard this song on a player piano at an old-fashioned ice-cream parlor. Classic.) And a Nativity Scene snowglobe that plays "I Found Someone." And a Holy Family nightlight that plays "I Got You, Babe."

OK, I'll stop now before I'm instantly condemned to hell (as opposed to that gradual slide I'm ewpecting...). Unless I think of more. Then I'll post 'em.

-J.

*For a differing opinion of Confessions On A Dance Floor, go here. As soon as she gets the birthday present I sent her, my sister should have a glowing review.

This post was sponsored by the Ho! Just 40 Shopping Days Left. Ho! Committee

Um, advertise much?

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I know it's early,but...

Who loves me enough to buy my this?

Just a little more U2

My co-worker who was also at the concert last week emailed me this shot from her seats. The Edge comes a little closer to getting his due with this shot. I hear there's a few more coming from friends of hers who got even closer than we did to the stage.

Lost returns tonight. I'll be posting later than usual, but I'll be here...

-J.

Leave This!

In a city known for it's eternal sunshine, I have proof of a seasonal change. Today, as I meandered the streets to get lunch, I discovered a treasure trove near the park. By my local fire station (aka my polling place. And no, I didn't vote today. I vote absentee.) were TONS of fall leaves, with different colors and whatnot. It isn't too often you see these in L.A. so while this is not much to many of you, it's always a treat for me. Here's some more evidence:

Mundane? Maybe a little, but it's the little things that keep us sane some days.

In other news, my music listening has been set on random something major lately. For an example, here's the playlist that has been running as I cleaned my room, folded laundry and blogged tonight (click for the readable view):

What has this got to do with anything? Not a thing. It's just helps pad out the post and gives everyone further proof of how oddly my brain is wired.

I'm now off to listen to the new Kate Bush album. 12 years in the waiting...no pressure, right? Night kids!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Spring Into Fall Committee.

Dear Joni,

On your birthday, I wanted to write you something as meaningful and as beautiful as those word and music of yours that mean so much to me. Coming from a mere mortal,that would be impossible. So I'll shoot from the heart and hope it touches the hem. I'll avoid any unnecessary "Both Sides, Now" references.

I think I was 11 when I discovered that battered copy of Blue in my aunt's record collection.Every line, every groove, has taught me something new every time I spin it. I didn't get "A Case of You" until I'd really had my heart broken ("If you want me, I'll be in the bar" wasn't exactly common 6th grade lingo!). When that tape finally wore out, I ventured out and bought every album I could find. Although it didn't happen right away, I loved something about each and every one (especially the ones most folks hated). When I finally saw you in concert, I heard a piece of my life click into place.

My favorite song of yours is one the last original pieces of music and lyric we were graced with before you walked away from it all:


During times like these, the wise are influential
They can bear the imperfections, they can keep the harmony
No doubt about it, no doubt that's essential
No doubts! That's always been a tricky one for me...
So on this day, I will sit back and listen to my favorites and think about about all of the good times and all of the bad times your music has been there with me for. From those spare, acoustic early works to the final, sweeping orchestral pieces - I always found something for me and for others I love. I've always been fond of giving out your music as gifts. Today, I hope I gave back a small gift to you for what you've given me.

Happy Birthday, Joni Mitchell.

Stay In Touch,
-J.

Zoo TV 2005

The U2 concert. I'm still recovering in the best way possible. After a concert fiasco or two this year, I needed this good and loud a show. The tear-inducing moments were, predictably "One" and "Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own." Thank heavens they didn't play "Kite" or "Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of" - I was fountain of tears last time I saw them play. I hate being one of those people...

What can I say that isn't already hidden somewhere in these blurry little pixels? Seeing The Larry Mullen Band U2 live makes me so happy. And surprisingly, the crowd wasn't bad at all. No fights broke out that I was responsible for. A few girls got into a shoving match, but that was amusing. And during the opening act - Bob Marley's son, Damien - someone decided to get in touch with their Jamaican roots. Many other folks got in touch with their, um, Irish roots in a similar fashion through the U2 set. This blitz of red light was during the opener, "Vertigo."

FB loves Larry Mullen, Jr. like no other. He always has. So I tried as hard as I could to get a good shot. This was the best of the bunch. Larry had celebrated his birthday the night before. He's finally starting to show his age, but still has the best arms ever. Oh yeah, and he's one hell of drummer.

Adam always looked the oldest of the boys, but in the many years since his hair went gray, time has stood still. You can't tell from this silhouette, but take my word for it. He looks and plays great (and a little like Leonard Cohen), especially for someone who was best know for his party boy, model-loving antics back in the day. And he had a smile on his face the whole show. Come to think, so did I. :)

This, sadly, is as close to a picture of The Edge as I could get. He was to left most of the show and the four pics I snapped didn't come out at all. So this shot of his hand an guitar on the far left of the screen is as good as it gets. But we really love you Edge - especially since you live in Malibu now! I love how Rattle & Hum the screen shots looked throughout the show.

One hell of a capper to my whirlwind week before returning to my quiet nights in the BC. Fiction and odd musings resume Monday. Have a good weekend, kids!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Salt Water Kisses Committee.

u2

The concert was awesome. My ears are still ringing and my heart is still pounding. I pre-scheduled today off from work to recover. Good call. I've got some quality time to spend staring at the walls of The Cave.

"Some things you shouldn't get too good at - like crying, smiling, & celebrity..." The lone star sighting of the night: Topher Grace. As FB noted before realizing who he'd just checked out, "That guy's cute." He seemed unassuming and not going for the VIP treatment. Also, not as tall as I imagined, but that's TV for ya.

If I can muster it, later I'll have some more detailed accounting of the concert, possibly with more blurry cell-phone pics!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Slow Down My Beating Heart Committee.

Halloween.

In some circles it's known as the Gay Christmas. Where to begin about my Halloween? Well, pre-Halloween you know a little about. The two year-old's costume party - I was lazy and went in the all-too-fashionable Clark Kent "costume" (you've seen it - the Superman shirt beneath a button down).

Yesterday to get a free lunch at work, I replicated that costume (as an aside, I first rocked that about 8 years ago, long before everyone and their mother was doing it!). The day was a blur of non-productivity. I returned to the Butterfly Cave, ready to change into costume. My groceries were scheduled to arrive by 6p and the Princess & FB dropped by earlier to get into costume. Despite my hermetic tendencies, I was able to be coaxed out for the annual WeHo celebration this year.

As for last night, I'm just gonna give a Reader's Digest version - the long story made it sound too much like I didn't have fun. (Maybe I didn't, but do you really wanna read about that?!?!)

FB created a fabulous Joker outfit and I put together a somewhat skanky Robin getup. The Princess put on devil horns and some kick ass red eyelashes. After the drama of the groceries arrving nearly 45 minutes late, we headed over a mesh-clad friend's place and made our way down. It took nearly an hour in crushing traffic (from Silverlake, by the way!) but we finally got the honor of paying $20 bucks to park a mile away.

Noteworthy costumes included:
- Hurricane Katrina (two guys spinning in clouds - you had to see it to believe it)
- Hurricane Katrina victims (two guys sitting on the "roof" of their costume - ditto)
- White Lies (i.e. "the checks in the mail," "we have no WMDs," etc.)
- More than life-size puppets of Jack Skellington & Zero (from The Nightmare Before Christmas), operated by a guy dressed as Johnny Depp's character from Sleepy Hollow.

The Batmen were a poor crop. A few kiddie Batmen waved at me and few pedophiles leered. The best of the lot were the lone cool looking one who was attached to Wonder Woman - and how can a Boy Wonder compete with that? - and a Batwoman who scared me a little, but I couldn't discount how cool woman with an Afro in a Batman outfit is. So sadly, there was no photo op to be had with a Batman.

Also, I think I got gypped by the gyro lady. She swore I gave her a ten, but I think I might have given her a twenty. So I may have paid $19 for gyro and a 7-Up.

The crowd crush was a bit much. Some guy kept ramming his camara into my back and pulling on my cape, choking me more than a little. I'm more than a little claustrophobic, so he picked the wrong Robin to piss of. After a few nice and a few not-so nice attempts at asking him to back up a little, I turned around and socked him in the chest. He finally backed up. (My horoscope for yesterday read, "Your Halloween alter ego: a classic superhero, especially Superman or Wonder Woman. Close enough!)

Problems aside, I'm glad I didn't bone out on the plans like I thought I might and I'm glad I emerged from The Cave, however briefly. FB & I have tickets for Wednesday's u2 concert. They're general admission floor tickets, so I'll have to brave the crush again. But with a concert going on, all should be well. And if, not, now I know I don't hit like a girl. If you hear of a riot breaking out at the Staples Center, that was probably me.

Happy All Saints Day, kids!
- J.

This post was sponsored by the Support Your Local Sidekick Committee.

I know, I skipped Friday and this barely counts as a Monday post. Bad blogger, bad blogger, bad blogger...

I actually left the Butterfly Cave this weekend, including tonight, when I was coaxed out to the West Hollywood Halloween crush of humanity. More on that, including pictures, tomorrow.

In the meantime, here's a quick wrap-up of my weekend:

Friday. I went to old high school alma mater's Homecoming game, complete with a pizza party afterward for all alumni. Since I'd be skipping my ten year reunion the next evening (I opted to save the $65 per person), I dropped by and felt really good. Most of my former classmates look majorly older than me. Maybe I will go to that next reunion.

Saturday. I found myself at two birthday parties - one adult and one kiddie-sized. The adult one was a decent dinner and some fun over board games and ridiculous banter. The birthday party for the my cousin's two-year old son was interesting. I went because I promised my family I'd be there. They didn't show up until two hours into the party, when I only had 15 minutes before I had to head out. Still, I had fun with the birthday boy:





He actually manages a better mustache than I do.





We watched a DVD together for most of the party.







Toy Story is apparently a real nail-biter.






I'll have that Halloween wrap-up for you early tomorrow, I hope. I don't do well with crowds. Tonight was no exception. This should be good...

-J.

I hung upside down for this?

It's really me this time. After two days of fiction - which I've really enjoyed posting it and am going to continue doing - I'm back to annoying you all with my random thoughts for an evening..

The other day at work, a co-worker and I were talking about going through changes and metamorphoses , et al - y'know, all the B.S. you shoot the breeze about in order to avoid actually working. She said something about going into our chrysalis (chrysali?) and emerging butterflies. The trite sentiment would normally have inspired a vicious yet hilarious remark. But this day, I was feeling thoughtful. Or at least I wasn't feeling very mean. All I could think of when she said it:

Where do butterflies live?

When they're caterpillar (should that be caterpillars? ah, the plurality!), they crawl around in gardens, on trees and leaves, eating up stuff to get fat and prepare for the cocoon stage. Then they hang upside down from a branch or something and emerge a little bit later with wings. After that, it gets a little hazy. Once they can fly (this apparently doesn't happen right away, leaving them pretty vulnerable to birds for a while), they flit from place to place on the breeze, settling on flowers and stealing nectar and pollinating in a benign fashion.

But when it gets dark and they aren't fluttering by, where do they go?

Bees have a hive. Spiders have webs. Butterflies have what - a Butterfly Cave? Wikipedia was as helpful as ever on every point but this. I finally tracked it down on, of all things, the Butterfly Website. Apparently, the little fellas hide between the crevices of rocks or hang from under leaves during the evening or in bad weather. So they do sorta have a Butterfly Cave.

Random question of the day answered.

J's Thought: Very often we tell people going through changes or difficult times that they will emerge from it more beautiful than before, like a butterfly emerging from it's cocoon. How different would they react if we said this instead:

"You'll crawl on your belly for while eating just about anything you can find. You'll go into seclusion, come back prettier but more fragile and vulnerable than ever and end up basically homeless, drifting from place to place, inclined to hide in the dark or during bad weather. Oh, and you'll die not long after that."

The lesson: don't oversimplify things, kids. You never know.

We're back to fiction tomorrow, I think. After this oddball post, you all probably think that's a good thing!

Back to the Butterfly cave wth me,
-J.

This post was sponsored by the Pin Me Down Committee.

more fiction...

Tuesday. It is a quarter past 7pm. My parents won't be home for at least two hours - Parent/Teacher Night always takes at least two hours. Questions, questions, questions for every teacher who struggles to remember who exactly I am. Even though I know the hell that's coming when they hear how little I show up, I feel more sorry for those poor underpaid bastards than I feel for myself right now. Who wants to listen to all of those questions on a night when you should be at home grading papers and watching bad TV?

I drop the needle and suddenly Dionne is singing "my hands are shaking/Don't let my heart keep breaking..." The cool kids listen to The Wall or Rumours when they do this, I'm told. I prefer vintage Burt Bacharach by way of Miss Warwick. It makes me feel like an aging lothario with a bachelor pad. I really like the sound of that patented horn in the background of the ballads, between each line of heartbreak and nostalgia. I could float without anything to inhale if I had to. Tonight, however, the music will get some assistance.

I turn out the lights and open a window. It's unusually chilly tonight, but I need the smoke to waft outside, not down the hall. Sandalwood should help mask it tonight. I'm sure they suspect what I do on the nights I "burn incense and meditate" for hours, but they'll never ask. Bad grades are about all they can handle.

I reach for my lighter, finally ready to start it all. Suddenly, Dionne isn't the only voice in the house. I hear keys drop on the kitchen table. Annoyed voices call me out of my Sandalwood cave. Early? This can't have gone well. All of the teachers must have been quick and to the point. Escape will have to wait for another time, I suppose. I'll have to let that horn float me until then.

File Under: Fiction.

The White Sox won.

Hurrah. Yes, their first series win since 1917. Yes, the Second Team of the Second City are now winners. Listen, shut up for second.

Does this mean Fox will actually run The Simpsons Treehouse of Horror episode on Halloween or at least on Sunday, right before it?

If the answer is "No," then I don't care. Otherwise, I'm excited, too.

-J.

Um, family resemblence much? Wow.

I'm working on some slightly newer fiction as we speak. It may be ready tonight. To tide you over, I'll leave you with this (cropped photo of an actual document from where I work):

Yup. Where most of my co-workers put initials or some other identifying piece of info, I type J6 on work paperwork.

-J.

H20

Don't say i didn't warn you. Here's the first J6 foray into internet fiction - I actually wrote most of this when I was about 18. If it sucks, blame it on my youth. If you think it doesn't, my 28 year old self takes full credit for the re-write and editing. :)

Water. It boggles my mind that I'll pay a dollar for a bottle at a gas station. The stuff comes out of my faucet at home, basically for free, but I don't like the taste. When people pay for something truly valuable, like sex, at least you're reasonably assured they don't have it on tap at home. But then maybe they do and just don't like the taste of that, either. I have bottled water chilling at home, but I can't wait for it. Maybe people who buy sex just can't wait until they get home. I'm buying here at this gas station while waiting for the car to fill up. Against my better judgement, I also buy a pack of smokes.

Smoking after the gym, I realize, makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. But it makes at least a little more sense than smoking before hitting the gym. Of course, now that I have the pack, I may just do that tomorrow. Life is full of inconsistencies. Like how I spend two hours sweating, shower it off in the locker room and then hit the steam room just to sweat some more. Then I rinse off, change and head home to shower "for real" (soap, shampoo, the whole show) before heading to bed.

It's a wonder I even feel the need for the bottled stuff when I spend so much of my day using water in every capacity. But then, I guess I'm just trying to make up for all that I cry out as I try and sleep unsuccessfully. The bottled water, the gym, the cigarettes - it's all a process of drinking you in, sweating you out, and drying myself off inside to try and move on. I keep hoping that as I see more body progress in the mirror, I might see it in myself. But that hasn't happened yet.

Instead, here I am, with a pack of cigarettes I regret buying. I've got an empty bottle of water I needed but didn't enjoy. And the shower is just one more chance to think about you and only you. Sure, you were shallow, but it only takes an inch of water. It's a wonder I don't drown sometimes.

File Under: Fiction.

The best part of working the late shift at my job is that I get to wake up an hour later than usual for that particular week. The worst part is that moment at 4pm when I realize that I have not one, but two hours left before I can go home, nuke my Stouffer's dinner and ditch the gym in favor of some terrible horror movie to keep me entertained.

Tonight's delightfully gloomy outside. It's misting a little and the sky is covered in dark clouds. In a city without seasons (nine months of television production nothwithstanding), it's always a treat to have something like this happen. It isn't a lightning storm like a few weeks ago, but I still love to turn off the lights and watch the sky from my bedroom window.

As last week goes to show, I'm finding it a little hard to write even the mundane things that are going on lately. This weekend was an extension of sorts, to that retreat I took from my life last week. To mix it up and keep a little more for myself than usual, I think I'm going to start dabbling in fiction. I've got some pieces lying around that will more than likely remain unfinished. I may start posting those just to share and keep myself creative while working on some stuff in the "real" world. Hopefully, it won't seem too self-indulgent and it will be interesting. I guess I'll know by how many tomatoes are thrown.

October is almost over. I don't think I've gone into how much I usually hate the month of October. That's a post for another day. But suffice it to say, I'm very glad Halloween will provide a fun end to a rough month. Tomorrow I'm going to have sushi for lunch. That always puts me in a good mood - unless the fish is warm. Ugh.



I leave you tonight with evidence of the good time FB and I had recently with my new Atari Flashback 2. We found Hangman and played it more than any of the other games. FB figured this one out very quickly.

Hey, that's me!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Not-So-Manic Monday Committee.