What's Your Function? or How L.A. & N.Y. finally managed to get along...

That's right, kids. It's that time again. The return of the Hotter than ever, and even Fresher tag-team post. FB's return couldn't be better timed, because this post wouldn't be right without him!! So let's get this Monday afternoon party started...





Wonder Twin powers....ACTIVATE!!!

FB: Form of...a Mojito!
Jay: Shape of ...a Lounge Lizard!

This Sunday, we ventured down to Silverlake. Good friends of a good friend (the much missed Princess - hi baby!!!) invited us along to the annual Sunset Junction, where they close down like four blocks (more like ten dude) and have a party. Freak flags fly and food and music waft simultaneously through the air. We thought it would be a good time. Then, out of curiousity, we checked out the roster for Sunday's musical guests. My heart stopped. 8:30pm. The. New. York. Dolls. As quickly as I could, I told FB. Oh my GOD!!!! The New York Dolls!!!! AAAHHHHHHHH!!!!! The annual conjuction junction, Sunset Junction that has a great function. It gets all the hip and hip replacements a chance to get together in an intoxicating enviroment. Conducive (Conducive? Who taught you such big words? Have you been reading the dictionary?!?!) to good times and loud music. We gots the gays and the straights. Bear daddies and pretty boy twinks . 80's Punk kids who were born in 1990 rubbing faux mohawks with actual punk rockers who overdosed more times than these kids have celebrated birthdays. Everyone is invited. It f*ck'n rocks. So whatever. I got a little drunk. He's kidding - we didn't have lunch and drank before we ate dinner. So we got wasted. And being Monday, no menudo. That sucks. I did have some pan dulce for breakfast this morning, though. That's one step towards getting on that damn list... I think pan dulce works. I felt so much better after consuming two of the three I had.

OH my GOD!!!! THE NEW YORK DOLLS!!!!!!!! AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

But J and I got down there around 5 and it was bloody hot. It' was like my ass crack was doubling for the movie A River Runs Through It. It was that hot. Seriously - it was hotter than crotch at a bathouse. When you live in the Valley, nay when you've grown up in the Valley and you think it's too hot, it's fuckin' hawt!! We met our new friends who we stole from our English Rose who is away. So since she isn't using her friends J and I will. They are so great. I like meeting nice people. I always turn to J. at the end of a day when hanging out with nice people and go, "I'm so not that nice!" "I wish I could be. But I know I'll never be that nice." I think it's a midwest thing. People seem to be so nice once they move somewhere cool like LA. I'm sorry for y'all who don't think LA rocks but it so does. Screw you. I'm so in love with my city right now. Oh my GOD!! It's the NEw YorK DoLLs!!! AAHHHH!!!

I'm so hung over I can't write. Sorry. So here are some pictures to give you a visual on the event. Ahh NEWYORKDOLLS!!!!

This is what part of the festival looked like. There was like a kajillion people there. And only one fight. That I saw at least. Shockingly, it didn't smell bad and I totally expected it to be rank. Of course, I was drunk so maybe I didn't notice. For all I know, I stunk up the joint. By the time we got back to my place, I had to take a shower, so maybe...



This is seriously like half of what the fest looked like. They closed off like 10 blocks of Sunset Blvd. So cool. Lot's of fair food. J and I ate some yummy stuff. But we didn't stop by the intestinal bomb stand (you mean danger dogs?!?!? ugh.) or funnel cake stand to the rest of you. It looked good. But I had to save room for "lemonade". Hurray for flasks.

Then I stalked this dog in a drunken haze for about ten minutes. This dog is wearing boots!!!! Shoes on a dog!!! What a hoot!!! And now we know what happened to Paris Hilton's abandoned Tinkerbell!



Then we waited in line to get more "lemonade". The we saw this guy. He was having people sign a petition. For what I don't know. but I think his shirt gives us a clue. I love the look on this guy's face. I guess he just found out what it was for.



By the way the guy in the shirt was cute. I mean, any guy who can rock dolphin shorts, a fanny pack, 80's bandana and be on roller blades is hot. Has to be to pull off that sh*t. I should've signed his petition. AAAHHHH!!!!! The New York Dolls!!!!!!

FB totally forgets one part of day that rocked every casbah in the freakin' multiverse. Back in the day, when FB and I dated (almost ten years ago - crikey!), we had a partner in crime to go out dancing and drinking with. We reveled in being the teenage twinkies. But in the last few years, we'd fallen out of touch and weren't sure what happened to our dear friend. Lo and behold as we're walking stumbling down the street and there he is, passing out flyers for one of the booths. It was one of those moments the universe has in store for you that makes you stop and think. Connect with new friends, reconnect with old friends - how much luckier could we get?!?! Oh yeah.... Actually I wasn't going to talk about it. I missed my friend like hard core. I really thought he was dead. I was so sad. If you get caught up in the gay "lifestyle" it tends to chew you up and spit you out. I had a mexican vision my friend wasn't doing well and when I saw him I almost cried. But I was to drunk to have emotions so I just hugged him a million time. I'm so happy I found him. Count your blessings kids. AAAHHHH THE NEW YORK DAAWWWWLLLLZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then we come to that special part of the night. When I got to see a certain band perform. The funny thing is I had no idea they were headlining the final night until a couple hours before we showed up. I love happy surprises. Actually, I hate surprises but this was a good one. So running all through my head was, "AAHHHH THE NEW YORK DOLLS!!!!!!" after I found out. I'm still screaming in my head because I am so happy. I was Disneyland happy the whole time. Like frat boy with a new keg all to himself happy. I've never bounced up and down so much at a concert. I never thought I'd see them and then kaboom. There they are. Now I have to go stalk them while they're on tour. So here are a few happy punk drunk shots of THE NEW YORK DOLLS!!!!AAAAHHHHHAHAHHAHHAHAHH!!!!!

Isn't he so cute rockin' the belly shirt!!?!!!!! David Johansen, better known to you young'n's as Buster Pointdexter, rocks the house like nobody's business without breaking a sweat or seeming all that interested. And he's waaay skinnier than FB. Wow. The Stones wish they sounded as good and had as much energy as the Dolls '05. Maybe they should have broken up and gotten back together thirty years later. Keith would probably be dead , but they'd rock again, I bet.



OH, He so ready to rock. They did an awesome cover of Piece of my Heart. I almost died. No shit - it was amazing.



David looks confused. I think he can't find me in the crowd. He's so lost without his rock. That's me damn it!!!! Now I can throw my panties and die a happy man. So that's what he meant by "Looking For A Kiss" (the opening bars of which sent FB into convulsions of bliss when they opened the show with it). I wonder if Mr. Johansen knows that it's about FB...



My highlight was the abbreviated cover of original guitarist Johnny Thunders' solo masterpiece, "You Can't Put Your Arms Around A Memory" - dedicated to both Thunders and their other departed bandmember, Arthur Kane, who died of leukemia just over a year ago. It was, to this music geek at least, moving and it rocked - a rare feat.

All in all, this was the best Sunday ever. We had a blast and it renewed our belief that we both belong nowhere but L.A. for this time of our lives. You may not be able to put your arms around a memory, but a memory can wrap arms around you. This one will be hugging tight for lifetimes to come.

L-U-V, kids.

The Ever Elusive Sunday Edition

Blogger was giving attitude on Friday and I wasn't in the mood yesterday (read: I woke up waay too late in the day to do anything but eat and a drool.) But we owe a friend something. And so without much fanfare and with much love, we present yet another...

FB & JaySix Supehero Corner!!!!

Meet Lady T. - by day a mild-mannered bookseller. That is, she was, until she opened that first edition version of Emma - while playing Teena Marie record in the background. The gypsy curse placed the book was activated by a high note...

Nobody would suspect that when duty calls now, she becomes LoverGirl. Ready at all times to aim her crossbow at a bad movie or bad movie maker, she's an arbiter and protecter of good taste.

Welcome aboard, T! I'm sure you and Wonder (whoa!) Man will have fun shopping for leggings and stuff...

-J.

Time Magazine Sucks.

For those who still remember who he is - no, FB is not dead. And rumours of his Farewell Tour are greatly exaggerated. He's not fully vested in the Hot & Fresh 401k yet. He's just been on a recharging hiatus. He assures me that come Monday I will no longer be a sidekick sans hero. I think that was a compliment - or as close to one as he can get.

In any event, the reason I am bringing him up is that last night at the gym I was perusing the magazines and happened up Time magazine's The 25 Most Influential Hispanics In America. I don't know if you've read it yet, but if you haven't, I have some shocking news. Please sit down. Oh, right...internet, computer. Well, um, there's no easy way to say this.

We're not on the list.

That's right - neither FB nor moi made the cut on this supposedly comprehensive tome. Unlike many of the chosen ones, we don't speak Spanish. We haven't been married three times in seven years. We're not Attorney General. And we sure as hell don't like this in an evening gown. But seeing as I've never heard of most of the selected, I'd say we should have been given more careful consideration. Or a phone call to let us know where the party was going to be. Vanity Fair would have at least called us for the composite photo shoot.

I suppose all our contributions are too low key. That time I made rice and only burned like, half of the bottom? When FB learned to make chile rellenos from my grandmother? The fact that I've seen Like Water For Chocolate at least twice? Apparently these acheivments don't count for anything. So here, in front of El Dios and all of our readers, I'm throwing our sombreros in officially for next time. We will be on the next list and we may even be on the cover!

We'll see the Virgin of Guadalupe in every tortilla we happen upon. I'll eat menudo every weekend - hungover or not. FB will buy all of those mariachi records Linda Ronstadt made. We will not just go back to our roots, we will tend them, fertlize them and grow into the biggest, baddest Homo-American Hispanics on the vine. We will each be getting married and divorced at least three times in the next year. And who knows? Maybe the Attorney General position will be available if Rehnquist steps down from the Supreme Court after all. In any event, we'll be there. And we'll tell them that we owe all of it to our loyal Hot & Fresh readership. Well, almost all of it - we'll probably owe several big favors to the Mexican Mafia by the end of our campaign. But we'll be able to throw some kick ass fiestas.

Now, I don't want you think this is just about us. Other notables left off the list included: Lynda Carter (why, yes she is half Mexican), Trent (!), and Freddie Prinze, Jr.! Alright. Win some, lose some. If Wonder Woman beats you to list, you still win. And Trent's waay more established and has far more readers. If Buffy's Sarah Michelle's lesser half beats you at ping pong, you should call it a day. So our standing is still somewhere in between greatness and a half step away from cater-waiter. But we're climbing that ladder.

Look out Cantinflas! And stand aside Bumblebee Guy! J6 & FB are primed and poised to make every day gigante, not just Sabado. ¡Qué Lastima, bitches!

-J.

Este poste fue patrocinado por el ¡¡I Just Used Up All Of My Spanish!! Comité

Catwoman: The Jay Six Review!

Inspired in part by Lady T. and her declaration of August as Bad Movie Month, we bring you the very first movie review on our humble little blog.

Now, as you may have noticed, I have a little thing for superheroes. OK, I have a big thing for superheroes. And I tend to cut big screen adaptations a little slack. I understand that the translation from page to camara can't always be an exact carbon translation. Some of my favorites - Tim Burton's darkly gothic Batman films or Richard Donner's take on Superman, for example - deviate wildly. But I still enjoy. Alas, sometimes this was not to be the case when it came to the long delayed meeting of myself and Catwoman.

I know what you're saying, "But J. that stinker came out last summer to critical scorn and dismal box office. And it's been on DVD for months!" Well, like hell was I going to pay money, be it a ticket or a rental, for something I was guaranteed to hate. But when a movie hits cable TV, all bets are off. And lo and behold this weekend past, FB was over and happened upon it. Now it was free! (Sort of. You know what I mean).

I don't think it will come as a shock that the plot has some major holes. For one thing, this plot was obviosuly written when Michelle Pfeiffer (the world's second best, live action Catwoman) was being sought to reprise her Catwoman in a non-Batman movie. Right down to certain visual references that remain, it's pretty obvious this script owes a debt to Burton's slightly pyschotic version of our beloved Selina Kyle. But Halle Berry isn't playing Selina Kyle. She's not even playing a nondescript Catwoman like Julie Newmar (and Eartha Kitt and Lee Meriwether after her). She's Patience Phillips, possibly the stupidest name this side of Apple Martin(i) or CoCo (koo koo!) Arquette. And just like Burton's Selina Kyle, she kinda sorta dies and is brought back to life by cats. Unlike Selina Kyle, she sucks. And also she kinda turns into a cat. Seriously, she's afraid of rain. It's that bad.

The direction is a cracked-out music video style. Halle Berry, who really camps it up (though perhaps not intentionally), claims the director barely spoke English. Benjamin Bratt blandly plays Patience's love interest, a police detective (all Catwomen have a thing for detectives it seems). To be honest, this guy is stupider than Lois Lane could ever be. Patience is as far as I can tell), just about the only black woman in town and yet he's not sure if she's Catwoman. Also, he looks really bad in close-ups. They give poor, underused Frances Conroy (late of Six Feet Under) a frosted lens in ever shot she's in and couldn't even managed to hide Benji's fine lines. And don't get me started on the CGI cats. Are animal actors really that expensive that special effects are more cost effective? Or did all of the cats require a script that made sense before they'd sign on?

Believe it or not, I did find some bright spots in this movie. First of all, since this isn't Selina Kyle, the real Catwoman emerges unscathed. Second, Alex Borstein is really great as the best friend/co-worker who succumbs to the effects of the evil cosmetics company before getting a deserved happy ending. Third, Sharon Stone looks fantastic in all of the photographs they have draped around the cosmetic company's offices. Sure, the character she's playing makes no sense, but if her career has survived just about everything post-Basic Instinct, it can certainly survive this.

This screening by the way, took two viewings. The movie was so bad, I fell asleep halfway through (leaving poor FB - remember him? - alone with Patience and her problems) and had to catch up the next day (bless that OnDemand feature Charter gives me!). To make myself and you feel better, I'll leave us all with the one, true Catwoman....

Meow.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Statuesque Committee.

Today we get a little confessional:

I love being depressed.

OK, not actually depressed. Been there. It sucks. No, I'm talking about that semi-artificial kind of depression you only get from music, the movies, and TV. I guess it just makes me feel better about my life to see something heavier than my problems put down as art. Some people watch Jerry Springer for the same reason, I hear. In any event, for me, it's Dolly Parton ("Me & Little Andy," "Dagger Through The Heart," or "The Grass Is Blue"), Joni Mitchell ("A Case of You"), Billie Holiday (Lady In Satin - the whole album). See also: the "Wise Up" sequence in the movie Magnolia. And one particular commercial.

Yes, I said commercial.

Sure, I've been sad when characters have died on my shows or at the end of a series. But nothing has ever traumatized me like that stupid Campbell's Soup commerical...The one where a little girl is dropped off to live with a new family, all Punky Brewster-like. Oh my God, was she orphaned? Abandoned? Just poorly parented in a ghetto somewhere? Either way, she meets Foster Mom and her sympathetic eyes with steely, mute resolve at the door. Until Foster Mom brings in a bowl of tomato soup, Campbell's can in full view. Then Lil' Mutie pipes up:

"My Mommy used to make this soup for me."

Gulp. Worst fears confirmed. Real Mom is...DEAD! Overdose? Cancer? And where is Dad? Jail? Oh God. I can't handle it. Where is this going? Then Foster Mom intones,

"My mom did too. Maybe we talk about them over lunch."

Orphan Girl smiles. Foster Mom smiles. The announcer shills condensed soup at me one last time. And then Ally McBeal is back with her delusions. Orphan Girl's fine now. Ally's as fine as a crazy woman can be. But I am a mess. Does she get placed for adoption or will she go through a slew of dysfunctional foster homes a la White Oleander? I never get my resolution. But I work through some deep-seeded shit that no therapist could ever pull out, unless they had the commercial on TiVo.

Anyhow, that's I meant by I like to be depressed. Being depressed over your own problems sucks. But empathizing with a Campbell's soup orphan? That's not just good and cheap therapy, it's damn good comedy, as this post proves.

Night kids. This is way past my bedtime...

-J.

This post was sponsored by Lil' Orphan Cannie's Committee.

Happy Friday, True Believers!

I didn’t intend for this to become a weekly thing, but with another Friday comes another…

FB & Jay’s Superhero Corner!*


Secret Agent AJ Lox is the world’s greatest and gayest super spy. Armed to the teeth (seriously, he’s not above biting if in a pinch!), he can be anywhere and do anyone anything when duty calls. Whether it’s exposing holes in government conspiracies , killing vicious Memes or just the occasional friendly fire on an innocent blog, Agent Lox is always on the closet case.

Although you’d think a man this armed wouldn’t need superpowers, you’d be wrong. Besides being trained in every martial art you’ve ever heard (and three you haven’t!), he possesses an unusually high level of Gaydar^tm and lightning quick with a cutting remark. And when he cuts you – be it with a backhanded compliment or a good ol’ fashioned homemade shank, you won’t mind being kept in stitches. He’s just that good.

Welcome our newest hero to fold, kids!

-J.

*Credit must be given where credit is due - FB designed this one, so his name goes first.

Full Moon Fever

Today, some woman at work told me my new hairstyle resembled her father's toupee. Try as I may, I couldn't take that as a compliment.

Then some kids referred to me as "that scary man" as I walked past them to get into my apartment building.

Last night, the cutie trainer at the gym didn't call me "sir," making me believe he doesn't think I look ancient anymore. That's a plus.

Finally, my roommate is sick. As I walked in, she asked me to bludgeon her to death and end her suffering. (Believe me : my roomie is tough as nails. This must be bad.) I explained that I couldn't for two reasons: A) "You have a boyfriend now - that's his job," and B) "If my name's not on the insurance policy, all this means is I have to search for a new roommate."

Now, I don't know how much there is to the whole full moon driving people crazy thing, but I feel it coming nonetheless. Sure, the evidence is spotty at best. People, if you ask me, are never very nice to each other if they don't have to be. And kids are always cruel. And roommates, even the lion-hearted ones, do get sick. And the weather hasn't been too wonky lately. Except for that freak thunderstorm everyone woke up to but me.

But that hair crack is sticking with me. You see, I am growing my hair out a bit. How much is "a bit"? I don't know yet. When it's too long, I'll tell you. Or cut it. Or both. Right now, it's in that "in-between" phase, the one where every other day I'm tempted to shave in all off and start from scalp. I was too dumbfounded to explain to my well-meaning, if slightly misguided associate. (She said my hair was looking a little too flat. With that I couldn't disagree - I woke up late this morning and rushed out of the house with minimal primping time.) But other people have been complimenting my hair lately. My favorite co-worker told me the new do was very Beatle-esque. Another recently called it very "movie star." So maybe it just looked bad today. And maybe I'm just too sensitive because of the full moon coming on.

To make myself feel better, I must note that Jason is back after his unexpected week off. And Jake has a connection while traveling, so we get a Breakfast At Tiffany's - On The Road Edition!! So, no, despite an apparent bad hair day, life isn't all bad.

Still, I'm going to wear a hat to the gym tonight. I can't take any chances that the guy who I suspect may be Andrew McCarthy seeing me with my toupee on.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the My Comb-over! Committee.

UPDATE (12:31am Friday) Two funny things to add...A) the guy at the gym is definitely not Andrew McCarthy. Darn. And I've one last one to add to my "people say the shittiest things when the moon is full" list. I took my lunch knapsack with me to gym to hold my wallet and such while I worked out. (I don't do the locker. I have lock issues. Don't ask. Long story). Anyhow, after the gym I stopped into Coffee Bean to feed my addiction and heard this as I was leaving.

Barista: "See? He has a man-bag. I'm gay enough for that, too."

Not my day, I guess. I should have gone and taken back the tip I'd dropped in the jar.

OK, the the gay blogging mafia has slowed down it's activities a little: between FB's dogsitting keeping him on minimal blog this week, Jake's work vacation, and Jason's computer crashing almost a week ago (!), cynics might scoff "This will be a light blogging week."

Well, fuck those naysayers. Fuck 'em hard.

Tragic Demise has got a trilogy of trashy fun with Matt's Ricki Lake story. And Pimpin' D's got, among other things, a continuing Vegas saga. (I'm heavy with the link love this week - what can I say?) And yours truly has posted like crazy this week ! So while we all await the return of our friends on sabbatical, never fear: the fort is being held down. And we'll kick even more ass when they return.

****

And today is Belinda Carlisle's 47th birthday. As far as we know, she hasn't fallen off of a horse today. Which reminds me: the same year I listened to Roxette too much, I was also listeniing to Belinda's Runaway Horses album. Just had to share one more embarassing factoid....

****

Today I found an email from last October. Subject: maybe you need a blog. The rarely discussed fact is this: not only is FB the funnier of of our little Vaudeville act, he's also the reason I'm blogging. And I wasn't any good at it until he jumped on board. So although he's in and out this week, there is never a moment of this blog that doesn't have FB written all over it. Especially the boring stuff. Blame him for that shit.

I've got a hot date with the gym tonight. Tomorrow's post(s) should be more profound. After all I think that tonight I'll be getting more than five hours of sleep - I hear that helps the brain to work properly.

It's Hump Day. So hump someone you love. Or at least someone who you like. Or the nearest table - whatever.
-J.

Last week, ChipSlip tagged us - kinda sorta.

The rules are as follows: List ten songs that you are currently digging ... it doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they're no good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the artists, and the ten songs in your blog. Then tag five other people to see what they're listening to.

I have no plans to tag anyone by responding but we love us some Chip, so I am going to post this. It won't be as funny as Tony's recent response to being tagged (by one of our other favorite Matts). But it should be painless. I'm also doing only five because FB counts as the other half of the tag, if you ask me. He can put up his five if he feels like it.

1. Candace Devine, Kissed You Again. This a very good friend of FB's out in the "real world." She's amazing and and amazingly nice. And she deserves to be heard. Of the four previews on her website, this one gets stuck in my head the most. More can be heard at her MySpace Music corner.

2. Roxette, Fading Like A Flower (Every Time You Leave). In my freshman year of high school, while everyone else was banging their heads to Guns 'N' Roses' Use You Illusion I & II, I was stuck on Joyride. I can't tell you why, but I also can't bring myself to get rid of my Roxette CDs.

3. Elvis Presley, Suspicious Minds - 28 years ago he left the building for real. This is the only song of his I absolutely love.

4. The Nat "King" Cole Trio, Straighten Up and Fly Right - The King to me, was Mr. Cole.

5. Joni Mitchell, Lucky Girl - My life is incomplete without Joni. Especially the stuff nobody else likes.

That's it for tonight. See you all Wednesday!

-J.

p.s. don't forget to say a little prayer for Madge!

Madge is 47, People!

Every phase of evolution commences by being in a state of unstable force and proceeds through organization to equilibrium...the journey of a thousand miles starts in front of your feet. - The Kabbalah (according to some unreliable internet searching for quotes)

I have no idea what this quote really means.

But Happy Birthday, Madonna!

I'll be back with something more useful later.

ETA: Chip's on the breaking news. Seems Mrs. Ritchie isn't having a great birthday. Drink some Kabbalah water and tie a red ribbon 'round your wrist to ward off any more visits by the Evil Eye. And Evil Horses.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the She Must Be Soaking In It Committee.

I'll hold down the castle...

Since FB will be indisposed this week with his dog-sitting duties, I will be doing my best to hold down the fort. I promise to lay off the Hero Generator. I think it's contagious.

On Friday, a little piece of me hopped on a plane and made its way to Europe…again. Obviously I didn’t go anywhere. I’ve never been to Europe and for the time being, I’ve no plans (or money!) to go. The piece of me that left was the little bit of my heart The Princess always has with her. I think it was stuffed in a suitcase between some protein bars and those cute flip flops I rescued from under her couch just before departure.

(The Princess, for those of you who don’t recall or are just joining us, is my oldest gal pal. We have been friends since high school. Yes, we did go to my senior prom together. No, we never dated. If I weren’t gay, though, it would have been an honor. And a guaranteed disaster. But our parents would have been happy for all sorts of reasons.)

The Princess got word some months ago that she had the opportunity to go to London for a three-month job assignment. Now, going to Europe is old hat to my world traveling friend. Her dad lives and works in Spain and she’s been on all sorts of vacations, school trips and sabbaticals. Last time she left, she didn’t even know when she’d be back! So why then, was this time harder to take than any of those of others?

I guess it comes down to the fact that we’ve grown so much – both separately and together – in the past few years. Recently, she moved closer to me than she’s ever lived before. We now work and live within a three mile radius of each other. Someone can be the best friend in the world from afar, and believe me, she has been. But when they're close enough to make plans at the drop of a hat with, you really become attached - moreso than we realize, usually.

I know my favorite girl is coming back sooner than it seems, but I will miss her for every one of those days that she isn't there to call and ask out for coffee. I got emotional during our goodbyes over tacos and margaritas but held it in. FB and I talked about this weekend about how it was harder to see her off than we expected. And when I got an email from her this morning, I welled up. This isn't like me, I thought. She really is that important in my life.

October can't come quickly enough. I love you, Princess.

-J.

Faster Than A Speeding Bulletin...

Today we debut a periodic Hot & Fresh! feature: Jay & FB’s SuperHero Corner. Seeing as how I have an uncontrollable obsession with the Hero Generator program (thanks a lot, Jason!) I figure I might as well put it to good use. As we feel appropriate, more heroes will join the team roster. So without further adieu, I bring you today’s first official SuperHero Corner:

Ethan Solar (at left), mild-mannered Headmaster of the Brat Boy Academy for Gifted Bloggers, leads a double life. To his students, he’s the source of indispensable advice on fag hags, shaving, and how to make kick-ass homemade protein bars. But when duty calls, when the world needs a fire lit and light shone in darkest corners, his true nature reveals itself…

Enter: Phoebus (at right - duh!), demigod of fire and light, defender of the innocent! Stand in his way – we dare you.

Phoebus stands proudly with our founding members, Wonder (whoa!) Man, Wonder Lad, and Danny Man.

(Click the pics for a better look. And please be sure to check out the Brat Boy School Bulletin, where today Ethan will be displaying the raw material I began with to create his alter ego.)

-J.

This post was sponsored by the League of Extraordinarily Well-Mannered Gentlemen Committee.

I like backpacks and I cannot lie...

To tide you over while I write my real post for today, here's three random news items before we close out our week...

Who says cheerleaders are dumb?

Have you heard of the Kutztown 13? That was me...an, uh 12 other guys.*

Has anyone else seen the Target "Baby Got Back," er, BackPack commercials? (More than anything, I'm bothered we who remember Sir Mix-A-Lot's biggest hit are apparently old enough to have school-age children.) Funny enough, I do need a new backpack and will no doubt be heading to Target for it. Whaddya know? Ads do work!

Later, Haterz!

-J.

*Brownie points if you get the reference. Literally, if you're local enough, I'll make you brownies!

I'm the only one who knows that Disneyland's about to close...

To cap off this rare day of solo blogging, here's a long-overdue photo from the trip to Disneyland:


I'm not British so I'm totally on the wrong side of the car. Also, I can't drive (that's right I live in Los Angeles and I don't drive). Another post for another day...

Better late than never. The ball's in your court, Tony. Tee hee!

Cowboys ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold.

How about a big hand for FB’s wonderful guest post on Breakfast at Tiffany’s last week? A big thanks to Jake for borrowing my best friend and giving him back with no dents, scratches or neuroses that weren’t there already. If all is going according to plan, FB should be acting as a roving reporter at a Hollywood premiere event right about now. He’ll have a trusty sidekick hero support on hand as well, so tomorrow should be filled with plenty of photo-bloggy goodness. We now return to our regularly scheduled blogging…

Lured by the prospect of cute boys and the promise of cotton candy, FB & I attended our first gay rodeo this Saturday. It also happened to be our first rodeo – period. Well, the cotton candy never materialized (and how can you throw a rodeo – especially a gay rodeo - without cotton candy?!?), but the cute boys did, in the form of Pimpin’ (Mr. Pimpin’ if you’re nasty*) and Ceiting. If you’re not smokin’ what my fellow L.A. bloggers are rollin’, you’re missing out. Being a rodeo veteran, Pimpin’ showed us the ropes (not literally – I don’t usually do that until at least the fourth date…). By the end of the day, everyone walked away with something: FB learned the differences between a steer, a bull, and a cow, courtesy of Pimpin’. Ceiting found the cowpoke love of his life, courtesy of FB (I’ll be waiting for an invitation to the wedding, Ceiting…). Pimpin’ got about 50 extra-lubricated condoms, courtesy of the fella sitting next to us, who happened to be a rep for the company. (Hopefully, you’ll find a good use for them this week in Vegas, kiddo.) And I got about 12 of those same condoms, courtesy of Pimpin’, cause he’s a generous guy like that.

Now, some of you may know that last week, FB officially welcomed Matt S. to our little L.A. chapter of the Hater Nation. Based on Saturday, I’d say Pimpin’ D & C-Note (as I’ve dubbed them for no particular reason) are definitely worthy of lifelong membership in the same club. Thanks for the great time, boys! We really do need to work on those t-shirts…

Happy Monday folks!

-J.

*And trust me, folks, if you’re reading this blog, you’re most assuredly nasty. It’s Mr. Pimpin’ to all of you…

O, Danny Man...

By special request (and how could we ever say no to this guy?!?), J6 & FB present:

Jake McCafferty, Scot-Irish Superhero Extraordinaire! Fortified with power of the Catholic Christ, Celtic tradition and a battle axe. And his trusty python, Lil' Jake (not pictured as this is a family blog. Let's just say St. Patrick didn't drive all of the snakes out of Ireland...)

Before you read my post, please do me a favor. Go by Breakfast At Tiffany's and give this blog's good friend Jake some traffic. He's got an amazing guest blogger today.

More moments in Coming Out history…

When I was 14, my parents sentenced me to live five days a week at a high school seminary, save summer and holidays. I still haven’t asked or figured out why. Personally, I think they thought a school where they manufactured baby priests was sure to de-queerify the sullen nancyboy who was eating their food and stomping their floors like a hormonal 13 year-old – imagine that! I felt rejected and reacted accordingly. At church on Sundays, I was the dutiful altar server and we put on a happy show for all of the folks who thought I was some sort of saint-in-training. In reality, I barely spoke to my parents on the weekends, did my own laundry and made plans to hang out at friends’ houses to avoid any incidental contact. At church on Sundays, I was the dutiful altar server and we put on a happy show for all of the folks who thought I was some sort of saint-in-training. And at school, I was bullied and pushed around, picked on, talked about and just plain miserable.

The bright spots were a few friends who didn’t judge me and found me funny. Like many an outcast, I found solace in being the class clown. I imitated faculty brilliantly and told dirty jokes in their voices to anyone who would listen. And I had mad crushes on almost every boy who paid me positive attention. If John Hughes had made a movie about a despondent gay boy trying to learn independence through co-dependency, I was living it without the cool 80s soundtrack or Duckie. (I’d have called it Pretty In Twink or Some Kind of Fabulous, by the way…)

A sea change occurred over the summer between freshman and sophomore year. When I came back that September, I suddenly popular. The boys who had bullied me exchanged simple a “Hi!” in the hallway instead of pushing me into a locker or socking me in the arm when nobody was looking. It was all so surreal, since my hair was overly curly, my skin was in full-breakout mode, and I had just gotten braces on. I’d been waaay cuter the year before. But I was willing to take what I got. Some of the guys even got oddly flirty with me. I didn’t think much of this. Guys, especially the teenage variety, have to flirt with something, after all. It was either me or one of the nuns who taught us English. Braces, acne, and curls were still cuter than a stern vow of chastity.

One Thursday a friend (we’ll call him Logan cause I feel like it) and I wandered the halls after computer class, talking about nothing. We’d flirted all day, in every class we shared. I knew something was up, because usually, we’d be shooting pool or listening to music loudly in the dorm. Instead we ended up behind the stage of the auditorium. Conversation hit that lull that it always does just before something’s gonna give. My heart was racing. And then he kissed me.

We made out until the dinner bell rang. (Yes, our lives were that regulated.) I floated through the early evening in a happy daze. After study hall (I told you life was regulated), we snuck away and made out some more. I was never a great student, but I did even less than usual that Friday in my classes. Before school let out and our parents picked us up, I slipped a note into Logan’s bag before he left. Not an hour passed before I got a phone call at home. One guess as to who was on the other line.

“Um, Jay?”

Barely containing myself: “Hi Logan!” (Surely this was where he was going to ask me to meet him at the mall or go over his house to make hang out.)

“I got your note about how you know, um, love me and stuff…?”

Me, still not getting it: “Yeah?”

“Um, I just needed to let you know that what happened yesterday…well, I was just really horny…and I don’t think, um, I don’t think it’s gonna happen again.”

Sinking in: “Oh. Kay.”

“Still friends, right?”

Lying: “Sure! Of course. Yeah.”

“Good - see ya Sunday.” Click.

I'd love to tell you I learned my lesson from that one. But I repeated the mistake of jumping in, tongue first, several times over the years before it sunk in.

Thanks for tuning in.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Naked Baby Photos Committee.