Oh oh oh oooh, oh oh oh oh.....

I've been the New Kid a lot. New neighborhoods, new schools, new jobs - everyone's been there, but my childhood and adolescence were more than a little gypsy-like and I've followed the pattern as an adult, to some extent. That kid with the wavy, peroxide-damaged hair and major trust issues to my left was the New Kid as they snapped his photo. Just a few weeks later, he would be the New Kid when he left one school (call it a mutual break-up) for another.

I've certainly felt like the New Kid this last week as FB stepping down as a regular contributor put this blog back into my hot little hands. My knees buckle a little at the responsibility of handling this alone again. It's been this and other recent experiences that make me realize that circumstance, not anything I did, made me the New Kid time and again. It was just that when everything's new, when everyone's just learning your name, they don't get to see the "warts and all" version of you.

Being the New Kid, in other words, is an easy mask to hide behind. But it requires leaving a lot behind and starting anew all the time. Exciting, because change is, but exhausting, because so is running. To very few people in my life am I old news. When you're old news, old tricks don't work. People expect something more of you. You fail the expectations sometimes. That's not always a bad thing.

How, you ask, does this relate to the blog? Well, the changes I've been thinking about making are really about putting more of me into this forum of mine. To be clear, I'm not looking to make this some online journal. I can't bleed all over the internet for everyone to see. But I can be more of myself. I'm doing this in my "real" life and this is an extension of that, after all. So while I will be making with funny with the new features, I also want to make sure I'm giving an accurate picture of myself. J. isn't a different person than me, after all - just a nickname I've wanted to stick for a long time.

And I plan to stick around for a long time. I want to be the old guy (not literally, though - I'm going to be rocketed to the sun at 50, so everyone remembers me somewhat youthful and somewhat wise all at once) whose blog you can't remember ever not reading, even after blogs have been outmoded by whatever technology has to offer next. I won't give it all away, but I do want you to feel let in a little.

Just don't ask for nude pictures. I'm saving those for when I go broke and need the cash to pay the rent.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Hangin' Tough Committee.

Take Two.

Alright here we go again - hopefully the computer at work gets along better with Blogger than that box with the hamster wheel at home....

I'm more than a little restless this week. The Santa Ana winds are out in force, as they tend to be at this time of year. It was hotter than crotch here in the City Of Angels at 11:22pm as I started this post last night - a trip since there was a freak rainstorm just a week ago. There is a wildfire out of control in Chatsworth - far enough away for me to be safe, but a little too close to home. Still I've always loved the feel of the hot air against my skin under the moonlight. It's a lot better than being cold in sunlight - that's just unnatural and depressing, if you ask me.

I've been thinking about changes to make around here. I might create a weekend feature. I have no idea what exactly, but something fun and "weekendy." I'm also looking to do a humorous weekly column featuring hilarious and sobering moments from my past - I enjoy spinning those mostly true stories about my childhood and adolescence. And of course, the occasional SuperHero of the Week is bound to pop up. Any suggestions, of course, are welcome. I'll give credit where credit is due if someone comes up with something great that I'm actually capable of. The layout is something I've been thinking of tinkering with for some time actually, too. That one will probably be put to a legitimate vote. And yes, I will put up more pictures...in time. It takes a team of experts and a lot of airbrushing to make me happy with what the camera (especially the digis) turn out.

The other thing I really want to work on is giving L.A. her due around here. The top of this page promises, among other things, musings on the city I live in. To accomplish that will require going out more (something I ought to do anyway) and will bring on more photoblogging. Everybody wins. I'm going to compose a list (heck, maybe I'll even post it!) of things I've never done in L.A. that I should be ashamed of having missed so far. There's plenty on that list, so I can guarantee more than few embarassing posts are coming your way.

Stick around folks - the seasons are changing and this blog is putting on a new wardrobe. You don't want to miss the inevitable nipple slip...

-J.

This post was sponsored by the How gay is it to redecorate your blog??!?! Committee.

My home computer and Blogger just aren't getting along lately. I have tried to post three times and it's eaten each one up - too much text, too good a photo? Who can say. All I know is posting for tonight has been a bust. If this one goes through, I'll be grateful. We'll try again tomorrow, kids.

-J.

First off, here's an answer to Matty McMattMatt's meme challenge: The fifth sentence of my approximate 23rd post is, "And if those break, all hell follows." No, I will not be tagging anyone - but you're all free to dig through your own archives and see what you find. I had to approximate because many of those old posts were on the same day and just didn't have five sentences to them! I must have been listening to Johnny Cash's "The Man Comes Around" when I wrote that one...

Secondly, tonight is the second episode of the second season of Lost - I was more than a little disappointed by that cliffhanger ending last season, but I got completely sucked in again last week. As a result, I will again not post something decent until later in the day. This little aside doesn't count as my post for the day. I will have something up tonight and something in time for Chip Slip to a read a same day post tomorrow.

In the meantime, here's the latest funny search of the internets that led someone to my humble abode:



Admittedly, "husky!" (apologies to Ms. Cho) is not as funny as gay sex, but I am forever fascinated by the wacky ways we finds what we needs on the nets. See ya soon, kids!





-J.

This post was sponsored by the Wait For It... Committee.

A Lowe Blowe

I am currently listening to: Prairie Wind by Neil - like being with an old friend. Not exactly what I expected - the occasional strings and horn section are a really nice touch, but I didn't expect them. But is that Emmylou Harris I hear harmonizing on "This Old Guitar"? Heaven, I tells ya. hat our good buddy Jake says, this Southern California Man needs Mr. Young around.

Tonight, after purchasing my newest listening experience, I decided to wander a bit around the local shopping center. After watching everything close before my eyes (they practically kicked me out of Best Buy as I paid!), I made my exit. It was then that I saw the most horrifying thing possible. From the parking lot, Lowe's seemed awfully bright. Construction work? A fire? An overzealous employee in the home lighting department? As my eyes adjusted to the flouresence, I realized what I was actually looking at:

Christmas lights.

Autumn isn't officially a week old. October 1st isn't until Saturday. And the Halloween decorations are still selling briskly - I don't even have a costume yet! I don't need a hardware store reminding me that soon enough I'll have to decide if I'm gonna decorate the staircase in lieu of a Christmas tree or if I should send my family gifts or just wimp out with gift cards again. But I can hardly blame Lowe's - they're just bowing to peer pressure. So they got the jump on Target this year. HSN runs that Christmas in July shit every year! No, this isn't really any one retailer's fault, not even Wal-Mart (and I hate Wal-Mart so much I won't even link to them!). If I want to address an issue such as this, I have to go straight to the source: Jesus.

No offense, Lord, but I don't even start talking about my birthday plans until a month ahead of time. And considering you're over 2000, I think a three month headstart is a bit much to ask. Perhaps you really do think Halloween is an evil, leftover pagan celebration. I'll dress up as the Holy Ghost instead of a regular ghost if it'll make you feel better. Also, it's a little hypocritical of you since December 25 ain't anywhere near your real birthday, either (trust me on this one, I'm a former seminarian...) and it used to be quite the pagan holiday itself. Now I know you want to get to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas and A Christmas Story as badly as I do. But here's a little secret: the DVD. You can watch those all year long. And since you hold eternity, you've literally got forever!

I implore you: Let Linus wait up for the Great Pumpkin first. Let us fight with our friends, families, and uninvited guests over slightly burnt delicately smoked turkeys in November. The day after Thanksgiving is still plenty of lead time to find that perfect tie Dad will never wear or that real estate Lucy & FB both need so badly. If it's an excuse to turn the office Christmas party's punchbowl into wine you're looking for, I'll bring you along to mine and you can guestblog all about it.

So for the love of, um, your Dad, please - at least give us until October 1st. Haven't we suffered enough?

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Bah Humbugger Committee.

I'll be posting tonight.

I have a date with Neil Young's latest acoustic Autumn album, Prairie Wind which was released today. Harvest and Harvest Moon rank among my favorites of all time, so my hopes are high. The leadoff track, "Painter" seems to be a tribute to Mr. Young's fellow Canadian, poet, and polio survivor Joni Mitchell. I am so there. And don't worry, posting late in the day tonight will not count as tomorrow's post. If you're catching this in the morning cause you left work before I posted (Hi Chip!), come back a little later in the day. You'll get a double shot of Jay.

Oh, before I get back to work (ugh!), I've got to share this: while browsing through referrals to this little blog, I came upon someone looking for me by (nick)name. What Yahoo! suggested as an alternate is, well, you decide....



See ya soon!

GayJay.




This post was sponsored by the "Hey, I resemble that!" Committee.

A Dark Romantic

This weekend, I found myself trekking out to see Tim Burton's latest macabre romance fable, The Corpse Bride. Mr. Burton and I have a longstanding relationship - Beetlejuice, Edward Scissorhands, and his two Batman flicks rank among some of my favorite moviegoing memories of all time. I won't unfairly compare it to Burton’s previous stop-motion masterpiece The Nightmare Before Christmas. It has more in common with those aforementioned live-action movies, anyway, at it's core. Yes - stylistically, it does hearken back to everyone's favorite Nightmare. Johnny Depp's Victor has a body very similar to Jack Skellington and Helena Bonham Carter's flimsy corpse is not unlike Sally's constantly unspooling body. (Her character, Victoria, is also a little like Sally, too. Tee hee...) But this is a love story first. And it's a quite charming little film. Not a classic, but enjoyable and really pretty, if you ask me.

It clocks in plenty short by today's standards (about an hour and fifteen minutes), but it is also a slight story, so to have extended it just for the sake of time considerations wouldn't have been true to the story. And the voices are top notch - aside from the aforementioned leads, Tracey Ullman, Albert Finney, Joanne Lumley, Christopher Lee, and Emily Watson (her role would have so been Winona Ryder's if this move had been made in 1990)) all make some great impressions. Personally, I long for the day when voice actors didn't have to be "names," but with the assemblage of talent on hand, one can hardly complain.

There weren't many songs, and the ones that were sung aren't exactly memorable - at least to me. But Danny Elfman really outdid himself with the score. I could have watched this movie without dialogue and just listened to the music while watching the drama unfold. That's a movie waiting to happen I think. The ending is possibly among the most beautiful committed to celluloid (although I'm pretty sure this was shot digital). Burton's fascination with the dead is nothing new, but he manages here to make it, like before, less about the dead and more about what we miss while we're living. The world above is drab and boring, filled with duties and expectations. The world below bright and colorful and is filled with genuinely happy souls who semm to want nothing but the best for one another. It even has a jazzy little score of it's own to make the difference clear.

One thing I'll say with this recommendation, though. If you've got kids, see the movie first and decide if yours can handle the images. Nothing overtly horrific is there, but skeletons and flesh abound. If, however, your kid is cool enough to get a shout-out to Ray Harryhausen and a worm that looks and talks like Peter Lorre, your whole family should have a devilshly good time.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Corn On The Macabre Committee.

p.s. Sorry this one was late in the day, but Blogger's been giving me attitude since Sunday and I couldn't post until now. Anyone else having issues?

Must See Very Necessary TV

Late night frivolous Sunday posting! I'll be here with witty insights tomorrow!



The pictures don't lie, folks. For Vh1's 2005 Hip Hop Honors, Salt 'n' Pepa reunited on stage. Of course Spinderella was there, getting her swerve on. The big surprise was an actual, honest-to-god En Vogue reunion. I know our friend FB will be happy to have all of his girls back in one place, even if it probably was just for one night. Be sure to tune in sometime - you know it's gonna rerun a billion times this week!

-J.

An old high school classmate found me about a month ago through one of those services we've all logged into but hardly ever use. Seeing as I joined only out of sheer curiousity, I was more than a little suprised to be found. (I'm also a little disturbed that a search on my real name would turn up what I thought was a pretty damn anonymous profile). Also, this guy and I didn't get along all that well most of the time we went to school. He bullied me a little, I antogonized him. Naturally we ended up making out before I left the school. Still, I never assumed I left much of an impression - we did last see/speak to each other when we were about 16, after all. I'll share the brief exchange of message for context (edited to protect secret identities, of course):

Him: did you go to (insert high school name here)?
Me: Yes. Briefly. Are you the (insert his full name here) I'm thinking of?
Him: the one & only.
Me: Wow. You couldn't say I saw that coming. It's been at least 12 years, right? What have you been up to in that lifetime?
Him: 12 years....Jesus, I think i lived three different lifetimes within that timeframe. How about you? What's the word? You are the only person from that place I tried to look for.
Me: Ditto on the lifetimes. As for what happened, I came out (I know - shocking, right?), tooled around with college before dropping out finally, and mostly have just been working ever since. I've never looked up anyone, actually. And if anyone else was looking, you're the only person who found me! Good to hear form you. Anyhow, my email's (insert my real email here) if you wanna drop a line that way instead. We can catch up about what's happened since those lifetimes past.
Him: all right sounds good. I aint a really big fan of these things but I will email you & may we can get together & laugh at old times.....talk to you soon.

Although it looks like an IM, the exchange took a week, by the way. Another ten days passed without any word. And then I got this:

Me: Hey what's up? I lost the piece of paper w/your email, besides I dont have regular access to a computer, can I have your phone..?

So he's not computer savvy enough to have saved the messages like I did. No biggie. I gave my digits and he said he'd call sometime in the week. So this past Sunday morning I awoke to see that I missed a call and am amused to find some random booty call voicemail on my phone. Some poor sap wanted to get some and got my cell phone while I was sleeping instead. Reception was fuzzy so I couldn't make it all out. I replayed the message, only to find I was the intended target:

"Hey what's up, J.? This is (insert real name again). Just wanted to see if you're up and around, if you're, uh, being naughty... Anyhow, my message is 'great minds think alike' and my phone number - for the night - is (insert temporary phone number here). Bye."

Get together and laugh at old times? Not exactly. Sure, I got a laugh, and he referenced a 14 year old (literally - that's how old we were at the time) inside joke. But I was really looking to meet for dinner and talk about the the last 12 years. Stupid me. To answer your questions - no, I didn't get any further calls (yet!) and I didn't return the call. How exactly does one only have a phone number for the evening? I don't wanna know - but I'll keep you posted if any new messages come my way.

The lesson is: don't trust the Internets, kids. Even if you know the person.

Naughtily nice (and more than a little skeptical),

-J.

eta: See comments to find out what committee sponsored this post. I can't take credit...

Where'd you get them jeans?!?!

It's no secret that I'm the short one in this comedic duo. While being the little guy this has it's disadvantages - I'm always Robin and never Batman, Sonny and never Cher, et al- none are quite as annoying as my problem with jeans and really, pants in general. They never fit quite right, always dragging more than little behind my shoes on the ground. This forces me to live with one of two situations. I can A) rollup, coff or "peg" the damn pants and look like an extra out of Back To The Future or B) let them drag and ruin the back of my pant legs. Neither is the preferred method and I fluctuate as to which is more embarassing. In either case, I trip over my jeans almost as much as I trip over my words.

I've never found an adequate solution to this. I'm not ashamed to admit to you that a 28 inseam is about right, depending on the shoes I'm wearing on a given day. But it's always seemed that no matter what the size of my fluctuating waistline I buy for, I'm lucky to find a 30 inseam. Those two digits make a huge difference to someone my size (somewhere in the neighborhood of 5'5" and 5'6" for you nosy stalker kids keeping track!) mind you. No comments from the peanut gallery here, but I would kill most days for an extra two inches!

Now I've lost a fair amount of weight in the past year or so. My already too long jeans have also been hanging a little low on me, even with a belt assistance,. So when this past Saturday found FB and I in my local Cross Ross Dress For Less, I decided it was time to bite the bullet and buy some new jeans, inseam be damned. FB, as ever, kept his eye open for that rare and elusive 28 inseam. (Incidentally, if I were a 28 waist, none of this would be an issue. Skinny people get whatever they want in this world when shopping off of the rack.)

Now, I've done this dance before. I find a pair that look great, convince myself that a pair of 34/32s will fit OK and then walk out of the dressing room dejected and end up buying myself something useless at Urban Outfitters across the street just to make myself feel better. So when FB tossed over two pairs, each with a 28 inseam and told me to try them on without looking too closely, I was cautiously optimistic. Into the dressing room we went.

First pair: a little baggy, but a great length. Score! Second pair: perfect on the waist and even better on the length. It must have been the full moon. As I slipped the jeans off and changed back into my own clothes, I noticed something odd about these jeans. Only the inseam was listed on the inside tag alongside the word "Husky." And then the godawful truth hit me.

I fit into little boys' jeans. Little fat boys' jeans. (One of them even had an adjustable waistband inside!) On the plus side, my clothing expenses just got cut in half. Each pair of genuine Levi's cost me $10.99!

Incidentally, I now know that the Spanish equivalent for "husky" is "Robusto."

Robustfully yours,
-J.

This post was sponsored by the Domo Arigato, Mister Robusto Committee.

Personal Equinoxes

It's been a rough month so far for blogging, folks. The Autumn usually hits me pretty hard and while this one hasn't been has bad as others, I also haven't had the creative spark I wish I did. That said, I do have some observations and sometimes you just have to strike flint yourself to get sparks - they don't happen by magic, after all...

So many people I know these days are at crossroads. Babies, engagements, new jobs, the start of the school year, new relationships, basically, you name a change of life, someone I know is doing it. (Yes, even menopause - it's all over my work!!!). People are interesting and fragile at these moments that I like to call "personal equinoxes." What always strikes me - and I'm speaking only for me right now - is how much the past comes into play when these moments strike us. Old patterns, old habits, and especially old friends take on new meaning and new roles. For instance, here's a small one: I stopped biting my nails about six weeks ago. I've been chewing my nails down to the bit since I was a small, small child. Around the end of July, I'd just had enough. I stopped in a quick but gradual process.

For the first few days, every time I caught myself biting my nails, I'd stop and think about what was just bothering me or what I was thinking about. Truth be told, I never really found a deep psychological link. It just seems to have been nervous energy. But it helped me focus and stop. Second, I didn't let myself bite anymore. I could chew a little, but no biting. Finally, there was no biting. And then I started clipping them regularly. And then filing. And finally, they were growing. I didn't just have that stray nail I hadn't savaged yet. I had a whole hand of nails - I could scratch, tap, and make the cool secretary sound on a keyboard. For the first time in 28 years, I wasn't self conscious about the very hands that bring you this message.

Pretty mundane sounding, I know. But accomplishment is accomplishment. And breaking yourself of a habit you've had since before you could add is actually a pretty big deal. I'm letting go of a lot of things and learning all sorts of new tricks these days. Having nails is but the latest visible reminder of where my life is now and where it used to me.

Now is there any significance to the the fact that I scratched myself in my sleep with them and had to cut them short? Eh, it's probably best not to think too heavily about that one.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the File Under... Committee.

I've been trying to think of something witty to say. Instead, I've pulled a favorite quote from our most current winner of the semi-weekly* feature....

Jay & FB's Superhero of the Week!

"If I had a penis I would be some guy instead of some girl and all my gay friends would think I was hanging out with them because I was gay but I would really be hanging out with them to pick up the straight chicks that hangout with gay guys because everyone knows the girls that hang out with gay guys are kind of slutty because the "gay life style" rubs off on people like cooties."

The whip makes more sense in this context. Welcome SomeGirl (who by day disguises herself as AnyGirl and for Halloween dresses up as SomeGuy and pretends to be Italian to avoid being looked down upon for not speaking Spanish.)

Sorry for the light blogging today, kids. There was a power outage in my parts of L.A. for nearly three hours and they didn't even let us off of work! I'll make up for it this week with some knockout shit.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Dim All The Lights, Sweet Darling Committee.

*This would have gone up on Friday, but Blogger's scheduled maintenence didn't allow FB or myself to even log in until yesterday. Is the universe that tired of our ramblings already?

Gone tomorrow...

Apologies - today is total fluff. I've got nothing but hair on my brain....

It's no secret (especially to those of you reading the comments section of this blog) that I've been growing out my hair. Chip appropriately labeled what I was looking for as that WB hair. The first few weeks were pretty great. The next few were rough, with me enduring flyaway and toupee jokes. And now, about two months after my initial decision to grow it out, I'm having second thoughts.

Once upon a time - a never never land known as the mid-nineties, I buzzed my own hair in the bathroom of my parents' house. That my mom freaked a little was only part of the enjoyment. You see, at that time in history I had curly hair: the extreme edition and I was just getting over years of bad teenage acne. Cutting off those locks was actually a liberation of sorts. My mom actually liked it once it grew out a little. The teenage dork at the left, is indeed me, just a few weeks after that buzz cut, on the way to my senior prom (with The Princess, no less!).

So I'm at a similar crossroads just a little over ten years later. The acne's gone (though nobody told that occasional zit that comes by to visit) and what little curl I still have either doesn't bother me or gets straightened every few months. But I've been back and forth in the last few weeks as to whether I want to keep growing it out and straighten it or just buzz it and start all over with my (gasp!) natural color and texture - a scary though indeed. In the end, I know I'll probably do both. I've got a hankering for blond highlights and that just looks better on longish hair. But as soon as it grows out and I've decided the root work will be too much committment for me, out come the clippers. I'll try and document every step of the way for a completely narcissistic photo blog in the future.

So now you know how wishy-washy this Gemini really can be. Stick around for the continuing saga of the "hair today..." indecision...

Happy Wednesday, kids!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Fickle Follicles Committee.

Not Quite Labor Day...

"Sometimes, when I’m feeling down because nothing seems to be going right, I like to take a home pregnancy test. Then I can say, ‘Hey, at least I’m not pregnant."* - Daniel Tosh

Yesterday was just your typical Sunday. FB & I trekked over the hill to visit Pimpin' D. Naturally, all three us decided to take a 99 Cents Only Store pregnancy test. (They're actually fitty cents, since there's two per box, but I digress...) After figuring out the complicated instructions, one by one, we peed on those little green fortune sticks.

While we waited for results, FB caught up on hard hitting news of the day thanks to the LA X-Press.












"Did you guys know that Matt Damon's middle name is Paige?"






After a torturous three minute wait, we were ready for the news. It's moments like this - the ones where everything may change in just an instant - when you really take your life into account. Am I ready for this? Will s/he look like me or dear old dad? And just who is dear old dad? With all of that in mind, we braved the great unknown together.





Sadly, it was not to be. We'd feared those two red lines and yet, when only the one showed...well, the looks on our faces tell the story better than I ever could. Witness the face(s) of being young, gay, and without child...










Sadness and lack of hormones got the best of us for a time. But then a funny thing the happened...





We realized, "Why would we want to be pregnant anyway?!?!"*






So we looked on the bright side and celebrated. We hit the town for fish 'n' chips and later sushi. And I made sure to take with us our evidence.







That way, if something bad (like a mugging or FB slipping and getting some nasty-looking scrapes and bruises as we ran down the boulevard), we could all say, "Hey, at least I'm not pregnant."*


-J.

This post was sponsored by the Lowered Expectations Committee.

*Clarification (08:11am 09/06/05): This post in no way implies that being pregnant is a bad thing. It just would be for us. Besides the obvious physical limitations (where would it birth from? ouch!), we would have to give up our cruising habits. And that would really be society's loss...

Rolling up for the looong weekend...

Where, oh, where have I been this week, friends? I checked in for my half of the tag team post and then proceeded to make scattered comments on my favorite blogs. Sorry about that - I even ditched out on work yesterday (a lot of that going around) and didn't manage to blog either. And here I am, cheating by simply bringing you another installment of:

FB & Jay's Superhero Corner!!!


(Next week I'll be back to actually share this blog, as opposed to the timeshare it's been lately. Not that FB's been boring in the least...yikes!)

This sexy scuba instructor has a secret. (No, not that - that's hardly a secret!). What his seafaring students wouldn't ever suspect is that he doesn't need the wet suit and self contained underwater breathing apparatus to breathe underwater.

Ruler of the Seven Seas, the fearless Prince Matt a.k.a. The Slip, oversees the ocean gently. But when evil crosses his path, he's on it with the press of a B A B A on his belt and he's off.

He can of course hold his breath for long periods time for other things. And pressing on his belt can result in a whole different set of super powers. But that's a Corner of a different kind...


Welcome aboard, Chippers!

*********

Have a great long weekend, kidz! We'll be back and better than usual next week.

-J.