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.