Like The Vest?

Last week, I was out of commission here for many reasons - the most exciting and legitimate one being that The Little Prince (a dear, queer friend who lives in Minnesota - check last June's posts for a detailed account of my visit) was in town. The ensuing few days were a haze of junk food and laughter the likes of which I hadn't experienced in sometime. I met the lucky guy he's seeing and then the two of us had a slumber party and my place. We ended my share of the visit by attending a taping of The Ellen Degeneres Show in beautfiul Burbank, California - a few miles from my place. The picture of me to the left was snapped in Ellen's bathroom. OK, in the NBC studios bathroom they let her audience use. I imagine hers is much nicer and has a lock on the door. I haven't seen the episode yet. There may be embarassing footage of me dancing to "Ain't Nobody" on the repeat that airs on Oxygen tomorrow night.

Anyhow, LP's visit got me thinking about my friends - the ones who I see a lot of, the ones I almost never see, the ones I've lost or who've lost me, and the ones I keep meaning to call/email/carrier pigeon a message to but never get around it. I've really spent the last three months in a virtual cocoon (or a Butterfly Cave, for those of you who've been reading that long). I've kept mostly to circles I've run in for a very long time and focused on getting myself together. A more consistent workout routine, better budgeting, not to mention the whole mental health issue - you name it, I've been trying to be more adult about it. But the time has come to poke out of that chrysalis and say, "To Hell with it - I'm not dead yet and it's time I started acting like a 28 year-old." (I do, after all, have only a few months left to say that...)

So in addition to usual taking over the world agenda, I'll be returning phone calls, emails, telegrams, telepathic signals and anything else I've tucked into my "To Do" file. I'll finish reading all 7 books sitting on my nightstand before March is over. And I'll write here more consistently than recently. After all, the few of you who read and comment so nicely are like friends, too. I owe you the courtesy of something to roll your eyes at.

Is it just me or does the mirror shot above make me look extra paunchy? I swear my mid-section's coming along better than that. Stupid camera phone making me all self conscious about missing Pilates last night...

See? I'm almost back to normal.

Night all! The Ambien CR's kicking in early...

-J.

This Post Was Sponsored By The Rededication Committee.

Back from outer space.

It really must be something about February. I've mixed feelings about ending the second month of 2006. On the one hand, I'd really like to start a new one. But on the other hand, I hate to see the year go by so quickly. I know it's 2006, but I'm still not "here" yet. I can barely muster returning emails (I'm not usually one of "thos" people) and I've been dodging phone calls lately, too. I've not been anti-social, really. Nor have I been busy. I've just been out of it and continue to be. But, as promised, here I am with Monday night post. Kinda like Monday Night Football - only not as gay.

Today I got a great chance to play my favorite waiting room game - Crazy or Broken? Click on the link if you're just joing us or don't remember the post where I intro'd this new American pasttime. When you're waiting for your perpetually late shrink, you get creative cause you can only read the same issue of Los Angeles Confidential magazine so many times.

Anyhow, today I was in with a girl who had been waiting 45 minutes when I arrived 10 minutes late for my appointment. I knew immediately she was a Crazy and not a Broken. Hearing her make/cancel/re-make/re-cancel plans on her cell phone confirmed my OCD suspicions. She then proceeded to tell me that she'd been coming for 5 years. "Oh. So you're a pro at the waiting game then," was all I could manage to say. The Doc told me he expected that I should be off my meds in about 8-10 months if all goes well. I guess she really likes waiting.

And again I ask: is it really wise to play adult contemporary in the waiting room of a psychiatrists' office? At one point, the inane DJ mentioned George Michael's drug arrest and then proceeded to play "Father Figure." Like most of us who were in grade school when Faith was released, I have nostalgic memories of George and his bum shaking in those tight jeans. But really, I was just happy to move on from The Bee Gees. But they didn't make me homicidal. I guess the drugs are working.

Night, kids!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Hugs and Drugs Committee.

Four, Five, Still Alive...

I've got nothin'. It seems most of the 'sphere has had some blogging cramps of late and I am no exception. I'm going to take the rest of the week off and return Monday recharged and ready to recap. See y'all then!

-J.

Just Say Baa...

When it all comes down to it, despite my wanna-be punkish leanings, I can be as a good a sheep as anyone else. To that end, two weeks ago I let down my resistence and joined a growing trend army. I've done this before and will again, no doubt. I'm sure all of you have, too. No matter how hardened our resolve to stay "individual" or "original" (laughable concepts when you really think about it), everyone caves into peer pressure and decides to go with the flow once in a while. We justify these things to ourselves in all sorts of ways. Usually the rationale goes something like one of the following:

A) "Everyone else is doing it, but I'm way cooler than them. So it'll be different when I wear a FauxHawk."

B) "I actually listen to the Strokes new CD, unlike all of those posers out there who just bought it to impress their music geek friends."

C) "I don't care what anyone thinks. Pink polos are cool and I liked them before Carson Kressly & Kanye West made them OK."

D) "MySpace is more addictive than crack. How could I resist stalking people who barely remember my name or what I look like or how much money I left on the dresser?"

I am readily guilty of three out the four listed offenses (you'd never catch me dead with anything the Strokes have done, unless it's that kick ass Christina Aguilera mash-up). And I've got another to add to my list. I have a good set of reasons, but first I should come clean. Two weeks ago I became one of the Pod people.

Yes, ineedy, I bought an iPod. And I didn't go small (why would anyone willingly do that?!?!?), either. Oh, I stopped short of the 60GB model - I don't need a handheld device that shames my crappy old computer's (Sorry, Dad! I know you built it with love and for free a long time ago...) memory, after all. But I did go for the next model down. It's black and holds 30GB, or approximately 7500 songs.

I'm not sure how many porn vids that translates into, but I hear that's the big thing now. Me? I just wanted to be able to tune out inane conversations at the gym, read on the subway without hearing people chatter on their cell phones, and get some of my work done without the phone interrupting me every two seconds. And I am a music whore from way back. I own over a 1000 cds and at least a hundred old vinyl albums. I bore my friends to tears with stupid little factoids about the difference between the Nelson Riddle arranged Capitol version of a Sinatra tune versus the later Billy May-helmed Reprise take of said song. (That glazed over look most of you just got? Natural. They give me the same stare.)

And it's not like I spent money I didn't have for spending. I waited until I got a $200 check for the successful implementation of an process improvement at work. (Don't ask what it was - you'd just get the glazed over look again.) So I really spent about what I would have on an iPod shuffle for an obviously superior model. I named him Isaac. Isaac the iPod. Yes, I name treasured objects. Don't judge me - the Bible says not to.

How did anyone ever survive without being able to listen to the Carpenters in the middle of a workday?!?! "I Won't Last A Day Without You" has become something of a love them for Isaac and myself. I think I made myself clear - don't judge me.

Well, I'm off to put my headphones and sleep. G'night kids!

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Earbud Assimiliation committee.

So...

The Tuesday post never happened. Thank God you guys don't pay to read this. I'd have a lot of subscriptions to pay back.

I'll be back with a substantial post later, but I do have some breaking news to share. I love college basketball. At the gym last night I discovered this. Why? J.J. Redick. (Don't even think of making fun of my new boyfriend's name!)

More later,
-J.

Hey! When did Monday happen?

Wasn't I supposed to post last Thursday? Maybe I should change the name of the blog to Hot & Fresh (When I Feel Like It) - Almost Daily is an out-and-out lie lately. Anyhow, much anticipated or not, I have some stories to convey. No promises, but I'll give my best shot at a Tuesday Two-fer posting to make up for the slack in last week's blogging.

. . .

Now where were we? Ah yes, Family Karaoke night at my favorite dive with an open mike: Sardo's. Sandwiched between a Bank of America branch and a donut shop in a shopping center that houses a Vons Marketplace, this is hardly the place most people would envision spending a Saturday night, but oh! how you would be wrong, dear reader. Sardo's is the place. Hipsters may like Dimples (their website, by the way is filled with lies. They are nowhere near "Downtown Burbank"!) because A) they give rookies a free tape of their first performance and B) they broadcast the "best" of the week on the local public access channel. But the drinks are overpriced and the place is usually way overcrowded. Sure, I once saw Dweezil Zappa, but I can hardly get starstruck over someone who dated Lisa Loeb, isn't really famous, and, most importantly, who my mother taught in the sixth grade. (Mom reports that Frank Zappa was the coolest parent conference ever. She loved him and his wife and always talks about how smart and unappreciated he was. I don't think she ever really listened to his music, but I'd much rather talk about this than her Barry Manilow collection...)

Anyhow, back to local dives and their karaoke. The reason Sardo's rocks harder than any other place is the crowd. As with all bars, specifically the bars of a karaoke variety, Sardo's has its regulars. At my birthday event last year, we had a time of epic proportions. (That's me to the right, belting "I Love Rock N Roll" under the influence of several tequila shots. The picture is at least 15 lbs ago, by the way!) The highlights included the Princess' date's rednition "You Make Me Feel Like Dancin'" in a full-on falsetto that still makes my vocal chords ache and FB's take on "Proud Mary" with yours truly on backup vox. By far, our favorite was a fella who did Talking Heads' "Psycho Killer" - he even moved like David Byrne. It was amazing and we were still talking about when he walked into the bar this last Friday.

Fridays are a little different at Sardo's. Whereas every other night of the week, karaoke starts off at 9p, it begins at 7p on the night to kick off your weekend. "Why," you ask? Because it's Family Night, of course! That's right, parents are encouraged to bring their mopheads along to the local watering hole to watch Daddy belt out "Forever" by Kenny Loggins (I'm not making that up by the way. He was admittedly pretty good, but he was waay too into the song.) I expected to see kids belting out their favorite hits like "Old McDonald," a Disney tune, or possibly even a Hilary Duff number. Was I ever off base.

The first kid up - nine or ten years old at most - knew all of the words and inflections to his chosen tune: "Love In An Elevator." He was so adorable you almost forgot how inappropriate it is to listen to a child sing "Lovin' it when I'm goin' dowwwnnnnnn...." Almost. What did make me forget was the kid who followed him on the lineup (after a short interlude by the aforementioned Kenny Loggins opus).

Three simple words, folks: Baby. Got. Back.

Between laughing and staring in horror, FB wondered aloud how a kid who was still breast-feeding when Sir Mix-A-Lot recorded the follow up, "Put 'Em On The Glass" could possibly know all of the words to his ode to big booty. It was about then that the tyke started an ill-advised attempt at break dancing as he declared, "My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hun!" All discussion ceased to be possible for at least ten minutes. A few adults went up with mostly forgettable numbers (notable exception: a tranny in a tube top who really should have reconsidered two things: exposing her flabby midsection and attemption Journey's "Faithfully." When in doubt, go with "Don't Stop Believin'" - the crowd can sing along and cover your imperfections, at least the vocal ones) before the final kids number was upon us. An all-star lineup (BGB Boy, Elevator Lover, and two girls who must have sung before we got there) gave their all to Alice Cooper's "School's Out" - oddly, the most appropriate number of the evening at that point.

When the adults took full control of the evening, the usual karaoke hilarity began. A cute guy in flip flops and board shorts showed his hand and confirmed the ping on my Gaydar^tm when he gave us a convincing take on Grammy winner Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone" - he later drove the point home by duetting with an equally homoriffic fiend on "Beauty & The Beast." He was Celine. The Princess' date reprised his signature and danced the night away again. Yours truly was a hit with a spot-on (if I do say so myself) "Unchain My Heart" that could give Jamie Foxx a run for his money. And the Psycho Killer guy did the freakiest version of the Bee Gee's "Tragedy" you've ever heard (just imagined Sid Vicious and Björk duetting from within one body). Still, the clear winner of the evening was the second, far more enjoyable Kenny Loggins number. You really haven't lived until you've seen a guy, at least 6'4", flail and kick to "Footloose" - at least I hadn't lived until that moment. I also thought I might lose an eye since he nearly kicked off his dancing shoes in my direction a few times.

So the next time you and your friends visit L.A. and feel like a good time in Burbank, look me up. I am more than available if you ever need someone to sing the hook to "Gold Digger."

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Pass The Mike Committee.

Two Queens, A Princess & A Magic Kingdom.

As is tradition, FB's birthday (psst! he's 28 now...) was celebrated at the Happiest Place on Earth this weekend. Disneyland is always an experience when The Princess, FB 7 Yours Truly descend. A minimum of 10 hours is spent and since we get in for free (hooray for friends on the inside!), food is bought like crazy. Of course, with nearly ten hours of walking, a few extra calories come in handy.

As it turns out, a few hundred of those calories saved this boy in a big way. I always seem to have a headache when we get down to Disneyland - I say it's because I'm allergic to the O.C. It usually calms down a few hours into the day but on Saturday I just couldn't shake it. The it hit me: for the first time in the months since I began taking my happy pills, I forgot to take one. And my body was crying for a seratonin release that it can't acheive on it's own. I tried sugar, chocolate, and a giant chili burger. It got a little better, but not much. We rode the Tower of Terror to see if the adrenaline rush kick started me. Two rides later I actually felt a little worse. It was time to turn to my old addiction. One large Pepsi later, and all was well. Sometimes all it takes to make J. happy is a little caffeine. (In a pinch, old people swearing or children crying at inappropriate moments will do as well. What can I say? I'm a rat bastard sometimes.)

The day from that point on was a hyperactive blur. I think I gave a few of the park Cast Members a run for their in the Annoyingly Perky Department. I know FB was almost annoyed with me, but it's damn hard to kill his Disney buzz. Besides, how can you not laugh when a grown man yells, "Wheeeee!!!!!!" at the top of his lungs on a ride moving no more than 10 mph? At a certain point, I started calling park employees by their names. I think it creeped more than a few out, but nothing is freakier than those pin-trading people, so I'm sure I barely registered on the Walt Police's radar.

At the end of the day, everyone's feet hurt and we could barely hear ourselves breathe. It took me nearly two full days to recover. In other words, the day was a total success!

Coming tomorrow: Twas the night before Disneyland at the local karaoke bar. A ten year old and his siblings sing trashy pop classics from before they were born...don't miss it.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the WednesdayLand Committee.

"How was your weekend, Jay?"

It was a scream.

(The coaster to your left is called California Screamin' - I qualify on both counts. I stole this image from the preview screen with my digital camera - no overpriced trinkets for me! That's The Princess to my right. She said it was OK to use this pic. Also, you can barely make out the top of FB's head in the back. He looks decapitated.)

I had yesterday scheduled off to recover from FB's birthday weekend. When we resume our regularly scheduled programming (probably tonight), look for these and other exciting stories:

- "Family Karaoke" at a local watering hole (you have not lived until you've seen kids singing "Love In An Elevator" and "Baby Got Back").

- A trip to the O.C. that didn't suck. For those non-locals: that's only ever true if you're headed to the Happiest, Gayest, and Most Expensive Place on Earth.

- Jay's good karma (how in the hell did I earn any of THAT?) pays off big time.

See you on the other side of the loop.

-J.

They Say It's Yer Birthday...

I know, I know - enough with the posts only meant for one person. Sorry - they just don't make them more important or deserving than The Blogger Formerly Known As FB - or is that the FB Formerly Known As A Blogger? Anyway, a lot of you love him, too, so here's your chance to share a little...

Long before you were FB, long before I was your first BF, you were special and different. Not just because you're gay, but because you're honest and all sorts of things most peope aren't. Not everyone knows how to deal with you, but that's just the curse of being a little cooler than everyone else. You're never been a circle merely trying to fit into squares, you're a fully 3-D sphere in a world that falls sadly flat. I have been honored to be there with you for more of that journey than I ever imagined I would ever travel with anyone. I'm not ashamed to say I'm your sidekick. I've been the Ethel to your Lucy, the Laverne to your Shirley. You will always be Batman (or the Joker or Catwoman - your pick) and I will always be Robin (or Harley Quinn or Cat-Thug #2 - again, your pick). Frankly, I've always preferred your favorite - I am definitely the Willow to your Buffy. You've got the obvious strength and I'm more tentative - and just a tad unstable enough to go dark inevitably.

No I will never be ashamed to be your sidekick - I'm only ashamed to say I haven't always been as good a sidekick as my hero deserved.

There were times when you helped steer me through the darkest waters I've ever navigated. No matter how crazy or lost I got, you were always there fighting for me and, when necessary, with me. No one in my life ever loved me as hard and true as you did. I may not always have shown it, but I saw it. I felt it. It changed me and saved me.

When I was child, I always wanted a brother. Really, I just wanted someone who would understand me. Don't get me wrong, I have the greatest sister in the entire world. But until we we were adults (a recent development for both of us!), we didn't really relate. I look back over my life and I realize that ungrateful brat who always wanted a brother got one in every sense of the word that matters. Family is not defined by blood, but by bond. There is no bond stronger than the true friendship you've shown me.

The brief history of us: Two gay boys (one closeted, the other impossible to hide) share mutual friends. Said friends introduce them (as straights often do when they only know two homos). Some years later, the weak one (that's me) finally works up the courage to admit his feelings. You fall for it for a while. We break up. You're still there. We stop talking (a few times, actually). You're still there. I fall to pieces. You pick me up. I fall a million more times. You're there, there, and there. Finally, I learn how to be a friend. There you are. And I am more than honored to have been there the whole time. I look so forward to the future and being there for more. Your loves. Your hurts. Your successes and your failures. The kids I hope you decide to have because you'll be an amazing father and I'll be one hell of an uncle/bad influence/godfather (yes, I'm staking my claim now!). I want to be there for all it and so much more.

I included your least favorite picture/my favorite (figures, don't it?) of us in this little missive. As you can see, it's obfsucated (I know you love it when I use 5 Dollar Words and pretend to be smart) so nobody can see that face. It isn't for anyone but you anyhow. And you know how we looked, holding those tickets to that Beck concert almost ten years ago. You may not think it was particularly flattering, but I love the picture because the look on my face spells how happy it made me then just to hover around your halo. It still makes me that happy. And when we blow out your candles and run around The Happiest Place on Earth this weekend, you will be hard pressed to find me not wearing that same look on my face.

You were my first love. And you are my only brother. I love you.

Your Gemini.

For a friend.

This wasn't posted until the morning of the 2nd. I forgot to take it out of "Draft" mode before collapsing to sleep. Damn, I really was tired!

Pilates kicked my ass and I am ready for bed. Keeping it short and sweet tonight. This one's for a friend. I know you read. You know I love you. Music always makes me feel better. This is one of my favorite songs for one of my favorite people...

Is it getting better
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now
You got someone to blame?
You say... One love, one life
When it's one need
In the night
One love
We get to share it
Leaves you baby if you
Don't care for it

Did I disappoint you
Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
You act like you never had love
And you want me to go without
Well it's
Too late
Tonight
To drag the past out into the light
We're one, but we're not the same
We get to Carry each other
Carry each other
One...

Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dead?
Have you come here to play Jesus
To the lepers in your head?
Did I ask too much
More than a lot?
You gave me nothing
Now it's all I got?
We're one
But we're not the same
Well we
Hurt each other
Then we do it again

You say
Love is a temple
Love a higher law
Love is a temple
Love the higher law
You ask me to enter
But then you make me crawl
And I can't be holding on
To what you got
When all you got is hurt
One love
One blood
One life
You got to do what you should
One life
With each other
Sisters
Brothers
One life
But we're not the same
We get to
Carry each other
Carry each other

One...

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Walk On Committee.