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Apr 19, 2013

Look what I got.

My beautiful man Peter made this for me. I turned 15 years sober today. I am rich beyond belief.

Apr 12, 2013

I just don't get it.



Led astray online today
My noodle's in a fuss
Techies say it's child's play?
Not so, this "Google plus."

Apr 11, 2013

Just let me know.



Which is the leading motorcar
with manners of a ninny?
I've narrowed down the list thus far to:
Bimmer, Prius, Mini.

For not a one seems any keen
on lane-change etiquette
(the turn signals on each machine
are optional, I bet).

Apr 10, 2013

Body Snatchers poem



If Kool-Aid is your drink of choice
And hungry souls you're targeting
Just raise your glass, and "salesman" voice:
To multi-level marketing!

Apr 9, 2013

L.A. poem

As dressing down becomes the norm
And no one looks askance
A loophole takes the streets by storm
They're sold as "yoga pants."

Bluster

You hooked me in, an easy sell
With cunning and virility
But then you shot it all to Hell:
You said, "comfortability."

Love poem

If hatred is your cup of tea
and homophobic libel
The Joel Osteen ministry
okays it as "The Bible."

Apr 6, 2013

Poem for the Day




As world approaches end of line
in Armageddon graphic,
L.A. will be a bit behind
(we'll all be stuck in traffic).

Nov 18, 2012

Skyfalling in love again.


I've been playing Adele's new single "Skyfall" over and over again for days now, because a.) it's a beautiful song, and b.) it makes me feel like I'm in the movie, only a lot safer, because 1.) no one's shooting at me, and 2.) I am a freelance writer, instead of a spy.

I saw Skyfall a few days ago and I can't get it out of my head.

Skyfall
has awakened the decades-old fantasy... that I am James Bond. When you grow up fat, effeminate and clumsy, it's easy to fantasize that you're the exact opposite of yourself. For me, that has always been James Bond.

Thanks to Ian Fleming, Daniel Craig and the brilliant director Sam Mendes, MI6 operative 007 continues to represent everything I've never been: masculine and beautiful, tall and athletic. British. The older and more self-aware I get, the more I realize how much I've always wanted to be British; not so much for their accent but for their quality of reserve.

"Reserve" is a quality I lack. When I get excited about something I practically sing and dance, yet I've always been attracted to quiet people. Quiet people are sexy, and no one's as effectively quiet as James Bond. His gun makes more noise than he does. When he does speak, he does so with economy, using just enough language to say something grave, witty, or both. By contrast, ask me how I'm doing and I'll fly right off the rails - no telling where I'll land.

Where Skyfall really takes me by the wrist, pulls me into the shadows and doesn't let go, however, is in its melancholy. The dark tone set in 2006's Casino Royale - equal parts blood, sweat and tux - is even darker now. Heavy and spectacular, Skyfall broods like no other Bond film has brooded before.

Bond doesn't just careen through this latest adventure, he's the beating heart of it. It's impossible to separate him from this pained, minor-chord milieu. Yet I wouldn't want to. Bond in pain is a total turn-on. I'm older now, and it takes more than a sea-diving sports car or an exploding pen to hold my interest. Skyfall wields so much emotional weaponry through its haunted backstory, dissection of loyalty and jaded, knowing homoeroticism that I can't decide whether I should duck or eat something fattening.

I love James Bond. I always have, but this time I know it's for real. As usual, he's got the looks, the brains, the skill, but now he hurts, he feels, he questions -- and at this introspective time in my life, the fantasists have hit upon the perfect formula. As a kid, I wanted to be cool. As an adult, I just want to be adequate. So for someone who spends most of his time stumbling and giggling through social awkwardness and professional apathy, a dour, tormented Bond is nothing less than exotic.

He's still everything I'm not, now even more so.

And hey - if you're going to fall for an emotional cripple, it doesn't hurt if he looks like Daniel Craig, right?

Nov 3, 2012

How eye roll.


Here's the L.A. Party Planning Countdown:

Throw a party large enough, and at least...

10.       ten people will be Scientologists, Wiccans or Pagans (and yes, I'm lumping them all together. Deal.)

9.         nine people will be gluten-free.

8.         eight people will have new tattoos.

7.         seven people will be life coaches.

6.         six people won't be able to make it (because they're at Burning Man).

5.         five people will be stand-up comics.

4.         four people will be wearing dreadlocks. Four white people.

3.         three people will have slept with you (and the one you'd like to sleep with again isn't interested).

2.         two people's names will completely escape you (the other two that slept with you).

1.         one person will be wearing a kilt.


It's getting harder and harder for me to get out of bed without rolling my eyes at something. I'm not proud of that, nor am I ashamed. I'm just telling you the truth. I may be gay, Filipino, and just the slightest bit affected, but I'm also quite the curmudgeon. Archie Bunker in low-rise jeans. Becker wearing moisturizer.

I generally circulate with a very "live-and-let-live" crowd, so I feel pretty isolated in my observations, even when surrounded by close friends. I can live and let live, but not without the occasional, "Oh, puh-leeeeeeez..."

At some point, something or someone will strike me as ridiculous, and if/when I point that out, someone dear to me will become very impatient and label me "judgmental."

I'm sure it would be different if I were a celebrity. When Kathy Griffin or Joan Rivers make similar statements, people laugh. When I do it, I'm being "narrow-minded."

The truth is, I'm in a category far beyond "judgmental" and "narrow-minded"; I'm right. There is a difference.

It wasn't a choice. I was born this way.

No haters.

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