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| December 30, 2003
Fixer-Upper
As of about 2:00 PM yesterday afternoon, Glenn and I became homeowners in the District of Columbia. I don't want to become one of those boring people who talks about real estate, but I do need to share two photos that sum up what I'll be working on for the next few weeks (basically painting, making the kitchen usable, installing laminate flooring, and other Home Depot-related tasks). Me with power tools, go figure. 
 December 26, 2003
Sign No. 2,457 that Glenn is the Man for Me
Christmas Eve, while doing some last minute shopping, we return to the city via New York Ave. and pass a giant billboard for CNN's Inside Politics. We both take one look at the giant visage of its host and for some unexplicable reason blurt out in unison, "Judy, Judy, Judy." December 23, 2003
Code Orange Crush
I can't believe I did this. I reported suspicious activities, yo. Part of me feels like I've succumb to paranoia. There could be a logical explanation for what I saw, right? But if not, I'd hate myself if something happened. So, here's the story... I'm on the Metro coming into work reading the paper when something catches the corner of my eye. I look over and there is a man videotaping. "Oh, a tourist," I think, "usually they confine themselves to downtown." Then I look to see what he is videotaping. "That's funny. It's just the PG Plaza station. That seems like it's awfully boring." The next stop, he and I both get off. He stays on the platform, though, as I exit the station. A few minutes later, as I'm waiting for a shuttle, I see him still standing on the platform videotaping the nothing that surrounds the station. There are no monuments, no interesting architecture, no scenic views. I can't think of anything worth videotaping there. I mean, it's not like he was videotaping me. That would be understandable. Surreptitiously trying to capture glimpses of my outfit for the folks back home. I could see that. Anyway, I'm sure it was just my overactive imagination, but I told the Metro Transit Police just so I wouldn't have that feeling of guilt for doing nothing if something went down. Hopefully my imagination will soon go back to what it's most useful for on the subway (cue porn soundtrack). In the meantime, where's my Homeland Security Decoder Ring, Mr. Ridge? Black sheep of the day: the sick folks who won best team name at Pub Quiz last night, Necrophilia: When you feel like cracking open a cold one! I'm only mad since we couldn't think of a better name ourselves--though we did win the whole shebang. December 22, 2003
HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME
I long for longer days. The solstice couldn't have come sooner for me. I hate leaving work in the dark. Though I spend much of my life in the dark, I suppose. This weekend was packed and fun and amazing people are all around me. Sometimes I think I'm the luckiest person on earth. I'm sad to see so some people leave the party. I wish them well. We're all mermaids singing. For the record? I am a stubborn asshole sometimes. I am not always right. I do not know it all. If you love me, I will hurt you sometimes. I will always try to make it up in spades. Black sheep of the day: those old fuddy-duddies in the "other" OC, who have banned facial jewelry. Seventy year-old Commissioner Mary I. Johnson says, "they can't even speak well when they have their tongues pierced." Oh Mare, a pierced tongue isn't for talking, silly. December 18, 2003
White Elephant, White Rabbit
Today is one of the office holiday parties. We're doing a white elephant gift exchange because we're cool like that. No, really, we are. The other night, I was talking to Corey about this. I told him that there's a small but significant part of me with an overwhelming desire for mischief that wanted to offer up a sex toy for my anonymous, pre-wrapped gift. The thought of some co-worker unwrapping a Rabbit Pearl or Magic Wand filled my holiday-stressed mind with glee. Unfortunately, I had a $10 limit. Corey suggested that perhaps the Leather Rack has returned products at a discount. (Insert "open box" joke here). Of course, there's always the "personal massager" route. In the end, my inner rebel settled down and opted for a nice bottle of wine. Fortunately, I have a wonderfully overactive imagination and will spend a good portion of the party picturing what could have been if I were just a little more evil. Black sheep of the day goes to the Washington Post. It's been five months since Lloyd Grove left. How hard is it to find someone to write a fucking gossip column in DC? I seriously don't think you need a Ph.D. from Harvard to write "K Street producer George Clooney was spotted at Archibald's" or "Jenna Bush got drunk and did some dirty dancing at the Hung Jury." December 17, 2003
Towards a More Precise Urban Lexicon
Project Heat - ('prah-"jekt 'hEt) n. term used to describe the overabundance of warmth from radiators in an old-school apartment building As in "Damn, I know it's December and what not, but open a window. This project heat's got me sweatin'." December 16, 2003
Juxtapositions
One of the nice things about the google news feature is that it is "edited" by computers rather than people. And sometimes those algorithms and automated tools do funny things. Like put the headline from one article next to the picture from another.  Unless Ms. Horowitz was researching a role as housekeeper for Steve Sanders, that is. December 12, 2003
It's Gonna Be a Hard Candy Christmas
The Supreme Court has ruled that there cannot be a nativity scene in Washington, D.C. this Christmas. This isn't for any religious reason. They simply have not been able to find three wise men and a virgin in the Nation's Capital. There was no problem however finding enough asses to fill the stable. HAHAHAHAHA! Oh life's too rich sometimes. Only in DC, kids, only in DC. But truth? That virgin part is so dead on. There're some hardcore sluts in this town. Like just last night while Donaldo and I were enjoying a bevvy in a divey gay bar, a shitfaced man was trying to hug everyone in the bar. Fortunately for me, SuperDon pulled me in close and looked the hugger straight in the eye and said "Hands off, Pablo, this is my piece of ass!"
Yessir, That's My Baby
I only have another twelve hours left of dating a twentysomething. Thank god. Has it been a year already? [ed. note comments are all wonky again...maybe mt is the way to go?] December 10, 2003
Coming Up for Air
I feel like a million bucks. I feel like a million fucks. I've said at least half as many today alone. Work has been busier than usual. I won't even get into it. Then there's that whole house thing. We have a condo almost in our hands. Two bedrooms, two blocks from the Metro, two boys in love, all for under the cost of most of the neighborhood. Glenn calls the building "no frills." I say "ghetto." But it's ours. Or soon will be. I hope. And as I said to Thomas as we talked during a down moment (what's that again) this weekend, buying a house makes Trading Spaces seem like porn. Oh, St. Homobonus, grant me the wisdom to know what flooring option will work best in our new living room. Endow me with the talent of my people for picking just the right color scheme. And fill me with the patience to listen to G's "decorating" "ideas" without steamrolling them and him. I want to thank those of you who've kept me sane over the last few days, whether via IMs, emails, tribe, delightful parties, phone calls, porn, or holiday cards. It's those things that let me look at life and say, "Oh, it's already been broughten." Black sheep of the day: bankers (except for my brother who really came through for us with good advice) and their OCD need for documentation about everything. (Seriously, I'm including naked polaroids just to be safe that I've covered everything). December 05, 2003
Sweet Suite
I'm getting a new computer at work. It will be very fat except for its screen, which will be very thin. Best of all, it will have this loaded on it. Inside of me, there is a geeky design boy doing a little dance right now (and if you must know, it's to the X-Press 2 mix of "Milkshake" by Kelis). Speaking of XPress, I was a big fan of Quark for years, but I'm bidding it a fond farewell. I made the switch a little over a year and a half ago, but still used Quark for some older files. InDesign is better for me now. Its interface is more intuitive, it's just as powerful, and it works better with other Adobe products. So, when the tech guys asked, I said not to even bother loading Quark on my new machine. I can't believe I'm feeling such excitement for new software and such nostalgia for old. Eek, I'm a geek. Because I've been December 03, 2003
The Internet is Damn Freaky
So I see that he picked up on some kid copying him. Then I see that this kid copied his site name. Then I see an entry I seem to remember from him. Then I see something of mine from a few months ago? Wow, that's just. . . wow. December 01, 2003
 Last night, I saw a commercial for HBO's Angels in America and I started to cry. I cried because I remembered reading the play and loving it, then wondering how such beauty came from suffering. Being raised Catholic, I've been known to do the two-step with guilt. My cousin died from AIDS-related complications in the early nineties, just a year or two before I came out. I remember when I was in high school and my sister first told me he was sick. I asked her if he was gay, even though I'd sort of figured that out already by then. I guess I wasn't ready to work it all out myself. On one hand, I feel like his death robbed me of something I desperately needed at that time--some sort of guide, a role model. On the other, I feel like a sick, selfish person for thinking of his death in terms of my loss. The last time the quilt would ever be seen in its entirety, I organized the group of volunteers from my school to go to the mall and staff the event. While there, I looked to see if someone had made him a panel. I found two or three for men with his name, but, like me, he had a pretty common name. I looked at each one. But I felt like I was cheating. All around me were people crying and I was crying too, but did I have the right to cry? I didn't take care of him. I didn't visit him. What right did I have to cry about someone I didn't really know, someone I was too scared to know because I would have had to face up to a lot of things within me I wasn't ready to. What right do I have to write about this now? I hope in my life I never let fear keep me away from another person. |
Sister Bernadette's Barking Dog: The Quirky History and Lost Art of Diagramming Sentences - Kitty Burns Florey  Sublimation Point - Jason Schneiderman 
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