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| November 30, 2004
The Commoners vs. The Googlables
I don't know if John coined this term, but I'm giving him credit for it. While discussing the name of a mutual friend, he said "it's eminently googlable." As usual, he's right. He and I, on the other hand, have very common names. Google variations of my name and you'll come across an astronomer, a professor, a photographer, an engineer, a youth ministry instructor, and a World War I history enthusiast. None of these are me. You may also find a convicted murderer. Again, not me. Both of my names are very common. Chris/Christopher was the second most popular boy's name the year I was born. My surname is the 13th most common Irish surname (and the most common Mc- name). I suppose it could be worse. I could have been a Michael Murphy. Sometimes, I like the anonymity my name provides. I like the fact that I can swim about the Internet without fear that every single time my name appears it will be traced back to me. I don't live in fear that high school people I never really liked will contact me and want to do lunch. Other times, I wish my name were something a little more conspicuous. I like to think I'm as unique as the next guy and should have a special name to go along with that. I suppose that's why I latched on to Chrisafer. If you google that, it's pretty much all me. This is also why I have a passionate hatred of the person who took the aol screenname "chrisafer" before I did. With my names, both common and googlable, I get the benefits of both worlds. That's just me being greedy like an ambidextrous bisexual. November 28, 2004
Julia Roberts Gives Birth to Twins
It TRULY is Thanksgiving! J.Ro is a mom, yo. Here's an exclusive first peek at the proud mother with Hazel and Phinnaeus Moder: 
Overheard
... at Ladies Night: Boy 1: So, you're not going to dance with me? Boy 2: No, dude, I'm 100% totally straight. Boy 1: You could be the top. ... at some furniture store: Woman (into cell phone): ...well either you can help me or you can stick a hot poker in my eye. (clicks phone shut, leaves store). .. outside of the window display at Macy's hawking "The Polar Express" Woman to husband: I hope I never have to see that goddamn movie. November 24, 2004
Phone-a-Friend
I have the most wonderful friends ever. I really do. Last night, I got this email from my bestest friend Dan. I hope he doesn't mind me sharing it here, but if he does tough shit, because I know where the bodies are all buried. And despite what Dionne Warwick would have you believe, that's what friends are for. So Dan forwarded an email he received from ticketmaster entitled "Don't miss Yanni" with this message: Now that just seems like an odd subject line. Does anyone ever really 'miss' Yanni? Like did they imagine a lot of people out there thinking to themselves, 'I wonder when Yanni is playing cuz, gee, I would just hate to miss that.' I would love to see an audience shot of the people that go to that. They prolly look similar to the people that show up for Kitaro and shit. I bet there are people out there that have sex to that music like people had sex to Madonna back in college. Ok... i've disturbed myself a lil.And that is why he's my friend. November 23, 2004
The Statue Got Me High
Today, after lunch, my friend Cindy and I walked through Lafayette Park (as seen in All the President's Men and Dave). We noticed that a lot of those military statues were vaguely homoerotic from different angles. Fortunately she had her camera so you can be the judge.  
  Of course, in these days since Ashcroft retired, we're just happy to have publicly nude statues again.
Fooling Around
The summer I turned 13, I lived with my dad and "other mother," in Alexandria. Alexandria, Virginia not Alexandria, Egypt. My family's not that interesting. I spent most of my days going to the pool of their yuppie-filled apartment complex. There weren't a lot of kids my age around there. I think Paul, the 17-year-old lifeguard, was as close as it got. Because of this, I ended up hanging out with a group of adults at the pool. One woman in her early 30s took me under her wing. She saw that I was shy and engaged me in a way that brought me out of my shell. Once I opened up to her, I opened up to everyone. When I open up to you, I tend not to close my mouth for very long. I also tend to share the bizarre thoughts that pop into my head freely. Probably because of this, Paul the lifeguard started calling me "Goofy Chris" to differentiate me from "Punk Chris," a lifeguard at one of the other pools in the complex who listened to Minor Threat and had his ear pierced. I never admitted this to Paul, but it was hard for me to deal with that name for a long time. I didn't want to be known as goofy. I wanted to fit in. I'd always been a little odd. I had a rich fantasy life. I was a pre-teen Walter Mitty. An aunt once told me that, even before I could read, I used to sit in the corner with books blabbing out made-up stories about the pictures and laughing to myself. I suppose I still am that way. When you catch me in this mode, I really am goofy. And incredibly happy. It wasn't until years later, after reading lots and lots of Shakespeare, that I came to a realization about what this goofiness affords me. Being the clown allows you to say things you might not normally. The fool can address the king in a way no one else can. I find freedom in that. I only say all this because this morning, I thought of something from Twelfth Night: CLOWN
What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. Now go make out with goofy abandon! November 22, 2004
I Hope First Prize Includes a Sandwich
It's time again for Metro Weekly's Coverboy of the Year voting. The more I'm on this earth, the less I find the majority of these boys all that attractive. I can appreciate a certain beauty they have, but most of them just look hungry. I suppose it's a good thing that as I get older, the men I tend to find attractive do as well. Which isn't to say that my favorite in this horserace isn't in his early 20s. I suppose match.com's physical attraction test was right about my penchant for angular-faced pretty boys. Can you guess who? November 19, 2004
Porn Again
Last night, as I was frantically cooking for a dinner party, I happened to hear a "news" report on Anderson Cooper 360 about a topic I may or may not know something about: porn. Frankly, it made my blood boil. I almost burned my lasagna. Pardon my French, but I'm so fucking tired of this puritanical bullshit. The transcript is here. The story starts about halfway down with "It took a fraction of a second for a Google search to come up with 233 million hits for the word 'porn.' Clearly, porn is popular. But is it addictive?" You know, I really hate when journalists cite Google searches for authority. It smacks of lazy Ann Coulteresque Lexis-Nexis-based "facts." Also, could we just once as Americans not turn something into a syndrome or a disease? Just once? The story went on to interview Doug Weiss, Executive Director of the "Heart to Heart Counseling Center." I thought that was an interesting name. It seems very family-centered. Hmm. Then they interview him. He's coming into my living room live from... Colorado Springs, Colorado. Gee, what else is in Colorado Springs? Toolboy went on to make this wonderful comment: "Pornography is a real issue for men. Once it gets its hook inside of you, oftentimes you don't even believe you can get well, you can stop. And you can. I've been free for 17 years. People call our office and fly all over the country to get here. You can get free. And you know, really, you make a lot more money, your relationships are happier, you're not as isolated, you're not as depressed." I'd like to see the research that shows this. I'd also like to see CNN show a little balance. Couldn't they have found someone to counter this guy's anti-sex rantings? I have a nomination. I'm not sure if Mr. Weiss is affiliated with Dobson and that crew, but hearing about him has certainly made me put Colorado Springs at the top of my "not even if the rest of the world were contaminated with nuclear fallout" list of places to visit. Mr. Weiss hosts TBN's game show "Winning At Marriage." I'm glad CNN found an expert like Wink Martindale for the biblethumper set to tell us all about the evils of porn. If you're interested, fellas, he apparently also has the key to THE BEST SEX OF YOUR LIFE, FOR MEN ONLY (you know, I have to agree--the best sex of my life is for men only too). Finally, if someone you know has issues with pornography, might I suggest these handy ecards to let them know how you feel. Collect them all! November 18, 2004
We Love It When Our Friends Become Successful
My buddy Mike's new record label's debut release "Then I Saw the Holy City" from The Out Crowd is out now. Check it out. [As an aside, The Out Crowd is Matt Hollywood's band. He was a co-founder of The Brian Jonestown Massacre. I never did get around to seeing that movie about them and the Dandy Warhols, but I heard it was good. I hate it when that happens. The list of movies I have to catch up on is crazy long. Can we have a moratorium on good movies until I get through my Netflix queue? Please?] Also, my friend Jason's first book Sublimation Point is coming out in a few days. He's an amazing poet and an awesome guy. Buy your copy today. Also, on a totally unrelated note, I really was hoping for more sex on MTV's Date My Mom, but I guess after Janet and Nicolette, they have to be careful. And finally, I love Yiddish. November 17, 2004
It BURNS!
Dear Express, Usually I lovelovelove you. Especially your catty LookOut section, with its lovely poems about Michael Phelps' DUI (side note: I really think gossip poetry is the next big thing. In the room, the women come and go, talking of Ben and J.Lo. If you're reading this, Bonnie Fuller, I'm available). Today, though, Express, you started my morning with this image:  I'm going to have nightmares for weeks. November 16, 2004
I Think You're Amazing
Oh, how I love thee, TAR. Every year you offer me a team to hate and one (or two) with a boy to crush on. For the first time in a while, I didn't hate any of the teams that finished in the top three. But I have to say that the big bad this year is really bad. Like I don't want him to just lose, I want him to fall into a lava pit.
Insert Cheap "Backdoor Policy with China" Joke Here
You'd think with traditional marriages to defend and countries to invade that George Bush would have better things to do than send me emails. Guess not since I got this in my inbox recently:  Someone at the State Department should inform him that "oriental" is an outdated term. Maybe when they go over the whole Brazil has black people too thing again. I think this new job is just going to make Condi angrier.
Unreal
Michael Ausiello reports that "The surviving members of TLC... are teaming with UPN on R U the Girl With T-Boz & Chilli, an eight-episode series in which the duo will try and find a singer to fill the void left by Lisa 'Left Eye' Lopes, who died two years ago in a car crash." Tacky. Tackytackytacky. I think this sets the stage for my new reality show idea: Replace My Mommy, wherein young grieving children interview a series of potential mates for their widower father. In order to capture all of the drama, we'll start by following around five families with terminally ill mothers. The first family to lose its matriarch wins a chance at fame, fortune, and a new healthy mommy. November 15, 2004
A Lovely Day for a Barbecue
I had a nice lunch today with John and Kyle. Despite the fact that I made the mistake of not being clear about at which "Starbucks on the corner" we'd meet. As we walked back to our respective offices and schools, a few blocks away a man was setting himself on fire. How's that for life in the imperial capital?
Video Killed the Radio Star
 Thanks to GeekSlut for sharing videos from BlogJam. I've been told that I'm reading in my "office voice." For the record, I rarely discuss my penis in the workplace. Well, not anymore at least. November 14, 2004
Wig in a Box
Darling Schroeder asked in a comment, "And what was so important about a wig/scar scene. As someone who never watched MP, what the hell am I missing?" Answer: Plenty. It was April 1994. It was my last semester as a brother in my fraternity. I was soon going to realize that it was time to come out of the closet. In a few months, I'd meet the most amazing boy in the world. Nixon had just died. We were dancing to "I Saw the Sign" by Ace of Base at the 'Vous. Everyone I knew was just a little obsessed with a show called Melrose Place.  In the episode, "The Bitch is Back," Dr. Kimberly Shaw (Marcia Cross) returned from the dead in a way that only soap stars and Jesus can. And she brought an ugly scar with her. Dr. Kimberly Shaw had stolen pancake-nippled Dr. Michael Mancini from his faithful, pixie-like wife Jane. Jane was rather boring. Jane was a throwback to the early episodes of Melrose that tried to be serious, Gen-X tales of struggle (to which the American people said, "fuck that, where's the sex and deceitfulness?" Thankfully). Dr. Kimberly Shaw joined Heather Locklear's important advertising executive Amanda Woodward as the show's new vanguards of seductiveness and camp. My brothers and I would gather in "The Brotherhood Room" to watch the show every Wednesday night. Some of the guys would get there early to watch its lead-in, Beverly Hills, 90210, but I had grown tired of the trials and tribulations of Kelly, Dylan, and Brandon. After chanting along with the senior class of West Beverly, "Donna Martin Graduates! Donna Martin Graduates!," there really was no need for me to watch anymore. So there we were, in the wood-paneled brotherhood room--the only room in the house off limits to anyone but brothers. Also the only room with cable. There were six-packs of Busch Light Draft. There was pizza. There were about 30 guys in their late teen/early twenties desperately trying not to admit to each other that they loved this show in a very special way. Or maybe there were just three of us who felt that way and the other 27 were there for the beer. Dr. Kimberly Shaw, who we all assumed was dead after that car accident with Dr. Michael Mancini, was back. And she seemed to be okay with hopping right back into bed with Dr. Michael Mancini despite the fact that he was tanked when he got in the accident that left her dead (as we all assumed until that night). He even got the Tokenhomo (Doug Savant) to change his blood alcohol levels in the official hospital report to cover up his negligence. We knew that Dr. Kimberly Shaw had something up her sleeve, but what? The only thing I remember from that night, that image seared into my pop-culture-loving head, was the end of the episode when Marcia Cross slips into the bathroom, stares in the mirror, and takes off her wig to reveal a hideous scar.  Gasps could be heard echoing throughout the four stories of the fraternity house (apparently the rest of the brothers were watching in silence in their rooms). It was a moment that had to be shared. If you were there, you understand. November 11, 2004
Not to speak ill of the dead....
but as I was scanning Google News and saw this picture  I didn't think of the tragic murder of a Dutch filmmaker so much as "why am I seeing a picture of one of these guys on a smoke break?" November 10, 2004
Now I'm Not Just a Dorothy and a Miranda
For a long time, I fought the label of Miranda. Then one episode, towards the end of the series, Miranda got up in the middle of the night and logged on to an Internet gossip site. Glenn just started laughing hysterically. Last night while discussing Desperate Housewives, despite the fact that I really wanted to be Marcia Cross (mainly because the Dr. Kimberly Shaw wig/scar scene was so pivotal to my development as a connoisseur of so-bad-it's-good TV--wrong show, I know, but still), Kyle informed me that I was not at all a Marcia Cross. Then he told me who he thought I was.  Congratulations! You are Lynette Scavo, the ex-career woman who traded the boardroom for boredom, mixed with moments of sheer panic as the mother of four unmanageable kids. Which Desperate Housewife are you? brought to you by Quizilla Guess he was right. But I'm not sleeping with William H. Macy or Doug Savant. November 09, 2004
I Knew We Shouldn't Have Set Your New Computer Up Yet
It seems that I've just had my 100,000th visitor today. This lovely person was brought here by google and wanted more information regarding "paris hilton went commando." Hi Mom!
There's Something About Tara
I got an email last night from my friend Drew that made me gayer. I'm sure you've seen it as its made its way around the 'net, the not-safe-for-work Tara Reid nipple slip from Puff Daddy's Birthday Bash (note to Diddy: shouldn't you be out killing non-voters?). At first I wondered how one could not feel the fresh air on one's deformed nipple. Then it occurred to me that plastic breasts probably don't have the ability to feel things. And neither do drunken celebrities. I shouldn't poke too much fun. I also had a brush with accidental public nudity recently. My friend Brian (aka B-Diddy) had his own birthday bash this weekend. After dinner, we went for a few drinks at the uber-trendy, smoke-free, gay-bar-the-size-of-a-closet Halo. While in the men's room, I came dangerously close to recreating a scene from There's Something About Mary. Fortunately for me, my boxers caught the zipper before anything tragic happened. I would hate to be the one wheeled out of DC's latest hotspot as the paramedics screamed "We've got a bleeder!" So there I am with my zipper stuck on my boxers in the stall of the men's room. I tried to pull it down. Nothing. I tried to pull it up. Nothing. I tried to wiggle the fabric of the boxers out of the zipper. Wouldn't budge. There was quite a long line. I was in the stall for a while. I'm sure some of the people in line were assuming I was doing something more nefarious in there. I thought about making exaggerated snorting noises to fuel those assumptions, but I quickly returned my focus to the problem at hand. What's a boy to do? I decided that untucked shirts have their advantages and I should just get back to the party. Every once in a while, I felt the chill of the November air just a little too much and did a casual check to make sure things were still... under wraps. So, if you saw me Saturday night, you should know, I was one slight breeze away from pulling a Tara Reid. Fortunately, unlike Puffy, Brian kept the paparazzi at bay for his birthday party. November 04, 2004
Letter From the Bubble
Last night turned out to be a little more culture than pop. I had a chance to catch Craig Wright's Grace as part of the Woolly Mammoth's 25th Anniversary season. It really was a wonderful play. After yesterday's emotional I've also had a chance to see Wright's Recent Tragic Events and Melissa Arctic, not to mention his work on Six Feet Under. He's an amazing writer. I want to be more like him. And by that I mean more like me, but successful. If there's one thing I'm learning about writing, it's that you have to do it. A lot. It takes practice. It's hard work. And it can be lonely. But if you can string the right words together, if you can build that image in other people's minds, then you're not alone. And neither are the people on the other end of those words. At one point during the play, one of the characters said something along the lines of "I have to believe that we're not all here together just to be near each other. I have to believe that we're also supposed to be here for each other." I certainly think she's right. November 03, 2004
Electoral College Dropout
 I'm afraid I'm going to have to break up with politics. We're officially on a break. I can't talk about it. It hurts. It's not you, it's me. No, actually, it's you. It's you people who obviously are more terrified that I get to visit my partner in the hospital than that you have no FUCKING JOBS. Yes, I'm looking in your general direction, Ohio. Tonight I'll seek out art and entertainment. I'll enter the warm bubble of pop culture. I need a Lindsey Lohan movie, stat. I'm going to be an ostrich, going to stick my head in the sand of dreamcaps and the Sims 2, where I've created the Spears-Federline family (complete with Shar Jackson!). I'm going to rock Netflix's world in the next few weeks. Okay, one final political thought: Did I really hear the local news anchor say, "We now go to the Players Club in Southeast, where Marion Barry's victory party is in full swing." and, if so, why wasn't I invited? November 02, 2004
How Much For Just One Rib?
 So, I hear this sticker will get you things. Rumors abound that Chipotle and California Tortilla will feed voters. New local hangout Wonderland is supposed to have voter specials. And at Dupont Circle's Best Cellars, you can get 15% off your purchase. Let's hope that's for some celebratory champagne and not the drowning of sorrows. I'm a fan of encouraging people to vote by giving them things. Of course, leave it to a Republican to find a way to corrupt this system and not pay his fair share. Two stickers! The shame. I think WeHo residents should demand answers about Abbeygate. All kidding aside, this morning as I walked to the Metro, I saw the longest line of voters I'd ever seen. A wonderful mix of men and women, old and young, gay and straight, every color you could imagine. My eyes welled up a little bit. I'm really proud to be an American. I hope I'm even prouder tomorrow morning. |
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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