while you're on your knees...

Damaged Good

2012-01-20T18:33:00.000-08:00

Friday's are the worst. Especially now, in the evening, I can hear the traffic outside- people rushing home to begin their weekend. But I have nowhere to be and no one to be with... It's the sad story of my life, in some ways, I have always been alone and longing for company.

As a child I would ask for and receive board games for Christmas every year. The kinds of games that were impossible to play by yourself, like: Monopoly, Life, and Risk. It's obvious to me now that I thought that if I had something to offer, surely the players would present themselves for the games. But they never did. Somehow my thinking has never really evolved.

I have had friends over the years. Even whole relationships, but the majority of my life seems to be spent in solitude. A recent ex recently told me that I have a double curse: intelligence and creativity. That somehow these "gifts" are also a curse; because I can entertain myself for long periods of time, which is true but truly useless in the comfort department. I suppose that's why I paint so many portraits. I surround myself with imaginary friends. Famous faces stare back at me from every available inch of my walls. I am the object of their attention and affection. I spent years on a stage, now my audience is my cage.

Just finished reading Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. I had been leisurely making my way through the last book, wanting to prolong the experience. But it was inevitable that I would finish today. I cried. Several times... Despite that I am happy to be reading novels again. My imagination is sparked and the characters become my companions. I have far too much empathy for this world. Feel too deeply. Fall too often. Perhaps for these reasons it is better for me to be alone.

I try to be optimistic about the future. I long to say yes should opportunity knock. What I know for sure is that even though I am damaged that doesn't mean that I'm not still good.

Wait, What?

2012-01-05T20:34:00.000-08:00

I arrived home this evening to find two items in my mailbox. The first being the DVD box set of Todd Haynes' Mildred Pierce, which I love and wanted as a reminder that children are simply wretched scabs that will break your heart and fuck your lovers. (I secretly suspect that a similar thing could happen to Madonna if she keeps dating men closer to her daughters age than her own...) I happily added this to my Amazon queue when it became available and was pleased to see that it arrived today.

However, the other item in my box- a National Geographic magazine, I have no memory of ordering. Oh wait, it has a map of the world with it.... Maybe I do remember possibly subscribing to N.G. in order to get my hands on this precious map of the entire fucking world. But was that really my motivation? What kind of person was I hoping to become in 2012? What does the fact that I signed up for a subscription and forgot about it say about me? I love reading N.G. at the orthodontist or other such glamourous waiting rooms I might find myself in. The pictures are fascinating and beautiful. The articles, interesting enough... Usually in a WTF kind of way. But who was I on the day I decided that, yes- it's time to be a National Geographic reader on a regular basis?

I've been shedding layers of toxic self over the recent weeks. Old skins, beliefs, attitudes... I want to let it all melt off like whipped cream on a hotcake. I don't need the calories and the guilt is so passé. I'm beginning to see the world through new eyes. It's a very good feeling.

I met a man at work the other day, who upon hearing my Christian name responded: "You're too young to be a Wayne. All Wayne's are twenty years older than you." I thought about that for the rest of the day. It made me feel good, somehow better about myself. I decided to google my name to find out what I could about it and stumbled across a couple of different articles in reference to the fact that a disproportionate number of criminals have the middle name of Wayne, ala John Wayne Gacy. Something about the fact that middle name Wayne's are more likely to end up behind bars for heinous criminal activity than people with other, non Wayne middle names. I was slightly freaked out, as this was not the information I had been looking for, so I paid little attention and went onto other less threatening web content. (As an experiment, just say your name out loud and insert Wayne as if it were YOUR middle name. Creepy, right? This is my reality, mind you.)

I'm not a criminal. Though I have often thought of myself that way. The fates are vicious and they're cruel. I learned too late I used two wishes like a fool... So what shall I use my final wish on?

I know that having it all could cost me everything, but what have I to lose? Even though I have a map of the world, I'm still not coming to save you. You'll have to forgive me, my dear. I'm molting.

On The Eve of Something New

2011-12-31T14:36:00.000-08:00

I probably spend far too much time alone, which is one of the reasons I have no New Year's Eve plans tonight. No parties. No invitations. Only the ghosts I've chosen to acknowledge... I will spend the evening by myself. Staring into the void, out the window, across the web until my eyes give up and I allow the ghosts of this and every year tuck me in again.

I've given up on therapy. (Like everything else.) I know what I need to do. I just don't know how I'm going to do it. Experience seems to chip away at enthusiasm as if they were natural enemies. I do think that it would be nice to feel loved again. To be in love. To have someone to talk to. To cook for. To snuggle with. To have and to hold... All that. Maybe this year.

Phoenix From The Flame

2011-12-03T20:15:00.001-08:00

Somehow I had forgotten the simplest of rules. I would breathe it all in and absorb all I could until I finally collapsed like an ancient empire, unable to sustain my majesty. Yes, it's true, we are all born to die. But the waiting is truly the hardest part. I've had my share of meantime. I could write a book.

Let's try an experiment. Who here can say beyond doubtful shadows that they love themselves just as they are without conditions? Without exceptions? Fuck me, I'm failing; we all seem to say. Desperately seeking... And still the beast goes on. Always hungry and haunting. Crying into the night as the siren on the rocks. Bring me a sense of humor and a water back, goddammit! I ate the seventh seal and clubbed it's baby.

We are taught, early on, what to think but not how to think. I think it's a shame there is so much shame. Pepper spray is the accessory of the season. It's quite striking next to the indifference and self-indulgence that seem to have taken the world by storm. Is it better to stay true to oneself or go with the latest trends? I can't decide really, since the latest fashion seems to have originated in the deepest corners of my soul. Mint in spring? I will keep my eyes and closet open to it.

I promise you this, cowboy: To cherish your sweet memory even as I devour your archetype. And if on these coldest of nights you hear me howling, know that it is for you that I croon.

I will rise.
And I will return.

SO

Remember The Future

2011-10-26T18:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just forget, okay?

I forget where I am, what I'm supposed to be doing, and most especially, who the fresh hell I am! In a strangely earned moment of clarity, it all came back to me, flooding my senses with the nostalgia of former selves.... Higher selves, perhaps. One thing is certain: I am having a Dusty moment here and no one here to witness! I have a feeling that it won't be for long.

Seemingly overnight, the gods of attraction have fucked with my bearings enough to produce tangible results. Somehow, I have officially broken through some strange sort of personal threshold and crossed over into the "real world" again. How I loathe unliving like a ghost...

Ghost stories, on the other hand, are just my cup of tea... I absolutely adore American Horror Story, in all it's obscenely over-wrought melodrama. Jessica Lange's character "Constance" has me laughing one minute and freaked the funk out the next. It's a really remarkably entertaining show. I'm starting to LOVE FX.... Louie is a great show as well.

I'm almost ready for the holiday season to begin. At least this year, I am aware that it is upon us. I love that Halloween brings out parts of people that they don't necessarily flaunt the rest of the year. Like characters from the Twilight movies, they will walk around brooding and stating ridiculously obvious things while dressed as the creatures their fragile psyches will allow them to reveal. Don't vampires just suck anymore? Now they are an acceptable choice to date/fuck/marry??? When did this paradigm shift happen? I don't know about you but I'm gonna keep a wooden stake close at hand from now on.

Anyone know where I can pick up some silver bullets? I feel the waxing of the moon and one can never be too prepared. I hope that this year I get all the treats I desire and none of the tricks. I leave those for the kids...

Happy Endings, Crude Beginnings: The Return

2011-10-02T20:17:00.000-07:00

I haven't forgotten about you. Not really... I've just been terribly busy being absolutely unremarkable. But that does get a bit boring, too. Of late, I have been bullishly reborn and charging into the unknown again. I really thought there would be more to report, but it seems as though research is the top of the pack these days. Research on a great many things, some personal and some profane. I can share a few...

1) New York City For obvious reasons... My first trip, my fortieth summer, was life altering. I was asked recently how I managed to AVOID going to New York for so long. My reply? "Fear." I want no more of that...

2) The Night Circus Simply a beautiful story of love, magic and mystery... I don't read a lot of novels anymore, but I should. This was a wonderful reintroduction to the world of new fiction. I cried like a baby by the end of this....

3) Drive A strange and compelling film that reminded me that heroes come in many forms and that our gifts are also our curse. Plus, Ryan Gosling.

* * *
I have been working far too much on things that I don't really care about and I think might actually be very bad for me. I need to stop doing that.

Trying to identify my bliss is harder than I thought it would be. At least, the ugly rational part of me tries to get me to believe that. Will my intuition win out? I certainly hope so.

The hardest part of this journey is the return. Wish me luck. I think I need it.

SO

What becomes a Legend most?

2011-09-16T20:27:00.001-07:00

Legendary fucking behaviour, darling. That's what!But seriously, I believe it's a grand old time to dwell on this particular question.Let the new chapter begin.Let the fiercest of the characters emerge.Emerge. God, I love that word.I so seldom get to use it in a sentence.I am more than ready for a little mileage, Miss Driver.If you will, I will too.Let call it even and pray that this time it's not just a dream.Is that the dawn I see?

Never Cooperate With A Soul-Eater

2011-08-22T09:32:00.000-07:00

It never works out in your favor.

That's basically where I've been for the last eight and a half months.... An incubation period, for sure. Reading over my blog, I figure I have to set the record straight on a few points, for my own mind's clarity. I forget, sometimes, that growth is painful and confusing. But I always seem to come out the other side. For better or for worse, legal or not, I'm married to myself.

I've had a lot going on this year, but nothing that really damaged my root system. Leaves are beginning to sprout again and that's a good thing. I think that my trip to New York (what was that?) helped. It's like that self-help book I own but have never read: Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway. I realized that I am downright terrified of a great many things, but I am also an incredibly adaptable/mutable being. So, fear is really just something to take note of, not to live by.... Fear is a soul-eater, too.

I've been doing some thinking about what it all means.... My life purpose, blah, blah, blah... I think that maybe it's not so tough to figure out. Maybe the answer is right in front of me. I just have to open my eyes to the possibility and the possibility will open it's eyes to me.

Here's looking at you, kid!
SO

Zeitgeist

2011-08-19T21:30:00.001-07:00

Maybe it is the wine.

Or maybe the French subtitles...

I feel like reaching out.

My loneliness attacks in sudden bursts and my tears aren't shy.

The only "like minds" seem so far away.

Angel McQueen, I need you now.

Do something magic, so I can believe...

Man Walks Into a Bar

2011-07-11T15:43:00.000-07:00

Watch this. Made me cry...

Start Spreading The News

2011-06-06T10:30:00.001-07:00

I am finally going to visit the Big Apple!

This July 4th and that week, I will be in NYC for the first time. If you have any suggestions as to what I absolutely must experience while I am there, please let me know.

I am quite excited about this trip. Lifelong dream is finally coming to fruition.... I definitely want to see a Broadway show, Central Park, etc... I will be staying in Midtown.

live alone

2011-04-12T22:12:00.000-07:00

Wherever you are
Whoever is there
You'll know that I'll be here
I'll be here
Wishing I could be there

Let It Bleed

2010-11-15T12:02:00.000-08:00

It's Monday morning and I am back at my Good Old Desk, contemplating the cosmos, muscle aches and lunch orders. I absolutely can't wait for the weekend, when I shall run away from Los Angeles and leave behind all my problems. At least that's the fantasy version of it. I'm feeling full lately, like an old sponge that needs to be rinsed, squeezed and hung out to dry.... Do you ever have the need for a good old-fashioned blood-letting? I have absorbed just about all I can take in.

My meditation practice has been spotty lately. Sometimes sleeping in seems more appealing than sitting up and chanting. I am trying to get back on course. It's been a rough month on the homefront. I might have mentioned that.... I'm fully settled into the idea of the HOLIDAYS being an unavoidable phenomenon, so I am embracing them in an attempt to maybe get a little release from the pressure of being alive. There is something so surreal about this time of year in Los Angeles. The faux fall decorations, all orange and brown, followed by the various forms of white meant to represent snow or cocaine, depending on what part of LA you are in.

Days like this make me want to listen to Hole. I just hate being in a situation where I'm kicking myself and saying: "I should have listened to Courtney Love!" She's like a V-8, that girl....

It DOES Get Better

2010-10-20T08:57:00.000-07:00

I have a lot of thoughts on the subject of gay suicide, but I want to be able to give it the attention it deserves. In the meantime, I AM wearing purple today (and pretty much everyday) in a show of support. If you are the victim of bullying, take it from me... They will get what's coming to them. Karma is a beautiful thing. Just be strong... Listen to your favorite album and imagine all the fabulous things you will accomplish.

Being young is one of the hardest things I have ever experienced, but I got through it. There is a much better world waiting for you just around the corner. Be brave, kids...

Negative Space

2010-10-18T21:28:00.000-07:00

Had yet another oral surgery today.... Fun with a capital F! Drove myself home wondering if, indeed, this is real life? But you know, I never wanted to be your weekend lover. Also, I think it's high time we all delete Sally Field from our friends list because... No, we don't really like you, Gidget.

In the absence of loftier goals, I've been communing with negative space. I fill it with positive energy and watch the elementary fireworks until I finally give in to the moment just after it's passed. Think, think, think... What would Zizek do? Or Kant? Or Jeremy Bieber?

Yes, you read that right: Jeremy Bieber, father of Justin. That's a father worth googling, if googling fathers is indeed your bag. It's only occasionally MY bag, depending of course on whether or not it goes with my ensemble for the day. Mother wanted me to come out in a kimono. We had a horrible fight....

A bit of paranoia struck me earlier, regarding bed bugs and the state of my couch. Though it was well into the evening's television programming, I busted out the steamer and gave the entire living furniture the once over. I'm not really sure if steam adversely affects bed bugs, but it did make me feel better. Plus, adding a couple of drop of lavender essential oil into the machine makes it all smell spring time fresh!

I start back to work tomorrow after an all too brief hiatus that was more drama filled than an episode of Desperate Housewives. We've had guests, honey. It hasn't been pretty. I'm wondering why I feel the need to smudge this entire apartment with sage??

Give us this day our daily check, please!

Highly Domestic

2010-10-12T15:05:00.000-07:00

A little late for spring cleaning, but still I am compelled to dust off the evil of neglect and start anew. Housekeeping is such a temporary satisfaction. It seems that no sooner have I cleared the clutter and it has begun all over again. As usual, I wonder what it is I am avoiding by playing housewife to myself. Surely there are some incredibly manly things that I can't bear to begin. And so it is that I find myself blogging this sunny California afternoon.

My teeth feel tight.

I've been eating sugar and far too much sugar lately. Trying, unsuccessfully to satiate this longing.... I was entirely unprepared for the fact that the HOLIDAYS are upon us. It still feel like summer to me. But, I can't argue with the Halloween displays at the local drugstore, or the Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations starting to fill the local stores.... Didn't we just do this? I'm not ready for another year. I want to take this holiday off.... I dread the food. The shopping... The traffic, the traveling... The family and predictability of it all.

On the other hand, I really don't know what else I would rather be doing.

I've eaten all the macaroons I've been given.

It's Like a Dog, It Will Bite You...

2010-10-11T09:50:00.000-07:00

I return to the keyboard, mouse and publish button. It's not that I didn't have fun with my other mistresses, canvases, paints and guitars... Just that I hate the Dilettante card. Hate, hate, hate it.... No, I would much rather be an Artist. True Artist. Favorite Artist. Anything but an amateur.

I cut my own hair last night. Chopped at it viciously with a scissor until I could regain my composure enough to stop. It looks okay. Would probably be a better look if this was 1963. No, you can't see a picture. I will have to turn in my hipster union card, though. I'm totally uncool right now. Maybe that admission makes me cool again. But I have a slight headache, oatmeal to eat and a body to punish at the gym.

I hope that we can be friends again. All my imaginary ones have long since left the building... Come back to the five and dime with me?

God's Greatest Hits

2010-08-27T14:27:00.000-07:00

Super duper deep in a Nilsson moment right now. What an amazing genius talent that man was! Words cannot describe... If you only know "Without You" or "Everybody's Talkin'"- you simply have no idea. Go get some Nilsson music today!!! It will change your life.

I miss blogging like I used to do. No one burned down the temple but me. I hope to return. The tumblr is unfulfilling and twitter gives me ADD. My facebook is like a shitty magazine of People I happen to know. I'm bored by the internets and glistening for the next big thing... I'd rather be dead than wet my bed, too, Harry.

Follow Me

2010-06-10T17:56:00.001-07:00

I tumblr for ya!

Forever Again

2010-05-27T22:18:00.000-07:00

Thought I would share this old song. Pretty much sums up where I'm at tonight....

Forever Again

you already let me down
left me alive enough to hate the sound
voices in the other room
birds at night contemplate my doom

take what you will and get out
leave me to disintegrate into the void
i used to be a challenger
now all that's left is a scared little boy

carving out my history
was it the needle that set me free?

when love goes wrong, as it often does
you can still move on
but death, it seems, wants something more
than a little piece of me

I could be lethal
I can be cruel
I can sense a target
Inside of you

It's my new best friend
on the ride with me
Til the bitter end
It's my destiny:

learn how not to be alone
forever
again

Written and performed by Saviour Onassis
®

Patti Smith "You Light Up My Life" on "Kids Are People Too"

2010-05-05T22:27:00.000-07:00

Coachella 2010

2010-04-18T14:46:00.000-07:00

Beard the Lion

2010-04-11T21:12:00.000-07:00

When I quote William Shakespeare, you reply in Dickinson...
But your multitude of angels can't compare to my wit, man!

I never predicted that growing facial hair would garner me compliments like: "Nice beard!" Standard response, thus far has been: "Yeah, Nicole Kidman is busy, so...." No one gets it, but I don't care.

I'm really only afraid of looking like a fleet fox or some other harbinger of hipsterdom. If only there was a way to wake up tomorrow with the full glory of Whitman's white mane. How long did that sort of gravitas take to cultivate anyway?

Recently, I've been planning my Coachella experience, which happens this coming weekend. I am very excited. Camping again in the Polo Fields. It's as close to nature as I like to get. I still have a lot to do this week and have very little get up and go at present. Sometimes I feel like a careless whisper. Though I aspire to live la vida loca.... Martin over Michael. Also, it pains me to admit that in the Walt department, I prefer Disney to Whitman. Though, I can proudly proclaim de la Renta loses sorely to Wilde in my personal Oscar race. Have I gone off subject again?

I recommend burrowing deep into THE WORM, if you got the time.

Awake and Die

2010-02-23T23:37:00.000-08:00

Despite indications to the contrary, awesome seems the only word fit to describe my current state of being. Though, if asked how I feel... I may be inclined to respond: lavendar in order to indicate the relative calm, relaxed and somewhat satiated presentness of my situation. All this and the knowledge that what I think and feel are rather ridiculous functions and by-products of my brain and body. Who cares what I think or feel? I am certainly learning not to and that, my friends, is awesome.

Rebirth has its merits. Also, it tends to be less sticky, which is a quality I find myself seeking more and more.

If you had to, could you make God in a lineup?

Name him? Finger him? Identify him? J'accuse!

For me, it would depend on where they placed the mirror.

And

which side

of the glass

I was on.

We Make Contact

2010-01-01T16:16:00.000-08:00

Thankfully, the horror that was last decade is finally over. Two thousand nine will forever be remembered as a year of massive loss. So long, farewell, etc....

If, as promised, we make contact this year... I hope that it will be to our collective advantage.

Terminator: Salivation

2009-06-14T11:58:00.000-07:00

It's been three days since I had my lingual braces installed on my upper teeth. Three days of painful, uncomfortable, tongue-lacerating, almost impossibly ridiculous torture. And this, I have done to myself. Nevermind that not one person said to me: "Don't get braces! It's not worth it! Remember Miranda!" They tell me that it gets better. Somehow I am supposed to get used to it. But it's going to take everything I've got to overcome the worst new side effect of adult braces: the lisp.

As if I didn't sound gay enough already, now I've got a horrible Drew Barrymore thing going on. But, if Drew can overcome her lisp and effectively affect an East Hampton accent to portray Little Edie Bouvier Beale, then so can I.... Overcome my lisp, that is. Not that I wouldn't mind being Edie for a spell, but it could become a bit boring. For too long a time, I mean... That seems to be my biggest obstacle right now. Trying to reconcile the past and the future. Trying to be in the moment but not be overwhelmed by it. I am desperate to adapt to my current predicament. How much cuter can straighter teeth possibly make me?

I turn 38 soon and I'm thinking that this must be my version of a midlife crises. My little red corvette moment in the sun. My inner teenager thrusting himself to the foreground. My poor tongue! People having been asking me why I chose to get braces now. Frankly, I don't have a very good answer for that. I have always lamented the fact that, as a teen, my family didn't have insurance and couldn't afford braces. At least, that's the memory I am choosing. How awful if we could have afforded it and my parents just denied me a chance to have a pretty smile! I just hate the way my teeth look, I guess. And if these braces do their job, I won't have to worry about that ever again. I told my orthodontist that I want a proper Osmond smile. In the meantime, call me brace face, metal mouth, train tracks, cheese grater, atomic lips, stump grinder or just Terminator.

Here's drooling on you, kid!

Bearing Good News

2009-05-26T11:24:00.000-07:00

In case you, like me, received insanely shitty news today.... I recommend the new Grizzly Bear CD.

It can make you forget about the fact that you don't have equal rights, subdue the rising paranoia of your pointlessness and calm the soul on cold, summer nights like these.

Put the lime in the coconut, folks. Drink 'em both up!

My Body, The Hand Grenade

2009-05-23T12:28:00.000-07:00

Comfortable living aside, I am a mess waiting to blossom.

We have been getting a lot of work done on the condo, but at the rate the earthquakes are coming.... Methinks the end is near. I blame my mother, who always seemed to take the "latter-day" part of sainthood a little too seriously. Apocalyptic nightmares are second nature to me now. Though I really need to stock up on drinkable water, just in case.

Also, after recovering from my first and quite severe sunburn of the season, I have had many minor body issues to freak out about. For instance, I am fairly sure that red wine has become a vital fluid that I may not be able to live long without. I get these really really nasty canker sores every time I have a job.... As the shoot date approaches, my mouth breaks out into a minefield of pain and fades away as the job subsides. Weird stress related shit, right? How about the pain under my right arm or the monster knots residing in my back? I really need a spa weekend. I need a reset button. I cannot believe that I am getting braces even though I am rapidly approaching my forties. It doesn't get uglier than this, Betty.

In pop culture news, I am thrilled that many television shows have released their death grip on me by having season finales. LOST is my favorite and its sort of sad that there is only one more year of it. Adam Lambert was robbed on AI. I felt really bad for him and I still haven't figured out why.... I am currently loving SPORE Origins on my iPhone and hating John and Kate and their stupid reality show/tabloid dumbass lives.... Go the fuck away already!

If the world doesn't end, you can bet I will still be here in beautiful sunny California, complaining like an old woman about something that ails me.... After all, cats and raccoons can get a bit boring.... After too long a time, I mean.

Loving you,

Beauty and the Beasts

2009-05-11T20:08:00.000-07:00

I have a couple of things I'd like to get off my chest. Try as I may, I can't find the appropriate fake tit segueway into the Miss California debacle.

First of all, I'm listening to her mother talk about the "persecution" of her daughter by the media, the internet and the gays for her BELIEFS! Excuse me, but her answer was horrible. Not just in content, but in the actual delivery of it. She stumbled over her own words, said things like "I think I believe that...." and "in my country..." She made a damn fool of herself and for her STUPIDITY, not her beliefs, she is being lambasted by the media and the gays... Plus, she proved herself to be an ugly person. Ugly doesn't win pageants or friends. Personally, I think her behavior since the pageant has proven that she is above all a sore loser. Clearly, celebrity is her main goal here. It's tacky to claim you lost a crown because you are too religious or conservative or whatever and then have nude pictures of yourself pop up on the internet. I hope she resigns. I hope Donald Trump says "You're Fired!"

Tacky Carrie Prejean just wants her 15 minutes.

Tick tock tick tock tick tock!

The whole gay marriage civil rights thing has everybody all freaked out in dumb ways. I actually heard Marie Osmond comment that civil rights should be equal for everybody. Is it possible that Marie, being the mother of a lesbian, could change other Mormon minds? I doubt it... But I agree that we need to keep religion out of it. Also, we need to stop saying dumb things like "Gay is the new Black!" Black is black and white is white. Then there's that whole gay area in between.... Gay is the new Gay! We need to fight our own fight and not belittle the struggle for civil rights that Carrie Prejean and Marion Barry fought for themselves.

Here is my real question today, kids: Got Milk?

Straight Up

2009-04-20T17:27:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the orthodontist for the first time in my life. I am contemplating getting braces at the age of 37. Of course, I'm all torn up about it because while my insurance will cover a healthy chunk of the bill, I will be out of pocket about 4 grand. This is the second time I have been asked to fork over that amount of money to fix my body. A body, that I remind you, is only mine temporarily.... I have no real way of knowing whether or not having my teeth straightened will improve the quality of my life. Any thoughts on this?

In an unrelated note, I had a sex dream about John McCain the other night. More of a nightmare, really... But who hasn't narrowly escaped being raped by Republicans? And no, it did not take place in a log cabin.

I joined Twitter, which you can add to my list of things to avoid. Or just start following my twits, if you are twittered yourself.

Damn you, ennui!

Bugging out in the batmobile,

Integration

2009-01-19T19:42:00.001-08:00

If I ever see your face again....

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Facebook is like a whole new hell. Not that I am opposed to reconnecting with my past, it's just that sometimes I am emotionally unprepared to do so. Lots of memories have been stirred up in me lately and I just can't find an appropriate outlet. I thought and thought and came upon this: blog about it. Perfectly natural for me, right? Then I looked at the measly number of entries last year. No one is listening, my friends. And it's all my fault, really...

You see, Dale, I have been trying to find a way to integrate all the different factions of my life. It is not an easy process. I've fallen in love with Tara. So, I see the need for my compartmentalization. Last time I really let group A and group B mingle with C, D and the godforsaken F... Well, let's just say that there was blood. Again, here I am trying to make an effort. Who knows, maybe I will be successful this time?

I'm excited about the future.

2008: A Pictorial Review

2009-01-01T12:02:00.000-08:00

Because I can't be bothered to try and remember what happened... It seems like I was just in Chicago celebrating the end of 2007. Time flies.

Here are some of the highlights of my year:

Dodger Stadium for the Madonna concert:

Mexico Vacation

Prop 8 Protest Downtown Los Angeles:

I have no idea what this is:

My impression of a 60's Daddy in a cheap motel:

Scrambling in Joshua Tree National Park:

View at the Grand Canyon, Arizona:

Catalina Island, California:

Niagara Falls!

Happy New Year from Saviour Onassis!

I will even go so far as to make a "blog more" resolution!

Cheers!

EQUALITY FOR ALL!

2008-11-09T09:15:00.000-08:00

Last night, I was one of 10,000 or so protesters who hit the streets of Los Angeles in opposition to PROP 8. It was the first time I have been to a gathering that size that didn't have Madonna as the main attraction. (That's where I was on Thursday!) What with the election on Tuesday, Madge on Thursday, and having my rights stripped away, it's been an eventful week.

First things first: PROP 8 was largely supported by the Mormon Church, which I was raised in and to which my family still belongs. There was a surreal quality to the protest last night because of that. My LGBT brothers and sisters came together to fight for equal rights and fight against the oppression of the Mormon Church. Many signs reflected the crowds outrage, as well as sometimes chanting: "Tax the Church!" Which would be appropriate since, in this country, we are supposed to have a SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE! Go to Mormons Stole Our Rights! to sign a petition. I am incredibly angry and ashamed that Mormons are in large part to blame for this proposition getting passed.

Historically, denial of marriage rights has been a way of oppressing hated groups, whether you are talking about Ireland or interracial relationships. Civil Unions and Domestic Partnerships are most certainly NOT the same as marriage, in law or ideology. What a monumental waste of millions of dollars! And the real irony is that NOW the very children that the supporters of Prop 8 were trying to protect from being exposed to Gay Marriage have had a $76 million dollar education on the subject. One of my fellow marchers, last night, held a sign that said: "If your daughter wants to marry a princess, she is already GAY!" I couldn't agree more.

I was so very proud of our country for electing Barack Obama on Tuesday. Naively, I assumed that Prop 8 would be defeated handily in the current political climate. I thought that the time had come. Was I wrong? How could so many Californians vote to put DISCRIMINATION into our State Constitution?? After seeing the protests this week and how strongly and quickly the community has come together to fight for our rights, I believe that the time IS NOW! Gay Marriage WILL BECOME A REALITY IN AMERICA! We will no longer accept Second Class Citizenship! We want what YOU have! We want what the fucking CHICKENS got!

Equality For All

2008-10-30T09:15:00.000-07:00

There is a proposition on the ballot here in California that would strip same sex couples of their newly granted right to marry. This proposition is using fear and lies in its campaign. It's no surprise to me that the Mormon Church has urged members to donate to the "Yes" campaign.

I ask you, if you can, to help me defeat this discrimination:

NO ON 8

We need to raise $3 million by midnight tomorrow, so any donations will help.

Thank you...

NO ON 8

2008-10-26T20:59:00.001-07:00

Lost My Imagination

2008-10-16T21:10:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it happens to the best of us, in this case...the worst. There are moments of lucidity, which invariably give sway to the utter lack of appreciation I have for being in the non-biblical, non-linear sense of the word. I guess what I am saying is that I am desperately trying not to remember who I am, but whom I aspired to be not so long ago. Futility can be resistant, too, you know...

I did this painting yesterday, before I heard the news. I think this qualifies as prophecy:

Okay, it's nostalgia, not prophecy... Still... It makes me think.

Cryptic Triptych

2008-06-11T08:26:00.000-07:00

My first triptych... It's not what everyone would want over their couch, but I like it.
If you can tell me what you are looking at, I'll be your friend in the darkest of places.

Remembering the Future

2008-05-31T08:48:00.000-07:00

Among other things, I seem to have acquired skills/afflictions that defy explanation.

I feel as though I've already lived my life.

Is this the ghost of me or the moment of my conception?

If this is how the world ends,
It's just like I imagined, all along...

All That Jazz

2008-01-05T10:36:00.000-08:00

Brett had a week off from work, from Christmas to New Year's. That, plus the weekends, gave us about 10 days of playtime to do with what we pleased. We thought about our options. Lying around on a Mexican beach seemed liked a nice way to spend some time, but it seemed as though that would just be a continuation of our Hawaiian honeymoon. We just got back from Arizona for Thanksgiving with my Mormon family (which I promise I will write more about that soon), so that wasn't really appealing, either. Then Brett suggested a trip to the Midwest, a mythical land to a desert baby like myself. His hometown of Chicago, in the wintertime... I'm simply not a well travelled person, so I was excited by the prospect of seeing the Windy City. As we packed for the trip, I popped a DVD of Chicago in, so that I could brush up on the history of Chitown and work on some Fosse moves at the same time. I pondered the prospect of actually meeting a real live jazz baby!

We flew into Chicago at night, the day after Christmas and were met at O'Hare by Brett's ex-boyfriend MK, who had volunteered to pick us up. I was apprehensive about meeting the ex, but felt rather beholden to Brett's wishes and trusting that he would not place our new relationship into a difficult position. MK was nice enough, driving us through Downtown and then out to Lakeview, where we planned to stay with another old acquaintance of Brett's, PT, who turned out to be quite a character. We all went out for a drink and a smoke, since you could still light up in a Chicago bar back in 2007. But I was exhausted from the flight and feeling awkward as Brett and his friends reminisced about things I couldn't possibly relate to.

PT, a self-described "recovering art dealer", was a gracious host and happily let us take over the spare bedroom of his brownstone apartment. His home was full of interesting art, books and chachkis, indicating an eclectic and fascinating life. I felt very comfortable at PT's place. He took us to a local restaurant for brunch, delicious, and then we walked down the the station, where we waited to board something called the "brown line," which despite my initial disturbing thought, turned out to be the name of the above ground train that ran through his neighborhood. The Brown Line took us through the city towards Downtown around the Loop. I have never ridden a subway or train of any kind before, so I was thrilled to be in a position to view the city from that perspective. I love the "L" train experience and PT was able to describe various times when the "L" provided him the opportunity to meet people, network, and even the occasional romantic interlude. We do not really have a similar social system in Los Angeles.

We arrived Downtown and PT took off through the streets, saying: "Trust me about the traffic thing, Chicago invented jaywalking..." Tentatively, I followed, feeling like Jon Voight in Midnight Cowboy. We visited the Water Tower, discussed the idea that the city was rebuilt "one story up" after the fire, admired the architecture and ended up at the "top of the cock" for a drink. From the 95th floor of the Hancock Building, I could see farther than I had ever seen before. The lights of the city leading up to the edge of the enormous blackness of Lake Michigan was breathtaking. Also, the fact that PT jokingly jarred me as I leaned towards the window to look down, took a few years off my life as well. I don't like heights.

Like true sophisticates, we popped over to the Four Season's for yet another drink and some nosh before PT left us to our own devices as he had business to attend to. Brett and I boarded the "L" and went back to visit some of his old haunts. Probably not the best idea, since we had plans to meet MK later that night, but we drank from the well of Brett's past to the point of no return. We arrived at MK's that evening and I was taken aback by the lifestyle he lived. MK deals in antiques from China and is apparently doing well for himself. Being 10 years my senior and the previous lover of my husband placed me firmly in a paranoid mode. Like I said before, MK was nice enough, but I could sense a feeling of uncomfortableness in him as well. Brett did the wrong thing as MK started a DVD of Phantom of the Opera to show off his flat screen TV and surround sound system. Brett curled up on the floor with MK's dog and fell asleep, leaving me to watch the sordid love triangle Andrew Lloyd Webber designed for just such occasions. The parallels between the lives of Raoul, Christina, and the Phantom and the present situation were not lost on me. In the end, I was all too glad to leave, waiting to hear no more warnings from my predecessor.

Back at PT's, the next day, we awoke to a gentle snow fall. It was absolutely beautiful and such a rare sight for my Arizonan eyes. We had slept in quite late and had to regroup quickly to meet Brett's parents at Union Station before boarding our own train out to Michigan. Brett's mother and father had taken a train in from Naperville to see their son while we was in town. They weren't keen on leaving the station, due to the snow, so we settled on lunch at the food court. His parents were so cute in their concern that we get on the correct train to visit Brett's mothers sister, Aunt G in Michigan. Once boarded, we found ourselves in a car with several young boys who were at the stage where "Why?" seemed to be the only word they knew. The parents were well prepared with portable DVD players and video iPods to occupy their young inquisitive minds. As the boys watched, I experienced my own Polar Express, watching Chicago disappear behind us as we made our way around the lake.

Brett's Aunt picked us up at the train station in Holland and drove us back to her lovely home in Saugatuck. Apparently, this is quite a hot spot for fun in the sun during the summer months, but during the winter it looked all but abandoned. Aunt G filled our bellies and we stayed up talking about life, families and love until finally retiring for the evening. The next day we drove around looking at the various points of interest in the area, including the first gay-friendly beach that Brett had been to, Chris O'Donnell's house and the touristy shops in town. We ended the evening at a sprawling gay bar that seemed to be very busy. We checked out the dance floor (No!), the pool tables (No!) and ended up at the cabaret with the other couples. It was comforting to know that some things are the same no matter where you are.

We awoke early the following day in a rush to get back to the train station. We were bound and determined to follow the itinerary that Brett had created for our trip. We bid Aunt G farewell and headed back to Chicago. I had known that Holly would be in town for business if she could get out of Pennsylvania, so I gave her a call as she was checking out of her hotel. It was blocks away, so we met up with her to have some deep dish Chicago style pizza and catch up. It was slightly surreal to see Holly in such a different environment, since I had almost always seen her in Arizona. Brett and I ate far too much pizza and discussed many interesting things with Holly before parting ways. Holly had promised to meet us at a New Year's Eve party the following night at Brett's friend Steph's house. I was excited that she would be able to attend, as the party marked the end of our whirlwind trip. But we still had people to see and places to go.

This time, we took a city bus over to the home of another longtime friend of Brett's, GB, who had gone to college with Brett. GB lives with his wife and daughter on the eleventh floor of a building that looks out over the lake. While I admired the view, GB commended me for my tenacity towards Brett and the courage it takes to enter the homes of so many strangers in such a short period of time. His Peruvian wife made a delicious meal for us and I played with their daughter as Brett and GB reminisced about the various adventures they shared.

Finally, it was New Year's Eve and we awoke once again to falling snow. The only things left on the itinerary were one last visit with the ex and the party at Steph's. I tend to be a jealous guy and this last visit with MK proved to be too much for me. I didn't flip out, but I was slow to show grace in the circumstance. MK would not be attending the party and had previously poisoned my mind with predictions of debaucherous events (which proved to be entirely unfounded). With PT in tow, we prepared for the party, which I had told Holly started at 6:00pm. Of course, I was attempting the near impossible to get three gay men ready for a social engagement across town with any sense of punctuality. Fashionably late, they call it? I say it's a recipe for anxiety. We walked from the train, several blocks in the snow to Steph's house. When we finally arrived, I was relieved to see Holly and her guest, happily entertained and taken care of. Steph is to Brett what Holly is to me, so it was quite special that we could all be together to ring in the New Year. I came in out of the cold and was riddled with anxiety and nerves. Steph was troubled as well, since her maid hadn't shown up that day and some of the guests arrived earlier than expected. She had prepared a gorgeous feast for everyone and her husband made sure everyone had something lovely to drink. I gladly ate the delicious seafood soup Steph had made and thought it the perfect food for when you come in out of the snow. Steph's family was wonderful and receptive, I very much enjoyed meeting everyone and for once, people seemed interested in hearing about me and my life in California. I was able to count down the New Year with my love and my best friend at my side. It was a great way to end the year and our little Chicagoan vacation.

We boarded the plane at O'Hare and hoped that the storm would not delay our return. I watched through the window, as an industrious looking young black woman, in full winter airport-employee uniform and goggles, blasted the wings of the plane with a large steam gun and then covered them with a thick green slime. Anti-freeze. I was thankful to her and took a moment to think about how important her job is. I watched her work and I thought about the connectedness of everyone. I thought about how we all play a part in each other's lives, sometimes not even aware of the impact we make. In 2007, my world became much, much larger. I moved in with the man of my dreams, travelled to Hawaii and Chicago, and recently realized that maybe the world isn't such a big, scary place after all. Maybe Holly is right and strangers are just friends we haven't met yet. The roads we've never travelled await our footprints and will gladly lead us into the future.

Happy New Year.
SO

Full Circle

2007-12-20T09:08:00.000-08:00

Although it may seem that I have dropped off the face of the blog world, I have, in fact, not. I've simply been incredibly busy for the last six months. What, you may ask, keeps one busy for six months? I cannot find a succinct answer to that, but I will still try to explain where I have been. Looking through my last few posts, I have been cryptic to say the least. Now, I shall try to exonerate myself.

About a year ago, I made a wish for Christmas that I was ready for a "real" relationship, a boyfriend.... I can now, happily, say that the wish has come true. After the initial auditions, it was clear to me that I had to be diligent in my endeavors. Life-partnering can be tricky. But fate brought me a wonderful surprise: Brett.

We met online and exchanged emails for several weeks before meeting. That period was a good indication that he was a thoughtful, funny and intelligent guy. Once we were face to face, it was a done deal. I don't know if I believe in love at first sight, because it feels more like a drawn out swoon than a fall, at least to me. So, we end up entranced by each other and by September, we were "honeymooners" in Hawaii. Then, in November, I finished moving in with him. My roommate and comrade in debauchery, JR, found new digs with his own man. I traveled with Brett to visit his new Mormon in-laws, in Arizona. My family greeted him with acceptance and love, granted we stay about five feet apart the whole time. Now we are planning a trip to Chicago, where he is from, so that I can meet his family. Did we move too fast? Our therapist says that's neither here nor there. The important thing is that we have each other.

As I have said before, wishes come true.

JEALOUSY: No Longer Considered a Turn-On

2007-11-20T18:51:00.000-08:00

Fuck John Lennon and Liz Phair for romanticizing the shit out of it for me in the first place. Fuck it. Let's go eat turkey with some Mormons...

Trick or Treat

2007-10-31T19:51:00.000-07:00

This Halloween, I have chosen to stay home with my baby and forego the madness of West Hollywood. Somehow, I suspect that we are not alone in this decision. Or alone in a metaphysical sense either... Still haunted by ghosts from our past, demons of emotion and fresh wounds. Maybe I'll share more about that later.

Right now, my advice would be: Do NOT dress up like a pimp and a prostitute in the infancy of a relationship and add alcohol to the situation. Pretty it is not.

In any event, I hope that you all have a fun, happy and safe Halloween.

Swept Away

2007-08-30T11:18:00.000-07:00

Leaving tomorrow for the North Shore of Oahu with my boyfriend.
That's right, I'm going on a well deserved holiday.

Beautiful, isn't it?

The Misfit

2007-08-20T01:11:00.000-07:00

It's true what they say: a good man is hard to find.

Will an act of inclusion ultimately prove to be the final nail? No one wants to end up like Flannery's grandmother. Lip service with an added gratuity... I understand the quest for authentication, verification, rationality. I want to be a better man. I dress for the trip I never wanted to take. I pack up the cat and forget where I am. The seasons blur into daze and "it's just how I am" becomes a mantra.

Is it easier to believe in false prophets and go down with the ship? Easier than what? The journey begins when we lose our itinerary. Consider me lost, color me Warhol and call it a day.

I'm just tired, baby. That's all.
I'm glad I found you. It was no accident.
Be careful with the recoil and I'll mind the punchlines.

Wide awake and open wide.
This is how the world begins.
Storied, languid, beyond reproach-
Thick as thieves we shed our skins.

Sleeping Beauty and The Beast

2007-08-08T20:47:00.000-07:00

Ordinarily, I like to open with a dramatic line. Something along the lines of: "Don't hand me a Temazepam and tell me everything is gonna be all right!" Which, of course, I actually said to someone recently and it makes me wonder.

I wonder a lot, lately, with things being so wonderful and all. Isn't life grand? When I feel like I've thought of an appropriately shocking and beguiling line to describe what I am going through, I'll be back. Until then, I'm afraid all we are left with is a case of Sleeping Beauty and The Beast syndrome. What, I ask, does a kiss awaken?

My Own Beat

2007-07-19T18:30:00.000-07:00

Normally I am not the kind of person who walks around saying: "Hey, Blueberry! Go fuck yourself!" But lately, that's just how I feel.

I'm really irritated that a successful recovery from surgery means that I can't work out temporarily. That, coupled with the fact that I recently quit smoking, means I might actually gain a few pounds over the next couple months and will subsequently take me further from my physical ideal, which is a cross between a coke-addled supermodel and AIDS chic.

Honestly, I look sort of like a Muppet, Grover I think. All skinny with a swollen belly... Sexy I ain't, right now. But, that aside, my fur is coming in nicely. And, FYI, Vicodin does nothing for emotional pain whatsoever, nada! So abandon any ideas you might have about us running away together and spooning, because there aren't enough monkeys in the zoo to make me wanna spend another smidge of energy thinking about what the possible ramifications of the impact of.... Where is that prescription bottle?

*~*
I just want a time machine, you know? Take me back to the 14th of February, 1979, Cologne, Germany... I will sit, all of eight, quiet and attentive. I will make resolutions and ration my reserves. I hang on your every word. Fall into your backlight. I am uncool and God only knows what Valentinus did in the first place.

I feel empty
I feel dark
I remark
I am mesmerized
By my own beat
Like a heartbeat
~WIRE

If You Cut Me...

2007-07-14T11:40:00.000-07:00

I have been recovering from surgery, so please forgive me if I am brief.

The operation took place on Wednesday afternoon, or evening, I should say, as it was almost dark as we left the surgical center. Never have surgery in the afternoon. Always opt for an early morning slot, as your surgeon will be fresh and it will be easier to fast in your sleep. I couldn't eat a thing all day and I was nervous and since I quit smoking, that's what I do when I'm nervous. Anyway, the operation went smoothly and I wasn't in any real pain until the next day.

After several days of recuperating and lots of educational television, I feel a little better. My sister has been a great help, as she is a nurse and has had a cesarean section herself. I'm not saying that the procedures are comparable, just similar. I feel more like a deleted scene from an ALIEN movie, where the monster is successfully removed from the abdomen before it hatches. I will have a scar shaped like a smile, just under my navel. Sexy, huh?

Wait til you see the pictures...
Anyway, I'm alive.
SO

Do I Not Bleed?

2007-07-10T21:19:00.001-07:00

As I mentioned before, I have a hole that needs fixing. Not a temporary filling, but a permanent closure that will prevent that which is within me from coming out. I have elected to have surgery, right away. Tomorrow, in fact, tomorrow afternoon.

I suppose it would behoove me to stop being so elusive and just come out with it. There is, unfortunately, nothing very poetic about a hernia. In fact, this hernia is a result of residual trauma from a previous hernia surgery I had nine years ago. See, they punched a hole through my abdominal wall with a camera and then forgot to close up that hole when they were done. Over the years, as I gained and lost many pounds, the hole started to stretch larger until little bits of my guts could ooze out. I would just push them back in and go about my business, but since I recently started strength training at the gym, the problem has gotten worse...

I decided that I needed to have this done right away, because, truthfully, is there ever really a convenient time to have surgery? Besides, I like the symbolism of it. All the energy that has escaped through the hole in my navel will be reclaimed. I will be born anew and emerge even stronger... Like the Six-Million Dollar Man or the Bionic Woman or Madonna. It will be great.

I will keep you posted on my progress.
Be with me,
SO

The Glitter Fades

2007-07-09T10:46:00.000-07:00

Personally, I can't wait until this whole Mercury Retrograde thing is over. Breakdowns in communications and emotional outbursts are so passe. I feel like if we are ever going to truly control our lives, that we have to get a better grip on the solar system and astrologically stop shit from going bad.

I'm kidding, of course. But that doesn't change the fact that am in the middle of a sacrificial rite of passage, letting go of the old in order to embrace the new. Madness occasionally rears its ugly head, but who am I to judge? I have an appointment tomorrow with a man who says he can fix the hole. It's all just bittersweet symphonics, but it feels like something more permanent. All that never remains...

I Know It's Over

2007-07-05T23:50:00.000-07:00

So, yeah... I'm deconstructing within the structure again. This time with blockquotes, so you'll get nice and confused. I had to take down the last entry, because it was a stupid fucking holiday reference and an excuse to post a photo of me in front of a flag. Fuck that! I hate holidays.... I hate independence and I hate this, too. In it's unholiness:

Attraction is a strange and mysterious force. Regrettably, we don't have the canine luxury of blatent ass-sniffing in order to screen our company. Instead, human interaction is less obvious but serves the same purpose when getting to know someone. Often times, relationships develop through repeated exposure as is the case with office romance. The various parties are able to sniff each other out and then decide if they want to go there or not.

Luckily, I have no such problems. If I find someone I work with attractive, I do my best to ignore them and under no circumstance do any sniffing at all. Not that my industry is exactly teeming with types I might be attracted to... In my office, no one wants to Dunder my Mifflin and that's okay with me. I'm not closeted at work and there are many people that will happily discuss how disgusting Paris Hilton is or what's really wrong with Britney or any number of somewhat "gay" subjects. I just don't put out that vibe at work. I am a professional and I have a serious Defamer addiction to maintain.

I make excuses, obviously. I am working overtime in order to use the phrase "Dunder my Mifflin", which I don't even get. Does anyone watch television anymore? Does anyone have a job? Where is everybody going? Where's everybody....... *At this point, the Diva hits the floor and you know what that means. No, I'm not seeing more than two psychotherapists. Yes, I decided that I must have an elective surgery, right away. No, I'm not lying, exaggerating or otherwise fucking with you. Yes, you, the only one left. We'll just sit here crying together, hoping that the embassy sends an ambulance before we've expired. Maybe in time, we all just rot. In the meantime, I have to get on daddy's good side.

"If you're so funny
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
And if you're so clever
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very entertaining
Then why are you on your own tonight ?
If you're so very good-looking
Why do you sleep alone tonight ?
I know ...
'Cause tonight is just like any other night
That's why you're on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms
While they're in each other's arms..."
The Smiths

Firmness and Comfort

2007-06-30T17:42:00.000-07:00

I love to sleep and I absolutely hate not being able to do it.

Strange thoughts invade my mind on a nightly basis. In fact, my insomnia had gotten so bad, I felt like Paula Abdul. Needless to say, this is a most disturbing feeling and the realization of such prompted me to seek help.

So, after consulting several therapists, psychics, and dealers of dreams, I am sleeping again. With the aid of a little script I got from my doctor. Not the euphoric stuff I was hoping for, but it seems to do the trick. I was very hesitant to take prescription sleeping aids, because I don't necessarily trust myself to resist having a Neely O'Hara moment."I want a doll! I want a doll!" But so far, they are doing the trick.

My most potent memory regarding this particular subject is one of Madonna. There is a moment in "Truth or Dare" when she groggily rubs her eyes and says: "My sleeping pill hasn't worn off yet, so if I start acting like Joey Heatherton- You'll know why..." I always wondered what exactly she meant by that. After bouncing around in my mind for, oh, fifteen years or so... I finally stumbled upon THIS and suddenly it all made sense.

The perfect combination, you'll love it!

Maybe This Time

2007-06-28T23:50:00.000-07:00

I feel like the weekend needs a anthem:

I was upset to learn that the creature I had come to know as the neighborhood cat, a creature whom I would find in my apartment occasionally, something that I went out of my way to pet and be kind to, a creature I believed was the neighbor's cat... was actually a skunk. A wild, probably rabid, fucking skunk. I find that incredibly sad and confusing. I miss that creature.

The future looks bright, though not so much that I need shades or anything. I just have the sugary aftertaste of optimism on my tongue. Did you happen to catch my other Fosse moment? Yes, it's a weird world that's wild on top. But I like it.

I'm processing a lot of emotions right now. The man in the moon smiled at me tonight and that makes it so much easier to let things die. No expectations, no disappointments, right?

Tonight you all look good to me.
SO

Idiot Heart

2007-06-27T23:11:00.000-07:00

At a recent social gathering, I was introduced to several new people. The introduction went something like this: "He is incredibly talented. A genius writer..." Now, with an opening like that, you might think that I was the belle of the ball. But time and again, I was politely greeted with a so, you're a writer... followed by their eyes leaving me to gaze upon the muscle-bound, blond, blue-eyed creature to my left. "And what do YOU do?" They would ask him. His reply? "I work out."

Well, I work out too. Just not enough, I suppose. But the greater dilemma here is that I live in a town where being a cultural, literate, intellectual type is a handicap. Is no one interested in thinking? I guess not. Not here at least... If you do not live in Los Angeles, count your blessings. I may be a genius here, but it does me little good. Even when I find someone I think might be interesting enough to pursue, they usually disappoint in fairly predictable ways. That is entirely my own fault for having what I have come to understand is my Idiot Heart.

I used to spend a lot of time thinking about how stupid and ugly I must be, that no one wants to be with me. Now I know that the opposite is true. I just give men far too much breadth. Must I be pickier with such limited choices? Alas, the answer is yes. I must embrace my inner-diva and force them to grovel for my affections. I invoke the Queen of the Nile, Cleopatra, and mantra the command: On your knees! On your knees! On your knees! And while you're down there....

Hell hath no fury, it's true, but I am tired of scorn. Even my imaginary friends have lovers these days.

Mitch just returned from Europe, where he partied with Nacho Vidal and some Parisian whores. The night they were arrested for throwing a statue from their balcony at Le Claridge Champs-Elysées, Mitch met Anton. Could anything be more romantic than meeting a future lover in a French prison? Anton had been picked up for petty thievery and apparently stole Mitchell's heart as well. They spent the money I had loaned Mitch, on wine and cigarettes, before finally stowing away on a Japanese whaling ship headed towards Long Beach. I went right down to pick them up and have been regaled with crazy stories ever since. I promise that I will do my best to share the least perverted of them with you, though that might be difficult. You know how Paris gets in the summertime....

Forgive that you might forget.
Amen.

Still Waters

2007-06-26T12:30:00.000-07:00

"If only you were more shallow..."

Yes, that would seem to solve all the worlds problems, wouldn't it? But, alas, it will never be. I am deep, bitch!

You can quote me on that....
SO

Rebirth

2007-06-24T13:45:00.000-07:00

Having celebrated yet another milestone upon the road of life, and astonished at the tenacity my existence tends to show, I have resolutions to declare.

Therefore upon this day, I resolve to become iconoclastic in every aspect of my life. Will it matter if my coital activities match my decor? I think not. I've never been drawn to the "easy-to-assemble" lifestyle, opting inside for sculpture and color. I requite no one and need nothing.

Fairly, I go into the future with a skeptical heart. I plan to open it again, I do. When you offer love and it is refused, what is one to do? Box it up and bury it in the ground? Or dust yourself off and continue to dance to the beat of your own drum? I pound the pavement. I pound the flesh. I pretend to care and lift my dress.

Action taken becomes the accusation: Drama Queen... Yes, the list is very long now. Maintenance is always an issue once you've removed the hateful tissue. Cut and Paste. Growth and Denial. It's all very boring, I know. But it's all I have these days. My dreams were always too vague. The spells I cast don't always serve me. Reality is a bitter friend.

Don't get me wrong... I'm feeling stronger than before and I know that from these ashes, I will rise. I always do. Months from now, you won't recognize me and that's a good thing. I am born again. I am alive. Let's get it on...

Commitment

2007-06-22T11:46:00.000-07:00

Or Who Becomes An Asshole Most?

This is a transcript of a conversation I had with an Art World person at a recent social gathering:

SO: Short of suicide, which is forthcoming and inevitable, what could I do to further my career as an artist? Do you recommend cutting off an expendable body part or attempted murder? What would raise the value of my art more?

AW: Oh, you're serious about art now? I thought you were serious about your music?

SO: I'm not serious about anything!

AW: If you really want to make it, you have to be willing to commit.

SO: Like I said, murder, mutilation, whatever it takes...

AW: *fidgets uncomfortably*

SO: Seriously, though... If I am ever committed to anything, it will be the psychiatric ward.

Then he scampered away, as expected. Yeah, I was fucking with him but still telling a version of the truth. In actuality, I am terrified that I have designed a universe for myself that isn't altogether different in tone from the world of Frances Farmer. This is disturbing on many levels. Maybe if I hadn't listened to all those Smiths albums....

So, it's my birthday tomorrow. I'm not very excited about the prospect of getting older. I always seem to freak out around this time of year. I was reminded that a mere four years ago, I almost killed myself and three of the people I care most about in this world. We were leaving a karaoke party downtown, in my honor. Needless to say, I had far, far, far too much to drink that night. I punched CK in the face and was promptly loaded into the passenger seat of my car for the ride home. Holly drove.

About the time we hit top speed on the freeway, I decided to have a full on mental breakdown when Anthony suggested that "everything was going to be alright." That triggered a response from the darkest corner of my soul. I screamed: "No! It's NOT going to be ALRIGHT!!!" Among other things, I am sure... Then I punched the front window of my car, which shattered, to my surprise. I tried to undo my seatbelt and managed to fling open my car door, while we were still flying down the freeway. Anthony restrained my arms from where he sat in the back seat. Holly merged onto an offramp and as she did, I yanked up on the emergency brake and almost caused the car to veer out of control. Holly managed to drive us to safety and no one was seriously hurt. That was four years ago, but it seems like more.

I have made arrangements to meet with a mental health professional tomorrow morning, as a preemptive move on my part. Maybe I will manage to get through this weekend without becoming a famous artist after all.

I'm not serious about anything.
Laugh Out Loud!

Saviour Onassis

You Better Work!

2007-06-20T14:41:00.000-07:00

Just got back from the gym, where I experienced my first session with a professional trainer. She kicked my ass. Yes, SHE! I am proud to announce that I have a female trainer. This is good for me for several reasons, none of which I feel I have to explain. I'm excited about doing some strength training because I have been lots of things in my life, but "buff" has never been one of them. Maybe this will help with my self-esteem. Maybe this will get me laid more often. Maybe this will save my life. Who knows?

I've been freaking out lately, mostly because of the horrible, cruel, disturbing world of courtship and dating. You see, after five years of self-imposed celibacy and reflection, I stupidly decided to start dating again. I simply wanted to meet people, have fun, get laid, feel human... Normal, right? I'm not ready to commit to anything. I just wanted to break out of the monastery. I really don't want to think about the long term implications of romantic/sexual involvement. I guess it's a lot to ask of someone to feel the same way. I just want to be happy.

And I don't mean the brand of happiness Virginia Woolf felt as she filled her pockets with rocks. Though that particular image has its appeal, I should really wait until someone gives a shit before sinking under the waves. By someone, of course, I mean everyone. So, please, let me know how little you care. I thrive on rejection, humiliation and abandonment. As a friend pointed out to me: "Just because it happened to you, doesn't make it interesting to anyone else..."

Life, love, and even death take a lot of work.
Are you experienced?

$228.00

2007-06-18T23:59:00.000-07:00

I'm compelled to confess that lately I have shown the kind of self-restraint one generally tends to associate with Jennifer Love-Hewitt. I left the tag on!!! And I danced!

Seriously, though, if you flush a kitten down the toilet and it somehow finds its way back home... Try to see past the fact that this kitten is cold, wet, scared, and smells like shit. Try to see the cute kitten within. Some things just don't die right away. Some things like coming back. Coming home...

And So It Begins...

2007-06-16T00:25:00.000-07:00

Ain't Too Proud

2007-06-10T17:12:00.000-07:00

Well, it's GAY PRIDE weekend here in LA and I'm just not feeling it.

My roommate is out of town and after the horrifying experience we had last year, I think it best that I stay home. I've been in quite a bit of pain recently, both emotionally and physically. The physical pain is easily identified as a result of working out far too vigorously in an attempt to block out the emotional pain. Damn that gym membership! Soon, though, I expect to be fully buff, beautiful and exceptionally miserably alone.... Oh, life.

Last night I locked myself up at home and watched The Night Porter, which is creepy. Though I do love Dirk Bogarde. If I had a "type", he would definitely be it. I've always had a thing for guys like Dirk Bogarde, Oliver Reed, and Glenn Ford. I need a rugged, yet sensitive, leading man type. I recently had a horrifying revelation about the archetypal pattern I am reliving in my love life. More on that soon, I promise. For now, I just want to not end up like Charlotte Rampling in TNP, because no Dirk is worth that.

Easy way out, anyone?

Love Live

2007-06-02T13:25:00.000-07:00

So, last night I went to the House of Blues on Sunset Strip to see Linda Perry and, it was no real surprise, special guest: Courtney Love. Perry played some great material of her own before bringing out Love, whom she jokingly said she "discovered." Courtney looked great and has never sounded better. She played about a half an hour, all new material from her forthcoming album, Nobody's Daughter. My favorite song is Pacific Coast Highway, which you can watch the rehearsal of HERE.

After Courtney left the stage, Perry and the band went into a ton of Zeppelin covers and, finally, the original version of the Linda Perry written Beautiful, made famous by Christina Aguilera. I prefer Linda's rendition. All in all it was a great show and makes me excited to hear the new album. Hopefully, the wait is almost over.

BJ and Dirty Love

2007-05-31T22:45:00.000-07:00

For a little over a month, my couch has been home to a kid named BJ.

I call him a kid because he is younger than me and has a penchant for cookies and milk. Hailing from Michigan, he has come to California in pursuit of fame, glamour and money. While living with me provides a fair amount of glamour, he is on his own for the rest of it. BJ went to school with JR in Michigan. That's why he's on the couch... Mostly, he watches TV and plays guitar. BJ is a great musician and I like having him around, to discuss songwriting techniques, chord changes and marvel at how differently the world can look through the eyes of someone born in the eighties... He helps with the dishes and takes out the garbage, so it's worked out pretty well so far. Besides, being around a nice, clean cut, straight boy, who is completely devoted to his teenage girlfriend, keeps me relatively level headed in what has shaped up to be a fairly tragic month for me, personally.

Due to said tragedy, I've been quite prolific and will be devoting the next phase of my life to finishing some projects that have been meandering through my subconscious for a while. There is something comforting in the fact that great personal loss can be forged into creative output. Once I have confirmation on the quality of the material, I will unleash it on you. Until then, please feel free to offer me a shoulder to cry on, or any other token gesture of solidarity. I watched that silly Jenny McCarthy movie Dirty Love and found, much to my horror, that I related to it on some deeply disturbing levels. It's not surprising that the film won many Razzie Awards and is regarded as one of the worst films ever made. Half of my DVD collection falls into that category... I really have very bad taste, so if you are like me, rent it. The tagline for the film is "Got Dumped?", so that should clue you in right there. Have I resorted to the same depraved levels of desperation that Miss McCarthy did? Probably, but I haven't been arrested yet.

It's not enough to ask the universe to bring you the perfect mate, because that's exactly what it will do. You have to ask for a perfect match, a perfect fit. You have to ask for your soul mate. If you simply ask for Mr. Right, he will appear, show off how perfect he is for you and then promptly excuse himself because you're not perfect for him. I want to be somebodies Mr. Right. I want to be chosen. I want to be cherished. I don't want to be Jenny McCarthy, not anymore. Is reciprocation too much to ask?

Love is a two-way street. Who's going my way?

Dark Matters

2007-05-30T22:10:00.000-07:00

"I wear black on the outside, because black is how I feel on the inside." -Morrissey Unlovable

Surreal Moment of the week: I'm at this Memorial Weekend party with JR and BJ, when this punk-fabulous chick asks me: "Are you Courtney Love?" I feign humility and accept the title. Oh YouTube, whatever has become of me?

There's a blue moon on the horizon and I'm thinking of casting a spell. I recently picked up Paulo Coelho's The Witch of Portobello, so I'm in that frame of mind right now. I'm in need of a little escapism, especially in light of what Mitch told me he did to celebrate the long weekend.

"I smoked crystal meth and got gangbanged by a bunch of strangers in Silverlake," he said, matter-of-factly, as we sipped our morning tea. I scanned his face, desperate that he was joking, but he remained deadly serious.

"That was really stupid, Mitch. You probably caught some horrible disease."

"Nah, JR gave me some anti-biotics. I'm cool. Besides, how often do you get to pretend your Jennifer Connelly in Requiem for a Dream while getting double-fucked by multiple partners?" I didn't have a answer for that and was beginning to wish my imaginary friend was a better person. He's had moments of enlightenment, but seems to descend into very dark places all too often. I must admit that I'm jealous of Mitch, not the double penetration/gangbang thing, but of his ability to live a life free of consequences. He's like PG-13 violence, all show with no blood. This is what we teach our children. This is how we dig our graves.

I don't know yet what my Blue Moon spell will be for. Perhaps, I'll wish to put these dark matters behind me, while Mitch's bruises fade. I'm ready for a day so bright, I have to wear sunglasses all the time- like a celebrity or a cop. I'm ready for my close up.
Read me my Miranda...
Let's go.

A Very Special Hotel

2007-05-26T00:34:00.000-07:00

You know how some days you're a jazzy little spider and the next day, life just falls to shit. That's about how I feel right now. I'm not saying you're responsible. I'm not placing blame. But if you want to step up to the plate and acknowledge your part in all of this, I'm not going to stop you.

I wasn't looking for excuses when I met you. Somehow that's what I found. Lost and found. Bought and sold. This was a diamond heart at bargain basement prices. I thought you were thrifty, able to recognize a deal. I was wrong. But then again, aren't we all? Wrong place, wrong time, wrong polarity... If I knew life was going to be so fucking stupid, I might have opted for a snails existence. Brief, but full of rainy day action, I'm sure. That's all I really want.

Don't tiptoe around my tulips anymore. I don't trust the gardener and I certainly don't trust the likes of you. So where does that leave us? Alone, again, I see. Writing desperately obscure blog entries and hoping for miracles. That's right... You don't believe in miracles. You don't believe in God and I'm beginning to feel the same. He's got a wicked sense of humour, for sure.

Send me the manuscript. Send me your heart, split in two. Bring me the head of John the Baptist and we'll call it even. It's a lonely life without you, Johnny. But I'm sure you understand. I've had enough pirates in my life lately. Forgive me?

Miserablism

2007-05-12T18:08:00.001-07:00

Now that I've finished with another long horrible job... I'm thinking of enrolling in a course in miracles. School always suited me better than the professional world anyway. Yeah, I made it out to Coachella, as a day player. I only caught a handful of acts, but I did get to see the last half of Bjork's set and it was well worth almost losing my job. I don't feel like resurrecting the details, cause they bore the shit out of me. But yeah, this job was hell on earth in huge helpings.

I did manage to post a new song over on myspace, so check it out. I was "in a mood" so reserve judgement.... Here are the lyrics:

Living on the edge never interested me. Being afraid of heights, it was the tooth decay that did me in. Or maybe the cavity inside my ribcage, blackened, charred by habits designed to impress and offend. Now I find myself in waiting rooms, next to last in line, not regretting the past… but in awe of a present I was unaware of. Obscured by the branches and blinking lights, wrapped up like my fear of sugar, in the punch lines of micromanagement and the chaos that rules control. I read the labels, note the patterns and surrender occasionally to the demons of emotion whose mutiny I must abide. I don’t see the edge as the end of the world, but as a starting point.

This is the edge, kids. More soon, I promise....
Love as always,
SO

PLAY HOLE

2007-04-17T13:07:00.000-07:00

Saviour Onassis presents:
GUITAR LESSON with COURTNEY LOVE
(May not be suitable for work or family viewing, due to the dropping of several F-Bombs. Adjust volume/lifestyle accordingly....)

Check out my other videos, subscribe, add me as a friend on my YouTube page. And please.... If you think this is funny, share it with friends, enemies, whoever. Post it up wherever you see fit. More craziness to come, kids...

Stay Tuned....
SO

Just Grow Up

2007-04-12T23:50:00.000-07:00

Why do we do stupid shit?

I have this theory about the reasons we make foolish choices: Life has a way of balancing things out. Just when you think you have it all figured out, curve ball. So, you messed up a few months ago and in another few months you'll face the inevitable consequences. Sometimes our decisions lead to a fewfound sense of responsibility, a more adult view of the world. As we mature, we are forced to accept our consequences, good or bad.

Then there's the whole thing about choices today shape tomorrow, blah, blah, blah... So, I choose to be gracious about my responsibilities. A happy father. Maybe the one I never had.

No man is an island.

Look out for that iceburg.

Choose Life.

Make Love Not War.

Never Go Hungry Again.

Say hello to my little friend.

So Be It.

Life in the Penalty Box

2007-04-11T14:56:00.000-07:00

I've been given a time out.

Benched, though I wasn't involved in the scuffle. I'm just guilty by association, I guess...

I should be used to the sidelines by now, but I'm not. I still want to play, but I should confess that the thought of retiring has crossed my mind. Is it wrong to give up the sport altogether?

Maybe the game will go into overtime... Meanwhile, I can only watch and wait and contemplate how I got here in the first place.

Identikit Crisis

2007-03-31T17:00:00.000-07:00

So... It seems I have fended off what had the potential to be a full-blown nervous breakdown, if you were curious. Earlier today, I was hungry, angry, lonely and tired... This condition is best demonstrated by Dame Elizabeth Taylor in this crazy ass clip from "The Driver's Seat" aka "Identikit."

I certainly didn't ask for a stain resistant dress, but I could use a more stain resistant heart...

I strolled down Ventura Boulevard, thinking about my life as it is today. I stopped into a pet store, lured by the aquariums, and stood watching a nervous little bottom-feeder. What was he so nervous about? It seemed as if he were about to jump out of the tank. That's when I noticed the aquariums other occupant: a shark. Albeit, a small shark, but a toothy monster, nonetheless. I don't think the shark was interested in eating him. The store owners know which fish can tank together without killing each other, right? Enthralled by the drama, I watched as the shark got closer and closer to the sucker, then he suddenly turned and swam the other way. There would be no bloodshed here. I bid the pair farewell and carried on my way.

At the new age bookstore I saw a sign for psychic readings, so I figured... Why not? I've been to psychics before and was impressed at the wisdom you can buy for twenty dollars and fifteen minutes of your life. This lady was good. I won't go into what she told me, as it was private and none of your business. It was mostly stuff I already knew, but as I was leaving she felt compelled to add: "Here is what you don't know about yourself... You are not some beat-up old jalopy. Darling, you are a Bentley! Stop selling yourself for five dollars!" I have heard this metaphor before, it has to do with self-worth and in some ways I'm inclined to agree. I'm very expensive, like white diamonds...

Here's a little word of advice: If you should ever want to take this Bentley for a test drive, make sure you can afford to buy it. Otherwise, you are doing us both a disservice. And yes, when I orgasm, I orgasm... Maybe it's time for a diet.

HALT

2007-03-31T12:40:00.000-07:00

Charlie has this sign on his refrigerator that says: "H.A.L.T. Don't get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired" It's a recovery slogan, designed to help keep life in balance. Here is my problem.

I'm Hungry. I have a profound need for love. To be loved, to give love, to fill the hole deep inside of me. Are desire and hunger so different? Looking back at the choices I have made in my life, I am starving.

I'm Angry. I am angry at myself for the choices I have made. I am angry about the hand I've been dealt. I am angry that there is nothing I can do to control certain situations. I feel helpless.

I'm Lonely. Which also feeds the anger. Who could love me? I feel desperately alone in this world sometimes. I have so much love to give. I want someone who is man enough to accept it.

I'm Tired. At the end of it all, I'm just really tired of it all. I'm tired of being hungry, lonely and angry. I keep trying to think of good reasons to stick around. And just when I think I've found it, it's taken away. The universe says: "Here. Isn't this great? Isn't it exactly what you wanted? But NO! It's not for you!"

I feel like Nancy Spungeon right now.

The Daily Grind

2007-03-26T19:46:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I miss being human.

Usually, though, I am tethered to humanity through a vast and intricately powerful set of emotions. I cycle through as if nothing is wrong. Pedal, pedal, petal...

INT. DRUG STORE - DAY

A pretty yet quite obese cashier calls up the next customer in line, a young black buck with some toiletries and a copy of MAXIM with an anorexic bleached blond filleted on the cover.

CASHIER:
I wonder what she did in a past life to look like that in this one?

The black buck just shrugs, pays and leaves.

I contemplate her question for a moment before stepping up to cash out myself.

SAVIOUR ONASSIS:
It must have been something bad.

Then I smiled at her. A gentle, genuine smile, as if to say: You are prettier far than she.

The cashier twitched slightly before ringing me out. She did not return my smile.
C'est la vie...

Petal, petal, petal... HE LOVES ME!

A dinner party was dramatically cut short when two of the guests retired to another room. Moments later, one emerges, enraged, panting and hungry for escape. Then came the screams. Yes, a lover's quarrel gone horribly wrong. The bloodied party screamed: "He hit me!"

My answer?
"Yes, but darling... Did it feel like a kiss?"

Surgery was performed in sobriety, the following day.

Petal, petal, petal... HE LOVES ME NOT!

We don't have to do this, but it feels so good. Like teenagers, we can hardly stop...
"You don't have to swallow that if you don't want to..."

Petal, petal, petal... HE LOVES ME!

As I tear the petals away, I confess that these stories have been edited, quite extensively in some cases, but are, nonetheless, true, true, true... Like reality television, the atomic age and death. We all get along somehow, don't we?

If you have an axe, by all means... GRIND IT!

Our Father's Sequins

2007-03-18T22:01:00.000-07:00

I hung out with my new friend Charlie yesterday. He had an itch for adventure and thought I might like to join him. I had an itch myself, so I complied. We met up and hit the road for our destination: The Reagan Library in Simi Valley. On the way we stopped off at a privately owned public sanctuary called Gardens of the World, which was a pleasant surprise. We strolled through a Japanese garden, complete with asian teenagers reading Joseph Heller. Then we found ourselves in a California style mission that reminded me of the set of a Salma Hayek movie. The place is quite compact and beautiful, though not everything is blooming quite yet. Maybe we'll return in a month to see the English Roses in full effect.

By this time, we were starving. So, we stopped off at a little Mexican place for some spicy duck tacos. It was good, but I could hardly tell the difference between duck and chicken. I remembered the time Roman Coppola sent me on a mission to find him a baby duck for a commercial shoot we were working on. Needless to say, baby ducks don't exactly grow on trees in the greater Los Angeles area, so I got him a lobster instead. Anyway, after lunch we hit the freeway again and finally arrived in Simi Valley.

The Reagan Library isn't a library so much as it is a giant monument to all things Reaganesque, and as we heard a young boy, much to his father's dismay, put it: "Fabulous!" The museum starts out with a collection of red dresses, worn by the various First Ladies of recent years. Charlie and I were surprised to find that the best of the lot belonged to Betty Ford. Who knew? Next up was an exhibition called "Gifts to the President", a large hall filled with an astonishing number of bizarre gifts given to Ronnie whilst in office. This was the beginning of what we would soon realize was the museum of 90,000 chachkis. Rhinestone beltbuckles (about 200), statues, paintings, saddles, portraits, knives, guns, quilts, big leather "artwork", etc.

We were quickly overwhelmed by the sheer number of insignificant crap, so we made our way into the hall of history, where various displays take you on a virtual tour of Reagan's life. Charlie pointed out that they was only one small picture of Jane Wyman (the first wife) and their two kids. The paint was worn off from people pointing to the names and, I imagine, saying: "See, I told you...." I quite enjoyed the Assassination Room, admiring the x-ray of the president's chest. For all the bullshit that the Reagan era represented to me at the time, it hardly compares to where we are today. In a strange way, it made me miss Ronnie a bit... Yeah, the Cold War ended, the Wall came down, but Jane Wyman wasn't the only thing oddly missing from the museum. Charlie said he wanted to write in the guest book: "What about AIDS?" On second thought, I don't miss Ron that much.

Towards the end of the tour, you can have your photo taken boarding Air Force One. We politely declined. The plane was not as fabulous as I had expected, as well as being historically inaccurate. There, in plain view, was a Vogue magazine with Catherine Zeta-Jones on the cover. Shame on you, Reagan Library! That bitch was an amoeba in the eighties! Then again, weren't we all? After that, we dropped by the Oval Office, noted the vast number of Jelly Beans available at the gift shop and stopped by the grave. I'm not sure he's actually buried there, but a headstone exists, on an ugly little monument next to a garden donated by Merv Griffin. It was cold, windy and depressing, so we decided to hit some of the local thrift shops before heading home.

Charlie found a few treasures, but I was not so lucky. Was there nothing for me in the Simi Valley? I had chachkis burnout. Charlie showed me a sequin jacket and said: "These could very well be my father's sequins." That got me thinking about my own history, heritage and legacy. What would fill the halls in the museum of my own life? I suppose I need to start collecting rhinestone belt buckles right away. I've got some catching up to do...

Now Casting

2007-02-27T23:32:00.000-08:00

Imagine having a dream that you were in a play that you had never rehearsed (or even heard of) and being thrust out onto the stage. That's what my life is like now. I'm just trying to figure out what part I'm supposed to be playing.

With Training Wheels

2007-02-23T18:24:00.000-08:00

Now that I can be sure no one is watching, I have a confession to make. There was a presence in my life, the latter part of last year, whom I was quite smitten with. True, it was probably more the idea of him that had me, but nonetheless, I was smitten. I was quite careful not to divulge too many of the details here on the internet, out of respect for what I hoped would be a full blown relationship. Alas, it came to pass that this man was not Mr. Right. I don't know exactly what he was... I do know that when he finally said to me: "I don't read people's blogs," I knew it was over.

For one thing, I thought I had come to represent more than "people" to him. And yeah, the blogging hasn't been so great lately anyway. I blame my own fears for that. Still.... I think that Holly said it best when she told me that he was my training wheels boyfriend. Granted, I have been off the horse for quite a spell and upon reflection, that was exactly what I needed to get back in the game. Of course, after a self-imposed celibacy, I feel ready to gallop a bit. Not quite up to racing again... It's strange, the nature of love. Human hearts are elastic and electric. They beat. They break. And sometimes, sometimes they attack.

Maybe that's why the mystery endures. I tried to write a love song, but ended up using the word whore anyway... What's up with that? Perhaps there's just too little of me, too. Now I've lost the track.... This I'm definitely blaming on Gwen Stefani. I tried to do a little shopping today and every store I went into was playing her fucked up new album. This shit is even more fucked up than spelling bananas! Here is, indeed, a prime example of someone with a gigantic platform and absolutely nothing to say! I miss the days when Gwen was ironic, when she was just a girl. I miss the summer of my youth. Most of all, I think I miss my heart the most.

Lately there have been flurries in the area. I'll let you know if it develops into something more.

Paying the Man

2007-02-21T22:57:00.000-08:00

Is there a better way to spend an evening alone?

It's that season again and I am feeling the burn of being a decent and noble taxpaying citizen of this, our great country. The more you make, the more you make, the more you make... and so on, get it? Yeah, it's all jazz and it's that one elusive note, not quite heard. It makes you stronger and you don't even try. Riddle me this: What is Saviour's ultimate cure for insomnia???

Just pay the man and go.

So be it.

Rip in Heaven

2007-02-12T18:29:00.000-08:00

I couldn't let another day go by without saying something about Anna Nicole Smith, who was an inspiration to me in my previous incarnation as a drag queen. She represented the very ideal I was ironically trying to evoke. A small town girl who used what God gave her to make it in this world. In the end, I guess it wasn't enough. It's very sad that she died the way that she did and even sadder to me that her death has prompted so many callous and barbarous remarks. I, for one, will miss Anna Nicole... With all she had been through recently, I suppose there is some comfort in knowing that she isn't suffering anymore. Heart failure, indeed.

Rest In Peace, Baby
Anna Nicole Smith
1967-2007

What's Doing?

2007-02-01T19:44:00.000-08:00

Hello Mister.
To fully answer your question, Dale, would surely bore you to tears. So, I will provide only the most crucial of the tedious details...

I am currently in Phoenix, Arizona. I am here on business, because who the hell comes to Phoenix for pleasure? Though I did find some old printouts of local craigslist hookers in the hotel room, stashed above the TV with a dirty rag, a spoon and an empty bottle of rum. (I was looking for the Yellow Pages, so you can stop speculating.) I realize now that I work too much and have to take time for myself more often. I am missing several important social engagements this week and will probably have alienated all of my Lost Angels by the time I get back. They must be paid attention and lots of it or they float away.

I ate quite a bit of chocolate cake today and feel like I might implode.

Other than that, I will be back in rare form shortly.
(Short form rarely?)

Jazz from that special hotel,
Saviour O.

Signs O' The Times

2007-01-20T10:44:00.000-08:00

These are truly interesting times we live in.

For instance, we have Hilary and Barack announcing their White House intentions. (I'm on Team Clinton.) And let's not forget the fact that Sundance is happening.... Although, frankly, I have no interest in seeing Dakota Fanning raped or a documentary about a man fucked to death by a horse. Instead, I plan to attend the Grindhouse and watch some fabulous old Jack Hill movies and maybe meet some people who think, like I do, that maybe the past wasn't all that bad.

On a personal note, I feel like a psychic weight has been lifted. Hopefully I will be able to rechannel my energies into creative and entertaining projects for a change. I am so sick of performing miracles and being a beacon of light and power... I got wounded in the fray but I am better now.

If you want to be "in the know" regarding the new season of American Idol, I highly reccommend going HERE to get the best A.I. coverage available on the planet...

Spiritual Longing & Creative Rage

2007-01-09T21:20:00.000-08:00

Those are the factors that led me to adopt this hairstyle:

This is Chase Newhart as "Crabs" in the only film he ever acted in: Switchblade Sisters. You have to see this movie, if you haven't already, because it's the cat's ass! Directed by genius Jack Hill...but I digress. The stylist I went to, Josie, didn't exactly "get" what I was going for... In a couple of months it will be perfect. Pussycat Dolls may not always know what you are talking about, but they sure look cute listening. I said: "Don't be afraid. My physiognomy can handle the disparity." Needless to say, she went a little crazy with the scissors. But I am not my hair, merely the idea of my hair.

I work and I fail and do it all again. I lose my mind, only to find that I am still right here, where I left me.

Hey! Doesn't anybody want to get lost anymore?

I know I do. Maybe in something blue, like the eyes of Chase Newhart...
I always fall in love with villains.

Now It's Dark

2007-01-06T20:30:00.000-08:00

But that's all gonna change, kids...

The winds are blowin' and the future is so bright, dare I say it? I wear my sunglasses at night. I'm in LA and I am pretentious and fucking adorable. Sue me...

Here's the thing: It's a new year and has been for about a week. When are people gonna stop wishing me a HAPPY FUCKING NEW YEAR? Yeah, it's all gonna be great. I know, I know... So just shut the fuck up already!

Seriously, I wish you all the best. But for now... I can't think past the fact that I have to pee. So... Happy New Year and all that. I love you and hope you love me...

Eat my fuck,
Saviour Onassis

Merry Christmas!

2006-12-25T11:40:00.000-08:00

May the Force be with you!

Careful what you wish for and all that... Empires may crumble.
Anyway, bless you for stopping by...

Saviour Onassis

Old Flame

2006-12-13T23:30:00.000-08:00

So, after being trapped in my apartment complex due to the inexplicable loss of my garage clicker, I was finally able to procure a new one and go out into the world to do important things, like grocery shopping.

I hopped in my car and drove to the nearest, not exactly fabulous, supermarket. It felt as if I hadn't eaten since 1986, so I really didn't care. I was just about finished when I see this hot guy walk in. I check him out, he checks me out and we go on our merry way. Normal enough, right? Except I think I recognize him. In fact, I know I do. I remember his name: Kris... and it all comes flooding back.

Years ago, actually about 8 years, I moved to LA and was introduced to Kris, a friend of a friend, who thought that Kris and I would have things in common since we were both gay. We did have things in common and struck up a friendship that I had hoped would blossom into something more. I spent a lot of time and energy trying to convince Kris that we were perfect for each other, to no avail... After a disasterous Halloween outing, wherein I was drugged, televised and eventually thrown out of West Hollywood in Pamela Anderson drag-- for punching Jesus Christ! Well, let's just say that at the end of the evening, I had a purse full of phone numbers and a very angry Kris dropping me off at home, then phoning in a suicide call to the North Hollywood Police Department. I explained to the cops that I was not suicidal, just emotional. They seemed to buy it, and besides... Who wants to cart a naked, drunk Pamela Anderson off to the Looney Bin at 3 in the morning? (Don't answer that...)

I never heard from Kris again, until tonight... I walked up to him at the checkout stand and said hello. It took him a minute, but he remembered me. After paying for our purchases, we walked outside together "catching up." For the most part, he hasn't changed a bit. He's lost a little weight, but so have I. He explained that he still lived in the same apartment and was head over heels for his "straight" best friend. All of a sudden, I remembered that he seemed to sing that same lament, all those years ago. Hopelessly devoted to his unrequited love, I have been there myself. But I moved on. Sadly for Kris, he did not.

I asked where he was parked and he pointed to the car next to mine. The exact same car! I looked across the parking lot at the place where two white Toyota Matrixes sat, side by side. He had only made one purchase: a twelve pack of Diet Dr Pepper, which I had also purchased. As we loaded our identical sodas into our identical cars, Kris said: "Maybe you were right... Maybe we should have been together this whole time..." To which, I smiled and bid him goodnight. The air was thick with irony.

Here is the thing: This happens to me all the time. I throw myself at someone who doesn't want me throwing myself at them and eventually, sometimes even years later, they say: Maybe you were right... Which does me no good, because - let's be honest - I know I'm right. I sat here tonight, recalling all the past lovers, friends, etc., who have come back around and said "I should have picked you." I came to the conclusion that fate has somehow intervened on my behalf, because I still believe in love. I will say it again: I still believe in love. And someday, the right guy is gonna come along and say: I choose you. Hopefully when that happens, I will be ready to hear it.

Private Lives in Public Forums

2006-12-12T10:50:00.000-08:00

I'm not really big on airing dirty laundry in public, but since I have mentioned the "unmentionables" before (sex, politics and religion), I guess I really have nothing to hide.

Memory is a strange and mystical creature, much like the unicorn... Recently, someone asked what I thought of the armed forces. What was my take on the men and women who serve and protect our country and freedom so selflessly? My reply, as it crossed my lips, surprised us all.

"Boot camp was hell on earth, but I really found that being in the Army taught me many valuable lessons about my own self worth. It fostered confidence and showed me that French men cannot be trusted to be faithful...." It was at that moment that I realized I was talking about someone else. Namely, Goldie Hawn in Private Benjamin. This seems to be happening with relative frequency and I'm not sure what to do about it. But that's not my primary concern right now.

I've just read the article in Vanity Fair regarding Augusten Burroughs' memoir Running with Scissors and the lawsuit filed against him by the "family" depicted in the book. They describe the effects of reading the memoir as completely devastating. Uncontrollable vomiting, trips to the emergency room, a police officer who was described as "Poo Bear" was compelled to "quit the force" as a result of the book. These people feel violated and are suing for defamation. Page after page of these poor souls lamenting the fact that Burroughs had "ruined" their lives by writing his book. Claiming that they only wanted to help him and protect him, I am forced to think about the fact that they are going public (Burroughs had actually changed their names), and also suing for their own monetary gain. Quick! Before the statuate of limitations runs out! They made a movie and we want a piece of the million dollar pie! The James Frey thing comes to mind, but you know what? Who gives a shit. I love Augusten Burroughs and I believe the book. Many things can be verified, "Dr. Finch" lost his license to practice due to "gross misconduct." And yeah, the book is sensational... But Burroughs had hoped the family would recognize themselves. Apparently, they did. Now they just want to get paid.

I apologize for my recent inanition. I am trying to overcome myself and the tendency I have towards misremembering events in my own life. But it's like the time, just after the war, when I stood on that hillside and proclaimed: "As God as my witness. As God as my witness they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over I'll never be hungry again nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill as God as my witness I'll never be hungry again."

Sue me.
SO

Does my blog make me look fat?

2006-12-08T17:29:00.000-08:00

Or rather, desperate? Or needy? Or crazy? I only ask because I think that it might scare off any prospective suitors. Imagine clicking here for the first time and reading my last post. Would YOU want to date me after that? I came to the conclusion that I am a scary mess whilst working out this afternoon. The treadmill was treading away and I tried to examine the reasons why I am alone. I don't recommend this, as it makes for a very hard workout. Forced to watch muscle-bound pornstars flirt with each other and all I really want to do is see what's on Oprah today. Move that well sculpted ass out of my eyeline, please... Thank you.

Who am I working out for anyway? Do I somehow think that masturbation will be more alluring if I, too, have a well scultped ass? I just don't know anymore. It's really not about getting laid anyway. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I just need something more. I want someone who wants me for my body and my mind. Is that such a tall order? What I do know is that I am sitting home alone on a Friday night in Los Angeles, eating soup and blogging...

I would like to think that the more information one has about another is helpful in determining compatibility, etc. But then I took this retarded online quiz about how to find my soulmate and the result said that I would have to have 68 dates before that happens. That's right, 68 different dates with 68 different people at 68 different times. I have no way of knowing exactly where I am in this numbers game, but I would suspect that I am really, really, really close.

The moral of this story, kids: I am ready for 69!

Wanted: Letters and Sodas

2006-12-06T14:22:00.000-08:00

What ever happened to a boyfriend
The kind of guy who tries to win you over, and
What ever happened to a boyfriend
The kind of guy who makes love cause he's in it, and

I want a boyfriend
I want a boyfriend
I want all that stupid old shit
Like letters and sodas
Letters and sodas
~Liz Phair "Fuck and Run"

When asked what I want for Christmas this year, I am really inclined to go with Our Phair Lady and say: Letters and Sodas, all that stupid old shit that goes along with a boyfriend. I recently decided to reenter the dating pool and see what I could find, but that doesn't mean I am not open to cyber-romantic overtures. So, if you have ever proposed marriage to me in the past, please consider this your opportunity to re-ignite my passions. Please send the appropriate propositions to my email, which is available if you know where to look. I am fully expecting my stocking to get stuffed this year...

In other news: I suppose it was a subconscious reaction to Britney Spears recent cooter-flashing behaviour, that I dreamt last evening, of newlywed Tom Cruise shouting "Show me the modesty!" at me, as I lie supine upon a vast wedding bed in a castle far away... I complied and he promptly turned into what I can only describe as a werewolf or Kid Rock. It's so hard to decipher dream imagery, isn't it?

Anyway, I am not really expecting anyone to go out and buy me a boyfriend for Christmas, but suggestions as to who, or what type of man you think would be good for me, are greatly appreciated. And by the way, has anyone seen Mitch lately? He seems to have gone missing, yet again....

Most Sincerely,
Saviour Onassis

This Is How The World Ends

2006-11-29T20:49:00.000-08:00

For you music connoisseurs and myspace freaks: I have just posted a brand new song on myspace which you can HEAR if you want. It's called This Is How The World Ends and it was inspired by my recent experiences with the apocalypse, lapses of faith and hatred of love songs. It's pretty cool...

Here are the lyrics, as transcribed by a slave army of meerkats and naturally, mine all mine. As in: Copyright Saviour Onassis 2006 All Rights Reserved and other legal bullshit. You know the drill....

THIS IS HOW THE WORLD ENDS
I belong a long way down here
where the song sings sweet and low
winter light has dried your tears
another night and day will be a year

you're lyin when your lips are movin
I'm cryin like I'm in a movie
Shangri-la is lost forever
we search for something special

as far as sacrifices go you're as good as gold
I've been given a lie in the shape of hope
and another hand to tie the rope
before I crash into the rocks and sea
one last thought occurs to me:
we only pray for what we don't believe

yes, I'm an optimist except for the shit I'm in
love doesn't factor in ~– I never learned to swim
baby, I'’m drowning here ~– stuck in a state of fear
there's not enough oxygen ~– I'm goin down again

so this is how the world ends
just like I imagined all along

but the people want a love song
and they want to sing along with it
sometimes they imagine
that it's their own when they're down in it
but I can't write a love song
and I won't explain the reasons why
sometimes I imagine if I fall in love
it would only die...…

Now: A Warning...

2006-11-28T19:07:00.000-08:00

Having just come off a great-long-work-jag, Saviour Onassis doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Mulling over the infinite possibilities, he concludes that he will probably devote a great deal of his newfound TIME ON HAND to recording more trashy rock bits for an upcoming album. Perhaps he will paint a portrait of Johnny Depp or Frances Farmer or Salma Hayek... Who knows? Saviour Onassis is a fickle bitch and might even BLOG some, if the mood strikes his fancy. He has been quite upset about Gwen Stefani (again) lately and might have to rip her yet another new asshole for drawing inspiration from Michelle Pfeiffer's coked out ganster moll role in Scarface, when she really just looks a lot like Ann Jillian in whore pants.

Consider yourself warned.

The Accidental Nudist?

2006-11-19T22:50:00.000-08:00

I recently got an eyeful of illegal alien anus, in my dreams.

It all started, as these things do, in the beginning... I had moved into my dreamy new apartment in Sherman Oaks, the Bel-Air of the Valley, and was madly in love with the balcony facing into the enclosed courtyard. It was completely private. No one is ever out here, I remember the landlady tell us upon moving in. But all that was about to change.... See, I love to breathe in that fresh California air, while sipping chai tea with a splash of french vanilla creamer, from early in the morning to late at night. I especially love doing this outside on the balcony, which is quite close to the windows of another apartment. The tenant was hardly ever there and left the blinds open, allowing me to see that she had one wall painted blood red, with a giant baroque mirror in a golden frame and a parrot. I would sit out there for hours staring at that bird, with its green feathers and blood red wall. It seemed content enough with me and its own reflection for company. Then one day, they moved out.

The blood red wall was painted white, which took several coats, and before long, a new resident had staked her claim and moved in. The blinds were left open and we were able to observe that she had very little, if any, furniture. Her financial state must have been dismal, because she apparently couldn't afford clothes either. JR noticed it first. He called me outside to verify that, indeed, our new neighbor was dancing around, completely nude. I thought that this was just an accident. She quickly realized that we could see her, and she fidgeted with the blinds, unsuccessfully, before simply killing the lights. It was over almost as soon as it had began, until the next time.

I have seen our new neighbor naked almost everyday since she moved in. I have come to expect it, in a way. She has a nice body, which seems to be what everybody wants to know. She's quite beautiful, but that's not the problem. As a gay man, I have nothing against women. I think they are pretty great, actually. And I can also appreciate the female form, it just doesn't make me bark, that's all... Anyway, this seems like an innocent enough thing. I simply ignore her ass and the fact that she will answer the door in the buff. She must know who is coming over ahead of time, right? The thing that is bothersome to me is the fact that I have had several graphically disturbing dreams about seeing naked people through windows and that, my friends, freaks me out.

Just the other night, I dreamt of an entire family, naked as the day they were born, parading around my inland empire. I ran across the street where I saw a man in a compromising position with a cat. Needless to say, the cat was not happy about the situation and I found myself banging my hand against the glass, shouting: Stop that! Hoping, at least, to startle the cat off the naked man. This is now the kind of thing I am dreaming about and I don't like it one bit. Should I say something to my naked neighbor? Or should I spend more time in my own birthday suit? I don't know.

But I do know that other people's windows are literally windows into their lives. Perhaps I need to look into my own for a change.

Just Shoot Me

2006-11-14T18:42:00.000-08:00

I'm stuck in the middle of another god-awful commercial shoot and I am exhausted. No one should have to set an alarm for 4:00am, much less get up at that hour and start trouble-shooting/problem solving via cellphone before I even arrive at location. By five o'clock my brain is mush. I feel fat for eating too much and not having time to go to the gym, much less come home and flirt with my 10000 myspace friends. Whoa is fucking me and I don't like it.

Then there is the little matter of those who choose to dig themselves deeper holes. You know who you are, so don't pretend like no one can see what a fucking joke it all is. Okay, so life is tough.... Sober up, suck it up and move the fuck on. If Courtney Love and Whitney Houston can pull their shit together, I expect you to do the same. I can't worry about what tragic mess will be coming back home. Get it together, Mister. I mean it. Maybe look into getting some therapy. Or checking into a rehab... Something, anything. Just don't keep avoiding reality because you've made mistakes. It only perpetuates the cycle of bullshit and you might wake up some day in a mine field, wondering who set the world on fire. It was you, it always was. Snap out of it. Delusionary or not, you are better than this.

Carb is a four letter word.

I can't be responsible for the future and who has time to dwell on the past. I have the present to get through and these, my friends, are the best days of our lives. What do you say we start acting like it?

Who is with me?

Juggling

2006-11-11T23:11:00.000-08:00

I am not a juggler.

Yet, I find myself juggling many things in my life. My career, my libido, motherhood... The list is endless, kids. And yeah, I may drop a ball or two, now and then, give or take... What's with the flirting anyway? Am I so hot, I burn? What we have here is a dilemma. Not a Court TV size problem, but a problem, nonetheless...

God, I love that word. "Nonetheless..."

David Lynch sat on Hollywood Blvd. next to a cow and a sign that said: "for your consideration: Laura Dern" and I about died. Sure, I will consider her. I'm not in the academy or anything, but I love me some dairy products, so I will SERIOUSLY consider Laura Dern.

Tell me what to do, Heir Director. Give me structure, I crave it. Give me orders and I will follow you to the ends. I need to be nailed so very badly right now.... The only problem is: I can't seem to find an available CROSS.

To each,
SO

Sugar Rain & the Ricochet

2006-11-06T21:12:00.000-08:00

I've got so much ephemera.

Going round and round, I'm too dumb to be this down. Yeah, I know.... Babies need us. That's what we do, but the ass wiping is starting to take it's toll. Sure, I could charge millions for this, but I don't. And I never will... See, I have what they call in the real world "ethicalness" and I plan to exploit the living shit out of it until the cows come home or Kirstie Alley stops the madness, whichever comes first. Seriously, girl..... You are so thin, it's scary!

I've been trying to bounce back from that damn COLD. I hate the fact that my body isn't always an impenetrable fortress like my heart. Viral love comes to town and this bitch goes down. C'est la vie? Shit, man... I can't deal. So, I hop myself up on licorice whips and nasal spray and hope against hope that I will survive another round in "stupid human land." Yeah, I am working again.... Along with reading Courtney Love's Dirty Blonde diaries. That, in itself, explains some of the ranting. It could be worse.... At least I'm not hanging out with Paris Hilton anymore.

Everything I thought I wanted is an illusion anyway. Despite my best intentions, I've been had. So, where do we go from here? Down, dog, down.... In the meantime, I'll just keep posing in the sugar rain and hope that what I have to give comes back to me.

Ten fold.
I love you, anyway....
SO

What Do Gentlemen Prefer Again?

2006-11-01T20:49:00.000-08:00

These days I am deconstructing within the structure. Having had my shots, I am ready for my close-up. Bring on the November Rain, the lucid pain, and all that remains... It's impressive to me that I can still do this. That this is one of the skills I have to get me through this life.

Alright, kids. Here is what I'm talking about:

Catherine Zeta-Jonestown Massacre

2006-10-26T11:11:00.000-07:00

Alright, I keep having this dream and I really need to tell somebody about it.

I'm this ancient city, a fortress really. I've got high walls and lookouts. I am impenetrable. Naturally, as a city, I am a thriving metropolis of art, culture and politics. One day, a gift is left outside my walls. It's a large wooden horse and I'm so impressed by the gift that I open my gates and let it in. It's a really beautiful horse and everybody admires it. That night, however, I am hyper-aware of its presence, because I know how these things work... But the night passes, uneventfully and the next day some of the children decorate the horse with flowers and things. I am still suspicious and do not trust that this gift is legit. Several weeks go by and still, no enemies emerge from within the horse. The anticipation is unbearable.

Some of the soldiers get drunk one night and decide to ride the horse around town. As they do this, they knock the horse off its stand and it shatters, like a pinata. Only, there is no candy inside. There is nothing inside. It was just a beautiful shell. The soldiers collect the pieces and throw them into a pile. The whole town comes out to mourn the loss of the pretty pony. The remains are lit on fire and it lights up the whole city. It was very sad, really.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately and I just can't figure out exactly what this dream means. Obviously, part of the message is that I need more fiber in my diet. Also, I should probably give up my dreams of becoming a child-bride... Other than that, I have no idea what my subconscious is trying to tell me. I did write a musical called "The Trojan Whores", when I was thirteen, but somehow I think that's irrelevant. It would have been perfect for Catherine Zeta-Jones, since the lead character used her ample thighs to crush the enemy army. If I ever had to take out an army, I'm not sure how I would do it. Maybe I could just let them read my dream journal.

Talkin' Myspace Generation

2006-10-23T14:12:00.000-07:00

So, over on my myspace page, I am rapidly closing in on having about 8000 friends. This is rather surprising to me, but I'm not complaining. For years, I struggled to get people to add me and thought of myspace as another way to collect rejection, humiliation and alienation... I guess I was wrong. Today, I spent some time looking at the motley crew of people who climbed aboard my ship. It's quite an eclectic group and I am proud to have them in my imaginary army. It occurred to me that any ordinary asshole celebrity doesn't get to choose who their fans are. People just like who they like and fuck you if that makes you uncomfortable. But I have to say that I dig checking out my friends and hope they dig what I have to offer.

Old School Spirit

2006-10-20T23:20:00.000-07:00

So, I was at the bookstore yesterday, one of those chain stores with a coffee bar and multiple levels, just minding my own when I heard someone say: "How Old School are you?" I realized that this remark must have been addressed to me, since I was wearing a tee-shirt bearing the slogan: That's Right! I'm Old School! I turned to find a female, draped in violet velvets and such, sitting in a chair near the literature and poetry sections. She squinted through her cat-eye glasses and repeated the question. Having never been a fan of small talk with strangers, I mumbled a half-hearted response. "Old enough."

"I ask," she continued. "Because as a graduate student..." She went on about the ignorance of her youthful classmates, dismayed that there are aspiring filmmakers who have never heard of Frank Capra. I told her that I was no longer in school and I only bought the shirt because I'm cheap and I shop at Target. We discovered that we were both born the same year. She continued to talk to me for several minutes, about the nature of knowledge and other things. She bragged that she had read Chaucer at eleven years old. In short, she was a typical academic type, thinking she had found a kindred spirit. She had not. I basically dropped out of college to study drug addiction and performance art, full time. I learned a lot, but I lost more than I gained. I do treasure the academic friends I have, especially the ones who appreciate the fact that I am, for the most part, self-taught. But I was in no mood to bond over Shakespeare with this woman. She saw that I was on my way out of the conversation and decided to end it with a "quick joke".

"Charles Dickens walks into a bar and orders a martini.... The bartender looks at him and asks: Olive or Twist?" My eyes widened and I forced a chuckle from my lungs. Like Nancy Spungeon, I didn't want to live in a universe where that is considered funny. Or maybe I just don't get it... Regardless, I walked away, thanking her for the chat and continued my shopping. I ended up buying Only Revolutions by Mark Z. Danielewski. I try to read as much as possible, but not so much that I might end up telling crappy jokes to strangers at the local bookstore. Sometimes, I regret my unfortunate education. But it's like I tell my parole officer, "It's my life, don't you forget...."

Chewtoy of the Gods

2006-10-17T13:05:00.000-07:00

I've been sick.

I don't mean in a carve-up-puppies-for-Halloween way, either. I have been put in my place by my allergies. This was a full-on assault on my body, though I tried in vain to continue my meager workout routine, my little body finally gave in and I was forced to submit. I stayed home crying and moping about for the last two days. Though I do feel better today, I am skeptical about the prospect of feeling like conquering the world anytime soon.

This always seems to happen when I have been working for a while. Suddenly, I have some time off and my body thinks it's being clever by taking advantage of the opportunity to kick my ass. I always say it is allergies, even if it's not. I don't like the idea of a viral infection one bit. Some nasty ass little germ traveling from someone's grody lungs into the air and finally being swallowed up into mine, that disgusts me. I much prefer the idea of some nasty ass little germ traveling from a mold spore or a freaking flower, into me. Don't ask me why...

So, having spent several days as a chewtoy of the gods, I am now ready to fight back. I emerged from my bed (after 12 quality hours, thank you Cherry NyQuil!) to find that the day is not so fucking ugly and I need to feel better. Perhaps I may even do a little yoga or some such activity... I certainly hope that the worst of it is over. I am a mean sick person. Anyway, here is a little word problem for you:

If I had a monkey and you were allergic to it, I would probably not get rid of it. I just wouldn't date you because monkeys are expensive. But I don't have a monkey, so what's the fucking problem?

Get On The SHORTBUS

2006-10-13T10:33:00.000-07:00

By all means, you have to see John Cameron Mitchell's new film, Shortbus. It's an exhilarating cinematic experience exploring sexuality, love and life. Set in post 9/11 New York, mostly unknown actors (the best kind) engage in graphic sex scenes that help tell the story of their characters. It's an astonishingly beautiful film, intimate and engaging. I highly recommend it.

I love JCM's Hedwig & The Angry Inch and was more than a little worried that he planned to follow it up with "The Sex Film Project", as it was known for the last several years. But Mitchell delivers the goods here. It is explicit, but not in a titillating way, you become invested in the characters and the journey they are on. I can't really articulate exactly what I think of the film quite yet... In some ways, I feel like I have never seen a movie before in my life. I have definitely not seen anything like this before and it excites me to think about the ways this film will alter the cinematic landscape in years to come. In an age where people are obsessed with reality shows that are unrealistic, I think that the impact of Shortbus will be huge. Rarely are films so heartbreakingly funny and truthful. It moved me. It made me what to be one of the "special" kids. It made me want to ride the shortbus, all the way home...

COLD

2006-10-12T12:00:00.000-07:00

"If you want to move someone else as an artist, you must be truly moved by what it is you're writing. But you must keep exploiting that emotion in yourself, over and over and over again, until you become completely cold about it." - Truman Capote

Just be careful not to freeze, Truman. Is that the lesson? Sometimes love doesn't mean what it's supposed to. I feel cold today. Maybe I will go to the gym and contemplate better bodies, run the wheel like a good pet and finally submit myself for rejection, yet again. What was the point of it all? Oh, yeah, we wanted to be puppetmasters. We thought it would be cool to have these great, elaborately constructed toys to play with. Control. Corrupt. Consider. I have been careless in the past, but it's not going to stop me from fucking up the future. I don't need very much to get by. I don't need anything at all... It's just this damn air I keep breathing and the sweet smell of humility. Don't you want me, baby?

I am good at exploiting many things. I am not sure that my own emotions fall under the banner of "many things." How can I pretend to understand something that I cannot name? The body had no identifying marks, no tell-tale signs of personal history or DNA to be decoded. It was simply cold. Still life and such. No... I am not a marksman for the ages. I am only here forever, this short time... And I knew, going in, that it wasn't going to be pretty. It was that challenge, in and of itself, that provoked me into action. Reaction. Retraction. Realization. Could it have been different if I had lied? Or at least told a better truth? More bitter blues from the peanut gallery, and black is the new black. Cold is the new season. Love is the new death. This is the new me.

Forget it then, pretend I never said anything. Exploit this, if you must, but know in your heart, that this is all my fault. Yeah, I have a flair for drama, but you need to break my heart to really appreciate the depths of my talents. I left them weeping in Tucson, because, in the end, it was simply too fucking hot there and I have always relied on the temperature to tell me my mood. Tell me, is it raining with you?

Blood and Roses

2006-10-11T14:38:00.000-07:00

I've seriously had a lot of trouble thinking of things to blog about that aren't completely repulsive. Those of you who come here often can tell that I've been more than a little artistically constipated and the excuses I have are lacking in authenticity. Yeah, I've been desperately busy with work and even started dating again, but no one gives a shit about work and the dating thing... Well, let's just say, I don't want to say something that I will regret later.

So, here it is: I always seem to have the good fortune of knowing when my female employees are menstruating. They always work it into conversation, by way of an "excuse" for their absent-mindedness or lack of enthusiasm. I don't particularly care to know that the reason you were late was because you were bleeding like a stuck pig in the bathroom for a half an hour this morning. I understand that this is something that is perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of, but do I have to hear about it? Apparently, I do. Personally, if I am in the bathroom for more than two minutes, call an ambulance...

Tribal Instincts

2006-09-30T09:07:00.000-07:00

Living in Los Angeles, you run into a lot of tribal affiliations, gangs and cliques. I used to like telling people that I was in a gang called "Sparkle Motion," mostly as a tribute to one of my favorite films: Donnie Darko. Sometimes they would believe me, often it just went over their heads. I did my best to put up a tough front as a former member of a pre-teen dance outfit. I would even sing snippets of the group mantra, lyrics from Duran Duran. Has anyone seen them lately? I've been looking for them.

Of course, the joke was completely lost on Mitch, who took what I said to heart and actually went out and formed a gang of his own. He can't stand the idea of anyone having something that he doesn't have, even if he only rejects it. Mitch had his little band of marauders over recently and I tried my best to ignore them and their silliness, but after a while, my curiosity was aroused and I asked: "What's the name of this gang, Mitch?"

"We are the Pansy Jackers!" The group announced in unison, smiling ear to ear to ear. I surveyed the motley crew gathered on my living room floor. Mitch stood near the fireplace, always the alpha male, he was their fearless leader. Other members included a black lesbian drum major named Consuelo. (Don't ask...) And two or three apparently homeless people that Mitch had no doubt promised punch and pie to... There were no refreshments being served. I wanted desperately to smile and say "Of course you are" then retreat to the safety of my room, but I didn't. I pushed the issue and inquired: "What exactly is a Pansy Jacker?"

Mitch explained that their moniker was self-explicit, and that their group was committed to prowling the streets and jacking pansies. I thought about this for a minute, trying to imagine what the point of stealing flowers could possibly be, when Mitch explained exactly how they set about their business. "See, we wait outside a club or restaurant until some pansy comes out, usually alone, and then we pounce. A couple of us hold em down while we wrestle him out of his pants, then we jack."

"Are you serious?" I asked. "You masturbate unsuspecting gay guys on the streets? That's actually kind of sweet."

"It's not sweet at all," said one of the homeless guys. "We don't even clean up afterward!"

Suddenly, I started to feel a little nauseous and had to excuse myself. I suppose if Mitch and his gang want to go around terrorizing people with hand jobs, I shouldn't try to stop them. To each, their own.... Right? One thing is for sure, the next time I see a homeless guy on the street, I am running the fuck away.