The New Jerusalem

Middle Country

I recently read an article that said China was going to start focusing more political attention on the environment. I'm sure the millions of slave laborers trapped in sweat shops producing consumer goods for US teenagers will take a lot of solace in the knowledge Beijing is backing spare the air days. If they actually had political imput, i'm sure they'd agree with the change.

log

Dear Vance, or anyone else from LA who just met me and googled their way to this site. Um, you fucking looked for it, if it's maudlin, self-pitying and one-note... well, it's a fucking blog. at least i'm not talking about how great the Modest Mouse show was.

Tried to sing the gummi bears theme song tonight and failed. boo hoo me.

Things in my life would be so much more simple if my insurance company just covered whores.

After I'm done masturbating, there is a moment of sweetest, stillest quiet. A moment of pure pleasure. Then my head has to think about something, but it can't go back where it was before because it has expelled it's need to think about barely legal muscleboys and naughty schoolboy hijinx. So my mind just resets itself, usually by singing the theme song to the Gummi Bears cartoon show.

Eating at the west hollywood kookooroo is a kind of subtle torture. I get out of work at 7:30 pm, right at the moment the rest of west hollywood is getting out of the gym, and I am surrounded by sweaty, spandex-clad reminders of the man I will never be.

I'm sure they are so busy pulling down weights they don't have time to formulate intelligent positions about post-colonial literature or the nature of the soul, but you can't really tell about something like that when you're eating dinner at kookooroo.

John Kerry is like a grad student who's not that smart and tries to hide the fact in copious footnotes and amazingly nuanced opinions. That's the difference, George Bush has absolutely no trepidation about making clear how stupid he is.

The Harlem Globetrotters always played a team called the washington generals. The Washington Generals always lost. No matter how many times meadowlark lemon took the time to pick out his fro on the basketball court, no matter how many times "Goose" Tatum brought a stepladder on the court to dunk a ball, the Washington Generals still managed to lose. I am beginning to feel like John Kerry is the Washington Generals of politics.

I go through life with the kind of sweaty intensity normally reserved for 1950's gameshows.

I can't help but feel as though I was snubbed by the Booker Prize committee this year. The booker prize is given to the best novel written by a writer born in or living in a member nation of the british commonwealth ever year. Now, admittedly I did not publish a novel this year. Actually I've never published a novel. Or written one. And I'm neither a native nor resident of the british commonwealth. But still, I feel like i've been snubbed. I mean really, they give this thing to canadians. Canada's two greatest writers have booker prizes, and canada's third greatest writer writes instructional books about dogsledding. I don't think I actually need to write anything to prove I'm a better writer than Margaret Atwood. It should simply be assumed.

My friend was telling me they have christian boyscouts now. It's called royal rangers. I actually participated in jewish boy scouts. It's called law school.

I don't go to the gym because I think i'm going to get a perfect body. I'd just like to lose enough weight that I can spell the word boi with an i without feeling guilty about it.

Online, you can buy identities for massively multi-player games. Like so you can be a 30th level jedi on Star Wars Galaxies. I wish you could do this in real life. I'd easily pay 400 bucks ot be a 17th level masc musc jockboy.

Sometimes I feel like a dancing faggot. Sometimes I feel like a minstrel show for the amusement of heterosexuals with my crazy dick sucking ways.

"Yasma, jus las night i was down at the rage and a feller came up an says 'bes not mess wit me boy, o i's a gonna get you in da end. and I says "well, fella, you go right on ahead an get me in da end."

Wa-dat, wat-dat, wa-dat-WA!

Like if I tell a joke and someone laughs at the audacity of homosexuality, I've somehow prostituted my identity. And you know, it always feels nice to prostitute something...

The thing is, if I'm scared people will laugh at my identity, aren't I ceding the land to them? If i'm so worried people will misunderstand that I only address my identity in a way that educates and enlightens them, then I've undermined my own existence. Fuck people who say that homos are nothing but a dancing band of fairies redecorating the homes of straight men on TV, but fuck anyone who won't let us be fairies.

I'm thinking of releasing a tenth aniversary edition DVD of my Junior High School years. I'm going to have George Lucas digitally remaster them so that there' s better sound quality, I spend less time crying and listening to They Might Be Giants, and I'm a much, much better basketball player and not quite so clearly gay. 49.99 at best buy. Check it out.

Every time I meet a woman who works in public relations, i think "That's a collaborator" That in another place, and in another time, that's the person who would have jumped on nazism or maoism or any ism that would keep her on top. And every time i get "fuck you" spelled in sugared words, or a well-manicured handshake that hurts like a claw to the eye, I wonder, is killing a publicist a crime, or simply preventative medicine for a diseased society.

I feel like the Anne Frank of West Hollywood, secretly fearing that if somone finds a fat man hiding in a two-bedroom condo on Santa Monica, they'll send me off to a detention camp in Sherman Oaks.

We need to invent a car that runs on the blood of iraqi children.

I hate Scott Capurro.

Admittedly, Scott Capurro and I have exchanged, max, 20 lines of diologue with one antother, but that, precisely, is why I hate him.

For a good year and a half of my 2.5 of comedy in San Francisco, it was perfectly evident to all watchers that I was the Great Gay Hope of San Francisco comedy. I was working harder, wider, and better than just about any other homo in the Bay, and lone among the new comics. All the other flavor comics, latino, black, asian, dirty they all got support from the more experienced of their ilk. Scott Capurro barely spoke to me. I tried to initiate conversation. Bleh. So many times I contemplated emailing and yelling at him for never even offering advice, for giving guest sets to straight boys but not me. But I didn't, so i wrote this and had to finish it after doing bunches of other stuff... this job is bad at distracting my flows.

Ok. Bye.