newest entry
contact
quien es nico?
a links page
Antes:
2005
2004
2003
2002
2001
2000
I also do stuff over at livejournal:
the insufficient blog
otro lugares:
absorbacon
abstractnixon
aiyah
amateur gourmet
amazing adventures of bill
appetites
archerr
bill and kent
blockade boy
center of gravitas
cheap blue guitar
chocolate and zucchini
comics 212
designer blog
dogpoet
edwin
how to learn swedish
hungry tiger
i make things
i was just really very hungry
insequence
island of misfit toys
lady, that's my skull
mysterysteps
news from me
old grey poet
once upon a tart
postmodernbarney
precocious curmudgeon
pretty, fizzy, paradise
roar of comics
something old, nothing new
stop touching my food
strange maps
super underwear perverts
there are some who call me tim
tinman
tmb
ultrasparky
diaryland
diaryland profile
ringsurf gay diary
previous next random list join
Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
domingo 11/16/2003
The poorly named entry
I had been ill with some sort of cold/congestion/ear infection/sneezing/my brain was trying to push my right eyeball out of the way so that it could escape through the empty eye socket kind of thing. I�m blaming illness for the lack of updates here, even though truth is, I�ve been well for over a week now. Laziness and indifference has much more to do with my ignoring the site than the joys of congestion.
Despite there being no actual causal relationship between the two, I�ve decided to blame illness for my latest bout of strange dreams as well. The oddest one being a dream where I was on the stage of an old band shell in an old park standing next to a very large Samoan man who was wearing an ugly hat made out of feathers. He told me that I had better choose my next boyfriend-soul mate-lover quickly before I ran out of time. In dream weirdness, I understood him even though he somehow managed to say all three words simultaneously.
There were three men standing near us, who I assumed were my choices. One was a tall, distinguished looking Mexican guy with flecks of grey in his goatee who looked somewhat mischievous, because even though he wore a conservative black suit, one of his eyebrows was pierced. The second man was a nondescript looking middle-aged white guy, barefoot and in raggedy running shorts and an old comfy looking college sweatshirt. The last was another white man, somewhat handsome, clean-shaven and in worn faded jeans and a freshly ironed dress shirt that I recognized as the Irish doctor from a previous dream even though this time around he was much taller and no longer Irish nor a doctor.
I was annoyed in the dream. I started to tell the Samoan man in the weird hat that I was not in the mood for this, but all he did was laugh.
Part of the strangeness of the dream was that the way Mr. Laugh Out Loud asked me choose a new �mate� made me think that he wasn�t talking about breaking up with John and finding a new lover, but instead something more along the lines of choosing the new John for the next time I lived this life. I�m not sure which was worse, the implication that I was going to die soon, or the idea that I was stuck in some sort of sloppy ever-repeating multiple Darrens sitcom version of reincarnation.
Anyway, here�s an entry:
Dead folks laughing:
The summer baked to a crisp heat I mentioned a couple of entries ago eventually faded away. The weather turned coolish and it even rained a couple of times, including Halloween night. That was the night for this year�s Dead Celebrity party, and it was also the start of my newest bout of rancid health, so I decided to be smart and stay home to take of myself instead of marching off into the rain dressed as Diego Rivera (my �talent� would have been womanizing). Not that staying home, watching mindless shows on TV until the wee hours of the morning did me any good considering that I still got sick, but anyway, the point is, I missed the party.
John, dressed as Mr. Rogers, did go to the shindig, and he told me that I missed out on a fun time. There were a couple of other Mr. Rodgers, as well as a Cecelia Cruz, a big nosed Virginia Wolf (with stones in her pocket), several dead rock stars, and various other famous dead folk. Assuming I�m not getting the story confused, the winners of the talent portion of the party this year were two overweight, bald, straight, white guys in their fifties dressed in scanty tutus claiming to be Nuriev and some famed ballerina I�ve never heard of. They danced, hoping up and down, and pirouetting until several members of the audience, laughing so hard they were crying, begged them to stop before they peed themselves.
John is convinced that had the Vegas Sigfried and Roy tiger mauling had gone worse then it; he would have had the potential for an evil talent. When given the opportunity, Mochi, our all white kitten loves licking John�s neck and biting his nose. John probably wouldn�t have used her grooming him as a talent, but considering the bad taste is good tone of the party, everyone would have loved it.
Boys who scream YOU B*TCH!!! YOU F*CKING HURT ME!!! AGHH!!! as loud as possible into the night air:
There had been another party the weekend before Halloween, before it cooled down and before I keeled over with this latest cold. This was a combined birthday/holiday/house warming costume party thrown by Elvis, the guy who once threw a party in honor of a Janet Jackson concert. I�m still not certain who�s birthday it was, but I did get to hear the story of how one of Elvis�s requirements for accepting his boyfriend Joe�s offer of moving in together was the demand that Joe�s apartment must be redecorated, because there was no way in hell that Elvis could live there �as is.� Which is why they were having a house warming nearly a year after moving in together. I guess it took all that time to turn the place into a 21st century version of a 70�s kitsch/cool home.
Considering it took John and me seven years to paint the walls of one room something other than white, I am lacking somewhat in the gay decorating gene department, which is just a roundabout way of saying that I have no idea how they managed to make brown walls, gold trim, curving multicolored stripes, and fake wood paneling look good, but they did.
Several of the guests showed up matching the decor, dressed in 70�s disco wear, including one guy doing a very good Cleopatra Jones. I was dressed that night as a moody, depressed teenager, wearing black on black clothes, black fingernails, and a ton of greasy kids stuff in my hair to force it down to make it look sort of straight. Wavy hair does not exactly say depressed angsty teen.
I�m not sure if was meant to be a counterpoint to the decorating style, or if was just the result of owing a favor to a friend, or for some other reason, but there was a very loud, very young punk band playing in the backyard. The younger guests and band groupies hung out in back enjoying the screaming and yelping of the band while the more older guests, mainly those of us who actually alive the first time punk was around, tended to congregate away from the
One thing that had Elvis disappointed about the party was that his plans to install a stripper pole in the living room fell through. He had intended to have skanky women dancing for the guest�s entertainment. I have to admit, I�m sort of glad he didn�t get a chance to put the pole up, although as several people noted, there�s always new years. I um, can�t wait�
Google:
There was a google search a couple of weeks ago that was practically porn worthy. �Huell Howser naked in Palm Springs� is definitely worth searching for, and something I personally would love to see. I won�t bother mentioning any other searches, because none of them were as good, and anyway, a more complete list would include things such as �Women boiling alive in their bathtubs� and �underwear for good scrotum display,� and that�s not exactly a topic I feel up to dealing with.
Despite my south park expectations, she did not look like Jabba the Hut:
Last Sunday involved driving out to Hermosa Beach for Lunch and a play with Susan, Ron, ChrisK, and Susan�s mother-in-law. It was good seeing Susan, I think we�ve all been somewhat nervous because of the problems she had with her last pregnancy, but this time it seems to be going well, with no serious health problems for her or child.
Susan was hoping for lunch at a crepe place on Pier Ave, but we were in somewhat of a rush, and the place was way popular, overflowing with customers. Despite what I�ve been told by several people �in the know,� crepe shops have not turned into the next big thing, and haven�t popped up everywhere outnumbering boba houses, which is only interesting in that the few crepe places I�ve seen seem to very well business wise, and you would imaging that they would be more popular, but they aren�t.
Anyway, our crepe lunch turned into Thai food, located just across the street conveniently enough. Food and conversation were good, so good that we stayed a bit too long, although that was not a real problem since the theater was only a couple of blocks away.
The play, or rather, the musical was Always Patsy Cline. Not something I would have gone out on my own to see, but still not bad. I guess it helps that I like her music even if I am not exactly a country music fan. It was a good crowd to see this with, since one of our friends ChrisK, has more than a few Patsy classics in her karaoke repertoire.
Part of the hype for the thing is that one half of the two woman show is Sally Struthers playing a very energetic and joking friend of Patsy Cline, and she was very energetic, even when she had nothing to do other than listen to the other woman who�s name I no longer recall singing as Patsy Cline. She would would move, dance, and bop around so much, that it was tiring to look at her. She did slow down at one point, to sit down, and ad-lib a crack about hot flashes while wiping down her face. The audience really loved that.
The show was a Sunday matinee in a suburb city, so it was expected that a large portion of the audience would be of the senior citizen variety, but I did not expect there would also be a fair amount of older gay men there. Suburb or not, it was a beach town as well, so maybe that had something to do with it. So besides women with hair various shades of blue/white hair, during intermission I also got to look at 50 year old or so men look Ron up and down, and stare intently at my husband�s ass. Not surprisingly, no one was bothering to look at my posterior.
I was going to tell John that he had several guys looking at him, but I decided not to, since I knew that his response would be that I was making up stories. Despite it happening a lot, he never seems to believe it when people check him out. A few days ago while going through a fast food drive thru, the young male attendant, practically threw himself out of the window, stopping just short of giving out his phone number, and even gave John extra food; my hubby wasn't if the guy was flirting or not. Sometimes it strikes me odd that John�s side photography business involves largely naked men. Sometimes John just doesn�t seem the type. Oh well, I guess it�s a good thing to find your spouse surprising even after thirteen odd years.
The closing bit:
Most of this entry was actually written a few days ago, but I didn�t feel like tempting fate and turning on the computer in the middle of a thunderstorm. Inclement weather is always considered news worthy here, but that particular storm may have actually been worth the attention. We had hail, lightning, thunder, and in some parts of the area, a years worth of rain in the space of two hours. We lost power at work, and after sitting in the dark for a while, I just gave up and left for home. The drive that night was crazy with partially flooded streets, dead street signals, insane drivers making up their own lanes and driving wily nily, all to the beat of bolts of lightning arching through the sky and the clash of near simultaneous thunder booming through the air. About the only thing I didn�t deal with was hail, which according to the news practically buried several neighborhoods in South Los Angeles. It�s almost lucky I left an hour early, since dealing with all that meant I only arrived home a few minutes earlier than usual.
Well, there�s a bunch more that I�m leaving out, but I�ll get to all that later. Maybe.
More later,
nico
<<the redirected entry::::the entry with a lcak of title (part one)>>