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May 31, 2005
I Heart Ira
Rob and I don't usually go out and "par-tay" anymore. We went through our clubbing phase and what-not years ago. It was a fun time but it got old after awhile. Plus, it definitely takes its toll on the body. On weekends you can usually find the two of us at home, watching HGTV (not my choice but Rob won't watch 'Forensic Files' or as he calls them "death shows"), grooming each other's chest hair and going to bed by 9:00pm. This past holiday weekend we let loose at the beach like we were the Hilton Sisters or Tommy Lee or Lindsay Lohan or Todd Elmer. Luckily, we do not do this on a regular basis.
Saturday morning Rob and I realized we forgot to pack underwear. Great. We thought it was a good idea to buy some so as not to scare the kids. We go to one of those nice fancy-schmancy gay clothing stores. Rob buys a shirt. I get a baseball cap (of course) and we pick up a pair of boxer-briefs. It was a brand I had never heard of but I figure they're all the same. Get home. Shower. Put on my new pair of pretentious panties and realize they are awfully skimpy and...uh...tight. I'm not a fan of briefs and these kind of resembled them. Whatever. Nothing I can do. No one will see them anyway.
I noticed some sort of string with a loop attached to it in the front part inside the underwear. Hmmmm. What could this possibly be for? I thought maybe it was to hold your penis down if you wanted it to lay a particular way. I don't know. I'm not very bright. I show it to Rob who is suddenly an expert on naughtiness and he's like, "That's a cock ring." What? You've got to be kidding me. Rob informs me that guys like to use it so it makes their package look bigger. Wha-wha-what? Oh my god. I vomited. You mean I bought stripper underwear? Indeed, I had. Ew.
Ira insisted on going to some "White Party" that night. Rob and I refused to go. He bought some fancy white clothes just for the event. I took a picture of him before he went which you can see below. You can also listen to Ira's welcome message.
Sunday we all went to the beach. Hung out there for a few hours. Gorgeous weather. Tons of people.
The night before we were given an invite to a Bear-like house party tea dance thingie. I thought, wow this has got to be interesting and dangerous. We all decided to go (me, Rob, Shawn, and Ricardo Montalban Ira).
We arrive. The house was huge and beautiful. Everyone is very friendly. People are scantily clad. Oh no. They are serving kool-aid like drinks. Oh no again. Like Maya Angelou always says, "When someone tells you to beware of the blue colored kool-aid drink cause it's very potent, believe them...the first time."
Two hours later we are naked in a hot tub. Dear god. I look around and realize I'm in the movie "Caligula." Oh no. Time to go.
We left and went to some bar (cuz apparently we had to have more to drink). Had a good time. Went back to the house and I tried to get Bob to perform Cher's "The Shoop Shoop Song" accapella but he refused. It would have been so punk rock. I would have even played the triangle but he still said no. Whatever. Next time. Buy his CD here. In fact, buy two.
Ira took some pictures at the party. Apparently, I like to kiss people when I am photographed. This is also evident in the first picture on my "About" page. Not sure why. I realize I kiss too much. I will work on this. I may post some of these pictures from the tea dance but there are some I can't for legal reasons. ;-)
For some reason Ira took about 20 pictures of me and the infamous Clickboo (who I finally met). Nothing scandalous. Normal pictures. Good guy.
It was a wonderful weekend with wonderful people and I cannot wait to go back. Ira is a gracious host and I love him. And next time I will not forget my underwear.
Click here to listen to Ira's welcome message (this is a wav file. doesn't always work, sorry. bad recording. piece of shit).
Posted by durban bud at 08:41 AM | Comments (11)
May 27, 2005
Lazy Bear 2005: East Coast
We're heading to the beach this weekend. Staying with our buddy Ira. I've been informed there will be other bear-like people staying at his house (and one lovely lipstick lesbian). I will be sure to take lots and lots of pictures.
The weather is "supposed" to be nice. We shall see. The weather men in DC are notoriously wrong with their forecasts. They are also mostly gay. What attracts gay men to meteorology? Hmmm. Ponder that one this weekend and get back to me.
Be good while I'm gone!
Posted by durban bud at 09:29 AM | Comments (4)
May 25, 2005
Episode III: Still More Crap
Am I the only one out there who could care less about seeing this new Star Wars movie? I've heard it is better than The Phantom Menace & Attack of the Clones but that does not make me feel any better considering I already wasted 6 hours of my life watching those first 2 train wrecks. I am sure I will end up suffering through this one though since Rob wants to see it. Hopefully, we can wait for the DVD or maybe he won't make me go :-). I realize I am judging it before seeing it but like Maya Angelou says, "When somebody shows you who they are, believe them...the first time." So I am taking her advice.
I remember my dad taking me to the very first one when it first opened. That was a great time. It was totally different from anything I had seen. Then again, I was only 6. I got all the little action figures of every character. I still have them and play with them. Just kidding. Only sometimes.
They should have stopped after the Ewok one. That was enough.
I made my dad take me to so many movies when I was a kid. Those were good times (even the bad films like Terror Train, Wrong is Right, Friday the 13th 4-6, etc). I love my dad. He really is cool. He never complained about my movie choices. He just wanted me to be happy. I wish you all could meet him. He truly is an amazing person and a really good guy. He will talk to anyone and make them feel at ease. Doesn't matter who you are. I wish I had inherited that gift. Anyway...
I used to go to the movies ALL the time. I was a movie freak. I would see anything. I don't know but lately it seems 90% of what I see is just crap so I don't even bother going anymore. Maybe I'm just too hard to please. I like to be entertained but I don't like to be talked down to (which is what I think most films do these days). If the names Nicholas Cage, Vin Diesel, Ice Cube, Mel Gibson, M Night Shamaylan, Michael Bay or Paris Hilton are anywhere near the title, don't even ask me to see it.
I saw "Million Dollar Baby." It was pretty good but I didn't think it was AMAZING like all the critics said. The last film I saw at the theater was "The Upside of Anger." I wasn't expecting much from it and it turned out to be great. Very clever.
When we went to visit Dave in Jersey (see Garden State post) he pulled out a number of gay-themed DVD's to watch. (He buys any gay movie through the mail since there is no gayness where he lives. You have to keep up on it some way). I selected "Bad Education" cuz I heard it was good. I'm glad I did. It was unique. The rest of the movies he had were those typical low-budget crap gay movies. It is so rare to find a quality gay film. I'm not saying that to be bitchy. I'm saying it cuz it's true. Some of them are embarrassingly bad. How do they get made? Did you see Speedway Junkie? I almost vomited. Twice. The only good ones I've seen are all depressing: "Longtime Companion," "Boys Don't Cry," and "My Own Private Idaho." "Trick" was cute. I'd like to see more movies like that. Silly but fun.
Anway, if you know of any creative/intelligent movies please pass the info along to me. I obviously need some help. Gracias.
Posted by durban bud at 12:16 PM | Comments (7)
May 23, 2005
Rest In Peace, Oh Little Clarice
If you are unaware of li'l Clarice please read this post first.
The word is now out. I am the worst baby mama ever. Well, maybe not as bad as Susan Smith or Andrea Yates or Jessica & Ashlee Simpson's mom but I am up there. Little Clarice died while in my care.
We became aware of Clarice's existence in our patio on Tuesday evening. We left her alone for two days so the mom could help her out and let nature take its course. We also did some online research about caring for a baby starling. I would like to inform Ms. Bonner that soggy dog food is recommended as a good food source for fledgling starlings. Look it up, beeeee-yotch. We also read that if the mom does not show up for 2 hours then we should help it out. We did.
It began to rain a little on Thursday evening so we transformed a long plastic container into a little temporary shelter for Clarice out on the patio. We turned the container on its side, put a few towels in it, and a little cup of water and propped the lid against it so she/he/it would not get wet. If it wanted to get out it could easily just walk out.
The next morning she was fine. We fed her. She seemed happy and chipper and was even humming the lyrics to "All By Myself" (the Celine Dion version). It was pouring rain and blowing wind so I moved the container into my office (right by the door). She sat on a towel and was content. She would have easily died in the bad weather. There were only 2 times when she jumped out of her little home. Each time she would make a running dart for me at my desk. I would yell (as if she were a dog), "Get back there! Giiiiiiit back there!" She would tilt her head to the side, not understanding what I was saying. I would get up, walk towards the door and Clarice would follow me. Once we got to the door she looked up at me and opened her beak. I fed her and put her back in the container. She was very quiet and polite while I was working. She became my administrative assistant for the day. No pay, just benefits. We had a bond.
The rain stopped and it was getting later in the evening. Rob and I decided to put her back in the container and leave her with "nature." We put her on the towel and watched as she turned her head around to fall asleep. We checked on her again before we went to bed around 11:00pm. She still had her head turned. She was sleeping. She looked peaceful.
At 6:12 in the morning I woke and looked at the clock. I thought, cool, I have 2 more hours to sleep. I noticed Rob was up. I assumed he went to the bathroom. He came back to bed, put his head on my shoulder and said, "Clarice died." I was like, "Wha-wha-what! What do you mean???? How???" I was up for the day now. He said, "I don't know. It got really cold last night." Suddenly, I became the Indian from that old commercial where he is overlooking the highway of pollution on his horse. I looked at the camera and a big tear just rolled down my cheek. I couldn't help it. I felt a lump in my throat. I tried to control it. I pretended it was 1989 and I was watching Steel Magnolias during my straight years. Lump in the throat. Just keep your composure. Keep your composure. No tears. Stop it. Keep your composure. Think of economics. Think of church. Think of vaginas. Just don't let Sally Field make you cry like a girl. If you let a tear out, they will think you are a sentimental pussy. Then I realized it was 2005. Fuck it. I am a sentimental pussy. I'm not in the closet anymore. What am I thinking. Ball like a baby if you want. So I did. Over a pathetic wild bird I had only known for 4 days. But if you had known her you would have seen how frickin' cute and funny she/he/it was.
I refuse to believe that leaving her outside in the cold caused her death. She had all her feathers. She was a wild bird. However, had we known it was going to get so cold that night we would have left her inside. She obviously had something else wrong with her. I always thought that. That's why she became so weak. The mother probably knew this and left. I mean the bird was much more active the first 2 days. She would at least attempt to fly. Now she just wanted to eat, run after me and sit there.
She was found dead at the other end of the container. If it was too cold, I think she would have walked out of the container to try and find comfort somewhere else.
My intention was to get this bird back to health and have it fly away and come back for occasional visits with its other starling friends to say "Hey, what's up, guys." And then say to its other starling peeps, "Check out these cool gay guys that saved my life."
I realize her death is the best thing because I would not want the responsiblity for caring for it. We are going away this weekend. Who would look in on it? I mean, c'mon. Let's be real.
I received an email from some guy who said I should be happy it's dead because the birds are not native to our country and only cause problems to native birds and should all be destroyed anyway. I asked him if he was a Native American. He said no. I replied that perhaps he, too, should be killed then. No response. Whatever. This foreign bird came into MY world. I can do what I want. If you want to kill it, that's your sad business.
We buried her under the hosta where she originally took refuge from us. We put a stone and flower where she now lays.
Sometimes I think I'm just way too empathetic. I wish I could control this and just become an uncaring, mean-spirited, ignorant prick. How does one go about this? There must be a pill for this ailment. Do I start reading Ann Coulter books? Do I become a religious fundamentalist? Do I start supporting this particlular president?
Nah. I'd rather cry over a silly fuckin' bird.
Clarice's grave (by the yellow flowers). In lieu of flowers, please send durban bud some money. That will help ease the pain. Thanks.
Posted by durban bud at 07:40 AM | Comments (5)
May 20, 2005
I Am a Baby Mama
The other evening Rob and I went out to the patio to grill some Italian sausages (insert tired lame joke here). As we walked out I heard a bird flapping its wings loudly as it took off. I then heard something I've never heard before come from Rob. In the most delicate of voices he said, "Ohhhhhh, it's a little baby bird. Must have fallen from its nest." It wasn't what he said, it was how he said it. I knew I had heard that voice before but couldn't immediately place it. Then it hit me. It was Michael frickin' Jackson. Rob had somehow channeled him. I was frightened. I was waiting for him to say, "Sharing your bed with a little baby bird is the most wonderful thing you can do" or even "You mean you don't like to climb trees?" Luckily, he went back to his normal voice once we assessed the situation.
A baby bird had somehow fallen into our patio. Our patio is the perfect place for any injured bird to land. Please do not let this get around. The walls are high enough to offer protection but it is also open so other birds can come play/talk/console it. We had heard the weather was really windy last weekend so we assume that's when it happened.
As Rob and I walked out, the mother bird was trying to feed the baby. We scared her away. The baby began flapping about trying to fly. It could only get up about a foot high and then fall back down. It made it up onto our flower bed and took refuge under one of Rob's hosta plants.
We were concerned the mother would not come back so we sat there and waited. She finally did come back with some food in her mouth but she could not find the baby. Rob and I are watching this whole drama unfold through the sliding glass door as if we were watching a horror flick at a ghetto movie theater. We were yelling at the screen, "She's over there under the plant! Go get her!! What are you, stupid???? She's right there. Dumb bitch!!!" After about 5 minutes of looking around the mother flew away.
We would check back every few minutes to see if the mom had returned. No such luck. Rob (channeling a slightly more masculine MJ) said, "Oh, no. What if the mother doesn't return?" I told him I was sure the mother would return and to take an Ativan.
It was getting dark. Rob took out some ham and crackers and a little blanket for the poor thing. He did some research online and discovered the bird is a starling. We have since named it Clarice.
The next morning we found Clarice nowhere near the blanket and Rob had realized that he had, instead, fed a whole army of ants. Great.
To our amazement, the mom returned. We watched her feed her chick on a number of visits. It appeared she was trying to get the baby to fly. The baby was obviously injured from its earlier plummet into our world so it couldn't keep up.
Yesterday morning, the mom made its last visit. She made some squawking noises and took off, leaving the poor baby all alone. What a bitch.
I hate birds. They are filthy and disgusting and I have no use for them unless they are on my dinner plate. I got suckered into its pathetic life and now feel bad for it. I was watching it move around the patio and it kept looking up, sometimes chirping. You knew it was looking for its mom saying something like, "I can change mom. Please come back. I promise I'll be better. Praise Jesus."
Clarice seemed more and more weak as the day progressed. I was eating lunch staring at it just sitting there. I felt a calling. It looked hungry. I had to try and help. I took a little piece of chicken (oh, the irony) and went to it.
Clarice did not move away from me. She knew I was its only savior. I held the piece of chicken over its beak, waving it back and forth. Suddenly, its beak opened. It scared the hell out of me. It looked/seemed very vaginalistic. I don't know what that means either but it seemed that way. I dropped the food towards its sharp bird mouth. I missed. Damn. I tried again. Missed. Shit, I'm not good at this. The bird kept its beak open while I was fumbling around. I could tell the bird was thinking, "Dude, this really isn't that difficult. Just stick the fucking piece of chicken in my mouth and be done with it." That made it worse. My hands started to shake. I was embarrassed. Finally, success. It swallowed the whole thing.
I realized that it also needed hydration so I soaked some dog food (which was left over from a previous "Save the Animal" experience) in water and began feeding it. Clarice now loves the Alpo.
As soon as we open the patio door now, Clarice runs over to us. I am now a baby mama. The bird has imprinted that it is one of us and I am its mommy. It even lets us pet it. It comes when we call it. This is all very odd to me.
I want it to learn how to fly and move out of our place. I don't need this responsibility. Barbecues will never be the same if we have our own feathered Kato Kaelin joining us each time. We read that starlings can live to be 20. That won't be happening here.
Update: Clarice passes on.
View pics of Clarice here.
View Baby Mama lyrics here.
Posted by durban bud at 08:26 AM | Comments (3)
May 18, 2005
Hash Pipe
Wanna hear somethin' funny? I studied for a summer in Amsterdam and got college credit for it. AU offered a study abroad program through the University of Amsterdam called "Sexuality & Culture in Society." Are you still laughing?
I was walking aimlessly around campus one day, and saw this little brochure posted to a wall that mentioned the program. I thought, hmmmm, I could go to Europe for the first time (more importantly, Amsterdam), get credits towards my degree AND have my parents PAY for it? Where do I sign up!?!
I scheduled an appointment with the head of the anthropology department (who the program was really meant for) to express my interest. He was a nice guy. I knew he was gay so I tried to work it (so I put my thang down, flip it and reverse it). He made sure to mention that if my motives to attend were for fucking and getting high (his exact words) that I should just forget it; this was serious study. Of course, sir. I wouldn't think otherwise. I found out later (after we became friends and went to leather bars together) that he thought I was some obnoxious frat boy. I could understand the obnoxious part but a frat boy! That's funny. Must be those baseball caps I'm always wearing. Men who wear baseball caps are routinely misjudged. I'm gonna start an awareness organization. Anyway, I had to apply to get into the program. I did and a few weeks later got my acceptance notice.
It was kind of a scary experience for me once it sunk in that I was going. I had never been to Europe. I didn't know a single person in the program. I didn't speak a foreign language. I had no idea what to expect.
The whole drug thing wasn't a big lure for me. I really wasn't that into pot. I always ended up coughing my brains out. I couldn't figure out what the big deal was. I also still kinda felt the stigma of drugs as a big no-no. I used to be very anti-drug (stop laughing).
Fast forward, I get there, take the tram to my temporary apartment, meet the professors, meet the students, get my class silly-bus and let the games begin.
I felt kinda weird though; I was not an anthropology major and most of these people were graduate students, so I got a few "what does HE think he is doing here" stares. I was surprised there were only about 25 students in the whole program. They were also mostly from different schools (only a few of us were from AU) but it was nice to see some foreign students in the program as well.
It was crazy fun though. We did tons of field trips (sex change clinics, condom stores, gay history tours, etc) and heard from some of the most unique people (sex workers, transsexuals, women who refer to themselves as "boys," etc).
Some of the difficult class assignments involved comparing and contrasting sex shops. A couple classmates and I took our notebooks to the Red Light District to do some serious research. It was very interesting; this store has a lot of scat videos; this one does not. This one has a lot of woman on dog videos; this one does not. This one has sounds; so does this one!
Each school day would usually close with a party involving lots of beer. I remember stumbling through the streets of Amsterdam with a straight Italian guy that I had somehow met, who did not speak a word of English. We played pool and just drank all night long.
I didn't smoke much pot but I did (like so many of the tourists) eat the space cakes. I did this mainly to avoid all the coughing. They have since banned space cakes because too many foreigners (read: Americans) were getting really sick on them. Eating marijuana can be somewhat potent to delicate tummies.
Me and this guy Andy also tried mushrooms one sunny day. We went to some pizza place, ate them and sat there 'til they kicked in. I remember hearing "The Girl is Mine" by Michael Jackson, looking at Andy and busting out laughing. We decided it would be best if we moved somewhere less confined. We went to Dam Square and sat on some steps and just people watched for 3 hours. It was incredibly intense, surreal and awesome at the same time. I have tried them a few times since, but nothing comes close to that time with Andy. I wonder where he is.
I met some amazing people on that trip and honestly learned a lot from them. A group of us would sit around and just shoot the shit after school. We were so completely different in every way. I think every type of person was represented. I learned all about S & M and B & D from lesbians. I learned all about the leather scene. I learned all about limits and safe words. I learned about darkrooms. I learned that straight people can be kinky motherfuckers. I learned about butch and femme. I learned about Gender Identity Disorder. I learned that we are all so freakin' different and not to judge so quickly (unless, of course it is something said or done by George W Bush).
I also learned that this experience raised my GPA a smidge. ;-)
Posted by durban bud at 01:23 PM | Comments (4)
May 16, 2005
Garden State
We took the train up to New Jersey to see our buddy Dave over the weekend. He moved there 3 years ago so we thought it was probably a good idea if we paid him a visit.
He made the move to be close to a new job (and to get away from the crazy gay party scene that can sometimes be DC). He moved to a small conservative town called Pennsville (right by Wilmington, Delaware). Pennsville is well known for being close to a nuclear power plant, having no more than 3 homosexuals living there (including Dave) and for being one of the spots Andrew Cunanan decided to murder someone. Dave's place is right on the Delaware river. He's done a lot of renovations to his home. It's beautiful.
We just wanted to chill out and spend some QT with Dave. We had no agenda so we just ate, drank, went to a park and watched a movie ("Bad Education"). FYI: Not a good idea to request watching a movie with subtitles after many beers. At the park, we walked up to the cemetary outside the house where Cunanan struck. That was joyful.
Dave used to be our neighbor across the hall at the Wardman (a condo building in Dupont with all one-bedrooms). It was such a great place to live. So many memories. It was definitely like living at Melrose Place. So many different characters. Some drama. We all knew our neighbors and we all got along. There was a great sense of community. We all kind of miss it. Rob and I were there for 5 years in a one-bedroom so it was definitely time for us to move on. Most of the other Melrose Placers have also left.
Dave has stories. Lots of them. He grew up in Tennessee (and still has that deep southern accent). He served in the Navy for 15 years (mostly on a submarine). Again, lots of stories there. He would have served longer but the military chose to discriminate. Their loss. Bet they're kicking themselves these days. He's a great guy.
Despite living a couple hours away he still keeps updated on what's happening in our neighborhood. And boy does he know some things. Especially about high society (and I do mean high ;-) I could post some scandalous things that could shake up a few lives but I will keep my mouth shut. For now.
Posted by durban bud at 07:58 AM | Comments (9)
May 13, 2005
Trust, Intimacy and Respect = Healthy Relationship
This is one of the few things I wrote down in my college notebook while listening to my Sex Psychology professor (the other things I mostly scribbled down were Nirvana lyrics, calendars that would countdown to my graduation, "Kill me now", and for some odd reason lots of check marks).
I've applied the T.I.R. theory to my own relationships and it's absolutely true. If one of these components is missing, you may as well split up now and quit wasting time unless you enjoy the drama. Trust me, I've been there. I've also observed this in relationships of others.
Communication obviously is necessary if one of these three is faltering even just a little bit (and in any relationship it will falter at one point or another). If you do not discuss it, it is doomed. If you truly respect the other person (and yourself) you will listen to their side of the situation and talk it out.
Intimacy is a big part. When Rob and I first started dating I would always say (in my best girlie voice): "Sex is not that important. It's only about 10% of a relationship. I just want to be held." (End girlie voice) Bullshit. It is mighty important and lots of it and there better be some passion to it. I guess intimacy can also include spending time together alone, cuddling, crotcheting, holding hands on the beach, etc. Those are nice but you need passionate sex as well. It connects us with the one we love. If intimacy ain't happenin' with your partner then you have to ask yourself if you are truly attracted to the other person (or maybe call your doctor to see if your dose of Lexapro is affecting your libido). Attraction is key. You can't force it. If you have trust & respect but no intimacy then you are just best buddies living together. This can work for some people but I'm not sure I would classify it as a healthy "romantic" relationship.
I should also say that we are by no means perfect. We bicker sometimes. I'm forced to watch HGTV shows. Once in a great while we have a big fight but it's very rare. It's how you handle a disagreement.
We're also big flirts. I think it's okay to flirt. We are human. We all want to feel some attention once in awhile. We are in a relationship but we are not dead. Let's not forget this. There are boundaries and it's up to each couple to decide where exactly those boundaries are. Your boundaries may be completely different from ours. Knowing where to draw the line comes with respecting your partner and their wishes.
Again...trust, intimacy & respect = a healthy relationship. That is my Dr. Phil Durban tip for the day. You are welcome.
Posted by durban bud at 07:38 AM | Comments (4)
May 12, 2005
The Worst Years of Your Life
We hear it all the time while growing up, "Enjoy your time in high school because these will be the best years of your life." Oh, really? They are? Then shoot me, you bastard. I feel sorry for people who truly believe that. So basically after your 18, it's all downhill? Maybe for people who are isolated, narrow-minded and unwilling to explore outside the box like most of the "cool" people I went to school with. They still live in their hometown, they still hang out with the same people, they still eat at the Olive Garden, they still hang out at the same bars, they have completely settled down and that's it. No forward movement. The best years for them are now over.
I bought a book yesterday from a friend. It's called "Self" by Reynolds & Griffin. It's really amazing. Basically one of the guys writes a poem and the other one creates art work based on the poem. The lyrics are incorporated into the art. It's so cool. I don't believe it's available to the public except at occasional book signings. Once it does become public I will post a link to it. It's a must have.
Anyway, that book got me thinking about how creative I was as a kid. I used to draw comic strips. I made paintings. I read a lot of books. I would write short stories. I took drum lessons. I used to love writing poetry. My teachers put me in some special poetry type class cuz they were so damned impressed with my skills. I even made a few latch-hook rugs (no comment please).
I made home movies with my dad's super 8 film camera. (They were mostly horror movies that included killing off my local neighbors who were nice enough to participate. Yeah, I'm a little disturbed about that too). Someday I'll transfer those to DVD. They're hysterical. One was called "A Killer Gets Away" & the other was "Killer on the Loose (the sequel)." The best scene is when the killer (who I think was played by my 12 year old cousin) pops out of a garbage can while my 45 year old neighbor is throwing out her trash. She gets strangled and falls over. Sidenote: This woman and her husband have since divorced. He has asked me for a copy so he can play this scene over and over again.
I also started to DJ when I was about 13 for fun. My parents bought me a Technics SL-1200MK2 for X-mas one year which I still have and use. Whenever they would have a pool party or whatever I took it upon myself to DJ the event (whether they liked it or not). I played mostly pop stuff and just did fade outs and fade ins to please everyone. It wasn't like I was beatmixing Olivia Newton-John with Def Leppard. I mean, c'mon. It was just really fun for me.
I got asked to do a few gigs here and there. I did a college party once. 10 years later I found out it was a gay party. Had I known I would have played more Cyndi Lauper. I had no idea at the time cuz there were lots of men AND women there.
I also did a few gigs for younger mentally challenged people (read: retarded). Those were very interesting to do and especially to watch. The kids had a great time so it made me feel good. During one of the events, the head of the program took the microphone and gave a speech on how well all the kids were doing. I had to segue into an inspirational song after her speech. The only thing I could think of was "Don't Stop Believin" by Journey. Big mistake. This is not a song that people can dance to (especially retarded people) but I had to think fast. They began to sway back and forth and bump into each other. I saw a few helmuts collide. A couple people began drooling. They looked scared like "what the hell is this crap?" I started hearing Terri Schiavo-like moaning as if to say "maaaaaaaaaaake it sssssssstop!" I quickly faded into "Electric Youth" by Debbie Gibson. Much better.
Then I was in high school. All creativity I had seemed to slow down. Eventually, it just stopped. I couldn't focus. I wasn't inspired to do anything. My grades started to suffer big time. I used to be super smart. Seriously.
Puberty sucks and high school can be difficult for most people. That's pretty standard. I do believe though when you know you are gay it is much, much, more difficult. Your sexuality is ripening but you can't act on it or discuss it with anyone without getting your ass kicked (at least when I was in school). You always feel like a freak keeping a big naughty secret. You try to fit in. You hear (and sometimes participate) in the cruel gay jokes. Some gay guys begin to date girls so in order to not be "discovered." It's awkward. It's like a straight person going out on a date with a person of the same sex just to fit in. Can all you hets out there imagine forcing yourself to do that? It's not fun. Of course, you could also choose not to date. That, then leads to whispering and rumors. I only went out with a couple girls. Poor things. They must have been so bored.
I lived in fear of being discovered all through high school. There was this overweight black kid (who obviously has his own insecurities) who would call me a faggot almost every day. I didn't have feminine mannerisms so I couldn't figure why he constantly harrassed me. I thought maybe he could see right through me and KNEW my big secret. I won't mention his name but his initials are J.O. (and I think that's quite appropriate). At the end of the school year the teachers would hand out silly awards to certain students for their outstanding achievements. They gave the award for "Most Polite Student" to J.O.
I did have a small group of close friends (who I still adore) but I tried to be friends with everyone. I remember sitting at a lunch table with the "cool" people one day. One of the "cool" guys leans over to me and says, "Why are you here? No one wants you here." I didn't say anything back. No one else said a word. That "cool" guy was one homely motherfucker. I wish him well but I do hope he acquired the clap at least once since then.
I really did try to fit in but I think my insecurities just made me more of an asshole. I developed an attitude. I wouldn't let people get too close to me. I would make a mean comment and be rude so they would back away. By senior year I was so ready to get the fuck out of that hell hole.
I'm sure there are lots of people who enjoyed their high school experience and do consider it their best days. Good for them. If you're happy that way, fine. I will look forward, try new things, explore new places, meet new people, regain that creative spark and enjoy the best years of my life.
Posted by durban bud at 07:02 AM | Comments (8)
May 09, 2005
"Glorious Day"...
Listening to Weezer on my iPod at the Circle yesterday. Good times. Another absolutely beautiful day and very productive. Started the day early at the gym. Note to those who belong to the same gym: the best time to go there is the day AFTER a circuit party event (e.g. Cherry). There was virtually no one there. Very nice. Then Rob and I painted the back wall of our patio (yes, we're so freakin' butch). Our entire building is white and was recently repointed so it looks like complete shit because all the gray mortar shows through. The whole building needs to be painted but some of the other owners are cheap skates not wanting to spend a lot of money so we just painted our little area. After that, we got some lunch and headed to the Circle to chill out on a blanket and people watch. One of the best things to do in this city (I think) is to hang out at the Circle on a gorgeous day. There is such a diverse convergence of people there. Every group is represented. I actually didn't see many people I know. I did see the always charming Phil & Ted and this handsome fella.
Speaking of, if you are ever in DC on a Saturday night check out Blowoff at the Back Bar of the 9:30 Club. Actually they don't have it every Saturday so make sure you check the web site first. It's a mostly different kind of crowd that goes there. Very refreshing. More of an alternative type of vibe. No attitude. They play mostly rock and electronic. It's a good time.
Posted by durban bud at 08:21 AM | Comments (0)
May 07, 2005
Please Do Not Call Me At 4:00 in the Morning
I was enjoying a nice klonopin induced sleep last night. Then. The phone rang. I woke up completely startled. I looked at the clock. It was 4:12 am. Who the fuck would be calling now?
There are only 3 reasons someone could possibly be calling at this hour: (1) It's a family emergency, (2) A friend is in the 'hood and desperately needs a place to crash, or (3) it's Pat O'Brien. It was none of the above.
The caller ID suggested a local number, but after the answering machine picked up I heard a not so local voice. It was our friend Todd and his buddy calling from San Francisco. They were obviously having a good ol' time. I appreciate you thinking of us over there, and wanting to express your love over the phone while having a wild time but please remember, we were 21 in 1992. That was like 13 years ago.
I would also like to remind people that if you do call and leave a drunk message, I will save it, edit it with some audio software and put it to music. It will be played at all the local house parties, and it will be funny. Trust me. I've already made 2 hot dance tracks this way, and a third will now be on its way. There is the hit "I'm a Fuckin' Drunk" by Bobbie B. taken from her audio message that said, "I don't know what the fuck time it is but I'm fuckin' drunk..." which was followed by some more foul language and slurring. There is also "Big Baby Bottom Girl" by "Dino" taken from his message that said, "When you send out that Evite to everyone on that list about my upcoming birthday party, please do not refer to me as a girl, or a big girl, or baby girl or bottom. Some of these people are my co-workers." Okay, I won't.
Todd is one of the most unique people you could ever meet. He's the owner of that beagle I'm chillin' with in the picture on this page. He is brilliant and crazy at the same time. He was a lawyer and a political consultant for the past 7 years. He, like me, was raised Southern Baptist so we both have interesting stories about that (I won't bore you with that now). His talent is much better put to use doing more creative work. He left DC to pursue something different in San Fran. I hope he has found it there. He has a lot to offer.
We went to see Todd a couple months ago in San Fran. We made plans to see Todd one night. We went for a bite to eat and then he took us to some bar in the Castro. He's very social so he started talking to the first people he saw. He immediately had his arms around them and we were forced to engage in idle chi chat. One of the men looked like Francis Ford Coppola, the other can only be described as a platinum blonde twink.
The next thing I see is a member of Menudo standing with us (or he looked like he is/was in Menudo). He couldn't be more than 20 (so I guess he was kicked out of the group). Todd has his arm around him and informs us that he is leaving with him.
"Umm, what? You are curb dropping us?" Then, for some completely odd reason, Todd suggests the twink go back to our hotel with me and Rob. "Ha, ha, ha, very funny."
I then ask Todd in front of his new friend, "Are you going to have anal?" I invite all of you out there who get curb dropped by your friends for a complete stranger to ask this question. It makes for an extremely awkward moment for the new couple and a whole lot of comic relief for everyone else. Todd leans over to me and says, "That's inappropriate." I know, and so is curb-dropping your friends for Menudo. Whatever, they end up leaving together.
Rob and I are standing there like, "Should we leave?" The twink then whispers in my ear, "I would love to watch you and your boyfriend have sex. I would also love to give you both a blowjob. It would be so hot." Umm, ew, no thanks, raincheck, bu-bye.
We left and that was the last time we have seen Todd. Just thought I'd share.
Posted by durban bud at 05:58 PM | Comments (3)
May 05, 2005
This is Eff'd Up
Gay baby batter is very, very naughty. Straight baby batter is always, always pure. I hate these people. Now how am I gonna make a few hundred extra bucks on the side?
Posted by durban bud at 04:14 PM | Comments (5)
May 04, 2005
Corporate Book Stores & Their Employees Suck
It was a beautiful day on Sunday so I thought I would go to the closest book store to purchase "Stories From a Moron" by Ed Broth (Jerry Seinfeld) and sit in the Circle and read it and giggle a bit.
I stopped by Books-A-Million to get it (right by the Circle). I looked in their "Humor" section but could not find it. Everything in that area is completely disorganized. For some reason books about painting and animation are mixed in with other "Humor" books by Jon Stewart and Ellen Degeneres. I couldn't find it so I decide to go to the 'Customer Service' area. Shockingly, no one is there so I stand in the check out line with 10 other people. Finally it comes to my turn. The check out lady (we shall call her "Lateesha") looks clearly annoyed that I have a question and not a purchase. I told her the name and author of the book and she looks it up on her handy dandy computer. She says, "It looks like we do have some in stock in the Humor section." I inform her that I have looked there but it is hard to find anything. She tells me to look again and if I cannot find it that means it is all sold out. Ummmm...okay. I walk back over to the "Humor" section thinking this isn't very funny. I look again. "Authors listed in alphabetical order" the sign says. Okay, let's see: Jon Stewart, Dave Barry, Ellen Degeneres, Erma Bombeck, that guy who wrote "He's Just Not That Into You", Gary Larson, David Sedaris, etc. Hmmm, no Broth. I decide to march right back up to Lateesha and tell her I still can't find it. I thought maybe, just maybe, she would go to the section with me to help me locate it. No such luck.
I decide to walk 8 blocks towards downtown to Border's BOOKS & Music. Surely they would have it. I mean this is a book written by Jerry Seinfeld. I arrive at the store and locate the 'Information' sign. A petite young woman is standing there (we shall call her "Emily"). I give her the info and she types it in. For some reason when I say the word "Moron" she looks at me as though I have just asked her to look up a porno. In fact, her response suggests she really believes I have asked her to look up "Fuck My Tight Juicy Ass" or "How to Take a Fist With Very Little Lube." She says, "Ummm, no we DO NOT carry that and NONE of our other stores around here will be carrying that title either." "Huh," I say. "It's a book by Jerry Seinfeld." "I'm sorry," she says. What the fuck. I decide I hate Emily.
I haul my ass back to the circle, lay down on my blanket feeling defeated. I realize I could easily order from Amazon but I wanted the book that afternoon. Of course, when I get back home I look up Borders.com, do a search for the book and there it is. I could have it delivered the next day they say. Corporate online book stores rule.
Posted by durban bud at 11:44 AM | Comments (7)