“She sounds very European”
“like she’s from the 1960’s or 70’s in Spain or Italy”
“it sounds dramatic, but I cant understand a word she says. I think she says “emergency” in one song though…”
“I look forward to taking a listen to some more of her works in the near future…” (was that a hint for a burned c.d? hmmmm…)
he then preceded to ask me “who my favorite dessert island people were” to which I gave him a funny look, thinking he was looking for me to say something anthropological. My answer would have been, having grown up in New England and living par time in Maine, the my favorite would have to be the people of Mount Desert Island, near Acadia National Park. They are such a pleasant people. But he was asking me if I was stuck on a deserted island which 3 musical artists would I want to have the music of with me. First off I like that this island is deserted, yet has electricity or an endless supply of environmentally friendly disposable batteries, along with the sound system this island apparently has. Secondly if I had enough time to prepare my musical preferences before being stranded, I probably would have also made plans for my rescue.
Anyway, I told him that I am not sure how to make a decision like that, and he told me to just choose the first 3 that came to the top of my head. So hastily decided, my choices were 1: Bjork (of course) 2: Belle and Sebastian 3: Cibo Matto. When I turned the question around on him, he couldn’t decide, got disinterested with the conversation and wandered off. This is what Joz and I put up with all day long. We are martyrs really… Behold the glory of our suffering.
Hi, joz and pals, I am back in LA. I will try to refrain from saying anything negative about the city I am still trying to learn to love (‘cause I am here so I might as well get used to it.) I already miss Boston. I spent a lot of time seeing friends and family that I haven’t in forever. Saw a few people that I hadn’t seen for about ten years, which was a bit odd, but turned out to be good. I wasn’t pleased however that their impression of me after all of this time was a swollen bruised asymmetrical bumbling guy. I wasn’t really bumbling when I saw them, but the story that went with my bloody swollen face and chin makes me sound somehow clumsy or anemic (which i am neither)…
See here’s what happened, and the story really isn’t even that interesting: …
Continue reading ‘Blood: Pool/Puddle; Bowl/Cup’
I am loving all of your comments; I am starting to feel not so alone. Just for some clarification, and I am sure joz got it, but the “hate” parts are simply sarcasm. I don’t really hate anyone; i just like getting dramatic every now and then. So don’t hate me ’cause I hate. Hate is just a four-letter word for love (which is also a four letter word meaning the same thing.) Get me yet?
Take what I say seriously, but never too seriously. Remember, I may be a jerk, but not an asshole. I hope… anyway can’t wait to tell ya’ll about my adventures home here on the east coast. I will have something worthwhile soon enough… if it is still there within the next few days…
There was a street sign that read “GO SLOW BUMP HEAD” I stood around and watched a bit, but no one seemed to heed the sign. Well they did the “slow” part, but I did not see anyone remember to bump their heads as they passed the sign. enough -professoreric
Dear friends, (especially you gay friends out there),
Look recently, I have been asked to explain my seemingly lack of pride. Look I have plenty of “pride” I just don’t feel the need to go to every rainbow clad event, strip off my shirt and take a digital photo to post on gay.com or friendster. Sorry boys. And the word boy, it is spelled b.o.y. not b.o.i. I am very proud of my queer identity, but I am sick of those who feel like the only way to prove it is through cliché acts of gaydom. You most likely will not see me wearing a tiny black tank top every time I go to Rage to grind against the hard gym obsessed bodies of the other man-whores searching for acceptance from the others trying to fit the same cookie cutter identity as we dance to the latest Madonna remix which we pretend to love because she is supposedly a deity to us… ok, you get it. That’s not me, I will not be excited if you invite me to “WeHo” to go clubbing, I don’t care which 80’s pop has-been is singing at the parade, I will not smear body glitter on my Crunch Gym sculpted chest to run out and sing every lyric along with, lets say, Belinda Carlisle belting every line of her songs while rolling down Santa Monica Blvd. on a float commemorating Caesar Chavez’s younger gay brother Emilio Chavez, who did nothing for the farmers and migrant workers, but did create a more ergonomical way to add bright colors to those tiny drink umbrellas you get in fruity drinks at any bar including the ones on the deck of those gay cruise lines you always see advertised in the Advocate or Out. I also will take offense to anyone who comes over to me and after about 5 to 10 minutes of adequate conversations says something along the lines of “wow… you act really straight.” Um, hello did you learn nothing from the heterosexist environments that you grew up in, in these engendered social politics that made you beat up the femmy boys in high school with your dumb jock friends, while all you were thinking of was sucking their cocks in the locker room after basketball practice.
Wait: there is more insensitivity and reverse bigotry!
Continue reading ‘Denouncing the so called “gay” community…’
Hello one and all, my new world of bloggies. Here is a bit about my recent observations of the 4th of July. I might get a bit political here. Sorry, but it won’t be too bad. This 4th started out with a very American trip to Ikea. The roomies and I got a few things we needed, and a lot we didn’t… that happens at Ikea, a land where everything is named to sound like the punch line to Swedish jokes. A lot of these jokes appear to be somehow related to gay porn, with names such as (and I will not put in those umlauts etc, cause I don’t know where they go, but here is a sampling): stroker, billy, gruntal, throb, you get it? Ok, so after getting back from Ikea, I needed desperately to get out of the house. I was drained, felt like the Death Valley sewer system… Time to imbibe…
Continue reading ‘The 4th of July, Ikea, fireworks in Silverlake, Nicaragua, post-traumatic stress disorder, and more.’
Professor Eric in the house.
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