Jethro Scott

This was then, that is now

2007-06-27T15:15:00.001-07:00

Let's face it - blogger pretty much sucks. I hate to say it, but it's true. I'm leaving you, my darling. Thanks for all the glitchy crap that one should never expect from a Google product. But one does, sometimes, because one comes across it. And then one just stops using say, Google Calendar, or blogger.com.

Now the final disappointment is this. I wanted to import all these precious posts to the new blog. But the new blog only imports from blogger beta. And though I tried to migrate to beta, it seems like it never happened, because new blog isn't importing anything. And when I tried to take a stab at going beta again, one more go, for old time's sake, I learned that one must be invited, and presently, I'm not invited, so I can't go. So they can't come.

And that's when one says, "Kiss off!"

But not you, dear reader(s). I welcome you to the blithe wonderland that is my new blog.

Pink and the feminism of 1939

2007-04-12T00:36:00.000-07:00

I just don't know where to begin. How can I tackle this? At 1:30 a.m., brain-dead, chewing on cinnamon Altoid gum, listening to Energy 92.7, how can I begin to suppose to weigh in on what's best for women or both sexes, as a man who hasn't been in a relationship with a woman since high school? I'm treading on thin ice and I'm wearing a cement life-vest. What's best? I just don't think blithe adversarialism is best. I think people should try to understand each other, and if there's an unfair power difference between them then that's all the more reason to try. But who am I to talk? I live in the Castro. I couldn't be more evasive of interaction with heterosexuals unless I took up permanent residence on a gay cruise line. [Why is there only one garbage can in this office??] I think the notion "We don't need you, men, except without you, what would we have to talk about?" is cute. But it can lend itself to abusiveness, like, "We don't need you because you're inconsiderate slobs." I mean, [omigod I love this "Rehab" song!] it's no more men's fault that they have more power than it's women's fault that they have less. It's a problematic situation that we have to make the best of. Speaking truth to power should not sound like, "You jerk!" Has no one ever told Pink about "I" statements?

Pink: "When you spilled your drink on me, it made me feel like you didn't care."

Man: "I'm sorry. I'll try to be more sensitive."

I'm being a little hyperbolic, but you get the idea. Still, I must seem naive. Well, I don't think so. I just think we've got a lot of work to do.

Fisting Bottom: The Movie

2007-04-09T13:56:00.000-07:00

If I had an ounce of motivation, I think I would enjoy making a mockumentary about a young man who aspires to take fists up his ass. How utterly controversial. I mean, if you think conservo-gays have a problem with drag queens, try getting a fisting float into the parade.

Maybe I would hide the fact that it's not real. Or maybe it would just be a documentary. Wouldn't you like to see that documentary? I know I would. I want to know what are the wheels turning in the head of someone who takes on such a goal. Taking a fist is something to work hard for, if you ask me. I mean, it's not something you should do on the spur of the moment. Or, at least, perhaps you shouldn't. You wouldn't want to de-elasticize down there. Or nobody will want to sit next to you in the retirement home cafeteria. "Yeah, Phil over there. He was a fisting bottom." "Ew." (Putting back a spoonful of cherry pie.)

Is there a training program for fisting bottoms? Do fisting mentors induct you into a secret society? What kind of training is required? These questions need answering.

I eat too much cheese

2007-04-09T13:53:00.000-07:00

"What!? What is it, doctor??"

"It's-- it's your blood. ... It's pure Roquefort."

"Oh. Oh shit."

A diaretic

2007-04-09T12:53:00.000-07:00

Okay, a real post. No cheese. I am eating cheese right now, though. It's not Roquefort, but close. It's Roaring Forties Blue and believe the hype: it's good. What always put me off was the yellow color. I would be so stuffing it in my face, smearing it around my lips, gently applying it to my under-eye circles if it were white. Okay, even that was a little weird for me. But I guess, from what they tell me, that I am a little weird. I read today that John Hughes said everybody in high school was either a jock, a nerd, a cheerleader, a something else, or a basket case. I guess I fall into the basket case category. But I have basket case pride, so it's okay. I don't really smear myself with... anything. (Except....) Anyways, I'm trying to write a diary entry, easily digestible, pass right through your system. I wanted to say what I'm up to. I rented a couple movies today. The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I do a lot of "catch up" reading and movie watching. But who am I catching up to, really? No one gives a damn about the literature of the past, except me. But I digress. I also rented this movie just because it's got this cute boy on the cover. Then I read the back and I kind of felt connected. This boy's just back from rehab (don't read too much into that) and his family are trying to kill him so they can get his life insurance policy or something. I guess I can relate to feeling alienated by family. I called my mom for Easter yesterday. (Fucking EASTER, for Christ's sake. If he were alive today, I would pound the nails myself. Just kidding. But then, we were always taught that Jesus had to die as part of the whole "sacrifice on our behalf" thing. So really, "Eternal life?! Throw me the hammer, boys! Allow me -- to pound the first nail.") Also he's struggling to avoid relapsing (not Jesus), which for me is about kind of missing that struggle - not that I've ever been all that addicted to anything. But have you ever had a difficult time saying no to free stuff and it just keeps coming, people are literally putting things in your mouth, sitting you down in front of glass tables and then out comes you know what. Well, haven't we all been there in one way or another? I make it sound kind of tragic and romantic. I'm deliberately coloring it. Don't get sucked in. Don't believe the hype. Let me say that if ever someone sits you down in front of a pile of shtuff, they either want you to help offset their addiction costs or they want to sleep with you without putting in any more work. Speaking of under-eye circles, Hylexin. It works. Or that's what my roommates are telling me. (Sigh.) One of my roommates invited his best friend from Belgium, who brought his best Belgian friend. They proceeded to fuck my other two roommates, one drunken night when I had to work. I feel a little left out, even though, honestly, I'm not into the goofballs. If you think Europeans are better you haven't met these two. Okay I'm a little bitter. They're super hot and I love French boys. But they lack sophistication. And that's disappointing to a middle class boy who's never been to Europe. How sophisticated could I be never having been to Europe? Well, you obviously haven't been reading this blog. Or it's all lost on you. You're falling for the tier 3 humor and missing the subtle word play, the oblique references, the unassuming homages. Now I'm all full of myself. What else? I'm really into Taoism (Daoism). I'm reading the Tao Te Ching (Dao Deh Jing) all the time. The remote is pointed at me. I find it intimidating. I like Jamiroquai and I'm not ashamed of that. I've run out of things to say. End blog. Wait. Someone is having sex down the hall. 1:30 PM. They think I can't hear because I've got the music up loud. But what gives it away is the moaning doesn't fall on the beat. Today I'm going to watch my movies and go to bed early. Eat lots of cheese and whole grains. I've just discovered amaranth. It's so fuckin good. Okay I'm done.

Rotten cheese for nasty boys

2007-03-25T15:02:00.000-07:00

Today I bought what looked like poor man's Rocquefort. I got a big wedge for less than four dollars. Actually it's nothing like it. It's harder, not runny, not as salty, and much, much milder. Fool's Rocquefort. It's so mild I don't know what to eat it with. Crackers overpower it. I guess just a spoon. Despite being milder than Wonder Bread, it's absolutely riddled with mold. They should call it Cure de Syphilis.

Come this way, sir

2007-03-24T12:47:00.000-07:00

Go here:

http://www.blackwaterusa.com/securityconsulting/Human_Support.asp

Read. Reflect. Google. Blog. Email. Discuss.

Opinionative

2007-03-08T10:13:00.001-08:00

Robbie Williams strikes me as a European caricature and fetishization of an American. And yet, he's British, so that must feel nice. I'm writing this because I'm not a fan and hope that whatever machine is making me have to listen to him when I go out or turn on the radio will just please stop.

On a positive note, have you heard Basement Jaxx? Pretty freakin' rad.

And of course, you gotta love this.

OMG, corn!

2007-03-06T10:20:00.001-08:00

I just ate four cobs of corn for dinner which I'm having at 9:52 AM because I'm working back-to-back graveyards. Omigod I feel like I got shipwrecked on Corn Island.

"Corn casserole with cornbread and corn pudding, creamed corn and corn flakes smothered in high fructose corn syrup again!?"

"I am tired of the complaining."

"Well get used to it cause I am fucking sick of corn!"

"Why don't you go take a walk in the cornfield and just chill out for a bit."

"Why don't you learn to fish?"

"I can't do everything."

"Well I can't keep eating corn every meal. Look, I'm thinking about joining Matt and Walter on Tapioca Island."

Bye, bye, pie in the sky

2007-03-04T20:15:00.001-08:00

To be happy
I need to let go of pie in the sky.
I think I need it to be happy,
But it's making me miserable.

"Music & Wine" by Blue Six

2007-03-04T13:39:00.001-08:00

valentine
hard to find
 love is blind
acquaintances can be unkind

state of mind
show a sign
hope divine
just making love to pass the time

used to get high just to pass the time
music and wine were the only friends of mine 
used to make love just to have a laugh
music and wine were the only friends i had

bitter break
hard to take
hearts'll ache
this loneliness is hard to face

hollow soul
freezing cold
 feelin' older
and poverty will take its toll

used to get high just to pass the time
music and wine were the only friends of mine
used to make love just to have a laugh
music and wine were the only friends i had 

gin and lime
summertime
starry nights
and memories of better times

ocean breeze
wind in leaves
waking dream
alive with possibility

here's that lovin' here's that lovin' 
this love's for real that lovin' here's that lovin'

My top 8 list: What I want to do with my life

2007-03-01T22:36:00.001-08:00

1. Sleep
2. Live in a hut on a deserted tropical beach
3. Read wonderful novels
4. Have sex all day
5. Eat delicious food
6. Drink exquisite espresso
7. Be appreciated and respected
8. Be a ghost

I say, Down with love!

2007-02-11T09:44:00.001-08:00

Maybe we should get over love and cherish companionship instead.

Love, this word that means so many things. How can we agree on what it means? The love that you find when you eventually find love and you know it's right, what is that like? Who knows?

Thing about looking for love is it makes you unattractive. When you like someone and they like you and you act on it, you communicate it physically, that's lovely. But this, "Are you my soulmate?" shit is totally repulsive. It fucks it all up. I mean, if I wanted to find a soulmate, my best approach would be to cherish people as themselves, for what I like them for, in the moment, instead of this hesitance, holding back in case you're not my soulmate, but if you're my soulmate, then we can jump into this artificial romance, this construct we know all about thanks to sappy movies.

I like companionship. I like you because I like you not because I'm looking for love, for a mate, a "suitable" mate. I like what I like about you. Once again, San Francisco reveals itself in its role as that place where you figure out what and whom you really like.

Oh shit

2007-02-02T02:44:00.001-08:00

This site is giving me more joy than I can handle alone. I need backup. No time to explain.

http://www.thyla.com/fan-art.html

By the way, I found this thanks to why the lucky stiff on his blog what a quiet stiff.

For your epicurification

2007-01-26T12:00:00.000-08:00

Hey, hosluts! Here are some answers. I think you can guess the question. It's been on everyone's mind. At least everyone that I know. What circles do you move in? I move in little tiny circles, as you'll see here.

Crush

2007-01-20T16:37:00.001-08:00

I have a crush on [never you mind]. There's something about him. I don't know what it is. He seems to be someone to look up to. He seems nice enough. He is pretty like a frat boy. I like him, but I don't think he likes me. Maybe he likes me and thinks I don't like him. Or maybe he's just not interested. I don't know why I like him. I like his voice. It's deep. He's very funny. He's reserved. He doesn't say much. He only talks when he has something funny to say. What he has to say is very funny. I can't think of any reason to like him other than he looks good to me and is funny. Other than that, I guess I find him a little boring. But maybe that's because he's not interested in me. When a person doesn't like you, you get bored with them. But is it always them not liking me? Or do I not like them, so they're bored with me and so I am bored with them, at least sometimes? I don't know. I am bored. Or maybe it's mutual. Maybe it just happens mutually, simultaneously, a single process manifesting in two individuals.

Me and Jean-Carl

2007-01-09T16:25:00.001-08:00

Jean-Carl is my European lover. We do everything together. We drive around in his Porsche. Sometimes I drive. When I'm with Jean-Carl, nothing matters. We stop and have breakfast at a chichi cafe. It doesn't matter that the poached eggs are $12.99. Jean-Carl takes care of it. I don't even have to think about it. "Let's stop and get some clothes." "Okay." Jean-Carl and I go to G-Star Raw, Juicy Couture, and Hermes. Everything is very expensive. We buy lots of clothes. It doesn't matter how much money we spend because Jean-Carl is from Europe and has more money than I've ever dreamed of. "Let's have lunch at the Four Seasons." "Okay." Nothing matters when I'm with Jean-Carl.

Gay pride, 1903

2006-12-18T20:21:00.001-08:00

This little video (14MB) actually made me a little verklempt. I am such a fin de siècle whore.

Also, in San Jose I am now known as David Rabinowitz.

Thoughts?

Everybody run

2006-12-14T01:10:00.001-08:00

High school was a nightmare. I had nightmares about it years after it was over. I used to dream I had flunked twelfth grade and had to go back. The scary part wasn't failing - it was having to return.

My senior year I was intoxicated almost every day. I used to drink NyQuil on school nights. My parents are Mormon so we didn't have liquor. I would sleepwalk through dinner and go to bed early. The next day I would be in a nice numb haze. Then in the afternoon the tranquilizers would start to wear off and the nightmare would come alive again. It was something about realizing how all the optimistic promises you're told about life as a kid are bullshit, having to face that every day without any guidance around how to deal with it and where to go from there. Later, when I began to notice them, I envied those who had somehow figured it out, who at some point had realized that life wasn't a fairy tale, but it wasn't hell either, that the plastic ideals of high school are misleading, but truth and beauty still exist.

Anyway, I don't want to go back to school. It's not that I have to go back to high school, Jerri Blank style. I just haven't finished my fucking undergrad. I don't want to go back. I know the secret of the nightmare and I still don't want to go back.

Celibate whore

2006-12-04T05:33:00.001-08:00

Yesterday I was the sluttiest virgin; today I am a celibate whore. What inspired the change? Why am I afraid to face my ass in the mirror? Gather round, and I'll tell you.

Insert carefully-crafted narrative here. I do not craft narratives. Imagine what it would be like. An exercise for the reader.

Here is my version:

Straggly haired beast-man. Ghostly blobby man. A trash-strewn apartment. An enormous, pristine television, like a skyscraper hidden deep in the Amazon. A mungy dick. ("You're not pulling your weight.") A jagged fingernail. ("I'm a cat.") Fat, hairy bellies. And me.

Why??? I'm still asking myself. All I can do is blame alcohol. I was definitely taken advantage of. I definitely am too nice, especially when I'm drunk. It's a lesson to us all. There is a dark side to the Castro (yes, the Castro).

Be careful out there.

The only single episode of a podcast you'll ever need

2006-10-29T11:56:00.000-08:00

Listen to this.

Courtesy of Chad Fox and the team at Stop Touching My Food.

UPDATE: I realized it must seem kind of shitty to my new blogger friends, especially Dan of DanNation after so graciously inviting me to his anniversary podcast, to imply that Chad's podcast is the only podcast you'll ever need, so I changed the title of this post a little bit, for what it's worth. I only intended to say that this recording, Chad's STMF #6, kept my bootie shakin for 40 solid minutes. Take a listen and I think you'll have the same result.

I'd also like to mention that all the bloggers are hot.

Here you are, perverts

2006-10-26T13:04:00.000-07:00

Here is a gratuitous torso shot I took of myself in my roommate's lair.

My roommate is the most sexually how-to-say well, let's just put it this way: a survey of the room, post-orgy: goggles, empty bottle of whiskey, helmets, conveniently-sized yams, dildoes, rope, two bottles of wine (one empty, one full - poetic, isn't it?), corkscrew, shot glass, switchblade, gin, another empty bottle of whiskey, hydrogen peroxide, half-empty bottle of brandy, GIANT bottle of lube, pirate's hook. There are of course sundry non-sexual accoutrements lying about (electric guitar, tea cup, etc.). Both men and women are seen coming and going at all hours of the day and night. His reputation must be legendary. Here in the apartment he certainly has a reputation for being the loudest lovemaker. If we hear a crash coming from his room, we don't check it. It's just sex. Who says vegetarians don't have any energy? Anyway, this is me lying on his cum-and-what-have-you soaked floor.

Why??? Because I need a room so bad, babies. I have to move out of this apartment by the end of the month (and not because people are lining up in the kitchen for a turn with my roommate). I must find a place tout de suite or face living in the Tenderloin or worse (i.e., Outer Sunset). My other roommate is trying to create the perfect vegan queer punk anarchist household and unfortunately (yeah right) I don't fit in.

But look. I'm begging, but I'm not ready to accept any old offer. I must live centrally. The last thing I want to hear is Ingleside. Oh hell no. I'm not living in outer nothin and if I hear Daly City, I will shoot you. Mama likes the Castro, SOMA, Hayes Valley, & the Panhandle. And of course Dolores Heights and Nob Hill. Keep it central, honey.

Now how do I end this? What would my English teachers say? I need a conclusion. Here we go: Make me an offer and you can play with my tits. Have a good day.

This is what's playing in my head right now

2006-10-24T22:04:00.000-07:00

I had a dexadrine hyperactivity selective
Attend to relevant
Information tempo taken in told to
Mechanism coping concept
Put my head down crumple my paper.

--from "Chief Inspector Blancheflower" by The Fiery Furnaces

Line du jour

2006-10-20T09:27:00.000-07:00

"It was very tender and special and he came hard."

--Honis Spoon, provocateur

A million dollars

2006-10-12T17:06:00.000-07:00

It would be nice to have a million dollars, but I don't need it to be happy.

Trussed

2006-10-08T19:58:00.000-07:00

I've just bought my first pair of a collection of "sexy" underwear. Category: sexy. For the past few years I've been stocking up on comfy yet frumpy knit boxers. So I bought the "Low.No.Show Army" "avec Sling Support" from C-IN2 (in black).

Okay, why do I feel wrapped up like a Christmas present? And is that a good thing? Basically these things have a built in cock ring. There are pockets of 'mos who find that sexy. I'm not in any of those pockets. But let's be scientific and list some pros and cons.

Pro: Liftage
Corresponding Con: Obscenity

Pro: Engorgement
Con: Obscenity
Pro: Obscenity

Con: Accidental castration by over-eager lover
Pro: ?

Con: Tacky
Pro: Some like it tacky

Speaking of tackiness, pro: Pre-cum
Con: Nonexistent (There is no con here, darling. Not to pre-cum. Absolutely fucking unassailable. It has no negative aspect. Perhaps it would if you were driving and an entire vat of precum fell on your car and you lost control and went off a cliff, but really, that couldn't be attributed to pre-cum, rather to vats of liquid in general.)

Con: Sproing effect at gym
Pro: Duh

Con: Vascular complications? Torsions?? Gangrene???
Pro/Con: None of these claims has ever held up in court*

*I claim to know nothing about nothing. This whole blog is for entertainment purposes only. I make this shit up.

OMG - I just tried to take a picture of me in the new undies for postage on the blog. Not pretty. Mommie, how do you know if you're anorexic? Pass the 'roids, girl. I think my body is eating itself. I blame the vegans I live with, who won't let me bring chicken into the household. I blame overhead lighting, also, and an "okay" camera. Sorry bloggees. No vanilla porn today.

I'm back

2006-07-15T12:49:00.000-07:00

That's got to be a the most common blog post title of all time.

I'm motivated to start posting again due to meeting geekslut at a party last night.

Confession time. I just moved to San Francisco a month ago. I was afraid that Denver was going to hold me in her clutches (not her Judith Lieber clutches), find some way to detain me or squash me like a bug for having the audacity to leave. Why was I so paranoid? Because I've seen many people leave Denver, and most of them were back within a year. It led me to believe that Denver is an inescapable vortex, a greedy, gravitatious, suctiony hole, not unlike my own everlovin' boyhole but bigger and with more people in it. Because I was afraid she would try to prevent me from getting out, I tried to trick her into believing that I had already left six months before, thus the inexplicable duplicity.

That's why I haven't posted for some time, if I'm to make an excuse. I was busy getting ready to get out here and then once I got here was like a kid in a candy store and went out on all kinds of adventures. My life has become even more active since I started working again. But geekslut said something like, "Live your life and post about your life," which I figure I can do. We'll see.

LOL

2006-05-31T01:09:00.000-07:00

Ganked from marksimpson.com, a blurb for his book Anti-Gay:

'WHEN I WAS READING IT, I JUST KEPT THINKING: THANK FUCKING GOD SOMEONE DID THIS, BECAUSE THE CULTURE WE'VE CREATED IS KILLING US... WHATEVER HAPPENED TO OUR INDIVIDUALITY, OUR DIFFERENCES? GAY CULTURE HAS JUST BECOME THIS BIG PINK... THING, WHICH MAKES ME WANT TO PUKE' - Aiden Shaw, Time Out New York

Personal insight no. 1

2006-05-15T11:08:00.000-07:00

When I was a little boy I said to my mom, "Hey Mom, get this: I'm me!" I don't think I've ever had a more profound thought.

Serendipity, pt. ii

2006-05-13T11:26:00.000-07:00

The thing about going out and getting what you want, aside from the general high-resources stuff, is having a passionate vision, a driving force, a need to accomplish something or bring something into existence, to make an idea reality. What do I want to make real? What do I believe about life or about my life, or about life in San Francisco or America or Planet Earth? What I should be? I think I should have a group of friends whom I am in love with and who are in love with me. I think I should be beautiful. I think I should be engaged in work that I can miss meals and sleep over without detriment. I think I should have some responsibility. I think my work should be admired by everyone who knows it.

Whoops. I really didn't intend to post that. But there it is. At least I wasn't writing about the bodies. Er, nevermind.

Jethro Scott: special edition

2006-05-13T00:32:00.000-07:00

There is this incredibly hot Norwegian artist named Bjarne Melgaard, and in this quarter's BUTT he says, "I will never reveal my secrets because I believe that a person without any secrets is as flat as a poster. In general, what people choose to say is always more interesting than whatever they want to nag about."

He also mentions a book called Is the Rectum a Grave? which I have to check out. Sorry. I'm really using this blog as a little note-to-self repository. I just sent myself so many note-to-self emails today. I don't want my inbox to fill up with them.

Serendipity

2006-05-12T20:27:00.000-07:00

My bf and I were talking about synchronicity because earlier, one of my best friends and I were talking about synchronicity. My dear friend Honis was recently fired. Then he found a much better job. And it all happened so serendipitously. Well, bf (pronounced, "beef") had a good idea when he said this lady on PBS said everything we want is available to us, we just need to go get it. And it linked to all these other ideas we've been throwing around, like differences between high-resources and low-resources type people. High-resources people thanks to their high resources ( e.g., smart parents, lots of connections, time, money, mental and physical health, and of course, good old fashioned factual knowledge) are better equipped and more apt to go out and get what they want than low-resources people. Plus a billion other things. 'Kay.

Here's a good parody. I think the movie was When a Stranger Calls. This stranger calls this babysitter repeatedly and just says, "Check the children." After a while, she checks the children and they're all cut up. I don't know what happens then. I think he cuts the phone line. (Thank God for cell phones. The modern equivalent would be to switch you to Cingular.) I don't know because I never saw it. Anyway, in the parody, the stranger would say, "Check the chicken." Omigod. I just remembered to Google my idea before posting it and I've been trumped by some girl named Autumn Layne on MySpace. Well, I'm taking it a little further than Autumn because I think the chicken could do some kind of tap dance, or sing opera or something weird like that when she finally does check it. The possibilities are endless. Where's my million dollars?

Mr. Bisony

2006-05-03T20:54:00.000-07:00

From an email I sent to a coworker six months ago, about a month before I moved to San Francisco:

Denver holds nothing for me to grieve over other than the fact that I stayed here so long. I feel the same way about this job. If it just hadn't been so convenient! And if I'd had more confidence in myself. You see, Denver represents my mediocrity. And my biggest fear about moving to San Francisco is that I won't leave the mediocrity behind. That I'll continue to accept less and be down on myself. More important than moving I need to change. It's not grieving. It's learning to believe in myself.

Also I'd like to mention that Domino's Pizza is disgusting, despite how much I enjoy playing dominoes with the 'rentals. They really should put a warning on the box. "Warning: Cheese will make you gag."

Someday, on the beach

2006-05-01T14:38:00.000-07:00

I would like a little taco stand. I shall call it The Guac & Pico. Its mascot will say, "All I wanted to do was sell delicious tacos at reasonable prices."

Quote of the day

2006-04-30T11:43:00.000-07:00

"...typical Prokofievian pragmatism..."

I'm so sick, babies. In the past few days I have become more intimately acquainted with my body than I should ever have wished. I guess my body is forcing me to take a break and maybe think about how negative I have become. You should have seen this entry I was going to post the other day. It was just so victimized. It still needs to be said, with little variation, I think. The point is, we who want to change things need to be looking on the bright side so we don't fall prey to what I suppose is the real enemy - the conjuring up of hate. That may all sound esoteric to you. I'm too sick to explain myself fully right now. Later, though, I'm sure I'll get to it.

Illness and misery

2006-04-23T16:26:00.000-07:00

HIV is spread from men to men and from men to women. It's also spread from women to men, but much less successfully. It's more successfully spread to a receptive partner. "How is HIV spread in Africa?" I asked a local/international doctor/activist in HIV/AIDS. "Is bisexuality more common in Africa?" One of his students answered my question: "It's easier to understand when you focus on behaviors rather than identities." As the doctor further explained, there are things that people do in private that they wouldn't dream of telling anyone about. It's difficult for me to grasp because I wouldn't dream of keeping a secret about myself, sexual practices included. But I accept its existence.

What brings me to this post are the prospects for the future of HIV infection and their impact on society's perceptions, given the information above. There has been some self-righteous condemnation accompanying HIV's crippling effects on the gay community. But what if the virus were to begin to dramatically affect the "heterosexual" community? We would really see a backlash then. Not only would we be blamed for originating the disease and for its effects, but homosexual relationships of all types would be attacked.

And here I am just trying to live my life as a homosexual, not infecting my wife because I have no wife, not infecting my boyfriend because I use condoms. But I will be the most visible target of this attack, and so I will suffer, while down-low "not-gay" non-gay-identifying MSMs spread illness and misery in my name.

The biggest word

2006-04-23T14:02:00.000-07:00

I present to you the biggest big word I have ever come across in my entire life: belletristic. I am truly impressed by this word. Belletristic refers to writing that's pretty rather than substantive. Literature of this type is called belles-lettres (bell LET tra).

Someday I would like to write a belletristic work specifically designed for use by hungover and strung-out people. I would call it The Greatest Novel in the Whole English Language or something like that. In this book, each pair of facing pages would end in a cliffhanger. Turning the page, we would find the entire novel had changed in terms of setting and characters. Somehow, I imagine, there would be some sort of continuity to it, maybe only detectable by hungover persons.

Bitzsche

2006-04-21T10:27:00.000-07:00

Are you worried about being the best, bitch?

Are you worried about being the best bitch?

T-shirt

2006-04-20T19:02:00.000-07:00

"Don't be a dial-hog"

With a picture of a pig on a cellphone.

(And that's how I made my first million.)

I blog for you

2006-04-19T23:54:00.000-07:00

A wacky package.

Hello, darling

2006-04-19T22:18:00.000-07:00

I am happy to report that I have purchased a Dell XPS M140. This website has the most pornographic pictures of it. This is not to be confused with the XPS M170, the hyperexpensive gaming laptop with an illuminated case, nor with the M170, an old Jeep à la M*A*S*H.

Breaking news!

2006-04-19T20:05:00.000-07:00

Could not find "eat your crostini", let alone "shut up and eat your crostini" on the web today.

Well, we'll see about that.

What do I really want?

2006-04-15T18:11:00.000-07:00

I just want a little thing that plays DVDs - under a thousand dollars - that I can surf the web and type on. Oh yeah, and it has to be cool.

I've sat in the dark all day today looking for a laptop computer online. I think to myself, "This was supposed to be my work day, so that tomorrow could be my fun day. But it's turning out the other way around." Then I ask myself, Is this what I would have done on Sunday? Is this my idea of fun? What do I really want to do? Wouldn't I rather be with friends, outdoors, on road trips, in the park, camping, or at parties and impromptu get-togethers? I picture us walking together in the park, enjoying each other's company, being funny, being cool.

Now that I think about it, that is what I want. But it hasn't been easy for me to have this. Friend groups I've had in the past have had a difficult time sustaining it. Someone is inevitably cooler than the others, and more importantly, the group members lack confidence in the face of outsiders. Someone wealthier or better looking shows up and all the fun drains out of everyone's faces.

Isn't it great when friends can just be themselves and be happy with that? When everyone in the group is, for the moment anyway, the coolest person on earth? We're so pyramid oriented. Someone is always cooler or better-looking or both. We compare ourselves. There's always something we lack. Always some way we've failed. And this perspective makes us fail to be ourselves. Makes us weird, rude, and sad. I wish we could all just be cool.

"Welcome to Frantartica!"

Let's face it, fun is easy when you're with someone richer or better looking who treats you with respect. Let the good times roll. God, this used to be my social life in a nutshell, always attaching myself to someone like that. I still do it. I suppose it's just human nature. Or for me it is anyway. Rich and/or good-looking people (we're going to call them cool people from here on out, so I don't have to keep saying that) have found me entertaining, thank God.

Seriously. Isn't there some way we can all be cool without having to actually be cool? Let's just treat each other with respect. In this city I have one friend, my boyfriend. I had to learn a lot about treating him with respect, and the rewards have been wonderful. There are still times when he says or does stuff I would have previously rolled my eyes over, but now I just apply the univeral mantle of cool over him and he can do whatever he wants. I'm not worried about my reputation, or preserving connections to anybody. Let him burn all my bridges. If they were so flammable, well, fuck 'em.

I guess the moral of this story is: Ultimate cool is treating everyone, even the most uncool, like the coolest person around.

Go forth and be cool.

"I Just Love Being Gay" Redux

2006-04-14T23:06:00.000-07:00

I couldn't help it. I had put my iTunes on shuffle through the whole library and one of my podcasts (that I made in a previous incarnation) started playing. It's still playing and I love it. I get a little drunk, the sound is pretty crappy (turn it up), and the editing gets choppy toward the end, but it's a real gem and I'm reposting it.

Here's the original intro text:

Ten years ago, Todd and I were roommates. Todd's exhuberance about gay culture and about just being gay had a great impact on me. I look back fondly on nights of Todd-style entertaining, where Todd would make us drinks and play videos and music, changing things out rapidly, exposing me to just the good parts, or the essential parts, as if desperately seeking to ensure I would absorb all the necessary information. I now know that Todd was preparing me to become the Supergay, the Queersatz Homorach, a calling I have clearly embraced. Todd and I touch on gay issues, politics, that greed-mad dipshit , campy movies and music, open relationships, and of course the sheer joy of fagdom. Enjoy!

Link to mp3

Tidbit

2006-04-14T12:23:00.000-07:00

We act like it's strange that we are more attractive to others when we don't appear to need them. But it's the most natural thing in the world. This is the baseline for friendship: "I don't need you."

I have to amend this post. Here is the reality as defined by me right now. The real foundation of friendship is "I need you" in some form or other. The second thing is pretending with utmost realism that "I don't need you." The third is accepting this hypocrisy as perfectly natural and normal.

The Roqueferata

2006-04-12T22:42:00.000-07:00

I am forming a new religion the central tenet of which is written on a slice of bread that was found in the caves of Roquefort-sur-Soulzon. Apparently there was this pastoral youth who was lured to the cave by a beautiful apparition. When he entered the cave, the spirit was nowhere to be found; however, he found a loaf of bread. Being exceedingly hungry, he carefully cut the bread into slices. Then he applied a patina of jam he had stored in a sheep's bladder. After sprinkling some cheese crumbles on top, he prepared to devour the first slice. To his annoyance, a tiny housefly darted into the cave and alighted on the very slice he was about to eat, on the very bite he was about to take. He later claimed that the fly appeared to be guarding the slice, and might have actually been wearing a helmet. Anyway, irritatingly withdrawing the bread from his mouth, he looked down at the slice of bread and noticed something his hunger must have obscured from his sight: The following letter, painstakingly written in Penicillium roqueforti. It reads (pardon my crappy translation):

Dear Child,

Everything is going to work out so well for you. You have no idea! All your dreams will come true during your mortal lifetime. However, you probably do not yet know what these wonderful dreams are. When you discover them, the ones you have now will seem like childish nonsense. So enjoy your life and work hard, knowing that everything is going to be better than you had even secretly wished for!

You Loving Father,

I Am God

The youth brought the slice home to his mom, who shellacked it and hung it on his bedroom wall. He read it every night before bedtime, and reputedly slept very well. We don't know what happened from there, but somehow the bread wound up in my hands, and now I share it with you.

Happy painting, and God bless.

I'm on it

2006-04-11T14:46:00.000-07:00

I'm really disappointed with the English-speaking community. My boss asked me to do something and I wanted to respond with a catchy "I'm on it like..." saying, but I didn't want to say "shit." So I Googled "I'm on it like" hoping for something new, hopefully off-the-wall, and G-rated (well, PG-13). Man was I disappointed. People have no creativity whatsoever. Phrases like "flies on a horse" came up. What's catchy about that? Why even say that?

Actually, there were a few gems, and here they are. I totally ganked these, so you'll have to look 'em up yourself. I leave it as a Google exercise. The first two are obviously public domain.

"I'm on it like white on rice." A classic.

"I'm on it like flies on shit." Never fails.

Marginal, yet entertaining: "I'm on it like a hobo on a hotdog."

Apropos: "I'm on it like birdshot on Harry Whittington's face."

My all-time favorite: ""Ahh -- yes, yes sir Mr. Kerry, sir, I'm on it like Bluebonnet, sir!" I'm not sure what that website was about, but I think it was slash fiction. I can only hope that butter was actually involved.

What I was really hoping for was something like, "I'm on it like..." oh, I can't think of one. Something slutty. "TV repairmen on Kathy Lee Gifford" or something like that.

The fear

2006-04-10T22:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I have an intense fear of knocking over a glass, spilling the drink all over my dinner companion. Sometimes I have this fear when I am nowhere near a table, a glass, or another person. I think if I tip over a glass I must be a social outcast. I must be ostracized immediately by my friend and the next time he thinks about who to invite to dinner or a party, my name won't even cross his mind. How can I recover the rest of the evening? We talk and pretend that nothing's happened, that it's no big deal, but inside we both know the friendship is over. He can't even get it out of his head, really, the notion that he'll never bother to see me again. And I know what he's thinking. But we pretend to have a good time and enjoy each other's company. And, what the hell! Why not just go ahead and enjoy ourselves one last time? Like having sex on the first date. We laugh harder than we ever could have had we not been trying to make this time count. He sees a different side of me: "I could really learn to like this guy." And, sensing this, I am flattered. My dinner companion thinks to himself while we're parting, "Man, I had the best time! Too bad I'll never see him again."

For the record

2006-04-10T14:36:00.000-07:00

"I'd like a falafel with hot sauce, a side order of baba ganoush, and a seltzer. Please."

--Parker Posey in Party Girl

Sink or swim?

2006-04-10T08:34:00.000-07:00

Flashback to six months ago. I had just bought a plane ticket and would most definitely be moving in two months. I was dealing with a little career crisis. I should have been energized in my job, gearing up for the move and the requisite job-hunting. I should have been on my best behavior. But instead I was slacking off. I was coming in late and spending hours surfing the web. I felt guilty. I also felt a lack of confidence in my ability to make a successful transition. I really wanted the move to mark a new beginning, a more vital existence. But I wasn't in that place. I felt this way when I went to college and when I went to art school. I thought I'd just throw myself at it and I'd sink or swim. I sunk both times. I didn't think I'd sink in San Francisco. (I really don't know what that would look like. Something like eating out of dumpsters. But hey! There are people called fregans who do that for reasons other than necessity. Not that that's an excuse.) You're probably wondering how it all turned out. I'll tell you later.

Send in the clowns

2006-04-09T22:20:00.000-07:00

Another motivation for moving to San Francisco has been to take advantage of an entrée into the radical progressive community. My best friend in San Francisco has been involved in activism on the left side of a rather left-leaning city for some time now. Activism and much of radical progressive politics (radical anything, really) aren't quite my thing right now, but their hearts are in the right place, and their heads are on a lot straighter than most people realize. At least they're knowledgeable and concerned about the international state of affairs. As comfortable as I feel around them, they tend to be a bit wary around me at first, as they are with all people who aren't obviously following the party line (Excuse the expression. Some of them can be a little rigid.).

The crowd that I often find myself in would best be described as "young professionals." They seem to be readily available everywhere, and they claim me as their own from time to time. But I don't get why. For whatever reason, I don't identify with them. The truth is the conversations can go nowhere. I don't have a car. I have five roommates and my house looks like the third world. Someone gave me some good advice the other day and I think it was something like, "Who needs those assholes anyway." There are good young professionals out there, who don't need my social status as validation. I don't know what I'm going to do about that. I have a lot more issues around this than I'm letting on here.

Maybe this is just the fashion designer in me, but I think it's all wrapped up in the clothes. I dress like a young professional who's fallen on hard times, or a conservative radical progressive, both of which are fair descriptions of me. I'm trapped between these two factions of my generation and the clothes tell the story.

---

In response to George, Who wants to drink champagne out of top hats?

I do. (Cue "Send in the Clowns.")

City folk

2006-04-08T21:21:00.000-07:00

Isn't it funny that we move to the city because we believe that our lives will be glamorous, that we'll be drinking champagne out of our top hats every night?

A knife, a fork, a bottle and a cork

That's the way we spell New York

I used to say that over and over in high school. (Did you know it dates back to the early 1900s?) Now that I understand a little something more about class, and mine in particular, I look back and think how naive I was.

I've lived my glamorous life, though. I've partied every night. I've couch-surfed. And bed-surfed. I've been to Paris (figuratively, not literally). But I'm getting older. I'm thirty. I'm getting to the point where "it isn't cute anymore." I've taken a responsible job. I've started saving and stopped wasting. I think part of the reason for moving to San Francisco was to get back in touch with the best of my twenties, which can be summed up as couch-surfing.

This is an incomplete thought obviously. I have to go be with my boyfriend, a relationship which can be summed up as tag-team tarts.

It's roquefort, darling

2006-04-08T16:26:00.000-07:00

How are you? I'm fine. I was just admiring the red sheep on the box of Roquefort Brand Breakfast Cereal that I'm eating. It's deliciously authentic. I wish you were here! What's that? Some company has been passing fake roquefort as real? Why, that's a load of crap! I love my deliciously authentic Roquefort Foods! What's that? Flavored them with MSG? Oh my god! I have to go! I can't talk now! No! Bye-bye! Wait! I flung a hunk of roquefort at Mr. Jammers and now he's running all over the house! Oh! My Ming china! My Stickley day bed! Oh! What? Catnip smugglers??? No! Oh no! What am I to do? I've intoxicated Mr. Jammers! Oh, Mr. Jammers, please calm down! Please come out of that expensive Swarovski LED crystal jellyfish chandelier I received as a gift from a former lover while vacationing in Coral Gables!! MR. JAMMERS! What? Hello? How dare you hang up on me!

Comments!

2006-04-08T15:17:00.000-07:00

It's not that I don't like feedback and dialogue. What I don't like about comments are the "comment conversations" that sometimes occur. Also, I think because if people are commenting on a blog, they usually really like it, which sometimes makes them try to match the style of the blogger in some way (I've done it), and they know it's going to be public, so, perhaps due to performance anxiety, comments can be contrived.

One alternative is simply to post my email address with my profile so people can just email me. But if I do that the spambots might get me. Still, I want to communicate with people who are reading my blog, so here's what I'm going to do. I'm turning on comments. Instead of posting, comments will be emailed to me for "moderation." I will reject all of them, but don't take it personally. I'm just doing it so they don't post.

Thanks for bearing with my peculiarities. In return, I give you this:

I shit you not.

Whoops - Spoke too soon

2006-04-07T08:26:00.000-07:00

http://www.republikids.com/

Didn't find any coloring books though.

Ideas from A to B

2006-04-07T08:18:00.000-07:00

Ideas for me to think up, and you to implement:

A - A t-shirt that says, "Believe the actors."

B - The Republifun Coloring Book.

Cool quote

2006-04-05T17:57:00.000-07:00

Check this out from a big long rant/essay on nerds and why they aren't popular, found here: http://www.paulgraham.com/nerds.html

What bothers me is not that the kids are kept in prisons, but that (a) they aren't told about it, and (b) the prisons are run mostly by the inmates. Kids are sent off to spend six years memorizing meaningless facts in a world ruled by a caste of giants who run after an oblong brown ball, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. And if they balk at this surreal cocktail, they're called misfits.

Crispety! Crunchety!

2006-04-03T19:21:00.000-07:00

The world's largest sausage patty, made out of turkey sausage. For dinner. It was delicious.

Horror films I would like to see

2006-04-03T14:54:00.000-07:00

(In the spirit of disclosure or inability to keep my thoughts to myself and in the interest of actually someday hopefully getting to see these movies, I give you the first entry from my 2006 journal.)

Cannibal Corn Dollies

Psychos (non-homicidal albeit extremely menacing gay psychopaths). Things get broken, phone lines get cut, but nobody dies. This one was inspired by a dream I had. There was a Danny Devito-like character who was kind of a "straight man," and then a Lenny (Of Mice and Men) character who was a cross between Wanda Wisdom and Mark Pellegrino as Richard Hickock in Capote. But instead of being retarded like Lenny he was maniacal and liked to dress in drag. In my dream there was a little girl playing with some kind of puppet doll, when from behind a curtain Lenny's face popped out in full Wanda Wisdom drag. "Hello little girl!" Scared the shit out of me.

and of course

Terror Christ (Christ lives! and He's out for revenge!)

This apple was delicious

2006-04-01T15:47:00.000-08:00

But setting up this blog has been more challenging than I would have liked. I wanted to change the color slightly. I wanted it a little more green. That required -- way too much. I'm too tired to go into it all.

I'm disappointed that the email feature doesn't support photos at this time. So many little quirks with blogger.com. Well I'm done for now.

Old blog

2006-04-01T01:18:00.000-08:00

Previous blog entries can be found at http://jethroscott.infogami.com/blog/.