Menu Close

2000

I Loved the Early 1990s

So sometimes when I’m feeling even more lethargic than usual (which is a pretty frightening thing), I pop in some random video from my collection and realized that I’ve taped some strange shit over the years.

Tonight’s choice was MTV’s “Buzz Weekend” from sometime in 1992. It featured significant chunks of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Live. There were moments from when Steve Isaacs was still adorable and still a VJ, and (maybe strangest of all) an entire episode of “MTV Sports” with Dan Cortese (remember him?) and Marky Mark, not to mention special skateboarding guests The Beastie Boys.

I sure enjoyed those “grunge years”. It was one of the only times in my life when scruffy long-haired boys were in the mainstream rather than (pardon the expression) the other stream. And of course, you all know that scruffy long-haired boys are my favorite flavor.

The music was pretty good too, if a bit uneven. It’s a pity the final result was the complete corporatization and homogenization of “alternative” which followed shortly after, about the time Singles was released. Even so, I liked it too, just because it’s the only movie I’ve ever seen which had a city planner as its main character.

Funny. This started out as a journal entry about how Jim Morrison was the sexiest rock star ever. Look where it went. Well, he was, anyhow. Maybe I’ll write about that tomorrow…

Saturday Night

Another minor miracle: an entertaining Saturday night out on Folsom Street.

It was not entertaining in the sense of “I met the boy of my dreams and we fucked like whores all night”, although that would indeed have been pleasant. It was just nice that I ran into several friends I hadn’t seen in a very long time, including Barry (whose name you’re not expected to know) and Bringdown (who will remain nameless, faceless, and always enticingly bitter).

And I didn’t get drunk. That was a bonus too, albeit an expected one, and one you may not believe from my bad sentence structure this morning.

The downside was my visit to Hole in the Wall, the bar which used to be my favorite on the entire planet. It has all of a sudden turned into absolutely the creepiest place on earth. It’s like watching the voyage of the damned. There were, I’d estimate, about fifteen people there at 1:00 tonight. I’m guessing that five of them will have OD’ed and arrived at the emergency room by the time I type this. The rest, are no doubt, still sitting there staring into space. The place was just plain scary and it’s been that way every time I’ve stopped in lately. It’s a shame.

On brighter fronts, someone loves me. He’s in Richmond, Virginia. Why does no one in my own time zone ever love me?

I’m going to bed.

Notice?

I think I gave notice at my evil, soul-sucking part-time job today. I’m not really sure I meant to yet; it just sort of happened, almost by accident. It’s probably for the best, but it does add a certain urgency to my quest for a career. Mainly because I probably won’t quite be able to make ends meet until I find some sort of replacement.

The preferred replacement would be a larger chunk of freelance work. Need a website? Need porn stories? Need a bitter and sometimes sarcastic columnist? I’m open to other things, although I think my age and girth have pretty much ruled out prostitution or modeling.

Resume?

And no, I can’t offer insight on why I’m leaving my current job, because I’m not entirely sure if I’ve left it yet.

Plans for the weekend:

  • Eradicate this cold I seem to have caught.
  • Entertain Duncan and Rick (arriving Saturday) and maybe convince them that they need a very well-paid houseboy who can cook grits.
  • Update Bottles.
  • Have sex. Maybe even with another person. Volunteers solicited.

The Weekend

Current status on weekend plans:

  • Cold not quite eradicated.
  • Duncan and Rick moderately entertainied.
  • Bottles not updated.
  • Sex not had. No volunteers either.

One out of four ain’t bad, I guess…

Alex and Steve

My faith in Thursday nights is now renewed, thanks to a boy named Steve and another boy named Alex. I haven’t picked up two boys at once and brought them home in a very long time. I’d forgotten how much fun it is.

It was, perhaps, the perfect three-way. There was no “odd man out”; we all seemed pretty equally into each other. We didn’t try to get too creative with the acrobatics. My only complaint was that it was over a little too fast. And that I have a very difficult time sleeping curled up with two other guys in the sack.

The whole thing only cost me two beers. I worry that I’ll expect it to be that easy again sometime this weekend. I fear that it probably won’t be.

Updates:

  • I plan to start answering email again soon. Really.
  • Duncan and Rick are still visting, but are in Yosemite right now. They get back tonight and return to North Carolina tomorrow.
  • I don’t have a new job yet. I’m working on it.
  • I’m going back to bed now.

Good to See You

  

Duncan and Rick make a cute couple, dontcha think? They’re welcome to my living room couch any time, even though it’s considerably less hospitable than their guest room. I want to live someplace where I can have a guest room, dang it…

Queer As Folk

I didn’t much care about the American version of Queer as Folk before it aired. I saw a little of it Sunday night at the corner bar, and I now realize that I seriously underestimated just how MUCH I didn’t care.

What a pile of crap.

I’ll say it again: stories which are about nothing other than “being gay” are boring. Period. To be interesting, a story must have good characters, which means they should do something other than look pretty and “be gay”. Just as in real life, a sexual orientation is not a substitute for a personality.

And frankness is no substitute for substance either. While it might be great that they said “buttplug” on the air, it might have been nice if they’d said something else too. ANYTHING else, as long as it might have made me care whether these people lived or died. The sermons and the dialogue were worthy of an ABC Afterschool Special, at best.

QAF makes Sex in the City look positively entertaining by comparison, which is no small accomplishment. I found that a half hour of this tripe was quite enough, thanks. There are enough personality-deficient professional homosexuals on the streets of San Francisco; I don’t need more of them on TV.

Give me Tales of the City any day…

Sacramento White Trash

 

Went on one of those long drives in Mark‘s new car today. It’s rare that I hit Sacramento and Stockton in one day, especially with a side trip to Isleton for crawdad melts. It was fun. I may show pictures sometime. But not tonight…

At the cheap cigarette store in Sacramento, I started chatting with the woman behind the counter about matches (long story). Eventually, the subject turned to the fact that she has eight children and one grandchild. I was shocked, since she looked about 30.

As it turns out, she’s actually 34. Two years younger than me, and she has eight kids and a grandchild. That’s horrifying. I left feeling very relieved not to be heterosexual. There’s nothing wrong, mind you, with being heterosexual, but, given my occasionally slutty nature, it’s almost certain that I’d have a huge collection of devil spawn running around some double-wide in North Carolina.

I’m going to bed now and have a nice wank fantasizing about pregnancy-free sex…