I like to say I have an active imagination. Others just say I’m a fraidy cat.
A story told through my reactions to various movies…
The Hand that Rocks the Cradle
In 8th Grade my sister had a friend over and along with my mom we watched The Hand That Rocks The Cradle. They all sat on the couch and I laid on the floor in front of them as we watched. My sister’s friend had already seen the movie. Just when one of the most intense moments happens (the alarm clock goes off), the friend got my mom and sister to grab my shoulders and shake me from behind. Scaring the bejeezus out of me. I screamed. Jumped all the way up to standing in .0001 seconds. Nearly passed out. I probably did permanent damage that I should explore in therapy. This is the first time I can remember a scary/thriller movie nearly killing me via heart attack.
A few years later while I was in high school (Go Pirates!), my mom and sister took me to see Jurassic Park for my birthday over the summer. I. Was. Petrified. Those dinosaurs were freaking terrifying. I sat there teeth chattering, shivering, jumping in my seat every time a dinosaur did something nefarious. Which is like every 30 seconds in that movie. Meanwhile my mom and sister noticed my extreme fright and giggled and laughed at me. Whatever. I was really really really engrossed in that damn movie. And dinosaurs can KILL YOU. Even via heart attack, apparently.
30 Days of Night
Marc was leaving SF to move to New York. We decided we should go watch one last movie together. He gave me options. But it was his going away movie. So I let him pick. I didn’t investigate the options. At all. I should have. I didn’t know it was a vampire movie. Much less a fucking two-hour heart-stopping gore-fest thriller. And what’s crazy about this movie is that the scare scenes are creatively executed to make you think it’s going to be scary, then it isn’t and you let your guard down, and then BAM… HAHAHA WE SCARED THIS PISS OUT OF YOU WHEN YOU THOUGHT IT WAS GOING TO BE OK. Like literally. I think I pissed myself that night in the movie theater. The first dozen or so times scary things happened I almost jumped out of my seat into Marc’s lap. Mostly bc it’s a particularly fine lap to jump into. Also he owed me for taking me to a scary movie. I left the theater vowing to never watch a movie again without thoroughly vetting it.
So yeah. I get lost in movies. But when I get lost in scary ones, I am SO TOTALLY NOT OK.
So I’m kind of clumsy. As a kid I had cuts, scrapes, trips, falls, broken bones galore, you name it. Not that I’m not coordinated. I think I just get lost in my head and collide into things. At least that’s what I like telling myself because it makes me sound pensive instead of clutzy. Years ago I was trying to open one of my niece’s birthday presents. And c’mon, it takes the freakin’ jaws of life to get a kids toy open these days. Am I right? So I reached for the closest sharp object near me. The cake knife. Covered in cake and frosting. Now, if I hadn’t been so determined to get that damn toy open so I could play with it, I mean wait, uhhh, so my NIECE could play with it, I would’ve considered the fact that a slippery giant knife isn’t the best thing with which to open tiny zip ties. And then… SLICE. Pain. Red. Everywhere. My right forefinger had been sliced to the bone. 20 minutes later as the blood continued flowing prolifically, and as I was getting woozy from shock, we hopped in the car for the hour-long drive to Fresno. Six stitches later, I was fine. Except for the impairment of not being able to use my right hand in its various important work and recreational activities. And of course for the impact said incident had on my reputation within my family. To this day, every time I’m using a knife at home my niece or sister or mom says, “Don’t let Uncle A use the knife!” Hardy har har guys.
All that to say today I used a straight razor to shave for the first time ever today. To be fair, it’s a cool old-timey safety razor setup. I’ve owned it for about a month and have been hesitant to use it until today. All that joking about me being bad with sharp things must’ve finally made me insecure about my own abilities. Anyway, I’m happy to report that nary a knick or cut on my cheeks or neck. Hooray! Take that family. Now please hand me that big knife so I can open this super tiny object… 😉
Moving on, I bought kitty litter yesterday. I know, I know. You’re all like, does this guy have a point to any of his damn stories?! Hang with me here. This is going somewhere. The litter I buy is that cool salt crystal stuff that desiccates and evaporates so it eliminates smell and lasts super long and is good for the environment. I bought a 50lb bag of it and just as I was lifting it into the trunk of Jean Luc, the bag split open and blue and white glittery crystals spilled everywhere. Luckily I moved quickly, flipped the bag around, and only lost a couple of cupfuls. But now the trunk of my car is glitter bombed with sparkly blue and white crystals. I kinda like it. And it’ll absorb odors and look cute at the same time. I’m sure the novelty of this will wear off fast as these crystlas break down into powder and then I’ll just be annoyed at having a dusty trunk. Okay, I lied. No real point to this story either. My bad. #sorrynotsorry
So that’s the story of my last 24 hours: sharp things and glitter bombs. The end.
You all know I’m a planner at heart. I’ve always looked one step, nay ten steps ahead. I booked my July vacation back in December. It’s just how my brain works. With that in mind, I’ve decided to look out into the future again and plan accordingly. With the Kill the Gays Bill advancing toward the ballot in California, I’ve decided to change my ways. If it passes, then every citizen will be legally allowed to execute anyone known for having participated in gay behavior by shooting them in the head with a bullet. I’ve decided I like my brain just the way it is, sans bullet. So. From this day forward I’m renouncing my former hey gurl hey ways. No more gay sex. Oh man. That’s gonna be really tough. Because let’s be honest. Sex is amazing. But gay sex is stupidly ridiculously fucking amazing. I’m just not sure it’s worth a bullet in the head. Well… maybe *some* of it is. Am I right? But I digress. I’m going to have a ceremonial jockstrap burning party in my backyard next weekend. I invite all you homosexuals to join me in saving your souls (and your lives) by burning your sex toys, jockstraps, and other sundry gay-themed props and costumes that could identify you as a dude who digs other dudes. (We won’t be hassled because people burn shit out here in the Bayview all the time with no problems from the po-po.) I’m also looking for a library to which to donate my decade-long collection of adult-themed entertainment. Someone’s bound to make good use of it (for research purposes only, obviously). I’ve also decided to spend more time in the Marina befriending the straight bros up there and learning some their bro-y gestures and phrases. And no more gay bars. Instead I’ll be spending more nights at straight parties and clubs. Maybe some of the stinky rude pushy straightness will rub off on me. And I’ll simultaneously find out what straight dudes wear at da club (What else DOES one wear besides a tank top that you strip off less than 5 minutes after arriving at the party? Inquiring minds would like to know.) And finally, if all else fails, I’m going to buy the book “Being Straight for Dummies” on Amazon and study up. All this begins today. Wait. Make that Monday. Promise. Oh wait. Crap. Maybe next weekend. Seriously guys. Soon. Pinky swear. No not pinkies. Pinkies are soooo gay. You know what? Keep checking back in. I’ll create a Google Calendar with important dates charted along the straight-conversion-pathway and share it out soon. Stay tuned.
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So a few years ago I hired a maid. Vilma. She’s amazing. I love that she’s as sweet as can be. And that she walks around all day saying, “Hola GATO” to Puck. She loves that I try my darnedest to speak to her in Spanish. But there are the most amusing little quirks.
Like how she never matches my protein shaker bottle lids with the color of the bottle. Or how she hangs up my workout shirts with my tank tops. Um…. While my workout shirts are sleeveless, they are certainly not tank tops and they go in a drawer not on hangers. Ugh, straight people will never understand this important difference. And how when she hangs up my tanks and workout shirts, she clearly doesn’t recognize the ROY G BIV color coding system I’ve put in place and she gets it all messed up. And of course there’s the constantly swapping of towels between my roommates bathrooms and mine. Now, to be fair they are both charcoal grey. But mine are longer and theirs have different embroidered texture lines in them. So it’s an easy mistake. I guess…
But the most curious thing to ever happen in these many years is the random disappearance of my plaid pajama bottoms this week. I can’t find them anywhere. I’ve looked high and low. In drawers. In the closet. In the linen credenza. Under the bed. I even looked in with the tank tops in case she got really confused on that whole topic and hang them up out-of-color-code (because, lesbihonest, where would you hang up multi-color plaid? Um. Wait. There’s totally an answer for that. Never mind.)
Anyway. Nada. Desaparecido. I mean… They’re totes cute. And comfy. And I miss them. I know she stashed them away somewhere. Ooooh, maybe I should check with my mismatched shaker bottles? Or in the pantry? Or in the guest room?? I might start posting missing pajama bottoms signs around my house in case the cat spots them and can report back to me. Stay tuned. More to come on this developing story…
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The year was 1997. It was sophomore year, I was living in Mather House, and I was meeting all sorts of new friends that year (with Marcine as my social shepherd). One night we met these weird dudes and went back to hang out in their dorm room to talk about weird stuff. One of them put on some music. An album. (Back then they were still on CDs). I was transfixed. My quasi-photographic memory that typically allows me to recall conversations and details from just about any experience throughout my life was rendered useless that night. I will never remember what we discussed. The music had consumed me entirely. It was new. Different. Amazing. I asked what it was and Eric (one of the weird dudes from that night, but who would later become one of my life-long friends, albeit sometimes still delightfully weird), said, “it’s Homework.” Um… huh? “Oh, it’s Daft Punk and their album is called Homework.” I sat and listened and closed my eyes. Nothing would ever be the same. This music took me to new places. Sure the country music, oldies, and pop music I grew up on was (and is) still amazing. But this spoke to me. After Homework was over, Eric put on some Chemical Brothers. Again, mind blown. The next day I went directly to Newbury Comics and bought both albums. And thus a raver was born. Phat pants, Burning Man, big bouncy dancing, hippie-raver commune, and all. And I owe it all to that one random night in Eric’s dorm room in 1997.
I didn’t think anything could have ever made me dislike Channing Tatum in a wrestling singlet. That is, until I watched Foxcatcher on the plane today. What the hell was that and how dare they ruin a half-naked Channing Tatum for me?! That’s ok, I’ll forgive Chan Chan for this one blunder. Magic Mike XL is coming soon at which point I will still show up to the theater wearing my custom t-shirt that says, “Channing Tatum Get In My Butt Now!”
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Yo VIP, let’s kick it! This was absolutely my favorite song during my 8th grade year. I can still sing every lyric from heart and it’s the only song I will ever sing at karaoke. Also, if you watch this again (as I just did) you might notice some striking similarities between my dance style and Vanilla’s: the bounciness, the spins, and the bigness of it all. I like to think I have a little more rhythm than that white dude in the video. But then, we Leos are known for our delusions of self grandeur. Word to your mutha….
“You have no power over me,” Sarah proclaimed to Jareth in the movie Labyrinth. Similarly I declare, “your screaming baby has no power over my narcolepsy.” I fell asleep during the plane’s taxiing (as I always do) this time with said shrieking baby directly across the aisle from me. And I slept almost 1.5 hours, waking up with the shrill being still belting it out. Thus further proving that my super power really is that I can sleep anywhere, anytime, through anything. I am Sleeperman!
As some of you may know I’m more of a recent convert to house music, having cut my teeth on breaks, DnB, jungle and psytrance over a decade ago. But some really good house music has been making shake my booty on the dance (and gym) floor recently. Like this set that was totally killing me tonight at the gym. I was turning it out with my spontaneous giggling and uncontrollable fancy feet, garnering more than a few confused stares and judgy glares. Whatevs. Listen and shake your thing just like I did. Enjoy!
About a year ago I remember hearing “Human” on the radio and thinking to myself, “wow that singer’s voice is amazing.” And then I began crying. While driving. That was not a great idea. I really don’t know how I didn’t investigate a little more. So today I finally bought Chisitina Perri’s albums and I’m stunned. Tears. Her voice is so beautiful and strong and penetrating. I have a new favorite to add my list of amazing female vocalists.
I still cannot stop laughing. Last night I couldn’t sleep. There was too much funny stuff on the internet that was making me laugh and laugh and laugh. Finally, after I put the phone down, I started to drift off to sleep and was having a sleeping-pill induced dream about needing to keep this one door shut with twine, but I had to build a really fancy slipknot with the twine to slip over the door handle while it kept banging open and shut in the wind but when I got the silverware drawer out so I could get a knife to cut the twine all we had were spoons and I started laughing in my dream so hard and then that made me start giggling while asleep in real life really loudly and I woke myself up laughing and laughing and laughing. You get the humor right? It’s like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a knife. I died. And then kept laughing. Dying Laughing. My dream had become a song from my favorite singer of all time. And I’m still giggling about it this morning. But then…
When I fell back asleep I had a sex dream with a half human/half lion. Yeah basically I had a sex dream about Lion-O from the Thundercats. And it was hot. And I’m a nerd. The end.
Little known fact. The Sound of Music is one of my all-time favorite movies. I’ve watched it on the order of 100 times or more. So much so that for years at 43 Norfolk Dre, James, and I would sing these lyrics to each other when we went to bed (to the dismay of our other 6 roommates):
So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu
Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu
Do do do do do do, do do do do do
So long, farewell, au revoir, auf wiedersehen
I’d like to stay and taste my first champagne
Do do do do do do
Lady Gaga did a damn fine job last night, tho I still think we gave her a run for her money all those years ago in our warehouse…
Techie friends: I have a serious problem and I really need your help. Last night I ate an entire share size box of Junior Mints. And by share size, I mean I shared them with me myself and my belly while I watched TV all night. But here’s the thing: I didn’t want Junior Mints. What I really I wanted was a slice of German chocolate cake and a ginger ale. But it was late and I was already in my pajamas and the store is so very far away. So techie friends here’s what I’d like your help with. Remember Tacocopter? Yeah, like that. But for cake. So I really need you to invent the CakeCopter: Drones that fly cake to me at any time of the day or night. I don’t even need variety. Just preload that shit with some German chocolate goodness and deliver it to me on the daily and I’ll be a happy customer and your new best friend. I’ll even be your first Kickstarter contributor. Ready. Set. Cake!
I first heard Liza Flume’s voice speak to me across the emotional expanse while I was at Burning Man last year. I was out dancing around with some friends when one of our DJ friends played the following remix. The lyrics were the perfect catalyst for reflection on my (at the time) recent breakup.
Then I heard the original version with Liza’s voice more isolated and it devastated me with its beauty. I still listen to it weekly.
And then today I discovered her song Poison. And again, I’m floored. I love her, her voice, her lyrics, her contemplation of relationships, her everything.