Leaving on a Jet Plane

Just so no one panics or anything, I’ll let you know now that I’m taking off to Denver fo a couple of days to do some work stuff, and then I’ll be doing my usual it’s-the-weekend-and-I’m-too-lazy-to-post routine, so don’t think I’ve succumbed to anthrax or anything just because things are quiet ’round these parts, OK? Great! Keep those cards and letters coming! (that’s just a figure of speech. I mean just e-mail me once in a while in case I’m bored.)


Screw it, I’m just too busy to sit down and write anything long and funny or deep or whatever. I’ll get around to it. But I’ll show y’all a whole stack of mini-Polaroids once I’m back up and running.

Excuses, Excuses

Yeah, yeah — I know — I haven’t been updating the journal much during the last week. so sue me. I’ve been awfully busy with my two freelance projects consuming most of my free time. (Granted, I found time to go the Mermaid Parade, but Chad has already written about that event, so I’m not going to bother.) At least I’ve been adding stuff to the Basement Blog once in a while. When somethin’ interesting happens, you’ll all be the first to know, I promise.

Customer Service

Fucking Blogger once again has freaked out and lost a whole post I had just written. No, I’m not going to try and recreate it, but it had some fun links, so here are the highlights:

Ginger is Groc’s fun zine of homocomics. Yes, another Brit.

Girl on a Motorcycle is much more conservative than an X rating would have you believe. Not because the sex scenes are a let-down (they are), but because it’s actually quite moralizing.

Pecker on DVD is a big thumbs up, thanks to the director‘s commentary track, and the featurette on the photographer who took all the pictures.

Again, fucking Blogger. Actually, “Fucking Blogger” would fit in to Mark‘s list of unispired movie titles which rely on the tried-and-true formula of the two-word participle-noun combo, like Raising Arizona, Crossong Delancey, Educating Rita, Chasing Amy, Deconstructing Harry, et al.

Little Bits

In her own inimitable style, Dori writes in her journal about running into Ethan Hawke on an elevator, and noticing that he’s nothing special in real life. Well, DUH! He’s not one of those guys I would expect much from in real life. Thankfully, it’s a moot point. But I wonder if he still stinks.

I found out about Grant Morrison’s incredible comic The Invisibles about two seconds before the epic saga ended once and for all. Luckily, I got my hands on the first three volumes of the collected stories. Absolutely mind-fucking fantastic. Read them. You owe it to yourself. If you just want to get a tastes, Barbelith has THE definitive reference materials, apparently.

Tids and Bits

Good advice from Dori, who dropped me a note after she noticed me in her referral logs: “if you’re lurking, speak the f*ck up!”

Word to that. My fragile soul could use a little positive reinforcement right now.

I was really bummed to see that RiotHero is shutting down “QuietRiot,” his password-protected area, at his parents’ insistence. I’ve only recently gotten sucked into the world of this kid, a 15-year-old in Connecticut who’s been writing a surprisingly vivid account of being…well, 15. I’m really impressed that he kept the protected side going for so long, but I guess his parents’ paranoia finally kicked in. It’s too bad, he’s been writing some really moving, daring stuff. His folks claim that his private journal should be private, and not semi-public, but I think that putting it out for the consumption of only peole who don’t know him was pretty bold, and probably cathartic. But finally he’s found himself censoring what he writes, even in the secret area, because he knows his girlfriend and a couple of friends are reading it. Don’t we all, to some degree? It’s like the painful, poignant end of a James at 15 episode for the fin de siècle.

By the way, if you’re able to offer me a lucrative new job in the design field, tell me. Please. I beg you. And if that’s not a hint about what’s had me so mopey lately, I don’t know what is.

In happier news, though, I made a small fortune from my eBay auctions. so I’m now a believer in seeing how much ordinary folks will pay for my old crap. ¡Viva el capitalismo!

Groveling at the Feet of Our Leader

Oh, for Pete’s sake!

Public apology to Jonno:

I’m sorry I referred to you as “stocky.” I really meant “cute” to be the operative word, although “handsome” would have been more appropriate. Let’s face facts, a flabby, scrawny pipsqueak like me understands what’s it’s like to have a few body issues, and so it was a poor choice of words to describe someone who I think is cool, and who certainly doesn’t have a bad physique at all. Frankly, I think is Jonno is much more attractive than the standard Chelsea-issue muscle-zombie. (And if that offends anyone else, big deal. show me you’re sassy and smart as a whip and I’ll apologize to you, too.)

Sorry again, cowboy.

Dragging My Heels

I’ve been in a bit of a fog this week. Dragging my heels, yawning at work, and sitting slack-jawed around the playhouse just watching movies (Singing in the Rain, Poison, Muppets from Space) or goofing around on the website. As soon as all my houseguests left sunday, my spirits just came crashing to the ground. I always get like that after I’ve had a good time with company around. I guess I’m still not fully recovered from being such an anti-social loser all this Fall — I still feel like it’ll be weeks between chances to see friends.

Until there’s something worth mentioning….