girls lookin hot wearin less than bikinis

I'm gonna try and keep it brief here.

Points of interest in Miami:

Halo on Lincoln Road. It looks a lot like the Halo here! It's all white and lit with pink hued lights. We really just popped our heads in to see, didn't even have a drink because we were on our way to meet Rick at...

Bill's Filling Station. Holy fuck. This place was utterly full of man mountains. It was all shoulders and arms and Bud lites and MATTHEW RUSH! HA! I honestly don't think he's that hot (especially in a room full of men who were uncomfortably attractive) but he's a famous porn star and he was standing right next to me and everyone seemed very impressed that he was there. Not Matt though who was all, "yawn!". He's met Mr. Rush before. At Wet of course.

A1A (beach front avenue!!!): We of course did the obligatory cruise on Ocean Drive (which I realize isn't A1A) as the sun was setting, with our Sebring's top down. OOOWWWW!!! I had prepared a play list especially for this. It was a tough choice, but ultimately we cruised to the new Janet Jackson song,

Janet-Rock With U

which I totally love incidentally. It was very gauche and very Miami and very fun.

We drove to Key West after a couple nights in/around Ft. Lauderdale. I really wanted to get going early so we could see the Key Deer at the Key Deer reserve. They're endangered! And adorable! In fact, the Key Deer were a major reason I wanted to go back to Key West because I didn't get to see them the first time. Well the Key Deer and the generally hedonistic, nudie, drunken exploits. I had two reasons.

Well we didn't get to see them. First off, there was a bit of a party in the hot tub outside our room the night before we checked out. I'm not saying the noise kept us awake or anything. I'm saying we were having a party in the hot tub outside our room. So that delayed us a bit. Then I wanted to go to a department store for some shorts and socks. I found what I needed in about fifteen minutes, but Matt went crazy with the Speedos (we actually both got one) and those plaid frat boy shorts, and god knows what-else. So we bought some clothes.

Then I needed a book for when Matt was working and I was all alone at the pool (never happened). So I bought a book. It was called Matter and it was by Iain M Banks and I was intensely curious to read it. This one was a sci-fi thing which is what he's become semi-famous for (it was actually really great if you're into that kind of stuff) but I was so curious because I'd read his first novel (not sci-fi) years ago. One of those British coke-heads I hung out with while I was in Mexico gave it to me. It's called the Wasp Factory and it blew my adolescent mind. I don't remember it changing my life or anything, but I remember laughing really hard, being really grossed out, and feeling really shocked at the end. I passed it on to friends who passed it on to friends and I now have no idea who else it has left unalterably disturbed in it's wake.

The point is that we didn't leave Miami in time for the Key Deer. And we didn't leave Key West in time for the Key Deer either! I didn't get to see the Key Deer.

One more of these posts. That's it. I promise.

show me the dollar first

Matt and I went on Spring Break. We're both a little old for it (some more than others), and Matt hasn't even been in school for more than a decade, but who's gonna pass up an opportunity to get a tan and not worry about anything but a hangover for a week?

We flew to Ft. Lauderdale on a Thursday evening. I brought my math book and I actually did some integration problems on the flight. I was being optimistic that while Matt was working (he didn't actually tell his work that he was leaving town and would be talking conference calls and emails during the first few days of our trip) that I would be studiously doing calculus problems by the pool. Fat chance. I never got up much before noon, made it to the pool around 1:30, and happy hour was at three. I wasn't about to turn down free banana daquiris in favour of fucking L'Hopital's rule.

Anyway, we landed, got our luxurious, blue Chrysler Sebring convertible (South Florida's official car, if you can't afford a yellow Lambourghini) and checked into our trips first (but not last) clothing-optional gay resort. It was called Elysium, it was very nice and I don't have tonnes more to say about it.

But...

That night we went to meet one of Matt's friend's who recently moved to Lauderdale from Boston. He told us to meet him at a place called Georgie's Alibi because it was long island ice tea night. Ugh. The fact that we were going to long island ice tea night caused rise in attitude that was not abated by the fact that when we got to the bar I saw that it was in a strip mall. Florida. Class all the way. The long island ice teas themselves did manage to sunny up my mood a bit though. They were electric blue, served in gigantic mason jars and they cost three dollars. Three dollars! Apparently there's no law in Ft. Lauderdale preventing you to from serving two liters of alcohol at a time, or from taking said beverage outside to smoke.

So there I was, a cartoonishly large mason jar full of windex-coloured hooch, cigarette dangling from my mouth, wandering around a strip mall parking lot. That's when I ran into our flight attendant. He was wasted (as I would soon be after only my second three-dollar monstrosity) but pleasant and we all had a good laugh at how gay a profession attending flights is.

This is already getting long eh? And I've only covered the first night. I'll try a whittle it down to two more installments; tomorrow and the next day.

my two favourite things are commitment and changing myself

Last night Patrick and I indulged in what Dateline would probably describe as "binge-drinking". We went to DC9 for the Liberation dance party, which was kind of strange because I've never been to that place when it wasn't full of fags. It's still pretty fun, and the music is better (surprise!). The point of the story though, is that they had an open bar for two hours for a cover of six dollars. Well worth it, but it does lead to some faulty decision making later in the night.

Like when the woman from Comcast Dating-On-Demand approaches you about doing a TV personal ad and you accept her offer and are presently ushered into what you assumed was the cloak room and put under a bright light and asked all sorts of questions about "romance". "This will be hilarious," is probably what you're thinking, and it is for the most part. You answer the questions as honestly as possible without just outright telling everyone that you already have a boyfriend and aren't interested in getting a new one and that you're only doing this for a laugh.

Then you wake up the next morning and realize that you can't remember what you said to that woman with the camera, and you realize she was recording you talking about romance after an open bar (at least it wasn't about healthcare), and that she's going to put said tape on television, and you feel a little afraid for yourself, and what your boyfriend will have to say about this.

Oh well, nothing I can do about it now eh? I'm going to be on Comcast Dating-On-Demand. Look for me. Unless they don't air me because I was a drunken idiot. They wouldn't cut me for not being attractive enough; I've seen some of the pizza-faced dorks on Spring Break that are usually on there. And besides, when I sat on the couch and they turned the lights on, the lady said "oh he's a good-lookin guy!" which gave me just the sort of boost one needs before one records a televised personal ad. Oh god.

a bazillion dollars!

i just had a great (stoned) idea that's going to make some lucky person (not me, too lazy) a lot of money. i wanna build a giant, like totally to scale, apehead lincoln memorial and like, charge people to see it and sell t-shirts and stuff. like there'll be one of those "olde-tyme" photo things, but instead of dressing up all olde tyme-ey (boring!) you dress up like charleton heston (rad!) in like rags and stuff and get in a cage. we'd probably need licensing for something like this eh? like, how could we make it "resemble" but remain "distinct" from that series of ridiculous sci-fi movies that i won't mention by name lest it come back to bite me in the ass? hmmm...

it can't be all that pretty

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getting gay with gays

I went to the New Gay Valentine/Anti-Valentine's party last night. For those of you who don't know, the New Gay is a local blog that's a regular fixture in my morning internet rounds. We've had a rocky go of it, the New Gay and I. We haven't necessarily agreed on the nuances of certain issues facing the young, hip and gay. And I, being the general loud-mouth that I am, have not remained silent when affronted by the New Gay. Oh no, heavens no.

I've been pretty regular commenter over there from the get-go. I'm actually a voracious internet commenter in general, and have long shed any previous embarrassment that I may have felt over this activity. So the bon-mots flowed.

Until one day, I read this post. See, I'd been layed up with a cold for two days, getting out of bed only occasionally to check in on the Olsen twins on Perez Hilton. Hung over from the previous night's Nyquil, but hopped up on the day's Dayquil, I was feeling generally delirious and sorry for myself. And after a couple of hours of daytime TV, (It seems like they purposely air the most shrill programming possible before noon, when we're least equipped to deal with the likes of Rachael Ray and Elizabeth Hasselback), I was in no mood for bullshit. But bullshit is exactly what I saw in the post. So, never one to be shy, I sent the New Gay an email, ineloquently expressing my feelings and uttering futile threats of depriving them of my readership (I'll cut you off so fast it'll make your head spin buster! You think I won't?).

Well the response was quick and varied. I'm tempted to reproduce the actual emails here, but some silly sense of ethical obligation prevents me from doing so. Zack, who's posts were generally my favourites, responded first. In summary, he said that maybe I should post the email to the comments, or even write a response for submission. Michael popped up next, which actually surprised me a little. I would have expected him to be first because from previous comment section flares-ups, it had become clear that Michael will pretty willingly take on the role of diplomat, offering offended parties a lot of maybes, perhaps', I-think-what-she-means-is', and his email reinforced that.

But then Ben got to me. See, I had mistakenly thought that Ben had written the bit that I found so irksome (he hadn't) and had addressed him directly in my message. I know I called him lame, and maybe counter-revolutionary, and possibly spawn of Satan himself. Consequently his email was lacking Michael's diplomatic tone. He called me vitriolic, and bitchy and sad. And stupid too! Because if I wasn't so stupid I would have noticed that he hadn't written it at all, and wouldn't have just "made an ass of myself".

Perhaps I'd flown off the handle, but I hardly think I'd made an ass of myself, especially by internet standards.

So when I heard they were throwing a party, I was wary. Matt suggested that it might be an elaborate rouse to smoke me out with the promise of booze and boys and once they got their hands on me they would exact their revenge.

That didn't happen. I met the New Gays, all four of 'em. Amy and I talked Project Runway. Zack even hugged me (cute!) . Michael tried to show me the guy who HAD written the piece, but I skirted that one. Ben and I shook hands and left it at that. They all seemed very nice and were all much more attractive than bloggers should be.

And you know what? as I wrote this, Ben extended the olive branch that is the Facebook friends request. A more meaningful gesture in this day and age I can't imagine. I accepted of course.

So what do you say New Gay? Friends?