The Notebook

Since 1986 I have kept journals. This was well before Oprah's journaling phase and I started right after I moved back to NYC from the Virgin Islands. I've amassed about 55 of these in all different shapes and sizes and covers that suited me at the time.( I went through a Keith Haring 'Pop Shop' journal phase in the late 80's) When Brian and I fled (and I mean hit the ground running) from South Beach (Miami) in 1992 and we were limited for space in his Jetta to drive to Los Angeles, I brought only some clothes and all my journals up til that point with me. The rest of my belongings I put in storage in Homestead, Fla. which then got damaged in a hurricane and I lost every possession of my life and received $75 because I never filled out the insurance form. Since then, wherever I go, I bring the whole group with me, because they are my 'fire' grab. I have them all in this antique wooden Jack Daniels crate from the 40's. (Figures-liquor)
The last couple of years I've felt very, how should I say, milk like. I feel I have an expiration date on me and since I have no kids or house or Life Insurance for that matter the only thing I have to leave behind as my being here are these journals. No one in my family reads anything more than The Post so I can not see them staying up late into the night riveted by the eccentric warblings of their dearly departed brother/son. I think that they would honor them by keeping them, yet nothing would become of them in so far as the romantic notions I would have had I been bequeathed such a lot.
I was thinking of stipulating in a will something to the effect of putting an ad in a well to do college newspaper, which has a good writing program and see if any student might want to be the benefactor of these musings. I would have left them to my college but I can not see the value in leaving a Culinary School the ramblings and thoughts of an alcoholic, sex crazed procrastinator and dreamer. It's funny because of my four closest friends, neither of them are readers as well. As a side note, a recent fuck buddy of mine had seen the lot of them and said that HE would pay for them to be well kept in a security box!
I've been typing each journal, non sequentially onto my hard drive. The fact that I am taking them out randomly has me experiencing kind of fucked up dreams and thoughts when I go for my walk/jog. I have been googling all these 'co-stars' of my life whom I have either burned bridges with or who have stop calling when my drinking and drunk dialing got out of hand. I have been amused and stultified while transcribing. I have seen my potential reach it's apex and I have read my fears and on going anxieties crush me into devastation. I have writings more vivid than a powerpoint lecture and I have seen where I have been an absolute sucker and pushover to eventual users I had let into my life.
Maybe this will be cathartic for me in some way. Maybe since memoirs have been the flavor of the last few years I will send some of the completed works out. I don't know.

Freedom...

I used to be a 'modelizer' in the late 80's early 90's. My friend Brian was working for one of the big agencies as a model and we would go to all these great parties and I would go on a lot of go-see's with him. This was Linda Evangelista's heyday. She basically held some kind of record by being on so many covers in a given month, and consecutive covers for the same magazine. I'm not a big fan of Canadians, but I love when an Italian (heritage) girl makes good. We (Brian and I) would watch Elsa Klench on CNN Saturday mornings to see Linda strut her stuff on the runway. I seriously wanted to be a booker at this time as well. Linda would change her hair color every couple of months and it made fashion headlines. By the mid ninties, fashion magazines started putting celebrities on the covers and basically, aside from Giselle, no real stand out 'name' models have come out of the last decade. (Kate Moss was already a name). This month, a pregnant Linda E. is on the cover of 'Vogue' (Aug). She's 41 and preggers and she looks phenominal. I know it's rare for me to fawn over someone, but I dig her and her "not getting out of bed for less than 10,000" attitude. She claims that she had no 'B' plan if she did not make it in modeling. Determined girl. Buy this magazine people; and show these editrixes at the major mags that we wants some supermodels back.

Reasons Bush is President and more fun facts

• Taylor Hicks. (Is it Tyler?) Whomever. This is the guy who won "American Idol." Have you see/heard his Ford commercial? I was cooking with my back turned to the television and I only heard it. My first thought was that it was a sendup parody of Bill Murrays' 'Lounge Singer' sketches, but I shrugged it off. Later that evening I was watching "Law and Order" and I saw the same ad. Are you fucking kidding me? This guy is such a hack and so "bad Vegas" I can not believe he garnered like 40 Million Votes!

• This guy I knew in Los Angeles is getting his own talk show on the UPN/WB new station, CW. I almost jumped out of the duplex I am living in. I knew him when I was sober for about two years as he was as well. I wondered if 'the miracle' happened yet for a lot of people in this same position. (This is anthem in AA). He was doing this type of Rock-n-Roll type standup at the time, kind of frat boy type comedy which I never related to but sometimes got. He also sent out huge wavelengths on my gaydar, but that could have been because he tried really hard to look good despite an average face. A couple of years ago I was flipping the channels and I saw him on "Oprah" talking about this relationship book he wrote. Kind of like "The Rules" for guys. And now this. Cripes.

• If I ran a website/blog like a lot of these repetitive gossip blogs I would probably get less hits than I do now. I read these sites sometimes when I am bored, and I just don't get it. I don't get the 'begging for the old Britney' pleas and the 'look at Ashley (either one) today in this outfit'. And I especially don't get the comments that are left by these readers. Majority it seems are willing to slag off anyone they could with the hopes of making their own lives seem less pitiful, some are just plain clueless and some are vicariously living through these celebrities lives by the gossip they read of them. They are on a first name basis with these people. Five steps behind that Letterman tormentor. Here are the people who would be on my Celebrity Blog. Kathryn Erbe (L&O:CI), Annabella Sciorra, Lili Taylor, (I scored big when all three of these babes starred in Abel Ferrara's "The Haunting"), Tina Louise, Vincennt D'Onofrio, Toni Collette, Parker Posey, Laura Linney, J.Jason Leigh, Hugh Grant ( I know. But he kind of amuses me.), Cate Blanchett, Wes Anderson, Gwynnie and anyone from "The Gilmore Girls." Man crushes: Tony Ward, Adam Brody, Jonathon Shaech (?), Mark Ruffalo and tons of singer/songwriters.

Vietnam War Lottery...They say it's your Birthday, your gonna have a good Time

Years ago, when I first heard that they had a lottery system for recruits for the Vietnam War, I had always wondered where I stood on being drafted and most likely, killed. What they did was put 366 sheets of paper in a bag. This was to represent each day of the year. Sorry leap year babies; you may only get to celebrate your birthday once every four years but you can die on any given day for your country in 1969 .(What did Jehovahs Witnesses do?) They pulled out the numbers, and viola, you were drafted. It's worse than a round of 'Mystery Date.' Check this out: I'm at 195. According to the site: "Anyone who recieved a number below 196 reported to war, anyone above, did not." I was completely FUCKED!!
Here's the link..."Billy don't be a hero"

Project Runway: There she goes...

Well, last week I wrote about Malan and that accent of his and how he reminded me of Bruce LaBruce's character in 'Hustler White'. I guess he annoyed me but I believe part of his pomposity was due to all the 'lack of testosterone' of the contestants. This week the sewers(?), sewists(?) were given the challenge of creating Miss USA's evening gown in the Miss World competition. Miss USA was there and she is kinda cute. She's got this Tex-Mex thing going on, and she seemed to roll her eyes and grow impatient with ignorami who seem to outweigh in airtime the talented. Is Angela the new Wendy or does she just play one on Reality Television? Actually, at least Wendy could draw. This stupid bitch approached Miss USA with a blank sketchpad and seemed to have nothing except for then trying to hook herself up with the most talented person for this challenge, a guy who LIVES for pageants. She did this maneuvering after she found out that everyone would be working in teams. Seven leaders were chosen and each of those had to pick one of the remainders. Malan was one of the chosen and I think it was pretty shitty of the producers to show the clip of his confessional when he explained that when he was 13 and presented his Mom with some sketches he was working on, she threw them to the floor and said, "Don't ever do this again." He went on to explain how he wanted most of all to show them all now. It was kind of sad coming from someone I perceived to be so full of himself and arrogant the week before. The leader of Angelas team was some nutbag who looks like a cross between Rick Moranis, Peter Allens Flamenco Days and Fred Armison from SNL (who I detest a lot). Angela looked like a pain in the ass who obviously owns a watch. She was like Big Ben while they were shopping for material. When Tim came over to discuss the dress as it was being built she totally distanced herself from the creation. Well, the judging came and the Runway was great, and we were left with only Malan and Angela on the short list to go home. When Heidi said "Angela" and paused for her dramatic effect, I thought for sure she was going to say in her lispy English, "your out". But, it was Malan who got the boot. And that's why I thought it was pretty shitty for the editors to put Malans above statements in this episode. They could have spliced into last weeks episode or 'The Road to the Runway' which was last week as well.
I just would like to state that there seems to be a couple of real assholes on this season. Like, really full of themselves, narcissistic assholes.
Auf Wiedersehen, Mickey

Since Lance Armstrong is Cancer Free, Is it O.K. for me to Hate him now?

Cancer is not funny. And neither is Lance Armstrong, who hosted the ESPY Awards and continued to give shout outs to his 2 balled friends, Matthew McCounaghey and Jake Gyllenhaal. Lance also made an up to the minute "Brokeback" joke. This coming from a guy who wears more spandex than the state of New Jersey. See the clip here.

Hack Director or Envy?

First off we have Kevin Smith, whose claim to fame (?) is "Clerks" which I once tried to watch when there were only like 3 Cable Stations at the time and the fact that it took place in New Jersey (personal vendetta) had me scoffing at the tv screen. He then went on to create failure after failure and from what I've read kept employing the same hackneyed routines from his debut. He also employs Matt Damon and Ben Affleck often, which has a repelling magnet affect on me ("Good Will Hunting" read title above). HE ALSO does bits for Jay Leno, which not only states to me that a mortgage payment was due in the Smith household but has a "maybe the people in Missoula will like me and rent 'MallRats'" ring to it.

Ed Burns. Ugh. Smarmy guy who stepped in shit once and now will not go away. He has a new film out, "The Groomsmen" which has gotten panned in every review I've read and I get kind of a nice warm feeling reading those reviews. (I know, I am a bastard) Although I have also never sat through his debut film, "The Brothers McMullen", I did have the non pleasure of seeing the recycled version of one of his waste of Kodak moments starring none other than Bon Jovi. (See New Jersey vendetta above) I squirmed in my seat of the near empty theater, one of the other eight people sitting next to me; a reciprical jesture on my part for having invited said person to "Big Night" (brilliant!) the previous weekend. Ed Burns in turn married Christy Turlington, whom I once liked until I read a few interviews with her and fell asleep in the crease of the magazine. Three times.

M.Night Shyamalan (sp?). Having been living oversea's at the time of "The Sixth Sense" and the bruhaha that surrounded the whole don't give away the ending hubris, I returned to Los Angeles and started work at an Agency (UTA) whom represented M. I was in the Video Transfer department and we would send out actors and directors (and the likes) demo reels. So if someone wanted to hire Scarlett Johansen (sp) for a roll, I would dupe her reel and forward it. This was one of the best jobs of my life because we represented David Chase and we would get the 'Sopranos' episodes a week before they aired. But I digress. We repped M.Night, and like every other director's oeuvre we had catalogued, I would take movies home to watch. One word,
"Unbreakable". Unbearable. I've also heard from people who were pissed by shelling out money for "The Village" as well.

I guess I feel towards these guys as I did when I was growing up towards kids who had great Dads. (Awww!) Somewhat envious but determined to go it alone.

The Origional FireCrotch

'Wild about Movies' blog recently cornered Kathy Griffin after her 3rd Sold Out show in LaLaLand about setting up an interview. But first they asked her about a piece in "Page Six" which stated that Kathy would not preform at Splash Bar in NYC before she was guaranteed $30,000 and a $10,000 Rider. It bothered me after reading that. I'm like WTF does she need a $10,000 Rider for? She use to play 'Largo' (in LA as well, where I worked) to try out her material for, I swear, $5 and a free drink. Something was fishy and when Wild about Movies cornered her, they asked her about that one story. Following is her quote...read it til the end...she's a fucking pissa.

"The paper said I demanded $30,000 and a $10,000 rider to perform at the gay bar Splash. You know a rider is for all the shit that A-list celebs want, like all the green M&Ms picked out of their fucking candy bowl, and the coke, not from the bottle, and shit like that. I don't need a fucking rider, nor have I ever asked for one. I just need my bottle of water and old stool to set my bottle of water on, on stage with me. That's it." Oh, she also is quick to point out that the person who 'leaked' this item to the Post, was dumb enough to go "on the record, and use his real fucking name, Len Evans. Oh, and get this," adds Griffin, "The Post story says that Len Evans said that I don't love my gay fans because I turned down their offer, which I never got in the first place, and that Jennifer Lopez performed for free at the recent NYC Gay Pride. They need to check the definition of perform. Lip-syncing a couple of songs doesn't count."

Editorial Page

I'm not one to get political, but is anyone else out there feeling like this world is about to fucking blow itself up? I mean, it's fucking non stop mayhem around the planet. And who is causing all of it? 68% Islamic Fundermentalists, 30% African Warlords and thieving Predidents and 2% A North Korean Pansy Ass. You know what all these leaders have in common? They did not get enough toys as a child. I mean, it seems to me like they are the little brats in the neighborhood who wanna hang out with the teenagers, so they feel they have to prove themselves. It reminds me of when I had to steal Nudie Mags to show my older brother and his friends that I was hang-able. All these leaders; No. Korea, Iran, all these Imams, and the aforementioned Africans; they either all have very small cocks or they have these Napolean Complexes. Bin Laden is an altogether different type, he is just a sick fuck.
I've known a few Lebanese people in my life and I'm sure they are like, my country is being destroyed because of some fanatical sect. I don't blame Isreal at all on this one. It's just fucked up because I know we as the US are going to have to intervene or take Isreals side and that means New York will be in danger once more. I hope I don't come off as some racist bastard,but similar to the umpire, I'm just calling them as I see them.

This is my most popular shuffle song...

POP SONG FOR US REJECTS ...by Silverchair
Addiction's held you back But you don't care
Cause you're on a high again
And it's not fair
Consuming alcohol
While I gotta drive
Take a hit from the drugs you stole
And try to survive
Since your life was over
You haven't yet been sober
You have held me back so long
Everything you do is wrong
Now I gotta dump you
Continue my life too
I tried to help you
Don't care what you do

Your state of mind's improved
But we're still apart
I visited you'd moved
Don't know where to start
Your life's and open cold sore
Got to get out of the cream
Now I'm thinking positive
But I know it's a dream

You died yesterday

Fun Facts about the Forgotten Boro #56

Approximately 1 out of every 3 liscensed drivers has a Cadillac Escalade or one of those new Cadillac Coupes.

Runway Dork week One

If you watched "Project Runway" last night, the first of the third season; you may have picked some favorite contestants or like me, you may just want to wait til the crowd gets thinned down to an even seven. Regardless, the evenings biggest doofus had to be Malan. He of the EuroTrashy wanna be (he's from Taiwan) with slicked back hair and clothes out of Vogue Hommes. It was not until three quarters into the show that I realized who he reminded of. The 'Jurgan' character played by Bruce LaBruce in "Hustler White." It is identical. I caught the last half hour first, and I was like, "Oh, he seems cool, she seems nice" and then they replayed the same episode afterwards and I was like, "Slow down Mickey, your first impressions suck." So, I will officially hold off for a favorite to win (I kind of still like the mother of five who put the chandelier pieces on the dress).

Constant Craving

It's got to be unhappiness or unfufillment which is making me Jones more and more for wanting to get fucked up. En route to the library is the 'Buy Right Liquor Store' and I've walked in, browsed around, noticed that Vodka has gotten pretty expensive and walked out empty handed possibly because I was not going to drink some barBQue lighting fuel as my fall off the wagon cocktail. (I bet the least popular baby boy names for Alcoholics' are :Georgi and Alexi)
I don't want to drink.
See, when I take myself to the movies or go for a walk/jog I'm good. But when the dismalness of my life becomes apparent to me, the sheer boredom of everyday life, the life around me...Well, I just want to get drunk so I can fall asleep and be comatose for a few hours without overthinking every minute. Without looking at some succesful blowhard or reading about some spoiled rich tweens or not attending any seemingly sounding cool events or my stupid freaking commute which takes an hour and a half just to get off this island of misfit toys.
I'm getting roped into stupider and stupider jobs. I am like an old lady not being able to say no to telemarketers. God! I need a fucking Extreme Makeover: SOUL Edition.

Fuckin' A!! We are in the finals of the World Cup!
Update: As you know, we won. It was so great watching this in a bar full of real Italians, not guido's or gasp Lenny Kravitz (Did you see him in the newspaper going bonkers and holding up an Italian flag?).

Fizzle

"Today's the fourth of July,
Another June has gone by.
And when they light up our town; I just think,
What a waste of gunpowder and sky"


Aimee Mann

Debra Messing has left the building...

The Emmy people have finally changed their standards of nominations. Now, brilliant actresses who never get recognized are going to get a chance at losing to Edie Falco or Patricia Heaton. (I worked @ the agency that repped P.H. <---before 'Raymond' we were sending her dismal audition reel out constantly to no avail. But, after nabbing 'Ray' she ended up being a big bread winner for the agency). I guess the gayest thing about me (besides the obvious man loving) is that I dig 'The Gilmore Girls'. I guess some would call it a guilty pleasure, but, fuck it, I don't feel guilty about it. If you never watched it, it is kind of like 'Days of our Lives' mixed with 'Northern Exposure' with a little 'Sienfeld' tossed in. Lauren Graham (pictured) is fantastic, but the star of the show is Kelly Bishop, who plays Lauren's mom, Emily.
Update: Lauren got snubbed again. But fucking Debra Messing skated in with a nod. Absolute Shite!!

Central Casting

I took the ferry to the Pines @ Fire Island yesterday for a job. It was hysterical. Every type of gay guy or woman you can possibly stereotype was on this ferry. It was like in the movie "Airplane!" when they were showing all the different airlines and attatching the obvious stereotype to each. (The Isreal Airline had hasidic locks around the big nose of the plane). But the more I think of it, I guess once you are assosiated in a culture or nationality, I guess everyone is put into a little box. I know that in "Italian" culture, we have various labels for different type of person. Puttana's, Gavones, Mafiosa, Finoche...(answers* Whores, Slobs, Crooks and Gays).

Dear Guido's and Guidettes;

Please. I beg of you. Refrain from dousing yourself in your Designer/ Imposter Designer fragrances before you go to work out or go jogging/walking. There is nothing worse than breathing in a big gulp of J.Lo or Gaultier for Men or (in Staten Island) some Hilton sisters idea of 'beautiful'. It's bad enough with the stagnant heat, but then to pass by you with me all huffing and puffing and then inhaling that merde is mind numbing.
Have you ever heard of pheromones? They are our Natural scents. Far more sexier (in my opinion) than some contrivance of thistle, lemon, patchulli and lotus flower! Have you ever been into like, minute 13 on the stairmaster or whatever that skiing gizmo is, and then some 'Joey Boombatz' takes the next machine smelling like he just baptized himself in the River Chaps? It's kind of obnoxious people.
Thanks

Too many Margherita's ?

Yesterday, I glanced down at the little headlines on Yahoo and it said:
Buffet to give away three quarters of his fortune.
And I was like, "That's cool, but I still hate his music and those parrot-head fans of his." I had read somewhere a year or a two ago that he was one of the highest grossing touring acts of that year. "Cripes, did he make that much money off of a few hits?"

Then I was listening to BBC News and they said it was, Warren Buffet. "Ah, that makes more sense now Mickey, doesn't it?" The story went on to say that this humongous amount was going to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. And Bill and Melinda have all this money and Bill and Melinda have given away billions...But wait? Shouldn't it just be like, Bill's gazillions? I mean, what did Melinda come into the marriage with. Was her dowry that high? Does Bill just cringe when he hears this 'Bill and Melinda's money'? Is he driving in his Prius and listening to NPR and mumbling to himself, "Yeah right, Bill and Melinda's fortune...sheesh."
Like, did she say,
"Um, Bill, maybe now that were kind of living together, maybe we should get a joint bank account? Let me just make my next payment on my Discover card, and we'll just combine em', kay?"

Had a Dad...

I can not even begin to tell you the story involving this book, but it was a synchronicity of sorts. Because there are no such things as coinc...This book also began a rollercoaster ride of unaware coinc, I mean sychronicities of my DVD selections. From the sublime "The Postmen in the Mountains" (China) to "The Son's Room" (Italian) to the obvious "Father and Son" (Russian), all of these movies related to a father and his son. And the fact that God bestowed upon me the worst father since, did Hitler have kids? Well you get the drift.
By the way, I'm not some pretentious snob who only sees films with subtitles. Also a person who calls movies, films. But the library where I go has the suckiest collection of like 65 films. With doubles of "Cecil B Demented" and "Cruise Ship" et al. So, I wander into the 'foreign' section. Pretty soon I'm going to need a different branch or else I'll be watching the aforementioned.
Also, the book above "Long Way Back" is absolutely gorgeous. Recommended for anyone who is a lapsed Catholic and has a knowledge of music pre 1985 ish.

Gay Pride New York Style 

New Directions

I'm sure people in a lot of occupations can agree with me. Have you ever been told by a prospective employer who has led you on, strung you along for weeks, that they are now going to go in a different direction? I know actors can relate, but Chef's? How the fuck do you go in a different direction?
"Oh, so I guess your going to, what? Open an automat?"
Fail like "Pret a Manger" and pre wrap all your foods and sell them out of one of those refrigerators that look as though you are going through the car wash?
I don't understand.
Freaking Cowards! I should have charged them for my 'holding time'.
Complete Bullshite.

Book Shnook

I've been reading novels like a fiend. I read (6 years later) "A Heartbreaking Work..." in a day. Pretty Good, I guess. Kinda rambly.
But now I'm almost finished with the Tom Shales/Miller book "Live from New York", on SNL. I've been watching SNL since it's inception, show it's kind of interesting. I'm almost done, but before I comment on a few cast members, I have to say this.
First off, if your not familiar with the way "Edie" was edited by George Plimpton, which I believe had started this type of 'biography', the book reads like this.
Joe Blow actor
And then Joe Blow says something here for a paragraph or eight.

Suzie Doe producer
And then Suzie says some shit pertaining to the section or timeline.

Well, they speak to practically everyone who is still breathing from the show (sadly, not Laura Kightlinger) and it's like, you can see the personalities from these people just by reading the comments they made to Shales. These people, the writers and actors, are so fucking NEEDY. They are all self congratulatory on the skits that they did. I mean that's nice, but to start off a sentence by stating, "You know, I wrote blabbity blah skit. I checked the applause meter and it was the highest rated blah blah blah", it's so fucking sad. It reminds me of those eager beavers at sleep away camp; "Let's put on a show!"
The last chapter is a bukkake scene for Lorne Michaels; who comes off as kind of a dick/genious/Star Fucker.
Anyway
Chevy Chase : News Alert- He's a gigantic ASSHOLE
Garrett Morris: Seriously in Denial about his drug use. (he set 30 Rock on fire, free-basing)
John Belushi: Still dead
Dana Carvey: Kind of insecure ( he and his Wayne's World buddy Mike Meyers hated each other)
Joe Piscopo: Totally Nutso. He honestly does not take a shit w/out calling Tina Sinatra up.
Jeannine Garofalo: Disgruntled yet has Integrity
et al

Sigh...

---------->>>> Watched the stupid fucking show Hell's Kitchen the other night and could not believe the ineptness of the morons they chose for this show. 1 person out of 12 is not a complete asshole. Leave it to Fox. You know what infuriates me most? The a-hole winner gets to be a CHEF of a million dollar restaurant in Vegas. These fucking people could not (6 to a team) get out one tables APPETIZERS in under and hour and a half, a table of 2 mind you. These idiots are sweating in food, don't wear gloves, it is un FUCKING real. Man, I just caught my self. Sure it's unreal. It's reality television.

---------->>>> Bravo is kind of pissing me off lately. They've been showing these promo's for some kind of gay television channel or website or comcast or something to that effect. Now, here I am, watching it with my Mom and all they show is like, models and this bullshit, with all these sexy people and nakedness. Now, don't get me wrong. I love sexiness and I love nakedness; especially when I am the one naked with the sexy, But... Can't the fucking powers that be who made this commercial show that we have a little more substance than that? Cripes! It's like hey gays!, you love sex, that's all your good for, here's a show/site for you. How bout' having a show like Biography on there or a Charlie Rose type show or a drama other than 'Wet Palms' where everything is not about screwing. "The 'L' Word" anyone? The Brittish version of "Queer as Folk". You know, gays run freaking Hollywood, so how come when it comes time for us to have our own channel we get hubris like this? Show "Butterfly" (Pia Z. not Pariah) or some campy movie like that. Have an edge, have some freaking humor (the gays love to laugh!) have a video show that features more than 'Erasure'. You know, Joan Jett, Melissa Etheridge, Rufus Wainwright and other artists all have new stuff out there. Maybe the "Crystal"
Generation can come out of their K-holes long enough to program some of this stuff. I worked at a very successful Agency in Los Angeles and I see what these up and coming 'auteurs' point of reference is coming from. They do not know shit from before 1980. Could an agent representing some big star not know who Fellini or Antonini or Houston( not Whitney!) is. I've witnessed it dozens of times in similar fashions.
P.S. While watching Bravo, prepare to maybe see me on there in the next 6 months if things go correctly.

Sidenote: I Heart Kathy Griffin and Janice Dickenson so freaking much. Besides L&O: Criminal Intent in blocks on USA, these two shows make me turn on the television.

Dorff Doffs Dungaree's Dick Display

Keeping Kathy Griffen company on the D list is a little humbling I guess to Steven Dorff. Star of nothing that comes to mind is about to turn into a gay icon (I guess) when he drops his drawers in the upcoming "Shadowboxer". According to director Lee Daniels in the latest issue of the free glossy MetroSource, "We got swinging dick from Steven Dorff. Big swinging dick". He then goes on to say that they shot him fully erect, semi-erect and flaccid. He said they decided on semi for the theater version and that the director's cut "should be off the hook". With co-stars such as Mo'Nique, Macy Gray and Cuba God Awful Jr; I say, as would Jackie Hervey from 'The Onion'; Oscar Meyer Winner!

somewhat of a good thing

If anyone can remember what I am schooled in and sometimes work as then you will be excited to know that I got a second callback from a show dealing with just this profession. It's a 'contest' with the winner getting $100 G's. When I discovered this show midway through it's last run, I almost jumped through the screen with excitement and the knowledge that I would kick some reality show ass. I'll know in two weeks or so if it is a go. I can't reveal too much information.

How Fucked is That?

So, I'm on Staten Island. The libraries are okay, but the video collection is nothing like Elmhurst, Queens. We have like two rows of DVD's here in Richmondtown, a branch they spent gazillions to make.
Making my way through the assortment, it is weird because there will be like 2 each of "Chuck and Buck" and like 2 each of that horrid John Waters movie with Melanie Griffith out of like, 100 films total. Anyway, there was this movie with a couple of guys running together on a beach on the cover and it boasted an adline of "...once their secret was told.." I was thinking cool, a G&L Film Festival straight (ha) to DVD movie. No stars ( except if you include Hume Cronin) but it could be cool. The movie is called, "A separate Peace".
I watched the movie and it was pretty good and then I found out from reading the box cover that it happened to have been a well received book and one that young boys read (when they use to read). The movie starred this guy Toby Moore who looked exactly like Hillary Swank it was uncanny. I mean, any casting agent would flip if they got to meet this guy, he could nab a great gig like miles did on 'Fraser' after DHP's agent sent a picture to Kelsey Grammers' people. And this kid Tobey Moore's character was, it seemed to me, going to make a pass @ any one of the main characters any second if you counted on my Gaydar (which is usually very acute) but I'm sure the director wanted it that way. Well the secret that the box proclaimed turned out to be that one of the guys jumped on a tree branch which forced the Swanker Doppleganger to fall and end his 'sports career' but their friendship remained. Whatever.
The same night, dying from boredom and frustration I rewatched 'Sideways' which I had only seen once before when I had consumed a bottle of Skyy Vodka that I found in the garage on a shelf at my friend's house while I was having a cigarette and she and her lover were getting it on. How does one have a bottle of Skyy sitting on a shelf with the extension cords. I don't know. Suffice to say, I did not remember ONE scene while I was rewatching it.
So, the resolution of the movie is happening. Giamatti's character is back at his teaching position and the class is reading a book. The book they are reading from is, "A Separate Peace."

Jaime Lynn Siegler, Sean Puffy Combs (and mom), Lenny Kravitz, David Blaine and Petra Namkova invite you to

...the opening of a safty pin

"Standing in the shower, thinking"

I'm still living on a tightrope as far as employment goes. The Hamptons gig requires me to take the train out there again this coming Saturday to meet with the owners; one of whom I heard was a Baldwin. Cripes, I hope is not Stephan, Billy or Danial. I'd even take a Baldwin sister besides those characters. Did ja know that the train ride from Penn Station to Amaganset is 3 plus hours? I could have flew to fricking Florida. Factor into that that I am coming from Staten Island, we are talking a 10 hour round trip. Yeah, I know. I could have been in Europe at my Hotel salivating over the mini bar. We'll see. This gig actually will provide me with enough euros to do that once the summer ends and me and Kelly Ripa are just like this.
I was going to discontinue the comments section for good. My Email is always available (go to my profile), but the fucking spammers are inundating my site. Actually it seems to be the same two over and over. Bart's site (go to Summer Reading below, left) is full of them in the comments section but his are more perverted. Damon and Hunter turned them off as well.

Those crazy fucking Asians and their Surgical Masks

What the hell is up with that? Do you live in NYC or San Fran.? Why do I always see these Asian people with surgical masks on? Don't they feel like morons? Would they perhaps like to live in the event that all us NY' ers were annihilated? Is it because they have Bird flu running rampant in their own little communities back east or is it because they skeeve the 'ugly Americans'? See, I've seen this before Bird Flu, and when I googled an Image of "Asian with Surgical Mask" all I got was some chick on ER or Chicago Hope with a mask on their chin. This morning I left my (Mothers) house at 6 am, and the first person I see is some wacko Asian dude with a surgie on his face. I was like, "Well, I just shut off NPR about 12 minutes ago, I know they would have told me if Indian Point blew the Fuck up.
What a bunch of whacko's. And, not for nothing but all the bird and human flu's start in their Continent.

P.S. My PC kind of died. Sorry for slagging in the entries department.

Daily Mind Blower

So, right now I am reading "Cosmopolis" by Don Dilillo. I'm also trying to go through all the shit I have at my mothers house which I have been hoarding there. It's lots of Video's and Books and Magazines basically. I've been going through the Magazines one by one, because either I wanted to save something in one of them or I just never got around to reading it. I picked up the first one the other night and on the first inside page was an ad for "Cosmopolis".

Did 'ja have to, did 'ja have to let it Linger

There is no question about the fact that the guys in Staten Island are probably the best looking guys in the state. Yet, what they have in looks seem to take away in two-fold what they should have as far as being in the 21 st century. Plain and Simple, they are troglodytes. Their manners, their actions, Their Dress Code and their 'city' smarts. If you happen to bed a Staten Island guy, (male or female who are reading this) he is likely to sport a Bikini wax job on his pubes or have shaved legs or armpits or (gasp) both. They just don't have a clue. I'd hate to say that (like the Red States) their hero is Dale Ernhart , but; Opie and Anthony (NYC radio dickheads) or Vin Diesel would give you a clue.
Staten Island guys love being in their cars. Listening to the latest Z100 Wigger Music and driving fast. It's a lot like Los Angeles here. No one walks; unless you are homeless or a prostitute (I've been both here, actually <--- Not a hooker in the real sense but...Well, that will be a different entry).
Staten Island Guys cruise other guys. BIG TIME. I don't know if they are all myopic or if they think you might be their cousin (Everyone on Staten Island has the 6 degrees of seperation thing going on), but they cruise. They probably don't know it is called cruising because that aspect of the gay vernacular has not crept into this borough (hence the shaved areas, the mega hair products, the gossipyness) yet, like so many other gay crossover idiosyncracies.
Yesterday I got cruised big time by this youngish guy in his Acura. I swore I was not going to break the 'faux staredown/jerk off fest' that was happening and I didn't. He finally looked away, and the comic strip bubble over his head seemed to say, "jeez, I think I like guys".

What about the other 2%

I'm 98% sure I'll be managing this restaurant in The Hamptons this summer. It should make for great reading material for you guys, since the restaurants web site boasts in their PR corner a Who's Who of A, B and C list clients that dine here during the summer. I'm going to have to keep really juicy tidbits (if any) on the Blind Item Side though. I'll be getting free housing which helps a lot and will provide me with a big enough nest egg to play with once the summer is over. Determining if I will stay in Manhattan or move to Amsterdam ( always a great place for a recovering addict!). I know I can keep my sobriety in check because I WANT this job. I'm not just pandering by taking any shitty job that I need to get by so I could quit the following week. I aggressively pursued this position and it feels good to be a contender because I am very worthy.

Welcome to My World

So, I have this BIG interview tomorrow in Amaganset (The Hamptons). Interview is at 4 pm. Closest train arriving is at 2 pm. The next departing train for Penn Station (or anywhere for that matter) is 6 1/2 hours later @ 10:27 pm.

"like a liar on a witch trial; you look good for your age"

Okay...timelines in place. I liked Hole months before I heard of Nirvana. In fact, glancing back at my concert tickets I 'may' have seen Nirvana when they opened for The screamingly Trees at the Beacon. But they did not register until I was introduced to Courtney and Hole. I had heard this song 'Teenage Whore' on a college station and I remember wandering all around Hoboken (A Distant Land...oooh) looking for this record store that sold this 45. I started scouring every music magazine for info on her because I thought she was the balls and she sounded like Joan Jett. That's when I read that she was dating Kurt. It seems that Kurt's band 'Nirvana' were coming out with their debut ( I know, "Bleach" was their debut), their major debut, 'Nevermind' on my birthday, Sept. 24th. I was like, cool. Introduced to another great Indie (big word then) band. I ended up liking Nirvana and Hole in both different realms but also avidly.

Fast Forward to 2004/05 when I was MIA when Courtney's Solo "America's Sweetheart" came out. I was in the first of two Rehab's (go figure). I read the reviews but was either unable to purchase or in a place unable. Either way, I picked it up a month or so ago and I fucking dug it. I loved the three power chords, I loved the rasp/scratch in her voice and I loved the 'never forget my life, I can't move on yet' lyrics.
Yesterday I googled an Album Review Site which listed 45 of the Major Publications of Music Journalism and their subsequent reviews of all albums. I punched in Courtney, hoping to read supportive views of an album I missed, and to see what they said about at least 8 of the songs that I totally love. What I got was this. "This album is so over produced..., her voice sucks..., the lyrics are the same from the last two 'Hole' albums..., yadda yadda yadda.
Fuck!
Last time I seek out a second opinion.

Everybody Say FromUnder Cheese

This is one of my best friends; Carol. We have known each other for close to 24 years! (We met when we were three!!) I have not seen her in about ten years until today-Cool. (Click for a better view of her hand...and her body; she just had twins).

Happy Easter. 

SNL's Gay Problem

So, Pearl Jam was on SNL this weekend, which broke me out of my non-tv cycle and I actually sat down to watch something. Maybe I'm an oversensative fag, but in like 7 sketches that I sat through, I would say six of them had some kind of gay slur/gag/non funny type sub plot. Are the 'Brokeback' jokes not finished yet? Did two skits require a reference to this? Are the writers so young and unsure of their own sexuality (the writers are 95% male) that this is the only punchline that can be inserted to a skit that is going nowhere to begin with. Shit, last I looked (listened) at least the obese were getting picked on just as equally. Now, there are no fat jokes, no black, asian or latino gags. No, Red State jokes. Oh, a couple of skank ho jokes but thats because skank could probably still get a chuckle out of the immature crowd. I just can't place the era of when this started but since I have been a faithful viewer of SNL til about last season, I'd have to date it back to it's inception with Eddie Murphy (now that's calling the kettle black) but not really hitting it's peak until about 8 years ago. It's pathetic that these skits get into the show to begin with since they have usually two weeks between shows to actually think of something funny.

The Cruise

Remember this freak from those suicides a couple of years back? They were called the 'Heavens Gate Suicides' and this Bozo was there leader. Well, I caught about five minutes of the Tom Cruise interview with Diane LickAsser Sawyer last night and I really and truely believe that Tom is in need of #1) Anything resembling a real person and #2) He should just quit show business. If this guy would just give up the spotlight he would not have to do interviews. Fuck it, all he has to do is not spend 200 gazillion fucking dollars on bullshit mega movies and then he wouldn't have to worry about the return to his pockets and the Scientologists deeper ones. Remember when Travolta had a mini return to favor a few years ago after Pulp Fiction? Go on IMDB and notice how many movies he grabbed and stuffed his fat face with and also to pay off those hefty Scientologists and the lover he had in Hawaii for years before he married Beardy Preston. As #1 from above, this guy does not have a genuine bone in his body. He is so programmed and insincere and so phony it is see through, yet is it? That hardy har har laugh and cutsie introspective thoughtlike pose (touches forehead) just sicken me. I know Mickey, change the channel. Well, it's hard to do that when your in someone else's home and the wifey is watching it.

UPDATE: CLICK ON AARON'S LINK ON MY PAGE FOR SOME REALLY CREDIBLE GOSSIP RE: THE CRUISER

Hecho en Mexico

I heard a great soundbite regarding this whole deportation of millions of illegal aliens from a rally in Los Angeles yesterday. "Of the 19 hijackers from September 11th, none were named Velasquez, Medina, Lopez or Gonzales. Yet when I look at the names on the BODY BAGS coming back from Iraq, I see the names Valasquez, Medina, Lopez and Gonzales."

Black Don't Crack and beans don't burn on the grill

This Bernadette Stanis now. She was Thelma on "Good Times" and I had a big crush on her. This would cause my my Archie Bunker like biological father raise his hand to me, as if to say, "I'll kill you if you ever..." Wonder how he'd feel now that I date (read:plow) guys.

Personal Ad Requirement Part II

Must accompany me to at least 3/4 of all Catherine Keener films made per year (exceeds five some years).

Wow...He's got a Muse to boot

When I worked in L.A. @ Largo we would get so many solitions from neer do wells in the music industry. It ran the gamut from struggling artists with great if not poorly written plea's to let them play there to PR people sending faxes with their flavor of the months new foray into music and begging/demanding we have them play there.
One hotshot at the moment was the brother of one of the most powerful agents in Los Angeles. His name was Rick Yorn. His brother Pete, was at the time this struggling, spoiled musician. Flanagan booked Pete based solely I think on this starfucker quality (being a starfucker himself) and the fact that at The Viper Room; Pete Yorn attracted a crowd. I believe Pete had done a few gigs before I joined Largo, so as usual I was the one to let the musicians in while they rehearsed and had a sound check as I did my afternoon duties in the office.
L.A. is kinda weird in the way that you may see someone you completely fall head over heals in love with, but they are in a car and you do not know if they are from 3 hours up the coast going on an audition or if they are your next door neighbor. Every hottie you see is in a car. So when I opened the back door to Largo that day I thought I was in hottie heaven. This is the guy I fall in love with basically every single day who is driving some 85' Bronco looking hot. I was like (upon glancing at his bandmates), 'do these fuckers gather in clusters?' Bronco convention?
The nights he played were uneventful. Mounds of wanna be's and frequent Leo sightings (his bro's client) and 1,000's of Cosmo's and bad tips. The music was marginally reproductive from whatever was on the charts. Pete Yorn, gorgeous Nose and all was quite the disappointment.
About a year ago I noticed Pete all over the place. I figured it was the Power Machinations of the brothers' relationships to all things Leno and the press.
I was in my favorite overpriced Thrift Store the other day when I noticed that all CD's were a buck. I was checking out the soundtrack to the movie "Orange County" and noticed a tune by Joe Henry (who happens to be Madonna's Bro in law), who also played at Largo and who never disappointed, and I figured "hey, I'll pay abuck for this song" as well as a song from Dave Grohl and then one from Pete Yorn and Wilco.
I downloaded and entered them into my shuffle. One song kept on coming on my shuffle that I could not quite identify it's author, yet I fucking loved it, and I would replay and blast and replay again. The song is called "Lose You" and it is by Pete Yorn. It is fucking awesome.

HEY!!! Dickbag

you are what? 35, 37? Yeah, lose the skateboard. That goes for you too, tree hugging Vegan chick on your Razor Scooter. You look like an asshole, okay?

I see you everywhere

That thumping that you hear is my heart pounding. I fucking saw him again.
This is so fucking retarded. (Sorry retarts).
In 1986 I met Anthony. I was staying @ my Moms for a bit while I regrouped. I had just lived in Holland for 3 months and I was saving money to either move back there or bolt to somewhere else. I took a job at this Mafiosa place near her new house in (gasp) N.J.
We were all training because the place was about to open and then he walked in. He was like a Greek god, I kid you not. He was so fucking gorgeous that I missed about an hour of the training because I was so insecure about myself sitting near him. I fixed my shirt...tucked, untucked. I smoothed my hair (yeah, I had it then), I crossed and uncrossed my legs so much you would think the ferry was beneath them. I stared.
When the training was over I found out that he was a busboy. I left and jacked off as soon as I dropped my girlfriend Claire home.
The next day at training he came in late again. I had kind of forgotten to situate myself near him and get a good seat to ogle as I was trapped in a corner deuce on the patio. Someone pulled up and he got out of the car that sped away. He walked in, surveyed all the empty seats and sat next to me. (cont.)

Grey Gardens- The Home Version

At this moment of this day I am residing with my mother here in Staten Island. There is nothing sadder than a late thirties dude living with his mother (goodbye Craigs List Hostings) yet I give myself somewhat of an immunity to feeling completely like a loser because I moved out at 16 and 1/2 when I went to college and have only used her domiciles since then as 'hostels' (yet quite hostile at times) or dumping grounds for my accumulated magazines and books and journals and shit from every stomping ground I decided to leave in favor of one in a better state or country.
I love my mother, don't get me wrong. I actually hold her in the highest regard of women. At one point holding her in such high regard that when someone asked me why I was not dating or serious with someone, I would tell them that no female I have met could hold a candle to my mom. By the way, "Meet my 'Best Friend' Brian".
I am my Mom. I believe in Genetics solely based upon the slim chances that one boy out of four could get every ailment and physical trait that he has watched his mother suffer through, only years later. I got the good and I got the bad. By the way, I'm the one who innocently squealed to her that 'some lady' sends 'daddy' cards and he hangs them in his store. I was nine and my maliciousness had not yet been fully formed.
So, here we are living in this 3 room and it is FREAKING UNBEARABLE. I'm too old for this shit. And that's why some of my previous posts are reflecting how I am so friggin sorry for the mistakes of my past.
"Mick...American Idol is on".
"Mah!", I scream back like a Gavone, "I never watched American Idol in my life. Why are you asking me to watch this shit."
Yet, she is so inviting. I can't refuse. I light a cigerette and go join my Momma.

She's The One

I have been with women sexually. I've always been attracted to women. I've never wanted to be a woman. Yet, they've had the sixth sense to stay away from me to some degree. Maybe their gaydar was more honed then mine (which is spot on) and they stayed away for fear of me leaving them for a guy down the line. It just seems that with very few exceptions, girls are not really attracted to me in the sexual sense. They find me attractive yet not boyfriend material. These are basically my kooky ramblings and there is no backup proof for this, but it's what I've always felt. The few times that a woman has basically swept me off of my feet I could not get the time of day from her.
So, when I'm out walking around, people watching, I do check out the girls as well as the guys. For a while I considered myself Bi and I was happy saying that (although a lot of gays hate bi people) but then Joyce asked me when was the last time I was with a women and I had to slot myself back into the gay category. I fucking hate labels anyway because that leads to generalizations but everyone does it. "Fallen Gay senator Jim MaGreevey".
"Oh, you know, my friend Dawn, you know, the Lesbian?"
I was just watching Season 4 of 'The Sopranos', and I think I missed a couple of these episodes. Either that or I was high as a fucking kite. Anyway, what a surprise when Tony had dreams about Gloria Trillo aka Annabella Sciorra. It was after he found out that she committed suicide (which I do remember). The dream involved Annabella, her Wolfe Stove and a long scarf that she hid her hanging marks from, and the chandellier which she swung from. It was brilliant. I was just watching it and I actually daydreamed for a moment wondering if she is married and why is she so under-used and "God, she is so freaking gorgeous."
I mean if we did hook up, I know I would not be the Travolta/Cruise type husband because she really rocks my world.

Green

I went on this interview today for a job for the summer which will be located on an island usually thought to be predominantly gay in the East Coast. These guys interviewing me were all about my age and the poster boys for Chelsea. Although thankfully they did not all look alike with the same trend going on for all three like you see so much of in clusters of gay guys in Manhattan. Each had his own little trendy thing going on and they each worked it pretty well. There was Mr. Steroid King, Mr. Cool Hairstyle that every guy is working( the gelled faux hawk) and finally Mr. Looks like a hot Biker but probably takes taxi's. They were all very cool and Loaded to the fucking gills. I mean, these guys either own or run basically the whole gay part of town. Shit, talk about the gay Mafia. But, I looked at myself afterwards and I found myself kind of envious. I think I've said before that I have not been jealous of people or peers in decades because I know exactly what that feeling does to me, but, shit man.
The pre interview consisted of me faxing or Emailing my resume with a picture. (Leave it to the gays!) And I was bumming when I hadn't heard from them for like two weeks. Here come those freaking insecure feelings. But they called, and it wasn't a total disaster, yet I'm pissed at myself for not asking more questions.
Who knows.

Random Bullshite...

The Muses struck me hard yesterday @ 4 pm while I was hanging out in Union Square Park. My mind was wandering as always and then I started to put together this television show; just bouncing around an idea, and before I left there a few hours later I had the outlines for 7 episodes. Maybe I'm delusional, who the frig knows; but as I was coming into Manhattan, I was passing these "condo's" being put up right around Battery Park. It's a huge building with about a year to go before completion, and in one instant I knew I would be sitting in some leasing office or such purchasing one of those.

Happy Meal

My life is kind of fucked right now but I'm still hanging on to the strength that the Welbutrin time releases into my bloodstream. I'm on a Temp Assignment for the next coupla days @ this University named for a Saint where I work in their cafe; biding the time until I hear about a Hawaiian job I'm up for for the summer and a gig in The Hamptons and a gig in Fire Island. All three are potentially relapse jobs but so is every day, I guess. Anyway, I've always liked younger guys; but It would usually be only 7-10 years older than them; not 20. Yet, I could kind of see myself being with a few of these newborns that I've met in the last couple of days. I'm an Aesthete, I know it. If your a bow wow chances are I will not recognize your glowing personality for a while; sad but true yet it is only a condemnation on the part of me and how sad a shape I must be in to think this way.
The place where I'm rolling wraps and 'dropping' fries is a dorm so you basically see the same people three meals a day, and frankly, my presence there had them all clamoring to know who I was and will I be replacing the guy who is out (who is from what I hear a real pervy skeeve who is high all the time and is scaring the co-eds. For it is because of their complaints that he is meeting with the union tomorrow to determine his fate). Today was day two, and I basically got 'hired' if these students have anything to say about it. "Dude, that was the best wrap I've had all year" and the like, meanwhile my mind is on the menu of my future restaurant and wondering if the broccoli rabe should be served with the Cavatelli or the Rigatoni and I wonder how much black truffles will cost by then. I mean, I was smiling when they were complimenting me and asking me to stay and I was not going to rip out a copy of my resume and ask them to sing "One of these things is not like the Other" comparing this gig with my former jobs. Like, even the studs were like, "Bro, your awesome, that was great." It was like when I was forced to cook for my three other brothers starting @ 9 years old and waiting for their approvals on how the meal was. It does feel good that someone enjoys what you made them whether it be a freaking Reuben or Chicken Cacciatore. It feels good because I grew up with the phrase that my mother always told me. She said; "You have to love to cook and you have to cook with love and no one will ever be disappointed."
I started off talking about guys and ended up with food. Typical Italian.

SPACE INVADERS is now available on thecoolstore...it's down by the summer reading list 

I was a boozer, a loser and a user. There is no Flatpoint High for me, and although I am a little younger than Jerry Blank, I'm kind of living with my Mom right now as I transitioned out of the 1/2way House (read: Kicked Out). So now I can humor you with tales of Staten Island Guido's and their very poor cruising methods, hooking up with CL S.Islanders, tales from the Crypt (I mean the Ferry) and other 'hilariously sad' adventures from my life. 

SWM

This is the new Header for my personnel Ad which may or may not go into print once all of these idiosyncratic traits are found. I have tons that I've been compiling in the junk drawer of my mind.
We will start with the easy stuff:

#1 MUST BE A READER.

This might seem vague. (Whenever I say that word I think of Julie Brown's (the white one) parodying of Madonna's "Truth or Dare" tour and "Vogue"...'Nick-O-Let Sher-I-Dan')... I know "Dare to be Truthful" almost better than "Goodfella's".

If you are my type and you are on the subway and just sitting there staring into space without a book or music....Brrrnnnt. I'm sorry; you could be thinking of the cure for Cancer or you could be wondering why we, on the subway do not fall into the middle of the Earth. You are Thrown Out...Potential is Inconclusive.

If you are reading the 'Metro' or 'Habla' or one of the free newspapers that are given out on basically every subway stop; you are immune...for the time being.

If you are reading "The Hobbit" and/or "the Lord of The Rings" and it's ilk, Immune. You may be reading it for class or something. Even though I 'm not into Sci-Fi and I can almost predict what our after sex life viewing will be, I'll let you slide this time. But, then again; I swore off anyone under 21 when I was 21.

If you are reading a sport's players Biography; I'd trepidate a bit. If we hooked up, I know we would have great sex, but I'd have to high five you at weddings and events so everyone could think we were hetero.

Mob, Serial Killers and 'Chick Books' get a free pass for one ride and then if you are looney I could bail quickly with an excuse. Hey, I even read "Like Water for Chocolate".

Any guy with a 'Harlequin' type male on male book could go visit the daydreamers from above.

"Geek Love" or "The Corrections" or "A Prayer for Owen Meany" would have me instantaneously stalking you.

"Catcher...", "On the Road", "Basketball Diaries" would be too taxing of an involvement with you because I could never trust you.

There are others I have yet to discern. I was just reading or trying to read, "Tropic of Cancer" and I could not get past page 20. Should I go on with this supposed "classic"?

When will the lambs stop screaming?

I'm assuming that when you cringe at something you've done it is a sign of low self esteem. I'm thinking that it can't be that low, because at least your able to determine whether you were in fact wrong or an asshole as opposed to those 'beings' who take no shame or blame in what they do.
From working @ C___________ recently, I had noticed how some people woke up with the predestined role of ruining other people's days. The more the merrier was there motto.
Today I witnessed a woman walk into a store after seeing this domestic type woman spend five minutes to set herself up as she washed the stores windows. I was smoking a cigarette while trying to pass another half hour away before my interview. There was this uptown women's clothing store with big ass windows. I was watching "Lupita" get all these things ready to go as she tackled the windows. Mop bucket, squeegee, pole, sponges; and as I was watching this whole process, I noticed "Grizelda" watching as well. Finally, Lupita comes outside with a step stool and looks around. The coast was clear she felt. She got a good spongefull of soapy water, climbed up the stepstool and was about to start on the windows over the shop's entry when Grizelda made a mad dash for the store. Lupita had no time to even get a soapsud on the window that she had do come down so this Uptown Bitch could get in the store. Now, based on the clothes in the window and what this Telethon totebag holding troglodyte was wearing was no where near a compromise. I needed no fantastic odds to see what was going to happen next. As soon as Lupita got back up and situated herself the Trog would exit the store. Which played as predictable as a prosecutor screwing up a major trial.
These are the flies in 'our' ointment of life. Apologetic feelings are replaced by those of entitlement. These people do not cringe or reflect on their mis doings.
My interview sucked. I sat down with this guy interviewing for a position I have held, have succeeded at, and I became this incomprehensible dick. The instant replay of this interview is still playing in my head as I nod back and forth saying, "No. I did not say that." Self deprecation is a feeling that I thought I was getting over. I was so ill prepared for a good tet a tet interview that I spoke in 'valley girl' lingo of, 'ya knows' and 'likes'.

Urgghhh, I think; as Lucy pulls that fucking football away from me again.

The well is dry...

Before entering Rehab, and basically for the last 8 years I have been prone to crying like a dog home alone. A commercial would form a lump in my throat, I would empathetically have changes in my voice while helping a friend through their stuff and I would completely LOSE IT on movies.
I was just telling my fuck buddy the other day how if I was in a movie and they needed me to cry, you could forget the yank the nosehair technique, all I would have to do is watch the last five minutes of "Longtime Companion".
But these times are kind of lost on me now. I don't know if it has anything to do with me being sober or has sobriety turned me into this hardened fuck. All through Rehab @ S_______, guys poured their hearts out and I heard the sickest shit. They were crying buckets as I sat by and nodded. I worked through the inner turmoil's, the father Hating, the abuse in all forms and still I was as dry as a triple lined Huggies. This did not go unnoticed by my counselor S____ and my peers. It seems, they stated that I have just not reached that point yet. Always the nay sayer, I felt that I had soaked too many sheets with my blubbering and this is progression for me (not crying).
Man, I have been testing the limits lately with some of the movies I have been renting. You know how usually during the resolution of the film, that's when they (movie makers) want the tears to come a flooding, but nothing. I get a little choked and I feel the build up of the tears getting in place at their respective ducts, but nothing comes out. It's like the sneeze that never comes out or better yet, the "crack head" boner that never comes.
I'll gladly take suggestions of films and keep you posted.
Somberly,
Mickey

Oedipus casting

Last night I watched 'Vera Drake' (2004) and I was really impressed with the performance of Imelda Staunton (Vera). It seems I have this older woman, kind of nurturing mother role in a chaotic situation thing going on.
It bums me out to see that if your not playing the flavor of the months mother in a film, you might as pack up your belongings and move to that Old Folks Movie Star Retirement Village in Los Angeles.

I fell in love with Fernanda Montenegro after seeing 'Central Station' (1998) and I wanted to write her into every screenplay I could muster up.
Don't even get me started with Rena Owen.
Rena Owen played the mother in one of my top ten favorite, greatest movies; 'Once Were Warriors' (1994-holy shit...time is freaking cruising by). This movie generated at least $100 in ticket sales from me alone and the people I had to take to this this great, disturbing and beautiful New Zealand film. (Which by the way was directed by Lee Tamahori; whom cops recently arrested in drag, in Los Angeles about to sell a cop a blowjob).
I was walking down Sunset Boulevard to my apartment. The area I was coming up to is called Sunset Plaza which has a couple of high end boutiques, but mostly Iranian Gaudy Restaurants. It's like a three block strip where people actually walk (and your not considered a hustler or a hooker). Oooh. Coming from my direction is a restaurant called 'Chin Chin' which is awesome. I've had a few cool run ins @ Chin Chin and it is usually a kinda of oogling parade when you walk by. Having always had those Lana Turner hopes for myself, I would be very self conscious when approaching.
Anyway, I had seen '...Warriors' about 4 months before hand, and as I'm coming up to the first table I see Rena Owen. I was speechless. The movie was so profound (everytime I use that word I think of Oprah and her 'profound' phase-Maya Angelou is so profound {2002 ish}) and her role as mother to this family was so taxing and full of sorrow that I transferred all of that acting to her, as a real mother. It was like seeing your favorite distant aunt a funeral for one of her kids. You just want the silence and the hug to speak volumes.
The transference here was to do the same. I stood before her and had my arms partially at my side as if to say, "C'mere; let me hold you". She was sitting down waiting for someone. Probably some Hollywood clown who heard a buzz about her performance, never bothered to see the film while inviting her out top Los Angeles.
She looked up at me standing there; mouth agape and with inviting arms and smiled back at me. I think I mouthed the word, 'Wow' and I'm guessing I had a lump in my throat (I'm a softie some times).
I half smiled at my stupidity and put out my hand to shake hers. I said 'thanks' and walked on. I smiled and shook my head at being foolish and smitten the rest of my walk home.

"Don't confront me with my failures, I (pause) Have not forgotten them.

It's kind of hard to be in my shoes these days. Drug Counselors and their ilk all say that I (upon being sober) am basically at the age when my addiction first started. So now, instead of looking like a really young 39, I'm a really old looking 15. Kind of like those kids with alopecia (sp?) you see on Maury.
So, this was my job history @ 14-15-16. I would get a job to obtain what I needed and quit afterwards. I wanted to go to 'Joe Namath Football Camp' so I delivered the Daily News for 5 months. I wanted to go to Italy with my class, so I worked like a slave in a diner for 6 months. I looked at a job as just a bartering tool for action and travel. I never had any strings nor cared if they moved me up or held the position open for me once I returned, I'd just wait til I got the traveling bug or the need for a new pair of 'Capezio's (white. natch) and scan the Staten Island Advance for a job.
I've got to break this cycle. My great friend Donna's only goal in life was to have kids and get a house, and she achieved this by the time she was 23. My friend Joyce started settling down a little later and now she has the house, the career and a great traveling schedule. I've never wanted these things because I knew I would have to give up drinking. I swear. I had foregone being in a relationship for the last 8-10 years because I knew I would have to give up my true love (alcohol) or at least be exposed as being a drunk/druggie if I got too close to someone, and quite frankly, I was NOT READY to do so.
I notice a lot of people after they've been through Rehab start getting their teeth fixed and start working out and that's great, but for me I've got to start keeping a job and possibly work towards another goal.
For the last two days all I did was sleep. I was so freaking depressed. And trying to sleep in a busy halfway house where you have to be out of your room by 8 am is difficult. I spread a blanket on the bathroom floor, I contemplated sleeping under the bed and all from what. Because I'm so pissed that I did not hook myself up with a job before I quit C________. I felt so vindicated when I walked out of there. They; stringing me along for 3 months with my raise that never materialized, and for the fact that they will never find someone like me again. I knew for sure they would be calling me back.
It just goes to show, we are all replaceable. Even people I thought who would never re coup from losing their partners have moved on to 'newer' spouses. If I stopped writing this blog without a warning and it just hung their in cyberspace. Would people who check in from time to time and just see the same last entry; would they even speculate to where I had gone? What's up?

Ya Fat Fucks...

So, smoking is down among tweens. What the frig do you expect when you charge $8 for a pack? But, instead of fashioning these pre-pubes out for a "Marlboro Miles Iron Lung" we can always look forward to burying them in a piano case. The obesity epidemic is now threatening to be this countries most major concern for the future (next 20 years), next to Cancer. Not lung, but all cancers. So, when are we going to impose taxes on some of these fatties favorites. Yeah, I think obesity might get the shot in the arm it needs once we start adding a 6 dollar tax to Big Macs or boxes of Russell Stovers. How about weighing stations for the two ton Tessie's I always see getting out of tiny Japanese cars at the local Wendy's drive thru. I'm not being this pissy because I'm a smoker. I just can not see why we have to pay for government programs with the huge taxes we pony up on every pack. Maybe all the taxes should be put in a fund for when and if we come down with emphysema or other smoking related diseases. Meanwhile Marty Menthol who is most likely shooting blanks is putting 5 kids through aftercare.

It Lives

I never would have imagined I would regain those feelings you get when you are younger and in lust. The feelings I mean are akin to dropping a bowling ball on your relaxed stomach while you are laying down, shooting your legs up with novicaine and drawing the breath out of you like the Grim Reaper. I can't recall ever really going with these feelings and hooking up with the person with whom I experienced them from. Once, when I was 17, I was a messenger for the summer in Lower Manhattan. Unlike the other messengers you would see around bearing bike gear or carrying one of those boxy suitcases, I worked for this respectable place where I had a cool attache case and I wore a tie. My deliveries were mostly to import/export shipping offices which were all located in and around the World Trade Center.
After a week or two of walking up and down lower Manhattan you would recognize repeat people, which is kind of weird considering the magnitude of the square miles and the people within them.
I was still a virgin by this time in both genders, but I was more educated. I had a stash of porno mags and after 12 years of Private Catholic School which stunted my sexual education education as well as explorations, I knew more than ever and was eager to act on my feelings towards either sex. I thought.
My first foray was with this other messenger. he dressed as well as me, but I would always see him walking around. He was a great looking Latino guy, my age, great olive skin and black oily hair. Kind of a pre-pube moustache and a great Romanesque nose (one of my favorite facial features). He attracted me enough so that when I first noticed him I got a little flushed with attraction and when I turned around 10 feet later to see which direction he was going in, he turned and stared at me. I nearly fainted on the spot and when I had to double check if it was me he was looking at again, 5 feet more down the line, he turned and I had to sit down.
Now, maybe "Juan" was more adept at this than me in the cruising department, because if I knew than what I know now...
This continued for about 2 months. Everyday I would scan the busy streets looking for a glimpse of the attache he would carry or I would retrace the places where we would infrequently pass. I had a sighting about every three or four days and after each one I told myself I was going to say 'hey' or 'what's up' or in my wildest scenario's I would just stop him, grab his hand and duck into battery Park for a make out session and more.
I had about two weeks left on my job before I went to college and I wanted so bad for something to materialize. I was in one of the WTC towers which I knew like the back of my hand. I had to pee, so I went to a floor which I knew was completely vacant, construction crews were remodeling this floor and all the bathrooms were unlocked. I got in the express elevator that would whoosh you up to 79 or so and transferred to the 'local' that would take me to 87. As I was getting off the local @ 87 he was getting on. I stood there, completely wrecked of all possible functions of how to proceed with this "GIFT ENCOUNTER". I stared at him for what seemed like a minute but in real time was only a second or two as I let him get on the elevator and another second later, I got off.

Long Story Short
I was walking down the street in Queens the other day and feeling pretty good. I saw this total hottie approaching (rare in this particular area) from about 20 feet away. I checked him out for a good second or two and worked my way up to his eyes which were consequently doing the same to me. All of a sudden, those feelings of the novicaine and the bowling ball from the above story came flooding back. Feelings I thought I was too grown up to ever feel again. Too jaded to ever feel again. And you know what, I am so glad I can feel again.

Acceptance Speech if their was an award for this story
I would thank the makers of Welbutrin, Lexipro, my Therapist, the Medicaid System for allowing me to afford these drugs, My New Fuck Buddy and God.

Shit Happens...a lot!

It seems that a lot of people filled with the spirit of a divine creator are always stating, "There are no coincidences". I'm with these thinkers on a lot of things, but what do we call these 'happenings'? My friend Lisa calls them "synchronizaties" and I've kind of adopted this word as well, but it pains me to say it sometimes because it reminds me of Sting and I hate Sting so much. (The Police had an album, "Synchronicity").

It never fails but everytime I look at the clock it's my birthday. Two times a day, it happens like...clockwork. Someone intellectual remarked that "You probably look at the clock a lot." Au Contraire mon frere...He went on to state that these things are just the law of averages and we only notice it as a 'coincidence' (me with 9:24) because that # means something to me.

The other day I had an interview for a decent managerial job. As I was showering I was trying to pick out my wardrobe in my head. I was going to wear this hot Hugo Boss suit I have and I was imagining what shirts I had here with me at the halfway house. I went to get my clothes out to iron when I came upon a shirt that I had totally ruled out because it required cuff links. But wait, I thought. My brother Philip gave me a pair of his @ Christmastime. Cool, because this shirt is one that I bought @ a Thrift Store a year ago for a buck,and it was hand tailored in Hong Kong.
As I was getting dressed, I was putting on the links when I noticed that the cuffs were monogramed. "Shit".
I put on the suit jacket and figured the monogram would be covered by the jacket sleeves anyway, no biggie.
I was on the train, 3 stops away and I closed my book and was checking out my fingernails when I saw the initials. I smirked and started basically inventing an alter ego with those initials or thinking of Celebrities with them.
Union Square stop, I walk up the stairs to see my possible new employer, Whole Foods.
My heart stopped for a second. I glanced at my shirtsleeves to check...The monogramed initials were: W F

GLINT

A friend who doesn't bullshit told me that the "Strangers with Candy" movie should be out in the next 2 months. I wish I could post a picture of Geri along with this.

Grace

New York City (Manhattan especially) allows one to explore their KooKoo side. I mean, you could basically be the biggest nutbag and you would be shouldered alongside Mr. Investment Banker on the train. And this scene, viewed from anyone but a stranger to this City, seems so normal, yet a snapshot of it would seem surreal.
My shuffle was loaded with new songs. A lot of the music I picked up in Florida when I went to retrieve some of my stuff. A Jeff Buckley song came on which I had not heard in a long time, and I, oblivious to the surrounding people on the train felt the need to "air sing" this song with so much passion you would think I was auditioning for a role in "Dreamgirls". It felt so good. I could care less of what I may have looked like ( a major issue of mine). The whole scenerio was perfect; the lyrics, the accompaning music, the train, the way I was dressed, the effect of the Welbutrin & Neurontin. I hit replay, Brilliant.

Reminds Me Of...

Man, Sienna Miller is just morphing into Edie Sedgwick every time I see her in a photo. From what I've read, I thought the movie "Factory Girl" had already finished filming. If she is still going around flaunting this Edie look, she might be a little unstable ala George Reeves (Superman) and that guy who played Jesus. (<---- I tried IMDB to find his name. Do you know how many people have played Jesus? Tons, is the answer; and I'm on a timed computer)

"Falling" <--- Not the Alicia Keyes Version either

I thought long and hard while I was waiting to get my ashes. I mean, I usually blow whatever it is that I decide to give up for Lent, but I seem to do better than I would if it was a New Years Resolution.
For those who are wondering what the frig is this guy talking about. Lent begins on Ash Wednesday. That is the day you may see people walking around with coal like smudges on their foreheads (this happened last Wednesday by the way), eventually lasting 40 days and nights leading up to Easter Sunday. Someone (Can Hallmark be blamed for this one?) came up with the idea to abstain from something for this time period. It carries the same false promises one might make to themselves on New Years Eve as well.
Since I am free of Alcohol and Drugs and I do not eat chocolate I tried to think of some vice of mine that I need to chill on. I was at a loss @ the time, probably owing to my Narcissistic personality, so I basically was going to ride this Lenten Season out.

Epilogue
I have been a major c word lately (rhymes with Linda Hunt). I've given up on all the 'earthy crunchy love thy neighbor/There- but- for- the- Grace- of- God- go- I' stuff. People are assholes no matter how you slice em. People are stupid no matter if I teach them the right way or not. And finally, I am so much 'better' than these people, that I pity them.
This type of thinking makes for great conversations in my head, but being short on nearby acquaintances and not really being a 'phone talker', I have begun to notice myself slipping into this negative mode.
This as you will learn when you see my movie and the educated person in the goofy counselor role wearing the requisite dangling earring and smoking like a fiend will explain that this shift in personality is the number one cause of relapse. Throw into the mix me walking from my job the other night after receiving my seventh week in a row paycheck lacking my supposed correct salary and the fact that I have to find a place to live within the next two months and all you have to do is know basic math as to what followed.
I got off the train @ 2 pm and walked the long stretch of Rooservelt Avenue looking for a Liquor Store. For all the bigots out there who cling to their cry of 'drunken' when describing Latino's I couldn't find a store that sold Hootch in about a half a mile. When I finally did see that familiar type of Italy Shaped logo saying "Liquors" down a side street, I had no regrets upon entering. I chose a nice potato Vodka which was triply distilled and bought a couple of Mango Arizona drinks in those big cans. I went back to the halfway House and drank the bottle. At 4 am I had to wake for my flight to Florida, and the only thing I can remember from the night before while I rode in the taxi was not procuring a better hiding spot for the empty bottle while I was gone for the next two days.
I cringed on the plane ride down as certain faces from the previous night popped into my head and wanted to hide my head in the sand when I checked out my phone to see who I drunk dialed as well. One happened to be this guy 'friend' from Rehab that I felt unceremoniously dropped me from his life like a stalker.
The first few hours in Florida with Joyce and Sloan seemed to have me acting 'jet lagged' and distant as I thought of myself being kicked out as soon as I arrive back in NYC. All the 'losers' I made fun of who got kicked out before me (the girl who dreamed she was smoking crack with her ex and actually turned up positive, the guy who I had pegged as a closet case and a possible prospect for a quick bj in the 'broom closet' who got kicked out for being in a police/hooker sting, et al) seemed to pop into my head as I wondered where they were living. I wanted so much for this weekend not to end; being in the womb like comfort of my friends but all I could think of was what was going to be my plan of action if I did get kicked out. I wore a fake smile the whole time having in the back of my head visions of garbage bags full of my stuff waiting outside the house.
I could not even pray for help, because I felt so guilty (thanks Catholicism).
After arriving back, a block from the house I had a cigarette. I rang the doorbell and was greeted by two guys who I kind of talk to. I expected to hear "Your back for your stuff" or something of the sort, but they just said hello as I walked up to my room which was still the same as I had left it. The Oliphant Vodka was still in the same bad 'hiding' space and I felt glad to have escaped eviction. This Time.

Crushed

It's so weird. Some of my earliest memories involving my mother and myself together involve us both watching award shows and/or beauty contests. I would always have my list of picks. At six or seven I had not seen any of the movies up for awards so I just went on aesthetic impulses, like someone who goes to the racetrack for the first time and knows nothing about odds or jockey's and just picks the prettiest horse or the one with the most interesting name (which is what I still do when I have to pick something in the animated short or other minor awards like that). I always use to draw my favorite stars with a bubble caption saying "and the winner is..." This is way before they started saying "...and the Oscar goes to". It would usually be females like Tina Louise or Sophia Loren with some unidentified male; holding the statuette clad in a creation of my own smushed cleavage drappery.
In the years of VCR's I would tape every award show and then edit them onto a seperate favorite parts tape with my second VCR. I would buy every follow up magazine to scour pictures containing probably the one or two people I cared about who might posssibly be at the ceremony. Check out what they were wearing and all.
And then, about 4 years ago it all came to an abrupt end. I can recall being at a friends house and someone was watching it in the living room and I just breezed by a few times to see what award they might be up to and exit the room. It was not intentional, it just seems that I had something else to do. I guess the days of someone on the short list of favorites of mine winning seemed as long a shot as I have in procuring a rent stabalized apartment. MTV awards, Emmy's and my last hold out, The Golden Globes all went unwatched these past two years.
Yesterday I flew back from Florida, where I went for the weekend and had the option of doing a few things. I picked entering all my cd's that I brought back with me into my laptop for my iPod. I didn't want to watch Catherine Keener graciously clap for the other winner (Rachel Weisz) or see Dolly Parton lose out ala Aimee Mann to some asshole (too true: Dolly lost to some rappers from Hustle and Flow and Aimee to (gasp) Phil Fucking Collins).
I was listening to the BBC news last night as I fell asleep and I heard no mention of any of the winners until this morning when I heard a blurb of upcoming stories on 'All Things Considered'. I nearly blew the contact lens I was about to put into my eye when exclaiming a loud "Holy Shit" upon hearing "Crash" had won Best Picture.

hey all, I had access to my bloggerbot this weekend 

Young @ Indie Heart

The other night I was watching the movie 'Paris, Texas' and I realized that my window for getting my script made is probably over. I remember in the early 90's me and my friend Yasmine would go to the movies a lot after our shifts at The Russian Tea Room. We knew the ins and outs of the Angelica and the other Art House Theaters, because this was the fair we both enjoyed. At the time I had been playing ping pong in my head with a story called 'Alter Ego' which was loosely based on me because @ night I would turn into this club crawling bar fly/slash sexually charged risk taker while in the daytime I was this normal 20 something. Indie films were getting bought by the handfuls (meaning a lot), few getting made but securing nice paying jobs for some of the writers.
In 1997 I had a friend of mine budget my recent tome at the time to the tune of 3 million to make. It was still do-able enough to gather up an audience and make a still profit and perhaps garner a few awards and accolades.
Now it 2006. I just feel that the state of the movie making business is going to fucking hell. Reese Witherspoon is getting 20 something million for her next picture and all the piracy going round. The fact that "The Squid and the Whale" hardly made a dent in audiences except those in major cities and it was a really good movie. The fact that I heard Don Cheadle talking the other day about Crash (he was a producer), and that no studio wanted to touch it and only did so after Brendan Frasier was on board, not the fact that the director and writer just won tons of acclaim for "Million Dollar Baby". It's all bullshit. The way we are all going to be subjected to shopping at 'Wal-Marts' and 'Sports Authority's' and 'Costco's' is the reflection of movies starring only safe box office stars (for the moment) vehicles. So be prepared to walk into your local Cineplex Odeon Million Theater and see 30 movies with Tom Cruise and Reese Witherspoon and Reese Witherspoon and Tom Hanks and Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts and Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts and all will have narration by

Gateway Pleasures

Pot was never anything more than pot to me. It never led me to do anything I did not want to do, and for a while I basically became immune to it. I could do everything in my day perfectly fine while being stoned.
Due to weekly piss tests at this place I'm at, I can not get high (now), hell I can not even take cold medicine without facing an evict.
Here's the conundrum. I need a dube for my screenplay. Like the heroin addict who needs to get through his withdrawals with a hit, I need that extra creative part of my synapses exposed so I can get over this one hump, and the only way that I know to rectify this safely is with a joint. I started thinking of excuses I could make to the administrators of this place if I get busted. I pictured myself exclaiming "I work with all these Rastas" and blame it on second hand smoke, but how frigging lame is that. Freaking United States with it's puritanical ways. Holland as my home land is getting closer and closer to being real.

Ohio and 17 other states are trying their hardest in Legislature to pass a bill that would prevent anyone who is gay from adopting children. Some asswipe was talking on NPR the other day about how he had one 'victim' from a lesbian household explain how she herself turned gay and is so unhappy about her life now.
Is this their precise for this ban? I could get blue in the face (or fingers) typing out what is so wrong with these 'legislators' warped thinking. Sexual abuse among Hetero's, Your Born gay you don't vicariously become gay et al.
I get so disillusioned by this country so often. I get pissed and wish I could follow half of these mother fuckers who start these bills around and see if this is not some hidden agenda with a Roy Cohn like self hatred. I want to expose these bastards, what right do they have from preventing ANY child from having a home.
After I heard this story and the purported 'home-made lesbo's' denial, I was thinking of the first time I was attracted to guys ( I try to think of this often). Each time I think of an example I could pre date it with another. It's kind of fun because my attractions towards guys (even before I knew about sex) were always different from what attracted me to the females I liked. Like, the male attractions were saying to me, "More will be revealed later".