the drum beats out of time

Ever notice how the cursor on a computer, or the turn signal in your car (or its windshield wipers--except in Eddie Rabbit songs)... ever notice how they never quite seem to match the beat of the song playing? You'll be fooled for a few seconds--hey, they're in sync!--but then it gradually moves out of phase.

last-ditch Gay-lileo plan

What if I quit my job, sold the car, lived on my nest egg, and devoted the bulk of my time to getting back into shape? Could I land a rich husband?

I had this thought recently. Immediately, it made me think of my favourite Star Trek episode, The Galileo Seven. Spock is in command of the Galileo shuttlecraft, which is in trouble after a crash-landing. The crew have managed to get back into space, but a lack of fuel leaves them with few options. The Enterprise cannot divert from its course to fully search for them, and is about to stop scanning. Spock dumps and ignites Galileo's fuel, which has the effect of creating a huge distress flare. The Enterprise picks it up and saves the Galileo's crew, just as the powerless shuttle begins to plummet back to the planet.

"Mr. Spock, that was a good gamble--perhaps it was worth it," says Scott.

I'm gonna (cashew) nut...

This is Dane Cook, and when I saw him on SNL talking about having an amazing erecti0n--one that he was very proud of, and that lasted even as he walked into his kitchen, placed a cashew nut on the tip, and flicked it up into his open mouth--I practically crawled into my television set screaming "I love cashews!"

to the gay guy on the 509/510 to Union Station, evening of 4/19/2006

(subtitle: too much self-confidence)



we all heard you talking

"Omigod! I can't stand her! She's so trailer-park!"

"yip yip gay yip
bla gay bla bla
like like like flaming"

some of us continued to hear you talking on the subway platform at Union

some of us were quite far away

your hairdo made your head look like it had just been pulled from a birth canal

nice Von Dutch purse

it sure was bright down there in the subway, wasn't it?
good thing you had your jLo shades

oh, and Vinnie Barbarino called
he needs his jeans back

if you saw me staring, it was just because I was willing (with my imagination, à la Joan Allen's character in The Upside of Anger) your head to explode, or for you to trip on your Euro-techno-sneakers and fall in front of the train

the driver would've had to activate the windscreen wiper

it would have been decidedly not "glam"

j0rg3 Googled r0ug3... real nice and slow

George Larson got a bit Google-ey tonight and found some art with the same title as my Blogger handle. This resulted from a gmail exchange we had about the name "Ennis." During this exchange, j0rg3 told me to "think like an American moron." I'm going to assume that he intended not to put a comma after the word American.

An American might not have the same deference to authority (or copyright law) that I do as a Canadian. So here are some screen-captures of George's findings:






- for a reference to the artists' work, click on the pictures and view the url in the address window of the screen caps
- yes, I realize that writing this footnote makes me a rule-obeying Canadian

movie review: An Unfinished Life

Not since Matthew McConaughey played a cop in Boys on the Side has a police officer in a movie turned me on as much as Josh Lucas in An Unfinished Life.

That's it. Josh Lucas=hot. End of review.

The Simpsons episode 8F16

Alright, commenters, message received. Keep an upbeat attitude. Go on a date. And laugh...



Lisa: Maybe we should write her another letter. One that says goodbye, but lets her feel loved.

Homer: Step aside everyone! Sensitive love letters are my specialty. (Homer rips off a sheet of paper and starts writing.)
"Dear Baby,
Welcome to Dumpsville. Population: you."

the m4m trifecta and me

This post is an expansion on why I cried last Friday. It also explains why I dread Valentine's Day.


The m4m* players:

"C" - looks very much like me, except shorter. Works near me; we sometimes bump into each other. Nothing ever happened.

"L" - I actually met (& slept) with him some years back. I was crushing; him--not so much. We lost touch after he moved away.

"K" - probably one of my top 5 "Internet meets" (not meat)... could not be more my type



Valentine's Day 2005: I'm getting coffee across the street. C is also getting coffee, and surprise! He's with L. I ask L when he got back to Toronto, and find out that he "moved back for this guy." (He points to C.)

Summer 2005: While on a Church Street patio, I see someone who looks very much like K. Since I've only met K online, I find an appropriate moment and introduce myself. "Hey, I thought you looked familiar, too" he says. We chat. I find that looking directly at him is like staring into a bi-xenon headlight. He reveals that he's not single.

Winter 2006: back in the infamous coffee place across the street, I run into C again. This time, he's with K. WTF?

April 7 2006 (morning): C gets on my bus and sits by me. We chat. He stayed over at L's lastnight. I try not to picture the sex. I casually bring up K, and learn that C and K have known each other for many years. C hired K (this is a company that did not respond to my application a few years back), which is why I saw them together a few weeks ago. I mention how I know K (it's cool... C and I have sent each other naked pictures... why not?). I find out that K is still "not single."

Ready for the knife-to-the-heart? I wasn't.

Says C: "K's boyfriend is tall like you--maybe a bit taller--and has almost the same hair colour as you. Isn't that funny?"

No, it's not.

I get nothing. Perfecta? Trifecta? NOFECTA.


* m4m is a gay hook-up website

"gifts" from Peter

Too Busy Living likes to give me things that stress me out, make me laugh, or clutter my apartment. Sometimes, the idea backfires on him (as was the case with my trickle Zen fountain, which I still have and use); sometimes, I refuse to take the items with me and they end up getting used by the donor (as was the case with the "Hello Kitty" slippers).

These three books* were donated to the library in my building's laundry room. The family scrapbook was gone by the time my clothes were dry.




These items are still looking for a good home:



* Peter, I removed the pages you inscribed and saved them. I'm not totally heartless.

Emily Dickinson graffiti

But I don't know oh
How I'm gonna get through - Dusty Springfield

I broke down crying twice today (Friday). The first time was in my office. A coworker sent me a clip from The Montel Williams Show about a dog who--missing her front legs--had learned how to walk upright. It was the most adorable dog. The owner has a book out; I may cave in and buy it. I fucking bawled.

The second time was upon my return home. It was a shit day to finish off a shit week. A lot of feeling sorry for myself, and very little sleep. I put on my Pet Shop Boys cd and listened to my theme song. I know the words are melancholy, but I've always been cheered up by the music itself. Tonight, it made me cry. I wept, as I searched for the e-mail informing me of a family member's surgery date. Oh. Today.

With the crying abated, and a couple of phonecalls placed, I was on an even keel again. Try and think of someone other than yourself. Guess if a hysterectomy hurts or not...

I changed my clothes and went back out to catch a streetcar to meet up with friends for dinner. I'm waiting by a group of newspaper boxes, and happen to look down at the one I'm standing in front of. There's an address label affixed to it, and printed on the label is the following quote:

Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough. - Emily Dickinson

It was one of those surreal city moments where you are caught off guard. Had someone printed off a bunch of Avery labels with Emily Dickinson quotes and set off to plaster them at random points across the city? Was I meant to see this quote, and not take a taxi to the restaurant? Was it meaningful that my first impression was, "fuck you, Emily! Life is devoid of ecstasy! The mere sense of living is enough to make me want to suck on a tailpipe!"

theme song

I tried to attach this to my profile as an audio clip. I wasn't successful--perhaps the file was too large.

la toilette de madame

teh l4m3 tagged me with this même yesterday. Omigod! This must be what it feels like when Vanity Fair asks you to be in the "My Stuff" sidebar for their next issue!


1. body soap?

Mostly bar; dependent upon season. In winter: something gentle, like Jergen's Mild. In summer: something hardcore, like Safeguard (I sweat like a pig when it's humid).

If I have a date, I reach for my ~H₂O+ Sea Salt Body Wash.


2. face wash?

~H₂O+ Face Oasis Cleansing Water


3. shampoo?

I alternate between four products: Citré Shine, ~H₂O+ Sea Marine, Aveda Shampure, and Aveda Madder Root.


4. moisturizer?

~H₂O+ Aquafirm Replenishing Night Cream, Neutrogena Intensified Day Moisture (you guessed it... one for night; one for day)


5. cologne?

When worn, it's seasonal. In winter: Herrera for Men. In summer: Davidoff Cool Water (very rarely).


6. deodorant/anti-perspirant?

Mitchum Sport Clear Gel anti-perspirant. Bring on the Alzheimer's.


7. toothpaste?

Colgate Total


8. mouthwash?

Biotène


9. razor?

Gillette Sensor Excel (seriously, what is the point of more than two blades?)


10. shaving cream?

Gillette Foamy


11. aftershave?

Clinique Post-Shave Soother for Men


12. missed anything?

Hell yes! Eye care. I'm 36. The crow's feet approacheth... Neutrogena Healthy Skin Eye Cream; Oil of Olay Revitalizing Eye Gel.

And what about conditioner? Very important--especially if you have a beard like I currently do. (I have corresponding conditioners for all listed shampoos except for Aveda Madder Root.)


13. whose bathroom shall we raid next?

Whitney Houston's

Sex Talk with Phyllis Levy

The part of Canada I grew up in (mentioned in a post from February) was pretty remote. Dealing with my sexuality in such a setting was awful in the 1980s, and I'm sure it's not much easier now. But in 1986 (when I was 16), I had a voice coming through my radio that gave me hope and made me feel slightly less alone.

That voice belonged to Phyllis Levy, who hosted a show on WLS 890 out of Chicago called Sex Talk.

I could receive WLS fairly reliably at night, despite the fact that Chicago was about 1050 km / 650 miles away (SSE, as the crow flies). It was AM radio, and I would keep it on low volume in my room.

Phyllis Levy had the kindest voice, and a great sense of humour. I remember laughing when, discussing penile desensitization (from excessive friction), she exclaimed, "omigod, you guys! Be careful out there!"

I would give anything to hear her voice again. I wasn't able to Google up much on her... so Phyllis, this one's for you.

drinking the corporate coo-laid

There are benefits to being single, gay, childless, and under-employed. A different perspective, for one.

Post-university, I heard stories of my friends freaking out at their high-stress jobs. One by one, they'd either drop out from burnout or babies. But they seemed unanimous in their support of 70-hour workweeks being normal.

I'm sorry. Unless I'm a world leader, partner in a law firm, or Martha Stewart, there is something wrong with a 70-hour workweek. At this level of slavery, you should probably employ something called a "household staff" and have at least two personal assistants. But my friends were in mid-management positions and still picking up their own dry cleaning.

I saw reflections of my friends in Leslie Stahl's piece on 60 Minutes last night; in particular, the three "Best Bi" workaholics. God bless Leslie Stahl: she had a hard time maintaining a neutral position as she looked at these people and said, "you're brainwashed."

Money aside, tell me the difference between the passion that North Americans publically demonstrate to their jobs and the fervour that North Koreans publically demonstrate toward their government... the difference between armies of yuppies trying to Blackberry as they drive and the rallies of the former Soviet Union...

There was an article in Fast Company a few years ago about job satisfaction where one ex-corporate-schmuck outlined his reasons for quitting: what good is a $200,000 annual income when all I have time to spend it on is takeout food and expensive suits?