Comfort Food

I'm writing this while my microwave macaroni and cheese "sets" in the microwave. I don't like it to be too hot or too saucy. It needs to sit in the microwave and coagulate a bit.

I read in the newspaper that Rupaul was going to be at Borders today, signing cd's. Rupaul was one of my idols, growing up and coming out. I remember seeing the video for "Supermodel (You Better Work)" for the first time and being blown away. It was okay. I was okay.

I waited in line for an hour and fifteen minutes. It was hot and stuffy and I was wearing a winter coat and jacket. Slightly annoyed but understanding of the nervous kids behind me making comments about people's clothing choices. "Look at crazy over there in pajama pants."

When Rupaul came out, things started getting going, I started having fun. Chills.

When it was my turn to meet with Rupaul, all that came out was--"I really like your blog."

I had the strangest sensation. Like she should know me.

"Remember me? I watched you on MTV after my jaw surgery. You made me feel better and I taped your video and played it over and over. Remember that?"

Walking around boystown, waiting to meet Rob, I listened to her cd. Looking at everyone in their halloween costumes, people smiling, really enjoying the season. Seventeen again! Something waking up inside me. A stereophonic voice telling me it was okay. I was okay.

Cocktails

I know it must be hard for all of you to keep up with my boozy, chain smoking, jet set lifestyle. Don't think I can't hear the murmured conversations at another one of my lavish, A-List, over the top parties.

"His fire burns so hot. Of course, It's beautiful to watch."

"Well, yes. But who's going to be there to pick up the pieces when he falls off the wall. Not me, I've had to put Jeremy back together again one too many times."

"Sure, he's got more talent than all of us combined. He just can't keep a hold of it. Like gold dust slipping through his fingers."

"...he's riding a schizophrenic horse into a wildfire."

"I agree. Let's not mistake insanity for genius."

"Well, you know that I've dealt with so many others like him, Marilyn Monroe, Brando, Belushi, Carrot Top...and look what happened to them."

"Like they're on roller coasters-up and down, up and down, fast and furious. Exhilarating as all get out. But where does it lead?"

"Nowhere."

"I've lost my lunch on that ride before. I'm not about to do it again."

"I'd just as soon sit on a bench with some cotton candy and watch it go."

"Look it him over there, so pleased with himself."

"As he should be, I suppose."

"Yes, but where does that leave him when the party's over? I mean we're all going home to our beautiful spouses and partners. We've all got something other than a musty old pillow to hold onto at night."

"Well he's certainly had the chance, with a face and a body like his-"

"An Adonis!"

"He could have any man he wanted. And they've all approached him"

"Every single one, myself included."

"It's sad, really."

diet

I have the diet of cartoon character: root beer(snoopy), cheesy poofs(south park gang), coffee (cathy), donuts (homer simpson), lasagna (garfield).

"Enough" by Alice McDermott (for school)

I read Alice McDermott's "Enough" at work today. After reading Jhumpa Lahiri's "When Mr. Pirzada Came to Dine," it was a breath of fresh air.

This story reminds me of a scene from the television show "Absolutely Fabulous" where Edina Monsoon, a woman clinging on to her hipster youth, is sitting at the kitchen table playing techno music, popping pills, smoking, reading a magazine and shoving ice cream into her mouth. The protagonist in "Enough" has an unquenchable appetite for pleasure: Sex, sex, sex, ice cream, ice cream, ice cream, children, music, children, fudge and lattes.

I think I have an addictive personality. I smoke a lot, drink a lot of coffee, spend too much money on stupid stuff, etc. I don't drink too much, but when I do- I want an oversized strawberry margarita that's going to put me on the floor. I wasn't deprived of things as a child. I wasn't spoiled but I always had stuff. I don't know where this desire to constantly be in a heightened state comes from and I don't really care.

When the nameless main character in "Enough" is a child she loathes stewed fruit for dessert on Sundays. She wants the ice cream so bad and counts down the days until she gets to it. She wants instant gratification. I really wanted the character to get what she wanted. I wanted her to continue to indulge her every whim, lick every plate, sleep with every man, get fat and not care. In real life you can't do this. That is what is remarkable about this story. I knew she shouldn't be doing this, but was delighted when she did.

Despite being very upset about her miscarriages and having a bit of latte "repeat" on her, there doesn't seem to be any punishment for her actions, which was so refreshing. I also loved the last lines of this story where the narrator speaks to the reader and says not to worry about the old lady and "put your tongue to the last vein of fudge in the empty carton. . .Take another, and another. Plenty. Never enough."

autobiography (for school)

I wasn't breathing when I was born. "You were a little blue, you were fine. You just needed a little help getting started, I wasn't worried," my mom said.

I grew up in San Jose, California. We had palm trees in our front yard and an orange tree in our backyard. Most of my time was spent at my best friend Nicole's house. We put on puppet shows, game shows, talk shows, cooking shows in her backyard.

I was very interested in female entertainers from a young age: Barbara Mandrell, Bette Midler, Dolly Parton and Joan Rivers.

Our family moved to Crystal Lake, Illinois when I was eleven, which turned my world upside down. The palm trees and orange trees were traded for mean Illinois winters and even meaner Illinois boys. I don't think Midwestern sixth grade boys know what to do with a chubby California boy that sings Dolly Parton songs on the playground. I did discover that if I sang the dirty songs and jokes I learned from my Joan Rivers and Bette Midler records, that I earned more respect or at least saved myself from being beat up. Towards the end of sixth grade, I became best friends with a girl named Kara. She was different from everyone else, talked back to teachers, and we shared an interest in Barbara Walters.

I began working at McDonalds when I was fourteen. McDonalds was the closest I ever came to playing a sport. As cheesy as it sounds, it really gave me a sense of a team and I was good at it, which made me feel good about myself. I have only recently taken it off my resume, as it doesn't impress people as much as you might think. I worked there on and off, but mostly on, until I was 24. I quit on September 11th and haven't gone back. It seemed like a good day to quit.

By the age of sixteen, I had a severe overbite. My dad had the same problem too, and because of this he developed some breathing problems and very crooked teeth. My orthodontist decided that I would need corrective jaw surgery. I did not really grasp what this meant until I woke up from surgery with a massive swollen head, a chin implant and my mouth wired shut for six weeks. Having my mouth wired shut was a turning point in my life. Internally and externally, I changed in many ways.

I came out of the proverbial closet in my junior year of high school and was elected prom king (or queen, whichever you prefer) my senior year. I never really had plans for college until it was too late. I took a few stabs at my community college in town, but it never really stuck. Instead there were lots of suburban nights riding around with friends, smoking cigarettes, listening to bad pop music. This continued for a long time until people started to get married, move away, go to school, morph into adults. I was a gay 24 year old prom king living with his parents, working at McDonalds.

My grandfather was a television critic. When he died, I inherited some money and decided to move to Chicago and live with Kara. We wrote and starred in two plays. The Chicago Reader called me "an awkward, freaky gay boy...and hilarious." I took some more improv comedy classes and kept writing. After a brief internship working on a television show, I decided that I wanted to go back to college and study television writing.

I've always been a bit behind. A little blue, just needing a little help to get started. I'm curious where I will end up.

Barbasol!

I didn't use shaving cream for the longest time. I would usually use regular old soap or conditioner to shave with. Then I discovered all the deliciously fragrant flavors of shaving cream that are available to women and men. Glistening Pear, Tropical Fruit, Thanksgiving Dinner, etc.

I was shopping for toiletries one day, trying to budget. The cheapest shaving cream available was Barbasol. I liked the way it looked with it's barber pole design, the alternating red and white. Very masculine. Very suburban dad in the late seventies dressing up for a dinner party at the Benson's house on a winter evening. He's in an unhappy marriage and everyone knows it. He's very hot for Susan Benson, the blonde hostess. Maybe he'll wind up in the garage with her- making out on top of the car, while the rest of the party snorts coke off of a glass coffee table. Susan Benson will always remember the smell of Barbasol. She'll buy it for her own husband, but it's not the same as that winter night on top of the car.

The Barbasol can doesn't have a rustproof bottom. I shave in the shower and it left rust rings all over the tile, that can only be removed with bleach. I had to wrap a plastic bag around it so I didn't have to keep scrubbing the tile clean. I won't buy Barbasol again. Back to Gilette or something with metallic sports car fonts and graphics. It's not as sexy as my Barbasol fantasy.

like a prayer

www.saintclinton.com

This morning

Listening to "Send in The Clowns," and indulging in seasonal depression. Kara is getting ready for work. I wish I could put on makeup for work. I would totally over do it and come in to my temp job like a drag queen. That would take away the depression though.

biggest fear

Tonight, I listened to an archived recording on NPR of Carrie Fisher on Fresh Air with Terry Gross. Carrie talks about how she still remembers all her lines from Star Wars. She says that her biggest fear is to be senile in a nursing home babbling on saying things like, "I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. My father will know how to retrieve it. You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan. This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."

Also, something to really fear...Bill O'Reilly

how i got the scar on my nose

When I was a child, I dressed up and performed shows in my basement to an invisible audience- lip-synching to songs and what not. In one of my performances, I decided to dress up as my version of Bette Midler- who I loved. I decided that for my opening number I would wear a porcelain Asian mask on my face. I could not figure out how to attach the mask as I would be dancing and it would surely slip off if I only used the flimsy decorative ribbon it came with.

I went to my dad's tool chest and found some chemistry goggles. These would be perfect because they would add a futuristic look to my big number, and they would keep the mask in place. While the opening chords of Bette Midler's Oh Industry (a song about industrialization and the depression of the working man) began to play, I held the mask on my face and slipped the chemistry goggles over it.

As I firmly tightened the straps of the goggles, the porcelain mask suddenly cracked and sliced into the bridge of my nose. I began to scream, my mother rushed down the stairs and saw me in my mask now shattered and dripping with blood. She got me in the car and had my father drive us the hospital. On the way, my dad, a bighearted guy, someone who beats himself up for everything, shook his head and said, "I should have warned you not to do that."