Shirtless pics of Joel McHale

I get up early on the weekends. Coffee, cigarettes. Googling my way through the webisphere. Shirtless pics of Joel McHale? Yes please. Free Kittens on Craigslist, Hypomania, will walgreens deliver me things, best wireless blutooth headset.....

Today at 6:34 it rains as the sun comes up very slowly. Thinking about how I should stay far away from any election coverage because it causes me unnecessary depression and ultimately means nothing. Something about how Joe Biden really knocked Paul Ryan on his ass- doesn't mean anything to me. I mean it does, it does too much and that's why I can't watch.

Paul Ryan reminds me of a pervy tech guy. Nothing against tech guys... or pervy guys for that matter. He just reminds me of one of those single guys with no date at your table, divorced, talks to you a little too long, borrows a cigarette, borrows another one, says he doesn't smoke as he smokes, you see him again in the bathroom, "Hey man." You think him antisocial, but then see him on the dancefloor an hour later doing the Chicken Dance as you sit at your table, now alone. Who's antisocial now? More of a go-getter than you thought.

And Barack, and Joe, and Romney and their wives and relatives are all now caricatures. Only a handful of years away from their own reality TV shows.  "Just Malia!" "Ann Romney- My Turn." Interviews with Oprah, ending in an overenthusiastic high five.

I love pop culture, I love all my tv channels, all the ridiculous shows- candy everyone wants. But how does Jeremy get back to nature?

My "safe place," that imaginary calm place you return to in your mind as you fall asleep, is me in the middle of the ocean on a raft- miles away from anything. Laying on my back- floating away from everything and everywhere. No shore in sight. Just me and the water and the depth below, miles and miles down. Away from Melissa Rivers, away from Sandra Lee's Semi Homemade, away from work, Angry Birds, Facebook, Grindr, Sallie Mae's calls. Away from Target, amateur porn, the CTA, Walgreens pharmacy, Starbucks' filled with lonely gay men.

Just me on a raft floating into the unknown. I'll hit shore again, turn on my cellphone and put on my Kenneth Cole shirt and Perry Ellis pants and Zappos dress boots.