not even that hot

I would like a whole wall of window air conditioners. I want 28 of them. I want to cause the lights to flicker all across America because of all the power that I am using to cool myself off. I want to have to curl up in a blanket because "it's gettin a little chilly." I want to crave soup and a grilled cheese I am so synthetically cold. I want to look at the people sweating outside and laugh maniacally while I am wearing a snowsuit. I want it to actually start snowing in my apartment because of how cold the air is. I want the pipes to freeze. I want to get frostbite. I want to have to be taken to the air conditioned hospital in an air conditioned ambulance because I have a serious case of frostbite caused by too much air conditioning. I want to be like that overly tanned woman and her daughter she took to the tanning beds. But with air conditioning. I want to have a child and have it be thirty below in my apartment and have him/her in a snowsuit and make snowmen in our apartment. People will youtube me. I want to go viral with my air conditioning. I don't just want it for myself, I want to take it from other people. I want all of Chicago to be hot and I am the only one who is cool as a cucumber. In my snowsuit smoking a cigarette. Like Cruella Deville but instead of puppies I steal air conditioning. If I have to go outside I wear a NASA chemically cooled space suit and it takes me 3 hours to walk a block. I want to go to the grocery store like this to buy just one 2 liter of Diet Cherry Pepsi. It will take me the whole day to walk there and I will cause such a commotion I will be on the news (after the sports and weather) as a human interest story.

its all good though

..well I tell you folks it's been a long week for ME. the paula deen scandal and having the first hangover in about three years. that crazy off the hook gay pride parade really took it out of me. sippin on other peoples drinks and handfuls of vodka soaked gummi bears from a lovely lady who's name escapes me and I am off my rocker. a very mild sunburn and lots of naps. lots of overly air conditioned naps. went ahead and bought disney's oz on blu ray. puttin that shit on and takin naps. james franco turns out is very very sexually attractive. smokin my brains out. marlboro special blend 100's. smokin the hell out of that shit. thats some good tobacco man. walkin around andersonville peepin the boys and daddies and their frickin dogs. always walkin their dogs. dont they know real gay men get cats. i don't have to walk my frickin cat. sippin this coffee on the porch and smokin the last of my marbs and lovin the weather. broke as fuck. its all good though. had a bbq on the fourth of july. all my homies watched some big brother. that was off the hook. then the big E had the homies watchin some disney american themed shorts. im like i like disney but its frickin hot in our apartment so i sat outside with the neighbors and some other good peeps and smoked and watched them smoke. real chill. had to work friday so i was like i got to get to bed fucks! i climbed in bed around eleven and turned on that oz movie and snoozed it out. work was ok. real slow. then came home and watched some reality show about an airport that i had set to dvr from work. it was all good. lookin forward to hanging with some work peeps on sunday. today is for some ac naps and smokin more reds. weekends is weird. i get real tweaked in the morning about 5 and then go back to bed at 9 or so and wake up in a crabass mood that lasts the rest of the day. its all good though.

"I am out of meth and need to buy some from your downstairs neighbor."

Psst....I think we have drug dealers living below us. Can I say that? Will I get shot?

The apartment below us has always been a magnet for odd characters. When we first moved in there were some pretty normalish 20somethingish boys living there. We only saw this one dude that was staying with them. I spent a few nights smoking on the porch with him. He was a real talker-- which is always good for me. I enjoy observing people, especially talkers who are basically giving themselves psychotherapy- working out issues. One evening, I came out for a cigarette and must have fallen asleep on the porch. I woke up with him quietly awaking me- "Jeremy, time for bed."

He was staying with them for awhile until he could find a job and move out on his own. I did give him some job hints- staffing agencies that I have worked for. He would take the number but I knew that there was not a chance in hell that he was going to call. He ended up working for a cell phone store. He was one of those guys who work in cell phone stores. A strange breed. Jittery young men REALLY trying to sell and do a good job. With their shirts partially untucked- wearing sneakers. Former Little Ceasers guys really wanting to turn a new leaf and become men. Get their lives together.

Then there were some dude with a kid. I think he was middle eastern. The story we cobbled together was that he was recently divorced. His daughter was dropped off on the weekends. With her Dora the Explorer luggage on wheels. I wasn't sure if he was selling drugs or just doing them. But I got that vibe from him. I don't think he was working. Drug fueled weeks of laying around in a garden apartment falling into a pit of filth and drugs and then spending the weekend with an adorable daughter. Could be worse I guess.

Then some bitchy bitchy lady moved in downstairs. I don't think she was up to anything. But she was always on her cell phone when she exploded out of the apartment door. Really ripping into someone. Lots of anger and disagreement and yelling into her cell phone. Never said hello to me. One time I think she said "Jesus Christ" directed at me. Maybe a cigarette butt had fallen through the slats from my porch to her cement back door entrance. But I TOTALLY got her. Understood the frustration and ridiculousness of it all.

The new person that moved in is clearly selling drugs. The door buzzed a few weeks ago and I answered it- staticy garbled girl freaking out on the other end of the intercom. I did not let her in. Locked in the vestibule, the glass lobby door separating us.

"I'm supposed to see an apartment," she yelled through the door, twitching and very nervous. I translated this as, "I am out of meth and need to buy some from your downstairs neighbor." She must have found the right apartment. Later I was on the porch and she and alleged drug dealer came out. The drug dealer informed her, "This neighborhood is very quiet- you need to come to the back door."

Since then, there have been random nervous people waiting outside the back door as I smoke my cigarettes and judge. Seeing me, they walk away and pretend to just be enjoying the sights of our filthy alley. Just taking a Sunday stroll by the dumpsters. Cars pulling up, leaving quickly.

My prediction is that this won't last long. The garden apartment people seem to come and go.

My thoughts are- whatever gets you through the night. Like the lady screaming into her cellphone- life can be real hard. Hopefully the drug dealers and drug takers are finding some peace and relief in their pursuits. Whatever the sacrifice. I wish them well on their journeys and hope they can get to a good place.

I just don't want to be shot.

The Jeremy Show Interviews: Gay Porn Star Blue Bailey

You mentioned in a post that you paid off unsubsidized loans with porn? I should totally do that-- how else am i going to get rid of it? My scene would be very niche. Slightly overweight, bipolar gay porn! Did your debt have anything to do with choosing a career in porn?

Not at all. I’ve always had a day job that has paid the bills, but porn was a fun and easy way to make extra spending cash.  Now that I've graduated, I'd like to pay off all my unsubsidized loans as quickly as possible to avoid accruing interest during future education.  

Tell me about your trip to Amsterdam.

Originally, I was going to Italy as a gift from my grandmother for graduating SFSU.  I had the flight booked two weeks prior to meeting up with her and went to Amsterdam and Berlin with my partner. We lucked out and arrived the weekend of Amsterdam Pride.  It was a beautiful city to visit and great coffee.  

You mentioned that you wouldn't mind moving to Chicago- what is it about Chicago that you liked that much? As opposed to San Francisco

SF is great, but I would consider moving to Chicago at least for school.  The city is part inspiration for Nolan's Gotham City, so how can you go wrong with that.  

I am 37 you are twentysomething. Tell me about where you see yourself at 37.

At 37, I see myself being a successful attorney at a law firm specializing in media/entertainment and/or first amendment law.  I'd like to own a car, property, and a puppy or two.   

What do you know about Bailey Blue, the female pornstar who has your name in reverse?

Nothing actually, except the name.  We should do lunch and talk shop

You were 1st Runner-up for Mr. RentBoy SF 2013! How did you feel that you won? What did that mean to you?

Didn't think I'd make it past the first round of eliminations, so was quite surprised.  

How does your family feel about your job? Tell me about them if you want to.

They actually found out by an ex.  He had decided to call and let them know after we had broken up and I had moved out.  My family is and has always been supportive of me.    

What was your first film? Tell me about that experience.

I don't remember the name of it, but remember it was group j/o scene and very uncomfortable at first.  I did meet my partner at a shoot, and do remember that one quite well.  He lived in Walnut Creek at the time, and I walked him to the BART after we finished.  

I feel like there are such generational differences between gay men. I feel like maybe the coming out process is quicker, with a little less of the self loathing and depression than in my generation. Do you feel there are major generational differences between you and older gay men? I don't know I feel like Liberace and you feel like Matt Damon to me. Thoughts?

I definitely feel that the coming out process is easier than prior generations, but I'm sure the self loathing and depression you mention existed in both.  Social media has had a major impact on promoting the acceptance of the LGBT community, but I think there are certain setbacks.  Every aspect of a teen's life is now documented and broadcast instantaneously, opening them up to continual criticism and potentially harassment.  

Are there many Jews in porn? God Jewish boys are hot.

I personally don't know that many, but then again I don't really ask either.  I'm not that religious, but I was raised Jewish and identify as a Jew.

How did you choose Blue Bailey as your porn name? Mine is Pepper Rowley

Out drinking with friends in LA....it was originally gonna be Bailey Blue, but some slut stole it :p

If we're doing the first pet and first street name equation. Rocky Horseback. Named my dog after the Red Power Ranger and the first street I remember living on is Horseback Circle

What was it like growing up in Las Vega$?

It sucked!...When I grew up there , all you could do was drink and gamble, which obviously wasn't an option as a minor.  Thankfully, I had a good group of friends to hang out with and drive around blasting 80s music.

Do you think it would be a good vacation for a gay couple one of whom (not me) is very against the idea and thinks that we shouldn't go there if we don't have a lot of money? But I just want to go back to an old seventies hotel like the Riviera and be Sharon Stone in Casino. Walk around and smell the sin and money and cigarette smoke in the air. Get a free cranberry and vodka and play the nickel slots-- THATS ALL I WANT BLUE!!!!!

You'd have to plan it during a gay holiday.  National Coming Out Day was the most busiest.  The porn convention used to bring in a ton of gays, but it focuses almost enitrely on the straight side now.  

What value meal do you order at McDonalds?

I'm more of an In-n-Out...and in again...guy.  Double double protein style and animal fries.  Read into that as much as you'd like :)

Are you able to put your education in broadcasting to use in porn? I went to Columbia College and got a degree in Television. I tried a few TV jobs- now I'm a Administrative Assistant at a college. It's fine.

I didn't do much production, but the BECA department at SFSU offered courses with lighting technique, video editing, and basic media aesthetics.  I have a friend who studied video and photography, and he works as an editor for a porn company.  My official degree is a BA in Broadcast & Electronic Communication Arts, emphasizing in Law and Regulation of Media.  

What is on your Amazon wish list? Or what do you want to buy?

Alfred Hitchcock: The Masterpiece Collection on Blu Ray...and the Adam West Batman Series on Blu Ray if they ever get a release date for it.  

I see you went to Madonna's MDNA concert- what did you think? Huge Madonna fan here.

it was a really good show, and I'm glad I got to see her once.  Wish I would've made it to the confessions tour though.  Not rushing to pay her ticket prices again anytime soon, but I'd certainly shell out the money to see Kylie, Muse, or GaGa.  

Do you want kids?

Nope, but I do want a few puppies.  

What is all the crap about barebacking in porn? What is your stance?

To me all it is - is sex. Super hot sex without protection, sure. But it's nothing to be demonized. It's like internalized homophobia to me. It is a decision that should be made between the performers and certainly not regulated by law.  There's a whole bigger discusser to safer sex practices than simple condom propaganda i.e. Prep, serosorting, and the like.  

Besides porn- what is your passion? What are you a total nerd for?

Horror shit!  The '78 Halloween is by far my favorite film.  Nothing beats going to the midnight opening of a scary movie with a bunch of audience reaction.  Looking forward to Dexter/True Blood Sundays this summer!

Did you enjoy high school? Did you play sports? Any other activities?

I was the fat kid in high school and could not wait to get the fuck out.  Didn't play any sports and used band and ROTC to get out of PE.  

Unusual celebrity crushes- mine Louis CK, Chris Pratt (from Parks and Rec).

Paul Rudd from Halloween 6.

What is your typical daily routine?

Wake up as late as my schedule will allow, work then gym or the reverse, home, BF time or solo time if he's out

Have you met any celebrities who knew you from your work? Who? Did you sleep with them?

Nope, but Andy Cohen can come get it anytime.

Tell me a favorite "Jewish saying" Is that a thing? Or some words of wisdom you try to live by.

Shabat Shalom, MotherFucker!

naked parties

I want to experience Chicago as I did when I first came here in my early twenties. I used to visit my good friend in a Bronco II that my dad bought for $500. I was supposed to move in with Hillary but chickened out at the last minute.

I would come to her apartment with Tidy Cat box of videotapes that I anticipated us all watching- Bette Midler concerts, Absolutely Fabulous episodes, 90's indie gay movies. I never travelled anywhere without my VHS's.

Summer in the city for a suburban gay twentysomething boy was like Disneyland. If only I could be that skinny again with bleach blonde hair. Thrift store clothes. Full of horniness and not understanding how to harness it. Awkward at every level.

Everyone smoked back then. It was heaven. Coffee in the morning and cigarette after cigarette after cigarette. Pre-internet, pre-9/11, pre-facebook, pre-Grindr.

I had anxiety and depression then. As I do now. I must be blocking that out now- because all I can remember is the heat and the no air conditioning. Drinking deliciously excessively and able to withstand it. To get sloppy sexy hilariously drunk. We had naked parties. We would have a whole party where everyone would get naked. It's amazing how fast the self consioucness of being naked melts away, when you realize that everyone is the same. Everyones bodies have weird issues.

Lots of dancing, 90's music, Janet, Madonna, Pet Shop Boys. Electric synthetic beats and buzzes. The Clinton era. No real responsibilties.

Deleted Scenes

These are some unfinished blog posts. Enjoy.

Rejuvenique


It's been in the back of my mind for a long time and I keep putting it off.

Time to take some time for myself with the Rejuvenique mask. This mask, which has been available for some time and endorsed by the wonderful Linda Evans is available at Amazon.com for the low price of $39.99. Not to drop any Christmas hints.

Yellow Wallpaper

I would never paint a wall yellow because it makes babies go crazy. Also because of the story "The Yellow Wallpaper" where the woman goes crazy or whatever- I can't remember. I need no help in that area.

I've lived in my apartment for four or five years. I can't remember how long I've lived here. During that time the white walls have accumulated a yellow patina created by Camel Light cigarette smoke. I've thought about painting several times. I would love to paint a bold orange or some shade of blue. If I move out my lease dictates that I paint it all back to white. I don't feel like I'll want to paint when it comes time to move. So I sit with the ugly smoke stained walls. Apathetic.

I was walking home today trying to understand where things went wrong. Never a good idea. My brain goes in a loop. The dime store therapist in my head tries to figure it out and I argue with him and then I get confused, scared and mad.

Jeremys Pot Den

I really wish I could smoke pot. I am relaxing- listening to some trippy mash ups of Madonna songs from her latest tour. And I think a big fat doobie would really be great right now. Just light it up on the porch and enjoy the Sunday.

The first time I smoked pot was with my good friends Lara and Rebecca. Names have been changed in case they are planning on running for president, not a bad idea as these two ladies could rock some serious pantsuit. We were at a very sexy and sexually ambiguous (clearly straight) gentleman's house for some sort of post high school, pre community college hot tub party.

Sarah Lunesta

She wakes up and finds herself on the kitchen floor in front of her paper shredder. She has apparently been shredding in her sleep. Thin ribbons once magazines, unopened envelopes, recipe cards, insurance papers overflow in the shredder basket. The red ERROR light on the top of the shredder blinks in surrender.

Thanks to the side effects of the seemingly unlimited supply of sleeping pills from her doctor, Sarah has woken up before in these strange still lifes. Woman in Bed, Empty Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream Container. Woman in Bathtub with Shampoo in Hair, Briefcase, Tostitos.  Woman on Couch, Sound of Music DVD Menu, Coke Zero, Jolly Rancher Wrappers.

This scene in front of the shredder is not a surprise, more of an annoyance. She gets up unsteadily and makes her way from the kitchen, to the hall and back to her bed. Climbing under her comforter, her foot wrestles with a crinkly plastic bag. A closer look at her sheets reveals a constellation of half melted chocolate chips. No thought of cleaning this up or changing the sheets because there is no energy.

Sarah was originally prescribed these pills after her boyfriend left her and she had a miscarriage. Or was it a miscarriage.

The Winter My Brain Exploded

On the bus, headed to work. All the windows were caked with salt making the bus a claustrophobic eggshell. Myself and the other passengers were the yolk. I don't remember now why, but I am compelled to crack open this shell, to get off this bus. A woman commented on my swift departure. I find some shelter and call into work.

Then I call in the next day, and the next day and so on. Anxiety and depression comes over me like an avalanche. I work with my therapist and psychiatrist to find a way out. The avalanche continues to come over me. I become afraid to drive, afraid to leave my apartment, afraid to be in my apartment. I go to my parents for a change of scenery and it does not help. I come home and it does not help.

The root causes of the depression and anxiety are there. This didn't just come out of nowhere. I had been worried about money for months. Student loans and bills had been mounting and I was able to make some arrangements. I was able to juggle and spin plates for awhile. But at some point I was not able to. My body told me that as I lay on the floor in my parents spare room rocking and talking to myself like a crazy person. I had gone crazy. It was official.

I am able to write this with the help of an anti-anxiety drug that is addictive and that I am very nervous about being on.

Prilosec

I am drinking baking soda dissolved in water because I have terrible acid reflux and I don't seem to have any Prilosec. I've looked in my carpet for a stray pill but I seem to have vacuumed them all up.

Yesterday, I had my blood drawn to see where my testosterone levels are. I have been taking a gel form of testosterone for six months now. I was having hot flashes, then aching bones. After researching it all myself I discovered that I had low testosterone. After my last test the gel wasn't working so they doubled it. We'll see how things go.

I was disturbed to hear that over six hundred Starbucks stores are closing.

Angry lesbians next door who don't say hello

I'm on the porch, smoking my cigs. Here they come with their bad attitudes and their bags full of empty boxes of organic Trader Joe's bullshit and I don't know what else. What do lesbians throw away? I guess they're just like the rest of us, I don't know.

But what gets me is they never smile or say hello- whether they are throwing away garbage or putting on their bike helmets and heading out for the day. They won't even make eye contact. And where are they off to anyway? Some lesbian drum circle? I halfheartedly apologize for my stereotyping and well, homophobia. But just give me a smile lady. We're in this together.

There is another portly lesbian a door away who drives down the alley and always stops her convertible to say "Hey, enjoying the weather, man?" So much so that I'm like- hey back off. But it's still nice to be noticed. Not these lesbians.

I may be in the depths of depression, I may have just crapped my pants, I may be wearing two different shoes and contemplating the end of days but I will always say "Hello."

I don't want to be their friends, and I certainly don't want to come over and eat their food. But I would like them to wipe those frowns off their faces and make an effort. And this may be asking too much- but I would also like them to jazz up their outfits a little. A little product in the hair. A skirt once in awhile wouldn't kill them.

I bet they're lawyers or some shit. Social services. Those are the worst.

I had a lesbian therapist that drove me into the mental hospital. Well, ok she said "If you feel you need to be hospitalized- you should go."What kind of bullshit is that? Can't we dance the dance of clinical depression? The patient therapist waltz. "Downward Spiral," the new dance craze sponsored by Lexapro!

This is a horribly misogynistic, homphobic rant that is inexcusable. But I'm serious about the skirt.

I crave a life of intensity.

I crave a life of intensity. Just today I was begging a friend on the east coast to quit his job and go with me to Las Vegas. I told him I wanted to live my last days in complete depravity. Drinking brown liquor by a dirty motel pool. Our untoned moderatley hairy chests and fast food bellies burning unevenly in the hot Nevada sun. Surrounded by meth addicts and organized crime middle managers.I want lots of screaming and slapping, unidentifiable gunshots in the night. Police sirens and men wearing dirty white t-shirts and basketball shorts falling down drunk.

My friend told me to be careful what I wish for.

I told him I wanted to feel the burn. Third degree Las Vegas sunburns! Dry skin, dehydrated cotton fuzzy hangover headaches. Falling asleep in filthy bathtubs at four in the morning. Drugs! Hard drugs- drugs you've never even heard of. I want to be a guinea pig for the next generation of deadbeats.

My friend said he was leaving Subway and had to get back to work.

I want my life to be instagrammed in late sixties/early seventies patina. I want to cry like a Kennedy wife. Excess and tragedy, pills and liquor. Fashion and misery on the rocks. Natalie Wood clawing her way back onto the boat with thick red lacquered nails. I want mental illness before mental illness. I want a spooky neurosis. I want people to wonder what the hell I'm doing at six in the morning, slamming cupboards and breaking dishes. Laying on the kitchen floor sobbing with a paper shredder and a cigarette. Shredding pictures of so called old lovers and friends I haven't seen since high school.

No intensity.
Still.
Cold.
Quiet.
A clearing of the throat.
A sneeze.
Bless you.
The back of an envelope. A smooth pen.
Something to remember.
Something to pick up at the store.
Something for tomorrow. Or the weekend.

Argyle

This morning I rubbed myself down with a generous amount of unscented moisturizer in an attempt to ward off dry irritated, itchy skin. I then put on my thermal underwear. I imagined that this would hold in the moisturizer, creating a barrier to the dry winter air.

I have found myself wearing sunglasses in the morning. Even when it is still very dark. I find that the sunglasses shield a little bit from the cold. However, I wonder if I am using it as a barrier, a transition from the dark peace of sleep to the stark reality of the day. I start to worry that people on the train think I am crazy, wearing sunglasses when it is almost still pitch black. And then I remember that I don't give a fuck what anyone on the train thinks.

At my el station, Argyle, there is a horrid horrid smell. At first I thought it smelled like someone was cooking garbage. I imagined that there was some insane woman stirring a giant cauldron of old newspapers, kitty litter, old tires, empty bottles, discarded pieces of clothing, random bits of plastic. An urban witch, stirring her garbage potion, cooking up havoc and despair for the city. I think it's just really old, cheap, discarded cooking oil from the many restaurants in the area.

The smell is horrible. And it's never not there. It's always there. In the summer, in the dead of winter. I am usually not so sensitive to such things. I smoke, I miss the occasional shower. I probably am not the best smelling person on the planet.  For me to be so taken aback by an odor something is very very wrong.

The smell haunts me. I can almost recreate it in my mind and almost smell it right now I have it so memorized.

I have no idea what I was talking/blogging about.Good night.

white box

People in my past still haunt me. People from grade school, high school, various jobs are with me everyday. Living on and on with me everyday. Real conversations in my head with people I haven't seen or heard from in years, decades. So much of my time living in these scenarios, arguing, laughing, spending time in my head with people who are no longer in my life.

Today, falling into a nap, after watching a Vogue documentary, thinking about a fashion shoot with all of these missing people. Bryan Rooney in Gaultier drag, Jared Schmidt in a cable knit sweater, leather pants, cowboy boots. Tina Casillas in an homage to Elizabeth Taylor. Old schoolmates like 90's supermodels in a huddle, smiling at the camera in Couture. 

Get out of my head! Too much time spent looking up old friends and people I barely knew on Facebook.

Brings me back to wanting a white room, white bed, white sheets. Throw everything away. A lobotomy. Clear it out.

Wallpaper

I love when people are passionate about stuff. I love that Erik fills our house with his passion, Disney. I've always loved Disney since I was little- more Disneyland. I grew up in northern California so we drove down to Disneyland a few times and those are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.

When people are passionate about things you can see their soul light up and you get to bask in the glow. Erik's love for Disney makes him so happy, excited. It gets me excited, excited for him.

I'm very passionate about Martha Stewart. There is truly no one else like her. She creates a fantasy world, much like Disney. I want to live there. In the world of ruthless organization with touches of well thought out whimsy. Clean, perfect, sensible. But this world doesn't exist, even for Martha Stewart. She presents this world. But she doesn't even live there completely. She wants to live there as much as we do.

Martha is great because you can tell that SHE is totally passionate about her interests- food, decor, gardening, the holidays.

Like myself, and Erik (although I don't want to speak for him), I think she is reaching back into her past and trying to relive good memories and maybe wallpaper over some of the bad ones.

Anyway, whatever you love, keep loving it, keep exploring it, and keep loving new things. NEVER EVER let anyone tell you that what you like or what you do is silly. That is a trait I deplore in people. Absolutely deplore. When people do that they are actually telling you how much they hate certain parts of themselves and how desperately they are trying to cover these parts -- and that you should too. Whether it's Martha Stewart or Disney or a balloon fetish keep the things in your life that you love alive and keep growing them and exploring more things. I like when people like things.

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.

Naked on the streets of San Diego

For ten years I have been looking for Chicago's best pizza. Turns out it's a little place called Dominos. I am so sick of cardboard crusts, weird sauce, deep dish diarrhea inducing messes and artisan cheese over an open flame bullshit. Just give me the classic, birthday party pizza. I enjoy Dominos' "Brooklyn Crust" option. More of a New York style pizza, hence the name. I have been to New York twice so I am pretty familiar with their Pizza.

The last time I ordered Dominos, however it came stone cold. I hopped online and read Dominos the riot act. And they put a credit on my tab. I went ahead and reordered the same thing the next night. Having spent all my money on Halloween decorations, a free pizza came in super handy. However, on the phone they told me that there would be a $2.97 delivery fee. Excuse me? Who has $2.97 just laying around? I am not Bill Gates! Jesus Christ!

So, I scrounged around and came up with a dollar and assorted change that I told myself would present itself roughly as "$2.97 and a small tip." I handed my offering to the pizza boy ( who was decidedly less attractive than would have hoped). He gave me a very dissapointed but not uncourteous, "thanks....have a good night..." I didn't give a crap I got my pizza. In my socks and pajamas, I hurried back to Oprah interviewing Jason Russell the "Kony 2012" guy. BTW- I have no sympathy for this guy. I have the explanation to the mystery surrounding his breakdown. He is gay! And you know my unofficial policy- "Gay until proven straight." But this guy is gay as "A Star is Born" is long. He is gay and he was smoking meth and very stressed out- THIS is why he was walking around the streets naked and masturbating in the streets of San Diego. Trust me, I have been there. If you don't believe me - watch "Oprah's Next Chapter." Dear reader, I am certain you will agree.

The next day I find myself at the corner of Clark and Jewel Osco. Waiting for that gosh darn Clark bus (full of crazys) to pick me up. Lighting up my second Camel Light 99 I noticed a chubby guy in a Dominos ski cap and a very old woman staggering along the sidewalk. Of course, it's the pizza boy and his very old grandmother coming for revenge. I knew my poor tipping would come back to haunt me. As they hobbled closer I became less sure of the fact that it was my pizza boy. In fact, I think I think this guy was just homeless. The two of them making their way through the rush hour hustle and bustle in Andersonville.

"Uh...excuse me..could I get a cigarette..." I felt like the priviliged Mother Teresa of cigarettes drunk with power. He walked over to me as I deemed whether or not he was worthy of my precious Camel Light 99. As I pulled out my very generous supply of cigarettes the old woman said craggily, "Could I also have a cigarette?" I pulled one out for her too. "I have had...just had...breast cancer surgery...could I have..." I gave her a cigarette and smiled. "OH THANK HEAVEN! THANK HEAVEN," exclaimed the lady. Exactly the reaction I would have had - had I been in this woman's position. I made this lady's evening with an ironically carcinogenic gift.

The two continued on and found their way to a pair of benches to enjoy their Camel Light 99's. My generous gift. Did she just have breast cancer surgery? Were they both just coming from the hospital? Or was this her shpeel- maybe she HAD breast cancer surgery and this was part of her "special skills" portion on her panhandling resume. *Had Breast Cancer Surgery *Was evicted from low income housing...Anyway you slice this sad pizza, I believe this lady was going through sheer HELL in the last days of her life.

I thought about running after them and offering them all my cigarettes and everything I had previously purchased at Walgreens- A bag of Fritos Scoops, A 2 liter bottle of Pepsi Next, a box of Immodium,  a supersize bag of cough drops, a bag of Gevalia French Roast coffee (on sale!), my prescription for Lexapro... It would be like a "Jeremy's Favorite Things" episode. "You get Immodium and you get Immodium...IMMODIUM! YOU ARE GETTING IMMODIUM!!!!"

But I did not. They got up from their benches, both with unfinished Camel Light 99's smoking in the autumnal night air and carried on their way South. I went home and fast forwarded my way through last Saturday's SNL, lamenting the loss of Kristen Wiig.

That crazy Donner Party!

I am just about done listening to "Desperate Passage," about the Donner Party. I was terrified to read/listen to this- but it was on sale on Audible.com for $4.95 and I was intrigued. Not knowing much about the situation I had visions in my mind of a crazy flesh eating family of pioneer zombies terrorizing the wild west.

Turns out they were just realllly hungry. And really wanted to get to California! Two things I can relate to in different ways. Their story is fascinating. I have never been so motivated in my life as these people. I can't imagine just heading into a complete unknown searching for a better life. Such courage and faith.

Today I woke up and chatted online and then went back to bed and woke up and went back to bed, etc. Not depressed- just bored. Meanwhile, the Donner Party is going 2 miles an hour, creeping their way to California- eating shoestrings, their pants, their family - just trying to get to friggin California for Christ's sake. I could just take a relatively pleasant and moderately priced Southwest flight, pop a Lunesta and I'm in Los Angeles in no time. I would quickly become bored with Los Angeles, miss my cats and want to come home.

I love Audible.com. I love audiobooks- ever since I was little. I remember those little 45 records you used to get with a picture book. I listened to "Bedtime for Frances" so many times. I can't tell you what the story was about- something about a bear (was she a bear?) not wanting to go to bed. I moved on to biographies about Carol Burnett and Joan Rivers. Later I got into Stephen King. Stephen King is one of the best storytellers. Just a master- the Shakespeare of our times. Quote me on that. The battle between good and evil- so simple but so beautiful.

The Donner Party were not evil. That's what I learned from this book. They were just doing what they had to do to survive. But, like I said, my imagination can scare up such horrifying fantasies about things I know nothing about. How many other things do I avoid or condemn in my mind when I have absolutely no idea what the facts are or what I'm talking about.

I remember during 9/11 I became terrified of Anthrax. I imagined the most horrible terrible things. But it's a skin rash, flu like symptoms and then you die or don't die. No walk in the park by any stretch of the imagination- but nothing like I imagined. I just looked up the symptoms on the CDC website and one of the FAQ's is, "How can I know my cold or flu is not anthrax?" Good God!

Twisted Blankets

I have acute sinusitis and acute bronchitis- allergies that turned into something much more dramatic. I wish that I could get on the side of dramatic and embrace it. Lay in my bed and watch movies with my cats but I keep getting the urge to get up and do something but I have no energy and that makes me mad so I sleep.

I am trying to hang out on the porch for a bit with my Diet Coke and coffee and write something but it is very hard to resist my bed. I also don't like that it is difficult to tell the difference between depression and acute sinusitis and bronchitis.

It's a neverending cycle of coughing and guilt, fever and self loathing.  I am spiraling down a hole while dirty laundry and unwatered plants scream at me and pieces of kitty litter are stuck to my feet. My bed is covered with empty Diet Coke bottles, pretzel rod crumbs and half a bag of uneaten Sour Patch Kids. Twisted blankets never covering the right places, pillows never supporting correctly as I spiral down further and further.

But in my Robotussin dreams, I am able to channel the most beautiful scene- a white washed architectural balcony overlooking a blue blue ocean, populated with beautiful men. I never see their faces just snapshots of broad pale shoulders, chocolate abs, complex muscular thighs. A feeling that all is well, that I am always invited back here.A calm euphoria, taking barefoot steps on warm white stucco. Not knowing my point of being here but not wanting to leave.

Red Bettys

Oh Sudafed you dirty little jagged red pill. So teensy tiny shiny red.

My late summer cold gives me an excuse to ride the Suda-train with tiny little red wheels.
 It's thrilling that I have to get it from behind the counter. Show my license, sign my signature. I worry that some day I will hit my limit. That I'll be accused of having a little meth lab in my bedroom. Brewing up some Tina and watching Cupcake Wars. I am simply not that ambitious.

I think that Sudafed might be an effective adjunct treatment for Bipolar Disorder. I can't speak for the other crazies but when I pop those pills it takes about ten minutes and I am LOCKED IN. What I mean by that is- I feel like all the nauseous-esque, jittery, mildly psychotic energy is locked down and I can focus for a few hours. My concentration is in peak condition. My enjoyment of music and life are heightened. I'm just real chatty and generally a slightly insane ray of sunshine for all to bask in.

Or these could just be the expected effects of amphetamines. I have never "taken meth" which is good because I think I would be happily hooked. I'd be an itchy, paranoid ray of sunshine with no teeth. I have watched people take meth (I'll explain later). Little glass tube with a ball on the end lit with a lighter. These folks are not living the high class Sudafed lifestyle I enjoy every change of season. These people are real itchy and real turned on and unfortunately at the same time, very unattractive.

Authentic "Meth Chic" is never a good look for anyone. Heroin does have a photographic appeal. The super skinny 90's models, skeletal Kate Moss with a smoky eye. The look can be done very well.

The downside of the S-Hole, as I've come to call it, is that after about 3 hours rolling on the red bettys I get EXTREMELY ANNOYED AT EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING. I am EXHAUSTED- I try to lay down and fall asleep for 10 minutes, awakened quickly with what feels like a heart attack. Unfortunately I am not taking the red pills but a mixture of a Mucinex and Pseudoephedrine. These look like horse pills and aren't as easy on the eyes. It's time for my next pill.

steelcase

At work there is lots of Steelcase office furniture left over from the fifties. I actually don't know if it's from the fifties. It could be from the nineties.

I think our generation thinks everything not from the 00's is from the seventies- there is a design gap from what we remember as children or what we saw in movies, etc and its all wrong. No, that ugly building is not "from the seventies" it's actually from the forties and it's beautiful.

Anyway Steelcase office furniture from "the fifties"- ridiculously heavy filing cabinets and desks painted a slightly metallic yet dull grey. Intimidating grey metal chairs with green vinyl padding and rubber arm rests. Something you would sit in outside the principals office. It all has me thinking I want to create a writing corner or room in my apartment. My laptop and an ashtray and a coffee mug and a filing cabinet. Trying to create some version of 1950s New York in Chicago.

Isn't everyone everywhere always around the world trying to create some version of New York for themselves? Trying to New York themselves the hell away from wherever they are (mentally, spiritually, sexually). If they are not they should be.

This writerly office fantasy doesn't quite make sense though. Do I want to be a 1950's secretary or a 1950's writer? The answer of course is the former. And that doesn't get me anywhere. Steelcase Office furniture isn't for writing -it's for being sexually harrased while you type. Which is a fine fantasy but that's a lot of very heavy steel office furniture for roleplaying.

I think my real writing fantasy is being Johnny Depp in Secret Room. I think that was the name of that movie. Johnny Depp has fake trendy glasses and walks around in a robe and smokes and writes. I think I've already lived that fantasy! He's in a log cabin as I recall which I am indifferent about. And it's written by Mr. Stephen King who I adore. I love all of his fake East Coast towns. His female characters are the best (says this gay man). Kathy Bates as Annie Wilkes and Dolores Claiborne. Cujo! Cujo was an angry male dog but who can forget that yellow Toyota and the blond woman who played the mom. Held captive inside a yellow hatchback! Terrified of a Rabies! So eighties or fifties or twenties.

All I know is that I have to smoke while I write. Or know that I can smoke at some point very easily. Self destructive writer tools- alcohol, cocaine, nicotine. With every beautiful word exhaled to the world, a little hit of equally delicious poison taken. That's a mixed and or inablanced metaphor if I've ever written/blogged one.

Footnote to Howl

Footnote to Howl
Allen Ginsberg






Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!
The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand
and asshole holy!
Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is
holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an
angel!
The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is
holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy
Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas-
sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering
beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the cocks
of the grandfathers of Kansas!
Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop
apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana
hipsters peace & junk & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy
the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the
mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the
middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell-
ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria &
Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow
Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the
clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy
the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the
locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina-
tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the
abyss!
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours!
bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent
kindness of the soul!

Berkeley 1955

The Acting Life

I was recently asked by a weekend house guest about my much talked about former career as an actor. This is something I hesitate to talk about. I am not ashamed or sad about this period in my life. It's just not something that matters much to me anymore. I have settled down comfortably. So many things have changed. I have a cat now as well as a Blu-Ray Disc player. I've reached that period many have spoken about in O Magazines. I'm not looking back anymore and I have entrepreneurial interests. I am thinking about starting a small business making homemade scented soaps and lotions with old timey labels that go bad after a week because they contain no preservatives, something I think is very important.

But as she was a houseguest, I indulged her curiosity and opened up my mental scrapbook of my life "on the boards." We made a pot of tea and I opened up a package of sea salt crackers that I received in a Tuscan themed gift basket from my lawyer. As I sipped a Coke Zero and munched on some Fiery Hot Cheetos, we went back.

I began my theater career as many do, in secondary school. I was cast as the leading role in "Twelve Angry Men," a classic absurdest play about 12 men who are locked in a room. These men are obsessed, for whatever reason, with a murder that took place. The play is five hours long and is a very confusing comment on a very important issue about society. Of course, the cultural significance of the play and the critical acclaim it garnered was lost on me at such a young age. This was my first play, my first leading role. What I remember about this play the most was that it was my very first (and not surprisingly not my very last) experience surrounded by an entire cast of male and female homosexuals.

If someone saw what was going on outside of rehearsals and performances they might have though they stumbled into a apocalyptic brothel. The show was, for that reason, halted before its final weekend due to a syphilis outbreak that plagued everyone but the director and myself. Many of the people involved in the outbreak never recovered and are institutionalized to this day. I know this because my friend requests on Facebook are left unanswered. I assume these "dummy pages" were set up by friends and family to protect their loved ones. I won best actor for this performance which gave me freedom to literally pick and choose my projects in the future.

The next role I chose was during my senior year of college at the very prestigious McHenry County College. It was the lead in "Crimes of The Heart" a melodrama about southern women. The play was a comment on society and women talking in southern ways about someone who died and a lawyer comes over and sets things straight. I played the much coveted role of the southern lawyer who comes to the house with a briefcase and says pessimistic things. One of the women falls in love with my character because he is a good guy and she's had enough of her old boyfriend who is pretty mean.

During the second night of the play, I had an experience which frightened me. In a scene at the kitchen table, I blanked out and forgot everything. I sat silent for what seemed like an hour. Luckily my co-star, a noted lesbian, prompted me with my line and we got on track again. Although I ultimately recovered and moved on, the school never did. The school administration and the media were thrust into a veritable Japanese Circus because of the incident. The drama department at the school lost its funding. Enrollment dropped dramatically and sadly, a year later, the school burned down in what many believe was an insurance/arson scam or whatever its called when people burn down buildings to get money. This happened to a grocery store in my town. The grocery store was never rebuilt. To this day, when I think about this play I can almost feel the emotions threatining to roll back and take over. Luckily, I have a wonderful psycho-pharmacologist.

After a brief hiatus from acting, the director of "Crimes of the Heart," a closeted, notoriously endowed homosexual, asked me to be the lead in an improvisational comedy experiment. After some initial hesitation, I agreed under the condition that I was paid considerably more than the rest of the cast. He agreed not only because I deserved much more than the others, but because I threatened to out him to his wife, who coincidentally, was a well endowed, alcoholic lesbian.

The improvisational experiment proved to be a success. The other actors (all homosexuals and one bipolar transvestite amputee) were mostly competent performers. But it was my name, and my precision comedic timing that filled those seats. The audience and the other critics knew this and suffered through the scened I was not in. When I left the show, due to a Tuberculosis scare, the show and the theater shut down. I often think about those actors now while cutting my toenails or emptying the bathroom trash can. I wonder if they are still performing or if they have, like most sexual deviants, taken jobs in IT. Perhaps they can find a way to infuse some of what they learned from me into their daily lives. That's all I can hope for.

My houseguest was very interested in my Oscar winning performances in "The Lighthouse," "Julie's Plan," "The Mopwasher," "Careful Who You Kiss" and "The Des Moines Affair." She was very sad that she found no mention of these films in any film periodicals or even online. I understood, you can usually find anything online. Like, let's say you find that there are some mischievous chipmunks in your dishwasher. You can type "I have chipmunks in my dishwasher" into Google and sure enough Delores in Seattle is posting about her chipmunk experience on DishwasherForum.

There is no information about these films because I have not allowed it. No DVD releases, no midnight screenings, no fan clubs. I have controlled this part of my life and any information concerning it. I did this, again, not because I have anything to hide. I did this to protect the people involved in these films- most, if not all alcoholic homosexuals and lesbians. Of course, I wouldn't say I agree with their "alternative lifestyles." I do believe that whatever happens in your bedroom should stay in your bedroom and/or on videotape carefully kept in Steve Madden shoe boxes under your bed.

Unfortunately, whether or not she knew, it was time for my house guest (a bicurious ventriloquist) to go. I escorted her to the door, firmly, by the arm. She thanked me for the weekend, and I thanked her for coming. She had one more question, and I indulged her. "Will you ever return to acting?" she asked.

This is a tough question that I get asked a lot. "For the right role, the right amount of money and the right co-star and the right lighting and the right amount of mayonnaise based chilled salads all in big frosted plastic jewel toned bowls- Yes, of course I would" I said.

And with that I said goodbye and wished her luck with whatever it is that she does and whatever kids or whatever. By then, it was early Saturday morning. I laid down on my couch and took an Ambien and let myself remember... just for a few minutes.