Headbanging to Muzak

Sorry for being absent me-bitches.
But I've been writing my little heart out over at Flaming Politics.
Please come and visit, and keep any snarky comments about why anyone would be interested in my political opinion to your self.
I happen to be very accomplished. Kind of. Maybe. Sort of. Well, not really, but that's besides the point.

So, in lieu of actual content, I thought I'd leave you with these two things.
1) Fat Rant by Joy Nash

2) VGL Gay Boys Attempt to Get Tickets to Sex and the City

These two remind me of my 2 bestfriends, Rafi and Russel, so much it's a little frightening.


Cuz I'm a Loser, Baby!

In honor of my ten year reunion, I post here my favorite poem by Vassar Alum, Elizabeth Bishop. A villanelle on all that falls away. And a masterful piece of modern structured verse.

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

And because I am in a poetical mood, my all time favorite poem.

This Is Just To Say
by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold


We're Having a Heatwave

Summer in the city, back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Well, it's happened, Summer in The Big Apple, and it now officially smells like summer in the city.

Reunited and it feels so good.
This past weekend was my 10 year college reunion which I chose, to the surprise of several of my friends, not to attend. Why? Well besides the fact that reunions always put that damn Peaches & Herb song on permanent repeat in my head (Did anyone see that Vh1 "Were are they now?" a few years ago where it was revealed that Herb went and got himself a new Peaches! The absolute gall!), ten years marks the point at which a shared experience ceases to be a legitimate enough reason to continue a relationship. The fact that 2 people attended the same school does not mean they necessarily have anything to discuss. I mean George W. Bush and I went to the same high-school. I certainly don't have anything to say to him. Besides, "thirty-somethings" with their "spouses" and "children" and "careers" are beyond "tiresome". And I have things to inappropriately finger-quote, I don't have time for their nonsense!

In further news, my campaign to make haiku the official format of all information of import, met with another victory. I have been asked to contribute to Flaming Politics, a micro-blog [bigger than twitter, smaller than a breadbox] on politics from the queer perspective. Yes! I am further defined solely by my sexual practices! Sweet!

And finally, here's a little lady that's as funny as any man. Who says book-learnin' ain't for the women-folk?


To the Teeth

I feel a drag name
of Virginia Dentata
suits me to a T