This is not Magritte

Someone recently pointed out that its not too interesting to read the same things over and over again, ad nauseum. Perhaps this was a gentle way of telling me "hey, buddy, get off your ass and do something!" but who's to say?

(slight pause)

Okay, that person was me, but it was part of a conversation I had with myself.

Reminds me of the time I was on a blind date - we'd gone to my favorite Mexican place in Rochester, Minnesota - and she was talking about listening to the voice inside your head. I said, "I know exactly what you mean, that voice that comes
from the inner core of your being," and she said, "no, a voice from on high telling me to stop cleaning the toilet and get out of the house."

Turns out she was part of a kind of private christian fundamentalist group (some might say "cult" but I prefer not to judge) in a life of what was pretty much indentured servitude. That was until she heard the voice. Whatever works right?

But I digress.

So in keeping with an attempt to remain interesting/interested, I am going to write one of these little blog doohickeys each and every day for the next, oh, let's say 5 days. We'll see if that forms some kind of new pattern.

And I am quitting smoking.

Incidentally, the gratuitous image above has absolutely nothing to do with any of this, but it is striking, and, well it has a Magritte quality that I find highly alluring.

Speaking of "gratuitous", I should also mention that I found this picture while surfing photo blog sites and have cleverly misplaced the URL for same. Should anyone recognize this image or know of its origination, by all mean, please inform me, so's I kin reckignize!

(C'mon party people, say, "oop, oop!")

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

Life in the Fast Lane

Just got back from my weekend in L.A., hangin' with the T-man, and a loverly time was had by all. If you've never done the club hoppin' thing in L.A., I recommend it highly.

Flew in late Friday night, after one hellacious day at work, and we started on Mr. Toad's Wild Adventure. He and girlfriend, C, took me to a bevy of places and we did not get home until the wee hours. What places, you ask?

Starbucks first, of course (yes, I know, evil, blah blah blah), to power up on caffeine. Did I mention I was dragging a little ass when I got off the plane? Then we headed towards a mexican place to meet up with some of T's friends. By the time we got there, they'd closed the kitchen, so we ended up stopping in at this awesome little Taco Stand. I swear, I was the only non-spanish speaking person in the whole place - felt like a real dumbass - but the food was definitely worth all my awkward, gesticulative attempts at pseudo-spanish. Cheap, too!

After that we went and did the Sunset Strip thing. Ended up pretty far west in Hollywood, which if you know anything about Hollywood, means one thing: GAY! Yes, that's right, we did the gay dance club scene. Which was fine... for the most part.

I don't remember the name of the place but T jokingly referred to it as Club Man Ass. The thing is T and his girlfriend were together, so of course they were pretty much unaffected. I, on the other hand, am a reasonably attractive, tall white boy who loves to dance. (And by the way, I'm not claiming to be good at dancing, just enthusiastic and highly visible during my gyrations.) Oh, and in case you hadn't guessed by now, I'm straight. So, while it was flattering to be noticed and propositioned by others, the fact that they were men pretty much nullified any positive effects.

The highlight of the evening had to be when T ended up having to take a crap in the men's room there. First off, the door wouldn't shut properly, so T had me "stand guard" and hold the door closed while he took care of business. Meanwhile, the bouncers are coming in every 2 seconds because they think he and I are trying for some hanky panky.

Then he runs out of toilet paper, and, when I go into the stall next to his, a guy follows me in and starts telling me how hot I am. You know how you never have the right thing ready to say in an awkward situation? And then, later, it comes to you what you should've or could've said, only it's five minutes too late? For once in my life, this was not the case.

"Thanks," I said, "but I'm with him" as I pointed to T's stall. Short, sweet and to the point. Yeah!

In all fairness, I should mention that this guy was very cool - not overly aggressive or gross - and handled my rejection with grace. In fact every time I got hit on that night, it was relatively subtle, and my rejections were politely accepted. Makes me think us straights could learn a thing or two from gays about how to approach women. Anyway...

Eh, its getting late. More about this tomorrow

Uncle Bob's Sunset

Almost Famous

Want more out of life? Friends? Money? Fame?
GET POSTED ON MY BLOG! - its that easy.

Here's how:

SEND NAKED PHOTOS OF YOURSELF - Vulnerable or embarassing photos are best. (Ever notice how similar "bare ass" and "embarass" sound?) Of course, women are preferred but men may also participate so long as their hoo-hah is no bigger than mine. (Dad, this means you!)

If it is bigger than mine, your chances for publication are extremely thin... (wait a minute! If I post a picture of someone with a really big wanger, then people will think that I have an even bigger one... I'm a goddamn genius!). So, yeah, send whatever you got and so long as it doesn't dwarf Mr. Hanky by comparison, I'll publish it.

On the other hand, if you're a woman and would like to send me naked photos, chances are very high that they'll be accepted. After all, you'd be naked! Woohoo! (And, yes, in case you're wondering, I am a pencil necked geek) . So just send 'em - all you hot ladies out there - send 'em along and I'll post 'em.

That is, of course, unless you don't want me to post them. In which case I won't. Honest.

On the other hand, if you're not sure what to do, you could always send me the naked pictures and let me decide.

Just don't forget the pictures!
(Moving along...)

WRITE SOMETHING INTERESTING ABOUT YOURSELF - Anything. It could be true. It could be a lie. Tawdry, bawdy, urbane, witty - I don't give a shit, just, please god, let it be interesting!

Sidenote: If you're not sure what "interesting" is, please stop reading, turn off your computer, turn on your TV and plug yourself in.

(Don't know how to quite literally plug in? No problem: your belly button is actually the access port to an inverted-umbilical-cord-thingy, which, if properly stimulated, can be pulled out and connected to the TV. Simply insert a moistened index finger up your anus while singing the "Star Spangled Banner" through your nose [using the words "neener, neener, neener" for articulation] and your belly button should pop out like the little doohickey on a cooked turkey. Away you go!)

WAIT... NO, I HAVE IT! Don't write something interesting - send me a naked photo of yourself and then explain why I shouldn't publish it.

How's that for non-linear thinking? Ask not,"what is the sound of one hand clapping?", but "why shouldn't my nude photos be shown online?" A zen koan for the 21st century.

And if don't know how to send me your pictures - its still no problem! - I will contact you and get your information, directly. Simply send your thoughts to me, taking care to articulate your contact information and nudish-ness (yes, its a word!) and the rest will be taken care of.

Long life and happiness,

Baba-Wan
Spiritual Internet Sex Guru Guy.

Non Sequitar-aganza!

I lost my cell phone while I was in L.A. last weekend. Was dancing at this barn of a club when it undoubtedly fell out of my pocket and was scarfed up by the locals. Bummer, dude.

"And you were on drugs," says my roommate, while I was explaining this to he and a girl friend of his. (In other words a girl friend - not a "girlfriend").

(Non Sequitar #1)

Words are funny things, right?

Example: I can look at the "i" and "e" in "girlfriend" until I am cross-eyed, reverse them back and forth, ad nauseum (girlfriend, girlfreind, girlfriend, girlfreind) until it seems like neither could ever be right. And yet the sound for "friend" is lodged in my head, and is perfectly understandable, both as sound and as concept.

Example #2: The connotations of words - well, just look at the whole
girlfriend/girl friend dealie above and you get the idea: two words that look
and sound extremely similar and yet are very distinctly different. Especially to
my roomie.

My uncle Wally, on the other hand, used to talk about hanging out with his"boyfriends" even though he was straight. Maybe it was a word that used to mean something different or maybe he was just being a little playful, as he was wont to do.

My father is a pseudo-vegetarian (eats fish) who refers to meat as "dead animals". Both he and Wally used to refer to as people who'd died as "dead guys," as in, "yeah, Paul's getting ready to be a dead guy" Or, "that was before he was a dead guy". I should point out that women can be "dead guys" too. Also, that Wally himself, is now a dead guy.

But back to the "drugs" comment: I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me. However, I would like to say that I was extremely ecstatic to be visiting my friend in L.A.

More later.

Life in the Fast Lane

Just got back from hangin' with my buddy, "T", in L.A. and a loverly time was had by all.

Flew into Burbank Friday night, met up with T and his girlfriend, and we headed out for places unkown. What places, you ask?

First it was Starbucks - yes, evil Starbucks - but after a week of working for the man I was feeling a bit drag-ass and needed to power up! Besides, Caffeine, Nicotene, and Alcohol(ene) ... well, sometimes they just do the trick.

Next was mexican food at Los Something-Or-Other. But the kitchen was closed by the time we got there so we ended up at this awesome little Taco Stand, instead. Man, was it good! Nobody spoke a word of english and I felt like a complete dumbass - but the food was so-o-o-o-o worth it. Cheap too! And my friends were highly amused by my attempts at communication (including pantomime and loud, pseudo-spanish.)

Next came Sunset Strip, though we ended up pretty far west, which, in Hollywood, (if you know anything about Hollywood), means one thing: GAY! Yes, that's right, we did the gay dance club scene. And a fun time was had by all...

(cue dance music)

I don't remember the name of the place we went but it was jokingly referred to as "Club Man Ass" - which, after you see enough guy's asses hanging out of their jeans, seems more apt and less humorous than initially supposed.

So there we were, me, T and his girlfriend: a heterosexual couple that was so obviously together - and myself, a single guy dancing at a gay man's club.

Did I mention that I'm straight?

And while I'm not in the shape that I once was (who is?) I am still a tall white boy that loves to dance. (Not that I'm claiming to be a good dancer, you understand, but I am very enthusiastic and definitely visible during my flailings). So while it was flattering to be noticed I was doing my damndest not to "notice" being noticed, if you know what I mean.

Eventually, of course, I loosened up and got into the ol' bump and grind - even ended up as the ham in a man sandwhich towards the end of the evening. When in Rome, right?

(music stops, abruptly)

Yes, I'm kidding.

(recue music)

The absolute highlight of the evening had to be T taking a crap in the men's room. First off, the door wouldn't shut properly, so T had me "stand guard" and hold the door closed while he took care of business. Meanwhile, the bouncers are coming in every 2 seconds because they think he and I are trying to "get physical". (Sing it, Olivia!)

Then he runs out of toilet paper, and, when I go into the stall next to his, a guy follows me in and starts telling me how hot I am. You know how you never have the right thing to say, on tap, in an unexpected situation? Later, it comes to you, only five minutes too late? This was, thankfully, not one of those...

My father says, "even a blind squirrel finds a nut now and then."

"Sorry dude," I said, "but I'm with him," pointing to T's stall. And then we vacated the premises.

In all fairness, I should mention the guy was cool - not gross or overly aggressive - and he handled my rejection with grace. In fact most of the men there friendly but polite, and, for the most part, I felt completely at ease. This is something that regular bars could use more of.

More later.

The Sound and the Fury

Went to a place called The Paper Heart the other night - a laid back club near the downtown area with an upscale coffee house feel. (You know - the kind of place with art on the walls, comfy overstuffed couches, people in vintage clothing, and someone plaintively baring their soul on stage.) Nice place: roomy and polished but with personality. Anyway...

I'd gone that night to see the friend of a friend in a Poetry Slam. She was all right - a little self-indulgent for my tastes - but there were some nice moments throughout. Hell, throw in a couple of beers, a little barside conversation, and it was a pretty pleasant evening. But that was just the start.

(Enthusiastic Announcer Voice: "But wait, there's more! With the Bamboo Steamer, you get this set of Ginsu knives, sharp enough to cut through this can -and-this Edible Hairnet! Now, how much would you pay?")

During a break between rounds, this other guy, Blair, gets up and starts doing some of his stuff...

Ever see someone doing something really well and it just hits you? I mean, deep down inside it hits you, "Wham!" and from the top of your pointy little head down to the tips of your waxy yellow toenails you simply resonate... like a tuning fork?

This man could bring it. I mean, birds flew out of his mouth, suns were born and died, and he brought the hammer down on all our heads - poignancy, truth, and the human condition - and we all just resonated.

Should you ever have the pleasure of seeing this man perform - do so - you will not be dissappointed.