Do you, like, know, like, how annoying it is to, like, listen to you, like, talk so loudly on your, like, cell phone and go on and on about, like, that video shoot? You know? And, like, okay, so, like,…

Anyway… For those of you who have a hankering for nostalgia and the Web That Was, or if you’re simply new to my blathering and are wondering how long I have been doing it and whether or not past prognostications…

I am just returned from a late morning breakfast at a local crepery — and what is it with all the creperies in San Francisco anyway? Who said we were all starving for crepes? — where I was sitting at…

I’m contemplating all this while picturing her going Postal, pulling out a shiv and plunging into my back, between my shoulders, as I stand at my kitchen sink trying feverishly to wash her fruit off while she screams “No! No! With your hose and faucet! Use your hose and faucet!” and I am sweating and shaking and say, quietly, “Is that a euphemism for something? Is this sexual?” “Your hose and faucet! Your hose and faucet!”

Opening my inbox this morning, I was greeted with the following subject line in a message from our good friendsthe annoying pests at Classmates.com: Time for the West High School Class of 1980 25-Year Reunion, Lance! Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck…

“Hey! Hey!” She calls out loudly behind me. I am intent on looking at the Asian women’s shoes, which are remarkably ugly. “Hey, isn’t that sick?”

Anyway, I drank too much vodka, I flashed my privates at a tranny who wanted to see them, I tried to come on to one of my oldest friends and I woke up the next day feeling absolutely dreadful — so as far as I’m concerned the party was a fantastic success and I think everyone had a great time.

As I walked up to the bank of ATMs, one of them was already beeping at me. There was another gentleman using the one to its left and I grabbed a deposit envelope and approached it. There in its money…

Just so you know, things are likely to occur more often and be shorter in length from here forward. Big Gulps* will be forthcoming on occasion, as before. I hope you will not be disappointed in me. *They cause headaches…

I stood in the shower and let my seethingness unseethe. When I thought about that guy, I pictured Milton from “Office Space,” except this little mild-mannered greasy guy was concentrating all his attention on his shoes, even though they weren’t all that exceptional and I think my opening the locker door on them added to their character in the same way that a haircutter recently added to the character of my ear with his scissors.

Still, the warm wetness and sudden appearence of a trail of blood running along the edge of my ear and dripping into a quickly growing pool on my shoulder was… dismaying. “Hmm,” I thought calmly, “I have been cut.”

First things first: All you who think that the only reason two men would get together is for the sex and that we’re just deviants and there’s no love involved because, honestly, how can one man love another man? Fuck…

Then this guy gets on MUNI ahead of me, on a half-empty train, and he just stands at the doorway blocking it with his body and too-big backpack and I can’t get by him but does he move? Of course not, he pretends I don’t exist. He stands there, vapid and empty-headed, totally selfish and inconsiderate, and ignores me like I’m furniture or dirt.

No update here today, but I do have an article over at the newly redesigned and oh-so-topical Queer Day! A short excerpt: I am a fat man, at heart. You know that saying about every fat person having a thin…

How old are you?” she asked, my haircuttress, as I sat in her chair staring forward at the reflected visage of my unshaven face and pudgy gut and expensive shoes, arranged altogether in an unfetching way that Saturday morning. “43,”…

1. Yes, he really is an idiot. A couple of conclusions I have reached this year: I will only call him Mr. Bush rather than use the title to which he has been elected because I feel that combining his…

Questions taken from an interview with Mark Morris in the New York Times Sunday Magazine, altered accordingly.

Lately, life (mine) seems to be coming unconstructed. Not demolished or directionless, but it feels as if, like so many buildings here in San Francisco, my façade is being propped up but everything behind it is being torn away, waiting to be replaced by something else.

He is now being referred to as my boyfriend in the circle of friends which both include and exclude him. You know how that is? When you are introduced to a “friend of a friend” and then you discover, because it’s a small world after all, that you know that other guy and so does he but you know him because he’s your masseur but he knows him because they occasionally do drag together and you call him Michael but he calls him Precious and you keep referring to him until one day you discover they are the same person? I’m sure that happens to everyone.

…the Aloha Life flies in the face of modern conventions like that. You want to turn around suddenly and right there and block both lanes because you discovered you need to be back the other way? No problem. I’ll stop traffic for you so you can continue your journey of discovery. What’s a little pause in the action to me? I’m not stopping anything dramatic and huge by allowing you your temporary needs.

I am a Latebloomer. Don’t know why, exactly. I think it’s partially because I have never been in a hurry to accomplish anything, I’m just not blessed with a sense of urgency or maybe I’m blessed, instead, with an overactive patience.

There are two secrets of the gym: One, no one cares about you. No one looks at you, particularly if you’re not already fit and gorgeous. In that way, it’s a broader reflection of life. Fat people roam among us but we tend to ignore them. I know, I’ve been there, and it was the way I preferred it. Don’t look at me, just go about your business and I’ll get out of your way. Yes, I know I’m in the way, I’m sorry, I’ll do my best to become invisible.

Everyone is mad at us for behaving like we’re supposed to. All men are pigs, if you weren’t already aware of that. All men like sex. Some men like sex more than others, some men like sex all the time, but all men like sex. Even Republicans.

What is happening to him is very real, but his brain is having a hard time matching up what its eyes are seeing and what its body is feeling.

“Hello,” the man says again, “My name is Pedro. I am a guest in this hotel. I saw you checking in last night and overheard your name and room number. I was wondering if you would like to meet me.”

There is always one in a group who is absurdly attractive, one who smiles and talks a lot, a quiet, unassuming, somewhat goofy-looking one and ‘the fourth guy.’ The Fourth Guy is the guy you’d miss if you weren’t paying attention, and even if you were introduced to him you’d forget you ever met him.

When you open up the Yahoo IM application, there’s a little smiley face in the bottom status bar and next to it, if you haven’t put something clever or smart-assed or dirty as your status, it simply says “I’m available.”…

I’m going through adolescence all over again, but this time I’m paying someone $130 an hour to help me through it.

Having friends is one of the most important things in life. They help you accomplish the dreams you have and discover new talents. They inspire you to shoot for the stars and help you out when you’re in trouble.

I often stop and stare at sidewalk writing. It comes in many flavors and styles. Sometimes messages overlap because people come upon the same patch of forever and need to use it up now, so they write at opposing angles to what someone else has said so that both messages come through, perfect and understandable.

My “worst possible scenario” has always been death, i.e. “would it be worse to be in this job in New Jersey working for a company I hate and don’t trust for another six months, or to be dead?” If I decide, “I would rather be dead than do this…” see how simple that makes everything?

Some days I wake up and think, “Wow, I sure wish I had not woken up just then. I wonder if there’s a way I can just lie here and pretend to be dead. Maybe I can actually go back to sleep and not wake up at all, which is like being dead, only no one mourns you.”

Zantac is a tiny pill, and the box warns you that you shouldn’t take more than two in a 24-hour period. I’m a little scared of drugs that are smaller than a Tic Tac but will apparently end your life if you take more than two in a 24-hour period

Here, you’re more apt to see children huddled in doorways to avoid the chilling sea air that brings SARS and pollen and dandruff. You’ll see the cabs on fire as people set matches to the upholstery to fight off the drafts coming in from the open windows.

I have pissed on my cat. There, I said it, but let me also hasten to add that it wasn’t entirely my fault.