Time to move to www.glennalicious.org

2003-06-05T16:06:00.000-04:00

Well, I basically have the new website up and running. Basically. I won't be updating this site any longer, so please update to the new site. Sorry it took so long to get running. Update your links to Glennalicious, now with 20% more spice!

2003-06-05T15:00:00.000-04:00

Try again.

2003-06-02T07:42:00.001-04:00

Yup. Screwed things up royally trying to switch over to the new server. Whoops.

2003-06-02T07:42:00.000-04:00

Supposedly the Eskimos have a hundred different ways to say snow. Dry snow, wet snow, dandruff snow. I'm thinking that New Yorkers should develop some new words to describe the types of rain.
Needed:
Rain that only occurs on weekends when you want to do something outdoors and stops as soon as you're back at work
Rain that feels like it is February, when actually it is June 1
Prescient rain that knows you forgot your umbrella
Prescient rain that knows you have your umbrella and simply looms menacingly
Rain that lasts just long enough to make all the dog poop on the streets extra mushy
Rain that gushes out of every meteorological orifice
Rain that is brought underground by the trains, streaking across the steel bodies
Rain that rolls across your bald head on a hot summer day, slowly rolling in cool rivers down to your shoulders, soaking your shirt, soaking everything: I like that rain.
Rain that stealthily clings to the tree limbs until dislodged by your proximity

Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day. Please.

2003-06-01T23:31:00.000-04:00

The new site is up. Almost.

2003-06-01T22:31:00.000-04:00

2003-05-27T21:42:00.000-04:00

I had a great time over the weekend with my Samarkand friend Athena, her friend Erin, and fuzzy Ryan. We ate obscene amounts of Russian food and THEN rode the Cyclone roller coaster. Twice.

Did I finish my papers? No. Did I get groceries? No. Did I finally surrender to passion and buy this tasty techie marvel? Yes, oh yes.

2003-05-27T21:35:00.000-04:00

At Baltimore-Washington International Airport (BWI) today, an individual,
later discovered to be a public school teacher, was arrested trying to board
a flight while in possession of a compass, a protractor, and a graphical
calculator. Authorities believe he is a member of the notorious Al-Gebra
movement.

He is being charged with carrying weapons of math instruction.

Thanks Joe.

2003-05-26T23:40:00.000-04:00

My poor roommate lost a chunk of his face. Even worse, he lost his site. He posted this in my comments:

Ugh... While I was in the hospital, my domain supposedly "expired" and now my site is offline so I'm hi-jacking Glenn's comments. Thanks, Glenn!

*ahem*

I'm feeling tons better now. Thanks to everyone who inquired. This infection was super-random and still a bit of a mystery as to how I acquired it. But six days in the hospital connected to an IV drip has taken care of things. Turns out the staff infection I had was super-resistant to most drugs. Add in the fact that I'm allergic to penicillin and all it's variants, and I was left with very few options for treatment. I went through three different types of antibiotics before they found one that would actually work. Kinda scary.

In the hospital I spent some quality time with some old friends, Percocet and Morphine. Great gals, but a little on the 'loopy' side. I'm very glad to be out of there.

Now I just need to straighten things out with my site. The registrar for g73.net (enom.com) is 'holding' my domain for me since it supposedly 'expired' on the 20th of May (isn't that so very kind of them?). All I need to do to get it back is to pay them a $200 fee for their troubles. I don't think so. A new domain is on it's way, and of course that means a new design and new email address–such a freaking pain in the ass. But I feel kinda... naked... without my site.

2003-05-23T21:18:00.000-04:00

Roommate made it home today. He looks very blonde/brunette, and he plans on shaving soon. He was in the hospital for almost a whole week. He had super-staph. It's almost like Peace Corps again!

2003-05-23T20:21:00.000-04:00

Some person, somewhere in NY, has pissed off the powerful Norse god Huberdy-Guberdy. I think we need to start up the human sacrifices again to get the weather to return to normal. He's angry, so he's taken away spring. Find us some virgins. I want some sun.

2003-05-22T21:44:00.000-04:00

About two years ago, manmade erosion outstripped natural erosion, primarily due to the construction of the Three Gorges dam in China. The competition started millennia ago, and we finally have jumped into the lead. Our changes involve huge effort, while hers is effortless. Nature is very efficient at wearing things down, one rain droplet at a time. Cities have been buried by the sands of the Sahara, and the Appalachians used to be as tall as the Himalayas, apparently. Drip, drip, drip.

My kids are little elements of nature. My emergency phone is locked in a metal box mounted on the wall next to my door. It was meant to be a permanent fixture, yet it has to be remounted monthly. It is too sturdy to be yanked off, yet they always manage to get it loose. I figure that the kids learned the process from wiggling teeth out of their own mouths. One yank is too much, but endless wiggles seem to do the trick. Currently, it is hanging by the wires coming from the ceiling, dangling like some suicidal suicide hotline. Drip, drip, drip.

The same goes for desks. The formica is designed to resist wear and tear, but a child who can’t be bothered to write a single line of notes will patiently tunnel through a desk until it collapses like a termite-infested tree. Don’t even get me started on posters, books, and other paper products.

On our final commute to Brooklyn College this semester (our next semester starts June 2), Daphne was commenting on how her initial desire to teach has been worn down by how seemingly hopeless our situation has become after only one year. Our school celebrated the fact that we went from the 2nd worst school in NYC to 170th in English out of approximately 350 schools. This is great bad news. This is great for us, as we went from less than 10 percent of our students passing the minimum standards to nearly 25 percent. However, that means that 75 percent of our students still failed to pass the minimum standards. By the way, these aren’t high standards, but rather standards that have been created to allow ‘no child to be left behind.’

Our kids are not stupid. Far from it. Well, some are actually rather stupid. Honestly. But there are some brilliant kids in my classes. Our kids can use extensive reasoning and logic to destroy objects, set off the fire alarms, or launch desks from windows. Kids that can’t do formal geometry can figure out just how much room is needed to fit a desk through a small window four feet above their heads. I have some amazing kids that are learning despite every horrible thing in their lives, and I have some that could care less about their educations. They look around them, they see the historical abandonment of their neighborhood, or they really don't see anything wrong with it. They feel their lives are complete if they have a Gameboy and can watch TV all day.

I probably shouldn't write about education on Thursdays or Fridays.

2003-05-21T00:04:00.000-04:00

Two cents: The Matrix Reloaded has everything going for it except for a believable storyline, good dialogue, or good actors. As a friend of mine commented, "It's like a porn/action movie, where they hashed out the action sequences and simply placed some really bad dialogue in between." The movie characters pontificate more often than Jerry Falwell or Pat Robertson, with about as much reality. I was so disappointed, as the first film amazed me. The dance scene just needs some Ewoks, you can't spell Kryptonite without Keanu, Yoda needs to spin around in one of those ridiculous fight scenes, and the new orphan kid is almost as annoying as JarJar Binks. Did the directors have to take all their cues from the George Lucas Dialogue Debacle dictionary?

Two cents redemption: A sequel that might be even more disappointing, or possibly more magical.

2003-05-19T21:27:00.000-04:00

So Roommate is in the hospital from the nasty scabrous yuck filled wound on the side of his head. They took one look at it and admitted him into the emergency room. Now he's quite cheerful on his morphine drip, and Milton Bradley has the new Operation game "Icky-Sticky Wound." I checked up on him today, and the only thing he really wants from his friends is a brand new 30 gig iPod. I'll get him a card.

The new principal visited my school today. He will be the sixth principal of my school in five years. The only reason he is coming is because he's not being promoted to the new superdistrict, and he has seniority. He apparently will retire in another year and a half. As far as I can tell, he went to the same charm school as Dick Cheney. I had a coverage today with this one class from hell, not one of my normal classes. He walks in, sees that most of the kids are talking, and criticizes me in front of them. Tactless, clueless, and pointless. He managed to piss off about ten other teachers during his walk through our hallways. I'd been wavering about staying in this school next year. Now I'm certain that I'm leaving. This district has a lot more openings for math teachers than it does for principals.

2003-05-18T13:58:00.000-04:00

Just registered for my new domain. Details will be up, along with pics soon. Maybe even my big debut on Channel 13 WNET during a feature on math teachers in NYC.

2003-05-18T13:53:00.000-04:00

When stripping wires with the wrong set of pliers, one should always point them AWAY from one's eyes. After a long week at work, I had no energy for fun on Friday. My roommate Bryan has been needing some new electrical outlets for his dj equipment and computer for some time. We had already bought the materials, including some fun flexible conduit wiring. Very exciting stuff, plus installing new breakers in the main box is always an adventure.

I started fairly well, progressing backwards from the last outlets to the closest. To access the wires inside of the conduit cable, you have to have an expensive cutter or a lot of patience with pliers. I had neither, really. I was making progress, Bryan offered me my first beer. Beer is always an excellent choice to mix with high voltage equipment. Supposedly one shouldn't operate heavy machinery under the influence, but they never mention electical components. After one beer, I was really making excellent progress, looking like a true professional.

Then he gave me the second beer. Maybe it was the fact that my stomach was empty, maybe it was the fact that I'm a lightweight, maybe it was the nasty biblical-curse level boil on the side of Bryan's face wanting to jinx me. I'm separating the outer sheath off of the wiring, then SNAP! Whack! Right below my eye, a nice little divot taken off my face.

I'm a bit like one of those really stupid dogs that is nearly impossible to train. I curse, go to the bathroom, put some pressure on the cut until it stops bleeding. I return to the wall, continuing the work along with drinking beer. Did I change my method? Nope. Did I keep drinking beer? Yep. Strip, rip, snap, WHACK, ow. Above the eye, this time, lots more blood. Hmmm, maybe I should rethink this process. Maybe I shouldn't drink beer when working with sharp objects.

I'm good with stuff like this, I swear. Everything else went well, except for slicing open my index finger the next morning closing the last outlet. Loads of blood, of course, but I have plenty of pints chugging through my body. As my direct ancestral Monty Python knight would say, "It's just a flesh wound."

2003-05-13T22:21:00.000-04:00

Even with all the NY government fiascos, nothing can compare with Texas. My favorite article regards the Texas State Troopers going after one Democrat's newborn twins. Scandal, corruption, and stupidity. Welcome to government, Texas Style.

2003-05-12T21:28:00.000-04:00

I’ve always thought that food should just be that. Food. It always bothers me if some marketing department chooses to represent its product as a living character. The examples range from the McNuggets to Mr. Peanut. Food should not be allowed to talk, especially not ecstatically about their imminent demise. In one commercial, the McNuggets giggle and leap happily into their respective dips. In reality, they would thrash pathetically in their frozen state, scream piercingly during the frying process, then finally curse Ronald as either their upper or lower body is dipped into some sweet syrup and masticated. They, like me, should be afraid of clowns. Poor Mr. Peanut has to lean on a cane because someone has cracked him open and removed his nuts. These should not be happy representatives.

Products like Mr. Clean are okay, as he isn’t cut open for his cleaning power. However, my issues also extend to coffee mugs shaped like people’s heads. Although the idea of imbibing caffeine from certain people’s heads sounds fun, it should only be an option of someone you despise. Drinking from the real skull of Celine Dion would be supremely enjoyable, the plastic skull of a weather beaten fisherman or Yoda is just disturbing.

While I’m at it, why hasn’t the silly Rabbit ever just killed the kids for Trix? Why exactly is it that Trix isn’t for rabbits? He’s obviously a very smart rabbit, unlike Barney Rubble. He has been trying to get it for years, can’t he just possess it and then eat it in private? For that matter, the stupid leprechaun from Lucky Charms should just use his magic to remove the air from around the children who are always taking his cereal. If someone were to steal my red hearts, blue diamonds, and green clovers, I’d be filled with leprechaun rage. I would probably enjoy using my magic powers to turn the children into marshmallow goodness. Then they’d be forced to eat themselves, which would be delicious irony.

2003-05-11T21:32:00.000-04:00

Just like any huge disaster, this one started with one little step. I've been getting bored with my shaved head/goatee look. There's not much I can do for the bald head, but I grew out the goatee for the last three weeks. I've been trying to get someone to help me out with some changes to the goatee, but no luck. I don't have the steadiest hands when it comes to accurate and symmetric trimming. There's just something very difficult making trims when using a mirror.

Melanie, a local photographer, wanted to do a shoot with me in the loft today. I looked in the mirror, decided I had to do something, so I pulled out the trimmer. I'll just be really careful.

Click. Buzz. Oops.

Shit.

Hmmm. Okay, I guess if I balance out that screwup by trimming the other side some.

Oops.

Shit.

Hmmm, looking kinda bad. Perfect for a photo shoot. I guess this is the perfect way to inaugurate the new website, pictures taken before then after. It definitely looks weird, but I guess the great thing is that I'll just look like an idiot for about three weeks until it grows back. I'm sure the kids won't mock me, and maybe Melanie can Photoshop me a real goatee.

2003-05-08T20:20:00.000-04:00

Made it through the day. No children are dead.Tonight I broke two wine glasses while doing the dishes, but I gained a new refrigerator. Some loss, some gain.

2003-05-07T21:52:00.000-04:00

If Disney had made a film about lemmings in the 21st century, they could have used footage of my students taking their 8th grade math exams. Talk about mindlessly leaping in droves headfirst off a cliff. Because of my ties to them, if only one or two had jumped off the cliff, I wouldn’t have a major problem. However, their mass lemming math suicide has the cumulative effect of dragging me with them. I’m a NYC Math Immersion Teaching Fellow, dagnabbit! I know it is my first year, but it was sickening to me to see how little of an entire year’s lessons penetrated their feverish little skulls.

It is so frustrating that we wasted a month’s worth of real lessons for the last two days’ debacle, even though I feel that the whole year was wasted. Tests have become the sole factor by which our schools are judged, so we are required to teach our kids ‘strategies’ to pass the test. Sure, over half the class couldn’t add 3.12 plus 5 correctly today, but I’m sure they’ll do great in life. My kids don’t understand how to add sales tax, how to apply a sales discount, and don’t even get me started on figuring out the area of a rectangle. I’m so gnarled up inside over these almost insurmountable problems, and the kids really don’t care. Even though I specifically have been using the test calculators for the last three months, one bubbly girl had to be shown how to turn on her calculator today. I’m starting to gnash my teeth unconsciously. Now that spring fever has struck, my most recent lesson for the 7th graders produced only one homework the next day. I don’t know why I’m trying to get them to do homework when I can’t even get them to bring papers and pencils to class. They have the newest Gameboy Advance, but they can’t afford pencils.

The Teaching Fellows program is a good program. They are a really good bandage on a massive hemorrhaging wound, bleeding out students and teachers alike. They have really tried to target the problems in the system. They are hiring teachers in record numbers, and I think they are maintaining a very high standard. One can argue that the education system has failed these students and their families for generations, but blaming everything except yourself doesn’t excuse a person from trying to learn. However one wants to place blame, the realities of my classroom involve fighting a pervasive culture of apathy. Until I saw my students taking the test today, I felt that I was helping in a few ways, but now I really feel crushed. I’m taking it really personally, running through endless failure scenarios. I’m not the respected teacher from Stand and Deliver, I’m not going to have a ceremony from Mr. Holland’s Opus. Hell, I’m not even the droning teacher from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Somehow the movie superteachers slice open a damned apple and then in the next scene they’re doing calculus. My kids don’t care that they can’t read a clock, they just look at the time on their cellphones. I’m just a guy who will be judged by the scores of kids who never do ANY notes, class work, or homework. I have no idea how else to motivate them to think. Some of them are intelligent, but they just will not think. Why think? Why try? Why should I?

Supposedly next year will be better. That’s not going to help me for the next two months. I see loads of self-medication (alcohol).

2003-05-06T20:52:00.000-04:00

It has been a long couple of weeks while my lovelies took their all-encompassing, all-important math tests. Tomorrow is the last day of the tests, so I wanted to give them (actually, me) a break. I gave them options for movies to watch tomorrow, one being X-Men. As I told them, some of them might want to watch the first film before watching the second film.

Next thing I know, one of my girls pulls a DVD bootleg copy of X2 out of her backpack. She bought it on Saturday. I don't want to shock anyone, but the movie premiered on Friday in the US. This copy has a nice looking jacket, a spiffy label on the actual DVD, and apparently is now available at Knickerbocker and Flushing. Chris thinks I have murky ethics (he'll argue this point, but it's my blog). I would just like to watch it again. We still might watch Shrek, but if the kids vote for some DVD that I didn't purchase, didn't know about, and didn't even notice, how would I know?

2003-05-04T21:02:00.000-04:00

Spring has definitely sprung, and I have Spring Fever. Change is in the air, and my Allegra apparently is not immune to it. It's like that irresistable itch in your nose before a sneeze. All of my other thought processes slow down in preparation for some violent expression of change.

I think it started with my trip to SF. Some ideas lofted out of various flowering ideas, lodged themselves in my mental sinuses, and it's irritating the hell out of my brain, germinating into this general dissatisfaction. The external symptoms are merely amusing. I want a new iPod. I want to paint the house. I'm desperate to wear shorts on my brilliant white chicken legs.

The internal reaction is more alarming. My focus, never exactly my best feature, has dwindled to the life span of a gnat. I want changes in my job, in my housing, in my location. I want to occupy small yet oil-rich nations. Things need to change.

2003-04-28T21:36:00.000-04:00

Yeah, baby, yeah! I am SO glad I didn't buy an iPod two weeks ago.

2003-04-28T21:14:00.000-04:00

Oh yeah. I should apologize for cockblocking Michael at Trannyshack. I was very, very drunk, and Joey from the coffeeshop was so terribly cute. I was drunkenly heading to the bar for yet another Anchor Steam, and I spotted Joey. How was I supposed to know that was my good friend Michael was right next to him, wearing a wig?!?!

2003-04-28T21:09:00.000-04:00

First day back in school, by the way. ADD levels were through the roof. Lessons were absolute failures. I think one of my 8th grade girls summed it up best when she barfed up something with corn into my trashcan at the end of the day. Then she just walked out. What is this, the new bulimia?

2003-04-28T21:04:00.000-04:00

Driving through Big Sur was like living in a Motor Trends magazine. I just needed a ranking sheet and about five more convertibles to write a credible review. We hiked all over the place, saw all sorts of super expensive houses, and straightened all of the curves. We had lunch at this trippy hippy enclave in the middle of the Big Sur wilderness, and I had a REAL peep. You know those Easter candies that look like little chicks, brightly dyed yellow, pink, or blue? If you do, you know they taste like crap. I annually forget how awful they taste and end up lured into the purchase of a dozen with their sugary siren calls. This hippy trippy place made real ones from marshmallows and gave me a fantastic mocha on the side. Joe and Omer left for southern California, and we headed for Fatsville. Oops, I mean the boardwalk of Santa Cruz. Michael and Dana decided that no campy trip would be complete without exploring the tacky and chunky side of California.

Santa Cruz is a typical beachtown with a boardwalk. This suburban dot on the map has rollercoasters, a sketchy beach, and the fattest Americans I've ever seen congregated in one place. They were so large that the boardwalk had been replaced with concrete, even though the concrete still groaned under the cumulative weight. You have a pod of whales, a murder of crows, a flock of geese, and now a lard of fat people. Many of my kids in my school are overweight and have horrible eating habits, but this place was their obese vacation hotspot. I saw children with cotton candy in both pudgy hands, warning signs on rollercoasters that excluded wildly obese people, and manbreasts the size of infected cow udders. In order to immerse ourselves in this paradise, we purchased a deep fat fried twinkie. Yes, a fat fried twinkie. Each of us ate a third, which resulted in a queasy sensation all the way back to San Francisco. I'm infamous for my ability to handle fat and sugar, but this really stretched my limits. The worst thing is that we all felt ill after only a third, while I saw families where each child was wolfing down two of the little fat bombs. With this sharp reminder to watch our diets, we headed back home.

After one of my best weekends ever, I continued on my lovely vacation while all of my employed friends had to go to work with hangovers. This is exactly how my friends with 9-5 jobs feel when they want me to go to something during the week. My uberhosts Bruce and Dana both have semi-flexible schedules, so they were able to continue entertaining me. Everyone suffered except for me, and I'm grateful for it. Dana's ninety pound puppy was definitely neglected because she vented her anger by chewing on Bruce's iPod. Bruce tried to ignore me also, so I chewed on his Subaru.

The remainder of my week was filled with hanging out with Jessie, Chris, Casey, Michael, Bruce and Dana and attempts to meet up with JP from Peace Corps. I continued my search for a Crunky bar, although I am unsuccessful on both coasts. I went to a wonderful Japanese day spa for massage and full treatment with Dana. This was extremely relaxing for me, extremely stressful for Dana, as he had just had his eyes dilated at the optometry clinic. He couldn't see a thing, and wandered helplessly around. Of course I had blithely wandered off, singing my idiot song. I finally found him slumped in a chair. I tried to feel guilty but I was simply too relaxed. Even shrugging was difficult.

I also triggered one of the last horses of the apocalypse by going to Trannyshack with the boys, who all happened to be dressed as girls. Even I wore a wig and scarf-thingy. Pictures will be up soon, I just need to modernize my blog, set up my own domain name, that kind of thing.

2003-04-26T23:40:00.000-04:00

I just read my own entry, and I really have to say that words just don't do justice to the sunset on the beach. Dana, Michael, Omer, Joe and I carefully made our way out from the beach on one jumble of rocks to the next. I can still see it when I'm asleep. Craggy rocks, tidal pools, suicidal jellyfish. The wind was cold, but we all wore coats from the trip in the convertible. The air had that tang of salt that fills me with the need to sing. We all sat there for over an hour as the sun fell, and I swear I heard trumpets.

2003-04-26T22:36:00.000-04:00

Back to the SF saga. I took the opportunity to meet my cousin Omer and his boyfriend Joe. They live near Santa Barbara, so we agreed to meet in Monterrey. Dana, Michael and I rented a sweet Chrysler Sebring convertible, spackled on the sun block, snagged an adaptor for their two iPods, and cruised out of the city. We took the Coastal Highway and the weather agreed to be basically perfect the whole trip. Three fags in a convertible, disco music, and the sun- the ingredients for a perfect road trip. Being a control freak,I drove all the way down, reverting back to my old fashioned road-rage self because people weren’t going 80 in the fast lane. The weather was just on the edge of warm, so the person in the back seat always had to wear a coat. I didn’t care, it could have been snowing and I would have kept the top down. I’ve had a lifelong dream to drive down that highway in a convertible. I’ve fantasized the feeling of a lithe convertible straining at the edges of grip around a twisty bend in the road, the Pacific ocean glimmering on one side, mountains on the other side. Poor Dana and Michael needed Zanax.

I should also mention that we looked marvelous.

Monterrey and Big Sur were everything I hoped they would be, and even had piles of cheese added on. The area is chock full of spectacular scenery, spectacular aquarium fun, and spectacular scenes of rednecks, California style. We wandered around, floating along with the jellyfish and anchovies. Omer and Joe proved to be a terribly interesting couple. Omer is currently on sabbatical doing research on plasma coming out of black holes, and Joe works at JPL doing work on a NASA Mars explorer. They’re a bit on the dim bulb side, and quite often we had to use smaller words with them. Working at mindless jobs must be frustrating for them, especially compared with the amazing mental stimulation of being a junior high math teacher.

I never knew that nightlife could be worse than in Clovis, NM, but Monterrey is pretty close. Before the sun sets, everything is brilliant. We packed the convertible, cranked the heat and headed over to the beach for the sunset. Sitting on the rocks as the ocean crashed and foamed below us, surrounded by friends and family, watching the massive sun fall below the horizon, I knew that I really needed to pee. Seriously, there are rare times when everything is good. Even rarer is being aware of how good things are in that moment. This was one of those moments. There wasn’t a lot of talk, just easy camaraderie .

Once the sun set, the real fun began. We had dinner at a Greek restaurant, had a random conversation with the waiter about the death of John Denver (he became an ocean buoy rather than a mountain boy in Monterrey Bay), and apparently offended some nasty conservatives at the next table. I have to say that the only really offensive thing were the Stepford wives in this group, even though Dana heard one of them say that Republicans were responsible for our ability to have our conversation. Apparently Democrats are traitorous flag burners, and that woman’s mutant sized SUV will save the environment, as long as her hair can still fit. Omer and Joe went to bed, then we narrowed the enormous entertainment choices down to the 18+ sports bar on the ground floor of the hotel, called Champions. Fortunately for us, we were older than 21, so we got the really huge stamp that said we were mature enough to drink. We also had the distinct good fortune of being there on karaoke night. I forgot how much fun straight folk have in their strange tribal activities. The bartender was an idiot, the lighting was on maximum, and we decided we had to leave when Sir Mixalot’s “I like big butts” came over the speakers. I’m okay with the song, I just object to the large man with breasts dance humping the big hair girl with no breasts. Michael went to the concierge and asked where the gay bar was. We pretty much knew not to ask for gay bars, but were disappointed when we found out the only gay bar had closed down months earlier. She suggested a bar called Viva, which she said was the gayest in town.

Gay has a plethora of definitions. Gay can be good, gay can be bad, gay can be really really bad. Viva was really, really gay, in the really, really bad way. Michael bought a round of truly disgusting drinks that pretended to be mojitos while 12 year olds frolicked around us. All of this nighttime magic was accompanied by a bad metal/rock adolescent band wearing matching satin shorts. Their shorts were also gay, in that really bad way. The combination of the satin shorts and the simple syrup gave a lovely unpleasant queasiness to the evening.

2003-04-26T01:34:00.000-04:00

I'll finish up the posts about SF tomorrow, but I just have to say that I did jinx myself by praising my travel karma. Whenever you are trying to use any form of transportation whatsoever, NEVER make any comment like, "Golly, we sure are making good time!"

Instant karma switch to the travel from hell. By commenting on my good travel karma, I lured myself into a nightmarish 2 hours and fifteen minutes of bus and train time last night once I arrived at JFK Airport. I almost missed my flight out of California because of my chronic lateness (plus Michael's terrible check theft scandal) but managed to get home with suitcases. I looked for taxis, but the only ones at the airport were private cabs and they wanted 35 bucks for a ten minute ride across town. I opted foolishly for the $1.50 subway fare, and spent the next TWO HOURS AND FIFTEEN MINUTES trapped in an A train with a flatulent drunkard.

2003-04-23T22:28:00.000-04:00

I don't want to jinx the situation as I have only one day to go, but I've had a blast so far in San Francisco. Normally I have some misadventure getting to the airport or something, but even the flight over was good. I used up all of my good public transit karma traveling out to JFK, as every subway train or bus appeared instantly across Brooklyn. I arrived exactly one hour before the flight, the flight was on time, and checking in my bags went without a hitch, as I remembered to surrender my pocketknife.

Jet Blue is absolutely lovely. Service was good, the seats were fairly comfortable for coach, and there were no screaming babies. And cheap. Never forget cheap. You just can’t beat their prices, or the wild amount of television. Since I don't really have cable at home, the Direct TV was amazing. I had 25 channels to choose, a little remote on the armrest, and some absolutely ridiculous headphones. When you have a shaved head, I really don't recommend wearing something with a metal strip that divides your head into two hemispheres. It's the same as the weird aurora that floats around my head after wearing a baseball cap. I surfed endlessly, as I am wont to do, but kept gravitating back to VH1 Classics. I watched for hours, as I was unable to sleep. This one girl who was about my age sat next to me, but I think she had hemorrhoids. She kept tossing and turning all night, making heavy tisking noises and heavy sighs. I finally gave up trying to sleep and turned the TV back on. After a few minutes, she turns to me and whispers tersely at me to turn down the volume because it is too loud. I’m actually certain it was hemorrhoids, or at least I hope she has them now. I was basically fine with it, I think I saw about six hours of videos from the eighties that I haven't seen in forever.

Dana L was at the airport and I was quite grateful for that, as it was 1 in the morning. All of my other friends were like, “Uhhuh. One in the morning. We’ll see you for brunch.” Dana and I had never actually met, as we had been communicating via my blog. This made his offer of picking me up extra special, and then he further impressed me by driving around the city, giving me a night tour of the city. We went down to the Castro district,out to the beach, and up to these two hills for a view of the whole city. The two hills are called the Twin Peaks, but the Spanish called them the Two Breasts. So we’re traveling around these two mammoth boobies like a Subaru trail of sweat to the nipples for a view from the top. Just like real Triple D’s, the view was magnificent and unobscured. We went to a pizza place with all sorts of froo-froo toppings like hummus and roasted veggies. Dana is a vegetarian like so many of my friends, but he knows that meat always be an option. I was also pleasantly surprised to see a poster for Mike Albo and Unitard, one of the funniest sketch comedy troupes I’ve ever seen. He arrives from NYC the day I leave, and the city will trigger an earthquake from all the laughter.

The first day I spent wandering around with Dana and Michael Lopez. We did some tourist things, most of which involved horribly obese tourists. Even the seals at the piers were horrified by the rolls of blubber attached to adults and children alike. After a certain amount of time with tourists, I couldn’t even bear the thought of getting on the cable cars. That evening, we went to a gay bonfire beach party. It was hysterical because it was very cold and everyone was huddled around this huge bonfire. There were all these butch guys bathed in the glow of the firelight, making butch noises, when a mutant wave pushed all the way up to the bonfire with no warning whatsoever. Girlish shrieks pierced the air as the manly men frantically did the dry shoe dance toward higher ground. So much for stereotypes.

As far as beauty goes, I can see why so many people fall in love with this place. I’m in love with this place. I continually was amazed by the uniqueness of this place. Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. It is liberal like NYC, but it goes a step beyond. All the public transit is electric, everyone recycles, and people apologize to the beggars that they can’t give money. Nature erupts in some spectacular way everywhere you look; gardens, mountains, and the beaches give a totally different aesthetic than NYC. Don’t get me wrong, I love NYC, but Michael Lopez hit it on the head when we were directly underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. He said that the Brooklyn Bridge doesn’t have such spectacular scenery at each foundation. NYC is a city that spits on nature, covers it up with a grid system. San Francisco takes a grid system and shakes it up, usually as a result of an earthquake. Yes, Market Street divides the city, otherwise it grew organically, spiraling outwards. I’m continually getting lost here, but if you just chill out, you eventually get where you need to go. It's a philosophy that covers the city just like the fog.

2003-04-22T02:45:00.000-04:00

I'm having a lovely time here in San Francisco, I'll be posting tomorrow.

2003-04-15T22:16:00.000-04:00

Mooglie googlies. I FORGOT TO TAPE BUFFY.

One day of teaching left. Finished my last midterm. Monosyllabic.

2003-04-13T22:28:00.000-04:00

Chris pointed me to this site: Taylor Mali - What Teachers Make

A bit too noble for me, but as the year winds down, I know I've actually made a difference in a small percentage of my kids' lives. Only three days of work until vacation, and I'm pondering if I should upgrade to Blogspot Plus. I could begin to include pics, which would be fun. Went to Scissor Sisters last night, had a blast. Their music has definitely gone in some new, good directions. The ballad was definitely the wrong direction, but otherwise the concert was really enjoyable.

I'm feeling really random.

2003-04-12T12:29:00.000-04:00

I'm seized by the idea of a tattoo. I need a tattoo. My original and brilliant idea was my father's cattle brand, but upon reflection, it looks like a pair of pendulous breasts hanging over a shelf. I need ideas from people who know me. Now I just seriously need a good idea for the tattoo, and a location. Any suggestions would be appreciated. Email me.

2003-04-10T22:50:00.000-04:00

Whaaaah? Dan's blogjust alerted me to the fact that I live in a super trendy neighborhood. I should have told the rats. MoFlo? My mind doesn't immediately go to something lunar...

2003-04-10T22:30:00.000-04:00

As this ship of education sails blindly towards the rocks of standardized testing, I'm wondering who is captaining the ship. Heck, I'm wondering who put us on this course in the first place. I've abandoned any pretense of teaching real information, as I am required to teach test-taking techniques for the remaining weeks until the tests. Our school has spent thousands on test materials from Kaplan and TWO other programs, yet we will lose all of our custodians, cafeteria workers, and assistants next year. We don't have enough money for any of my kids to be able to take their hardcover books home (I have one classroom set), yet we buy disposable products for a math test that has been shown to be massively flawed. My kids are bored, hypersaturated with information undiluted by comprehension, and will have their lives defined on a score of 1 to 4.

On the fun side, I was grading papers tonight, and came across a late homework produced by a student who was ill last week. She had written the comment 'asbent' to explain the lateness of the homework. I'm not saying anything.

2003-04-08T22:52:00.000-04:00

Mother Nature has been conspiring against me. Nature and my dog abhor vacuums.

The first assault was the BFR (see previous posting). We keep a clean house, we have an aggressive dog, and I advocate peaceful coexistence with all living things--except for cockroaches and rats. This has not been an issue the entire time that I've lived here, even though Dan mentioned he had occasionally encountered a mouse before I moved into the loft. Apparently the prior loser slob slacker roommate Ralph attracted vermin, I only attracted botulism in the fridge.

Regardless, the rodent issue coalesced around a mutant rat who grew up eating babies and used nuclear waste. He/she/it only showed up at our place because of the challenge. The first evidence of our new roommate appeared just as Andrew moved into the loft. I can sleep through tornadoes and earthquakes, so he had to bring the encounters to my attention. Bear normally also tries to attack rats at night if she sees them, but she was avoiding this one.

Every single method to kill the rat didn't work. Traps were disarmed, poison was ingested and pooped, dogs were chicken. We spent two hours one night filling every wall with steel wool, it removed it and made decorative art. We filled the walls with foam, it tunneled through. We mixed steel wool AND foam, it went through another wall. Considering there is no food floating around the house that is readily available, every effort was made to simply show that rodent could outsmart homo sapien. Finally, Andrew removed all the baseboards, installed a solid 14 gauge metal sheet barrier, redid the foam, and reinstalled the baseboards. We heard some scratching over the next few nights, but the sacrificial babies we left down the block must have lured it away. I was going to use some of my students as bait, but even rats know when they're outmatched.

2003-04-06T23:44:00.000-04:00

Hold on to your hats, I'll be posting tomorrow about the mutant BFR (BIG FUCKING RAT).

2003-04-05T16:04:00.000-05:00

There is so much chaos and confusion right now. People are upset, possessive, and confused. All because of the new smoking ban. I went to go see Andy's show at this bar above the Slide. Bar stools are always a prize at crowded bars, but now they are a territorial contention between feuding factions.

Before the smoking ban, if someone left to go to the bathroom or to get a drink, their coat would mark their territory. Now all the smokers have to go outside, so the stools appear unoccupied. Carpe stool, we always say. People were constantly having to tell someone to get away from their stools, the possessor of the stool was outside satisfying their nicotine need. While Chris, Rick, and Scott went outside, I had to fiercely guard our four stools, because it appeared that I was some psycho with a seating fetish.

A new etiquette will eventually develop, or maybe some clever New Yorker will develop a seat version of those little bracelets for wine glasses. The only other possibility is total anarchy, and nobody wants that in a bar.

2003-04-02T22:41:00.000-05:00

Sex and paper towels. I went to someone's site, can't remember which one for reference, dagnabbit. I'm just amused because my brawny towel choice wears a cowboy hat.

2003-04-01T21:46:00.000-05:00

I'm just giddy with geeky excitement. I just got my sparkly new Canon digital camera. I justified it because I'm going to San Francisco in just a few weeks. I've been wildly unhappy with my antedeluvian digital camera with the broken battery pack. Now I can pull out my spiffy camera and take photos everywhere. Woohoo!

Also, go to **|** ANDY'S CHEST **|**, which is where I'll be Friday.

2003-03-30T12:49:00.000-05:00

I'm a happy blogdaddy again! Everyone pass the cigars around for Andrea. Wait a second- do cigars symbolize something?

2003-03-30T11:51:00.000-05:00

It's Sunday morning, everyone in the loft is still asleep, and I'm seriously yumming on this super-scrumptious chocolate that Sparky and Rooster got for me in Italy. Hell, I'm seriously humming on this chocolate, as I've only had three cups of coffee and this confectionary masterpiece for food. They are very good guys, and I will always say that about anyone who buys me good chocolate.

Back in my fat and straight/closeted days, I ate a lot of chocolate. I love chocolate, I love the smell, I love the variety of textures, the granular crunch of a serious dark, the swirly smoothness of a high cocoa-butter blend; always the feeling of it slowly dissolving in my mouth, playing with my tastebuds, sweet and bitter floating around in a perfect mix.

Years ago, I had to come out of the closet, and I had to lose weight. The chocolate was one of the big sacrifices. Since then, I've got back into the habit of eating sweets, again, as I have become more balanced in my life. I've come to realize two things- skinny isn't everything, and sweets in moderation are good. Not that I am ever really moderate, but I am much better than I was before. The really big tragedy is that I never got back into eating chocolate, substituting inferior products like Krispy Kreme Doughnuts or Newman-O's (they're healthier than Oreos, and they support charities and organic farming!)

I should mention before any old roommate or our friend with giant red doughnut tattoos get cranky that it's not that I don't still love KK doughnuts, I just want some some non-mass produced love in little delicious squares. I think sometimes I'm a little too polar, okay, maybe way polar. Changes in my life have usually been pretty extreme, and I throw babies out with the bathwater. Throwing babies can be fun, although a bit wasteful. I think it would be a great photo, the baby sailing through the air, water coalescing into droplets in slo-mo. The baby could have one of those beatific smiles, experiencing its first and only flight...

I think I sidetracked again. Oops, back to chocolate. I am planning on going on some chocolate exploration over the next few weeks. Quality is good, and I really enjoy it. I think this is a good thing.

2003-03-25T07:54:00.000-05:00

History lesson for the week.

Supercool history-art god-friend James at jameswagner.com corrected me:
Just saw your post about Der Neue Galerie, Glenn, but I disagree with your statement, "People never saw the clouds gathering in the distance. People had no idea that the changes in government would have such devastating consequences."

They saw the clouds, they knew the republic was in danger throughout its 14 years of existence, and they knew very well what Hitler's "selection" in 1932 (neither he nor his party "won" an election) meant. Above all the people who were creative and those who were part of the creative world knew, but all Germans were political. There were hundreds of newspapers and each one had a clear political identity. Even bars, restaurants, coffee houses, clubs and beaches were political. There were dozens of political parties, at least five major ones in 1932, and they did not complete to look bland. None of them pretended to be or desire other than what it really was or really wanted.

As Prince sang to Sheena Easton, "I stand corrected! You got the look!"

2003-03-23T22:55:00.000-05:00

What a lovely weekend. I went with Simon to see Sonnets for an Old Century, a play directed by Daniel Luna. It had all sorts of enjoyable bits and bobs, although this one actor's scene was annoying. She played someone in a mental hospital, and we both thought she needed to just die. Her monologue on urine walls was reminiscent of Sheena Easton's Sugar Walls. Otherwise it was extremely enjoyable. Afterwards, we both drank wildly at Moe's and Kili. The bartender girl at Kili remembered us from the night of Michael's final party before heading off to California. Simon and I parted company, I jumped on the train, and when I reached my stop it was daylight. Oops.

Joe woke me up Saturday to remind me of our lunch date at the Neue Galerie. What I found so interesting was the relationship between Weimar Berlin and NYC today. Everything was so vibrant, so liberal, so full of promise. People never saw the clouds gathering in the distance. People had no idea that the changes in government would have such devastating consequences. I really loved the display. I'm not sure which was more memorable, the amazing art or the man violently barfing on the way back home. THAT was rather impressive, the sheer volume and noise.

2003-03-20T21:55:00.000-05:00

Today also marks exactly four weeks until vacation. Thursday, the 17th. California. Tick, tick, tick.

2003-03-20T19:52:00.000-05:00

Life lesson 1: First day of spring, MY ASS! The whimsical weather of New York tricked me with an amazing weekend. Now I'm suffering from ICS, the dreaded Inappropriate Clothing Syndrome. I stopped wearing sweaters and jeans, switching over to khakis and lighter shirts. By the time I got home tonight, I was wet and shivering. I've learned yet another clothing lesson. This isn't as emotionally traumatic as my 20 year brown belt/black shoes fiasco, but this was still an unpleasant education.

Life Lesson 2: Watch the boundaries in the shower more closely. I did the gay thing and dropped the soap. Chickapow. When I reached down in the very close confines of the shower, I suddenly became aware of the hand rail along the side as I scraped my head open on the sharp underside. Yow. Now I have this three inch gash across the top of my head, I'm thinking it might scar. We'll see.

2003-03-18T21:08:00.000-05:00

You know what I find funny? Aer Lingus.

2003-03-18T20:59:00.000-05:00

I love my blog. Only one week after blogging about needing a roommate, I'm getting one. For those who don't know him, his name is Bryan, and he is a blogger who has fallen off the wagon. He's a lurvely guy, and only kills baby harp seals once a week. Then again, don't we all get that urge occasionally?

Otherwise, the weather is amazing and our President is an idiot. Buffy was a rerun, damminit.

2003-03-13T22:57:00.000-05:00

Screw responsibility, I've just purchased myself a ticket to San Francisco from April 17th-24th. I've never been to northern California, and it sounds like the perfect spring break. I don't have any plans yet, nor do I have any official places to stay, but I have a shiny Jetblue ticket in my name. I shall eat, drink, and be merry. Maybe I'll get a tattoo. The possibilities are endless. I might even drink AND get a tattoo. I'm just crazy that way.

2003-03-10T20:31:00.000-05:00

Bloody hell yurgly gurgly fuck. New roommate Andrew just mentioned that he has decided to move back to Manhattan. BY APRIL 1. This promises to be fun, as I just love doing the whole roommate search over again. I just threw away the list of potential roommates last week! Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks. Yet again, if anyone knows of someone looking for a place, email me. I'm really hoping to get someone from a friend, rather than craigslist.com.

2003-03-09T21:04:00.000-05:00

One of the horsemen of the Apocalypse galloped out of the Time Out NY magazine last week. I'm flipping through the pages, and this horrifying vision assaulted me, making me know that we live in the final days of humanity.

Debbie Gibson and Neil Patrick Harris are the leads in Cabaret. Ouch. Nothing wrong with them really, they could be wonderful, now that she is now Deborah Gibson, and he's no longer Doogie. However, the prophecies have foretold the end, and the end shall involve the scariest leads on Broadway.

Both actors were extremely influential in my early years. Debbie was so much better than Tiffany, and Doogie Howser was originally from Portales, NM. I had some redneck friends who regularly beat him up during his tortured childhood. He moved away when he was about 12, and these boys grew to then bash fags at the local gay cruising spot. This was fortunate/unfortunate for me, as I didn't know there were any gays in the area. I made the correct noises when they talked about beating up fags, and then casually excused myself from the festivities. I think I'll write more about this later.

2003-03-05T23:04:00.000-05:00

And what the hell is up with these NY state tax returns? It took me 10 minutes to do my federal taxes, and 4 hours so far to work on the NY forms. I came from a state that has no income tax to a tax hell. I do expect a refund, so I plan to persevere. I definitely understand why so many accounting firms headquarter in Manhattan. They're drawn like moths to a flame.

2003-03-03T21:55:00.000-05:00

She hit the nail right on the head. At lunch, another teacher turned to me. "It's only 12, it's only Monday, and I'm already exhausted."

Just kill me now, before one of the students does the job. We just learned today that a loaded 45 was brought into our school last week by a student. The really amusing part of the story is that under this new 'No child left behind' law, until we get his witness statement, we are required to allow him to return to the school, and we still have to figure out a way to provide him with an education.

2003-03-02T22:29:00.000-05:00

What a weekend. Not a lot of sleep, with absolutely no sex for an excuse. I did bunches o' work, and I'm struggling to keep my eyes open. Michael Lopez moved to San Francisco, I'm going to miss him a lot. I worked on a lot of furniture in the loft, did lesson plans, and moved furniture at Michael's. Time for bed.

2003-02-27T16:24:00.000-05:00

I can tell that I'm going slightly crazy when I take off my gloves, cap, and unzip my coat because the balmy 32 degree temperatures outside is just too toasty. Woohoo, 32! It's like my age but colder!

Miki corrected me. It's not Mickie, Micky, Micki, but Miki. Parents can be so cruel. My name is Glenn because the EXTRA 'n' makes it sound better.

2003-02-25T21:50:00.000-05:00

Fun confrontation yesterday. I have this great kid who has embraced the 'sullen, rude, hateful teenager' role so well he deserves an Oscar. His speech would definitely begin with "You don't like me! You REALLY don't like me!"

The entire period this angel disrupted the 8th period class. When I told him he couldn't get water (school rules), he screamed out that he hated me. Wonderful. I told him that I was ecstatic, now go ahead and sit down. He continued to disrupt the class, never opening his book, never doing any work. Finally, I turn back from the board and see him tweezing his eyebrows with a girl's makeup mirror. I tell him and the girl that if they're done with all the girl stuff, maybe they can do some math. "Girl stuff?!?! Girl Stuff!? I bet I've fucked more girls than you have this year, Mister! How many girls have you bagged this year?!"

Realistically, we know that both this boy and I have 'bagged' the same number of girls this year... zero. He has 'bagged' more girls in his dreams, certainly. I just sat there, flummoxed, too shocked to yell or laugh. I would never have done something like this at his age, even at full hormone insanity. Sometimes I just realize that my childhood, my upbringing, my entire value system were entirely different from what these kids have.

2003-02-24T22:36:00.000-05:00

I had the pleasure last week of free lunch and conversation with a very nice guy named Matt. He did a Google search for NYC Teaching Fellows Math Immersion and my blog was up at the top of the list. Other bloggers apparently show up for ""freaky gay porn"" or ""a picture of jesus smoking a cigarette"." I show up on Google for math. He's been reading it for some time and wanted to ask me about the program, as he has just been chosen to join. He's nervous about it, especially after reading my blog, I guess. Who could think there is anything less than perfect about the program, especially after reading my site?

He's a wonderful guy, looking to help others, looking to change directions, looking for challenges. He's scared of the costs to himself, his girlfriend, his life. It was funny, because he'll be great. None of us are perfect in the program, we're all just people who were geeky enough to enjoy solving math puzzles in high school and college. We all had one or two good math teachers who made a difference, and we would probably put those people on our hero lists. We'd like to be heroes. Heroes leap into the tempest. Most of my friends in the program are in the same boat I am, barely keeping afloat in the currents of the department of education. It is still wonderful to watch all of us tearing apart a puzzle in our evening classes, as we still love math. I'm getting better every day as a teacher, even though I know I am far from perfect. Plus I'm drinking milk so I'll grow up to whup ass!

Matt had an interesting question, and it is something that I've pondered occasionally. I've had friends who have lost their jobs because of their blogs, alienated family, and been harassed by hate mail. What would happen if someone from my school or my Dad's side of the family found my site? Even though I removed it from the site rather quickly, Google still shows my site when you look for my name. I have serious doubts as to whether ANY of my students or relatives can turn on a computer, much less do a Google search, but they could get lucky.

What would happen to me? Some of my coworkers and administration are extremely homophobic, and my students' entire culture finds being gay worse than death. I think that all of my hard work could be invalidated just because of prejudice and fear. Most likely I would have to move to another school, just to avoid the stigma. I have no intention of stopping my writing. I'm not happy about being in the closet at work, but it would make work extremely hostile, and my kids don't have the necessary maturity or experience to handle it. I'll hope for the best, and prepare for the worst. Theoretically, it could be good, as it would give me a reason to move to a high school, which I would prefer anyway. Maybe I should leak the information?

2003-02-24T21:02:00.000-05:00

So party cleanup was brief and fun. Drunken unWedding attendees swept up, cleaned up, and drank up. I didn't drink, miracle of miracles. Eight of us staggered back towards my place for a quick break before heading out to Williamsburg for an evening of dancing and partying. As we walked down my street, I warned some of the more inebriated revelers about some random dog poo in the path. They didn't need my advice, as they each unerringly swerved or staggered around it. This is one of those New York skills that comes with experience, I guess. Dog jobbers, homeless crazies, muggers- New Yorkers can avoid them autonomically. I'm just learning.

We went to the new bar Metropolitan, left fairly quickly. It was quite disappointing, as the snobby trustafundian level was through the roof. However, I enjoyed every rainy step along the route, as it gave me the opportunity to talk with Micky, Brin, Simon, and the other disorderlies. Went to Luxx, realized the peak of its popularity was some time ago, as some people my parents' age walked in the door. Not to be ageist, but I thought I was a little old for this club. Regardless, had fun, saw Mark, and went home. Of course, on my way home, my two graceful left feet stepped unerringly IN the dog poo.

2003-02-23T22:28:00.000-05:00

Nothing like an unWedding to make Martha hang her anal-retentive head in shame. Dan's wedding to Rooster was a wonderful event that astounded me. It managed to be lively while soothing, economical without being cheap, sweet yet funny, and classy yet casual. Dan is a god who basically thinks of everything. The Chinese New Year theme was perfect for the space, their Maoist jackets were quite swank, and the music mix needs to be sold for other occasions. There were quite a few toasts to Sparky, but little about Rooster. Numerically, Dan's guests outnumbered Stephen's 5 to 1. This shows Dan's godlike ability to network and connect with people, plus his family's propensity towards extensive proliferation. I enjoyed keeping the drinks flowing and watching the eddies of fascinating people swirl around the room.

I'd like to make my own toast to Stephen, post wedding. I had the amazing good fortune to have Sparky as a roommate, but more importantly, I also had the fortune of meeting Stephen. He has one of the best souls I have ever encountered. Generous and loving to a fault, a brilliant cook, a brilliant mind, and a person who finishes things. Plus he's a literate cracker from a southern state, just like me.

Dan is one of the most brilliant and talented people I have ever met. However, he would not have a chance to shine if he didn't have Stephen. Dan is like an idiot savant (sorry, Dan). He's like a Rainman with weddings, databases, and ultracool digs, but cleaning the bathroom or cooking anything beyond slicing cheese are a bit of a mystery to him. I saw their initial dating phase, I saw the rocky phase, I saw the forging of a bond I aspire to achieve myself some day. I love them both and wish them the best.

2003-02-21T10:18:00.000-05:00

Whew. I just received some emails that glennalicious was gone. They were right, I was terrified (I hadn't backed up since November), but I went to blogger and was able to post. That seemed to fix it. Can't wait to see what other special tricks Google has planned for the site.

2003-02-21T10:03:00.000-05:00

Is my blog dead or missing? TESTING 1, TESTING 2, ....

2003-02-18T23:16:00.000-05:00

I've been doing quite well for the last week. I have so much stuff to blog about, but I'm at a loss as to what I should write. I really need some type of palm pilot or notepad to start writing ideas when they come to me. Things I've done:
Starting my vacation time
The protest (very late)
Superfun party with Dan'l/Lots of guys kissing
Hanging out with Athena
Teaching is changing into a better thing
I need to go to sleep. It's been a long day.

2003-02-11T21:06:00.000-05:00

I can't remember who suggested this to me, not the new roommate Andrew, maybe it was Dan. Regardless, someone suggested a brilliant idea. For all of those kids in my classes who are failing horribly, we automate the process and practice eugenics. For the kids who get the low level 1's and 2's, we hand them their test scores.... and condoms. Equal opportunity requires that I also neuter the annoying yuppie kids that are smart but smarmy. I'm also fine with that idea.

Along the lines of new ideas, the kicky new roommate did one of those earth shattering paradigm shifts in life for me. I step into the shower this morning and almost shut down. I have lived here nearly a year experiencing the same vague annoyance the entire time. I'm not the most graceful gazelle to prance around in our dinky shower stall, so I constantly knock things off the little shelves on the shower wall. There was an awkwardly placed mirror to the left that was useless unless you scrunched to the left, and then the annoying shelf. Andrew moved in and switched them around immediately. Heaven! If I need the mirror for shaving the head, it is directly in front of me. The shelf is out of harm's way, and I'm a happy naked wet camper.

2003-02-10T20:45:00.000-05:00

If anyone else feels as strongly as I do about not bombing Iraq, join me and thousands of others at this United for Peace Rally in NYC February 15th.

2003-02-10T20:07:00.000-05:00

Oh yeah, baby, check out THESE triglycerides! After the horrifying news in September that various dangerous fat bits globbing their ways through my arteries were DOUBLE the safe level for someone my age, I have lowered them to ten points below average. I am so ecstatic that I'm going to go to Krispy Kreme tomorrow...

2003-02-09T21:22:00.000-05:00

God bless Uffish Chris, she has a heart of gold and a knack for cool links. I think more sites like this should be developed.

2003-02-09T19:16:00.000-05:00

I had the perfect opportunity to converse with my head dean and assistant principal of my school on Friday. I asked them to give me their absolutely honest opinion of my performance. I share a wall with the dean's office, and on numerous occasions one of them comes over to yell because my kids are so out of control. They had both just had a meeting with the parent of one of my new demons who has just been transferred to my class. I told them to tell me the truth, that I was one of the worst teachers in the school. They both laughed and told me I wasn't even in the top ten. We then had an informal review, both of them giving me some really good advice to improve class management. We were laughing about some events that have happened in my class,

I left feeling slightly better, then I got to the stairwell. Hey! I'm a math teacher, and that wasn't such a great ranking! Even if I'm not in the Kasey Kasem Top Ten Terrible Teachers, that means I'm probably in the next group, which means I'm in the bottom fifty percentile of teachers at my school. Damn, damn, damn. My entire life, I've always been in the top quartile of anything I've set my mind to accomplish, and more usually the top one percent. It's not ego, it's hard work and a wee bit of obsessive/compulsive behavior.

The more I live my life, the more I find the challenges expanding. This last summer I confronted the very real possibility of failing at the Math Immersion program, and I aced the qualification exams after working 25 hours a day. Now I'm a first year teacher having his ass spanked every day, grateful to be in the bottom fifty percent of teachers. Woohoo, there are at least ten teachers who are apparently in an advanced vegetative state that allow the children to eat poop or something. My kids just get into fights nearly every day, leave the room without my permission, and steal anything that isn't bolted down. I know I'm not a failure, but I sure as hell am not a success either. There are no plans for a "Mr. Bunger's Opus" in the theaters any time soon.

2003-02-06T21:55:00.000-05:00

Shaved head, goatee, broken nose, arms as hairy as a monkey. Sleeves always rolled up, Swatch always attached to the left sleeve. These are the things that make me feel unique, what I think other people see.

Fascinating when I change something slightly. It's the winter, I have no hair, I'm freezing to death in my own home, I wear a stocking cap. Badabing! Suddenly I apparently look like Jason Lee, the amusingly sarcastic character in all those Kevin Smith films(I). I've been stopped in restaurants, on the street, in police lineups. I can't really decide if this is a good thing. He's famous, yes. His voice is terribly sexy, and he could talk my clothes off with one of those sarcastic tirades. We are the same age, people like him, I guess this is a good thing.

This is better than the annoying comparisons to other bald guys, just because I shave my head. My junior high lovelies constantly ask me if I'm Steve Austin, the wrestler. Yeah, that's me, the steroid freak with biceps the size of a dancing baby. I'm a bit happier with the new reference to Colin Farrell (I), as he is the dead sexy guy who plays Bullseye in the dreadful looking Daredevil film. I don't even remotely look like him when he has hair, but he has a shaved head and goatee. Of course, he also has this HUGE ZIT or something on his forehead in the film, so it is slightly frustrating to be linked to that role, as it reminds me of those incredibly annoying days when acne strikes.

I just want to get to the day where some other sap with a shaved head and goatee is told that they look just like Glenn, that wildly successful carpenter/professor/scientist/writer/singer, kind of like Buckaroo Banzai.

2003-02-04T22:46:00.000-05:00

Last week I was coughing up lungs, so I went to the doctor. While there, I had a cholesterol test, my first since the report in the fall of wild chunks of lard lumping through my veins. Results are still not in.

I'm terrible after a test. As Daphne and I drove to our first university class of the semester yesterday, we drove past a White Castle. I never eat there any more, but I knew that I had a date with cholesterol destiny after Education 763.23X. I know that their food is hot buttered death, but those little bacon cheeseburgers are little fat bombs of tastiness. I can't help it, I've been really good!

My rhapsodizing about their burgers was so enticing that two other teachers joined me there. We're talking about lessons, and this woman joins in our conversation. We did not invite it, and I immediately got the impression that she was absolutely barking doolally mad. Everyone in the Castle knew that King George was on the loose again, but I thought that I was managing to avoid this situation. I didn't make eye contact, I didn't encourage her, but I still don't have that fine balance that other New Yorkers have. By the time my three bacon covered heart stoppers arrived, soaking through their cardboard containers, she was screaming obscenities. Sad thing is, she had NOTHING on junior high kids, either for insanity or crudity.

2003-02-04T22:33:00.000-05:00

Lubbock is SO popular in the news right now! Not only is this news, I know this teacher. He was a regular coffee customer of mine in Lubbock when I was a barista at J&B Coffee, and I knew he was batting on my team. He's quite famous in the university for being quite an ass, but a fairly good teacher. The general consensus among students is that he favors boys in his classes, although I personally have never been in any of his classes. The only thing I can say is that he is a very good tipper, which is one of the best ways in the world to judge a person.

2003-02-03T20:52:00.000-05:00

Lubbock just never gets in the news for something good.

2003-02-03T20:48:00.000-05:00

As I ponder killing children (the list of ways keeps getting longer and longer, throttling or poisoning no longer suffice), I have developed this wonderful escapist fantasy. The fantasies aren't terribly complex, as they don't need alibis, escapes, or clever ruses. I'm not afraid of punishment.

Prison life wouldn’t be so bad. Obviously, the gay sex is not a problem. I’ll avoid becoming the junior high man-bitch, using my patented teacher stare. I don’t particularly have a prison sex fantasy, but groups of men in shower scenes sound rather fun.

I’d be able to work out daily, getting all buffed up, eventually have those killer abs I’ve always wanted. I could catch up on my reading, watch tv, pursue my masters without the distraction of commutes and deadlines, and probably continue writing my blog. I get free healthcare, free cable, no rent, and get repetitive labor, which I love. I do my best thinking when my hands are occupied.

Best of all, no junior high kids (although I bet some of my kids will eventually show up). Someone please tell me the downside.

2003-02-02T19:20:00.000-05:00

I have to admit that I’m a closet mary. Not a mary that is in the closet, but a mary who has issues with closets. And not those proverbial closets, but actual closets. I’ve had to deal with this really small wardrobe in my room as my only closet space since I’ve moved here, and I’ve hated it. I have lots of clothes, not necessarily good tasteful clothes, but still my clothes. I had clothes in bags, on my footlocker, in my footlocker, under my bed, on my bed. I really hated it.

Losing Dan as a roommate was a tragedy, but it was a real windfall, just like a death in the family. Sure, you lose the person, but you gain their stuff! Boohoohoo woohoo! He gave me a bunch of kicky hipster clothes that weren’t hip enough to transport to his new smaller space, and he also gave me his AMAZING SIX FOOT SERIOUSLY FRIGGING HEAVY STEEL clothes rack. I’ve pulled out all of my clothes and discovered that I have enough clothes to fill the length of the rack, although not necessarily with really kicky clothes. Those are on the last two feet or so. Maybe less. Okay, a foot. Okay, room for the shirts to swing freely and separately.

Regardless, this also pointed out another of my random obsessions. Some clothes fiends have things for shoes, or shirts, or socks. I have so many Pop Swatches that I have a bowl filled with them at the end of my bed. If I don’t cover them with a towel, the ticking at night drives the dog out of the room. The cost for replacement batteries is about $50 every year. I can’t help it, I just love them and their shiny happy faces. I hate Daylight Savings Time, as it is a real chore when you have twenty watches to adjust. I have so many Pop Swatches that I can’t keep track of them. I’ve gradually noticed that there has been a drop in number, but I couldn’t identify individual Pop Swatches that were missing, forcing me to deal with PMPSAD, or Post Misplacement Pop Swatch Anxiety Disorder. The symptoms include, but are not limited to, frantically checking my left arm for ticking, chronic lateness, and a vague shuffling around the room in the morning looking for a matching watch.

As I hung up all these shirts, I found seven Swatches attached to shirts from the foot locker, the floor, under the bed. Some of them still had the time from before the time change. My constant misplacement of objects is well known to all of my friends, so keeping track of all of them is hopeless. Well, I think I’m back to a full number. I think.

2003-01-28T20:00:00.000-05:00

I've come down with YET another horrifying cold, you know, the kind where you basically drop to the ground coughing, your eyeballs are burning from the fever, and your stomach is roiling. Lovely, lovely, lovely. I'm going to the doctor tomorrow, thanks to good medical coverage.

Thanks to everyone for the encouragement after the attack. I'm fine, just jumpy.

2003-01-22T20:36:00.000-05:00

I didn't sleep well last night, combination of stress and cold. This morning was a nice struggle out of the sheets. I wasn't in the mood to teach the grimies, but I had to get out of bed to call in sick, so I just kept going once I was out of the bed. Got to school late (I was free for the first period anyway), found out that we had a surprise inspection by the superintendant, and went through the motions for the day. My kids' only efforts involved being evil, I had a huge altercation with this one particularly nasty child in an 8th grade class, and I'm losing my voice again.

I'll be fine in a few days about the attack. I wasn't really injured, I'm just a bit sore. People have told me of attacks that were a lot worse, so I'm hoping my first/last attack will be the perfect education experience. I'm planning on not repeating the incident- walking down the busier street, actively watching my environment when I'm alone, and remembering how to whoop ass when needed. I pulled a Jesus Lizard on that guy, yelling and flailing. It worked, but I can't count on that next time. I'll basically try to make sure there isn't a next time.

2003-01-21T22:02:00.000-05:00

Instead of watching Buffy this evening, I had the rare opportunity to patrol in the back of a police car, searching for the mugger who attacked me. I am thinking this leads me closer to being a real New Yorker. Scott told me I just need to throw up from an open subway door. I'm working on that.

This evening, I went to Life Cafe a few blocks away, intent on creating brilliant lesson plans to amaze and astound the kids. I worked for two hours, frantically working on a self-imposed deadline. Gotta get home to watch Buffy at 8! I finished with about 15 minutes to spare, threw my backpack over my shoulder, and headed out into the freezing weather.

I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings, so I didn't focus on the guy walking the opposite direction. Let's just say that I noticed him when he easily grabbed me and shoved me up against the wall. He was at least three inches bigger than me, and he was holding me with one hand while reaching into his pocket. I started yelling and hit him once. He was pushed back, I kept yelling, and he ran off.

I'm a bit freaked out, but I also think I was really lucky. I'll definitely be paying more attention while I'm walking.

2003-01-20T15:21:00.000-05:00

A quote from one of those nambypamby books I had to read during the summer: "A good teacher has an undefineable quality, a 'with-it-ness' that enables them to know what is going on, even behind their back."

I can define it, just by what it isn't. I don't have this 'with-it-ness'. I'm one of those guys who walks into doors, forgets appointments, orders Chinese food without ever noticing that the restaurant is called Wong Foo. I am the antithesis. I have 'without-it-ness.'

My kids sneak out of the room when I'm writing at the board. Objects are thrown, shrieks are emitted, materials are destroyed or stolen. I know that some of them feign ignorance of basic concepts just to sidetrack me. That's easy, just show me something shiny. The majority of students failed my midterm, the majority are failing. I gave them all an opportunity to correct their tests, they took the opportunity to cheat. I see other teachers with the lovelies, some have a modicum of control, others don't. I'm a don't.

I have three weeks until a week's vacation. I will make it. I hope.

2003-01-15T23:16:00.000-05:00

Vague writing is bad writing. BUSH wouldn't get any Swiftian satire.

2003-01-15T21:41:00.000-05:00

And thank you Jim for pointing me to this wonderful ghost-written praise of the sanctity of life by our esteemed president.

I would send him something Swiftian, but he just wouldn't get it.

2003-01-15T21:28:00.000-05:00

My college home town seldom makes it into the news. College quarterbacks who are selling drugs within a hundred yards of a school, major college sports corruptions, mockeries on the Simpsons, George Bush saying "I want to keep it simple so the boys in Lubbock will understand."

NOW THE BUBONIC PLAGUE. Thanks, Daniel.

2003-01-15T17:59:00.000-05:00

Ahhh, yes. I am so glad I have the bright shiny moments with my bright shiny friends. This last weekend was a good time for me, especially when I went to Hell. For the last few months, I thought that hell is located at my junior high, second floor, 12th room from the end. And it is, but it is only lowercase hell. It might even be a mere purgatory, a place to atone for some sins, maybe a mass genocide in a previous life.

Uppercase Hell is a good place, cozy, good couches, swell drinks. It's in the meatpacking district, which I thought, well, was euphemistically named. And, just as I expected, all of my friends were already there. And, just as many of my friends expected, they were playing 80's music in Hell. After being there for a short time, I came to the conclusion that I would prefer to stay in Hell. The lighting is better, the conversation is merrier, and Jimmy Swaggart isn't allowed to enter.

Afterwards, Andrew treated me to my first sober taxi ride in the city. Normally, if I'm above ground, I'm either walking or in a bus. Taking a taxi in a sober state is quite disturbing to me. The seats are slick and precarious, the 'new car smell' has been replaced by the funk of forty thousand years, and the roof of the car seemed extremely agressive, looming towards me, accusing me of being a newbie. Walking takes more time, but I feel that it gives you more of the scale of the city. The taxi diminishes everything's size, shrinking huge buildings to some surreal zoetrope. However, it was cheap, and maybe I'll do it more often.

Normally I don't go out if there is school the next day, but I never get to hang out with Barry and James. They convinced me to go see a show Sunday at Galapagos by this guy John Moran. I spent my last dollars to get there, and I stayed out much too late, but it was totally worth it. The music was so different from anything I've ever heard, plus the sense of humor was biting. A joke about pot was pulled at the very beginning, and I fell for it, dragging the fishhook in my mouth for a good ten minutes. Brilliant, plus I love my friends' enthusiasm for provoking thought. They keep reminding me why I am here in this town.

Last but not least, my roommate sent me to The Ukes of Hazzard's music video "Gay Boyfriend" site. My god. Good stuff, although not as amazing as the Wau Wau sisters.

2003-01-13T21:02:00.000-05:00

Comments from my roommate tonight:

"I need to order a pie."
"I can't believe the view of Deanna Troy's pudendum."

I'm gonna miss him.

2003-01-11T13:36:00.000-05:00

Psycho whining boy, table for one? Right here! I'm really unhappy about work and life, but letting it get to me is a bit on the lame side. Sometimes things can be right under my nose and I won't even see them.

Take my neighborhood. So I've lived here now for a little over nine months, and I just discovered that my Chinese delivery place is called Wong Foo. I look at the menu every few weeks, but I never noticed that. I'm just waiting for Julie Newmar to deliver my broccoli and rice. I discovered that eighth wonder of the world, Western Beef. I also have the yoga place, I'm meeting the neighbors, and I'm going to try to focus on positive ways of dealing with my problems.

I hate my job, every morning is dreadful. However, quitting is not an option. Too much of the decision would be emotional and a result of depression, and it's common knowledge that the first year is the worst year of teaching. The combination of being at one of the worst schools in the nation AND teaching hormone addled teenagers could make anyone despair, so I'm going to make it to the summer, then review.

I'm off to go look at model trains and get a new calendar. I keep thinking it is still 2002.

2003-01-06T23:08:00.000-05:00

I am really looking forward to having the new roommate move into the loft. For the last month or so, I've been really lonely. I'm a social animal and I need interaction. People who have seen my hairy arms know that I have not-so-latent social monkey genes. I have lived with other people my whole life, and even though I often need my own space, interaction is still vital. Frequently I am sitting here, and I have to go to Life Cafe just for some conversation. Dan and I had, in my opinion, one of those excellent casual communication systems. Most of the time, it was more presence than actual conversation. Now Dan basically lives over at Stephen's place, and I have to admit that I was really disappointed when he canceled on staying here tonight. For the past few months, our old system has been replaced by his making a beeline for his nest, going to sleep, and then heading back over to Stephen's. The fact that I learned of his moving out through friends and his blog shows the extent of how we communicate now.

I know I'm a bear to be with right now. I feel sorry for my friends and Dan, because I know that my socializing has such a frantic quality to it. My day to day life is quite miserable, and so I pin too much on my time with friends and Dan. That is a lot of pressure for people that already have full plates. Often I just go to my side of the loft, read a book, listen to some music. However, the huge empty loft makes me avoid my normal quiet time for recharging, my normal schedule has been thrown out the window, and I'm as cranky as a constipated 90 year old in the rest home.

I guess the new year is bringing some good things. This will be my stepping out on my own, even if it is with a little kicking and screaming. I'm meeting my neighbors, making new patterns, starting yoga. I'll start a batch of cider. I'll bring over some friends to help redecorate, maybe build some new walls, make the space my own. In six months, I'll look back and wonder why I was so miserable tonight. Plus I'll be out of school.

2003-01-06T20:52:00.000-05:00

Okay, so the attempt at a tropical Christmas was a total bust. However, I have a midwinter recess from February 14th through February 23rd. I want to go somewhere and validate my New Year's resolution of sunburning my nether regions on a beach. Anyone want to join?

2003-01-05T23:06:00.000-05:00

Some legends say Xanadu is concealed in a mountain pass in Tibet. Others say that it floats from cloud to cloud. Some people born in the 70's believe that Olivia Newton John guards the mystical gates with her dangerous floaty hair. I personally believe one can enter through the infrared sensor doors at Western Beef, the grocery store I just was taken to by my new food guru Sonia. I could have sworn I heard a chorus of angels as the doors swung inwards onto an awesome panorama of fresh breads, unknown fruits, and wide aisles containing a vast array of tasty goods.

Ever since I moved here to NYC, I've been wildly disappointed by the grocery stores. Locally, I have the C-town, which is a horrifying descent into gnat-covered banana hell. Everything is overpriced, the dairy products are usually one day away from becoming a new form of cottage cheese, and one entire aisle of this miniscule store is devoted to Catholic candles. What ices the cake is the walk through the projects to get home, avoiding rotting garbage, dog crap, and the painful tingling from rapidly numbing hands. I can take the subway the Bedford stop or Union Square. Both have grocery stores with superior selection, healthier items, and better fruit. However, they're still frightfully expensive and the amusing risk of cans rolling around the subway car.

I met Sonia through yoga wild hair Jen, another sign of my good karma, as Sonia is becoming one of my favorite people to hang out with. She leads me to this amazing new place a short distance by car or bike from my place. I had an absolute blast, I was so excited. It is like a World's Fair of food. There's all sorts of great fruits with strange names, aisles of Indian food, Jamaican, vegetarian, you name it. They also have this great kicky tejano music playing, which results in Sonia and I dancing randomly down the aisles. I bought caviar, a big bag of good dog food, and about $120 worth of other stuff. We were in there for over TWO HOURS, and I loved every minute of it. We loaded it into Sonia's ageing Toyota and exited Kublai Khan's fabled land. With her as my sherpa guide, I know I'll return.

2003-01-02T20:43:00.000-05:00

Well, I think the roommate issue is somewhat resolved. One of my Jen's (not blogger Jen, not New Mexico Jen, not Peace Corps Jen, not Jen from my school, not Jen from my university program, or my first kiss ever Jen, but yoga wild hair Jen) connected me with their friend Andrew (not Andy or Andrew or Andy from Texas or Andrew from Peace Corps).

He's a good guy. Photographer, yoga and bicycle fan, taller than Abraham Lincoln. Seems steady and fun. Being a photographer, he will replace Daniel as my fashion arbiter. Being a yoga fan, we will check out the new yoga place down the street. Being tall, straight, and nice, my single straight female friends will rip out each other's intestines when they meet him.

2003-01-02T20:13:00.000-05:00

It was a very chaste kiss. No tongue.

2003-01-01T14:45:00.000-05:00

The dawn of another new year. I went to the local neighborhood party at one of the local lofts, it was rather fun. I had other ideas, but plans failed, cell phones didn't work, and I just haven't had the energy to organize anything myself. Lori has a pool table, a kegerator, and a penchant for cats. While I was there, I tried some special cookies, again no effect. I'm immune. At midnight, kissed Sonya, one of the local girls.

It's two in the afternoon, I still haven't showered or shaved, and I still have to do all sorts of lesson plans and junk. I'm watching Linklater's Waking Life, responding to emails, procrastinating. I want to just go back to sleep, I need to go over to Life Cafe to get some work done.

So I forgot to describe my semi-Christmas. I went down to DC, spent the 23rd and 24th on the eastern side of Maryland in a great farmhouse in the country. I love adding depth to a person you know by seeing their childhood environment. Jim S grew up near Oxford, MD, this beautiful idyllic town. I learned all sorts of great things. Lightning has struck the inside of his old house, cooking everything inside the refrigerator. His youngest brother who looks to be the oldest hunts animals.

I am so jazzed about beaver. We're having breakfast Christmas Eve, Jim's sister and bro-in-law are keeping me caffeinated, and Jim's youngest brother brings over all these goose decoys. He then mentions that they are having problems with beaver down on the local pond. Everyone knows how much I love beaver! I've never seen beaver in the wild, so I went stalking it while Jim took a shower. I saw a lot of evidence, but the shrewd and wily beaver stayed hidden. We drove back to DC that evening, watched the Poseidon Adventure, and the next morning I took the bus back to NYC. Christmas Day was pretty much a non-event, but I went drinking with friends later. It was good. I just really wish I had seen that beaver.

2002-12-30T00:35:00.000-05:00

I STILL NEED A ROOMMATE. I STILL NEED A ROOMMATE. I STILL NEED A ROOMMATE. TELL YOUR FRIENDS.

2002-12-30T00:34:00.000-05:00

While dropping off my videos today, bumped into John Cameron Mitchell. Seemed nice, although a bit short.

2002-12-30T00:19:00.001-05:00

I NEED A ROOMMATE. I NEED A ROOMMATE. I NEED A ROOMMATE.

2002-12-30T00:19:00.000-05:00

My whole life I wanted a big brother. I knew that my sadistic parents had simply shipped him off, both enjoying my suffering at the hands of my sisty uglers. I just didn’t know that I would get a bevy of adopted brothers, guys that I now can say that I love. My new family stretches from coast to coast, tied together by horrifying moving trips, rough times, shared bathrooms, and fart jokes. Brian N is my musically talented brother, my mental opposite, drifting around whimsically and terrifyingly when it comes to bank accounts and lanes on the freeway. I love him. Evan is my brother I can always count on, to bring down the garage in the perfectly wrong direction, barbeque the perfect ‘beer up the ass chicken,’ or to sit quietly on the porch having a good beer. I love him too. Dave and my new sister-in-law Erin are there when I have to join the underground, ready with a fake identity, a Kiss costume, and a shovel. I love them also.

I’d never had a big brother until I came here to NYC. Dan’s the cool older brother that I always wanted. He negotiates every conversation with ease, always makes people feel good about themselves, and let’s me feel not only is it okay to be who I am, it could even be cool. Even better, he’s the ubercool brother who lets me hang with his friends. He’s the older brother I get to ask questions about sex. Hell, I started this silly blog because of him. I get to be the comic book sidekick, without all the stupid homoerotic overtones. So what the heck happens when the hero leaves? Do I change the costume, start my own comic franchise? Maybe ScooterBoy? A gay hero that races around on a souped up Vespa, doing superrenovations to homos in need…

I’m going to miss him a lot. He won’t live that far away, but the distance will grow. It’s the same with my other brothers, and my sisters. I miss the daily communication, the familiarity. I know I can pick up the phone or hang out, but it will be different than yelling across the loft, asking if something matches, or watching Buffy together, or laughing at each other’s escapades.

2002-12-27T14:52:00.000-05:00

Some friends from other states have asked whether I’m going to be in Times Square for New Years. Not only no, hell no. I’ve definitely become averse to freezing weather, milling throngs of drunken puking teenagers and pickpockets. Times Square is a wonderful thing to walk through- once. It is the bright shiny optimistic capitalistic electric example of the amazing allure of America, and the dangerous greed and environmental waste flipside. Plus I don’t know the words to Auld Lang Sine (Zine? Sein?)

I definitely have the desire to have a New York New Year, maybe go somewhere dressed in a tux, laughing with friends over some political joke. Maybe I’ll just go with friends to some huge club, jumping and sweating to some music, flailing my rhythmically doomed limbs with goofy Texan abandon. I definitely want to be kissing multiple guys, friends, maybe even a few girls at midnight. Maybe even for some minutes past when everyone’s big balls drop. My big resolution is to kiss more this year. I love kissing, I love the feel of the distant heartbeat transferring to my lips, the flush of heat in contact, the single minded focus of the moment, the sacrifice of air for passion.

I publicly resolve to do the following:
Tell people more often why I like being around them.
Tell people more often why I don’t like being around them.
See one Broadway show every month.
Get a library card, start borrowing books rather than buying them.
Sunburn my ass on a nude beach.
Learn Spanish.
Try acupuncture.
Eat horse.

End every sentence with “as the will of God demands”

2002-12-27T14:45:00.000-05:00

I think I have some genetic disorder that renders me completely incapable of keeping/locating remotes. I'm sitting here typing letters and such, the phone rings, I pause the player. I leap up to find the phone which I've misplaced (it's randomly on the shelf next to the stereo in my room), talk on the phone while wandering around the loft, hang up, set the phone down, again randomly. I sit back down, where once again I realize that I had taken the remote with me when I went to answer the phone. Damn. I eventually found it, next to Dan's plants that I keep alive. Why? I was wandering around. I should probably eliminate the cordless phone.

2002-12-26T14:16:00.000-05:00

Yummy. Nothing like nursing a hangover the day after Christmas. I think I should backtrack a wee bit...

Frank and Brett came up from DC last weekend, it was a good time. Frank is this perennially happy person, wrinkle free and perpetually like a kid at Christmas. When I usually meet people like this they tend to also be incredibly stupid. That's what makes Frank so special. He's very intelligent, but just doesn't worry about things. I found out that one of his friends had wrecked one of his scooters, and he was quite calm about the whole thing. I wish I could be that way. I'm not.

Drove back with Frank to DC, went to a lovely bar called Feint. The music was good, the beer was cheap, and the crowd was enjoyable. Ended up meeting a few guys there, including one who was a former Peace Corps volunteer in Russia. Mir tyesen. We ended up talking to a guy who was Russian, then the group expanded to the Russian's friend, who also happened to be the neighbor of the Peace Corps volunteer guy. Their dogs are often walked at the same time.

Jim, Frank's roommate and one of my best friends, is thoroughly disgusted with my uncanny ability to meet guys. I simply have no real fear of rejection, as I don't take it personally if someone isn't interested in me. Everyone knows that I love talking, so it is very easy and natural for me now. When I first started going to gay bars, I had to get totally drunk to even talk to someone, but now I realize that EVERY person there wants to meet other people. One just has to make the first move.

2002-12-22T13:36:00.000-05:00

I have all sorts of things to write about, but first I really, really, really need to finish my term paper project. Then I'm off to DC this afternoon for a few days.

2002-12-21T10:13:00.000-05:00

It’s really nice to wake up in the morning from a bad dream about school, suddenly realizing that I basically don’t have to think about it for nearly two weeks. I plan on doing totally frivolous things like using a tanning membership, playing videogames, and reading. I’ll have to schedule those things between all the drinking and carousing with friends, but somehow I’ll do it.

Thursday night I went to our school’s Christmas party. I wore the same thing I always wear, as a pair of jeans and a nice sweater aren’t too difficult to match. I was amazed to see little teacher Phoenixes rising from the ashes, dressed to the nines, nails done, hair elaborately coifed. These are not the same people I teach with every day, I’m certain of it. Then they began to dance and I realized that they were still the same group of people.

I saw my summer principal, the woman who had hired me. She was transferred to another school when I had started in the fall, so it was good to see her. She and I were laughing about some events from the summer session when she admitted something funny. At the job fair, she and the other administrator separated away from me for quite a few minutes. I thought they were deciding whether I was too smarmy, but they were debating whether it was okay to allow an UNDERCOVER NARCOTICS AGENT into their school. They thought I was too good to be true. Awwww….