I’ve arrived in sunny California!  Well, it’s not totally sunny at the moment, a bit overcast, but saying “I’ve arrived in overcast California” just doesn’t have a good ring to it.

One of the first events that happened when I got out here was Michael Jackson’s Memorial Service.  What a sight that was!  Black people know how to throw a funeral.  As my firend Lori said, it’s just one big jam session.  Nobody does a funeral better than black people.  Except, Lori noted, the Irish.  But they are kind of the blacks of Europe, no?

Did you see John Mayer at MJ’s funeral?  I was so confused with his presence.  I think he thought he was going to play, “Your Body is a Wonderland” in honor of Neverland Ranch, but then realized it might be taken the wrong way.  Tacky John, totes tacky!

It’s good to be back in the land of silicone.  I joined Crunch fitness, which was like a huge step for me.  Not because I need inspiration to work out, I’m pretty physical, but because I don’t like shelling out that kind of money every month for something that should be way cheaper (and thus more accessible to everybody).  The perk to having a membership at a high priced gym: they give you a small towel and a large towel, various soap options in the private showers, and skinny trainers you know are judging everything you do (because they think they know better, which is like beyond annoying,  I’m not the one having to work at a gym just to get a free gym membership - ZING!).

Here’s to setting goals and achieving them!

Have you seen this ad before? Like, totes ridick!

First off, look at his before and after, that’s a drastic difference! Besides that, I can tell you from having lost 100 lbs, getting a six pack like that while dealing with excess skin is almost impossible without the assistance of surgery.

So if getting rich and having skin removal surgery is apart of the workout plan, this d-bag is full of shit!

My mother will whisper things she doesn’t think are appropriate to say out loud. I remember once, when talking about female wrestlers, she said in a regular volume, “You know most of them,” and then whispered, “lesbians.”

I don’t know if this is a uniquely American thing. When I studied in Germany I wanted a bagel, but there never were any to be had. Lots of other pastries, but no bagels. I asked why, but they never gave a reason other than, “we do not eat them.” But let’s be honest, Jews are famous for their bagels, but they’re famous in Germany for other reasons. So there they just avoid rather than whisper.

What’s amazing is that usually when people whisper things they think might offend others, it’s almost always in the company of like minded people. For example, my mom will say, “So I went to my hairdresser,” and then whisper, “she’s black,” standing around 4 upper-middle class white women in their 50’s. I have a feeling they probably have said/heard worse.

Perhaps Obamas ascendancy to the Presidency will squelch the use of the unnecessary whisper. It would sound a little silly to say, “Obama is the first,” and then whisper, “black President.” But maybe part of the Obama strategy was to fool all of those middle aged Midwesterners into thinking he’s just very tan, I mean, they did play up the fact that he’s from Hawaii. It’s conceivable they had no idea he’s… well, you know… black, shhhh.

I’m so excited, I’m so excited, I’m-so-scared!

Below is the story of the love affair between Sally and Ted, two easy going Seahorses.

Ted: Hi, I’m Ted.

Sally: Hi, I’m Sally.  You’re cute.

Ted: You’re not too bad looking yourself.

Sally: Would you like to dance?

Ted: You’re very bold.  

Sally: I get what I want.

Ted: Well then, maybe later. (Ted swims off)

Sally is confused.  She has never been turned down like this before.  A couple days later…

Sally: Hey, Ted!

Ted: Hi, um, Susie, right?

Sally: No, Sally.  What happened, was it something I said?

Ted: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Sally: A couple days ago, I asked you to dance but you said no and left.  I didn’t know if maybe I upset you.

Ted: Oh, I’m sorry.  Would you like to dance?

Sally: No.  See you later.

Sally is no spring oyster, she’s played this game before and is bringing her A game.  The next day…

Ted: Okay, Sally, let’s be mature Seahorses about this.  You like me, I like you.

Sally: Alright, you’re right, would you still like to dance?

Ted: I can’t today, I’ve got an algae date with an old friend.  Not date date, you know, just meeting up.  

Sally: When will you be free for 8 hours?

Ted: Let me check. (Ted pulls out his IPearl)  I could meet up tomorrow at 6pm.  Does that work for you?

Sally: See you then!

Sally spends hours getting ready.  Ted is late.

Ted: Hey, oh man am I sorry for being late!  

Sally: Whatever, you obviously aren’t into me.

Ted: Oh, my little starfish, I think you’re beautiful.

Sally: You’re just saying that cause you want to rub my snout.

Ted: No, I mean it, you’re the prettiest Seahorse this side of the mangrove.

Sally: Really?  You mean, you want to take my ovipositor?

Ted: It’d be an honor.

Sally: Shall we do the true-courtship dance?

Ted: I thought you’d never ask.

For the next 8 hours, Sally and Ted do the true-courtship dance, spinning together, Ted pumps water through his egg pouch, showing Sally that it’s empty, which is a turn on for Sally.

Sally: I like your egg pouch.

Ted: I thought you would.

Sally continues to talk dirty to Ted.  At which point they spin upward and Sally inserts her ovipositor into Ted’s brood pouch, depositing her eggs.

The next day…

Ted: It’s official, I’m pregnant.

Sally: Oh Ted, I’m so happy.

Ted: Me too.  My tail is swollen.

During the course of the next 15 days, Sally visits Ted every morning.  They promenade, holding each other’s tails.  On the 15th day Ted gives birth to 1000 baby seahorses.

Sally: Look at what we created.

Ted: It’s amazing.  You’re going to be a good Mama Seahorse.

Sally: Excuse me?  I’m done.  We’re done.  Their born, we’ve done our job, swim, be free!

Ted: But Sally, how can we just abandon them?  How can you abandon me?

Sally: Um, cause like, there’s a million other fish in the sea, so to speak…  

Ted is sad.  He fell in love with Sally.  Because he loves her, he does as she wishes and abandons the baby Seahorses and her.

Weeks go by.  Sally has slept with countless other Seahorses (and one particularly awkward encounter with a pipe fish).  But something is off, she’s lost her mojo.  What’s wrong with her, she wonders.

Sally: I love Ted!

She swims back to his mangrove.  Upon her arrival she sees Ted tending to his algae.  

Sally: Ted, hi, it’s Sally.

Ted: (barely looking up from his algae) Oh, hi.  

Sally: Listen Ted, I know you’re upset.  I just…

Ted: Upset, me, no, I’m fine, I’ve got my algae!

Sally: Ted, just hear me out.  You see, I’m just a Seahorse, floating in front of another seahorse, asking him to show me his egg pouch.  Ted, can I touch your empty egg pouch?

Ted: I’m sorry Sally, I can’t.

Sally leaves.  As she swims away she hears a song.  She can’t make it out, but it sounds like percussion’s.  She turns around to see Ted standing in front of 1000’s of seashorses.  

Ted: Sally, (singing) darling, it’s better down where it’s wetter, take it from me.  Let’s promenade!  

And they lived happily ever after!

What a fun show!

Have you seen the video of Nancy Reagan and Barack Obama together?  Hilarious!  I love the look on Obama’s face when she observes, “You’re a lefty,” as if it were some subtle political blow (which it probably was).  Nonetheless hilarious!

Alright, so I’ve been a shitty blogger lately.  Life exploded for a bit.  To the 12 people who will read this, I am sorry.

What have I been up to?  

• There was AIDS Walk New York (5.6 million, shoop shoop).  That was amazing.  
• Then comedy, which is going well.  
• Philadelphia with Lori White (and Ben Franklin).  
• Preparing to leave for LA!  Beginning of July I’ll be leaving on a jet plane.  Eeeek, I’m nervous!
• The Brooklyn Half Marathon tomorrow!!  Third year in a row!

So yeah, I’ve been busy!

I also signed back up for Match.com.  Figured it would be a good way to meet men in LA.  I don’t tan, rarely drink, and hate the gym, so my ability to meet gay men in the normal fashion is limited out there.  What’s fun about Match is that you can type in keywords to search for men.  I typed in Shirley MacLaine.  Various men who look like my father turned up.  It was like looking into a mirror of my future.  This cannot happen to me!

I am spent.  More to come.

Nice days in New York City are amazing.  I’m sure they are that way everywhere, the fact that it’s nice out makes it amazing, right?  I suppose in war torn places nice weather might not equate amazing day.  Sunny days makes it easier to see where you’re bombing.

Nice weather in NYC brings out disgusting behavior in straight people.  I enjoy reading the newspaper in the park on the weekends, but get distracted by the heavy petting and deep face sucking happening all around me by my straights brothers and sisters.  Straight readers, why do you do this?  It’s not natural.

Straight men in particular are concerning.  As they deep throat the ladies face, they place their hands on her buttocks.  Delicatly, the cup the butt cheek like it’s a teacup.  Then they regroup in the center, placing both hands over the natural curtain of the body.

Do they really think they have a chance back there?  You can tell that her butt cheeks are clinched so tight she could crack a walnut.  She’s thinking, “Hey buddy, no no no, don’t even dream it.”

So the President of Paraguay is in deep doo doo. He got elected on the campaign of giving the gov’t new life, a fresh start from years of corrupt leadership. Once elected, news comes out that he’s fathered a child with a woman. Then another child with a different lady. And then another. To be honest, at first this didn’t shock me. I mean, hello, we’ve had our frisky leaders before. What makes this story so amazing is that the dude used to be a priest. A priest! I suppose all those years of celibacy will get to ya eventually!

*****

I no longer use Match.com, but guys keep winking at me.  My friend says I need to delete the account to stop getting messages from guys.  I would do it too, but I like the attention too much.

*****

AIDS Walk New York is this weekend.  Will you be there?  Register NOW!

Download the podcast here!

The Chinese are overreacting - again! Due to the outbreak of the swine flu (or H1N1, as the smarty pants are calling it), they are taking extraordinary precautions in order to contain the virus. They have quarantined Mexican citizens in China and canceled all air travel between the two countries.  The Mexican government is angry, but fear taking aggressive action against the country.  One wrong move and half of the products sold in Mexico won’t be produced.  How will they push their Chinese made sombrero’s on unsuspecting American tourists on holiday in Cancun?

I’ll admit it, I fear the swine flu.  It’s in New York City!  A bunch kids in Queens caught it, they are fine.  I mean, thank God it was Queens, but it’s still scary!

My Mexican is coming from Los Angeles tomorrow!  I worry about him traveling on a plane during this pandemic scare.  Everyone on the plane will undoubtedly be staring at him because he’s a Mexican traveling on a plane.  If anybody coughs they are going to look to him.  I advised him to take percautionary DayQuill and turn down any offers of bacon.  Godspeed Miggy!

I’ve been a GChatter since it first appeared in my GMail.  That was back when you had to be invited to GMail, remember those days?  How special one felt for having GMail, so exclusive, exciting!  Facebook was similar, in order to be a member you had to have a college e-mail.  I didn’t.  But I had a GMail account!

Now everybody does, and we’re all the same in the eyes of Google.  I don’t mind conformity, but I do feel there should be some general rules of etiquette we all should follow when it comes to GChat useage.

- If you’re going to include a picture to accompany your username, make it a pic of yourself.  I don’t need NYChomie806548 sending me a chat request with a pic of Joan Crawford.  Joan Crawford is not a resident of NYC nor my homie.

- There’s no point repeatedly asking “Are you there?” if I’m not responding.  I’m not there.  Well I might be.  But I could avoiding you.  Life’s rough, deal with it!

THE BIGGEST ETIQUETTE RULE EVERY GCHATTER SHOULD FOLLOW

- Don’t write a novel.  It’s GChat, not “Let’s write a memoir” hour!  Keep it simple, keep it sweet, one or two sentences, then wait for a response.  The Gchat window is already tiny, and I don’t want to have to scroll everytime to read what you’ve written.

Phew, glad I got that my chest (or fingertips I mean).

Obviously not much!  What kind of name is Bo?  I’ve heard of Beau Bridges, I wish I had a beau, but Bo?

Bo is the newest member of the Obama family.  Bo Obama.  It just doesn’t sound right to me.

I am not the biggest fan of dogs.  It’s not that I have anything against them really, I just find them to be a little stupid.  Even with people, I hate it when somebody (or animal) depends on me too much.  Be self-sufficient, do it yourself, get the job done, whipe your own ass!  Cats do this.  Sure, you’ve got to give them kitty litter and feed them, but they always seem to be in a general state of “I got my shit together.”

I think I hate dog owners more than the actual dogs.  The other day I was talking to somebody who was telling me about other parents in her neighborhood.  She kept talking about all the babies walking outside together.  I asked how old the babies were, “only 3 or 4, but in dog years, woof!”  Why would somebody calculate a baby’s age in dog years?  Did she take the movie Benjamin Button too literally?  Then I realized she was talking about dogs in the neighborhood.  “You mean you and other dog owners, oh!”  She got offended when I called her an owner.

I hate these people.

I wonder if Bo will take a crap in the oval office?  I guess it won’t be such a big deal, I mean, that office has seen it’s share of little shits…

From H. Alan Scott

New York Magazine has this great feature in its current issue about noteworthy people’s arrival in NYC.  I consider myself noteworthy, so I’m sure the invitation to take part in the article from NY Mag got lost in the mail.  In any case, I shall share my story here.

I moved to NYC on Wednesday, November 17, 2004, however I didn’t know it at the time.  I worked in politics and I had just concluded a failed U.S. Senate race in Missouri.  Before my anticipated move back to Chicago, I planned on visiting my friend Lori in Philadelphia, and then my friend Dylan (and future roommate) in NYC.

I took the Chinatown bus up from Philadelphia.  Dylan told me to find the Q train, but didn’t give directions through Chinatown.  After many failed attempts at asking for directions (FYI - never ask for directions in Chinatown, everyone is either Chinese or a tourist), I finally stumbled upon the Q train.

It was late afternoon, the sun was just setting.  The Q train came out onto the Manhattan bridge.  The view of lower Manhattan took my breath away.   There was no way I was going back to Chicago.

A week later I moved into a 4-bedroom apartment overlooking Prospect Park in the Flatbush neighborhood of Brooklyn.  It was a total culture shock for me.  Here I was, a fat, gay, white, man moving into a predominantly black and Hasidic Jewish neighborhood with 3 straight guys from Little Rock, Arkansas.  I wasn’t in Boystown anymore!

I took a job with a closeted gay man running for Manhattan Borough President, but didn’t really do anything at the job.  I hated it, and the only reason I took it was because it paid well, I got my own office and it was in Midtown.  For the first few months in NYC all I did was work and watch marathons of TV on DVD.  Eventually I put down the pizza slice, discovered the benefits of living right on a park, and lost 100 lbs.

I owe NYC so much.  Without it, I probably never would have lost the weight or have shifted from politics to comedy.  NYC is my inspiration.

And now the American Express commercial can begin!

I don’t understand young people who act older.

Example: I know this 24 year old, who makes a big to do about getting older.  Once on the phone, she commented on the person’s age, saying, “Wow, you’re only 22, you’re a youngin,” to which he replied, “How old are you?”  She then said, “Not 22,” as if 24 were light years away.

Why are we in such a hurry to be older?  I feel like so many young people starting out feel the need to fit in, be mature, professional, and so they act way older then they are.  But yo, if you’re young, be young!  There’s a difference between being mature for your age and being of a mature age.

I am 26, which means I am professional, mature, but also enjoy stumbling in at 4AM on work night from time to time.  I have health insurance, but my 401K plan is debatable.  I pay all my own bills, but will not turn down the financial generosity of my parents when offered!

Be your age, own that shit!  And listen to some Aretha, it’ll do ya good.

I’ve always loved Panda’s.  They are cute, cuddly, and seem to have an awesome all around attitude on life.  As a kid, whenever my family would order Chinese food, I would protest, because it contained bamboo.  Our consumption of this evil food took away food from the endangered Panda’s.

I am currently in Washington, DC.  This morning I ended my run at the DC zoo, to take a gander (my first) at the Panda’s.  They are beautiful, you should see them!

99% of a Panda’s diet is bamboo.  My protest as a child was warranted, thank you very much!  Panda’s, once in captivity, lose their desire to reproduce.  In an effort to get the Panda’s to do the dirty, scientists have taken to extreme measures such as showing Panda’s videos of other Panda’s mating, and offering male Panda’s Viagra.

I never realized Panda’s had so much in common with humans.  You give a guy all the food he can eat, without fear of hunters, make em comfortable, and they lose all interest in sex.

Rosie the Panda says to Billy, “Billy, maybe tonight?”

Billy, “Give me five minutes, I just want to finish this bamboo stick”

And she waits, and waits, and waits.