Can I just say how pleased I am that Tom Cruise has back fat. It’s a happy day in Mister Scott’s world!

I could say that I’m supporting San Francisco’s Mayor, Gavin Newsom, bid for Governor of California because…

~ He took a bold step towards equality by marrying same sex couples.

~ He created a universal healthcare system for San Francisco that covers over 24,000 residents.

~  He’s a populist and part of the “hope” and “change” Barack Obama talks about for the next generation of politicians.

BLAH BLAH BLAH!

But seriously, let’s be honest, look at the man, he’s gorgeous!  He’s only 15 years older then me (totally outside the “ewwwww way too old for me” bracket in fuckability), used to be a baseball player (think of the thighs), and totally digs the gays!

I’m sold, where can I get my yard sign?

I love happy endings!

I used to live with 3 straight guys from Little Rock, Arkansas.  We lived in harmony, for the most part, for 2 years in Brooklyn, New York.  Right before I moved out I discovered that one of them thought I was transgendered.

I had just lost 100 pounds and given up smoking, it was a good time in my life.  One afternoon we were just chatting about nothing special, when he said, “You know, you’ve lost so much weight, aren’t you concerned with losing your chest?  Isn’t that a little counter productive?”

Confused, I responded, “Well, it’s just natural,  I can’t really help it.”

“You must have spent a bunch already to get the body you want!  How much have you spent?”

“Not much really,  about $70 on shoes, running shorts are cheap at Target.”

“Have you set a date for the surgery?  You look like you’re almost ready for it!”

“Actually, the doctor says it might happen naturally to me.  I’m so young, sometimes the body will just come together.”

“That’s not possible, biologically it just wouldn’t happen,” he said, very defiantly.  We went back and forth for a while, him telling me it wasn’t possible, me trying to prove to him that my doctor said it was.

“The body can adapt to the excess skin,” I said, putting my foot down on the subject.

“But you can’t grow a vagina!”

WTF?!?! “What… vagina?…. what are you talking about?”

“I’m cool with you wanting to be a woman, but you should know, your body cannot just change naturally.”

Apparently he had misunderstood my enjoyment of the movie Boys Don’t Cry to mean that I wanted to be a woman.  For two years he thought I was transitioning into a woman.  Two years… transitioning… into a woman.  Ugh.

I’ve never accepted my adult body.  When I get out of the shower and catch a glimpse of my manhood I ask God, “Really?”

As a child penis’s looked so much bigger on grown ups.  Come to think of it, as an adult penis’s look bigger on everyone else too.

Paul Newman has cancer, it’s so incredibly sad.  Watch Cat on a Hot Tin Roof or Cool Hand Luke, they will change your life.

The NY Post published the above photo of the frail Newman.  Wouldn’t anybody look frail next to that guy? They could have easily cropped Captain Tubbo out of the pic.

I’m a city boy, I love the energy, excitement and thrills of living in populous areas filled with interesting characters.  But city life sometimes requires creativity in order to blend functionality and convenience into your existence.

My problem: I run to the gym to amplify the total work out gained, but my gym requires a towel (and doesn’t provide one, WTF?!?).  I need to run with as few items as possible, what am I to do?  Solution: I purchased a very cute and functional towel that serves as a head wrap (very Lawrence of Arabia), AND a towel at the gym.

I wear this urban functional towel to the gym for the first time the other day.  Sweaty from my run, I remove the towel from my head and whipe the perspiration away as I walk into the weight run.

“Where’s your towel,” a rent-a-cop security lady at the gym asks me in a Rosie Perez like, sassy way.  Excited to show her how fantastically functional this towel is, I proceed to explain the many perks of this $40 gem I stumbled upon.

“You and I both know that’s not a towel,” she says, sass in full force, hand on waist, a snap and twist couldn’t be far off.

“Don’t presume to know what I know,” I tell her, getting irritated that Blanca, that’s what I named her in my head, couldn’t understand the greatness of the towel.

Words were exchanged, things got heated, and I demanded to see the manager.  The moments that passed were awkward and frustrating, how could she question me, who was SHE to question ME?

Up the stairs came a man that could have performed as the body double for the big black guy in The Green Mile.  He wore a badge that read “Manager,” and I swear I noticed the lights flicker.  With a deep breath I asked myself, “Is this going to be my hate crime?”

“I don’t have time for this,” I protested, looking up at the urban Jolly Green Giant.  “You have wasted my time, I have meetings, important things.  Goodbye!”

I literally ran home, defeated and ashamed.  And I’m out $40 on a shit towel!

I’ve arrived!  Now what?

For the next two weeks in Los Angeles I’m without a car.  So I’ve been scooting around town on my trusty little bike.  I’m still thinking up a name for him.  I do love him so, he’s one of those Dahon collapsable bikes.  He will never get me laid though.

Surprisingly I’ve seen a lot more public urination in Los Angeles then I did in New York City.  Maybe it’s the water?