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Oh the humanity!

Psychosomatic, methinks.

Just how bad is it that I want all the projects to which the actors from Gilmore Girls are currently attached to meet untimely ends so that the cast would have no recourse but to reunite for another revival?

Psychosomatic, methinks.

Psychosomatic, methinks.

Perhaps he neglected to log out. I just noticed that I was still online here from my login last night. Then I immediately thought that if Seinfeld were on in this day and age, they could totally do an entire episode about the neurosis that could follow — worrying, for example, that people will think you don’t have a life if you’re perceived to be online too much.

I’ve been seeing “curate” a lot more often lately... or am I only just noticing?
 
Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, or frequency illusion: The illusion in which a word, a name, or other thing that has recently come to one's attention suddenly seems to appear with improbable frequency shortly afterwards.

That’s the holiday spirit I know and love.

This is the sort of thing with which I have to contend today.

Like a phoenix from the ashes...
 

 
I choose to view this post’s oblique reference as reflective of my spawning a legacy within quite a short span of time. Thanks. Further thanks to those who noticed my absence and reached out — I never would have expected that. I’m all verklempt. And I can’t deny the fact that you like me. Right now, you like me!
 

 
Neither really appears to have been the case during my... sabbatical, I should like to say. Après moi, le déluge.
 


 
This is what I initially found befuddling: I posted the thing in the thread, then perhaps two hours later observed aloud in the selfsame thread that it was gone, and then I was given the time-out posthaste. Not for nothing, but I was uncertain as to how a remark about the offending thing could be deemed more provocative than the thing itself. I thought that I drew the ire of TPTB by simply noting that the meme in question had been removed.
 
I’ve always been enamored of shameless, politically-incorrect humor. I recognize that not everyone is as enamored of it as I. Incidentally, I posted the same meme here as I did on Facebook without incident. Moreover, I thought that this was a forum in which such a brand of humor is regarded as unremarkable. After all, there resides here a joke about nuns being raped—that joke, by the way, enjoyed a warm reception—so I thought that what I posted wasn’t that far out of the way. Clearly I was mistaken. I did read the TOS with a fine-tooth comb and saw that the specific topic I posted about is verboten—I can see why—so I suppose that posting about it after the thing was deleted added insult to grievous injury. I am absolutely mortified.
 
Forgive me, Daddy, for I have committed a faux pas. It’s been one month since my last login. In Thy Name I supplicate myself. What’s my penance?

Back by popular demand. And this time, it’s personal...
 

“I cannot remember the books I’ve read any more than the meals I have eaten; even so, they have made me.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Forgot what you were referencing for a second.
 
‘Tis the season!

Forgot what you were referencing for a second.
 
‘Tis the season!

Forgot what you were referencing for a second.
 
‘Tis the season!

Apropos of the being-brave-behind-a-screen: one of my professors astutely pointed out — I say astutely, though it seems obvious when said aloud — that people are more apt to be “mean” if they don’t have to witness in person the effects that their words have on others.

I have them call it. Once when I called my own, I arrived at the hotel at which they were staying (or so they claimed earlier) and waited in the lobby for them to reply while I called and texted several times in vain. After half an hour I just left. It wasn’t nice.

As it transpired, it didn’t have any. The bitch lucked out. When I crash at his place I sleep on it, though I sometimes find the kitchen floor more comfortable (his is a studio apartment).
 
Unfortunately, I myself had bed bugs in 2013 — got them from spending far too much time at the apartment of two friends who had them, who in turn got them from a mutual friend who got them from her mother. All of these friends were escorts (I wasn’t at the time). One of them intimated to us that sometimes when they had a client in their bed while doing the deed, a bed bug would crawl across the sheet and they’d take pains to carefully conceal it from the client as surreptitiously as possible, flick it off the bed, crush it with their finger, etc. Eek. Before this I never even knew that bed bugs were a thing, aside from the “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite” rhyme, which took on a whole new meaning for me.
 
I, unlike my indolent friends, took immediate action. I went to Home Depot and purchased both small glue traps specifically made for bed-bug infestation, and a huge bag of diatomaceous earth, which I spread liberally all over my apartment, the crevices of the couches, and the perimeter of not only my bed frame but also the perimeter of my mattress. That’s right — I slept in the middle of a rectangle of the powder. Got rid of them pretty quickly. Some pay for professional fumigators and still have problems eradicating them, so I suppose that I, like my street-furniture-collecting friend, also lucked out.

I lived in West Hollywood for a couple of years after graduation. Lots of people left decent-looking furniture or television sets out on the sidewalk when they were done with them (it’s a relatively well-to-do area, so I suppose most weren’t particularly inclined to sell anything on Craigslist to recoup any costs). As I was walking with a friend up to my apartment, we happened upon a beige armchair on the sidewalk. My friend stopped short and began examining it. “Oh no,” was my immediate thought. I told him No, it may well have bed bugs. But he persuaded me to help him stuff it in his BMW, which was parked in my complex’s garage.  
He no longer has the BMW. But he does still have that armchair.

Finally unsubscribing from a slew of mailing lists that pollute my inbox with extraneous emails. Sometimes you have to be your own hero.

I love how the bios of some Grindr guys address a certain subset/group of gays and add “to the front of line.” As if there’s really a line of people waiting to get into their pants.