I CAN'T STOP LISTENING TO "ROCK 'N ME" BY STEVE MILLER BAND, OH DEAR GOD.

But it sure beats playing the "That's So Raven" theme song on loop for three hours, as I may or may not have done last night.

Posted by Toby at 11:09 AM | Permalink

"I feel like I'm on welfare."

This is not the sort of thing you should say to your mother when she offers you $4,000. Especially when there's barely enough money in your checking account to buy a week's groceries and vodka.

But I said it anyway, not because I'm ungrateful for her handout, but because it brought to mind the sorts of complications that those less fortunate than I must deal with, paycheck after paltry paycheck. You know, complications like rent and credit card bills — neither of which I can feasibly pay until I start my new job at the end of June.

Now, I spend carefully, so I've managed to graduate from college without debt, be it credit cards, student loans or otherwise. What's less impressive, however, is the fact that moving into a new apartment has left me practically broke. How is it that I've worked my ass off all semester, interning at a public relations firm, and yet I've nothing to show for it? This is the constant plight of our nation's working poor, except replace "all semester" with "at Wal-Mart" and "interning at a public relations firm" with "folding acrylic blouses in ladies' apparel."

You see, I've just finished reading David K. Shipler's "The Working Poor: Invisible in America" and Barbara Ehrenreich's "Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America." Read these books. If you think you are not well off — even with your debt, your crappy apartment, your seventeen illegitimate children — then think again! Poor people are not the hilarious scapegoats that we (read: I) previously made them out to be. They are people, too, and chances are that they work as hard as — if not harder than — you.

Okay, time for bed. My parents definitely won't miss the rum I've pilfered from their liquor cabinet.

Posted by Toby at 02:23 AM | Permalink

• An LA Gear shoebox filled with crap has a certain je ne sais quoi that shouts, "Open me!"

• Reading spiral-bound journals from your middle school years is a good way to get back in touch with your inner tormented and sexually confused child

• Your missing retainer won't find itself

• The discovery of a "C" paper graded in 2000 by your high school science teacher is met with the telling realization that you'd have sex with that teacher just four years later — and four years too late

• Better you than your parents

Posted by Toby at 12:33 AM | Permalink

Posted by Toby at 02:32 PM | Permalink

Surely there is a better way to spend my nights on my parents' sprawling suburban ranch than by surfing Gay.com for two hours, raiding the kitchen for Girl Scout cookies, jerking off to crappy Quicktime porn, and falling asleep.

Just 10 more days, and then I am free.

Posted by Toby at 12:30 AM | Permalink

It's one thing to get a blow job from a stranger, but it's quite another thing to get a blow job from a stranger on the side of a road in Mexico.

So when the hot Scot I'd met at Karamba suggested during the walk back to our respective hotels that we find a dark place to fool around, I politely replied, "No gracias." Besides, the night up until that point had been so amazing that I didn't want to jinx it with any criminal curbside canoodling. For once in my life, I had a blast dancing shirtless with other shirtless men, and no amount of anonymous sex could have improved upon what was already six hours of spontaneous glee.

Thank god I had decided to sneak out. It was Saturday at midnight, and for the past five days, I had endured enough family time to make even Dr. James Dobson go mad. Once my mom and dad left the hotel bar and retired to bed, I snuck up to my room, slipped on my pink polo, and hailed the next bus to downtown Cancun — all by myself. Miss Independent, that's me.

If you know me, then you also know that gay clubs are not my scene at all. I don't like the music, I don’t like the drug culture, and most times I'm too shy to just let loose and have a good time. But desperate times call for desperate measures. There was not an ounce of gay at our all-inclusive resort — except for that one (glorious!) moment when the afternoon DJ played a spicy remix of "Spice Up Your Life." But aside from that, I was a lone fish in a gulf of doe-eyed heterosexual honeymooners and barely legal Texan high school grads. Do you know what that does to a man?! It breaks him! And, oh, sweet lord, how it broke me.

When I finally found myself at Karamba — don't ask how I made it, I was still very drunk from family hour at the hotel bar — I paid the $5 cover, walked inside, and simply observed. It was beautiful. I had never been so thankful to be among a crowd of sweaty gay men. So for one night only, I co-opted the unsavory but freeing persona of international circuit boi, tossing aside my shirt and embracing the music, the alcohol, and the people (to be specific: Gabrielle, the sexy Mexican; Mark, the sexy Scot; and so on…).

Of course, 5:30 a.m. rolled around sooner than I'd liked, and so it was back on the bus to Straightsville for me. But at least I fell asleep that morning with the welcome sound of bass thumping in my head — and a place to crash if I'm ever in Glasgow. (Thanks for a great night, Mark!)

Posted by Toby at 12:35 AM | Permalink

This entry is not part of my absentee-blogger duties, but I felt the news was too important to wait until Toby returned.
The Spice Girls will Reunite. Including Geri.
Best. News. Ever.

Posted by Toby at 06:15 AM | Permalink

Mother dearest disturbed my otherwise peaceful lunch last week to share with me what initially began as an interesting story but concluded in the most fucked up and disturbing way possible. Way to go, Mom.

So she says to me, "There is this local woman who graduated from college with a journalism degree and began at a p.r. firm as a media coordinator, just like you."

Really? And here I am, thinking that I'm some kind of trailblazer.

She continues. "After working as a coordinator for a few years, she went to grad school to pursue a masters degree in business and marketing."

Okay, now we're getting somewhere. I don't know if I'll ever go to grad school or what I'd study, but maybe business and marketing is the way to go, especially since I'm already on the p.r. track.

"Once she got her masters degree, she went on to work at a few large corporations and eventually became the head of marketing for Volvo. Isn't that great?"

Well, damn! I can't believe my mother knows this woman. It'd be awesome to e-mail her and ask a few questions, so I ask my mother for her friend's contact information.

"Oh, I don't actually know the woman. I read about her in the paper."

This is when things get fucked up. This is when my mother hands me a newspaper clipping.

I read the headline.

"Local Woman Beaten and Fatally Stabbed at Home by Sneak-In Killer."

Oh my god. I continue to the subhead.

"Woman Put Up a Fight Before Man Killed Her in Her Own Bed."

What. The Fuck. What the fuck!

So, essentially, my mother has suggested that I make the same life choices as a woman who was brutally murdered two weeks ago by a man hired to power-wash her deck. I'm sorry, I know that my mother meant well, but that is just plain fucking creepy.

Augh. Well, at least there's an opening at Volvo.

Posted by Toby at 07:59 AM | Permalink

• The Scat House

• Shit In My Mouth

• Brown Tongue

• Good to the Last Dropping

• Central Pucker

Seriously, who the fuck comes up with Mud Box as the name of a coffee house? Who?!

Bonus: Star(bucks) Fish. (Thanks, TJ.)

Honorable Mention: Java Clam. (Courtney, what the fuck?)

Posted by Toby at 08:56 AM | Permalink

Posted by Toby at 09:19 PM | Permalink

I haven't even gotten on the plane yet, and already our family vacation is off to a rocky start.

Dad: We have to leave the house at 5:30 a.m. tomorrow. What time are you waking up?
Me: 5 a.m.
Dad: (Angry, disapproving glare.)
Me: Okay, well, why don't you just tell me when I should wake up?
Dad: 4:45 a.m.
Me: Fine. Perfect.

Thank god this shit is all-inclusive, because I'll be hitting the pool-side bar once my flip-flop hits Mexican soil.

Now, because I've spent the last few days on my parents' sprawling suburban ranch and thus have way too much time on my hands, I've prepared a few entries to keep you clinging to your Vividblurry.com IV drip during my absence. They will be posted periodically by my kind friend Kai Azad. (He wanted to come along, but I don't think they allow dangerous minorities to board international flights.)

In the meantime, enjoy your week, knowing that yours truly is shirtless on a sandy beach, drunk and up to his ears in paperback chick lit.

Addendum: I don't speak Spanish very well, but my friend assures me that I'll have no problems:

Posted by Toby at 11:11 PM | Permalink

My parents' sprawling suburban ranch isn't such a bad place to be, if you ignore the fact that there are no hot guys in town and only one tanning salon in the phonebook.

Posted by Toby at 03:37 PM | Permalink

Lindsay of Lindsayism.com once coined an amazing word: high-dea. The word pretty much defines itself, but if you are a little slow on the uptake, then check out some of her examples before advancing to my own recent high-deas below.

So, before Mary-Kate and Ashley, there were Tia and Tamera. (My apologies if your youth ended before 1994.) Oh man, "Sister, Sister" sure was a great television program. You had the awesome opening theme song ("Sistah… Sistah! Never knew how much I'd missed ya!") You had the ditzy, financially irresponsible mother Lisa and the uptight, vaguely homosexual dad Ray. And you had Tia and Tamera, the long-lost identical twins — identical only in appearance, that is! That's right, each twin had her own unique personality, one a tomboy and the other a bookworm, though they managed to find common ground through the mutual and understandable shame of being adopted. But for the most part, these trait differences emerged only when convenient to the plot.

This is where my high-dea comes into play: An "Odd Couple"-esque Tia and Tamera comeback sitcom, in which the twins are more than just school-ground opposites, but ideological contradictions. Tia is a granola-crunching, environment-protecting, Teva-wearing lesbian! Tamera is a Bible-thumping, collar-starching, fag-bashing Republican! And as fate (and the heads of UPN) would have it, the two sisters are somehow reunited and forced to share a residence. Just think of the antics. Just think of the headlines. Just think of the ratings!

Okay, so maybe that isn't the most brilliant high-dea of all time, but it did elicit a "Toby, you're a genius!" from my equally stoned friend. Tia and Tamera might not be the most marketable fit for the sitcom, but hey, it's a pretty original and interesting concept.

And now, my second and final high-dea of the evening. Just last week, I found myself reading a free copy of USA Today in my parents' hotel. A story about pain in children caught my eye: Because toddlers have a difficult time expressing in words the amount of pain they are feeling, doctors will often have them point at an Oucher Scale — a poster depicting images of expressive children in various degrees of pain (click on the image to the left for full-size). Why the doctor cannot assess a child's pain by simply looking at his or her face instead of making the kid point at a face on a poster, I'll never know. Still, this article sparked a high-dea.

My friends and I sometimes get fucked up — so fucked up that we are unable to speak coherently. When a person is in such an unresponsive state, it is often difficult to determine just how fucked up he or she is. Enter the Fucked Up Scale! When presented to a fucked up friend, he or she can simply point to a facial expression on the scale that corresponds to the level of intoxication he or she is experiencing. Brilliant!

Well, that's all the high-deas for now. But I can assure you, more are on the way.

Addendum: Ha ha, after reading this entry again the next morning, I now realize that these are the WORST high-deas EVER, ha ha ha.

Posted by Toby at 12:41 AM | Permalink

It's nice to see that Lucas Entertainment continues to keep the spray-on tanning industry in business. I swear to god, Michael Lucas uses so much bronzer, he probably powders his asshole with it.

Posted by Toby at 12:36 AM | Permalink

Ha ha, you know, he isn't the first to say that I look like a Mexican. God, I hate that! However, I am not 120 pounds, I have no problem getting laid (though I don't have much of a desire these days), and although I do enjoy living in The D.C., I'm not compelled to bicker over whose city is more "real." Don't you love it when people mistake pride in one's city as basis for a personality?

Anyway, I'm in New York at my parents' sprawling suburban ranch. (Yes, the suburbs! May the stoning commence.) I'll be away for all of next week -- not sure if I'm going to have a "guest blogger" or something gay like that. Besides, these are some big shoes to fill, if I may say so.

Oh, and I have a job. With benefits and shit. I start in June. Boy, I can't wait to take full advantage of my prescription drug plan! I'll be making some modifications to this site, because lord knows the complications of maintaining a blog while having a real job. I'm thinking less pictures and more writing. I think that will be good for all of us.

Also, I don't have HIV. Not that I deserve some sort of medal or anything, but this truly pleases me. Everyone should go out, get tested at the evening clinic, and then walk straight into Cobalt with the band-aid and gauze still on your arm -- just like I did! I am one classy act.

Posted by Toby at 12:00 AM | Permalink

Oh, god. I can't breathe.

I'm living in some urban gay mecca wasteland and all of my friends are old, gay, fat, sad, self-hating alcoholics and I'm surrounded by body glitter and sleeveless T-shirts and everyone slings tired, faux-witty barbs tacked with a snappy "Mary!" or "Oh, girl" and my weekends are nothing but a blur of weak, overpriced Red Bull mixed drinks and "ironic" trips to the local bathhouse.

And then I woke up and realized it was all just a dream.

Posted by Toby at 11:06 AM | Permalink

-"Virus of the Mind," Heather Nova

Posted by Toby at 09:28 AM | Permalink

Thank you so much for your helpful e-mails. It seems that I will be buying Agatha a wireless card that is suitable for older computers. For those who feeling that using unprotected wireless networks is unethical, I completely agree with you. It is unethical per se, although whether I mind behaving unethically is a different story!

Anyway, my two friends live across the hall from me, and Ag and I might amplify their wireless signal into our apartment and split the cost four ways. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then don't worry about it, you aren't missing out on much.

P.S. Since I'm on someone else's network, I can't configure my outgoing mail server properly. I will reply to all of your e-mails shortly.

P.P.S. IT'S FRIDAY!

Posted by Toby at 07:15 PM | Permalink

Why don't I ever write about what's going on in my life? See, I totally forgot to mention that I'd be moving out of my apartment yesterday into a new two-bedroom with Agatha -- WE LOVE IT. It's gorgeous, and our two friends live across the hall. I'll post some pictures when we're done unpacking.

Question for you tech geeks out there: There are three or four unprotected wireless networks floating around the building. I can access them because my PowerBook has built-in wireless. But Agatha's computer is a bit old, and I'm not sure if I can configure a wireless card to work on her laptop.

We have one of those wireless Linksys routers from our old apartment. Is there any way to use that router to connect to one of the wireless networks so that we can hardwire Ag's computer to the network?

If you know what I'm talking about, e-mail me. If you think you know what I'm talking about but aren't quite sure, E-MAIL ME. The last thing I want to do is pay for high-speed Internet when I don't have to.

Posted by Toby at 09:51 AM | Permalink

Oh my dear lord, it is way too early in the morning to be receiving an e-mail like this:

I find it kinda funny that you like sweet vermouth on the rocks because that's the same exact drink that Andy McDowell drinks in ‘Groundhog Day’. (LMFAO)

No. I'm sorry, but no fucking way. I cannot believe. I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT.

God damn you, Andie MacDowell. DAMN YOU TO HELL! IS NOTHING SACRED?!

P.S. Missed the luminous broadcast of "Riding the Bus with My Sister?" Then turn up your speakers and click here. Egg-shellent!

Posted by Toby at 08:09 AM | Permalink

Yes, I've crushed on barely legal hotties before, but Adamo Ruggiero is without a doubt the most adorably gay child actor on television:

Gah! My heart melts. Adamo plays Marco, a gay high schooler who comes to terms with his sexuality, in "Degrassi: The Next Generation" -- a k a BEST SHOW ON TV.

Just so we are all clear, Adamo is 18 years old and will be starting college in the fall. He says he isn't gay in real life (I read that here, don't ask why I purchased that magazine), but let's get real, people. Here's how he answered the inevitable question in an interview with The Advocate in 2003:

"I completely understand people's curiosity about the question," he says reflectively, with the political astuteness of an actor twice his age. "When you're watching a character on television every week, you believe in that person as you see him on the screen. But my answer to that question is, I don't want to say [I'm gay or I'm straight], because I don't want to relate myself to a character and get people more interested in me than in Marco. But at the same time, I don't want to say that I'm the opposite of Marco, because I don't want people to think I'm disconnected from my character. So," he says, smiling serenely, "I think I'll leave it up to the individual to decide, and hope they just focus on Marco."

So, like I said: Yay! He's gay!

Oh, and I would kill for that boy's hair. Some more cute pics of him (kissing a boy!!!) here.

Posted by Toby at 12:49 PM | Permalink

Dear Toby,

I stumbled across your pod cast a while back and I’ve been listening to it for a while. Why? I don’t know. Maybe I’ve got some self hatred issue that I need to work out. Or maybe I’m hoping that I can find something about you that I like. Thus far all I’ve really heard are words from a snotty, selfish, stuck up, Whiney, catty, queeny little boy that thinks the world ought be handed to him on a silver platter. I don’t know if you think its cute or something but it really isn’t its annoying as hell.

I listened to 3 of your pod casts today at work and they successfully put me in a foul mood the rest of the day knowing that people like you exist when they shouldn’t. I don’t know if you actually hear yourself say some of the unbelievable things you say. You say negative things about people around you who for one reason or another try to be your friend.

You’re a hypocrite. You totally bashed some listener who tried to help you by giving you some info on a job opening which I thought was totally uncalled for and catty as all hell.

Then later you bitch about having to throw your own birthday party as though you expect your “friends” to put together your little event. I’m sure your friends aren’t in a financial position to just throw galas for whomever.

AND THEN...I hear you disagree with Miss Manners which crosses the line in my opinion. you are virtually going against any ounce of social grace any young gay man can obtain and hold themselves to.

Maybe your just a republican or something I’m not sure. If I knew I was going to be such a prick in front of so many people I’d want to use an alias as well.

I’m don’t usually attack one’s character so fiercely but I really want you to take your pod casts as a sort of personal growth learning tool and listen to yourself and identify traits about yourself that you can change to become an asset to society rather than a being a complete asshole. More often than not people don’t change their ways but I’ll keep on listening and maybe I’ll start hearing something different.

Dear listener/reader,

Fine, whatever, but I refuse to let an e-mail like this ruin my day. Honestly, what is the point of firing off an e-mail to a complete stranger, criticizing him for being himself? These podcasts are the most honest and open I have ever been in the three or four years that I've been blogging. To get all excited about this new medium and to download and configure all the programs and to pick out a cute little introductory song and to convince all of my friends that, yes, I'm not a total loser who is obsessed with his blog and that, yes, podcasting might actually be fun and bring some of us closer together... To do all that, and then get an e-mail like this. Seriously, y'all.

You don't have to like me. In fact, I couldn't care less what anyone on the Internet thinks of me. But when someone attacks me and makes sweeping generalizations about my character? You know, I was discussing with my friend the other day about how when I graduate, I want to focus on being a more positive person. What she said to me took me by total surprise. She said that I'm one of the most positive people she knows. That really moved me. I try hard to stay positive and look on the bright side of things even when I'm right smack in the middle of what could possibly be the most stressful time of my life... And just when I renew my fading interest in this Web site with the introduction of my podcast, and just when I feel that I can be proud of this site because I'm finally being myself... I get a crappy e-mail like this.

Sometimes when I'm on campus, I catch the clique of gay boys in the corner of my eye and worry -- not just wonder, but worry! -- that they, too, think of me as "a snotty, selfish, stuck up, Whiney, catty, queeny little boy." Well, if that is what I am, then I can't help it. But I'd like to think that my real friends -- who, by the way, all came together last Monday for one mother fucking hell of a birthday party -- would say otherwise.

Posted by Toby at 10:50 AM | Permalink

My mother never let my brother and me watch "Roseanne" when we were kids. I don't know why. It's one of the most honest — brutally honest — sitcoms to have ever aired.

Why Roseanne reminds me of my mother, I don't care to know.

Posted by Toby at 11:58 PM | Permalink

Dear Toby,

You misunderstood what I was saying. I described the movie as “phenomenally disastrous,” and by saying that the number of abortions of the mentally disabled will rise, I am implying that the movie was so insensitive as to achieve the opposite social effect Rosie O’Donnell had intended. The movie was awful and did nothing to promote the rights of the mentally disabled. Sorry for your misunderstanding, and personally, I'm glad your parents didn't abort you!

Posted by Toby at 07:39 AM | Permalink

Thanks to tonight's phenomenally disastrous "Riding the Bus with My Sister," we forecast a sharp increase in abortions of the mentally disabled.

Seriously, y'all. "I'm a person!" is the new "That's hot!"

Posted by Toby at 11:37 PM | Permalink

I love what Lindsay had to say about what The New York Times described as "profoundly ... deeply — even thrillingly — embarrassing":

I opened my Entertainment Weekly last week and was delighted beyond words to see an ad for a new TV movie starring Rosie O'Donnell clearly in the role of a mentally handicapped adult (you know, because she has a vacant look on her face and her shoes don't match, just like all developmentally disabled adults!).

Ha, ha! Oh, man. I can't WAIT to watch this. Remember: CBS, Sunday, 9 p.m. That's tonight! I'm heading over to Russell's to watch. Maybe I'll podcast about it.

I will conclude this entry with NYT's hilarious synopsis:

"Riding the Bus With My Sister" is about a developmentally disabled woman played by Rosie O'Donnell. That's right: As Beth, Ms. O'Donnell dresses in wacky childish clothes and talks in a volume-inappropriate way and wears mismatched shoes and rides a hilarious bus around and around with her motley bus family. She annoys and enlightens the people she meets. And at times she shouts, in a voice you can probably imagine, "I am a person!"

LOL! "...in a voice you can probably imagine..." So subtle, so hilarious!

Posted by Toby at 05:31 PM | Permalink

I've been obsessed with Camille Paglia ever since high school, when my friend Julia and I would devour her weekly Salon.com column and obey every criticism she made of politics and pop culture. I know that she's an amazing columnist and essayist, but I'd never read one of her many books. So yay for receiving her new one — "Break, Blow, Burn" — on my birthday!

I've only read her introduction, but already I can tell I'm going to love this book. She writes about how we "live in a time increasingly indifferent to literary style" and gives a quick shout-out to blogs:

The Web (which I champion and to which I have extensively contributed) has increased verbal fluency but not quality, at least in its rushed, patchy genres of e-mail and blog.

"Rushed" and "patchy" is exactly how I would describe the state of blogs these days, including my own. As Camille says, "Good writing comes from good reading," so my plan this summer is to read more and, subsequently, to write more and better.

For those of you who aren't familiar with Camille, she is totally insane, and I love and respect her for that. The last time I checked, she is a libertarian, anti-feminist feminist who doesn't believe in rape and worships prostitutes as the goddesses of our time. "Break, Blow, Burn" is a collection of 43 poems (from Shakespeare to Joni Mitchell) along with her interpretation of each one. I was so relieved to read that her unusual views on politics and sexuality extend to poetry, as well — this is her analysis of a late-1950s TV commercial for M&M's that had been "burned into [her] memory" since childhood:

A sultry cartoon peanut, sunbathing on a chaise longue, said in a twanging Southern drawl: "I'm an M&M peanut / Toasted to a golden brown / Dipped in creamy milk chocolate / And covered in a thin candy shell!" ... I felt then, and still do, that the M&M peanut's jingle was a vivacious poem and that the creative team who produced that ad were folk artists, anonymous as the artisans of medieval cathedrals.

If she gets wet over an M&M's commercial, I can only imagine her analysis of Hughes...

Posted by Toby at 09:58 AM | Permalink