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September 29, 2004
Lost Lust
By the way, I'm a whole chunk of loving for this new show Lost. Cute guys, great plot, polar bears.
Posted by G at 10:09 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
I'm just saying
I live in an extremely interesting neighborhood. I come home from school, and I find this directly opposite my building.
Yes, it's perpendicularly slammed into a building. How did it get there? No idea. Welcome to Bushwick.
Posted by G at 08:40 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
September 28, 2004
ZomRomCom
Last Saturday Derrick and I went to see a film. I kinda wanted to see Sky Captain or Shaun of the Dead.
We were feeling a bit on the dead side ourselves, so we opted for a viewing of Shaun. I'd heard good things, but nothing prepared me for how perfect this film is. If you can't handle some gore, don't see it. Otherwise, everyone should see this show.
Simple level: Zombie films are fun. Undead roaming the streets. Yeeargh!
Lower middle level: Well developed romance, friendship, and action plots.
Upper middle level: Perfect pace, excellent direction, script, and actors.
Freudian level: John at my coffee shop rhapsodized about how the real plot was of a boy becoming a man. Friends and mothers must be cast aside in order to fulfill the biological imperatives of survival and reproduction. It's also a social commentary on the zombiefication of society.
Just go for the simple level. ZOMbieROManticCOMedy.
Posted by G at 05:22 PM | TrackBack
Food Fight
Charlie and I had noticed last time we had their pizza. It was thin, but not crispy. It was bland, tasteless, and the toppings were spread as sparsely as the hair on the top of my head.
Last night Michael and his boyfriend Scott were trying to order pizza. Our only pizza place in our neighborhood finally went out of business. Sadly, we do have the Domino's option. That gives us thin, not-crispy pizza with sparse toppings and weird science cheese.
In a city famous for amazing pizza, I live in the one area where we now have to buy pizza from a horrible chain.
Posted by G at 07:48 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
September 25, 2004
School Flow
Things are getting into the normal swing of things at school. I'm really scared that I will jinx it, but I'm really teaching well this year. My classroom control is so much better, kids are terrified of me (that's a good thing), and my lessons are more aware of my kids needs.
Except for the bumbling assistant principal, I am so glad I am back this year. If I had moved on to a high school, I wouldn't have had an opportunity to really see my hard work achieving anything. This year is going to be good. I know what my kids need, I know what I need, and I'll actually have time to do those things.
My favorite student mistake so far-
A girl wrote a sentence with the word 'hummnungus.' Just as gaint means giant, I think the first word is humungous, but you can never tell with kids.
Posted by G at 07:27 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
September 23, 2004
Jeans
Nothing like fashion to make you feel like some kind of grossly twisted circus freak.
Since way before Peace Corps, I've worn the same kind of Gap jeans. If I had been some kind of straight boy, this would have been okay. Some straight girl would have ignored my freakish jeans, just as I would have ignored her sagging breasts and treasure trail (actually, I had really good taste in my straight days).
My problem is that I chose this style of jeans back in my straight days. They are now two sizes too wide in the waist, and three inches too long for length. I woud always roll them up at the ankles, but not in a stylish way.
Derrick helped me pick out some new jeans, which have been really fun to wear. They seem to cover my freakish body in a good way, and I really enjoy wearing them.
It's the walking that drives me crazy. Since I don't roll up these new pants while wearing my new kicky shoes, I've discovered the most annoying and horrifying thing in the world.
My left leg is now shorter than my right leg. With the old jeans, I never noticed. With the new jeans, that back thingie that is at the bottom of the jeans always catches on my left shoe now.
I figure this is the result of all my knee surgeries after Peace Corps. After you remove all sorts of chunks from someone's knee, I guess that side gets shorter. All I know is that I have one more body image thing to be weird about.
I think I should change my name to Ilene.
Posted by G at 11:45 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
September 22, 2004
Post Show
It was so fun. My poor roommate Charlie got the unenviable task of helping me dress beforehand.
"Helping Glenn get dressed" usually involves some forms of alcohol, lots of encouragement/discouragement, and so much stress in the air that it could forms lightning. This particular night had me freaking out over whether to be casual or dressy. I opted for a black shirt that hid my arms and focused everything on my shiny head.
My stomach was roiling, I was sweating like a Republican on judgment day, and my mouth was as dry as a field in the Panhandle. Chris, who also has links to the others, found googlisms about me as an introduction, and then I went to the microphone.
I change when I get in front of an audience. It's one of the reasons I like teaching. It was so much fun. I told them my story, and I really got caught up in the feelings from two years ago. People laughed at the funny points, cringed at the nasty points, and clapped at the end. It felt like graduation back in June, but with funnier people talking.
I'm glad I did it.
Posted by G at 11:42 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Lost
Okay, I started writing about last night. Unfortunately the typing dwindled off, as ABC has this new show called Lost. I think I'll type after the show, or maybe during commercial break. I can't stop watching!
Posted by G at 08:51 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
September 20, 2004
Support your local bald math teacher
Coma one, coma all to see me describe dastardly dominatrices of detention Tuesday night. Have a beer beforehand, I know I will be having one beforehand at Nowhere Bar. Any friends or well-wishers would be appreciated. Laugh at inappropriate moments, honestly.
PS122- corner of 1st Ave and 9th St. 7:30 in the evening, and I think tickets are $10.
Posted by G at 06:38 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
September 17, 2004
The stress of finding something funny
Life hasn't been funny for the last few days. My phone has been on the fritz, my laptop is dead/dying, my dryer is dying, and I had jury duty on Wednesday.
Cranky, cranky, cranky.
To make matters worse, I was rejected for a case involving a mugging very similar to my own from a few months back. Nothing like having all those memories rise after semi-successfully repressing them.
Repress, repress, repress. It's the baptist mantra.
Did I mention I'm one of the people doing this?
I'm so nervous, and I haven't written ANYTHING yet.
Posted by G at 02:14 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
September 12, 2004
Parties at bob's
Andy and Chris took me to Bob's birthday party last year. I'm quite grateful for that introduction. We joined with him and Larry last night to celebrate another full year.
Met good people. Drank many little amounts of wine in an enormous glass. Ate enormous amounts of cheese in some kind of strange lactose battle with Steven. This morning, I have a feeling that we both lost.
I've had a great weekend with friends and the boyf. I'm really not stressed about tomorrow. I'm a much better teacher after only two years, and part of me is looking forward to possibly having a good year.
Off to make copies. Lots of copies.
Posted by G at 01:10 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
September 11, 2004
Hanta virus
The routine at the beginning of the school year doesn’t change, at least in my limited experience. From the outside it appears too chaotic to coalesce into a working system. Unfortunately, it also looks that way from the inside.
As of today, we still don’t have four teachers for necessary classes.
As of today, I still don’t know what curriculum we are teaching for the 8th graders. We don’t have the materials, the teacher manuals, or any training.
As of today, I had 12 missing chairs, so I had to scavenge the scary splinter chairs in the basement from the 1960’s to adequately cover my maximum number of students.
As of today, I scooped/swept about 4 cups of mouse shit out of my room’s closets and corners.
As of Monday, things will work themselves out. I’m not being an optimist, it just happens. This is my third year, and it always works out. Just like in the movies.
Posted by G at 07:20 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
September 10, 2004
Gaydar
Gaydar is really the simplest thing. Many straight friends talk about this mystical power that gay guys possess.
It's really simple, and I observed why straight people don't have straightdar. I'm walking to Kieran's birthday dinner from the subway, and I see this guy walking past these hot girls. Just like a gay guy, he makes some kind of eye contact with one girl as he is walking past. Just like a gay guy, he waits three seconds and turns around. However, and this is the crucial point, the girls DO NOT TURN AROUND. I saw that she was interested, but SHE DID NOT TURN AROUND.
And yet they still somehow manage to reproduce.
Posted by G at 12:37 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
September 08, 2004
Blogrollcall
I just followed every other techie blogger with a blogroll. Did I miss anyone?
Posted by G at 07:52 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
Cinnamon spice
Cinnamon had this magical way of making me into her helpless love slave.
I really haven't danced since I had all those knee surgeries a few years ago, but back in Lubbock, I would 8-shot dance at the local gay bar. I call it 8-shot dancing because it took at least four double shot rum drinks to give me any sense of rhythm. After the 8th shot, I still danced like a Baptist boy with a spinal problem, but I just didn't care.
Because the bar in Lubbock is the ONLY gay bar in town, the music mix was always pop, disco, then country. Lather, rinse, repeat. This worked well, as the country song would give me a chance to move off the traumatized dance floor. I would be seriously overheated and my head was supershiny from sweat.
That is where Cinnamon would use her drag queen powers to enslave me. She would see me dancing and immediately get an iced drink. She would proceed to freeze out her hands for the duration of the song. As soon as I left the dance floor, she would gently place them on my head, producing a response similar to lifting a kitten by the scruff of the neck.
I could barely lift a muscle as I descended into a torpor. She would massage my head, her hands warming, my head cooling. I loved it, goosebumps forming all over my sweaty body. Once her nails left my sensitive skin, I would jump off to another disastrous dancing seizure.
I also knew her as Albert, the HIV positive man who worked at the local resource center. He would go to high risk areas like the 'fruit loop' or the local bookstore and pass out condoms, sometimes as Albert, sometimes as Cinnamon. He was the first drag queen to march in a public parade in Lubbock, and was a great example to me of living proudly and boldly. He was far from perfect, but I always respected him.
My friend David was visiting from Texas and casually mentioned that Albert had died in a freak car accident months ago. I was stunned, as I had always thought of Cinnamon as one of those elements of nature. A rather large and bitchy force of nature, but a force nonetheless.
Here's to large drag queens who inspire the rest of us.
Posted by G at 07:14 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
September 06, 2004
Summer Summary
I like bad grammar, weird photos, and people that eat Smurfs.
Click here for the fun photos of the summer.
Posted by G at 05:40 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
Time for teaching
I go back to teaching on Tuesday. Same school, as the proper time to switch schools is April if you're already in the system. Who knew? Apparently everyone but me, but there you go.
I have a lot of concerns about teaching at the same school. I wish I could have switched. I wish I could be teaching high school. I wish I could eat ice cream all the time and not get fat, especially the ones with cookie dough magically mixed into some other confection. I'm a sucker for cookie dough.
On the other hand, I'm miraculously ready to teach. I now know why teachers deserve a summer break. I'm refreshed, I'm prepared like never before, and I'm excited to plunge back into the pool. I'm scared, but not scared shitless.
It will be amusing to see the blog posts in about a week. The pic is of me and my Grandma. She's 90, and wears fun hats in the pool.
Posted by G at 05:27 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
September 03, 2004
DishBitch
I haven’t had a dishwasher since I lived in Lubbock. In my loft, I am pretty much the dishbitch, and I find it rather fun. Dishwashers are quite convenient, but something about them feels too luxurious. We don’t have an electric can opener either.
I blame my attitude towards kitchen appliances on my father. He and his family have regaled me with stories of his bachelor days. Everyone tells me about the freezer that was a solid block of ice. Everyone tells me of his loading the dishes into the shower and using his own personal rinse cycle to clean the food off the prior day’s repast. My father actually feels that a young person’s first few years should be years of poverty and squalor. He feels quite strongly about this.
That’s why he had HUGE issues with my first apartment in Phoenix. It was a small, cheap apartment in a poorer section of town. Occasionally there were gunshots in the night, the crazy neighbor’s peacock yard behind us supplied the requisite curdling screams during the night, and we were the only young white boys in the complex. He was happy with all of that.
What he really hated was our dishwasher. I think he was genuinely concerned that I would develop some fatal character flaw from not having to do dishes manually. He almost lost control when he found out my mom had bought me an electric can opener. The veins popped on his head, he couldn’t talk, and I am certain they had a fight about it later. I really think he wanted me to open them with an axe or something. Whenever he would visit, his conversation would trail off, his eyes inexorably drawn to the despised dishwasher and can opener. I could see him visualizing headlines in some paper of the future: “Crazed boy put into prison. He owned a can opener.”
When it came time to move, he helped me pack. When I unpacked the next time, the can opener was nowhere to be found. He denies it, but I know he eliminated it. He sleeps better knowing that I learned the virtue of a hand operated can opener, and I know I narrowly avoided some kind of character flaw. I also now enjoy washing dishes.
Posted by G at 01:41 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
September 02, 2004
Sex in Canada
Only click on the extended entry below if you're okay with knowing anything about my sex life.
Sex on a trip always sounds fun and easy. In the movies or in books, people just start having sex. The temperature is always perfect, the scenery is suited for leaning/reclining, and nothing ever interrupts.
We’re driving through New Brunswick, and I’m definitely feeling frisky. This large province is basically one giant forest with ten people and ten thousand moose. I’m not sure if the moose hormones were in the air, or just having a sexy guy in the passenger seat, but we couldn’t wait until the evening. We found a nice little side road in the middle of the province and got out of the car. We started to have some fun. I’m on my knees, Derrick is making all the right noises, the moose are alarmed. We switch, my shirt gets peeled off, sweat is trickling down my chest. I’m really having fun.
Slap.
Not bondage. The mosquitoes have found me. Still enjoying myself.
Slap. Slap.
Not enjoying myself.
Slap. Slap. Slap. Definitely not bondage. More like a porn version of the Three Stooges.
I didn’t think to buy Deep Woods Off, even though I have fantasies about sex in the woods. We make a hasty escape back into the car. Safely ensconced in the car, I tilt the seat back. Derrick is stroking me, playing with my chest, driving me insane. Not as sexy as pushed up against a tree, but still quite fun. My moans and motions get more urgent, and I shoot.
This would be the end of the story except that I’m quite the shooter. I always have to point down or I’ll hit the wall behind me every time. Derrick neglected to block or point down, so I shoot all over, including over him, over my chest, over my head and all the way onto the back seat.
The back seat really would have just been a minor cleaning problem, except that the gifts to his parents are in the corner of the back seat. Since they are chocolates and sweets, I really don’t want them to have the extra gift or think the chocolates are too sweet. “No ma’am, that’s not cream filling.”
Thank the gods that they were in a plastic bag. My latest offering to the orgasm god managed to get EVERYWHERE but the inside of the bag.
I could only do this in a rental car.
Posted by G at 01:44 AM | Comments (8) | TrackBack