Skip to main content

Water sports and celebrity.

My friend Lucas is pretty cool shit, man. He and I go way back to when I still lived in NYC. God, we were such kids back then. Now he's a blogger, and goddamned good at it, man. I thought this recent post was particularly cute: "Back to the Basement: My Return to GBU".

I got so giddy and squee when I read, "To tell the truth, though, one of my favorite things about this party is the fact that it makes me feel like a mini-celebrity".

He and I are, as I said, old friends. We met on some gay profile site about a jillion years ago and proceeded to chat quite amiably on AIM. Often we commiserated over how sucky and dumb boys were or how we needed to get ourselves laid. I remember it: that old apartment I loved so much, the dark of the room, the bitterness, the relief at having someone to talk to. It was good times.

But we've (ostensibly) grown up since then. He's an up-and-coming sex blogger (giggity) and doing goddamn well for himself. He deserves it--I know how hard he works on behalf of his blog. Much harder than I do, I can tell you that, and I've been blogging for 8 1/2 years!

I can't deny envying him a bit. As usual, the envy is largely baseless and dumb, but it's sticky and hard to shake. I've been blogging since high school, and I don't think I've ever pulled in the numbers he has. But, as I said, I don't work for it like he does. I don't make it a point to blog as nearly daily as he does. I've probably put out more crudposts and angstings than he does. I also go on hiatus mysteriously from time to time--I certainly haven't blogged contiguously all 8 years I've been at this game! Whole months and seasons have elapsed without posts. None of that is good for the readership (although crudposts can be more easily forgiven if you post otherwise decently often enough).

But all senseless envy aside, I actually find him inspiring. I've been trying to blog more and more lately, with him in mind specifically. He can do, so I can at least try. I can at least approximate it--at least a junkpost here and there if it means not skipping a day; taking that moment to at least start a post on my phone when I get an idea for something. I leave comments on his blog (and others) to build a network, show support and encouragement, and, yes, hopefully attract some new readers.

And I think it's been working--my stats are climbing back to last Spring's all time high, and already averaging out about the same. If I keep at it as best I can, maybe I can get some of those feelings of 'mini-celebrity' Lucas described. Call me vain, but I would love to go to a party somewhere and someone come up and say how much he loves my blog. Until then, I'll just hafta keep at it.

I'm proud of Lucas. He's done so well, has an excellent blog, and I can't help being impressed. To think, only 4 years ago we sat around in our dark little rooms, IM'ing about the suckitude of boiz. I mean, we still kinda do sometimes, but at least we have something else going on in our lives to brag about!

Anyway, I love ya, Lucas, and wish you all the best :D Now send me your readers.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

A Valentine's Special.

Yeah, I'm one of those guys who's never really been with someone around Valentine's. I am sometimes baffled how other people manage these things--and why I can't. To be fair, it's probably as much my not trying enough and trying too hard as it is anything pariticularly wrong with me. Like, I know I don't get myself out there enough to meet guys and when I do it's probably compensatory and usually flawed from the start.

The other question is--why does it matter so much to me? Evidently it seems like something I want but something I'm scared of, too. It may also be something I'm just not very good at. I'm secretly timid and fearful of most confrontation and directness. For all my communication skills, I always seem to chicken out when it comes to talking to guys in a healthy, sustaining way. I'm a dreamer who wants something nice badly enough to stick to something for the concept of having it more than the reality of dealing with it; I want to…

Rocky Horror - Better than Glee.

You know, I've routinely refused to watch Glee. Like whoa. I've seen bits, it's amusing, but not my thing. Plus how can I be a properly pretentions intellectual fag if I don't look down on & snub snobbily some ragingly popular thing?? It's just not proper decorum, really.

I'm also in a Rocky Horror Picture Show shadowcast (website in progress, but that's us :)). Naturally, they were all excited about that Glee episode when they first heard about it; I on the other hand gave a pained smile and said "Isn't that special. I'm still not watching it."

Part of me's pretty glad I didn't, frankly. (hah! get it? like Tim Curry.)