I spent part of my morning making a gigantic playlist on iTunes. Seriously, it's epic. I used to try to make playlists that were short enough to burn onto a CD, but since getting an iPod a year and a half ago, I no longer have to limit myself with regard to time. Which is why my newest playlist features 31 songs. Yeah, that's right: THIRTY-ONE. Granted, I'm no Rob Gordon. You can take this to mean that this playlist has no relevance to my life or anything going on in it, nor is the number 31 of significance. Sure it could mean I like Baskin Robbins. Or it could be the number of times I've listened to each song in the playlist. But no. Instead, it's just a long-ass list of songs that I've found to really rock my world right now. It was going to be only 30, but I remembered one song I forgot to add. There.

Because I twittered about this, and then got a response from the lovely SarcasticMomLC, I decided that it had garnered enough attention to make the blog. This one's for you, Lotus Carroll.

Huge Tracks of Land

1. The Killers - Midnight Show
2. Scary Kids Scaring Kids - Notorious Thugs (Notorious BIG Cover)
3. Flobots - Handlebars
4. A Day to Remember - The Plot to Bomb the Panhandle
5. Rise Against - Savior
6. Nubbin - You Could Have Told Me
7. The Birthday Massacre - Kill the Lights
8. The Killers - Human
9. Nubbin - Florhnstahl
10. A Day to Remember - Colder Than My Heart, If You Can Imagine
11. Paramore - Crushcrushcrush
12. Comeback Kid - Industry Standards
13. Matchbook Romance - Monsters
14. Atreyu - The Curse
15. All Time Low - Umbrella (Rihanna Cover)
16. Atreyu - When Two Are One
17. The Killers - Change Your Mind
18. Linkin Park - Bleed It Out
19. Nubbin - Fair Enough
20. A Day to Remember - You Should Have Killed Me When You Had the Chance
21. Foo Fighters - Everlong
22. The Republic Tigers - Fight Song
23. Nubbin - These Mistakes (Are Mind Alone)
24. The Killers - When You Were Young
25. Comeback Kid - The Trouble I Love
26. Paramore - Misery Business
27. Comeback Kid - Broadcasting...
28. Matchbook Romance - Surrender
29. Me First & The Gimme Gimmes - Science Fiction Double Feature (Rocky Horror Picture Show cover)
30. Lostprophets - Can't Stop, Gotta Date With Hate
31. Linkin Park - What I've Done

Anything I should add to my list?

I made a great new friend today. He's five months old and cute as the dickens. He doesn't talk much, but he's got really big eyes that tell you that he's thinking all the time. Plus, he's really fun. He lets me carry him around and chat with all the girls at the department (thereby distracting their studies; we have common goals here). And the whole time, he flirts with the girls as if HE'S the one they really wanted to see. But it's okay, because he squeezes my fingers with his tiny fist and then he smiles up at me. I informed his mother that, from now on, I expect her to bring him around every Friday because he and I need to hang out more often. Plus, there's nothing better than the only two guys in the building walking around chatting up and distracting all our girlfriends. And since one of the girls saw us and said "Awww, I can't tell who's cuter!", that means we win.

After this week, so full of excitement and emotional ups and downs, I'm thrilled it's finally almost Friday. I don't know about you, but I could sure use a drink right about now.

As of now, the evil Proposition 8 has passed. First, Prop 8 is an awful thing to have people vote on in the first place. It smacks of laws we struck down not so long ago, that had no place being laws in the first place: Jim Crow laws, laws outlawing marriage between men and women of different race or ethnicity, etc. What's also bothering me is all the people shouting victoriously that "the people have spoken, and the majority have voted to preserve traditional marriage!" First, we gays have not once tried to ruin marriage as a so-called 'institution.' We just thought it was nice to finally have the option to marry someone we love. Second, despite the win, there was nothing majority about it. Winning when you get barely 52% of the vote may be winning, but that still means that, statistically, if you pull two random people off the street in random areas, probably is such that it is very likely that one supports equal rights for gay people and one does not. Half and half is not a majority, and I'm pleased to say that I know many, many people, gay and straight, who are plenty pissed off that Proposition 8 passed. I watched Twitter like crazy while the vote was being counted, and noticed a trend: the number of people rejoicing Prop 8's passage was dwarfed by the number of people who were shocked and pissed off that it looked poised to pass. This tells me that the ideas of a very few people went into supporting proposition 8, considering how few supporters actually bothered to follow up on the measure once they'd voted. For instance, I say a certain woman updating every five minutes or so, and at one point she even said that she was calling people up to make sure they had voted "yes" on prop 8 in order to verify that they had "kept their promise to her." Naughty naughty, miss LdsNana, you so shady. Those of us who voted no, on the other hand, shared a similar cause and goal that united us as one. No matter how you look at it, "Yes on 8" was a campaign of the few who had to drag others along, and "No on 8" was a campaign of the many who weren't quite as organized, not to mention wealthy, as the opposition.

There have been protest throughout the state, as well there should be, and one day, hopefully soon, equality will be won and we can move forward. I'm definitely proud of the ACLU for this one, because the rights of those in the gay community are not being protected. And given that I live in this land and pay the same taxes everyone else does, I don't think equality is too much to ask for. Don't play word games with me, and tell me that domestic partnerships are the same thing; I want my rights and I want to be able to do as I wish, working and living and enjoying the freedom this country is meant to allow me. One might take this to read: live your life and let me live mine.

To conclude this rant of a post, I leave with a few gems from Twitter Tuesday night. These were some of my favorite tweets of the many thousands that were streaming through there:

• The generation gap that swept Obama into office still hasn't won against Prop 8. 18-29s voted 66% NO; 65 & older: 57% YES.
• Prop 8 is the cardamom pod I just bit into in my plate of saag paneer.
• Prop 8 shows exactly how too much democracy is a horrible thing. Equal rights concerns should never be put to a public vote. Epic fail.
• Way to go, yes-on-prop-8'ers. I hope that suppressing an entire class of people has made your marriages so much more special.

And finally,

• i am proud of prop 8... homosexuals is wrong.... PERIOD!

To which I would reply: Considering the level of this person's literacy prowess, I'm inclined to think he needs to repeat the third grade before he votes again.

It feels like I'm only halfway there. I've never before felt so invested in an election. It's amazing, though, how much a single measure that marginalizes you as a person can affect how you feel overall. But regardless of the outcome, and as of my writing this, the outcome is not yet certain, seeing the amount of people who were outraged at the possibility of Prop 8 passing gives me hope that, if not today, then tomorrow, equality will win. Even if Prop 8 passes, that does not change who I am, nor does it change what I believe and what I will fight for. Though right now, I'm fighting to stay awake. Here's hoping the morning brings more good election news.

I want to take a moment to thank the fine people at No on Prop 8 for all their hard work and energy. I'd also like to thank Joe of Joe.My.God. for helping me stay current on so many issues, and I'd especially like to think Prince Gomolvilas of Bamboo Nation for inspiring me to write this. Vote no on Prop 8! I've remained quiet on the subject of politics on this website, but certain events and political procedures are unfolding that I cannot stand by and watch without putting forth my opinion on the matter. Being in LA, I've been watching the heat of the battle over whether or not gay people have the right to marry the person of their choice. I watched the historic Supreme Court decision that determined that barring gay people the right to marry is unconstitutional. And then I watched as social conservatives immediately petitioned to organize a vote so that people, 90% of whom are not gay themselves, can decide whether or not I should be allowed to marry a man. More than that, they went so far as to request an amendment to the Constitution, so that if it should pass, I would not legally be able to say "This is unconstitutional."

Last Friday, I had a rather disturbing conversation with my landlord's wife, who I met last December and has known since that day that I am a gay man. I mentioned, as we were chatting, that I had been helping out with the No on Prop 8 campaign at school, and she looked at me, unfazed, and said, "I don't think it's discrimination, because that isn't the same thing as marriage. Give it some other name, just not marriage." What struck me most was that she truly believes this, and more than that, I know her well enough to know that her feelings are not borne of hate, fear, or even because that's what she's been told to believe. She's a very smart woman who, like many people, cannot bring herself to believe that two people of the same sex can fall in love.

There are those out there who consider homosexuality to be a matter of choice. Many believe that it can, with the proper assistance, be changed. But if one "succeeds" with this so-called therapy, one is not simply a regular heterosexual, but rather an ex-gay. As if that person hadn't already experienced enough trauma in seeking to change his or her orientation, this valiant display of love is only met with partial approval. The label ex-gay is certainly a clear reminder of who that person once was, and an even clearer message that that person will never, under any circumstances, be truly embraced in love.

In the not-so-distant past, I was a gay man who was far and away unwilling to accept myself as such. I knew the truth about myself, and I always have. What I originally felt was an inner battle was actually, I realize now, a battle against that which makes me who I am and how that individual was someone those close to me did not want to accept. The ideas I wrestled with were not some inherent aspects in being gay, but rather were ideas that my own family conditioned me to believe. I did not fully realize this until earlier this year, when an argument with one of my younger brothers resulted in my expressing the following in an email:

Where am I coming from? I'm coming from more than 'degraded.' I'm coming from more than being offended by a few quips to bolster some heterosexual egos. I'm coming from more than being told that I need to be more manly or that I'm not manly enough or that I have some mannerisms that could be deemed "wimpy." I'm coming from a lifetime of trying to find my own voice, of trying to make my way in a world that's not always kind, of trying to be who I am when, at every turn, those closest to me are telling me that who I am and what I am is wrong. I'm coming from a lifetime of always listening, and never asking in return that I be heard. I'm coming from a lifetime of always doing my part to please others, and never expecting that others check to see if I'm happy. I'm coming from a lifetime of fighting my own mind, trying to convince myself that others were right and that, somehow, I was wrong. I live in a country where I'm a second-class citizen, having always to think twice that if I hold the hand of someone I love in public, there could be dangerous consequences. (And yet I'm blessed to live in this country, because many other countries throughout the world imprison and/or execute homosexual members of their population.) I come from a family who, even though it wasn't fully conscious, considered people like me to be second-rate human beings who were expected to emulate the lives and behaviors of straight people in public and never make known what they do in the privacy of their own homes or lives, even if it was something as beautiful as loving another human being.

On this election day, think of your fellow citizens, the people you share this land with and call your neighbor. The people with whom you stand behind in line at the grocery store and discuss the weather. The people who, like you, have jobs and work to contribute to a society we all share a responsibility in shaping and maintaining. When you think of protecting children, think of all the children who will one day realize themselves that they are different in some way. Think of the children whose parents are verbally and physically abusive, or the children whose parents neglect them and tell them they were never intended to be born. Think of how much difference can be made by letting love shine for a change. Think of what marvelous things we could achieve if we could just embrace our differences and realize that, as human beings, we must work together to make the world a better place. On this election day, please, just think.

Hey, remember that time I held a contest? And I promised that after a week of having the contest open I would close it and then announce the winners three days later? And then remember how like three weeks went by and still I haven't announced the winners? That's about to change. Right now.

First, both Jana and myself would like to thank everyone who participated. We had over 100 entries to go through, and had a hard time determining the winners. All the entries were fantastic and we loved everyone' t-shirt ideas! And trust me, even if your entry did not win, you're totally a winner because Jana and talked about you and your entry. So yay! Plus, you never know when one of those entries suddenly inspires a new Merch Girl/Gurl t-shirt...

And now, for the winners!

Jana and I were able to narrow down only to four potential winners, so we decided to change it up slightly so that we could have four winners. Plus, one of the winners is so hip that she already has a CD. So without further adieu...

The grand prize of a Merch Girl t-shirt handmade by Jana herself goes to... Katie! Her winning slogan is:

Ides of Merch

And the following three people all win their very own signed copy of Jana's new EP, The Early Year:

Amy!

Masking Tape - $2.00 Drink from the bar - $3.00 Truck stop dinner - $6.99 Being a Merch Girl - PRICELESS

Ben!

Fanny packs may fade, but Merch Girls are timeless.

Heather!

Merch Girls Make Change

Winners, I've sent emails to each of you so that you can get in touch with me and send me your address. CDs will be mailed out this week by yours truly, and the t-shirt will be sent as soon as Jana finishes making it.

Congratulations to all the winners! And thanks everyone for participating, for reading, and just for being your fabulous selves. Keep on rocking!

One of the most annoying aspects of living in the valley in LA is that the darn place is full of dirt. This is not normal for a desert, as far as I'm concerned. I'm from New Mexico: I know deserts, and I'm one of the few people in the world who happens to love the brown landscape. LA dirt, however, seems to just sort of hover in the air, for one of two purposes: flying in your face when it's windy out, and for making sure your car is constantly covered in a nice layer of the stuff. Today's rain has been something of a relief, in part because I don't have the time or money to invest in getting my car washed properly. But mostly it's been nice because it washed away much of the muck and the bird shit that accumulates on top of my car. Such are the side effects of parking right underneath a towering palm tree. I'm just grateful that this one doesn't seem to bear any coconuts.

It's time someone take to the streets and make sure that Halloween is a safe and holy good time for everyone. My people are calling, I must now go forth and bless them all with my presence. Happy Halloween!

I didn't consciously do this, but I've developed a secret code word for annihilating and/or relocating unwanted crickets from my home. It started thanks to the many numbers of crickets who consider my homestead a Beverly Hills mansion in their own little world of real estate. Every time I'd see one of the things, I'd shriek in excitement and point, never mind that there's not actually anyone else to see what I'm pointing at. And when this happens upwards of half a dozen times per day (on average; if I'm home all day, it's usually 2-3 times that), you may have a tendency to develop an operative codeword, just as I did. Bascially, instead of yelling "CRICKET!" and pointing, I have discovered that I consistently use the following:

"YOU MOTHERFUCKING BITCH!"

I've spent many a waking hour abandoning any pretense of being able to study or focus on cleaning or arranging the place in favor of following the MFBs (see above: Motherfucking Bitches) around or trying to find their hiding places. Or, better still, trying to figure out how the hell they keep getting into my house. I mean, I understand that an occasional cricket is normal, but this has gotten out of hand.

In case you're one of the unfortunate souls who follows me on Twitter, you may have noticed that I managed to get rid of two crickets who were taking up residence in one set of my kitchen cabinets. I've since nabbed a third one.

In addition to what is evidently a safe entry from some spot that leads to my cabinets, I think I've found another of their favorite entryways. (Besides the door; they do like to sneak in through the front door. Yeah, I know.) Anyway, I'm 90% sure that one of the points of entry for the band of renegade crickets is through an electrical outlet which, for reasons that escape me, is not flush against the wall.

How did I come to this conclusion? Simple: there's a constant chirping sound coming from some self-proclaimed "gift" to the world of cricket legs. No doubt he's calling all his little cricket girlfriends over for a huge orgy so they can continue their take-over of my house. I've also decided they probably laid eggs there, or else in my gigantic curtains, because every night or so I see little teenaged crickets (we'll call them "Prepubescent Bitches") hanging out right in that spot.

I suppose, too, this explains why that top plug in the outlet doesn't work. Considering how much noise MFBs make, especially when aided by great acoustics in the form of smooth wall and tile, the damn things really worthless sources of electricity.

There's this one story I've been meaning to write down for, oh, the last two years or so. (It happened more like four or five years ago, but I decided that I wanted to write it down only two years ago.) For the sake of background, I'll briefly explain: It's the story of how my gregarious nature got me in trouble with this one girl coworker of mine. I was an innocent college sophomore, and she was looking for love. In all the wrong places. (Read: She wanted my body.) My friend Sarah once pointed out that a girl would have to "hit me over the head and tell me she liked me" in order for me to actually be aware of her liking me. She was right, of course, and this coworker girl was one such person who did just that, only in the form of an email. I had quit my job, and she felt it safe to email me and gush her heart out. She even informed me that that time I was simply being a friendly coworker by going with her to lunch was considered, by her, to be nothing short of a come-on.

Being the pragmatic and sensitive guy I am, I responded to said email: "Um, I don't like you like that." That was the gist of the message, if not the precise wording. And even now, some four or five years later, I still get emails from her. She's like my own personal stalker, though thankfully lives on the opposite side of the country.

The best thing about her emails, hands down, is that in every single message, she makes it a point to tell me about the guy she's with. He's generally older and more muscular than I am, judging by her description(s), and I can't help but giggle at the fact that she's trying to make it seem like she was the apple of my eye but became the fish that swam away. To which I would reply, "WHATEVER, GIRLFRIEND, I'M NOT THE ONE SENDING DESPERATE EMAILS FIVE TIMES A YEAR."

Just for kicks, here's an excerpt from her latest:

"...A lot has changed since the last time I saw you. I met a great guy. Someone whom I've looking for [sic] a long time. His name is Andrew and I work with him. He is 29 and I absolutely love him. We are going to be getting married in May; May 23rd to be exact. I'm so very happy with him. He's my other half. I just wanted to tell you the news."

But what I want to know is, if I'm such a valued friend, where's my invitation? I see no mention of where said wedding is to take place, and if an invitation will be arriving, would I mind sending her my address. I figure this means I can take the news one of two ways: I can congratulate her and say "Oh, that's so great!" or I can ignore her and quietly suspect that she still wants my body, even all these years later, and she's using her same little made-up boyfriend to unsuccessfully spark jealousy. I'm leaning toward the latter, but to be perfectly frank, I don't give a damn.

This is what happens when you suddenly reestablish control over your own life: you sleep well, you get up on time, finish some work in a mere two hours that previously would have consumed at least twice that much time, you take a test and feel that, despite not having studied every single spare moment for, you actually felt calm enough to take and really apply the knowledge that you've learned despite yourself. And then you take a page out of Hollywood Sucker's book and try to use air freshener spray to coax out a cricket that's still happily living off the wood in your kitchen cabinet. You spray continually for half an hour, forgetting that you promised yourself you'd be in bed by then, because dammit that chirping is going to be the death of you. Only it turns out that the hidden cricket, whose lair you suspect you've found, likes to hide. And more than that, he likes to drink him some Arm and Hammer air freshener. At this point you say, "Motherfucker got game," and you proceed to hate the game, not the playa. Because you just got served.

Make way for one doozy of a list. This one: "All things that may or may not be sucking the life out of me." 1.) It's almost Monday, and being the lousy blog-contest host that I am, I cannot yet announce the winners. Jana had a bunch of gigs in a row this weekend, and I spent my weekend being incredibly productive on my home front and considerably less productive on my academic front. Fear not, though, for all entries have been read, and now we must convene and make our decision. In the meantime, if you missed your chance the first time around, go sneak in and enter, I'll turn a blind eye while you do so.

2.) I'm officially half-way through my semester. The second half is going to plunge ahead at approximately twice the speed this first half has, and I'm a little terrified. I realized recently that I've been about as useful a grad student as one of those squirrels I always see running along telephone wires that cross a street; I'm very capable of being awesome, but I just haven't quite gotten my shit together enough to realize that running across a wire that's suspended twenty feet above solid concrete (and the occasional motor vehicle) isn't exactly the best way to get from one place to the next.

3.) In addition to a number of other new goals and resolutions, I'm going to make it a point, from now on, to go to bed at the same time every night. I spend too many nights awake until different hours, to the point that my Circadian rhythm is more like that of a snail's on alternate doses of speed and Valium. The second half of this little goal is to also get up at the same time every day, in the hopes that I can establish a routine other than "half-dead zombie."

4.) My place is finally shaping up into something I am happy to arrive home to. I got some new shelves over the weekend, and assembled them. With the addition of those, plus the coffee table, I have finally been able to remove everything that was once occupying the floor in scattered and disorganized piles and organize them neatly on the shelves. Suddenly, this newfound sense of organization and orderliness makes me feel good, and I think will serve me well in my quest to become a better grad student.

5.) What isn't helping me at the moment is that it's still ridiculously warm right now. I don't mind this, save for the fact that certain insect critters have not gone into their natural phase of going the fuck away for the fall and winter. I'm speaking, of course, of the crickets that are so fond of LA. They're also quite fond of my humble abode, and every day one or two of them decides to pay me a visit. Never mind that I've sprayed the place myself, twice over in some parts. Granted, seeing only one or two crickets is a huge improvement over the plethora of crickets I had seen when I first moved in here, so at least in that sense I can smile benignly and say "Oh, aren't you cute. Some cultures consider you lucky. Am I lucky?" To which they'll reply, "Totally." And then they'll start cackling deviously as they chatter on to each other, and next thing I know, the phantom cricket in the kitchen cupboard hears them and decides to rub his legs together for the next two hours nonstop, and then take only a ten minute intermission before resuming his show. And the longer he goes at it, the more he rubs his damn legs and the louder he gets, and then it's suddenly echoing throughout the kitchen and bouncing off the walls and then IT'S DRIVING ME INSANE AND I WANT NOTHING MORE THAN TO JUST FIND THE LITTLE BOOGER AND SCOOP HIM AND UP AND CHUCK HIM 3.5 MILES TO THE NORTHWEST IN THE HOPES THAT HE LANDS AT MY FORMER PLACE OF RESIDENCE AND HE CAN GRACE MY BITCH EX-ROOMMATE WITH HIS PRESENCE. Fuck.

And as they say in that one famous quote I'm too exhausted to remember or even try to look up, "That's all, she wrote."

On Tuesday, thanks to all the pomp and circumstance (not the good kind, mind you) that comes along with intense wildfires, I decided it might not be a bad idea to go invest in an air purifier. I was a mere four miles or so from the fire, a safe enough distance away that I was fortunate enough not to have to evacuate. But it was close enough that my entire house and the entire backyard was blanketed in thick clouds of smoke Monday morning. And by 'thick', I mean I could pretty much reach out, grab some smoke, and hold it in my hand like a weightless basketball. When I went to Target on Tuesday, I was half-expecting to arrive at the air purifier section and discover that they were completely sold out in a stampede of fury the night before. Turns out that I was the extent of the stampede, however, because I was the only one on the aisle, with the exception of two people, over the course of the thirty or so minutes I was standing there trying to make an educated decision about which purifier I wanted to buy (it takes at least that long to go from knowing next to nothing about a product to suddenly attaining guru status). Plus all the other folks out there just starting wearing those face mask things that I can't stand because I always end up breathing out of my mouth and then my nose promptly turns around and threatens to kill me. I ended up settling on this beauty.

I've been running the thing constantly ever since I plugged it into the wall. Yesterday, I had five hours of classes and six hours of work, and the whole time I was like, "Hurry UP, day, I want to go home and hang out with my new air purifier." I love it that much.

On the one hand, the buildings on campus are not in the greatest shape to stay inside. Sure, the university says they're safe, but I think they're thinking they're safe for a couple hours, at most, not THIRTEEN hours, which is how long I was there. Which means that, upon my arrival home, I turned on my air purifier full tilt and just sat there hugging the thing and crying. On the other hand, it turns out that, smoke or not, an air purifier is an amazingly good investment when your house is old and moldy. My last two nights of sleep have seriously been the best nights' sleep I've gotten since coming back to LA. I'm so all about it.

*And hey, you know what else I'm all about? Fun contests where my readers have the chance to win stuff! Think up your Merch Girl slogan and submit it today! Time's running out... only one more day left to get your Merch Girl on!*

Fires suck, big time. Oh sure, things close and I you get an afternoon off here and there, but breathing the smell of smoke is a drag (pun quite unintended), and heck, breathing the smoke itself is no bed of roses. Someone needs to break out the “Flames Be Gone” STAT. But seriously, LAFD has been working tirelessly, and as far as I’m concerned, they’re doing a great job. I’ve been following them on Twitter, and if you live in LA, you should be too. Because of the aforementioned fire, and because I’m just plain scatterbrained, I think a list is very much in order. Here’s a list with the theme of “I’m too scatterbrained to write a cohesive list.” I think you’ll like it.

• I’ve learned a lot about graduate school this semester. My mind, while generally at least mildly intelligent, does not easily grasp things that are particularly scientifically intense. Of course, this semester I’m in two classes which are predominantly scientific, which has had me doing everything from tearing out my hair, to avoiding studying because I don’t understand it, to trying futilely to memorize things in the hopes that I can get by.

  On Sunday, it occurred to me that the whole point of grad school, and school in general, is for ME to learn. If I want to take anything away from this experience, I have to tailor the system to meet my own needs, rather than trying to make myself fit the little mold the school usually aims for. This thought was so profound, as a matter of fact, that I immediately wanted to take a nap. Unfortunately, I ended up studying instead.

• One of the greatest thing about blogging is that, behind each and every blog (or, most and almost every blog) is a person writing it. If you’re lucky, you get to meet the person behind the screen. And if you’re really lucky, you’ll get to meet multiple people from behind their respective screens.

  Last Saturday, I headed out to Hollywood and had a fantastic night hanging out with the fabulous Kiraa of Ex-Everything and the inimitable Nico of Nicopolitan. The only downside to the evening was the insanely loud music at The Happy Ending, as well as the horror that turned out to be their fried tuna. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever rejected fish, but what can I say; its pink and juicy exterior wasn’t even pretty to look at, much less consume.

  Oh, and FYI, LA bloggers, we’re looking to hang out again in two weeks or so. I’ll let you know the deets as soon we’ve figured them out.

• Don’t forget to participate in my contest giveaway! If you can help spread the word and bring in more people to participate, I would be very grateful. And, as incentive, there might even be something in it for you if you help draw in a whole bunch of people to participate. You never know. Just send peeps to the contest because it’s one of the best contests around. Seriously.

I've had this website at this domain for just over a year now, and it's high time I celebrate in style. And because I'm a huge music fan, I've teamed up with my good friend and fellow Albuquerquian Jana Pochop to bring you, dear readers, a contest that brings with it the opportunity of winning FREE STUFF. Specifically, you could be one of three lucky winners of this CD:

Let me tell you something about Jana. I met Jana in college because she was one of my friend's roommate. The more I talked to her, the more awesome I discovered she is, and the longer I've known her, the cooler she gets. I started going to see her play at one of our favorite coffee houses, Irysh Mac's (which closed, sad!), and I've seen her move to Austin and kick-start her music career as a singer-songwriter there. Of course, she's been blogging it all along, and I have to say that I was especially excited to watch how The Early Year EP went from an idea, to a project, to a reality.

Which brings us to this contest: I am giving away three signed copies of Jana's new EP! That's three (3!) signed (SIGNED!) copies of her new EP. This is the only such contest around to win Jana's CD, so you'll definitely want to pay attention, because this EP is on my "Best of 2008" list of new releases for the year. I have the CD playing on loop in my car, and it's like Jana was visiting and rocking out here, in my car. It's that good.

Here's how to win:

1. Jana sometimes works as Merch Girl, and she has the t-shirts to prove it. Take a good look at the t-shirts on that post I just linked to and then return here.

2. Think up your own clever slogan for a Merch Girl t-shirt and tell us about it in a comment here. Enter as many times as you like, but please leave only one t-shirt slogan idea per comment so we can more easily keep track of your entries.

3. The contest is open from now until next Friday. The contest will end at midnight, Pacific Standard Time, on October 17. At that point, comments will be closed and we will begin judging your entries. Winners will be announced Monday, October 20.

That's all there is to it!

Grand Prize: One signed copy of The Early Year EP, plus a t-shirt, with your slogan on it, made by Jana herself!

Two Runners Up Prizes: One signed copy of The Early Year EP!

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I had a rough week last week. I had a much nicer weekend, until the end, of course, when I realized that there is no rest for the weary and I'd better get some or most of my interminable studies done lest I suddenly die a horrible death by grad school termites. Because I lack the ability to click the "pause" button on time, I'm only "mostly" done with everything. The good news is that, while at one point today I was lamenting how much I detest doing some of this paperwork nonsense, I was able to get it done and actually feel a good deal better about it now. Still, I remain rather frustrated, and because I have to let off steam SOMEHOW, here's a list of things I'd like to punch in the face immediately:

• Myself.
• My stupid printer, which decided to run out of ink when I was printing my shit tonight. I can't wait to hear THAT complaint tomorrow, about how unprofessional that is. Don't I know it.
• Graduate school.
• Lesson plans.

And, just for good measure,

• The economy.

Yep, a good fistfight is just what the doctor ordered. I contemplated shouting at everything sort of like that old coot Bill O'Reilly, but I think old school is the way to go on this one.

I listened to Elton John's Crocodile Rock no less than five times in a row tonight once I got home. Indeed, it's been one of those weeks. You know the ones. The ones where songs like Crocodile Rock suddenly transcend from simply 'classic' song to 'I feel so introspective all of a sudden and this song is such a reminiscer' song. Not that that's a bad thing, mind, just that, let's face it, the week was a total bitch. And it slapped me. Hard.

This is an unintentionally nerdy post related to studying. Feel free to skip this one, unless you happen to want to know about the revelation I had at midnight the night before I am to take my first exam in my neuroanatomy course. As noted yesterday, I'm not what you'd consider a "model" student. I've been struggling this semester to figure out how to study properly for my two classes, especially neuroanatomy. I've been finding neuroanatomy to be exceedingly dull, despite being rather fascinated by the lump of brown substance in my head that makes me tick.

My friend Dr. Vina offered me the following sage advice: MEMORIZE, BITCH! Which is exactly what I've been trying to do, but have been failing spectacularly. I realized tonight exactly why that is: as I sit here learning about the Pyramidal Tract, the Primary Motor Cortex, and the decussation of cranial nerves, it occurred to me that what this class, and indeed many college courses lack, is a real reason to want to know this shit.

I'm not sure, but I suspect that the people who discovered how the brain functions did so because they wanted to know why we did certain things, or how certain things worked in the brain, or perhaps what parts of the brain made worked when we performed different tasks. I'd put money on the idea that few, if any, of the pioneers of anatomy sat around and thought to themselves, "Hey, one curvy part of the brain is interesting. Let's find out exactly what it does."

I realized this when I was sitting and going through my notes, and I suddenly understood more about anatomy tonight than I have this whole semester so far. Perhaps this is a sign telling me that I would do better to not attend class and treat the course instead as an independent study course, because the lectures serve mostly to confuse me, what with my professor sitting and reading the slides to us a la Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller's Day Off style. Even though I still don't have about two-thirds of the vocabulary memorized pat for the exam (we're on a first-name, recognition-based acquaintance), for the first time, I'm getting a clearer idea of how it all works and fits together.

If you've actually managed to read this far into this entry, I'd like to take the opportunity to say that your gray matter is incredibly sexy.

Whenever I have to study anything intense, it never fails that I find that, suddenly, I have on hand two million things that are considerably more fascinating. And pressing. Pressing to the point that I must do said things right now, otherwise I'll totally forget about them. I have a test in my neuroanatomy class coming up on Tuesday, and I'm not exactly excited about taking it. The brain is amazing, and fascinating, and a marvel to behold. And my teacher makes the class exponentially boring. It amazes me that, even with the power of the internet at her fingertips, she still shows us really, really bad two-dimensional drawings of the brain, when she shows us pictures at all. I feel like, should I chance upon someone whose brain I need to analyze, I'll have to be like, "Hold on, let me see a 2-D image of your brain real quick. That 3-Dimensional shit is just way too complicated."

I suppose what's most interesting is how much I've become aware of my powers of procrastination. When there's more pages of anatomy to be learned than the number of times John McCain blinks in a single minute of a debate, I suddenly start to notice that, holy cow, my place is absolute mess. I then have to jump on my bed, hands pinned behind my back, and force myself to stare at my spiral notebook and study, dammit. But you'll study better once you've cleaned. You know you will. Yes, but then I'll want to take a break and have some water and maybe go for a jump in the pool. The answer is no. And did you realize that you still haven't done your laundry yet this weekend? I can do it later this week. You know you won't. Just give in and do it now. Never. Really? Okay, try this on for size: BURNING PIT OF HUNGER IN YOUR STOMACH. Fuck.

My house is still an absolute mess. Which, in studying terms, might possibly be a good sign. But I still am not nearly as prepared as I need to be. I'm doing great in terms of math skills, however. As of this post, there are only thirty-one more hours until I'm doomed to die a miserable death by midterm exam.

In the spirit of not writing about how much homework I've had to do, and studying I've had to do, I've decided to pick a decidedly awesome and heated topic to write about: Clay Gay-kin! Let me start by saying I am not a fan of Clay Aiken. For no other reason than I've never really listened to his music, and I never watched him on American Idol. I don't watch American Idol and never have. I think it helps that I don't have a television. What this means is that I know very little about the man, other than that he's had quite a successful career even though he never actually won.

Even still, my first reaction to hearing that he's finally come out was to curl up and take a nap. Aside from being the antithesis of breaking news, I really couldn't care less. Of course, I watched his interview on Good Morning America, and I have to say that Clay is extremely well spoken.

Hilarity ensues, however, when the crazies who followed Clay heard the official news and decided to denounce poor Clay of his Born-Again Christian status. (Before I go further, I'd like to point out that the crazies I mentioned are extremists, and therefore are totally asking for this; I have friends of a huge variety of faiths and I love and respect them all.)

Just for shits and giggles, I thought it would be fun to see what sort of reactions people had to Clay, in the blogosphere and elsewhere, and I was not disappointed. Naturally, gay bloggers are all over it. And, of course, there are also the bloggers who are forever pointing out the fact that, even though they're not themselves gay, they're obsessed with us gays.

I came across this post tonight, and what gold! There's all sorts of categories that speak of abomination, end times, darkness, and posts with catchy titles like "Ray Boltz Should Burn in Hell!!!" The Clay post itself really wasn't terribly interesting, especially when compared to the comment thread, which at one point featured the following gem from "Eli":

Gossiping or breaking the speed limit or lusting, or coveting or even telling someone they are “sick” is not called an ABOMINATION in God’s word, homosexuality is. Demon possessed? NOW who’s being self-righteous, hmmm? CLearly it’s you who has no clue what the Gospel is. Makes me wonder are you gay, otherwise why would you get so fired up.

I love how Eli's idea of debating is to suddenly accuse the previous commenter (who inspired Eli's diatribe) of being gay. Way to go, Eli. Clearly, anyone who actually offers an open-minded comment is obviously gay. And I guess, even though Clay simply came out about his sexuality, he's still a huge sinner despite doing nothing other than trying to live and let live. In conclusion, and in the spirit of being judgmental, I'm going to go ahead and assume that Eli must habitually pick his nose in public.

There's nothing that tests one's manliness quite like a trip to everyone's favorite boobtastic restaurant, Hooters. That fabulous Halifaxian Haligonian, Ben, recently posted about his first experience there, so I figured, why not add another gay story to the Hooters book? Why not, indeed. Many moons ago, I was not the super openly gay man I am now. At the tender age of 20, a couple of friends of mine convinced me and my older brother to go with them to Hooters. Perhaps the sad part is that the friends were brother and sister. Or wait--the really sad part is that I was SO MUCH EASIER to convince to join in the fun than was my Puritanical older brother.

We adjourned to the restaurant, whereupon the first thing I noticed was definitely not the first thing straight guys notice. While they see tight shirts and short shorts, I saw a shade of orange that had NO BUSINESS coming within even an inch of about 90% of the girls' skin tones plastered on nearly every female tush in the house.

The Albuquerque Hooters is home to weekly (or maybe monthly--I never really kept very good track) car shows. And football games. And beer. And it attracts the sort of crowd you'd expect. I think I was one of about five people in the whole place not wearing a baseball cap and plaid flannel. Which really says more about me, I think. Even in my more closeted times, I still had a pretty awesome fashion sense. Naysayers may suggest that comparing myself to the average Hooters customer isn't fair. To which I'd reply, SHUT UP, YES IT DOES. ALL'S FAIR IN FASHION AND WAR.

The highlight of my Hooters experience was not the bland grilled cheese with the side order of fried cheese sticks. It was not watching a bunch of trashed rednecks hollering at each other. It wasn't even watching how much more uncomfortable Puritan Boy was than me. No, the highlight of the evening was much, much worse.

I'm looking around the restaurant, and I count. Not one. Not two. THREE. I count three girls working at Hooters with whom I had gone to high school. I didn't quite recognize them, at first. But only because I remembered two of them as always wearing the same high school prom shirts all the time. You know the one: the one the administration forced them to wear over their actual clothes since they never seemed to follow the dress code.

Long story short, I saw way more than I ever hoped to see; seeing girls I knew from English class all those years before totally killed the mood of the evening. And I've never been back. Pretty much for fear that I'll know half the staff. Again.

I was so pumped to write a new post about how excited I am that I bought a couch. But then, after steam cleaning it Sunday afternoon and then doing mad homework and study Sunday evening, it occurred to me that I didn't feel so hot. Not feeling hot to the point that by the time I went to bed, I knew Monday was going to eat me alive, and spit out my bones. (Side note: this gruesome metaphor is probably in part due to the fact that I saw a hawk this evening, and it dropped a squirrel from its perch atop a lightpost; I only noticed the bird because I was sitting in my car with the windows rolled down and heard a huge SPLAT.) I was right, of course, and woke up Monday morning with the grim realization that I was actually still ALIVE. Besides having enough energy to barely flop out of bed, it felt like the Incredible Hulk had paid me a visit and was currently squeezing his ugly green wrist around my throat. And when I tried to swallow, he just looked at me and laughed and was like, "Haha, yeah, I'd like to see you try." And then I did, and he tightened his hold on me.

Which is why I've been popping Ricola lozenges like they're candy all day. And why I've come about this close to just sticking my head into a vat of Jasmine green tea. And also why I went to Target and tried to buy them out of Campbell's Chicken Soup. I generally keep Kosher, and eat more or less vegetarian most of the time anyway, but suddenly I was compelled to eat unkosher chicken soup for two reasons: 1.) I didn't have any chicken. 2.) Who the fuck has time to make chicken soup properly when it feels like if you don't eat, STAT, the Grim Reaper might come knocking. At least with chicken soup handy, you can offer the chap some lunch.

I think the funnest part of the day was the exam I took tonight. I studied for the thing for a good bit of the day, inasmuch as one can study when a freight train decides to park itself in one's throat. Figures that the day I can't talk is the day I have my test in Voice Disorders. Yes, I have one, thank you, can I go home now? I basically sat in my chair for an hour and a half and circled whichever letters looked most attractive to me at the time. Then I came home and greeted my toilet. For twenty minutes, no less.

I'd like to think I'm now on the mend, but it's 1:30 in the morning and sleep has yet to find me. To that, I have one word: blech.

I really didn't need it, but I now have super awesome closure from my many months of living with the vile swamp creature that is my former roommate. As we last stood, we had spoken on the phone and she had informed me that, because she's the quintessential bitch, she was keeping $150 from my deposit because I "left the room and bathroom in dire need of repair and cleaning." Because you can do that after living somewhere for less than six months. While running errands today, I realized, shortly after leaving the grocery, that I had to make one final stop at Target. I was traveling by my old neighborhood, and out of habit, I turned up the street I used to take to drive home all the time. And, just for shits and giggles, I decided to drive by the place that taught me how to hate.

Surprisingly enough, it's still standing. And each respective car of the warring lesbians was parked out front. Apparently, fighting to the point that you're choking each other brings you closer together instead of ending a miserable relationship. What a remarkable phenomenon.

I slowed the car quite a bit, looked at the house, and was suddenly overcome with the urge to stare at the house, hold up my middle finger, and say "FUCK YOU" as I drove by.

Yes, it was immature. Yes, it was ridiculous to harken back to this past experience, to let myself feel again just how much negativity that place exudes. On the other hand--and this is the really good part--it felt so incredibly good to have the last word. It's about fucking time.

You know that saying "things will get worse before they get better"? I've got blisters on my wrists and chafed-turned-bruised underarms to prove that that's true. And all because my stupid foot stupidly decided to start bleeding because of some stupid piece of glass, or maybe because of some stupid splinter, but really the stupidest part is that I have no fucking idea what's going on with it. What I do know is that today, it's suddenly not bleeding anymore, but there's still a little brown dot on the underside of my foot that's either blood that looks brown in the light, or else some strange foreign object that periodically shifts just enough that putting any pressure on my foot makes me want to chop off my foot altogether just stop the pain. So far, I've discerned the following: it's not a freckle. Unless a freckle can spontaneously feel like they can kill you, in which case that's definitely what it is.

As things currently stand, I've decided that I'd rather get around any way possible that does not involve the use of crutches. My gross motor skills suddenly fail completely when I use the wretched things. For instance, yesterday I had the following near-fatal incidents while hobbling around: slipping on tile indoors, hitting a bad patch of pavement and nearly wiping out, and then nearly falling over sideways when walking through a doorway. I must be an awkward six-foot half-inch tall, too, because the height adjustments really aren't doing me much good.

I had to ice my armpits last night, for like an hour or so each, because they're constantly throbbing in pain. This is my first time to actually use crutches because I NEED them, and I'd like to go on record saying that I'd rather crawl everywhere on all fours than use the crutches anymore.

I suppose the only benefit from the crutches is that I've gotten an all-day abdominal workout. It's better even than those ab cruncher workout things, because I'm constantly having to use my abs to hold up the rest of my clumsy body. Which means, dear reader, that I am officially ripped, despite not being visibly so. Therefore, you should want my body.

*In one day alone, I encounter as many as a hundred or more people. When every single one of them asks you the same thing, it gets really old, really fast. Which is why bitch-slapping is such an attractive course of action. Just saying.