For whom the bell may be tolling.

THE TIMES HAS BEEN running a series of articles recently that suggest the Clinton campaign has been subtly closing up shop. They're sad articles, because they portray Hillary as a passionate candidate who, while ever realistic about her chances, remains deeply committed to the difference she could make in the lives of Americans.

The articles are especially heartbreaking because they remind me of women who strove mightily to achieve greatness, and ought to have won those achievements, but for whatever reason never quite did. Of course, they call into question Hillary's ability to be an effective, inspirational leader if she can't even convince her own campaign staff to tough it out and remain optimistic until the final act. And yet there's something about the whole situation that makes me want to donate to her campaign, to demonstrate my appreciation, if not necessarily my support.

Hillary's slow deflation doesn't make me any more excited about Obama. If anything, I've grown more disillusioned by his one note campaign over the past few weeks. As we've watched Hillary's slow fade, he's failed to step into the vacuum she's leaving, failed to inspire confidence in his ability to do anything more than simply provide some vague inspiration. I want as much as anyone for this country to be united, for us to move past the old divisions that hardened during the Clinton era, but the truth is that those differences don't simply disappear, and I'm not sure he has goals beyond redrawing the lines that divide us.

Hindsight is always 20/20, but it seems that one of Clinton's campaign's greatest failings was the sense of inevitability they injected into the race during those early months. You never really felt like you needed to get involved because the assumption was that she was going to win with our without you. To this day, I think Hillary supporters still believe Hillary will pull it out in the remaining states, that ultimately, they don't need to get involved because Obama's magic is sure to run out if she can just hold on long enough.

Match.com is the new porn

CAN WE TALK ABOUT the sudden ubiquity of couples who met online? I don't know when it happened, but it's like I woke up a couple of weeks ago and realized that almost all the couples I know met on Match.com. Except, of course, that couple who met on a Craigslist booty call. (Need I mention it was in the m4m section? I thought not.)

All this has made me wonder, What am I missing? (Cue Sarah Jessica Parker saying, "Meanwhile uptown, Samantha was missing something too... her panties").

I have nothing against meeting people online. I don't think it's creepy or just for losers without other options, but it is a little lame, a little deflated. Where's the romance? A friend's parent's met on a train as it chugged through the European countryside; my own parents met randomly on a bench in Central Park, and my dad says he knew from the moment he saw her that she was the one.

As Match would have us believe in their brilliant new ad campaign, it can all begin with a look, but where's the magic when your dad tells you that he thought your mom's professional headshots were cute, and that when he read how she "loves exploring new restaurants, but is just as happy staying home and watching a movie (and cuddling... ;))," he knew he had to write and say, "OMG I love going out and staying in too!!!!"


PART OF THE PROBLEM is that when you meet online, you've already cut out a big chunk of the dating game. There's no sexy eyes, no wondering whether they think you're cute. Ostensibly, you're both there because you want to meet someone, that special someone, so most first dates are probably as romantic as a trip to the Gap to try on jeans. "I don't know Kathy... he's a relaxed fit, and I'm more of an apple bottom girl."

I think that's why no one really talks about it. How many times has a friend gone on and on about the guy they're seeing, only to dry up when you ask how they met.

"Oh, we met online." That's it, because that's all there is to say. "I know, I know, I'm totally not the type to meet people online, but he's so great!"

Don't lie to me, and don't lie to yourself. You may feel a little shame mixed in with that excitement you feel when you log in, but face it: You are the type to meet someone online. We all are. We're all tired of fucking around with love, all tired of waiting, even if the waiting is a byproduct of the romance.

I have to give some serious credit to people who are out there making it happen for themselves. Because you know what doesn't help you find the one? Sitting in your underpants reading the New Yorker on a Friday night. Trust me, as satisfying as Hendrik Hertzberg may be, his witty political banter isn't interested in being your big spoon.

Your wake-up call killed my buzz

I'VE HAD ENOUGH of being odd man out because I happen to sleep with men on the odd night out.

Tonight, hanging out with classmates from school, I endured four separate incidents of people using the word "gay" in a derogatory way. Each time, the person realized what they'd said and apologized profusely. In that moment, this formerly "innocuous" word, this synonym for "lame" or "weird" or "uncool," came crashing into a the reality of a person they know and, on some level, think of as a friend. My hope is that it's a powerful moment for them, and that they never use the word in that way again.

For me, though, the whole experience is a total drag. Yes, on some level I'm glad that I can facilitate greater awareness of the issue, but I'm not hanging out drinking beers with you because I want to raise social consciousness. I'm out because I'm one of the guys - note! not because I want to be one of the guys, but because I actually am one of the guys - and suddenly, I'm forced into being something other than one of the guys. I'm a gay guy. I'm a stand-in for the issue. My sex life is the topic of conversation (in the most boring way) because you've put your foot in your mouth.

What's more, I spend the next few minutes reassuring you that it's cool, that I know you're not a homophobe, that I know I'm the first gay guy you've actually known, really known, that you'd never really thought about the word that way before. The truth is, although I'm the one who should be offended, we're back to talking about you. We're back to soothing your ego.

And you know what? Fuck that. I am not gay for the purpose of straight people.

Once and for all, let me enumerate the things I am not:

I am not your wake up call.

I am not your kicky, zany best friend.

I am not your interior decorator.

I am not your shopping partner.

I am not your next-best option on a Friday night.

I am not your musclebound (unfortunately) sex-crazed club kid.

I am not your trendy accessory.

I am not your Real World token cast member.

I am not your hair stylist, and I am not giving you a makeover of any kind.

And to prove it all, I give you Margaret Cho. (Ha!)

Margaret Cho - "ITOTIW, Part 1/10"

"You go girl! You go! No, I mean you go! Bye!"

A Very Hairy Jake Gyllenhaal

LAST WEEK, MAHMOUD AMADINEJAD visited Columbia. Amadinejad said that there were no gays in Iran. My response: "Not anymore!"

Coming out of the speech, the big controversy, of course, was whether it was appropriate for Columbia President Lee Bollinger to rip a world leader a ragged new asshole, effectively performing the most spectacular magic trick of all time by making the man almost seem like a sympathetic figure.

The second biggest controversy, however, was the age old question: "Hot or Not?"

I'm going to pull a Hillary Clinton and straddle the fence so as to avoid offending anyone (thereby annoying everyone). Although he's not an unattractive man, I've personally never been into the whole "bad boy (read: crazed despot)" thing. I mean, ride a motorcycle (even better, a Vespa and a helmet), but murdering your own citizens is a bridge too far. That said, Osama should buy stock in Just For Men. Yum!

I will say that, rather than being a total douche whose balls must have fallen out his pants leg on the walk to the podium, Bollinger should have (used a time machine and) played this video from the SNL premier this past weekend.

SNL Digital Short - "IRAN"

Andy, if I go tanning will you love my butter pecan thighs?

New habit, same as the old habit

THERE'S NOT MUCH I can say about La Lohan's recent run in with The Laws, aka Sweet Sweet Justice, so I'm not even going to try. I'll let the picture below say it all.

But before I do, how has my blog become a source for celebrity arrest jokes and mildly raunchy (slash, totally sweet) makeout stories? What has become of my life? Let's all hop in the wayback machine to a time ("Professor, send us to 1999!") when I worked hard and envisioned making something of my life. Now I can't even manage finding someplace to store my shit (not to mention myself) in the NYSizzle, despite the fact that I'm moving in about two weeks.

Let's hop forward a few years to college. Remember when I was a religion major? A poet? That's interesting right? "Oh! What an unusual combination, religion and creative writing," you'd say, secretly worried I'd end up on the street (which I still might yet if NYC has anything to say about it).

"Not that unusual," I would say, "Just think of the Bible as a long, surprisingly popular piece of creative writing, heavy on the voodoo and the smiting." And then me and the religious fundamentalists would laugh and laugh...

And now business school? That's where unusual uniqueness goes to die. It's a slippery slope to a Bloomberg and coke habit to call my own.

So bring on the Lohan. Say what you will about her, but she's always there, making me feel better about my minor concerns in life. Thank you, Lindsay. Thank you.


[via lolhan]

Don't worry, my gay pride is offset by my white guilt

THIS WEEKEND WAS GAY PRIDE in Washington, which meant that Team Peen was out in full force across our nation's fairest district. Personally, I feel like gayness is a strange thing to be proud of. Not that one should be ashamed of being gay, but it seems weird to be proud of something in which one played no part. I mean, be proud as hell when you make out with a great guy, but as Margaret Cho so aptly pointed out, there's no such thing as the Slut Pride Parade.

If we're being honest, Gay Pride Weekends aren't doing much for gay politics. I have straight friends who get more excited about Pride than any gay people I know, in large part because the gays all know that the three days should really be called We're All Trying to Have Sex At Once... Weekend.

Gay Pride also seems to give people license to act in ways they would never act normally. I was out at a bar this weekend and had the following conversation:

"Hey," he said. "Where'd you get those shoes?"

"Thanks! I got them online. Do you like them?"

"Yeah. So, like, are you a top?"

Are you kidding me? Can we at least exchange names first?

Electric Six - Gay Bar

First Cobalt, then the after party in the Lincoln Bedroom?

We can break these things because we have before

WHEN I WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL, I went away to a summer writing camp. At the end of the program, we pulled together a compilation of the writing we did that summer, and titled it, "I can break these things because I have before." Although the writing was, for the most part, high school angst poured into high school prose and poetry, I've always thought the title's sentiment was beautiful.

I came out a few years later, and although I was blessed to have a relatively uneventful coming out process, the decision to come out was incredibly hard. Today, when I'm going through a tough spot, I remember that I've faced down bigger demons, and came out better for it.

With everything our country is going through, sometimes I wonder why we don't take a stand more often. Maybe it's because we don't think we'd be effective, or that in the long run it really doesn't matter. Maybe it's because we don't live in a world of clear rights and wrongs. This video, set to the song "Hold On" by Mavis Staples, is a reminder that if we stopped paying lip service to change, stopped spending our nights and weekends in the office or at the bar, and actually tried to make it happen, we could do tremendous good.

Mavis Staples - "Eyes on the Prize"

"Keep your eyes on the prize. Hold on."

In which I discuss this afternoon's activities

FROM THE BEGINNING of any relationship, toothbrush etiquette is important. When is it okay to start bringing your toothbrush? When is it okay to leave it there? When does it become your responsibility to replace the other person’s toothbrush at your place? And most recently, what am I supposed to do with the ex/boyfriend's toothbrush now that he’s moved to New York? In a compromise I considered appropriate for our current "understanding," the toothbrush had recently started shuttling out and in of the medicine cabinet: out of the cabinet before he arrived for one of his many weekend visits, and back in when he left and we were supposedly not together.

The ex/boyfriend and I progressed quickly from the “Hello, nice to meet you” stage to the “I am providing you a toothbrush” stage, in large part because I think it’s only charitable and the mark of a good host to provide even a quasi-significant other with their own toothbrush. And if we’re being honest, (A) I have no interest in kissing your morning mouth, thank you, and (B) under no circumstances are you using my toothbrush. My tongue may slut around with every mouth in town, but my toothbrush will know one mouth and one mouth only.

From there, it was a hop skip and about 8 weeks to, “I am replacing this for you, and for that matter, here’s a replacement for your other one at home because that one is a big ol’ mess too.”

Then, earlier this week, in a moment I was sure was rife with symbolic meaning, I used the ex/boyfriend’s toothbrush to clean the mysteriously orange-colored stuff around my bathroom sink faucet that had suddenly crossed the border between “chill out, no one notices this shit but you” and “mother of god, this must go immediately.” While cleaning, I daydreamed. In one of those reveries in which you try on a scenario to see how it might fit were it to come to pass, I imagined the conversation that might ensue when the ex/boyfriend returned to find his toothbrush had become a cleaning utensil.

“Babe? Where’s my toothbrush?”

“Oh, I used to it to clean the sink,” I would say from the other room, the very embodiment of poise and calm. In fact, I imagined myself sitting on a bed covered in a white comforter, surrounded by plump white pillows. This bed bears no resemblance to my actual bed, mind you.

“You did?” he would ask, coming out of the bathroom, eyes big moons of confusion and the beginnings of hurt.

“Well, we’re not really boyfriends any more, are we? So I felt funny having your toothbrush here.”

And then we would have that discussion we’ve been avoiding, the one about what exactly we’re doing and whether our "understanding" is working for each of us. Maybe we would cry. And maybe I would feel badly for so heartlessly using his toothbrush as a grime removal device, and I would dash out to the 24/7 CVS around the corner and buy him a new one. In the rain. And then we would make out. After he brushed his teeth.


TWO DAYS AGO, I learned that the ex/boyfriend is coming down this coming weekend, and suddenly my using his toothbrush to neaten up and thereby spark a conversation I'm not prepared to have at this juncture became the Wrong Thing to Do. Standing in the bathroom, holding his now gray (and, again, strangely orange-colored) toothbrush, I immediately decided I had to buy him another toothbrush. While I’m at it, I thought, glancing at my own toothbrush, mine could stand to be replaced as well.

When I got to the CVS, I headed directly to the toothbrush section. Or as directly as anyone heads anywhere in CVS. I think it’s actually impossible to find what you’re looking for with any sort of alacrity, as there seems to be neither rhyme nor reason to drug store product placement. Regardless, I eventually found the toothbrushes, and it hit me: there are far too many toothbrush options.

Do I want a compact, regular, or full head? Do I want soft, medium, or firm bristles? Do I want a narrow handle that curves, or a bulbous monstrosity that couldn’t fit through my door, much less the holes in my toothbrush holder? Do I want it in normal red, deep red, bright red, or some shade in between? Do I want to do all the work myself, or do I want Dora the Explorer to do the work for me? Do I want my bristles to be of uniform material, length and direction, or do I want them to be a jumbled mess designed to hit every nook and cranny from every angle, massage my gums, and straighten my bottom teeth?

The problem with having this many choices for something like a toothbrush is that, through trial and error, you eventually figure out the exact type you prefer. The truth is that I’ve developed quite an attachment to a toothbrush that I think acknowledges the advancement in toothbrush technology, while still nodding at classic toothbrush design: the bristles are arranged in a ridged pattern, with a clump of longer bristles at the top to really get at those back teeth, and a patch of those blue bristles that let you know when it’s time to trade it in for a newer model. For a good two years, I’ve been able to find this toothbrush without fail, in my preferred blue no less, which I have considered a testament to my good taste.

(I've even been able to find it in red -- just plain red -- for the ex/boyfriend. Who, it bears mentioning, has the exact same toothbrush preferences as I do.)

That is, I was able to find that toothbrush without fail until today. Today I visited no less than three drugs stores in a fruitless attempt to find my preferred toothbrush, and ultimately wound up settling on these totally bland CVS brand disappointments in his and his navy and light blue.

All of which is to say, I’m stocking up on toothpaste.

Scoping a Disaster

YESTERDAY was the one year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina's landfall. The media commemorated the anniversary with stories that tried to parse out how much progress has been made thus far, whether there should have been more or less, and (depending on where you stand on that issue) who deserves the blame or praise. There was also a lot of commentary asking why the devastation on the Gulf Coast hasn't been bigger news over the course of the past year.

I've wondered about that as well, especially as we approach the five year anniversary of 9/11, which has been commemorated with two major motion pictures and countless TV specials. A lot of folks are quick to jump on the media (as if the media were a single person), and I do think that the fact that 9/11 took place in the nation's media hub is certainly pertinent.

I wonder, however, whether the disparity isn't primarily a result of the vastly different scopes of the two disasters. 9/11 happened fast, while we all watched, and although the motivations of someone who would murder for political purposes are hard to parse and fathom, 9/11 happened on a human scale. It was a human act, and if for that reason only, somehow more comprehensible. Katrina, on the other hand, was a series of catastrophes and failures in the face of an impersonal force of nature that took place over days.

I lived in New York City the summer after 9/11, down in the Financial District. When friends would come to visit, we would walk over to Ground Zero, through the vendors already selling memorabilia, and stare through the chainlink fence at the massive hole in the ground where the towers used to stand. The memories were fresh, but in a way they were contained and processed on the tip of Manhattan.

Katrina washed away tens of thousands of homes, wiping out entire neighborhoods and ripping apart communities. Everyone who comes back from New Orleans talks about the incomprehensible destruction. Where do you contain something like Katrina?

Ultimately, everything failed in New Orleans, the entire social fabric; in New York, the horror of that day was cut through with stories of hope and faith.

Maybe less has been said about Katrina because we just don't know what to say, because it's too big, too hard to understand. And maybe, on some level, we know that despite our very best efforts, disasters like Katrina are ultimately beyond our control, and that too is too difficult to accept.