Easy lessons.

What I did all weekend:

Well...more or less. Hee.

Step 1: Party
Step 2: Eat
Step 3: Sleep
Step 4: Repeat.

What I learned-
-The entymology of 'minger'
-That dogs will check to see if you're dead when you've been lying prone on the floor for more than 20 minutes
-Kids will do anything to win at Guitar Hero
-Eating and not exercising will make you fat.

Bucket listing.

Today I was going to write about my wack ass dream that involved being about to marry a seriously older butch lesbian then backing out at the last minute and running away 'Graduate' style to make movies with Kevin Smith and ended with Dee-lite singing the end credits to my new life as an indie movie queen ("Groove is in the Heart")-then I read John Mayer's blog. (and also decided to stop eating so much Mexican food)

Bravo sir.

FROM THE HEART....
I need to write this.
I've been traveling alone in Japan for the better part of three weeks now, and It's been so remarkable an experience for me that I can't book a ticket home yet. I haven't spoken very much out loud these days, but I've been thinking to myself in what feels like surround sound.
I can see so many things clearly, and feel so connected to myself and the world around me that I need to share the perspective with you.I'm already aware that when I sing, say or write anything, 50 percent of the response will be in support of it and the other 50 will want to discount it. This blog, though, is directed to 100 percent of people reading it. If my blog truly does have any cultural effect, then it should be used for more than just pictures of sneakers and funny youtube videos. (If you don't think my blog has any effect, than you can't by definition be reading this right now and therefore don't have to respond to it in any way. Isn't that tidy?)
What I'm about to write isn't about fame or success or celebrity or the media. That's my business.

This is about us all.

This is about a level of self consciousness so high in my generation, that it's actually toxic. This is about the girl in her bedroom who poses in front of the camera she's awkwardly holding in her outstretched hand. She'll take a hundred photos until coming up with one she's happy with, which inevitably looks nothing like her, and after she's done poring over images of herself, will post one on her myspace page and then write something like " I don't give a f*ck what you think about me."

This is about the person trying out for American Idol, who while going off about how confident they are that they were born ready to sing in front of the world, are trembling so badly they can hardly breathe.

This is about me, the guy who walks through a throng of photographers into a restaurant like he's Paul Newman, but who leaves a "reject" pile of clothes in his closet so high that his cleaning lady can't figure out how one man can step into so many pairs of pants in a week.

This is about a young guy who maintains a celebrity blog that subsists on tearing other people down but who has wrestled with a lifelong battle for acceptance as a gay man.

This is about us all. Every one of us. Who all seem to know deep down that it's incredibly hard to be alive and interact with the world around us but will try and cover it up at any cost. For as badass and unaffected as we try to come off, we're all just one sentence away from being brought to the edge of tears, if only it was worded right. And I don't want to act immune to that anymore. I took the biggest detour from myself over the past year, since I decided that I wasn't going to care about what people thought about me. I got to the point where I had so much padding on that, sure, I couldn't feel the negativity, but that's because I couldn't feel much of anything. And I think I'm done with that. I'm not the first person to admit we're all self conscious, Kanye was.

But what I want to do is to shed a little light on why we're all in the same boat, no matter the shape of the life we lead: because every one of us were told since birth that we were special. We were spoken to by name through a television. We were promised we could be anything that we wanted to be, if only we believed it and then, faster than we saw coming, we were set loose into the world to shake hands with the millions of other people who were told the exact same thing. And really? Really? It turns out we're just not all that special, when you break it down. Beautifully unspectacular, actually. And that truth is going to catch up with us whether we want to run from it or not. The paparazzo following me to the gym ain't gonna be Herb Ritts and the guy he's following ain't gonna be Bob Dylan. It's just a matter of how old you are once you embrace that fact. And for me, 30 sounds about right. What now, then? I can only really say for myself:
Enjoy who I am, the talents and the liabilities. Stop acting careless. In fact, care more.
Be vulnerable but stay away from where it hurts. Read. See more shows. Of any kind. Rock shows, art shows, boat shows. Create more art. Wear hoodies to dinner. Carry a notebook and hand it to people when they passionately recommend something and ask them to write it down for me.

Root for others.

Give more and expect the same in return, but over time.

Act nervous when I'm nervous, puzzled when I don't know what the hell to do, and smile when it all goes my way. And never in any other order than that.

And when it's all over, whether at the end of this fabulous career or of this life, which I hope takes place at the same time, I should look back and say that I had it good and I made the most of it while I was able. And so should you.

I'm going quiet now.

John

Currently obcessed with: Esthero (a little Pink / a little Duffy-a whole lotta good)

postscript

PS. Apologies to the Virgos. Look, my best friend is a Virgo. We get along splendidly-but only because she's gotten over that craptacular trait of over-analysis. She lives her life the way she wants to live it and has given up adhering to any set of rules or self-regulated systems OR judging others. I have other really good, beautiful friends who are Virgos. But there are ALSO several people who just ANNOY, irritate and piss me off to no end-and they all happen to be Virgoan, anal retentive, over analytical, hyper-sensitive, yet incredibly rude and insensitive to others. THEY all call their actions, "honesty"-I call it "a fucked up justification to be mean."

This is the way I pick a shirt:
Q: Which shirt do you like better? Blue or red?
A: Blue.
Q: Why?
A: I like blue.

The way Virgos pick a shirt:
Q: Which shirt do you like better? Blue or red?
A: Well...ok, see I have a pair of khakis that would go good with red, but usually I only wear blue. I mean, what KIND of blue? Navy? Teal? And I mean, is the red a blue-red or an orange-red? There are so many things that go well with blue-and like-the other day I saw this blue shirt at Banana Republic and it was SUCH the wrong shade of blue. I mean like a weird grey-blue? And it was this funny fabric. Oh speaking of, what are these shirts made out of? Silk? Linen? I mean, I already have 5 blue shirts, but if this one is a cool cut-like a v-neck? Oh, is it a name brand? Cause I have a Gap shirt-it's from two seasons ago, but it's still in style, cause I mostly buy classics. It's cute right? I'd love a Prada shirt though. But not from the Resort collection, from the main Fall collection-and only in blue or black. Or Gucci maybe, to go with my capris. Where am I going to wear this shirt to?
Q: BLUE OR RED?!?!

PPS. I know 'syncopation' has an 'N' in it. Spelling errors corrected.

Aweso-

So I'm going to have to redact part of what I wrote yesterday. Mainly cause, well-you guys have been subject to me jumping the gun, yet again. I'm fine-but in trying to prepare myself for the worst, I've also been trying to assume the worst. About a fantastic, fascinating, caring, sexy person. I dunno why I have this fatalistic quality to my inner life. All or nothing. I'll say it real loud:

S-O-R-R-Y! (mostly to Squirrelmonk)

Especially the bad poetry. I mean, rhyming couplets?! WTF.

But I'll tell you what I've learned. One of the friends I've added to my life in the last year has been my mutual accompanist (that's her self-appointed title), Coty. She's a truly amazing person as well as musician. First of all, Coty is a kick-ass opera Allstar. She has exquisite control over her angelic voice and sings with so much artistic integrity that she's made me cry on more than a few occasions. She also coaches privately, works full time at a school during the day and flies cross country to audition for opera companies. Coty is the definition of an incredible person. (oh yeah, she hires me for performances too-and would pay me if I didn't refuse)

During our coaching session on Monday, Coty started recounting some things that had made her upset during the past week. Namely, some jerks backing out on her on an upcoming performance that she's producing. And she had to deal with all the repercussions, including false accusations and doubt. But here, was her blessed, blessed response.

"Whatever. I mean, I'm awesome!"

And I was shocked, not by the simple fact-'cause Coty is pretty frickin' awesome-but by her own self admission. I believed her. And not only that, didn't judge her as arrogant or delusional. It was a really authentic self-analysis. In that moment, Coty joined my hero list. Here is this woman, who respects others, strives for excellence in herself and her students, teaches, performs and heads up a blossoming East Bay arts club. And she reminded me, that if she believes in herself, I can too. So that's where I stand.

Undefined by my culture, ethnicity, gender or my relationships.

Centered by my inner self.

That little happy Glinda bubble of awesoME.

Cause face it, without ME it's just aweso-.

"Sex without love has its place, and it's pretty cool, but when you have it hand in hand with deep commitment and respect and caring, it's nine thousand times better."

George Carlin's 27 Things I've Learned - from January 2002

The Sixth Sign

he wrote a song today

and it wasn't about me or us.

it was for her.

and it makes me sad. to again be playing the third wheel. and it makes me mad. because i didn't chose this. it appeared and i went with it. i was so happy before god, really happy and content. why throw me this curve ball now? karma for all the guys i didn't date? fuckyou. she's hurting and in pain, i know. but i didn't chose things to happen to her or to him. fortunately i can chose things to happen to me.

maybe it's better to say goodbye now.

than to always be second most important.

i'm not asking for a resolution
cause I can make my own solutions
i'm not a victim of circumstance

but i asked you for your patience,
your truth and mere existence
would have given you the same

she's more than just your friend
can scarcely begin
to explain the sycopation t'ween the two

it's the path of least resistance
can't fight time or all your distance
call me coward if you may

so this might be farewell
it'll be your tale to tell
of the precious gift i gave that got away.

tell me this. why is always the Virgos?

How FB has infiltrated my idea of reality.

JASON ROBERT BROWN

STARTED

a game of Scramble with me. My life is fucking complete.

...he's leading of course.

Be and just breathe.

via Gala Darling, Nubby Twiglet’s post on
It’s Not About Them, It’s About You: How To Keep A Positive Perspective in Your Life

Amazing really. Sometimes all it takes is one person to tell you that everything you’re doing in life is OK. That for one moment; the only person you ever have to listen to is yourself.

Tying that into what I’m listening to right now. The best new musical Tony winner, ‘In the Heights’.

Now, my knowledge of Spanish is elementary at best, but I don’t need any of that to understand that Lin-Manuel Miranda’s musical has a new form and function for the Broadway musical and best of all-heart. So many of the new musicals coming out are snarky and ironic at best. They take an already existing art form and either mock it or try to write a loosely contrived script around the songs of one particular artist. (‘Jersey Boys’ is probably a rare exception, but only because the story doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the songs, so the songs become a background soundtrack)
When it started, ‘In the Heights’ was seen as too hip-hop, too ethnically and location specific, but the critics forgot one thing. Stories about people are universal. Whether you’re from Sarajevo or Maui or Pakistan, you can relate to people trying to live poor and having dreams bigger than they think they’re entitled to.
This is one of those amazing shows and dreams come true that shows that being yourself is practically perfect…in every way.

Oh and by the way? The music rocks.

“They are all counting on me to succeed
I am the one who made it out
The one who always made the grade
But maybe I should've just stayed home...
When I was a child I stayed wide awake, climbed to the highest place,
on every fire escape, restless to climb” - Breathe

Where is my child? The one who yearned for adventure; who cared less if people followed her than if she was free. Who climbed to the top of the rocks-more interested in the climb than the view from the top. The woman I was just a scant two months ago. Who went to bed easy-not restless and scared. Who delighted in freedom. Who didn’t care.

Am I being what I’m not,
So hell bent on being what she’s not?
Are we aren’t
To be who we wish we could be?
Holding back,
To hold onto what we see
As an answer
To our loneliness

Everytime I don’t pick up my phone
When I want to hear your voice
It’s cause I want you in the end.
But if the only person in the end
Is who I am
Who am I to deny what and who is?

Borrowing a friend
Who should be a lover
Is hard to do
When there’s understanding in the way.
I’m falling fast and wondering if I should.