palmerpink

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 i...

My bikeride to work yesterday was unusually...colorful, to say the least. I passed two weird-ass characters en route, and had to share the experience. First was a junkie/schizo version of Whoopi Goldberg trundling up the sidewalk with some mass of plastic bags, possibly containing more plastic bags or some other stuff. We will likely never know. Anyway, as she steps aside so I can pass, we make polite eye contact, and she mumbles--with a slightly unhinged but still informative air of propheticism--"Same old shit...justa diffrunt day...." She said this directly, as though it were some vital life lesson, deadly serious. Very  not what I'd expect form good ole Whoopi. A bit later, I'm passing mattress Warehouse and happen upon a stereotypical witch-type. Craggy, somewhat gnarled face; light, faded, fluffy hair; tiny and scrawny; apparently using one of those wire push-carts as a walker, just hobbling along minding her own business. But--dude--she looked an...