Hi. I’m in love with you.

I’ve been watching you for years, wanting you, needing you. I remember when I first saw you, it was 5yrs ago. Do you remember? I was finishing my final year of school and you were a townie on that really great (bad) Dawson’s Creek spinoff Young Americans. You stepped onto the screen — shirtless, working @ the gas station and rowing a boat — and lit up my life. It was a moment that, thanks to the magic of BitTorrent, I relive every damn day. I’ve followed you for some time now, through all the failed sitcoms that neglected to feature you shirtless, through all the really bad straight-to-video (not even DVD!) flicks you were in, and I TIVO that Gilmore Girls shitfest on the WB everyweek even tho you’re not a regular character yet; I just pray each week to see you. Your body is a wonderland.

I love you, Matt Czuchry. Logan. Lover. Whatever. This distance between us only makes me realize how important you are to me. Ok, so you dated Kate Bosworth back in the day but I understand that you just needed to ride her overhyped ass b/c she was a starlet on the rise, and you needed the exposure, so it’s all good. The important thing is that we’re ready to be together now, together in the naked gymnastical sense. Let’s run away and have lots and LOTS of sex all the time. Baby, it’s yours — all yours, if you want it tonight I’ll give you the red light special all through the night. You bring that torso, I’ll bring the BBQ sauce. Underneath your clothes there’s an endless story. Call me. We can work it out.

Take off your shirt. TAKE OFF YOUR SHIRT. TAKE OFF YOUR FUCKING SHIRT.

A mismatched mess piled up all around me
Clutter I can’t seem to make fit
Leftover endeavors block the way to my door
Not quite so sure what I want anymore
I’m just not feeling this shit.
Remember at time when this all seemed right
For where I was at and who I was in my life
Strange how the things of which I never thought twice
Now strike me cold and don’t look so nice
So I try to recoop
Recollect and regroup
Would be easy if I just didn’t care
Junk away all I’ve got
Disinfect every spot
And breathe once this closet is bare.
Sorting through, sorting deep
What to burn what to keep
How the hell am I supposed to start?
This balance that I’m lacking
Wanna move forward and stop packing
Clear out some fresh space in my heart.
What I find holds me back from this
What I guess I’m scared to see,
Is once I’ve stripped all my cupboards bare
Of what offends and hurt me there:
What if nothing is left for me?

I really think that if ABC had not introduced the ladies of Desperate Housewives to the public? the general female (and possibly the gay male) population of America would have shriveled up and died. Now that the Sex & the City girls are out of their lives, women and homos in their late 20/30’s NEED sassy new role models the way Whitney Houston needs her crack. Those lameass folks who used to boast, “Oh God, I’m so Charlotte!” are now professing that they’re so Bree Van De Kamp. I like the show okay enough but I’m not really that wowed by it. What’s all the fuss about? I thought Lost was 100 times more interesting a show and it got like, half the press coverage and hype it deserved. A non-reality show about a bunch of total strangers trying to survive on spooky island like natives? And no one gets voted off, they just die. I love it. My favorite character was Sun, the oppressed but inspired Korean lady who finally lets go of her controlling traditional husband and embraces her own identity. That episode where she defies him for the first time and walks out onto the beach in the tank top he thought was inappropriate? I cried. Sun is the asian Miss Sofia from Color Purple.

Speaking of Sofia, now that I’ve finally become capable of tuning in guilt-free, I can no longer bring myself to watch Oprah After the Show. The desperate ambition of the women in the studio audience is too intense for me; it’s more than I can take. Every fucking star struck woman in the crowd is DETERMINED to get a hug and picture with The Oprah. Every single one. And the Oprah couldn’t be less interested, she refuses to make eye contact anymore. If you watch her, you’ll notice she only looks at the star guest, her production crew, or an off-camera assistant. She’ll ask a question relevant to the topic they just went over, like whether or not ppl tend to identify with Amy Fischer’s point of view, and then some girl always raises her hand and tries to be daughter of the year: “Hi, Oprah! This is my mom Cheryl, it’s her 56th birthday…” (you can see Oprah’s eyes go dead here) “…and she came all the way from Bulgaria to see your show today. It would make her day if you could just shake her hand.” Oprah doesn’t even hide her irritation anymore, she just sighs and is all, “Ok ok come up here real fast” and then the Bulgarian brings her 12 sisters and nieces onstage with her. And the 200 other ladies in the audience all want the same thing; you can just see it in their eyes. I can’t handle it anymore and neither can Oprah, I have to stop watching and she has to stop hosting. We’re getting homicidal crazy here.

I’ve gotten three emails from my webhost this month, the third one came today. They said I’ve gone over my 21GB monthly limit and I need to upgrade my bandwith, which means either a million ppl out there are hotlinking my sprite-personalized images (doubtful), or my visit counter at the bottom of this page is WAY off and lots more readers are checking out this page than I thought. I’m hoping for the latter. Funny, I signed up for this account on August 22nd, 2002 when I first got my computer and thought it’d be fun to build a website like the other really cool ones I’d read all day @ work. I used to read these blogs obsessively, the whole mood of my morning would be affected by whether or not they updated. Then I started and it became strangely important, necessary sometimes, and three years later I still have things I want to say and remember. I like the idea of keeping a log, proof that the things I experience really happen. You’re all witnesses, lurkers into my life.

So, I’m hanging out with a coolass kid tonight. I met Cal over Gay Pride weekend while he was searching for an apartment. His then-boyfriend — this sexy little fun-size Hawaiian hottie — was old (heh) friends with my boyfriend and that’s how we all knew each other. When they were getting him moved into town a month later, they crashed @ Jeff’s for the weekend and the four of us had a great time kicking it around town, seeing shows, having big dinners and parties, making friends, and getting to know each other. It was so cool hanging with the two of them; one older and one younger, just like me and mine. Then they broke up, and then we broke up. It was quick and out of nowhere for everyone, our experiences were different as night and day, but I felt happy and honored to have spent that time with them towards the end of things. Seeing them (and us, mirrored) happy and in love before things got different. Now we’re boyfriendless buddies, young strappin’ lads in this big exciting city; funny how ppl end up in your path. Though I don’t really know him that well, I feel like he knows and respects a section of my life that I really cherish, so it just makes me appreciate his friendship. I’m looking forward to hanging out a lot with him. We’re going to see Trailer Park tonight and I can’t fucking wait! Bring on the beer cans and the pink flamingo law ornaments.

My new 27″ TV came today. I had a great 19″ Magnavox already and I don

OK. As much as I’d like to encourage the flattering confusion, let’s clear something up.

Much to my dismay, I am not one of the buff guys from the Frat Divas entry that I posted damn near 2yrs ago. I can’t tell you how many random IM’s I get from ppl who found those video clips while googling frat boy porn: Ohmigod u r soooo qt! Yr videoz r hawt! Hehe! before they thrust into a lame proposition that “we should meat! Hehe!” Look, I don’t know who those guys actually are, ok? I think I read somewhere that they were drunken dorm kids from Texas A&M or something, but I don’t really know. The video clips are hilarious and the guys are really fucking hot, whereas I am only occassioanlly semi-amusing (sometimes accidentally funny) and really not that hot. Not sure how there’s any confusion about it, but I get dozens IM’s about this every other day.

Think about it, winners. Look at the bigass deer-in-the-headlights shot of my anime face at the top of this page and let’s be honest: do I look like one of those boys? If I looked like one of those boys do you think I’d even have a blog? Shit, I wouldn’t even much know what a blog is. I’d be too busy having sex with myself to find out. And that’s just the way it should be.

Um, incidentally? if anyone actually does know who the frat divas are, please feel free to IM me with their names, numbers, and home addresses… just so we can get this confusion sorted out.

As I’ve said, I’m straightup spiraling deep into obsessive love with all things Podcast. In addition to A Gay in the Life and Zophras, one of my NEW favorite Podcasts is Fox In the City. I have crazy love for this show, restraining order kind of love. It’s hosted by Ragan Fox, one of the funniest fags I’ve heard in a long time. Apparently he’s a realass author/poet/performance artist with legit credit to his name, and I’ve gotta find out where he performs cuz although his screechy, lispy, foul-mouthed, off-the-cuff humor is hardly anything groundbreaking (I think Mario Cantone is only kind of funny)? it’s damn hysterical. For those not really onboard the Podcast Love Train (fine, I’ll ride alone) you can read follow his daily — ugh, I can’t believe I’m about to link to one of these — LiveJournal here, but I’m telling you, the show is funny. He takes shit to new heights of bitchdom on his podcast, complete with sound effects, voicemail playback commentary, and Top 40 hits remixes with gay lyrics. You haven’t truly backed that thing up till you’ve broken it down to Snoop Dogg’s “Drop It Like It’s Hot” overdubbed with Ragan Fox rapping “Fuck Me In the Ass”.

His entry about his love/hate for Star Jones (”Star Jones does not eat diet pills, she eats people who eat diet pills.”) had me ROLLING at my computer desk. There are 70 episodes to download. Go listen and laugh and piss yourself. I’ll wait here.

UPDATE: I just watched some online clips from one of his performances and the guy is truly amazing. There’s a whole other level to his work. His spoken word essay-like poetry is sharp, emotional, and — dare I say it? — feirce. Wow, not a one-trick pony. I’m liking.

I know I’m about 100 years late to the game but I’m getting all caught up in this Podcast shit. One of my favorite podcasts at the moment is A Gay In the Life, voiced by a happy Houston highschooler named Eddie Perez (who also blogs). He approaches his Podcast in a radio-like format with special appearances by his “handsomely hung boyfriend” Brandon, updates every day, and even has a listener phone line, which just cracks me up. Another one I just can’t get enough of is Zophras, hosted by an adorable Irish teenager named Jesse. It’s a shy, more softspoken podcast but he shares a lot in his entries, and he totally turned me on to Beethoven’s “Piano Sonata No. 14 in C Sharp Minor”. The weird part about this that I pretty much NEVER follow the wannabe-fabulous/poorly written blogs of opressed teen gays stuck in socially desolate lands (that’s what, practically every other LiveJournal?), but there’s something fascinating about listening to the actual voice of total stranger; the akward changes in their speech rhythm, the patterns they breath and build in as they talk and intone about nothing in particular. Now, I’ve done

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on this site before but podcasting is different; its lucid, untried, and freshly straightforward in a way that am not able to be. Kinda makes me want to hear more of what they have to say. Both of the boys shouted me out on their podcasts the other day, and with my track record of putting up random bloggers, I’m sure they’ll be crashing on my futon soon enough.

Meanwhile, I’m obsessed with this new show Starved. I love that someone has developed an entire series about people with eating disorders — and made it funny. And disturbing. It’s also funny and disturbing how Kathy Griffin’s reality show The D List is basically The Comeback with less of a budget and on a sub-par network. The irony ain’t so subtle, man. Irony fucking walked into my room and slapped me across the face.

Did anyone see Battle of the Network Reality Stars on Bravo the other day? I tuned in to watch my dawg Melissa in more reality action but ended up totally transfixed by Coral’s gigantic boobs. Sweet Lord no wonder she’s so fucking tough, she’s had to defy gravity all her life with those things! Thank God she and Melissa are in the lineup cuz despite the deliciously fucked up cast they jumbled together, this show looks damn boring. I’m really just tuning in to catch Ryan Starr have a breakdown and scream, “This is like American Idol all over again!”. A few questions though — does Omarosa’s hair move? Does her face move? And is Nikki McKibbin drunk already? She always looks like she just had a beer. Both Melissa and Will (and the unnaturally beautiful TJ, who we all drooled over last month, and who I also couldn’t stop touching) came to a BBQ party I threw recently and dished out some serious backyard shit about the show — she’s recapping on her blog, go catch up!

Oh, I found Jared Leto. Turns out he was up on the roof the whole time. And apparently he’s packing plenty of heat. Um yeah, the roof is on fire and I’m totally fine with that. Jared, you’re so beautiful it hurts to look at you. Now take off your pants.

I’m fully aware that this blog sucks lately, by the way. My posts bounce between weak and unrelevant to boring and way too serious, I guess I’m just not really in the groove. Maybe that’s why I’m fascinated by everyone else out there these days. Seasonal changes, maybe. I’m looking forward to the fall. Changes. Strong gusts of wind. Thick layers. I’m getting ready.

Despite the luckluster wash on this blog, some crazy bitch out there has been ripping my entries and reposting them as her own. I noticed I was getting linked to from some random site (which is normal) so I went to check it out, expecting to find another “I found this cute wesbite today by Chris in New york City…” kind of entry. Instead I type in her url and on her front page was a picture of my G’ma — from that entry, followed by a literal cut-n-paste of the post I did about her funeral… except she said it was her grandma. What the FUCK?! I began combing through her archives — didn’t have go look too far — and found that this girl actually constructed her entire Blogspot journal with stolen content and images from me, Melissa, and Kyle. The three of us each have a very distinct tone in our writing and I recognized the entries right away. And she took things that couldn’t possibly have been about her life anyway; Kyle’s original artwork, Melissa’s Real World entries, and even my Bio and cancer stories. The really scary part was that even tho she’d blatantly bootlegged us (it wasn’t like she credited us), she still went into each story and changed details like names and locations and replaced them with different cities and people. Why would you DO something like that? What would be the point? I was furious about the entry she took about my G’ma and I thought about blowing the whistle on her to all of the fan-type folk who read and like my site, who could go jam her comments with so many mean messages that we’d either shut down her server, or she’d remove the entries out of shame. But I’d prefer her blog to remain the way it is: UNREAD. I took the high road (shot a monster email to Google about it — subject title: THEFT OF COPYRIGHT-PROTECTED CONTENT AND IMAGES), Kyle took the low road (sent his army of flying monkeys), and we got to Scotland before her: within an hour, her blog was shut down. It’s the little victories, right?

Work has been going really great. I’m suprised at the power they give me to make things happen at the hotel! It’s fun! I love what I do, it’s such a fun jo and I’d love to talk a LOT more about it and tell you all about the INSANE celebrity encounters that go down every damn day, but Starwood is a huge company and really I don’t want to end up like that girl who’s blogging got her fired. So all I’ll say is that I fucking love my job, I leave at the end of every day with a feeling of accomplishment and pride; feels really good to have something productive to focus my time and energy on. All of my friends lately are working towards something, and me? I’m not sure yet. It’s weird being in this city, 26yrs old, and unsure of what I’m gonna do next. I’m looking for things that matter to me. It’s an exciting and frustrating time. Till then I’m just busying myself with little projects around my apartment. Every day I come home and work on something, clean out a closet or a cabinet, reorganize a section, upgrade something, scrub something out. I upgraded to that Triple Play cable package and I just love it. I’m @ the gym more, too. Accomplishing what, I’m not sure but I’m just trying to make a habit of going. The theme up in here is to work on the things around me and by doing so, do some work on myself. Never a bad thing. I was browsing through my old archives the other day and found this excerpt from an entry last November:

I’m thankful that no matter how offmark I get, I always find a way back to who I am. The versions of me change, and sometimes I momentarily self-downgrade, but I never stay lost for too long.

Hmm. You know how sometimes you turn around and are happy to see where you’re at, how you’re coming along — and other ppl are able to see it too? That’s where I wanna go next. And this is like, the in-between place. Or something.

UPDATE: the new kid playing my role in Altar Boyz looks like he could be my twin. No, he seriously does. And he’s from Houston. God hates me.

The bug man comes to my place every 3 months or so, when the realities of a NYC apartment get to be a little too real and gritty for me to deal with. In the winter we New Yorkers battle mice and in the summertime we deal with bugs. It’s gross but it’s humid out and it’s sticky and that’s just the way things work here, plus I have serious hardwood floors so this can be a big problem. (That’s a link to old pictures, by the way. Now try to imagine havoc wreaked by a hyperactive puppy). My building should take care of exterminating but they never do and I just don’t have the energy to hunt the super down every day, so I just call Carlos @ License-to-Kill and he comes to kill the bugs. He usually kills my vibe too.

Carlos is mean to me, y’all. He can’t just show up and spray the place, he’s got to verbalize his actual disgust with the bugs and his disdain for my allowing them to exist within my walls. Like I just allow them, like it’s a nonstop party with me and the bugs till he gets there to break it all up. I’ll be in the other room, at the computer, and I’ll hear “OH MY GOD! Chris, come here! Come in here and look at this. This is disgusting.” Begrudgingly I’ll go back into the kitchen and he’ll be pointing at a nook or cranny, all exasperated,”Look! Look at how many hide there! Look at that! Look! It’s disgusting, huh?”
“Yeah, thanks. Can you spray now?”
“You have to throw out your garbage and don’t leave dirty dishes.”
“Uh-huh. Just let me know when you’re done.”
“You can’t live with infestation like this,” he’ll say, shaking his head. “For real, it’s not good. See how bad it is? See?”
“I know, that’s why I called you.”
“These bugs don’t come b/c of the heat, they come b/c you let them.”
“Right.”
“This is worse than I ever saw. I think maybe I should come back in 2 weeks.”
“Fine, Carlos.”
“It’s really gross with all these bugs, man.”

I pay this man to berate me. What the hell? At the end of Carlos’ visits, my apartment is covered in potent a poison that leaves swarms of feisty roaches dwindling, crawling and fighting to stay alive. My self-esteem struggles to survive with them. Ashes ashes we all fall down. It’s kind of tragic.

But my apartment is really clean afterwards.

No, I haven’t spent the past week locked up in my room sobbing along to the chorus of “I’ll Be” by Edwin McCain on loop (although it’s tempting: “… and IIIIIII’ll be better when I’m older, I’ll be the greatest fan of your liiiiiiiiiiiife.” and if you don’t cry when you hear it, you have no soul). I won’t front — it’s tempting to just let myself be sucked into the whole breakup vortex, but Jamiroquai told me there’s nothing left for me to do but dance off these bad times I’m going through. Canned heat in my heels and whatnot. This boogie is for real. You guys know the drill. Napoleon Dynamite forever. Life presses on… just a little less shiny lately. But I’m ok. Having absolutely no regrets helps a lot. Thanks for the emails and the sweet messages. I’m always amazed by how many people follow the things I share and sometimes take the time to shout me out with some kind words of encouragement. Shit, even the hate mail is well-written.

I went to a bullshit reality TV party yesterday. Remember that blogger I introduced ya’ll to way back when? Apparently his blog caught on pretty damn well cuz a Bravo producer found it, loved him, and cast him (with the apartment and clean roomates in tow) as the focus of the next Queer Eye for the Gay Guy. Yes, this is the world I live in — folks tell me they love my website, I enourage them to create one of their own, and then they became famous while I heat up microwave tacquitos that I bought from Target for $4. See now it sounds like I’m a hater, lemme start this over.

So, my friend was filming all week with the Fab Five, getting setup on dates (which he doesn’t actually need help getting) and getting free clothes and electronics and cameratime (which I actually wouldn’t mind getting). He called me from his newly beautified apartment after it was all done to give me the scoop on what secretly happened (i.e. how useless Jai Rodriguez really is) and of course I ate it all up. It’s so cool that it’s happened but also kind of a joke b/c it’s all set on the premise that he’s a boring homo in need of assistance on how to be well rounded. Anyway, they threw him this big party @ 60 Thompson and I went afterwork. It was the weirdest thing and I’m hesitant to even call it an experience b/c it’s actually not mine to have, I was just observing as an outsider. I had to sign waivers to get in and some guy with a clipboard kept herding everyone up and reshuffling us throughout the room so it would look bigger than it was, I was asked not to stand against the bar b/c it was dark paneled and so were my clothes and they wanted me against something light. I talked to this guy named Adriel, who was sent there by the producers. to be an extra. at the party… for somebody he hadn’t even met before. This kid went through FIVE audition/callbacks with different Queer Eye producers and was told he’d definately be on the show and meet the fab five and give relationship advice and that network just loved him — he like, got up excited that morning and probably called his mom and got a haircut and a tan, thinking he was gonna be famous. Instead he was sitting there talking to my jaded ass, and although I felt kinda bad for him? all I kept thinking was This is why I’m not an actor anymore.

When my friend showed up, the crew swarmed around him while he made this speech that was cute but didn’t really sound like him cuz obviously he was miked and nervous and looking at a room full of unnaturally good-looking people. I was proud of him for just going with it the way he had been all week, enjoying it and trying to be as normal as possible. My ass would have been trying to make everything funny and sensational, but he and his cameras worked the room like a pro, which I’m sure Jai will try to take credit for when they’re all rewatching the footage from the Queer Loft, then he came over to my and my bad hair day and we had a totally weird conversation that wasn’t real at all and I’m sure won’t air. I briefly considered shoving him against the wall and making out, playing it up like I was an exboyfriend who was nervous about seeing him but totally wanted to get back together; yeah I perused the drama but decided against it. This was his day and I was bystander. I noticed everyone stood around looking for the cameras a lot, smiling and doing their best to look engaged in mid-conversations… these were the people looking as bored as I was before the star boy arrived. Reality TV isn’t really as cool as it seems when you’re watching it happen live; amazing what background music, editing, and a rough storyline will do. It’ll be fun to see his story when it airs.

Of course you are all encouraged to disregard my snide commentary and full-on watch my reality show when it blasts onto the scene. What is a blog anyway but a cyber extension of reality TV? We write, you read, and everybody stays tuned. But no, I’m talking about the one they’re shopping around the industry about NYC concierges and other adventurers in the service industry. Yes, it’s actually being discussed, yes they’re talking to my hotel, the Hudson kids too, and YES my name is out there (did you really think I’d let the opportunity slip by?!) so consider yourselves warned. This young sprite may just make that inevitable screen-to-screen jump from your computer to your TV right before your eyes. Don’t stop watching me, winners. For the love of Adriel, you couldn’t if you even tried.

OK, fine. Reality: I’ve been listening to that damn anthem on loop, cuz it’s catchy and sincere and I’m overidentifying. But only for now. Only for now.