For some bizarre reason, lately I have had friends and co-workers tell me that some guy is checking me out or looking me over or whatever. Personally, I think it's nonsense. For example, a recent conversation I had with my boss (over lunch at George on Queen East) went something like this -
Boss: Do you get that a lot?
Me: Do I get what a lot? The lima bean salad?
Boss: No. Attention.
Me: What kind of attention?
Boss: Attention from the boys.
Me: Ummm, no? Why?
Boss: Our waiter was checking you out.
Me: Really? I didn't notice.
Boss: He was being pretty obvious.
Me: Well, I'm pretty oblivious. I don't usually notice getting any attention from girls either, and I'm actually looking for that!
I really am completely oblivious. Advice to gay waiters: unless my soup comes with your cock in it, I'm probably not going to catch on. For your sake, you better hope I order the gazpacho.
So, as surprised as I am to hear this kind of comment, I imagine any of my gay friends who may be reading this have been stunned insensate as I'm the kind of guy who rarely pings a false-positive on anyone's gaydar - and in the case of any confusion, a strategic I collect comic books usually sorts things out.
This is not to say that I might not strike up an amiable conversation with a confused gay waiter if it meant getting a better table at a good restaurant. No soup for me though, I'll stick with the lima bean salad.
8.31.2008
8.27.2008
36 and still single? Fuck you, Facebook.
A long-time Facebook hold-out, I finally got around to registering earlier this week - mainly to keep in touch with some people I've met through a very good friend of mine who has moved to Vancouver.
As I'm sure I don't need to tell all six-billion of you conformist sheep, a small unobtrusive ad typically runs just to the left of any profile you happen to be viewing. Sometimes this is an invitation to join a Facebook group. Mostly, drawing on the demographic information you provide, you see ads that are more-or-less specifically aimed at you.
Clearly Facebook has decided I'm one pathetic mook. Half the ads I see are for dating services, telling you how to get girls or find hot women over 30 in Toronto. Gee, thanks a lot. I guess finding a hot chick under 30 simply isn`t in the cards, though I can`t decide if this is just Facebook being moralistic or pragmatic. Plus, who clicks on an ad that gives you shit for being 36 and still single? When did my Mom start working for Facebook?
Most of the rest of the ads are for fitness equipment, gym memberships, dietary supplements, hair removal and contact lenses. Oh, the postive affirmation just keeps on coming.
Fuck you, Facebook.
As I'm sure I don't need to tell all six-billion of you conformist sheep, a small unobtrusive ad typically runs just to the left of any profile you happen to be viewing. Sometimes this is an invitation to join a Facebook group. Mostly, drawing on the demographic information you provide, you see ads that are more-or-less specifically aimed at you.
Clearly Facebook has decided I'm one pathetic mook. Half the ads I see are for dating services, telling you how to get girls or find hot women over 30 in Toronto. Gee, thanks a lot. I guess finding a hot chick under 30 simply isn`t in the cards, though I can`t decide if this is just Facebook being moralistic or pragmatic. Plus, who clicks on an ad that gives you shit for being 36 and still single? When did my Mom start working for Facebook?
Most of the rest of the ads are for fitness equipment, gym memberships, dietary supplements, hair removal and contact lenses. Oh, the postive affirmation just keeps on coming.
Fuck you, Facebook.
8.26.2008
The Final Battle
It occurs to me that my description - "thirty-something urban dweller" - could reasonably be shortened to T.Ur.D. It further occurs to me that this sets up a natural grudge match with another acronymic sewer-loving city-dweller, namely the C.H.U.D. or Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dweller. Frankly, I'd put my money on the cannibals. A hungry monster is a crafty monster.
The rest of my description is the obnoxiously pretentious phrase "knowledge worker", which really just means I'm a thinking man's wage slave. In that spirit, I propose the slang term kno' ho', mainly so I can run around saying annoying stuff like I'm a kno' ho' fo' sho'. I really think that one could catch on. I'm heading to Urban Dictionary right now.
Watch out for the C.H.U.Ds.
The rest of my description is the obnoxiously pretentious phrase "knowledge worker", which really just means I'm a thinking man's wage slave. In that spirit, I propose the slang term kno' ho', mainly so I can run around saying annoying stuff like I'm a kno' ho' fo' sho'. I really think that one could catch on. I'm heading to Urban Dictionary right now.
Watch out for the C.H.U.Ds.
Fight Club
Taking this blog on an immediate left turn into celebrity trash hell, US Weekly has confirmed that former porn vixen Jenna Jameson and long-term boyfriend mixed martial arts fighter Tito Ortiz are expecting. The phrase that comes to mind is "genetic slam-dancing". Trailer parks across America must be breaking out in celebration. It's like the 21st century version of the birth of a white buffalo, a sacred sign for the lowest common denominator set.
Have you seen pics of these two? Ortiz is scary big and Jameson is just plain scary in a used-up ex-porn star kinda way. The kid will probably grow up beating the shit out of people or fucking the shit out of people. I smell a presidential bid.
Have you seen pics of these two? Ortiz is scary big and Jameson is just plain scary in a used-up ex-porn star kinda way. The kid will probably grow up beating the shit out of people or fucking the shit out of people. I smell a presidential bid.
8.25.2008
Opening Bell
No one sits down to write a blog anymore. People sit down with visions of writing the next Stuff White People Like or Daily K-OS, landing seven-figure creative deals, and going on Oprah. Friends, if your goal is to conquer Washington or Hollywood, nowadays you need a hook because another political blog or music blog or gossip blog just ain't gonna cut it.
So what have I got? What am I doing that hasn't been done before?
Buddy, this thing is on Blogger, home to the masses. I've got about zero chance of being noticed; I might as well be standing on a box using sign language at a clown convention. I got nothing. I'm not doing one damn thing someone else hasn't done before and probably better. I will at least try to be funny. People tell me I`m hilarious; of course, they`re usually tripping balls at that point.
With that, let me segue to two staples of the blogging scene: political commentary and gory personal story.
Biden? Really?
Somehow, I managed to space on this announcement. I sort of tuned out of politics for the summer, tired of the Democratic primary fight. Personally, I wanted to see Bill Richardson get the veep nod on an all-"We Absolve You of Your White Guilt" ticket or, prior to the revelations, John "Love Child" Edwards. Dude, your wife has cancer. This is what we call "bad press".
I don't dislike Biden so let's hope he can keep the gaffes to a minimum.
As for McCain, I keep hoping there is an unknown Governor Fruit Punch out there because "Catch the Taste" is a slogan that would surely guarantee victory for the Republicans. Apologies to non-Canadians who don't get that joke.
Gory Personal Revelation #1
I have this bruise on my leg that just won't go away. I had an appointment this morning with a dermatologist, a sprightly middle-aged Chinese lady who decided it would be a good idea to proceed with an unscheduled biopsy and sundry other tests.
I leave her office stitched up and with a clear adhesive dressing over the wound. Since I'm downtown anyway, I decide it would be a good idea to do some shopping. So, I'm in Winners - where I might add I got a great Buffalo hoodie for like $25 bucks - when I notice I've popped a stitch and blood is leaking down my leg. I further notice that people are appalled. Apparently, I did not get the memo about accidentally bleeding in public.
I go ask the girl at the register for a tissue and she hands me a roll of toilet paper, saying they don't have anything else. Winners, for god's sake, get your staff some frigging Kleenex. Don't do it for the random strangers and public bleeders, do it for your employees. Blowing your nose into one-ply toilet paper is gross. Talk about catching the taste.
So what have I got? What am I doing that hasn't been done before?
Buddy, this thing is on Blogger, home to the masses. I've got about zero chance of being noticed; I might as well be standing on a box using sign language at a clown convention. I got nothing. I'm not doing one damn thing someone else hasn't done before and probably better. I will at least try to be funny. People tell me I`m hilarious; of course, they`re usually tripping balls at that point.
With that, let me segue to two staples of the blogging scene: political commentary and gory personal story.
Biden? Really?
Somehow, I managed to space on this announcement. I sort of tuned out of politics for the summer, tired of the Democratic primary fight. Personally, I wanted to see Bill Richardson get the veep nod on an all-"We Absolve You of Your White Guilt" ticket or, prior to the revelations, John "Love Child" Edwards. Dude, your wife has cancer. This is what we call "bad press".
I don't dislike Biden so let's hope he can keep the gaffes to a minimum.
As for McCain, I keep hoping there is an unknown Governor Fruit Punch out there because "Catch the Taste" is a slogan that would surely guarantee victory for the Republicans. Apologies to non-Canadians who don't get that joke.
Gory Personal Revelation #1
I have this bruise on my leg that just won't go away. I had an appointment this morning with a dermatologist, a sprightly middle-aged Chinese lady who decided it would be a good idea to proceed with an unscheduled biopsy and sundry other tests.
I leave her office stitched up and with a clear adhesive dressing over the wound. Since I'm downtown anyway, I decide it would be a good idea to do some shopping. So, I'm in Winners - where I might add I got a great Buffalo hoodie for like $25 bucks - when I notice I've popped a stitch and blood is leaking down my leg. I further notice that people are appalled. Apparently, I did not get the memo about accidentally bleeding in public.
I go ask the girl at the register for a tissue and she hands me a roll of toilet paper, saying they don't have anything else. Winners, for god's sake, get your staff some frigging Kleenex. Don't do it for the random strangers and public bleeders, do it for your employees. Blowing your nose into one-ply toilet paper is gross. Talk about catching the taste.
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