Wednesday, June 27, 2007

The Blair Is Dead, Long Live The Brown

Gordon Brown paid a visit to Buckingham Palace today, during which the Queen invited him to form her government.

Tony Blair, meanwhile, begins a high-profile job as an envoy to the Eastern Mediterranean. As long as the situation between Israel and Palestine isn't as fractious as a New Labour caucus meeting, he should be fine.

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R.I.P. Liz Claiborne

In the late Seventies and early Eighties, the name Liz Claiborne was synonymous with sexy working women. Over the years her licenses expanded into fragrance, accessories, and even cosmetics.

She died today, aged 78; no cause of death was given.

Although Claiborne retired from managing her empire in 1989 it will live on after her, as long as there are career women looking to be stylish with just a soupcon of sexy.
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The Curse Is Broken

I'd been wracking my brain, looking for something that wasn't there, a simple name. The last name, in fact, of my last boyfriend.

Two hours I spent trying to remember it. In vain...

That's just the omen I'd been waiting for; proof that I've finally moved on.

* * *

The last relationship curse I was under was broken when I received a kiss from a straight guy.

Ed was a totally hot straight guy - tall, lean, a redhead - who got so drunk at a party one time he let his girlfriend divulge the fact that he'd always wondered what it would be like to kiss a guy. I was a little tipsy myself, and since I was the only guy at that particular party who was into being kissed by guys, I stepped up.

He was an amazing kisser, so I went for it in a big way. I'd been dying to grab his ass for months, and so I did. He responded by grinding into me, and I won't tell you what I felt then, but it was nice. For a moment it was so intense that even the sound of our friends roaring with drunken approval fell away.

When it was over I whispered in his ear: "Curiosity sated?" To which he replied: "Yes, thank you." Imagine a gay guy saying thank you for a kiss. I could have been greedy and asked him if there was anything else he wanted, but I didn't. For once in my tacky life I was tasteful.

A week later I met the man who would be my longest-serving boyfriend.

* * *

I wasn't sure what it would take to break the curse I've been under, but I knew it wouldn't be the same as the last. This is the main reason I didn't spend five years trying to finagle another kiss out of a straight guy. That and the fact that all the straight guys I know whom I consider even remotely snoggy all have fabulous wives.

Otherwise, I'd have been all over Barrett like an Episcopal vestment. IsallI'msayin'...

It's all over now but the in-depth analysis. I felt the curse's power weakening during (and even just before) the Seattle Sojourn; what remains is to determine the extent of it, and then repair any of the damage it caused before...

Well, before I shout "Next!" and the line at the deli counter of my sex life inches forward.

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Why Do I Do The Things I Do?

Okay, so given that the past week has been especially photo heavy I thought it was as good a time as any to bring the focus back onto the words. Words, after all, are what a writer is all about. I was a writer first, and I'll probably be a writer last, so it's a writer I should be foremost.

That, plus the Interweb is really slow around here lately. Opening Photobucket takes forever, and there's some problem at Wikipedia that won't let me get in at all. No doubt there's a fierce battle raging behind the scenes over an ill-chosen adjective; whatever it is, I ain't getting involved.

So I forge on, undeterred. Perserverance, after all, is my motto.

The Seattle Sojourn is still percolating. I definitely feel different today than I did the day I left Vancouver, even though it was a mere five days ago; this may, in fact, be the broadening effect which is famously the result of travel. Suddenly this blog seems like a quaint little travelogue documenting life inside my own rut. In other words, not at all the effect I was going for.

It's possible that self-absorption (the ultimate provincialism) has been keeping me from a wider readership, when in fact what I've always intended is to personalize pop culture, to make it accessible, relatable even. Not for nothing do I call it the People's History.

So in the meantime I continue to reach out: to friends both immediate and long-lost, to strangers even, to anyone that is who'll help me to understand the swirling chaos I'm forever trying to make sense of called life.
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Facebook 'Em, Dano


It's not very often I fall into a website like I've just recently done with Facebook.

I'm using it to investigate various mysterious figures from my past, as well as to keep tabs on those slippery little guppies I like to call my current friends. It's so cool, I may get it installed on my mobile. Because I can.

Okay, you caught me. I'm really using it to procrastinate. But at least I got this blog post out of it, so HA! And at least it's better than Tamagotchi, so HA HA!!

Actually, for someone who's as socially impaired as me, Facebook feels more like a video game. One designs a profile, and with that attracts the attention of others. Every day it seems I'm adding friends, and it has a nicer interface than email.

In addition to the valuable therapy of composing a profile, there's the added benefit that I think it's bringing me out of my shell in a way. Ah the Internet! The patron saint of the socially inept. Let's you get over the awkward bits without having to be face-to-face when they happen.

After years (my whole life really) of driving people away I may be about to find out what effect (if any) my actions might have had.

[Join Me!]
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