Pedestrian Prose

So this is a pre-travel blog. That’s right, in a little over two weeks I’ll be on my way to oh! Canada and I can hardly wait. I took a peek at the city’s tourism website today (notice the gay and lesbian travelers link), and I will just say that Little Rock will be lucky if I return.

I’m going for the 7th Information Architecture Summit for web nerds. Not only is this a tremendous professional development opportunity, but also some much needed vacation time. After the conference, I’m flying to San Francisco to visit friends and family for almost a week.

And since I’m never one to disappoint my readers, there will be many a blog about my adventures, so stay tuned.

Have you ever noticed how soda from the fountain tastes radically different than that from the can or bottle? Jenna is tired of me noting this; perhaps if I get it all out here, the office dynamic will return to normal, and she’ll quit trying to kill me with folk music and her talk of the missing “shift” key (youth is wasted on the young, lemmie tell you).

Anyhow, we had the fortunate pleasure of venturing off-campus for lunch today to a lovely establishment (Subway) for the most-coveted red-labeled beverage, not served within 100 ft. of UALR’s sphere: Coca Cola.

Ever since the controversial “switch” of the 2003 fiscal year from serving only Coca Cola products on campus to serving only Pepsi, getting a good soda fix has been difficult to say the least. At first there was much resistance to the blue-skinned alternative, but after a while the complaints died down and sales rose.

How is it that a campus, so firmly rooted in the ideology of the deep south’s trademark beverage, could simply deny God and Jimmy Carter and happily reform to a new drink? Well, it wasn’t without causalities, that’s for sure.

Since then we’ve lost over a dozen department chairs and three deans. Numerous faculty members have elected to “retire” early, giving up their tenure to be free of the blue. What’s more troubling is the ideological switch by the survivors who are brainwashedpoisoned, evenby the blue’s enchanting elixir. Some have even been quoted saying they like it now. Disturbing.

But not Jenna and me. We’ve become immune to its tricks. Even though its shinny cans sit waitingfreein the office fridge, we go through great dangers (crossing University Avenue) just to taste that sweet, true southern freedom.

After all, even in Cuba they call it rum and Coke. And who better to determine the taste of freedom?

Perhaps the most disturbing film I have ever watched, Mysterious Skin still haunts me now, nearly 12 hours later. It also didn’t help that I had to go to Catholic Mass this morning.

Director Gregg Araki (The Doom Generation, Nowhere, The Living End and Splendor) brilliantly crafts the critically acclaimed novel by Scott Hein. The film follows Neil McCormick (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) down a road of drinking, drugs and prostitution, while Brian Lackey (Brady Corbet) blocks out memories by developing a whole alien-abduction fantasy.  At the root, the film is about pedophilia and how sexual abuse at an early age shapes one’s sexuality (among other things).

I’ve often thought that, one day long from now, I could potentially want a child (or two) of my own.  But now I wonder if I could ever be prepared to raise a child.  Think of all the dangers and suffering in our world. Who could stand the responsibility of bringing another life into this world?

Anyhow, this is a film everyone needs to endure.  Watch it with friends or watch it alone, but either way, be prepared.  This film makes Todd Solondez’s Happiness seem like Pee-Wee’s playhouse.

The train usually offers little more than a rumble
in this quiet neighborhood.

Yet this evening their polyphonic horns cry out,
waking a memory with each resounding yawp.

Is it the mourning of the dead,
or the sound of angel choruses?

May God give rest to Nell Strong, friend and mother;
let light perpetual shine upon her.

Well I got some answers today. I don’t need to go to the gym to make myself prettier, or in order to meet someone else’s (or my own) ideal of beauty, etc., but in fact I need to go exercise and lower my cholesterol.

We had free screenings today. I usually go to hear them say how good my blood pressure is, or to make sure I’m not on my way to a heart attack like my dad (it all runs in the family you see). Today, though, I found out that I’m borderline high-risk. Great, well that settles it then.

I should also clarify that I don’t in fact think that I’m ugly or unattractive (though thanks to those who posted nice comments about me being handsome, those made me feel good). My previous entry was more about finding the ideal–or the fantasy, in the High Fidelity sense–when in reality that ideal is perhaps unattainable.

[By the way, how did that movie slide under my radar for so long?]

I think that is what brought this all on. We as a society have been running with this fantasy of the perfect partner for so long. We all have preconceived notions and images of what our match looks and acts like. But what we don’t immediately realize is that underneath all of those notions lies the potential for incompatibility and miscommunication.

Every relationship will have problems. Learning how to get through them will be more valuable than just trying to avoid them, or by moving on to someone else.

Oh well. Regardless, I guess this means no more eggs for breakfast, and I guess I’ll be seeing you at the gym. I’ll be the dorky looking fellow with skinny arms and an ipod strapped to my waist.

I’m sick of society’s notions of beauty and attraction, and yet I can’t help but feel like a victim of these norms:

• Must stay in shape
• Must bleach teeth
• Must tan skin
• Must disguise thinning hair
• Must eliminate other, unwanted body hair

So much of me wants to take the high road: “I wouldn’t require these things in a man!” But then I think of the ideal dream boy…tall, dark, handsome…chiseled, even. Beauty isn’t the only important thing, however. Intellect and personal philosophy are also crucial. Does such a person exist? Probably, but would they be equally attracted to me if I had only one and not the other?

More so I worry about my own standards in meeting people if I were to spend countless hours at the gym just to get in better, more desirable shape. Eck.

How can I reconcile with what I consider “ideal” when even I don’t necessarily live up to my own standards?

I guess it all comes down to the notion of homosexual–same sex. Maybe the best person for me is someone who shares my hang-ups of body-type and brains.

Or maybe I should just not worry so much about attracting another person, and that alone will be attractive enough.

my freezer has a light in it
a cuba libre is nothing without lime
sibling addiction creates family denial
my view of the capitol still shines

nothing is as bright as the future
the neighborhood trees disagree
when cheeks are red as plums from steroids and alcohol
a cigarette is great if you can still enjoy it

cats are only content with where they lay
retired bishops only return to stir up shit
sheets are only as soft as the person next to you
politics are disagreeable only when you disagree

a lack of places to go means a lack of committment
scene is where you are, not where you want to be
consider crying as necessary as brushing teeth
and music more important than air

be courageous

My car’s ‘check engine’ light is the perfect stress indicator for my life. After the initial dashboard disco, when the car is started, it lingers back there like a toothache. It serves as a constant reminder that all is not well.

And it isn’t.

I always make big plans to get my life in order during the break, but somehow things just keep falling apart. And it isn’t just me. I think a lot of people share in some sort of holiday drama. When I think about how bad it could be, I’m thankful for what little drama I actually have.

For instance, my roommate wrecked his car last night. Some ‘nice’ people picked him up and took him back home. Then they went through my things, moved my bed (?!), and stole stuff from our house.

Merry fucking Christmas.

Everyone is all right, though, and on Monday or Tuesday this should make for an interesting police report.

I should also take the car in to get serviced.

Now if I could just find a mechanic for my life…

This is a gay bar in Austin that I can’t wait to see; with a name like “Oilcan Harry’s,” it’s gotta be good.  I think I’ll start out with dinner around Congress St., or somewhere in either the Warehouse or Sixth Street Districts. And then hit a few bars on the way.

I might not have any pictures to share for this one, but if I do, I’ll post them later.

Here goes nothing!

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP…deep in the heart of Texas!

Austin is fun. The Hilton here is amazing.  I’m on the 21st floor and I have an amazing view of the city. The hotel is only two years old, and it is staffed with a small army.  I ran into one guy I went to high school with; that was cool.

Texas is so strange; here in Austin it couldn’t be more true.  First off, Texas has taken its graphical identity, the lone star, to a whole new level.  This thing is everywhere, more so than Wal-Mart’s damn smiley face.  Texas remindes me a bit of the logo/branding scene in Spaceballs the Movie; they put the star on streets, sidewalks, floors, walls, buildings, artwork, bulletpoints, receipts, toilet paper–you name it.

For your pleasure, I have a small photo essay of the Texas lonestar obsession: