Let me begin by saying this. Yes. Yes, I know. I know I am about a thousand years behind the rest of you. You with your cable or satellite television. You with your Sunday night rituals. You who are no doubt still in mourning over its departure. I am well aware this post is about three years late. I hang my head in shame. I am a bad homo and a worse television watcher. Please forgive me.

I am just now getting around to seeing Sex and the City. Last month a co-worker started loaning me her DVDs. The last several weekends have been spent watching back-to-back episodes. It has been a total waste of my weekend hours, but ever so satisfying and addictive. I am almost finished with Season Three at this point.

Adam has been doing the same thing with his Netflix queue. He's a few seasons ahead of me. Due to this overexposure he began having dreams about the show, mostly of a sexual nature involving Sarah Jessica Parker. This week, I had my first SATC dream, however mine aren't raunchy. Mine are just fucked up. So there they were, all four actresses, on a soundstage some where in Hollywood, California with Richard Karn.

That's right kids. I dreamt the women of Sex and the City were contestants on Family Feud.

WHAT is wrong with me?

They all looked Patricia Field-styled fabulous. Each took their turn facing off the other contestants to decide if they would pass or play that round. Each round was played efficiently. My favorite part was when it was Cynthia Nixon's turn. She walked up in a stunning red dress with big ass purse to match. Once she arrived at the podium, she reached inside her purse and pulled out her Emmy for Best Supporting Actress and proceeded to polish it, beaming with a proud smile.

You may be asking at this point, "But Brian...Family Feud consists of teams of five. Who was the fifth teammate?" Get ready for this one. It's a curveball.

Fran Lebowitz.

That's right. Sardonic writer slash humorist Fran Lebowitz was the fifth team player for Team Sex and the City. They stood tall in their brightly-colored couture fashions while Fran looked ashen, gray and slumped over in baggy jeans and an old, frayed cardigan. I think I remember her smoking too.

The next morning, I'm telling Adam about my dream.

BRIAN: I wonder why Fran Lebowitz was there.
ADAM: Have you considered she may be your animal spirit guide? She seems to come up a lot.
BRIAN: She does? When has she come up before?
ADAM: I can't remember specifically but you're the only person who's ever mentioned her, so it stands out.
BRIAN: Maybe I'm the only person who's ever mentioned her because I have an arsenal of obscure pop culture references at my disposal.
ADAM: Yep. Or because she's your animal spirit guide. I like that idea better.

Why can't Helena Bonham Carter be my animal spirit guide? Damnit. I never dream about her.

Permalink | File Under: Chats, Dreams, Life

Calling all dykes and boys who love dykes.

Get this album...like right now! It kicks ass.

Permalink | File Under: Music

Ten years ago I was sitting in a short stories class waiting for it to start. As students filed in, there was a murmur about something that was happening in Oklahoma City. Possibly a gas leak. Possibly a bomb threat. There weren't a lot of details known yet. The class speculated what it could be as the instructor arrived. She started class and we focused on Shirley Jackson's The Lottery.

My day continued as usual. It wasn't until I arrived at work that afternoon that I found out what actually happened. Fellow co-workers we already adorning their vests and smocks with various colored ribbons to represent the victims. It was all everyone could talk about yet we still had work to do and so we did.

After work, I went to a deserted Laundromat. After loading my clothes on the washer, I stood on a chair to change the channel of the battered television hung in the corner of the room. All the channels had cameras focusing on the site of the explosion in the dark. There was nothing to make out on the screen. It was practically pitch black with the occasional sighting of rescue workers.

It wasn't until the next morning when I bought a newspaper that it sunk in. There is was on the front page. A building gutted. Debris everywhere. It was like nothing I had seen before. It was devastating to see, even only in a newspaper photograph.

There was fear in the air. As Jennifer points out, the word terrorist was not something you heard often then.

Even though it was tragic and very close to home, I felt somewhat removed from it. It was sad, scary and on my mind, but I felt distance from it. Even just 45 miles away.

A week later, I called my mother for the first time since it happened. Soon after our conversation started, she asked me if I remembered a daughter of some friends of my parents. I did. "She was outside across the street during that blast."

"Oh my god!"

She went on to tell me what she knew. She was alive but in critical condition. They had to identify her by her wedding ring.

I didn't feel so distant from it anymore. Granted I hadn't seen this girl for years and I would say we were strictly on an acquaintance basis, but I did know her and suddenly it all felt more real.

About a year later I ran into her. I remember she was laughing with a friend. When our eyes met, I saw a spark of recognition and then hesitation. I could only imagine how many times she had to go through this already. We said hello and made brief small talk. Reading her face, I didn't ask about that day or her recovery because I figured she was sick of being asked about it and having it associate with her all the time. I'm not sure but I think I saw relief on her face that she didn't have to answer those questions yet again. I said goodbye and she and her friend walked off picking up where they left off, smiling and laughing.

Whenever this time of year rolls around and the news commemorates that day, I don't think about the destruction, death or fear. I think of that girl, her smile and laughter. Her spirit.

Permalink | File Under: Thinking

For some reason the good vibes from yesterday's affirmation didn't seep into today because today absolutely dreadful. Ever have one of those days where everything you do is wrong? That no matter how many times you do something, no matter how many times you think you've checked and re-checked and think that for the love of gawd THIS time you must have finally gotten it right only to be told, yet again, that no, you didn't...you fucked up...AGAIN...and to do it over and that happens to you like a bazillion times over and over all day long? You have? Well welcome to my Tuesday. The captain would like to draw your attention out the left side of the plane. In the distance you may be able to make out the tattered, smoking remains of my career.

But enough about that. Here at cheap blue guitar, we are all about the love. And looking towards the positive and not dwelling on the negative. And Scooby-Doo Baked Cinnamon Graham Cracker Sticks. We are really into those right now.

An amusing story about the said graham cracker sticks. About a week before I purchased them, I had bought a box of Scooby Snacks dog treats for Deek's insane yet lovable dog. They have been on the dining room table since I brought them home. Last week, The Roommate was late getting home so The Other Roommate (aka The Roommate's boyfriend) and I were watching TV together. I went into the kitchen and grabbed the box of graham cracker sticks, sat down, opened the box and started eating a few. I looked over and The Other Roommate was staring at me, jaw dropped. I leaned the box over to him and offered him some. He looked at me in horror.

"Isn't that dog food, man?"

Silly boy. We had a nice laugh. The straight male roommate and I bonded.

Okay...back to focusing on better days. I just found out that Aimee Mann has a new album coming out and my current issue of Paste has a sample. I can feel myself actually yearn for this new album. There is just something about Mann's music that completely enamours me. No one writes about dysfunction and addiction quite as well as she does, and aren't we all better for it really?

Another positive is Adam cut his trip short and is back home. And aren't we all better for it too really? After all, he should be close to home in case the Vatican calls.

Permalink | File Under: Life

to be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best to make you everybody else, means to fight the hardest human battle ever and to never stop fighting.

— e. e. cummings

A dear friend of mine emailed this to me. It was such a perfect little gift and exactly what I needed that I thought it only fitting to share it with you in case you need a little lift too.

Permalink | File Under: Life