twenty-something

Season's Greetings from this twenty-something in Boston.

Every morning, as I approach my new native T stop, Oak Grove, I am filled with a sense of dread. When I enter, I will be faced with two options -- Metro or BostonNOW, two of Beantown's free commuter paper offerings -- and a very high-stakes choice.

There are other options, of course -- the Phoenix, Improper Bostonian -- but these are the free dailies, and these are the papers that hire people, real live people, to push the latest issue in your face. And therein lies the choice.

Haven't gotten anything but Russel Crowe in ages (though *cough* I do still get it). What do you think? Do I look anything like Millar?

Happy New Year!

2006 was one hell of a year, but I'm not sad to see it go. I'm looking forward to seeing what will come in the next 365 days.

Welcome to 2007. I wish you the best -- or at least what you deserve -- in this brave new year.

Decide now; if you really want to connect with a certain person you're going to have to make your move today.

That's my daily text-messaged horoscope for this December 20th. *sigh* (No, thank you. I think I'm still full from dinner last night.)

And my Google Homepage one?

Some important questions could be resolved today and you might start to feel a little clearer about the path you'd really like to be on. If you've been working on any sort of idea or concept, now's the time to decide whether or not to keep moving forward with it. And if you've had a few questions about your long-term security, things should start to seem a lot clearer right now.

Though I don't really believe in fate -- and if she exisits? She's a royal bitch -- or horoscopes, sometimes, if I'm feeling just right, I can buy into that crapola just enough. (I do get my horoscope sent to me every morning, don't I?)

Today I do have agree with being "little clearer about the path you'd really like to be on." Clarity can be a bitch, too, but in a good way.

Today is, afterall, a brand new day.

Gay's Anatomy
Episode 7.11: "Last Christmas"
Christmas comes to Boston on a very special holiday episode. With his ex in town for the holidays, Patrick is unnerved by his unseen presence -- which causes some static with his new beau. Will he finally overcome his relationship fears and give his heart to someone special this year? Meanwhile, Tom recovers from surgery, Yelli faces the holiday rush, and a very pregnant Page prepares to give birth to baby Pierce. Guest starring: Steven W. Bailey as Joe, Sarah Utterback as Nurse Olivia, Jake Gyllenhaal as "Duncan," and Joey Cheek as "Mr. Harvard."

Yes, if my life were an ABC dramedy (and who's to say it isn't?), this year's holiday episode would close with a cool indie-ish cover of Wham!'s "Last Christmas," perhaps done by Imogen Heap, Mat Kearney, or Tegan & Sara (a shame that Dexter Freebish's awesome version is too 2000), as "Patrick" makes up his mind and as mama "Page" pops out a baby. What is her top secret boy's name? Will our hero finally get over himself and take the plunge? If this blog is any indication, all signs point to -- "Ask again later."

Next Episode: "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?"

This year was to be the first year I dressed as a full-on Superman since I was a wee one back in the 80s (as seen above). For about seven years straight, beginning in '94, I dressed as Clark Kent -- you know, the whole now-done-to-death "S Shield t-shirt under the suit" thing that was kinda sorta original over a decade ago.

But 2006? I was going to spring for one of the fancy-smancy official Superman Returns suits, complete with the updated color scheme and fake muscles, and I was going shave my scruffy face and color my hair black. I was going to go all out... but then I realized that it was this past Wednesday and my best laid plans had gone to shit.

Oh well. Bigger things to worry about than a Halloween costume.

Instead, I went with the next best thing. When I was a kid, all I wanted to be when I grew up was either Superman or a hockey player. So the runner up costume? Obviously, I was a Vermont hockey player. Throw on a jersey, fake a black eye, mess up your hair just enough... volia. Instant costume -- and, apparently, instant sex appeal. I guess the hockey jock look suits me... or so I'm told.

You know, even sans a Kal-El costume, and even without big festive plans, this Halloween weekend turned out to be the best in recent memory...

Yesterday, Jessica (not pictured above) got married. We all got drunk and made silly faces to celebrate (pictured above).

Today, Jessica is still married. And I am hung over.

Thanks be to God that tomorrow is a day off!

Congrats, Jess. I had a most wonderful time and I'm so happy for you. Seriously -- Best. Wedding. Ever.

Yelli and I were driving to the Dunkin Donuts on Route 1. More specifically, she was driving my car and I was fiddling with my iPod. I settled on "How We Operate" by Gomez.

"This one is my driving song," I said as the goose-bump-enducing beginning cords came through the iTrip. "You know, like opening credits. Keys in the ignition. Drive off to some destination."

She agreed, immediately understanding my foolishness. Earlier, we had talked about the soundtracks to our lives.

"You know, since I moved to Boston, I feel like I'm the star of my show again."

It's true. For a while there in Vermont, I felt like a supporting cast member. It was the Matt Show. Or the UVM Show. I was a supporting character. But now, in my new city, my life is about my adventures and my story again.

Maybe a trip to a Dunkin Donuts in Sagus isn't Must See TV, but it's my show. And I'm the star.

Today's text-messaged horoscope to this Cancer Verizon customer:

"Cutting your hair gets you noticed by a mate whose attention you wanted, but you may not get the response you hoped for."

Huh. And today, here I was, on my way to work, frusterated with the messy mop atop my noggin, finally frusterated enough to finally decide to get a haircut (and to scrap my Locks-of-Love plan)... Now I'm second guessing.

The horoscope is creepy because of it's timing. For much of my train ride this morning, I was actually annoyed because I won't have time to get a cut before tomorrow. And tomorrow, you see, I have a date... So perhaps I'll let my hair grow and flow for another week and for another date. Perhaps I'll stick to a trim before a certain friend and blog reader's wedding next weekend... And perhaps I'll get the desired reaction from whatever desired mate my horoscope sees in the stars for me.

After sending out my annual 9/11 Email to my friends and family on Monday, I was humbled by the flood to responses I got to it. Touched, even. I wasn't expecting (or, as it may have sounded, begging for) replies, but I got them, in droves, and it made me feel... well, special. As a boy from Vermont, I can't say that I was any more or less effected by the events of five years ago, but this time of year gets to me. It makes me want -- no, need -- to connect and reconnect, to give love and feel it. More so than Christmas, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day... whatever. September is my reflective time.

I don't know why, but I feel compelled to share some of the more touching or humorous responses here.

"Wow. Let me start by saying that I am glad this was not a suicide note. In fact, it was very sweet..."

"Hey Patrick, Thanks for the email. I found myself frustrated yesterday with the focus on the destruction that happened five years ago...it kind of put me in a weird mood. Thank you for bringing my focus back to the good that has come from the tragedy, the family and friends that we hold dear and the realization that we need to live authentically and in the moment. No Day But Today!"

"I love you sooo much!!! You mean the world to me. Thank you for holding me at the one time in my life that I thought I would fall. Be forever optimistic and please find true love so that you are truly happy!!! Love of my life from day one, June 28,1980. --Mom"

"Thank you for your email yesterday. Yesterday was a strange and powerful day. Though I did not make it down to the WTC, I was, at night, able to see the monumental lights shine throughout the night. I don't know that I have ever seen something so powerful. You could tell throughout the day the somber mood. Everyone was, again, closer to one another..."

"I was so moved by this e-mail and humbled to receive it... There are so few things in my life that I look back upon and wish I had done something differently - getting to know you better is one of those few things..."

"Hello friend, This e-mail reminds me of why you are so special to me. Thanks for sharing this. Hey I also thought of you recently for another reason. I just got the new West Elm catalog and spent time thinking about all of the things that I want to get "one day when I win the lottery"..."

"You should write a book, your writing even in just this email is amazing. I had to hold back tears cause I am at work. I hope life is treating you well, I love you so much!"

"That was a really nice email, it must have been really surreal being at ground zero this weekend. I stumbled upon your blog a few months ago. I saw a thing on the news about how people don't realize there are crazy pictures of them on the web and then when they go to interview for a job their perspective hirer googles them and finds the pictures. I was trying to think of anyone who might have a crazy picture of me and I thought of the Catalina picture (though let's be honest, if someone saw that they would definitely hire me). I googled you and the blog came up. Every time you mention Yelli, I get excited because I know her and I feel like she's a celebrity..."

"Aw shucks, you made me blush. But thank you :-)."

"You're AMAZING and I love that song as it is powerful! Thanks to you for being an important part of our lives at 53 Bartlett Street as well! I am so happy about your move here and look forward to seeing you in the near future!"

"That's beautiful Pat. I had tears in my eyes reading it and tears thinking of you guys being there yesterday for that. Very powerful & moving I'm sure. Thanks for making me stop and think..."

But despite all these things, yes, yes, I have a maple leaf tattooed on my right leg.

Though I never blogged about the experience, I got this tattoo -- my first and, thus far, only one -- back in March, right after I quit my job. The maple leaf, to me, is a symbol of Vermont and my heritage, and the long-time joke that pure VT maple syrup runs through my veins. (I'm sweet, yo.)

I planned to get the tattoo back in '03 after graduating from the University of Vermont and planning to leave the state. Due to lack of funds, I didn't get the ink done and I'd regretted it ever since. When I ended up back in Burlington, I vowed I'd scar myself forever whenever I decided to leave again.

Now, wherever I go, I can look down at my leg and think of my home. Dorky as that may sound, it does bring me some comfort.

So there you have it -- the coming out party for my little ol' maple leaf tattoo.

"This city does sleep, but not soundly..."

Ugh. Scratch that. Yet another false start to writing about my new life in New York -- and yet another shining nugget of crap...

This is a new chapter and I'm at a loss for words to begin it -- at least any words that don't sound like the cliched start of a bad novel. It's all just enormous, overwhelming -- both the city and the task of documenting it. Where does one begin? How do you start a life here? How to you write about starting a life here? In Manhattan? This island is made of concrete and flesh. I suppose there's more to it, but all I see is pavement and people, for miles and miles. Each day I pass more strangers on the street than I met in the first ten years of my life total. The buildings are mountains here, castles really, and the buzz of trains and horns and sirens is always there. The sights. The sounds. The smells.

This is all new to me. And I kind of love it.

I am adjusting, settling in. My room feels lived in. My apartment begins to feel comfortable. I can navigate my street -- East 14th -- and our corner market (which I'm told is also called a "bodega," something I never learned on Sesame Street) and I've paid someone to pick up my dirty laundry and deliver it back, clean, neatly folded, and shrink-wrapped (for a small fee). I've casually clicked through craigslist for both cock and employment -- though no combination of the two, and with little luck for either cause. I've walked from 76th Street to 10th, then to Battery Park and back, and my feet don't have blisters. Well, not many, anyway.

Yes, I'm settling in -- but more importantly, things are sinking in. This isn't just a visit to the Big Apple. This is not a vacation. I live here now.

My time here has been busy and enjoyable, though not entirely productive. I've seen good friends and begun to make new ones. I've eaten extremely well. I've walked miles of concrete, exploring the many pieces of New York (and still fairly clueless as to how most of them connect). I've seen enough celebrities and cockroaches that the shock of either has already worn off. And I'm starting to get pissed at fools on the sidewalks or subway; at times my blood boils hot as the tar on the street. I've learned to walk offensively, just like a New Yorker.

But I'm not one. I don't think I'll ever be a New Yorker. I'm a visitor, a Vermonter, a country mouse -- and anyone here can tell that just with one look. Perhaps its my shaggy hair, lighter due to the summer, redder than it's been in years; or perhaps it's my beard, not quite stylishly trimmed nor bearishly wild; or is it the baggy cargo shorts and so-called "fratboy style" of Gap polo shirts and UVM t-shirts I sport every day; or maybe it's the Croc shoes, so practical and crunchy I'm told they're almost trendy here. Perhaps it's all these things -- but I know what people see when the look at me. I know how they know.

My eyes give me away.

After a restless night of deliberation, I've decided to bite the bullet. I'm moving to New York this Friday, a week earlier than planned. This Friday. As in four days away.

So much to do...

So much to say, so little ambition to sit in front of the computer and write it out for the blog...

• There are a mere seventeen days left until I move to New York. Eleven more work days. The countdown is both far too rapid and deathly slow...

• I can now insert and remove my contact lenses on the first try. I am awesome.

• I bought my first pair of non-prescription sunglasses that cost more than $20. Behold my new Oakley Spike shades. I look fucking hot.

• I also bought my first Red Sox hat that fits (kinda). I am on the verge of moving to Yankee Country and I purchase the one thing that's certainly not going to make me any friends...

• I'm doing some freelance (emphasis on free) design work for my best bud and future roommate. One of his (quite amazing, actually) plays is being produced at the beginning of July and he asked me to do some stuff. I'm having a lot of fun with it and I'm psyched to have work in NYC, even if its technically more of a hobby.

• I had my first asthma attack since fourth grade last night. I was up most of the night having trouble breathing, due to allergies and humidity, and then I simply stopped for a bit. It was fun. I like to think I'm not a high maintenance friend when it comes to my health -- I mean, most people don't know I have asthma -- but today I'm milking it for what it's worth.

• Matt -- aka the infamous Duncan -- has moved out of his apartment and no longer lives in Vermont. He'll be headed to New Orleans in a few weeks to begin a new job and a new life. To make an understandment, it's an odd feeling knowing that he won't be just a few minutes down the road for the first time in three and a half years. It truly is the end of an era...

• 135 Pearl -- Burlington's only gay bar, and the last one left in the entire state of Vermont -- will be shutting down this weekend after 22 years of operation. (For real this time -- it's becoming a Papa John's.) I've only been around for the last six, but they've been a blast. It's a place like no other, the worst gay bar you'll ever love. Friday is the last Womyn's Night ever and Saturday night is the aptly titled "Last Dance" (with a hefty $8 cover). I'll be there -- with visiting Duncan in tow -- for both nights as this era ends as well.

Quick contact lens update: Last Thursday I just couldn't do it. I couldn't touch my eye, let alone get a lens in. The lady was mean and I left empty-handed and defeated.

Today I went back for my second attempt and... I'm proud to say that I am now a contact wearer.

It was a bitch. There were tears. My eyes totally hate me. (See how red they are?)

But I can see. And that kinda rocks.

At twenty-five, with the safety goggles you can see above hanging off my face, it's not so much.

(The frames, however big, are Versace -- for what it's worth.)

Tomorrow I'm going to bite the bullet and get contacts. I've been toying with the idea for a while now and actually practicing touching my baby-blues -- the only reason I haven't had contacts yet -- all week. Despite some mild seasonal allergies, I'm going to give it a shot.

Wish me -- and my eyeballs -- luck.

I have an official last day. And it is June 15th.

I am moving to New York City. For real.

Now, it may just be for the summer, from June until September, and I'm still headed to Boston whenever I leave the Big Apple -- but I'll be living in Union Square with my best bud Greg in a month or so. I don't know what I'll be doing besides living at this point, meaning I have no job (NYC readers, any leads?) -- but things will work out, as they tend to do, and this summer will rock.

Yee haw.

20sum has been quiet as I try to figure all this stuff out (thanks for missing me, Michael!). Life is busy here as the semester winds down and I struggle to stay engaged with work as I have one foot out the door... Once next week is over, things return to normal (somewhat) as I begin the process of packing and leaving, "graduating" and saying good-bye to Burlington.

Spring has sprung...

Anyway, I went to Linens & Things the other day, shopping around for a new comforter, and there I was confronted with THE NATE BERKUS COLLECTION. So the dude is hot -- kinda looks like the dad from Gilmore Girls, who was in that gay movie with that guy from Melrose Place -- and his picture is all over the place. And then it turns out his stuff isn't so bad.

In fact, one thing in particular was so not bad that I obsessed about it for a few days. A "coverlet" -- whatever that means -- in "Rust" (looks orange to me). Said "Rust coverlet" had been in my thoughts since Saturday, so today I took a trip back to LnT and picked up this "Queen Coverlet":

Yelli, my bed is orange now. When are you coming back to Vermont so you can sleep in it?

To prepare, I just did twenty-five minutes of stretching in my room, followed by some crunches. Wow. I'm a lot more cracky and creeky since the last time I regularly stretched, back at 22. And I'm sure I made enough odd noises to make my housemates think I was masturbating loudly and intensely. I wish.

Also in preparation? I bought myself a new pair of sneakers (or as Duncan repeatedly called them on IM tonight, "kicks" -- ugh). New Balance. $90. Size 13 Wide. For those fetishy types in the audiences -- *ahem* Corey -- there's a picture of the new "kicks" below. Look, Ma! No ankles! (Damn you, Ma, and your genetics...)

So I also picked up a sweatband. Yes, as you can see above, I actually bought a sweatband, for my huge head, and I'm actually intending to wear it tomorrow morning. My hair is just too damn shaggy and I sweat too damn much not to wear one. That thing is going to stink by the end of the week...

And lastly, I've updated my iPod shuffle just for the gym. And in doing so, I realized that I have shit for work-out tunes. I had to overload with Britney Spears because that's the best I had. 16,000+ songs and no inspiration. Somebody needs to make me an iMix...

Enough self-deprecation, it's time for bed. 6AM is going to be here very soon...

This time of the year brings with it this kind of busy, and all I can focus on is the pounding in my head and my recent exposure to strep, which I pick up like a heads-up penny -- which, in turn, means I'll be drinking so much POM juice that, by all rights, I should be peeing purple by tomorrow morning.

Not good.

But aside from lack of sleep and impending illness, things are going well. I had a wonderful visit with my good friends Yelli and Molly here in Vermont this weekend. And work, though engulfing, is going better than it has in a while. I spent the beginning of 2006 in New York and I've been social since my return to Burlington. It's been a fun January so far.

Of course, all of this activity means I can't (or, perhaps, won't) reflect as much as I'd like to about other important things -- my sixth anniversary of life in Burlington, my would-be third anniversary with Duncan, my second anniversary of blogging -- or start figuring out what the hell I'm going to do with my life come this summer.

But, hey, the here and now ain't so bad for the here and now -- maybe not as great as it may have been two or three years ago, but good.

Just gotta think healthy thoughts...

My New York visit draws to an end. This is my second-to-last night here and, thought it's been a long trip, though I'm excited to get back to my own bed, it's going to be hard to leave. The city's treated me well this week. It's been full of friends, good food, good booze, and more. Though everything, including New Year's, has been on the low-key side, it's been, well, a good thing. I'm having fun.

Yesterday it snowed. Of all the time I've spent here over the years, I don't think I've ever seen it snow in New York. It started as sleet and ended as rain, but for a few fleeting minutes, in Union Square, on the last day of the year, big clumps of snow decended. It was white, wet, and beautiful. It reminded me of Vermont, of home. I saw, perhaps for the first time, I really saw myself living here someday, thinking that maybe I could find a bit of home here in the city.

Who knows what 2006 will bring -- but I'm thinking it's going to be better and more exciting than the mess that '05 was.

Or at least I will be in about six hours.

I head down today for a whopping eight day stretch with my friend Greg. I'll going to be in New York until January 3rd. That's a long time...

Christmas was pretty good. Lots of food and family in Rutland. Nothing very note-worthy -- just Christmas. I did see Rumor Has It last night. I thought about writing up a review, but I decided not to waste any more time on the film. Needless to say, it wasn't very good -- almost Bewitched bad -- and you should not waste any money on it, no matter how much you love Jenn Aniston and her big, alien eyes.

So I'm both excited and nervous about this jaunt to the Big Apple. This is my first trip down since my ill-fated visit back in May. Last time there, I ended up doing very little because I fell ill. I am no fun when I am feverish. Here's to good health.

This is the first time I've taken the five-hour train ride to the city since I got trapped in one for nearly twenty-four hours, during Hurricane Phillip back in 1999. Today it's raining. Fingers are crossed.

And this is the first time I've been to New York since Duncan and I broke up during his five-week summer stay there. Not that I'm bitter. It's just that the city does have something else associated with now, for it this trip and probably all others from here on out.

Regardless of bad memories, I'm looking forward to this trip. Not sure what blogging will be like while I'm away. But New Yorkers out there, feel free to say hello. Perhaps I'll see you around.

This time of year I'm always reminded of two things (among others):

1.) I really, really, really suck at wrapping presents. I mean, seriously, I'm wrap-tarded. I used to love watching my mom wrap when I was a kid -- she was so elegant, creative. She cut like an exacto knife. She folded like origami. She could curl ribbons and tie bows to make Martha Stewart jealous. But her son? He missed that gene. I may be gay, but I can't even cut straight. (But if you laugh at me, I will cut you.)

2.) Ever since I was five, I've wanted to be a Jew living in Canada. I even wrote/drew a picture book about it in elementary school. I don't know why, but I always wanted to convert and then renounce my U.S. citizenship. Thus far I've done neither, so instead I just crush on Canadians (my first-ever boy crush, Andrew) and date half-Jews (Duncan).

Happy Holidays.

1. What's your favorite holiday movie?
Eh. Probably Elf or, if it counts, Love Actually. That's just how I roll. But I will always have a special place in my heart for the He-Man/She-Ra Christmas Special (now on DVD!)...

2. What's your favorite holiday song (title and artist)?
I have three: "Christmas Wrapping" by the Waitresses; "Last Christmas" covered by Dexter Freebish; and "What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?" by anybody, but mainly Harry Connick Jr.

3. What's the best holiday gift you were ever given and why?
Snake Mountain, at age four I'd guess. I rushed down to find the playset fully assembled under the tree. And it was glorious. (Wow, He-Man.)

4. Do you have a special someone to kiss at the stroke of midnight on New Year's?
For the first time in a long time, no. But I'll be in NYC. Any takers?

5. Name your favorite reindeer?
Donner.

6. Favorite holiday food?
I do like Starbucks' holiday-flavored stuff, but the prize has to go to my Grammy. Whether its her cookies or her annual Christmas Eve Italian seafood feast, she wins.

7. Snow day...cuddle by the fire or hand me a snowball?
Cuddle cuddle cuddle...

8. What was your New Year's resolution from this year? Did you stick to it?
I don't think I formally made one, but I think I vaguely pledged to go to the gym. And, well, I haven't done that much lately... Yeah.

9. Is there really a Santa Claus?
Childhood trauma...

10. Present or stocking stuffer?
I don't care what it says about me, but I have to go with stocking stuffer.

I'm back in Vermont. The house is quiet, lonely. Even the dog is mellow, not demanding any attention tonight. I thought I'd dig having the place to myself, but after a social long weekend in Boston, I'm not eager to sleep alone -- be it alone in my bed, or alone under this roof.

It was a fine trip to Beantown, full of holiday-flavored Starbucks drinks, futher shopping procrastination, and even more beer that usual. Thursday I spent as I planned -- in a self-imposed exile. I spent it alone, in town, without my usual support or defenses. I strolled the streets solo, ate by myself, and ended up in my comfy hotel bed before midnight.

Friday was spent out and about, some of it in frigid rain, much of it with my ex-boyfriend. Ended up in Fanieul Hall that night for dinner and drinks with a few quality folks, including said ex and his older brother. A slightly awkward night saved by a decent cover band at Paddy O's. Straight people are so weird.

So I did see Brokeback Mountain on Saturday with Yelli, Natalie, and Matt. We chased that with dinner at Fire + Ice (yum), sipping caramel apple martinis and sitting next to a plump, odd British woman whom we dubbed "Nanny 9/11" (That one's for you, Nat.). With full bellies, we ended up an odd house party in Somerville (where I got to see a few familiar faces, ones I don't see very often these days). Got back to my hotel at 4AM. Ugh.

I'm a tired boy this evening, but it was worth it. Good times.

So here are five quick thoughts on the much-hyped cinematic event of 2005:

1.) Harvard Square is a cool place to see a movie, but the seats suck. My butt was numb before any on-screen buttsex -- and that's no good.

2.) I need to get this out of the way next: seeing The Princess Diaries' boobs was disturbing. Very, very disturbing. In fact, anytime Anne Hathaway (Lureen) was on screen, was I was fighting hard to suppress giggles, even in her final, powerful scene. Giggles. I think it was all of the ridiculous hairstyles. And that Disney thing, too. (See also: 2005 Guide to Modern American History As Told Through Anne Hathaway's Hair in Brokeback Mountain - via towleroad.)

3.) Everybody else can go on about Jakey (so over him, the actor) and Ledger (so powerful, the actor as Ennis). They rocked. The film was breath-taking with the two leads together on screen. But how about the supporting cast? I thought everybody put in stellar performances -- despite the fact that the female casting in general was distracting for me. Besides Princess Diaries (as I mentioned above), you have powerful parts played by actresses best know for very silly parts -- on Dawson's Creek (Michelle Williams), and in Scooby Doo (Linda Cardellini) and Scary Movie (Anna Farris). They all did great -- especially Williams (ex-Jenn) and Farris (in a brief-but-delightful surprise cameo) -- but the giggle factor, which not as high as it was for Hathaway, was always in the background for me.

4.) I'm shocked that I haven't seen more blog-ink spilled over David Harbour, who plays Randall Malone (Anna Farris' husband). Granted, he only shows up in one scene, but he's a fairly important character -- and really, really cute. Considering the gay blogs that I read (check the blogroll), I'm really surprised that I can't recall a single mention of this hunky, bearded man (on the right, clean shaven). He was much hunkier than Jake and Heath (but maybe that's just me). He looks kind of like a lost Fisher brother from Six Feet Under. I hate when people say "woof" about hot scruffy guys -- really, really hate it -- but Harbour kinda makes me want to say it. Is that a good thing? (Anybody have any other pics of him?)

4.) The hype -- and expectations that come with it -- will ruin this movie for many folks. It didn't ruin it for me, but it might have.

5.) The two straight women in our party were the ones crying. Heartless Matt was dry as a bone. My eyes were misty and I shed a single tear. I wanted to be sobbing. I wanted the film to take hold of me, bend me over and make me it's bitch, but it didn't. It was emotional, powerful, really good -- but it just didn't hit me the way I wanted -- expected -- it too. Ultimately, I found Annie Proulx's tale in its original, print form to be much more affecting. Is it because I'm a reader? A writer? Because of The Princess Diaries' tits? I don't know. But I read the story three times in the past week. I cried the first time. The film is effective and well-done, remarkably faithful to the original material -- but the prose, man. You gotta read the prose.

Alright. It's time to sleep.

And so vacation season begins. I can't believe that next week is Christmas and Hanukkah starts soon after. 2005 is dunzo.

I'm off to Boston today through Sunday. Time for friends, gift shopping (which I haven't started, ugh), and Brokeback. It should be a special way to begin the holidays, especially since it's supposed to be warmer.

Monday I'm back to work for a few, and then it's off to tropical Rutland for the holiday weekend. I look forward to my grandmother's traditional Italian seafood feast on Christmas Eve. I do not look forward to more awkward "interactions" with my father.

And then from there I'm off to New York City for eight whole days with best bud Greg T -- 12/26 through 1/3. I haven't been since May, so I'm tres excited.

Safe travels to anybody else out there in transit over the next few weeks.

After a busy week and a good Thursday night, I woke this morning, like much of New England, to a snow storm. It didn't look too bad when I left the house and hit the road, but it was. The roads were terrible and my car wasn't happy. It was so not happy, in fact, that within a mile of the house, while driving up a steep hill, it decided to simply stop working.

With my foot to the floor and a battle cry in my throat, I tried not to give up. It sputtered, spun, and inched its way to the crest of the hill. And then it decided it wasn't moving another foot.

A tow and a trip to Burlington's Volvo dealer later, I found out that new snow tires are going to cost $200 each. When totalled with the bigger problem -- something called an oxygen sensor -- the car's trip to the doctor is going to cost me well over $1,000 (and won't be ready until Tuesday). I don't know what that means for my planned New Year's vacation to the Big Apple, but I can only assume it's not good news.

This is why I don't like owning a car.

Perhaps my Volvo read my mind. For a couple weeks now, I've been thinking of rebelling against the station wagon and trading it in for something a more fun. Or perhaps-- another thought of recent weeks -- I should just ditch the car altogether and move some place with public transportation. Thanks for crapping out on me, car. One step closer to making a big, scary decision...

Two nights ago I dreamt that I got into a fight, a knock-down-dragged-out fist fight, probably inspired by the episode of Veronica Mars I'd watched earlier that night. (PS - Further proof that VM is one of my favorites this season? The line "Rode Hard, meet Put Away Wet." Genius.)

Anyway, two mornings ago, I woke up to find that I had a bloody nose. To make matters worse, I seemed to have some kind of cut on my nostril. Not fun.

So did I punch myself in the middle of the dream? Probably. Which in itself is kind of cool. But the damn cut thing? Very unpleasant. Especially when you're fighting a lingering cold that requires nose-blowing. Ouch.

It's 2:30AM and this is what I feel the need to post on the internet. I'm just getting in from a very late night at work (followed by a brief drink at Pearls to unwind). It's been a monster work week, with few signs of slowing. Ugh.

Here's hoping for no more self abuse (at least not the bloody kind) during the few hours I have to sleep tonight... and maybe a little less during the waking hours too.

I'm back in Vermont -- and not by choice. I would've stayed away another week, or maybe forever, if I could've.

My jaunt to Boston proved to be longer and better that I had originally planned and imagined. It was my last visit to 51 Bartlett Street -- Yelli's home for the past five or so years, which was not only my second home for that time, but my primary one for a summer back in '03 -- and it was a bittersweet goodbye to such a great place as Yelli prepares to move this month. The weekend itself wasn't crazy-vacation-y, but it was some sort of perfect.

The only problem is -- now I'm back. And while I'm happy to be back at home, in my bed, I'm missing Yelli, the apartment, and the North Shore. I love Vermont, I do -- but I love Boston, too. And, perhaps for the first time since turning down that Boston job offer this past winter, I'm feeling drawn back to my second home, caught right back between Burlington and Beantown.

While the trip might have been just the refresh I needed right now, I'm more than a bit worried that it may be a source of more angst to come.

Natalie over at And So It Is weighs in with an ode to the Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte. And, my oh my, how sweet it is!

Her post reminded me of my seasonal love affair with said overpriced coffee drink and inspired me to make a pitstop at the Church Street 'Bucks this morn. Ordering a venti non-fat version of the drink, shelling out $4.66 for it, and then enjoying most of it (well, at least what didn't spill onto the floor of my car) has thus far been the highlight of this windy, rainy blustery fall day.

While the tasty holiday Eggnog Latte may be my seasonal favorite, the Pumpkin Spice is a nice sub and a great way to warm up from a summer filled with venti iced non-fat White Chocolate Mochas.

I'm glad I can still enjoy the small, soulless pleasures in life...

Wow. So that was kind of a fucked-up post. Doomsday funks aren't fun, but I suppose that they're "normal" when you were raised as an excommunicated Catholic and learned religion and Revelation from pop culture, with sources such as The X-Files, Unsolved Mysteries, and, well, Madonna.

For the record, I don't think that the apocalypse is dawning. And I am not crazy. Perhaps I'm just another victim of media fear and paranoia. Perhaps I'm wishing I was foolish enough to not realize what this really is about: the ongoing end of a relationship, not the end of the world. The symbolism and transference is not lost on me. Much as I want to ignore it, I get it.

It's just... when I showered this morning, it was one of those mornings when you can't recall your last shower. You know you took one the day before, but you can't recall it. You can't recall any showers before, not specifically. It's a rare kind of trance, some kind of shower amnesia.

...And you can't remember if you already washed your hair, so you do it again, just to be safe. It was one of those days.

So here's another Madge tune to throw at you, perhaps one of her best, one without scripture. "X-Static Process" -- odd title, amazing song.

Jesus Christ will you look at me
Don't know who I'm supposed to be
Don't really know if I should give a damn
When you're around, I don't know who I am
...
I always wished that I could find someone as beautiful as you
But in the process I forgot that I was special too
I always wished that I could find someone as talented as you
But in the process I forgot that I was just as good as you

When the first Bush was president, when I was ten years old, during the Gulf War, I stayed up too late and watched a TV doc on Nostradamus and his doomsday prophecies. I didn't sleep that night, not at all, and sleep did not come easy for many nights to come. Some fifteen years ago, the end of the world was, if not here, near.

Four years ago, when I was 21, the end of the world was here. September 11, 2001. I walked from Geology class to the student center with my friend Kelly, clueless, until someone rushed up to us to gush, "We're under attack! We're under attack!" And we were. The person informed us on the strikes on New York, on the Pentagon, and who knew where else? From the safety of Vermont, I watched the first tower fall on television and gasped, in a crowded and largely silent dining hall, surrounded by my fellow students. We all knew -- this was the end of life as we knew it.

At 25, tonight, I find myself wondering if sleep will come tonight. Dark and scary thoughts of the end times dancing in my uneasy mind. I am pensive. I am disturbed.

As if war and Katrina weren't enough to think about, a harmless conversation today spiraled into talk of Apocalypse, and in it course brought up three current events that are weighing heavily on me today, spinning through my uneasy mind.

Something wasn't right. I could feel it in my gut. And by that, I mean literally. In my gut. I'd been in pain since Tuesday, an unpleasant, constant pain, knotted up in one spot right below and just over from my belly button. I tried not to complain but, damn, it hurt, lots and lots, and let's face it, I'm a pussy when it comes to being hurt.

Friday I finally got in to see a doctor. After lots of poking and prodding, after many yelps and moans from me, after a quite unpleasant hernia exam, and after I almost punched him in automatic self-defense, it turns out that I "just" have a badly torn muscle in my left lower abdomen.

Yes, that's right. My insides are torn.

Torn.

After the August that was, that seems about right. I feel like I've been torn in thirty different directions since the beginning of last month, and with each passing day, my life seems to get busier and more hectic. A new status quo promises to spring up soon, and I wait, hopeful, for the day when I wake up and feel it, comfortable within my new life, with everything under control.

But for now? I find myself anxious, stressed out, and more than a bit lost. Everything -- including myself -- is familiar but alien. Some days, I just wish I could just leave work behind and walk home to my old place on North Street, order some take-out from Chicken Charlie's, and veg for hours watching Degrassi in my underwear. I miss the comfort of my tiny and gross old apartment, the solace of my relationship with Duncan, and the ease of my old position. Now, even though I think I'll be overall happier and more satisfied by these changes, I'm overwhelmed by it all.

But such is the nature of change. And I'm trying to remember that, keep everything in perspective, and breathe.

I am torn between wanting to kiss Duncan and wanting to punch him, instead settling for a neutered, passionless, and at times tedious "friendship." Some days I'm ready to start dating and get over him, and other days I'm sad not to find him in the bed next to me when I wake up. Most days, however, I'm too goddamned busy with work to even think about him, or our "status." I'm caught between my old job and new, and it's just been taking its toll. It takes up so much of my time and energy that it just doesn't quite seem fair, and yet I can't bring myself to cut back or be less committed. When I do get to leave work, I'm grateful that I get to come home to a beautiful house and great housemates, but it's all still a bit awkward. The move just sort of happened, suddenly and frantically, and trying to make this new space my home is hard, when I don't feel there's enough hours in the day, with everything else, to settle in.

I miss writing. I miss this blog, and having time and energy to post regularly. Hell, I don't think I've even checked my traffic stats in two weeks.

I want more time and less stuff demanding it. And, really, I want perspective. I realize that things will settle, and this change is stressful because that's its nature. I realize that I have it so good compared to others in this world, especially in the wake of all that has happened in the world this week. And, after viewing Crash for the first time this past Wednesday, I want to be less wrapped up in the unimportant aspects of my life and the velocity at which it all travels. I want to stop. I want to stop and think, observe, be less selfish, and be myself again. I want to live.

I want to be present in this new life and in the world around me, rather than just reacting to problems, doing my job, going to the doctor when I hurt, and coming home just to sleep and get up the next day to do it all over again.

And so my insides are torn. Of course, I realize that I probably just hurt myself moving out of my apartment, but still, in some ways, it feels like a physical manifestation of all that has been swirling both outside and inside of me for the past month. And that's kind of beautiful.

Torn between my old life and all that is new, there's not much to do but heal and deal.

Between moving into my new spaces both personally and professionally, starting a new job, and (back-burner) dealing with my first real separation from Duncan, I feel a bit like I'm drowning. It's stressful -- but somehow a good stress. I'm overall excited by all this change. It's movement, growth... A week ago I was rolling into work at 10AM. Now I'm rocking out to VPR on the 7AM drive in my shiny Volvo.

I am a new man.

Of course, there doesn't seem to be enough hours in the day for this kind of growth... I miss sleep, and sleeping in. Last night I got to relax and unwind for what felt like the first time in forever (it had only been since last weekend), with my new housemates, some pizza, Granny Smith flavored hard cider, and Big Brother. It was heaven.

Speaking of heaven -- and the photo above -- this afternoon I hop in the Volv' and speed down the highway towards Boston for my favorite event of the season -- the third annual "Baustin" Pub Crawl. Although I'm scared to leave for the weekend in the midst of so much stuff on the home front, I am thinking and hoping it will prove to be just the break I need before things really hit the fan next week.

Good company and good beer should hit the spot right about now, providing me with one last chance, this summer at least, to be, well, twenty-five.

So cheers to a good weekend. Here's hoping we'll hear three different cover bands at three different bars sing Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer." It's tradition.

Excitement rises as this weekend's Third Annual Baustin Pub Crawl nears, and one Ms. Natalie May (she of LiveJournal fame) wonders:

Who Called Me on Sunday Morning? So I get this mystery call from some chick being all I miss you and can't wait to see you blah blah blah and let me look for my new cell phone number for 234987239478 minutes and then SEE YOU SATURDAY. And then let me, dumbass, delete that message by accident. I pulled the cherished dial 5 during the message bit that The Bebe taught me and the call is coming from an Alison Carey...but I don't know an Alison Carey. BUT PAT R. KNOWS ALISON CAREY WHO'S GONG TO THE PUB CRAWL...but she has a different phone number than the one that calls me....so, needless to say, it's a mystery that needs solving. Suddenly I feel like Nancy Drew! The Hardy Brothers! But maybe not as dramatic or brilliant...but I have endearing charm to back me up where they are just Punk-Ass-Know-It-Alls...yes, I went there.

The heat is oppressive today as August -- and all that comes with August -- sets in. I sit here, sweating, sweating from just sitting, as I am bombarded by the hot rays of the afternoon sunshine. Despite this, despite wishing for a break in this sticky misery, summer is nearly over, for me at least, and I am not happy about it. But I can't say that I'm sad either. The changing of the seasons brings with it many changes for me, both personally and professionally, most of which I'm excited to face and some that have my palms sweating, and not due to the heat. Everything sinks in a little more each day -- the life-altering events of this summer, the life-altering decisions I've made, the smaller, quieter bits of my life that are new or different -- and I start to get an imagined image of my new life as a twenty-five-year-old.

I'm getting ahead of myself, of course (that is what I do). But realistically? It's here. Duncan moves out -- and I begin moving myself -- on August 15. And, despite temporarily cohabiting within the same space (known in some circles as "living together"), he is still very much my ex-boyfriend. Work is crazy -- and gets more so with each passing day. I still own a Volvo. And the annual "Baustin Pub Crawl," the highlight of my late-summer social calendar, is right around the corner, officially heralding the end of the season for me...

Despite this heat, my fall is practically here. And I look forward to it with a new outlook and, in many ways, a whole new life.

This will be only the second fall in five years that I face as a single guy, the first since '02. I'm excited and optimistic to begin dating again -- until the reality sets in that I will be gay dating in Vermont. Then comes a bit of dread. I'm for the challenge though -- I suppose I'll have to be.

Things have settled a bit with Duncan. Despite having removed, for now at least, my angry post from last week regarding his return, I have neither forgiven nor forgotten what happened this summer -- but I am now at a place where my anger has been tamed and I can properly deal with the end of our relationship. At this point, feeling less intense about things, I can remember and reflect upon what was wrong between us before the lying and betrayal. That doesn't mean I'm not still angry, and it doesn't mean I don't still love him in many ways -- but it does mean that I can make my peace with this ending, on my own terms, and deal with it without simply blaming it on his mistakes. It's a lot easier to blame it on actions and hurt, easier just to hate, but that's not me. Not my style. Things are bittersweet -- but I think I am making healthy choices now, regarding him.

Beyond my love life, I'm dreading the act of moving. Packing, hauling, painting -- all that stuff. Yuck. But I am quite excited to be finally settled. I look forward to my new place as I think it's the perfect fit for me, right now, in this moment of my life, and I think it could wind up feeling more like home than any place I've been in many, many years.

I choose not to write specifically about my job here on my blog, but I will say that I am approaching it's "busy season." There are also some changes coming about within it that I'm cautiously excited for. All of this movement and change will be great for my career, but I wonder about my sanity.

Speaking of sanity -- and it might just be heatstroke talking here -- but that Quarter-Life Crisis thing that I dealt with this summer? It was worth it. I feel a bit more prepared for all of these changes, this growth. As I sit here, still writing, still sweating, as the sunshine momentarily bows behind some clouds, I realize that I'm in a good place, that I'm right where I'm supposed to be.

"nobodys often attract nobodys" - best bud (and ATWT fan) Greg

As some readers and friends have noted, in supportive emails and IMs, things here at 20sum have slowed in the past few weeks -- nearly to a hault.

Why is that? some wonder. Is everything OK?

My answer? You got a new 90s-Something last week, for the first time this month. What more do you want?

But seriously, folks -- Everything is OK. Not everything is great, but I am doing fine. Obviously, as regular readers know, a lot has happened in the past few weeks. A lot of things that start with the letter B. Birthday. Break-up. Baby-Mobile. Boston, and a Boy that gives me hope. These and other changes have me on the edge of a new world -- one that's not quite brave yet, and a little too scary.

I haven't been posting because, well, I've been busy -- but, really, all I want to do is write about Duncan. About the break-up. About all the shit that comes along with this. OR -- I want to write about a new guy who makes me smile, but who may have come too soon, and it certainly seems like I'd be jumping the gun to gush about him on here, let alone be starting something with him.

I have been writing a bit about it all, but posting what I come up with feels wrong. It feels too vulnerable. It feels to angry or attacking. This blog has always been about expression and honesty -- but right now I think I've been doing a lowsy job of that with the people I care about, in my real life. I need to start there

I desperately do not want to be in the midst of a breakup or a breakdown right now. This is a process, a process I want to be done with yesterday. I want to be over Duncan and this relationship immediately, even though I know it doesn't work that way.

Lately, I feel like I'm walking around every day with the mantra of I'm Fine, I'm Fine -- trying really hard to convince everybody, especially myself. I don't want to be a needy sadsack in the midst of a messy break-up, don't want to be that friend, who's fragile, high-maintence. I guess the bright side is that I really am fine 90% of the time -- but that's still a long way from 100%. If I am going to be that "needy sadsack," it should be with real people in my real life.

II don't want this to be a crutch. (I also don't want these posts, even this one, to seem like passive-aggressive jabs at Duncan, or a "call for help" friends who read 20sum.) If anybody gets to see me vulnerable, it should be my loved ones. If I'm going to be talking about this stuff, I should be doing it with my real friends. With my family. With Duncan, even. Not semi-anonymously on the internet. Much as I love the hundreds of strangers that visit this site daily...

Besides, I don't want this to be one of those blogs. Bitter. Angry. Bitchy. Well, any more than it's always been...

My life is changing, evolving. So am I. And so, too, will this blog.

Stay tuned, won't you?

I'm back from Boston, tired, sweaty, and smiling. For a brief trip that I was kinda-sorta dreading, it turned out to be an excellent surprise. Good company. Good food. Lots of laughs. Both mind-blowing and mind-clearing...

Yeah. It's like that, y'all.

And for those wondering: I wouldn't call the trip -- or anything that happened on the trip -- a rebound.

I would call it a renewal.

Some difficult times still lie ahead. I know that. But fuck -- I haven't smiled like this in ages.

I'm obviously not very excited about this trip as I keep forgetting it's happening -- but I am going to be in Boston this week for a work trip. I should be excited, though. The comp time reaped from it allows me to take a couple long weekends! And, like, all my friends live in Boston! And I get to eat for free and spend two nights in the (allegedly) swanky Park Plaza Towers! Giddy up!

Not a bad deal. Three (hopefully painless) days spend doing work-type-things. Two (hopefully fabulous) nights spend amongst old friends in Beantown. I'm hoping it turns out to be a good visit -- it feels improptu, by my own doing, for lack of thought or planning. Hopefully I will get to see some buds. Hopefully I won't waste too much time or energy trying to find a well-picked rebound guy to share my (allegedly) swanky hotel bed with -- because we all know that Boston gays, with few exceptions, are bitches. (Boston readers: send applications -- quickly -- here.)

*sigh* Bitchy guys and work aside, I could really use two amazing nights in Boston right about now. I really could.

Taken avec moi shitty camera phone... Could this be my new car? Can you picture me behind the wheel of this luxurious Volvo wagon? Car buying has me pretty stressed out...

What a long, strange, wonderful, sad week it's been...

It's now the weekend. Still processing so much stuff. And Yelli arrives tomorrow. (Yay!)

I'll be back to blogging soon-ish.

Indigo Girls were awesome. Batman Begins was awesome.

Apartment hunting? Not so much. It's just one big ball of frusteration.

Know of any two bedrooms near downtown Burlington (for August or September)? Please hook me up!

Duncan is back in town for the week, after two weeks away (and before going away again for more weeks than I would like). Cheers to a busy and fun week ahead.

Updates here might be scarce. Might not. But be forewarned -- I can't promise a new 90s-Something this week. My apologizes to the five of you who care.

In the next week, I'll be seeing:

AN INTERNATIONALLY-IGNORED SONG STYLIST! (Shoebox Theatre's Hedwig & The Angry Inch at Higher Ground, with the biggest Hedwig ever!)

MY FAVORITE PENIS!
(My boyfriend, naked, for the first time in over two weeks!)

LIVE LESBIANS: UP CLOSE!
(The Indigo Girls, live in Burlington, front row, with stereojoe!)

A HOT WELCHMAN IN BLACK LEATHER!
(Batman Begins, opening night, because I am a life-long bat-geek and can't wait to ogle a shirtless Christian Bale!)

Jealous?

Tomorrow morning (err, Saturday, whatever) I head to the Greater Boston area for the Fifth Annual "Flip Fest" BBQ Blowout, the gala event of the summer social season. Hours of sun, good friends, orange-soda-and-vodka, keg beer, lots of grilled meats, and -- of course -- a very competative flip cup tourney! Don't you wish you were invited?

This year may not have it's own logo, but I'm confident that it will be the best Flip Fest yet!

So my pre-order of