Site Map At dinner with Lauren and Tressa in a dimly lit, broken-benched pub. We’re mid-conversation and mid-beer (Bass is on special, extra special because the server forgot to charge us for the last round) when two guys sit down at the table next to us.
I check them out without even thinking about it. A totally unconscious reaction.
Then, this conversation between the two of them happens in what feels like two and a half seconds.
“He’s checking those out.”
“It’s okay, he can’t help it.”
“I know. He’s actually better than most gay guys.”
Subsequently, I defend myself by claiming that I was listening to what they were saying even though I wasn’t maintaining eye contact.
This is about 60 percent true.
Listen to a pretty song after the jump. It annoyingly starts automatically when you load the page.
I couldn’t stop weeping after I had my wisdom teeth pulled. This seems better.
Two posts in one day. I know.
But here’s a lovely song by Roddy Woomble with some pals playing backstage at London’s Queen Elizabeth Hall.
I just found the Web site of this artist named Marc Johns. He is wonderful.
His style is pretty much exactly what I’m into these days — minimal, weird, childlike. It’s both sensical and nonsensical.
His visual style kind of reminds me of a gentler Edward Gorey.
- Put more undue pressure on myself for clever Facebook status messages
- Have feet replaced with titanium springs
- More sock monkeys
- Start wearing fedoras
- Acquire reputation as “that gay guy who always wears fedoras”
- Confuse people when I stop wearing fedoras
- Start step aerobics class just as an excuse to wear headbands