My baby got a boo-boo

So last night started of benignly enough, with a nap, a quick dinner, and the kettle set on the stove in preparation for a enjoyable night of watching Kim Kardashian shake her other-worldly ass on Dancing With the Stars. Rick went out to take Kippy for his evening walk, but several moments later I hear him come back in.

"Jon. . ." he groans, which he almost never calls me, "come help me. . ." I'm not sure I've ever heard Rick utter those words, much less in the helpless, scared tone that he did. My spider-sense was going off the charts and I immediately thought Kippy was injured - my mind began flashing through all the horrible fates that could have befallen him. Was he hit by a car? Did another dog attack him on the street? There was hardly time for any of that as Rick has left maybe only a minute before.

I dash in from the kitchen to find Rick lying in the entryway, wincing, a stream of blood pooling on the ground by his feet.

"Oh my god!" I said, "what happened?!"
"I fell down the stairs" he groaned, "I'm hurt"

Again my mind was racing at light speed fearing the worst. Had he broken any bones? How bad was his laceration he obviously had suffered as well? Moments directly after an injury are fascinating, both as a victim and suspect. My brain tries to take in all the evidence at once and shoots into the future showing me every possible outcome. During the very first seconds, all the terrible injuries I've know people to suffer from "falling down the stairs" jump at me - is he paralyzed? Has he broken dozens of bones? Certainly the fact that he's on the floor and calling for help are not good signs. Neither was the rapidly growing pool of blood.

"Oh man," I stammered. "Where are you bleeding from?"
"My foot."
"Did you break anything?"
"No, just my foot. I don't know. It slid into the banister."

I ran and grabbed some toilet paper and took a good look by his toes, and it did not look good, but at least he hadn't broken anything, or hit is head or sustained any other major injuries. Still we had no idea how bad the cut was and the blood kept coming. We got him to the bathtub and he rinsed the cut out and examined the wound which was between his 3rd and 4th toe. He had badly scrapped up the top of his 3rd toe too. Rick briefly pulled the toes apart to gauge the extent of the wound and we both saw a deep, sinewy, nasty laceration. "I have to go to the hospital" Rick promptly declared. So much for Kim Kardashian's ass. . .

Alarmed by the deepness of the cut and still in pseudo-panic mode, I scurried around the apartment gathering things for the hospital, while Kippy licked up Rick's blood of the floor. Nice. Rick discovered he could walk slowly so we decided to just go to the car service place on our corner. On the way down we walked by a trail of blood leading down to the second floor staircase, where Rick had abandoned his flip-flop. Any neighbors coming up would have assumed we had murdered someone and dragged him into our apartment. Turns out that Kipper went behind Rick and wrapped his leach around him and took Rick's legs out from under him. His feet flew out and jammed into a semi-sharp railing that caused the cut. He called for me from the staircase but realized I couldn't hear, so he then crawled up to our apartment.

We got a car quickly and soon arrived at the oasis that is Long Island College Hospital for Rick's first ever visit to an ER. In the end, it wasn't a disaster, and it wasn't a pleasant hospital experience either. We waited about 20 minutes in the waiting room before we got a bed in the ER. After about 20 minutes there, and not even seeing a doctor, we began joking about how the patients would have to start treating each other, like students grading each other's tests. "Everyone to the right. . ." Soon, however, the adenaline wore off, and the vast boredom and misery of the hospital began to swallow us up and the two of shared a cramped gurney. At least the bleeding had subsided and Rick wasn't in too much pain.

After two and a half hours, at about 1:30 AM a wonderful black female doctor came to examine Rick. She quickly proclaimed it was the most awkward cut she had ever seen and asked if she could just cut off one of his other toes so she could sew it up properly. I was an eager spectator and enjoyed watching her stick her huge novacaine needle directly into the wound. As she cleaned it I got a really good view of the wound and was amazed at how deep deep crimson the deepest part of the cut was - it was pure, fleshy sinew. There were other minor dramas going on around us to keep me entertained as well: a jewish girl next to us with a mysteriously swelling leg, an elderly crack head lady who abruptly decided it was time to go home, and a gangbanger type who was lead in in handcuffs.

We finally got home around 3:00 in the morning and went straight to bed, even though the apartment was a disaster and it looked like someone had been murdered in the bathtub. Turns out Kim wasn't kicked off of Dancing with the Stars, so I'll get my chance to watch her next week, as long as Rick doesn't fall down the stairs again.

The homos come marching out!

Hooray and Wow! I haven't been as giddy to be a homosexual since evangelical leader Ted Haggard was caught with a gay hooker and crystal meth pipe stuck up his ass! Two MAJOR stars have come out of closet and I am so very happy for them. There was no dearth of rumors swirling around both Clay Aiken and Lindsay Lohan. Clay for one had been spotted and on several gay hook-up sites and several rags have featured interviews with his lovers. Also, gosmongers have been loudly whispering about the relationship between glama-lesbo L. Lo and her androgynous gal pal DJ Samantha Ronson. I'm just so happy and pleased for both of these people and I know first hand the relief AND FUN that both of these kids must be having. While I admit that I've always found Clay pretty creepy and still do, well at least he's a "being-honest-with-himself" kinda creepy. As for LesLo, its seems like she's cleaned up act ever since she's been hanging with Ronson - perhaps all her hard partying ways were in response to the stress of being in the closet. Also the extreme beauty of La Lohan makes up for the creepy and pseudo-ugliness of Aiken, so its a +10 points overall. 

Memoirs of a Geisha: my 5th grade review

At one point, Memoirs of a Geisha obtained a DiVinci Code type status in the American mindset. Everywhere you went, you saw people's noses buried behind the cover. Your co-worker was reading it; your mom just finished it, your friend's girlfriend kept talking about how she wanted to read it. Then the Rob Marshall movie came and went, remembered most for its splashy visuals and yawn-inducing story. I thought after the movie past and I never read the book, I never would, but it turns out it is one of Rick's favorite books and at his behest, I finally read it.

I always had a passing interest in the subject, but it seemed like it would be heavy and plodding: I expected to be confronted with self sacrificing women being constantly repressed, raped, and abused. I expected long, tortuously passages describing gorgeous scenery in Japan contrasted with a sadness and reservedness that the Japanese are so known for. However, Memoirs of a Geisha turned out to be mainly a beautiful soap opera set in Japan, complete with lustful encounters, catty exchanges, backstabbing, and opulent locales.

The novel is definitely a book you can tear through and the writing is nice and easy. The story follows a Japanese peasant girl born into a sickly family in a dreary fishing village who eventually becomes one of the most prominent geisha in all of Japan. The novel's greatest strength is in emersing you into geisha culture of Gion, the most famous geisha district in all of Japan. I found learning about the symbiotic workings of the okiyas (living compounds of the geishas), teahouses, geisha schools, and customers fascinating. While the society reminded me of the old school Hollywood Studio System in which the studios basically owned the stars, geisha culture is really a unique and foreign system that does not neatly translate into anything us Americans are familiar with.

Descriptions of how the girls are picked, trained, the rituals they go through, and the day to day life of the entertaining they do is fantastic. You feel like you are the lucky recipient of century old secrets, which in a way you are. What I found most entertaining is the way the geisha's compete with each other to become the most well known, highest paid entertainers in the land.

Sayuki, the main protagonist, is likable enough, but complains relentlessly and pines away for this one guy through the entirety of the book. The most interesting conflict is between Sayuki and her older okiya-mate Hatsumomo, who is widely renouned as the most beautiful geisha in all Japan, but who is cruel and hateful towards Sayuki who eventually grows to become her rival. However, at some point Hatumomo makes her exit, and I found my interest wanning and the story seemed to drag a bit and lose it narrative steam.

In conclusion, MoaG is a good, light read, and you will definitely learn a lot about Japan and geisha culture. There is ample drama and sensationalism to keep you satisfied for a good while, but the book finishes on a whimper.

My poor Tommy

There is a certain part of my brain that doesn't seem to know I'm gay. This part of my brain also likes football. There is a part of my brain that definitely knows I'm gay. This part of my brain loves Tom Brady. I'm mean just look at this guy.He's effing hot. I mean this guy would be hot if he played a jock in a Falcon flick, but he actually is a jock, and one of the most successful and respected jocks at that. Ok, ok. He's been a little bit tooly from time to time, which the whole Bridget Moynahan baby daddy drama, and the fact he seems to like hanging out with Giselle in New York rather than Beantown, but really all is forgivable for this guy. I feel a surge of confidence and pleasure every time Tommy takes the field because almost without fail he gets the job done.

Tom and the Pats have been very important to my life. I've been a fan since the 2000, the year before their storybook season went Bledsoe went down and this little known kid from California bravely stepped in and led them to their first Superbowl championship. This was also the year that I came out and I vividly remember watching the "Snowbowl" divisional playoff game against the Oakland Raiders with my father the night I came out to my parents. We walked in silence through the driving snow and together watched one of the most exciting football games that have ever been played. I think the experience actually helped my Dad get through that first night. I can imagine him thinking "well, we still likes football, so it can't be all bad. . ."

Since then, Brady has lead the Pats to 3 Superbowl Championships. With Brady at the helm, Bill Belichick had created one of the most dominant and feared teams in NFL history. All that came to a screeching halt last Sunday when Kansas City safety Bernard Polard tore into Brady's left knee, sidelining him for the rest of the season. Well, I feel terrible for Tommy. It must be hard to not be able to do what you do best. It must be hard to sit back and have to watch while someone else does your job. Tommy if your out there and are ever feeling down or need somewhere to convalesce, my services, and apartment, are open. Somehow I feel he might prefer Giselle as his Florence Nightingale.

And so we have Matt Cassel, the new Pats QB, who comes to us in a very similar manner as Brady. Cassel has big shoes to fill. While he in no way compares to the beauty of Brady, Cassel's got his own boy next door California charm, and so far he has done a bang up job leading the Pats to a 2-0 start, and competing with a NFL vet like Brett Farve. Keep it up Cassel! You'll never replace Brady, but if you can lead this team to another Superbowl, I just might start to imagine you in Falcon's next locker room scene.

I got an Xbox 361

Yeah thats right! Its one degree better than yours. Score!

And now for a lovely little picture. . .

That'll do. It looks exactly like that except I keep mine on its side, cuase its lazy like me. Anyway, I finally broke down and got a 360. I've been talking about it for probably 2 years now and I thought I'd save Rick the pain of me suggest to him that he get it for me every birthday, xmas, 4th of July, gay pride week, etc. Actually what did it was the latest issue of game informer came featured tons of new games from this years E3 and I decided that enough was enough. I mean Resident Evil 4? C'mon, who doesn't want to blow the heads of zombified African villagers? I hope that didn't sound racist. I mean, I'm not racist, I'm just stereotypically white (sorry, random ANTM reference). I got it off Craigslist, which is always an experience in and of itself. I have actually been trolling the Xbox market on craigslist for months now, and I always found it odd that the best deals were in Carnasie or Avenue U or some other random place I've never been. Ok, that definitely sounded racist, I think? Sorry. But my fears are legitimate. I read about these guys who would go to buy iPhones on some random corner in Bed-Stuy and they would be held up at gun point. So yeah. Plus, as mentioned earlier, I'm lazy and so I decided that the deal would have to go down in my neighborhood or have it delivered to me. Plus I fear the red rings of death which any Xbox owner worth his achievement points prays against every night. I mean whats going to stop some dude from handing me some broken Xbox? I certainly would never have the balls to demand my money back. As you can see I had a lot of requirements and basically assumed that every deal would end with mean leaking blood out of my head. Stressful. So, I found this ad for this guys selling it for $240, and I told him I'd pay him $20 bucks more for him to deliver it and I made it clear that I would require him to plug it in and prove it worked before I paid. He was totally cool with that, which made me suspicious, but just as planned he came over after work, hooked it up, we made the transaction and that was that!

He only had NBA2K8 which I will be trading in quickly. I downloaded Castle Crashers which is like Smurfs meet Golden Axe, with a little bit more deapth, and Rick and I just beat it tonight. I have to admit it got a little tedious, but it was good for a laugh and had a good amount of charm. I just wish I had picked a different knight; I chose green, who uses bio-poison type magic - never my favorite, as I feel its just kinda a pussy magic, you know? Like, poison, are you kidding me? What are we going to cast a spell and then dance around and avoid attacks for like 10 minutes while our opponent slowly wastes away? Lets just scorch them with a giant fucking Fire3 and get it over with!

Speaking of bio-ness, I got Bioshock via GameFly yesterday, and I've logged about 2 hours. It features an underwater dystopian city set in the 1950's. Swell. More on that later. But first, one more pretty picture.

Smoking that Salvia

So today the New York Times came out with an article on salvia use in America and it was really eye opening. I had never even heard of this drug before, and I used to think of myself as a pretty well informed druggie. Those days are long gone. The Times article mentioned the proliferation of YouTube videos of kids using salvia (which is smoked out of pipes and bongs much like weed) and immediately I jumped on to watch. The videos range from teenage girls giggling their asses off to freaked out college dudes stumbling around looking like zombies.

Now back in the day, this would have been right up my alley. I'd be on one of those websites ordering that stuff from some hippie up in New Hampshire and trying to convince all the girls to do it. Kasim and I would sit around and have a ridiculous time with it together. But those days are gone. I'd say from around the time I smoked my first joint back with Kasim, to the night I tripped on Robotussin (aka the worst night of my life) I was a pretty hard core druggie. I was fearless. Lets tick of the list: pot, booze (together for pleasure!), e, mushrooms, vicadin, coke, and acid. I was a pretty heavy pot smoker during my senior year of highschool and during Freshman year of college, and really only dabbled in the harder stuff. My nightmare episode with robotripping for the most part ended my love affair with drugs. Now, I'm older, wiser, and usually much more sober (except for that time in New Hope). Still, I think I still have that experimenter's spirit should the situation present itself (i.e. without Rick). As long as I feel comfortable, I would consider doing most drugs, its just not something I seek out on my own.

Even though most of these kids end up looking like they've been on an intense multiple week bender after about 10 seconds, I have to admit I'm intrigued. I watched one video of several highschool girls sitting around in a sunny, wooded area, smoking salvia and butts, and in an almost grotesque way, the video made me nostalgic for times past. Its true that when I used to do drugs alot, I felt cool, I felt bad ass, and I KNEW I was having more fun than all the straightedged kids. Now I mainly see it as a waste of money and time, but I still say that people have the right to put anything into their bodies that they want, as long as they are not a danger to themselves or others.

I used to feel so comfortable losing complete control of myself and seeing where my brain takes me, but now, its often more scary than redoubtable. Maybe sometime with Laura or something. So yeah? What was I saying? Can you pass the bong?

Nonie

Last Thursday, approximately one week after her 99th birthday, my grandmother Nonie passed away. Nonie, which is an affectionate term for grandmother in Italian, was a wonderful woman and I will miss her. I remember Nonie at her most vibrant when my family would go down to Margate, NJ every summer and stay at her house one block from the beach. I always remember the weather being perfect, not a cloud in the sky, and somehow, exotic. Its strange to think of now, given my very New York-centric view of New Jersey of some type of sub-urban hellhole, but just about everything about Nonie's house and town seemed so exciting and different. We would drive across the salt marsh inlet and breath in the noisome air, so toxic smelling yet still natural and a harbinger that the eternal seeming drive was about to end. She lived in large Spanish style house one block from the ocean, and the air was always heavy and sticky with sea air. The grand entrance was stunning; red carpet running up an open staircase and into a balcony that overlooked the room. We often used the side entrance to Nonie's kitchen, (where she would hide my butterscotch pastries above the pea green fridge)and the stony walk up to her door always seemed to be baking in the sun and filled with the most wonderful floral aromas. I remember so distinctly that house, walking into the kitchen, passing through her office area (where she kept several letter openers and a bubble infused paperweight) and into the red living room. Nonie would be on my right, sitting in her chair, watching television or directing affairs from that throne. She was always kind but firm, with a quick wit that I didn't understand until much later, and she was one you never wanted to cross. Still she was always loving and happy and always had kind words for me, if I was behaving. The living room was the most used room in the house, and another of my most vivid memories was ordering HUGE subs from some sandwich shop in Margate, and the loving the excitement of unpacking each sub, figuring out who ordered what and chowing down.

I would often sleep in Nonie's gigantic king bed and I would sometimes toss and turn, uncomfortable and excited in my new surroundings. Car headlights would sometimes splash up against her bedroom wall and the fade off into the night, and eventually I would drift off to sleep, no doubt dreaming about the beach. In the mornings, afternoons, or really anytime, we would head down to the beach. It was less than five minute walk, past perhaps 10 houses,the blue and white beach club on the left where you could get umbrella and beach chairs and onto the scorching sand. There never seemed to be a storm in sight, and although Nonie was too old even then to make her way down to the beach, I knew she was happy just knowing her children and grandchildren were enjoying it. At night, we would head to the boardwalk in Atlantic City, and here I was presented with a whole other set of sights and wonders. The salt water taffy! The lights! The hot dogs! The rocking boat that made you feel like you were about to fall out of it, and the dark ocean surrounding it all. There were too many diversions to sample in one night, but would always make sure to bring some fudge back for Nonie.

One time Nonie gave me my first real shock of independence. It was just me and her hanging out in her African art festooned living room when she called me over out of the blue.
"Here's five dollars," she said. "Go down to the store and get youself something." I was maybe 7 or 8 years old and five dollars then felt like I had just won the lottery. Crossing the road by myself was something I dreamt about in nightmares. I was shocked and impressed that Nonie trusted me to complete this task all myself. But there was my mission laid out to me, and knowing she trusted me gave me strength and self confidence.

Finally, Nonie grew too old to take care of herself down in Margate and my parents decided to bring her up to Lexington where they could be closer to her. They found her a nice condo 15 minutes away from our house and hired nurses and caregivers to take care of her. We would have her over to dinner almost every weekend, and when I got my drivers license, I took pride in my task of going over to pick up Nonie. When I came home from school for winter break, I would sometimes go over to Nonie's just for a chat. Her sharp wit was hilarious and at a time when I was very stressed about who I was and what I was going to do with my life, these chats with Nonie were a pleasure. She never had any criticism, just words of encouragement and advice. I knew that she always enjoyed my surprise visits, I'm not sure she ever knew that I enjoyed them as much as she did.

As Nonie grew older still, it became harder for her to move, she never got any exercise, and after a few falls, my parents decided that it was time to move her to an assisted living facility. I would stories about Nonie, how she would sometimes see things that weren't there, how she would forget who my mother and my aunts were, and how she would sometimes be mean to her aides. But I also heard about how she kept her sharp wit, and would come out with a pointed comment at just the right time. Just over a month ago, I was in Boston with Rick for a tennis tournament there. My mother encouraged me to go see Nonie at some point and even though I wanted to, I was scared to, and we didn't have too much time and the truth is I forgot before Rick and I left for Provincetown. On our way back we had some extra time and I decided to visit her. We walked into the upper ward and I spotted her from the back, sitting by herself. I walked around her and sat in front of her and although she looked similar, she was missing several teeth and her eyes were cloudy. I was afraid she wouldn't recognize me. "Hi Nonie!" I yelled, "It's Jonathan, your grandson!" "Jonathan!" she replied, "what are you doing here?!" It was the same old Nonie, the same excitement to see one of her grandchildren. We talked and chatted and I introduced Rick, and told her he was a teacher. "You better watch out for this one," she said about me. And later, to me "you better hang on to this one." And somehow, I knew she knew. And I knew she didn't care and that she loved me. I knew she enjoyed my visit tremendously. I hopes she knows I enjoyed it just as much as she did.

Nonie died about a month after I went to visit her, and I'm so grateful I got to see her one last time. I'm sorry I was too young to miss her younger, more vibrant years, but I know she carried that same spirit with until until the very end. I will remember her always, and miss her deeply.

Palin the hypocrite

Wow! This election has been a little bit O.O.C as Mariah Carrey would say (she stole it from me!) and this "Palin's daughter is pregnant" is pure insanity and once again proves again how complicated politics is.

The whole thing really makes me sick. So here's the deal - Sarah Palin, the 2 year governer of Alaska and Republican vice-presidential nominee, has a 17 year old daughter who got knocked up. And no folks, she ain't married. Now instead of denouncing her as a hypocrite, a bad mother, and someone who is unfit to run for the second highest position in the US government, the Christian right is rallying around her, PRAISING her to heaven for the support she is showing her daughter and lauder the daughter's decision to keep the child. One of the Republican reps tonight called her a hero on Larry King and I wanted to barf all over her. What really just makes me irate is the scorn and moral highground these evangelical assholes claim to stand on, even though they are just they same as everyone else! Palin and all these other fuck-holes preach abstinence, yet not one of them spoke of the irresponsibility of the daughter, or the mother for not keeping better tabs or TEACHING HER ABOUT BIRTH CONTROL. No no no! This baby is a blessing and this family loves each other and supports life! Praise Jesus! Oh and all you homosexuals? You're doomed to hell. It kind of makes me feel icky when I think about butt sex so I'm going to deny you the right to marry. Yeah, we've got to DEFEND marriage from you guys!! We've got to keep it nice and clean so that immature, irresponsible kids can get married when they have a baby. After all, how are they going to get divorced 2 years later and totally fuck up the kids childhood if they don't get married. Yeah, gotta ammend that constitution. What a good day. Now I'm just going to go smoke some crystal meth, hire a gay hooker and call it a day. Amen.

Ok, so those are some harsh words. Having been a teenager myself relatively recently and having wonderful parents, I would hate that they be held responsible for some of ghastly crimes I committed. I was a bad kid for a while there, and my parents had nothing to do with it. So I don't blame Palin. But it truly makes to almost sick thinking how terrible this baby is going to make this girl's life. She probably doesn't love the guy. Now she's forced to marry him. She's still in highschool and has no job training. Now, I'm sure this family is going to be very well taken care of, and she's very lucky, but she does not now have the luxury of taking her time to discover what she really wants to do with her life. Its all just sad sad sad. . .or happy happy happy if you ask the Republicans. Go figure.