I've been busy working on a bitch of project plagued by a slow tool and runtime errors which doesn't allow me any time to play on here...and I'm so mentally fatigued by the end of the day, I have no interest in blogging from home.
I also rejoined my gym, at Seattle Central, to help me lose weight and lower my cholesterol and keep me from wasting every evening vegging out in front of the tube watching Dancing with the Stars, Top Model and The Greatest Loser while scarfing down Ghiradelli bittersweet chocolate chips...
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Michael:
I so love to read your blog.
But such pathetic prattling does not become you. Get out of that chair. It is your duty to get down to that gym, every single day if necessary, and provide those hard-working men with the audience they deserve. Especially the homely ones. You know the kind I mean, those whose genetic legacy has delivered them only to the frailest edge of masculine beauty. I remember a boy I met in San Francisco many, many years ago. He had a big nose, the ears of an African elephant and wore thick glasses. He was skinny, like certain long cats are skinny. He was not particularly gifted in any way that I can remember. But when I gave him that filthy look, it was amazing how he came alive. And I heard him talking, no, boasting, one day to another gymmate about that guy giving him a look that made him feel so creepy. And I knew that I had done good in the world.
In your later years, if your memory survives the cultural onslaught that threatens to engulf us all, you'll have something to look back upon. And so will he.
It's just you, me and Madonna keeping sex alive. Everything else is unimportant.
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