Wednesday, September 27, 2006
|There's a smoking gun on my gun.|Or there's a gun on my smoking gun.I finally decided that I was hot enough to get the tattoo I'd been dreaming about for years. The original idea was three black hearts going down my left forearm -- hearts like the kind one would find on a typical playing card.The idea then evolved into smokering hearts and, most recently, hearts coming out of a gun. I added the gun because I thought that would allow the smokerings to "make more sense." Conversations with Adam lead to a revolver being the choice of firearm.I had wanted to wait until I thought I/my arm was hot enough to have such attention drawn to it. I partially think it is, I'm partially lazy and I partially feared I would not ever have the money again when I came to the conclusion that, suddenly, I did.Looking at it, I realize a few things: 1) there has never been something so awesome on my arm and 2) until I had it done, I never thought about what it would look like. In my head I just kept seeing the idea, "smokering hearts" -- I think that if I had to say what I thought it looked like prior to actually getting it, I must have just seen actual smoke somehow permanently attached to my arm. Even when I supplied the artists with 30+ photographs of guns, smoking guns and smoke (mostly cigarette smoke), I still was not actually thinking about how the end product would appear.I would supply a pic, but I do not have a digital camera, my camera phone pictures suck, and as it wraps from the outer portion of my upperarm to the inner portion of my forearm, it's hard to get in one shot.In any case, I'm happy to say it's smoking.
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 23:48.
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|So that's what girls do.|I was walking along East Houston, singing my song, with sexy red velvet cupcakes on the brain, when I spied a lezzie chica that I'd worked with this past summer at the law firm exiting a building on Mercer. At least, I thought it was a girl I knew. I recognized her hair do and her body form, but her face was hidden from me.And I could not remember her name.For some reason I needed to say hi to her. I do not know what I thought would happen. So I ran after her, slowed when I approached, and tapped her on her bare shoulder.She pulled away from me. I tapped her again. She pulled further away. Never looking, never acknowledging, just pulling.Just like that, I was a crazy black man on the street harassing a woman. People on the street thought I was a crazy black man on the street harassing a woman.Crap, is she not the girl? Oh my god, am I a crazy black guy harassing a woman on the street?I stopped and let her walk off. And then, desperate for some way of verifying what I thought, I shouted: "I worked with you this summer at the firm!"She turned. "SWS2.1, how are you?!?""I'm good. You thought I was some random man, didn't you?""Yeah."And then there was awkwardness.
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 15:14.
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Friday, September 22, 2006
|A splish splash of clarity. A tidal wave of change.|(unedited because it's too damn long and I'm too damn lazy)I'm the 1L social co-chair for OUTLaw at school.I volunteered for the position because I decided that the only ways I would engage in the gay activities at school were if 1) I was forced to go or 2) I designed them.And talking with the other social co-chair, I came to realize how selfish my intentions were. In my head, there's no reason to ever do anything in bar -- especially when it almost invariably breaks down into boys (and gay boy identified) on one side and girls (or gay girl identified) on the other, for the most part. What's socially harmonious about that?But, at the same time: 1) this works because people enjoy it -- they like going to bars and drinking, even if they aren't necessarily mingling and advancing the "cause" 2) there is something to be said for the non-heterosexual law students to be able to go somewhere and just chill, even if there is the omnipresent sexual cloud shadowing overhead 3) and it's not as if I can deny the fact that it's sex that brings us together, since, really, we wouldn't be together if it weren't for our particular, though not necessarily the same, sexual interests/desires.And I realize that, really, despite my philosophical stance, when it comes down to it, I really don't want to go to a bar 'cause I know that almost everyone there is really just looking to get some and no one is looking to give it to me and I don't want to have to deal with that. At the same time, my desire to be liked and to not bother/annoy prevents me from being able to just go and hang, because I'm thinking, "This person doesn't want to be talking to me because he wants to be talking to someone that he wants to do and I'm probably just frustrating him 'cause I won't leave the conversation so that he can go do that." Which, really, might just be me projecting my own concerns about mostly wanting to go for the hope of meeting up with some hot guy and making out and then falling in love ::coughs::lust:: and feeling guilty over that.And while I was talking to my co-chair I was thinking about last night, when I was with an attractive, tall white med student making out and pissing on one another.And then I realized that I'm afraid to have fun, afraid to be social. I'm afraid to go to a bar and engage with people: afraid that they'll prove me right and afraid that they'll prove me wrong, perhaps more afraid that they'll prove me wrong than anything else.I keep saying that I need to pull a George Costanza and I think... from this moment on, I'm going to do just that.ALL OF MY SOCIAL INCLINATIONS ARE WRONG. I'm hot(ter than I used to be) and I run the risk of guys actually finding me physically attractive. And while I like to think that no one likes me and I have no friends, as has been pointed out: could I hardly pull together 12 random lesbians or 30 other assorted individuals for brunch if no one actually liked me?I do not deny what I know: that racism is rife in the gay community, that being fat and black and gay and relatively poor at Columbia was difficult, that most gay guys only want to become your friend if they think they want to have sex with you, you shouldn look both ways before you cross the street, young American girls should not travel solo through Calcutta, bartenders are paid to act as if they give a damn about your woes, and so on and so forth.But maybe though those things be true, the world (read: Gay New York City) isn't as bad as I've painted it.Or, rather, that I am not now where I was when the seeds of this view were sown. It does not make me happy that being better looking now probably means actually being permitted to enjoy myself in a bar, but, does that mean I shouldn't enjoy myself? Moreover, what about all of the happy, conventionally very unattractive guys out there who have tons of fun, in bars or wherever they are? It's as much about looks as it is about attitude, which people have told me over and over again and I only now finally comprehend.Huh, looks like I have managed to learn a thing or two in law school. And it's only my fourth week.(Sorry for the rambling... I dedicate this post to Heather, who is probably the only person who will read this whole post because she's just that bored at work)
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 15:56.
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Wednesday, September 20, 2006
|My Law School Analogy|You know when you read in a fitness magazine or article about a new exercise you should be doing at the gym and you go to the gym and try it out and you do it just like the article said and you are sure you have just the same form as the shiny, toned model in the photographs or diagrams but you don't feel it where the article said you would so then you go back home and re-read the article (heaven forbid you bring the article with you onto the gym floor and let the people around you know that you aren't totally gifted with an absolute and perfect knowledge of all things athletic) and go back to the gym and try it again and still you do not feel it where the magazine said that you should.Yeah, that's law school for me.And I may have been watching Scrubs too much.
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 11:20.
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|Re: The End of the Prologue|So I haven't found a boyfriend.What I have found is that while I may actually be more attractive than I was in the past (specifically, when I arrived to Manhattan to start my life here six years and one month ago), I'm still not someone anyone actually wants to be with. The spate of first dates that I had in the second half of this summer combined with the utter lack of second dates or, hell, anyone even being able to respond to a phone call or email post-first date is proof positive of that.And I was right (shockingly): it is distracting me from my studies.
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 01:12.
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|"I've had many advances."|Isn't is just swell when someone cites that as a reason why not to date you?Swell.
promulgated by SWS2.1 at 01:01.
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