The General Situation

Hope You're Well

I may have to rip the face off the next person who begins an email or voicemail by saying "Hope you're well." I'd say it's the "Have a nice day" of our times—no one means it, not really—except that it's worse in that it's almost always deployed before bad news, an excuse, or a request for a favor. I'd like to think that we can assume that people would prefer that I haven't developed oral cancer—sorry, I just saw one of those bus ads—and when I see it written, it strikes me as a command ("You better hope you're well"). I'm as guilty as anyone of using the phrase in the past, but going forward I vow to make every effort in the future to avoid it.

Other People's Misspellings...

...may be about as funny as "Family Circus," but this one still made me laugh, given that the placard was prominently displayed by the registers at Jacques Torres.

Pee-wee Goes to Congress

P.U.G. (Pretty Ugly)

It always makes me a little crazy when people on the street say, "Oh your dog is so ugly!"—not just because it's rude, but because I honestly think pugs aren't ugly-cute in the way, say, that a bulldog is. Pugs are cute-cute. Nonetheless, a while back I began serenading him with the (unfortunate in hindsight) Michael Jackson hit "P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)," but I changed it to "P.U.G. (Pretty Ugly)." Today, while having some wallpaper put up, I got really bored—but couldn't do any real work—so, naturally, I wrote my own lyrics to "P.Y.T."

P.U.G. (Pretty Ugly)

Where did you come from, puggy?

Givin' me that bug-eyed stare

Look what I got you, buddy—

Pup-Peroni! Just sit for me

Freak of nature

Pugger walk with me

Please don't squat now

Wait till we're outside

Try to be polite

Bark but don't you bite

Then tonight rest your walnut brain

Be good and you get more snacks

I want to pet you (P.U.G.)

Pretty ugly

You need some brushin' (T.L.C.)

Fur flies everywhere

But you sure don't care

I want to pet you (P.U.G.)

Pretty ugly

You need some brushin' (T.L.C.)

Fur flies everywhere

Aren't we quite the pair

Warn me if you gotta go

Nothin' can stop your snortin'

Breathin' ain't easy it's true

Gotta clean your folds baby

Or the vet's gonna holler at me

New collar you're sportin'

Men in Black's on TV

Don't you know now is the perfect time

On the couch we'll curl

Your tail will unfurl

Till I hurl

Anal glands actin' up

Still you're my number one pup

I want to pet you (P.U.G.)

Pretty ugly

You need some brushin' (T.L.C.)

Fur flies everywhere

But you sure don't care

I want to pet you (P.U.G.)

Pretty ugly

You need some brushin' (T.L.C.)

Fur flies everywhere

Aren't we quite the pair

Pretty uglies, repeat after me

I said na na na (woof woof woof)

Na na na (woof woof woof)

Na na na (woof woof woof)

I said na na na (woof woof woof woof woof)

Love that puggy glare

"Can I Get a Hall Pass?"

Play It Once, Sam. For Old Time's Sake

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave. You were what I wanted; I gave what I gave. I'm not sorry I met you; I'm not sorry it's over; I'm not sorry there's nothing to save. —"Your Ex-Lover Is Dead," Stars

Last week I was at a café, and The Verve's "Bittersweet Symphony" came on. One of the folks working there started talking about how the song made her cry, and I couldn't agree with her more. (I didn't mention it at the time. I don't think saying, "No way! Me, too!" would've come off right.) Back when I listened to an iPod on the way to work—uh, back when I worked—I would stand in the subway with tears running down my face whenever "Bittersweet Symphony" came on. Something about it just hit the right note, particularly, and maybe only, during a despair-inducing morning commute. Same goes for The The's "This Is the Day."

The experience at the café got me thinking about the other songs that make me cry, songs that I love because they make me cry, even after hundreds of listens. (Though I will avoid listening too much to a few of them because I don't want to diminish their power.) Some are I-love-you songs, but most are I-don't-love-you songs or you-don't-love-me songs. Off the top of my head, here are the 15 songs that make me cry, in no particular order—in case you're in the mood to get pleasantly bummed out.

The Velvet Underground: "Pale Blue Eyes"

Michelle Shocked: "Anchorage"

Hedwig and the Angry Inch: "The Origin of Love"

The Verve: "Bittersweet Symphony"

The The: "This Is the Day"

Momus: "The Sadness of Things"

Cowboy Junkies: "Ring on the Sill"

Rufus Wainwright: "Hallelujah"

Stars: "Your Ex-Lover Is Dead"

Prince and the Revolution: "Adore"

Lou Reed: "Halloween Parade"

U2: "One"

Leonard Cohen: "Famous Blue Raincoat"

Bruce Springsteen: "Valentine's Day"

Hem: "When I Was Drinking"

P.S. Years (decades?) ago, I was looking at the back page of the Village Voice, and someone had printed a section of the lyrics to "Ring on the Sill" amid the missed connections. I so wish I'd kept it. I encourage you to check the lyrics out here—they're that good.

Vocab Lesson: Chugger

Chugger (noun): someone who stands on the sidewalk and attempts to solicit donations from passersby; the word is a mash-up of "charity" and "mugger." The Financial Times: "Are Chuggers (ie 'charity muggers'—street-based donation canvassers) pests or saints?" (The FT wasn't asking me, but so what: I live across from City Hall Park, where an outfit called Children's International tends to deploy teams of Chuggers, and they're driving me up the wall. I can't take Howard out for a walk without getting harassed. It's a tough gig, and I sympathize for them—or at least I used to—but that doesn't give them the right to make people feel rude for refusing to stop and get hit up.)

I'll Be There for You, Cause You're There for Me Too

Burger King announced a promotion that if you unfriend 10 Facebook friends you can get a free Whopper (like that's such a prize). Still, I think it's kind of funny. I even had a similar idea once. But first, some background....

A month or two after I joined Facebook, when I had around 30 "friends," I told a new (real) friend that I didn't believe that anyone could really have 700 "friends." He replied that he had around 500—doh!—but that he swore he knew every one of them.

The idea of devaluing friendship rubbed me the wrong way—as I've written before, if you care to go there. If someone asks if you'd like to be their friend, you should have more options than "accept" and "ignore." Instead of just "accept," for instance, there might be options such as:

OK, fine but...
...I still haven't forgiven you
...Just this once
...If we see each other on the street, please don't acknowledge me
...We never dated
...I hope you've changed
...Don't push it: send me one application and it's over
...You better buy my book when it comes out

And wouldn't it be great if there were ways to express ambivalence? Maybe a "whatever" option? Or "This request never happened." Or better yet, a button that sends the requester a message saying "X-From_: MAILER DAEMON Returned mail: user unknown." I'm exaggerating for effect—no one I accepted as a friend made me feel this way!!!—but you get my point. Life is so not the black/white of accept/ignore.

Anyway, I wondered if I'd ever get to 100 "friends." At 90, I had an idea: When my 101st friend request came in, I'd make an announcement that I'd be limiting myself to 100 friends, which meant that if I were to accept the new request, someone would have to be sacrificed. (I think a euphemism like "weeding the garden" might come in handy.) I could even ask for volunteers, and if no one stepped forward, I could choose three expendables, and let everyone else vote. I'd certainly be amenable to waitlisting them in case an opening occurred.

But 101 came and went, and I realized I didn't have the stomach for it. What can I say? I'm loyal to the end.

Aren't We a Pair?

When I look back at what I've written on this blog, I'm struck by how much is related to being gay (especially if you ignore the poetry, which is what most people think poetry is there for). Having long considered myself post-gay—i.e., it's just one part of who I am—I don't generally obsess over it. But the last post mentioned my partner, my love for AbFab, and dressing in drag!

I'm feeling sensitive because the topic I've been wanting to write about is one that you probably have to be gay to relate to. Or at least it's worse for us.

I worry that Adam and I look and dress alike. This has been a problem—in my mind, not Adam's—for years, when I bought new glasses that evidently looked like his, though the frames were darker. Friends kept asking if we had the same glasses, and Adam would chortle, because he knew that it bugged me. 

The glasses made me aware of the fact that we dress similarly: We have the same coloring, and we're therefore drawn to the blue, gray, and brown clothes. We both have fairly traditional styles, leaning toward jeans, sneakers, and dress shirts. We shop at the same stores. I try to be vigilant about not matching, remembering to ask Adam what he'll be wearing, but then he'll go and change his mind. 

People love to point out that we're dressed alike—it's funny, I get it—but I have zero desire to become Viktor & Rolf. If a straight couple passes by in matching sweatsuits, you think, Was Costco having a sale? But if you're gay and you look like your lover people might conclude that you're a sexual narcissist, someone who wanted to marry a mirror and settled for the next best thing. (Madonna reference!)

About a year ago, Adam decided that he could no longer go without buying new brown shoes for work. I told him he should try John Varvatos, because I had found a pair of timeless brown loafers there. I made him agree, however, not to buy the same shoes. When we got to the store, he found nothing that he liked—except, of course, the loafers I had bought. He was moaning about how he really, really needed new shoes, and since we don't work together, or even in the same neighborhood, I caved and said he could get them. I joked to the handsome clerk, "Great, now we're one step closer to dressing exactly alike."

The clerk looked us up and down, then replied drolly, "Is that your goal?"*

No! Not at all! In fact, this summer, while on a JetBlue flight to California, when the chipper flight attendant taking drink orders asked if Adam and I were twin brothers, I was visibly aghast—so much so that she apologized. It's one thing for people—our friends' young daughter, the owner of the doggy day care, waiters everywhere—not to be able to tell us apart. But twins?

Adam is adorable, so it's not that I mind looking like him. It's that I mind looking like anyone else. I love having a partner but not if it comes at the expense of losing my own identity. I suppose that's why I've always admired the wedding tradition in which each half of the couple uses a candle to jointly light a new candle, leaving the original candles burning as symbols of their own selves.

Things may be looking up. Last weekend, at the gym, I was still on the treadmill when Adam, who had been running next to me, left to lift weights. When I was finished, I went to find him, and he pointed at his shirt, then mine. We were wearing the same T-shirt, in slightly different shades of blue: souvenirs from the marine gas station on Balboa Island in California. The shirts have a huge orange-and-white Union 76 logo on the back. Adam was horrified, but my first thought was that people might think we own the gas station, or at least a boat.

* Too late, I remembered AbFab's "Death" episode, when Eddie dismissed a clerk by saying, "You only work in a shop, you know. You can drop the attitude."

Four Clarifications

I'm sure I'm not the only person who leaves a conversation wishing he'd been clearer about something. But of course you can't always go back and explain what you really meant, if only because (a) you risk looking like you care way too much; and (b) it's possible that the other person didn't even notice, so why dredge it up now? Certain flubs, however, have stuck with me, and I'd like to clarify what I intended to say.

Adam: A few weeks back, when I tipsily admitted that I'd "made out" with a friend years ago—but after you and I began dating—it would've been more accurate to say that he and I kissed.

Mom and Dad: While coming out to you, and I said it wasn't as if I was going to start wearing a dress, I should've added "all the time" or "except on occasions when pants just won't do." I was not yet aware how hot I'd look in high heels. (It was Halloween, over a decade ago, and we went as the Baywatch babes. If I dress like a woman now it's more of a butch-lesbian effect. Very Rachel Maddow.)

Umpteen people: I loved "Absolutely Fabulous" and can quote many of the scenes, something I often do even when I'm the only one who sees the relevance. For example, whenever I get served a large drink, I recall a phrase one of the characters said to Marshall, a recovering alcoholic. Except instead of "See you on Wednesday" or whatever the line actually is, I have been long misremembering it as "See you next Tuesday." Wires got crossed! I forgot what that means!

Adam again: When I announced that I didn't buy myself that J. Crew shirt because I didn't like the collar, I never meant that I wouldn't love the shirt as a gift. You're the best.