November 24th, 2005

33rd birthday

(no subject)

Thanksgiving Day and The Co-op is closed. Hallelujah.

In all the insanity of this week, I forgot to mention that we got yet another new guy at work. My gaydar perked up when I first met him, and Saprina replied "oh yea, he's family," and then yesterday my final confirmation came in the form of the Provincetown sweatshirt that he was wearing. So hip hip hooray -- The Co-op is no longer a gay boy-free zone (and it's about fucking time).

So should I go see Rent before going to my parents' house this afternoon? Or should I stay in my pajamas and tie-dyed socks for as long as humanly possible? Decisions, decisions ...


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33rd birthday

Thanksgiving and "Rent"

Yes, I went to see Rent. You knew I would. I knew I would.

I'm not one to go see and movie and then write some long review-type-thing, so this won't be lengthy. The points I wanted to make were:

The movie, like the live show, made me weep, and weep repeatedly. That being said, they cut out a number of my favorite songs ("Happy New Year" and the better part of "Goodbye Love"), although honestly, a lot of what they cut was stuff I could've done without anyway (I'll admit it: I was never a big fan of "Contact" and am glad to see it gone).

And yes, in case you were wondering, I'll still gladly go to see it again ... with lilostitch, with anjeelou, with anyone and everyone.

It takes me back to a time ... when I was a junkie, when friends were dying, when people seemed to care about putting a stop to AIDS. You remember the 90s, right? When no one would dream of having sex without a condom, when clubs handed out dental dams and every dorm bathroom was stocked with condoms and lube?

I dunno. Maybe we got old and jaded. Maybe all the activists died. Maybe I stopped giving a shit once I got off smack. Rent will forever remind me of the time in my life when I watched friend after friend die, and held on tight to those who remained.

At any rate, Thanksgiving was Tofurkey with Mom and Dad, where Dad played the evil hovering waitress and asked me loaded question after loaded question every single time that I had my mouth full and was unable to answer without choking (which I did, twice). Personally, I hate talking while I'm eating. I enjoy talking before, and I enjoy talking after, but while I'm actually attempting to ingest food? I'm sorry, but the mechanics simply don't work that way. So basically I enjoyed nothing that I ate because I attempted to shovel it in at breakneck speed so that he wouldn't catch me unawares again and make me choke a third time. It was stupid, and left me feeling sick.

Left me really wanting a fucking cigarette too. Parents are known to do that, I suppose.