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contours provocations
journal - 2001-0107 - sun 1600 "A Cold I Have"; NightQuil Stupor; Breathing; "Peel Me a Grape," In the room, the journals come and go! "Oh, crap," to quote the Invisible Man from the Sci-Fi Channel. "A cold I have," he said. Friday eve, I figured out that the sinus infection had drifted into a cold. Congestion, more congestion, and even more congestion. I feel wretched, and my wittle nose is shiny and red. I keep getting e-mail from some guy wanting to know if I'll be available next Christmas to help guide his sleigh. (Not a chance, fat boy, after you turned down my request for a snuggle bunny!) I'm sitting on the couch in a DayQuil/NightQuil stupor, watching the Sci-Fi's "First Wave" marathon. Last season, Sci-Fi moved it from Friday night, and I lost track of it. Not the most expensive production budget, but Cade Foster is easy on the eyes, and Crazy Eddie has a certain charm. Last night, sniffing and sneezing and coughing, I went to dinner with a friend. Several times during the day, I'd been tempted to call and cancel, but I thought if I had din din, I might feel slightly better. At the first site, there was not a parking place to be had. I could see that the area inside the door was packed. The second suggestion had similiar problems. So off we went to the Japanese restaurant. Although not as crowded as the other two, we still had to wait. Alas, I was too preoccupied with trying to breath to really appreciate the dinner or the conversation. After my friend left, I tried to go to bed but could not. As usual in such a situation, I returned to the living room to cruise through the cable channels. TNT was airing a Mae West film: "I'm No Angel" from 1933. I'd heard of it, read about and seen stills from it, but I'd never actually seen it. Mae West felt that she alone could do her films justice, so she wrote most of her own material. And this one does have some of her most famous lines. One on which is even quoted in Bartlett's. She turns to her maid and says, "Beulah, peel me a grape." She also says, "Come up and see me." And "When I'm good, I'm very good; but when I'm bad, I'm better." It's interesting to watch how she surveys every man she meets like a tiger spotting the village goat. And she makes great use of small noises like chirps, humming and clucks; she doesn't so much talk to her men as she communicates at some sub-vocal level. At last with a couple of stiff doses of NightQuil, I was able to sleep, and spent most of the day in bed. Around noon, it began to rain, and the drops splashed against the window air conditioner unit like tap steps of a duo of tiny dancers. "Fresh from their Broadway sensation, the Raindrop Brothers will tap their way into your heart!" Journals seem to come and go. Driven by Design has vanished. The Forum is on hiatus. And Gazing into the Abyss has been nabbed by aliens. I followed at link at Lobo Solo to Michael's Story. Lobo and Michael's sites are married men who have come to recognize their gayness. I've been a long-time reader of Lobo, and have always found his comments to be perceptive, cogent and articulate. From Michael's Story, I followed a link to boy-ashamed. Boy's journal is both sad and funny. One of the funniest is the 2000-10-20 entry, "I try to wax my own ass." Yet other entries are incredibly poignant, such as "need" for 2001-01-07. PAX!
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