Wade's Week-Ending Words of Wisdom: Random Friday Thoughts

Friday, October 15, 2010

As I sip on a quad-shot, no-fat, no-whip white chocolate latte -- the sun rising over our beautiful woods, the sugar maples drenched in color, the fog sitting over our neighbor's blueberry fields and pond -- I realize I'm not wearing pants. That I need to let the caffeine fully drench my cells and veins before I start writing anything coherent. So, I start with incoherence ... and without pants. Thus, Wade's Week-Ending Words of Wisdom:

If David Blaine looked like Jon Lovitz (college kids, insert Jonah Hill here; older generation, insert Jack Elam here), would anyone give a damn? (And just admit it: Didn't we all kind of just want him to stay frozen in that block of ice?)

Hollywood, how come every time we start to make out, you grab your gum right back out of my mouth?

DWTS has jumped the shark. But, Hoarders. O, to the M and then the G. And, to the woman whose toilet broke in, like, 1984, so she started pooping in trash bags and threw them in a closet, and said, when they were discovered, "I guess it kinda got outta hand ... but is it really that bad?" ... YOU WIN, OK? And what kind of Glades Plug-In were you using, 'cause I'll buy it, alright?

Social Network is amazing: Not sure of its overall truthiness (I will read the book), but a fascinating portrayal of how Facebook started, and a lasering look at how the world's biggest "social gathering" has really just isolated our society even more. (And, O!M!G! to Jesse Eisenberg. Never doubted I was watching a real guy. I'm sure he'll be overlooked come awards season, though, as he doesn't scream, yell, devolve into histrionics, he just acts his really skinny ass off. Just look at his eyes when he's confronted by his best friend at the end of the movie. Amazing stuff. And hollah to screenwriter Aaron Sorkin, who has so much smart, quick dialogue flowing from the mouths of the actors from second one, that it takes a while for your ears and your brain to catch up to it.)

My Halloween costume has been a month in the works. Suffice to say, I have killed myself to fit into a junior miss size 7. (Yes, it's stretchy material, you catty bitches!)

FOX NEWS ALERT FOX NEWS ALERT BREAKING NEWS BREAKING NEWS!!! I nearly had a stroke -- after being forced to watch Fox News yesterday at the gym as I burned up the elliptical -- believing something awful kept happening in the world, as every five seconds these blazing news alerts -- in bright yellow -- flashed across the screen FOR NO REASON OTHER THAN TO GIVE PEOPLE LIKE MY FATHER A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN AND TO KEEP THEM SCARED FOR THEIR LIVES. Here's a FOX NEWS ALERT: Megyn Kelly should be ashamed of herself, conducting "interviews" as she does. So, had to check out her background: Yep, she's a lawyer.

I think I'm in love with RHofBH ... kicks DC to the curb. Although, I must say, this whole miner soap opera might be the best of them all.

Finally, a serious note: The suicides over the past weeks of youth bullied for being gay -- coupled with the ongoing hate-speak and hatred in our country -- continues to push me to a precipice of uncontrolled rage and overwhelming sadness. My partner and I would not be here today had we not had the strength to see, somehow, someway, that there was a future. I will blog more about this next Wednesday, October 20.

Happy Friday, happy fall, and keep reading!

My F'ed Up Little Family

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Yesterday, Gary and I didn't get dressed.

We weren't sick.

We weren't depressed.

We were working.

From 6 a.m. until 7 p.m. in my writing studio in the carriage house attached to our house. We woke up, started working and never stopped. And, the fact that Gary was still wearing yoga pants and I was wearing flannel PJ's (yes, I'm a 1950's sitcom character) emblazoned with dancing pine trees (yes, I'm a modern-day gay man), and that neither of us had washed our faces, brushed our teeth, or touched our hair, too, didn't totally dawn on us until the lawn service arrived to mow our yard and blow our leaves. When one of the men rang the doorbell to get the check, our little family rushed the door, and he asked, "Are you sick?"


"Are you cleaning?"


"Are you -- you know -- working?"


"Did you lose your jobs?"

I felt, for an instant, like I'd been punched in the gut.

I should have appreciated the man's concern, but my first instinct -- like most of mine are -- was anger. In fact, I was about to get mad at his insinuation, but when I started to speak, I looked more closely at Gary, who had cookie crumbs in his beard, and what looked like applesauce smeared across a lens of his Italian glasses. He was wearing his beloved slipper socks, which had turned about 90 degrees, making him look like he had leathery webbed feet.

I caught a reflection of myself in the reflection off a window in our living room, and my hair looked like it should have had moons rotating around it. I had hunks of chocolate chip cookies in my teeth that made me look I'd been in a hideous bar fight, and flecks of anti-aging cream dotted my face and earlobes.

I glanced down at our dogs, who we'd recently festooned in their Halloween "drag": Marge was wearing a candy corn bandana, and Mabel was sporting a headpiece ala Steve Martin's axe-in-the-skull.

My little family looked totally Macy Gray meets Mel Gibson and has Danielle Staub as a baby crazy.

And that made me blissfully, gleefully happy.

It was a beautiful fall day, our woods were aglow in color, and we were all together, working our insane little asses off because I was inundated with projects and deadlines. It was what I'd always dreamed of. Just, you know, with more of a Cribs feel.

I let out a little chuckle, the creepy kind killers on CSI do right before they bludgeon someone to death.

Before I could say a word, the man from the lawn service backed away from my little family -- creeping down the steps of our front porch like Snoopy -- and said, "No charge this time. OK? OK? No charge! My gift to you!"

And, like that, he was gone. Vapor. Thankful to be alive, I'm sure.

I shrugged my shoulders, and we all started running back to my office in the carriage house to continue working.

But not before I could pants Gary on the way up the stairs. And celebrate our hard work and free lawn care by watching Hoarders later that evening.

Because that's how we roll. And I couldn't be prouder.