WARNING: Random Thoughts on a Saturday Evening

WARNING: This post contains absolutely no insight, flow or class. Proceed at your own risk, motherfucker.

First, let me just tell those of you who don't live in New York that the MTA sucks Ann Coulter's nut sack, which is allegedly growing out of her saggy, sweaty and uneven breasts. Allegedly. I'm just saying I heard it from a pretty reliable source, but you never know.

Gratuitous bitchy moment of the day --- Check!!

Now down to business.

Trader Joe's is the bomb diggity shit. Usually I don't use words like "bomb diggity," but I was so excited to spend an hour perusing through the endless aisles of gourmet cheese, fish, vegetables, fruit, wine, etc that I felt I needed to get a little retro on your asses.

All three of you.

Yes, I went there.

Let's see...soooo much has happened in the past few days, like on Thursday when I met none other than Miss Joan Rivers' assistant, who coincidentally happened to break the heart of a certain coworker of mine nearly 12 months ago. Yes, New York is a small fucking town after all.

What else??? Ah yes! Yesterday my dearest BFF and I caught a preview of "{Title of Show}" at the Lyceum Theater on Broadway.

Theater queens, take note: FUCKING FANTASTIC.

Tourists, take note: FUCKING FANTASTIC.

Apathetic theatrical haters: FUCK OFF

Just kidding. Don't fuck off. Go see it. You'll love it. I promise. :-)

Obnoxious smiley face usage as a throwback to the "bomb diggity" nineties ------CHECK!!!

What else...

Today I spent the day baking on Long Beach with a few dear friends - some much needed R&R that not only calmed the spirit, but also left my perineum with ample amounts of seaweed to stew in on the ride home. Let me just say, seaweed is never fun when it surprises you by coming out of certain orifices you weren't aware it was visiting. Then again, it could be worse. For instance, a long, long time ago said BFF and I were attacked by a swarm of plankton that set the bar for intrusive beach byproducts. I won't go into the nitty gritty, as I'm sure you're already imagining the worst.

But I can tell you this: that bar has not yet been breached...but I'm still knocking on wood.

Until next time,

GM

Do I Look Like I Have a Few Minutes???

There's a disturbing phenomenon happening throughout NYC right now.

Hippies are mobilizing.

Before you hippies get all pissy, I'm not disturbed by the actual mobilizing, just the way it's happening.

I first noticed it nearly a year ago while walking down the street. A cute girl with a clipboard walked up to greet me.

"Do you have a few minutes for Gay Rights?" She asked.

"Honey, I fight for gay rights every day of my life. Good luck to you though."

I regret that. Wishing luck onto clipboard Nazis may have been what started this whole trend.

You see, ever since then, I've seen hundreds of twenty-something, bleeding heart youths begging for a minute or two to spout out their version of what's wrong in our world. From environmental destruction to petitions for impeachment, there hasn't been a day since where I've not seen these people begging for someone's, anyone's time.

So here's a bit of advice for those who do this for a living, or may consider joining the ranks:

1. Get a real job - Mommy and Daddy didn't pay for your college education so you could harrass perfect strangers on the street.

2. Find another way - Signing petitions does nothing. Lead by example and you'll influence people much more than by yelling things like "Does Anybody Care?" at them on the street.

3. Lose the clipboards - These are dead giveaways. If you really have faith that this system works for you, you should play it more covert. Stand in the middle of a sidewalk with a sign that has a catchy slogan on it - something to engage people. This will surely grab their attention more. For example:

They may not be brilliant by any means, but they're straight to the point, eye-catching, and are WAY less obtrusive. Personally, I'd be much more likely to stop and chat with someone who had more to say than "Do you have a few minutes?"

4. Come up with a better pitch - No one you need in New York has a few minutes to spare. Sure, a few nobodies with nothing better to do will stop and engage you, but you need to think bigger. This is the capital of the world and you literally have access to anyone and anything. Use it. Take a lesson from the anti-smoking campaign that was launched a few years ago. They took everyday situations and made the message so striking that everyone paid attention. Asking people for a few minutes won't get their attention, it'll make them think you're going to beg them for money - and we have plenty of beggars already.

5. Maintain Engagement - Perhaps you've gotten a few people to sign your petition. They bought your speech hook, line and sinker. Now what? Most of you let them go about their lives, never following up with anything. This is a huge mistake. If you've engaged them once, find a way to keep them engaged. Invite them to events, speeches, clean-up efforts, whatever you can. Building support isn't solely about new recruitment - you must keep those you've already gotten on your side.

6. Think Mainstream - You may not like it, but capitalism is how the world works. The old adage about "if you can't beat them join them..." well, it's true. Get a corporate job and start making changes internally - recycle, encourage low-energy usage, request partner benefits...do anything to chip away at the existing stereotype that liberals don't do anything. Nothing changes overnight, but everything changes eventually. Be a catalyst for the change by working with the system, not against it.

Look, these aren't incredibly insightful tips, I realize. But maybe, just maybe they may help. So get out there and put them to use - and STOP ASKING ME IF I HAVE A FEW MINUTES TO SPARE!

xoxo,

GM

Why? I'll never know...

Three years have passed. Three years. Seems like eons ago.

Life in New York never stops, thus a year - a month - a day feels like an eternity.

It's exhausting, really. There are days when you don't want to get out of bed and face the millions of eager, highly motivated drones that'll glady step on you to get what they want. They're not all like that I suppose, but the longer one lives in New York the more apparent they are...like a festering brood of cockroaches scouring for their next meal of garbage and decaying flesh.

Okay! Now that I've gotten that out of my system, on to bigger and better things.

Birthday dinners are like that nightmare where you show up to high school naked. Everyone stares and expects interesting and engaging conversation. What do you do when there is none there?

Lately I find myself wondering if I'm as shallow as some say. I'd like to think not, but if it's true is it really all that bad? There are a number of shallow things that truly inspire me to be a better person, yet coincidentally amuse me greatly. For instance:

Shallow Water - Who doesn't prefer being able to stand up as they fight breaking waves in the sea. Personally, being able to see the bottom of the sea is comforting and reassures me that something so vast and mysterious isn't as terrifyingly dangerous as we've been led to believe.

Shallow "Stars" - Paris Hilton, Tara Reid, Heidi Montag...the tart patrol makes me grin when I realize they've become famous for simply being pretty and stupid. God Bless America.

Shallow Gossip Columnists - Nothing drains a brain of lingering troubles like wasting a few hours on sites like PerezHilton, Gawker or Dlisted. Thanks be to Hashem. Or Allah. Or Ra. Really, pick one.

Shallow "Fashionistas" - The L Train is brimming with these illustrious works. Any given Sunday you can catch a trendy chatting up his/her friend about the "new" collection at American Apparel. Whatever makes you feel better, I suppose...

Shallow Cinephiles - Obscure references to films no one has seen that feature things like a man hitting his head against a wall for an hour and a half really perplex me. Do I really care? Why do you?

Shallow Club Kids - The makeup is lovely, but how many fucked up stories can you have before it's too much?

Shallow Fuckers - These are the saddest of the lot for me. Frequent shagging because you're lonely is truly terrifying, as the only thing you're going to get from it is an STD...or maybe a kid.

Shallow Friends - Let's drink. That's it. Just be at a bar together, drink and go home with someone else. Usually there's some combo here of the Friends/Fuckers categories, but occasionally you find one without the other (thanks to the internet).

The list goes on and on...

A New Edition...

Check out the sexiest man alive's weekly column. The new edition just came out:

David Schmader's "Last Days"

Crack

Today I went rollerblading for 5 miles.

Now, if you know me, you know that's alot.

Ironically, it wouldn't be so bad, if it weren't for the five million cracks and bumps in the roads all over this city! Jesus Christ, where's a queen to flitter her wings in glorious blades if she can't do it in New York City?

The scenery was quite gorgeous today. It makes me very happy to see so many hot, sweaty men making the most of their time. Keep on keepin' on boys. Your muse loves it.

On another note, your muse made a special guest appearance at Mrs. N's 28th (read 42) birthday party at Sutton Place on the Upper East Side. Minus the frags and sorrostitutes, it was a fantabulous atmosphere! I even met a new boy, dear readers. I'll keep you posted on that as it develops.

Oh shit, my friend Mary Jane just dropped by. Looks like that's it for me friends! Until next time...

Ciao!!!!
GM

OH FUCK ME!

Dearest readers, you have no idea how long I worked on this post. I wrote, rewrote, spellchecked, rewrote, cut, edited, spellchecked, rewrote...

Then, just as I was preparing for the ultimate unveiling........

I deleted it.

So, to make up for my lack of posts and to compensate for my sheer laziness and annoyance at having lost everything I just wrote, here's a brief recap:

Broke up with the ex, celebrated, had a fling, let loose at work, made bunches of friends, had a new birthday, met three new interests, realized all were wishful thinking, nearly had a sexual harrassment suit, drank way too much, became a nearly reborn virgin (lack of sex), am ready to get laid, email pics to : gaymuse@gmail.com, having a blast, working out, getting hot body, will post when it's here.

So that was the jist of it, without le magret de canard aux noix.

Until next time...

Ciao,

GM

PS: Check this site out: The Stranger's "Last Days"

CHECK THIS OUT

Click here...The Stranger's "Last Days"

The Ex Gets Inspired

I can't help myself...my powers are transcendental. Even my ex caught wind of my musings and felt inspired enough to write this charming little diddy (the name has been changed, but everything else is exactly as it was sent to me):

My Paradise Lost By The Ex

Many times, many ways, I look around in a daze.
Every morning I awake, I think of you my heart does break.
The situation that’s at hand, a living nightmare in any land.
First few days I was in shock. Numb, scared, and really clocked.
A few more days, perhaps contrition. A long and painful love tradition.
A week goes by without a doubt. I lose all hope of working out.

In the distance what’s this I see, perhaps a gesture from thy love to thee?
A chocolate heart, a velvet rope, perhaps just some false hope?
He loves me not we all have heard. In mind, in spirit, and in word.
He spoke with passion, he spoke with candor. He’s looking for love that’s grander.

Everyday another try. A note, a card, just not a cry.
I can not call, he will not talk. I’ll try and try, but he will balk.
He seems so far, a bit aloof. Was this thing one big goof?
How does he get through the day, going on his merry way?
How does he seem so easy, when all I feel is sick and queasy?
He’s never tried to contact me, since the day he made the flee.

People say go on with life. He’s just not worth all the strife.
They call me stupid, perhaps a fool. I must stand steady and retool.
They say you’ll lose, you can not win. I cry and cry, I try to grin.
Then he talks, he speaks with me. Very happy he seems not be.
You’ve gone awry with a different guy, your loves not true so do not cry.
Always true I say to him, I did it all on a whim.
You loved me not, my heart was broken. I needed worth, perhaps a token.
He’s a friend, a lover too, nothing like my love for you.

Then it came with a roar, the curse of silence and sound no more.
No more words, no more talking. I’m now ignored with further balking.
No greater fear there is to me, without his voice I can not see.
Silence bad, silence scary. At this time I grow weary.
I must now stop this crazy notion, of his love and devotion.

Heart and mind go out the door. Tell him just a little more.
Tell him how you think it’s real. Tell him how you really feel.
Tell him you’ll do anything, just to be within his ring.
Plead once more from floor to floor, plead away outside his door.

Now it’s come, my time to leave. A profound retreat, I must achieve.
Bid farewell to loving arms, say hello to shallow palms.
Say goodbye to him my dear, let him know you’re always near.
For to love and lose is not a crime, but standard passion through all of time.
Perhaps we’ll meet by chance of fate, till that day I’ll always wait.
I love you always, no matter what. My one and only, forget me not.

It would appear as though my powers are now at an all time high. Today is a very good day :-).

A Night on the Town

After a night of "hard work", one usually longs for the existential beer and meaningless shag of the week. My luck, as always, grants the first but ne'er the second. Mimi, my lovely British partner in crime, accompanied me for this coup d'etat of the East Village.

"I'll meet you at Broadway/Lafayette," said Mimi in an accordingly unsure tone. "I think my train heads there."

"Right then. I shall catch the 6 down there and we'll meet at a bar in that area," I said, knowing good and well there were no bars worthy of our patronage near that subway line.

You see, dear readers, I had a hidden agenda. Like most sluts, I thought "Maybe if I can get her into a queer club and pretend to be there just to have a drink, she might start talking to some hot, interesting guy that I can take home and fuck." This, of course, did not work out as planned. Instead, the night progressed into the most wondrous and enlightening of evenings.

"Where are you?" I asked Mimi as she breathlessly climbed up 3 flights of stairs.

"Broadway/Lafayette, as we discussed you cunt. Where the fuck are you?"

"Jesus Christ, twat. I'm TRYING to find a fucking bar that we can patronize in a civil manner without being bored off our fucking asses," I said.

"Right then. Where would that be?" Said the delightfully caustic yet unavailable heterosexual love of mine.

"2nd and 2nd by some fag bar called The Urge. I'll meet you on Houston," I said.

After about ten minutes of wandering, we finally met up.

"What a fucking ordeal that was, eh?" Said Mimi.

Accordingly, we proceeded to search. I expressed interest in heading to a queer bar to attend to my hidden agenda. Mimi proceeded to exclaim that she didn't care where we went, so long as it was 'somewhere'.

Happy that the selectivity was nonexistent, I chose to head to a lovely little pick up joint called "Starlight". The wall-to-wall atmosphere of cocks in heat was a bit much even for me (Allah forbid!). Having just gotten out of a five month relationship, I was caught a bit off guard by the endless plethora of hot, sweaty ball sacks looking around for the latest ass or mouth to dip in. Mimi picked up on this:

"D'you want to go somewhere else?"

"Hmm," I thought. "Meaningless sex with some random hot man or a few hours of intelligent conversation with a relatively new friend."

Dilemma solved.

Immediately we began heading in search of our newest venture, guided by Mimi (it was her turn).

A bar called "Coffee Shop" ended up being the barre du jour, much to our equal delight.

"We'll have the cheapest wine you've got," I said to the waiter/owner, forgoeing any thought of the looming hangover we were both destined to have by this hasty choice.

"That'll be $4 each."

Pause. If any of you have ever lived in, been to or dreamed of going to New York, you know that $4 for a glass of wine is unheard of here. Knowing that this was probably some homemade concoction of cum, spit and sinful spite, we opted for the only choice available: 3 glasses each.

Ironically, our conversation hit a number of things: Mimi's interest in publishing her memoirs, the shit storm of an illegal's attempt at gaining a j visa, my best friend from childhood texting out of the blue, her parents calling only to be dismissed on a "I'm too tired to talk to you now, even though we haven't spoken in nearly a year" whim. Ultimately, our conversation became the most interesting when I began giving Mimi the truth.

Thus, dear friends, began the mystery of the muse. If any of you have followed our dear Mimi's blog, you'll know by now all the shit that's been happening to her. Our night together was forged by no luck of the draw. I was there to encourage her, support her, and reassure her. Why? Because it's what I do. I am the Gay muse. I inspire. I love. I provide hope, ambition, dreams, faith and passion for all that is daunting and seemingly unsustainable. Ironically, my alcohol induced words are merely verbalized thoughts that I have all the time, yet am too guarded to say aloud (minus the occasions where a controlled substance comes into play).

That, dear readers, is the intent of this blog: to open these thoughts to all.

So, with these opening words; welcome to my world. It's going to be a fun ride, kids. Enjoy.