It’s November 30. Time for a little introspection. At the beginning of the month, I had set out to write my very own novel. As it turns out, that was a pretty lofty goal. I made it through the first few days okay, but largely at the expense of other things I was supposed to be doing.

There’s a part of me that’s sort of proud for having gotten started. But damn, I really, really hated what I had started out writing. Which, according to all the supportive emails sent out by accomplished authors, is exactly what’s supposed to happen. So at least I was off on the right foot. I guess.

Because of time constraints, I decided instead to switch tactics, and joined ranks with National Blog Posting Month. With NaBloPoMo, I was confronted with a new challenge. The challenge was not one of quantity, but quality. I had no word count to meet, but instead challenged myself to keep every post as fresh as I possibly could.

So in this month that offered thirty days to write, I wrote every single day (in my over two years of blogging, I’ve never once done that). The first four were dedicated to a novel that did not come to fruition. From the fourth until the thirtieth day, a new blog post was written daily. With the exception of one day, all were posted right here. The one post that didn’t make it remains on my computer, in its raw, unedited, and unhappy form. And there it will stay.

So as watch Gangs of New York with half an eye, I type this post. And find it really cool that, for whatever it’s worth, I at least managed to write something every single day for an entire month. And instead of feeling pooped, exhausted, or ready to take a little break, I’m finding myself ready to continue, and wanting the words to keep flowing from my head onto the keyboard. Writing has come to have a great deal of meaning for me: it’s therapy, entertainment, and frustration all rolled into one. It’s wonderful.

Which brings me to the end of this blog entry, and a stunning and totally irrelevant close:

• The part where Cameron Diaz gets in the fight and tries to bite Leonardo DiCaprio is one of the funniest fight scenes I have ever seen. Ever.

• A car commercial for Mitsubishi was just on that featured a song by The Flaming Lips called Do You Realize?. I found it an interesting choice of song for such a commercial, considering the song is about life and death. And we’re talking about a car. Not just any car, but an Ess Ewe Vee. I imagine it’s not intentional, but damn, there’s some serious subtext going on there.

First things first. I somehow managed to get fuzz in my eye today. It could have been from my coworker’s jacket with fuzzy contours, or it could have been from my new pair of gloves I wore practically all day because of the ice sculptures that had taken the place of my hands. Whatever the cause, I got a fuzzy in my eye, and it took a great deal of blinking (about two minutes’ worth, at approximately three blinks per second) as well as some water splashed in my eye to get the damn thing out. Ow.

Second. And, really, more important. Tonight was the official launch of Kathy Griffin’s newest special stand-up show, Straight to Hell. It aired on Bravo (of course) and it was nothing short of fabulous.

Thanks to my lack of cable television, it was Robert who clued me in to this must-see event. While watching it tonight, we realized that we had heard/seen a good deal of this show already. When? Why, when we went to see her live in Albuquerque back in July! Before seeing Kathy, I had never seen a stand-up comedian live. So seeing her on that tour was awesome! And then getting to see what had had me in hysterics at the show a second time was also awesome. Having seen it live first, though, I felt a sense of privilege, because I got to see it in its first incarnation.

Anyway. I was left wondering when the show they aired was recorded, figuring it must have been some time on the tour which we caught. Lo and behold, it was filmed on October 20th, so nearly three months after we had seen her. Their was new stuff, of course: her Emmy story that I had completely missed but thank heavens she filled me in because I was feeling like a totally lousy fan for having missed that seriously awesome spectacle, shit!; and then all the incredible press she got afterwards such as giant newspaper ads that cost over $90,000 (those Miracle Theater folks have an awful lot of money, apparently) calling for censorship in national newspapers because Kathy made a joke that ended with her saying “Suck it, Jesus. This award is my god now.”, hot damn!

A night of humor and controversy, and I loved every minute of it. I shall now eagerly await the day when this show appears on DVD. Oh, and in case the censor-happy folks wanted to know, the next time I have the chance to see Kathy Griffin live, you can bet your ass that I’ll be going. And I’ll be bringing my partner with me. And this time, we may just bring a sign to hold up announcing: “Kathy, your gays are here!”

I just finished watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail.* Again. No matter how many times I watch that movie, I still find it funny. Actually, I’ve found that the more familiarity I have with it, the funnier it gets. Because there’s an awful lot of stuff that goes on, mostly in terms of dialogue, that’s incredibly subtle.

This time around, I had an interesting new take on it. Rather than thinking too much or getting too into the movie, I remembered the first time I ever saw it. I was 14, and was away from home for a week at band and orchestra camp. By that point in my life, I’d heard tell of this movie, and was keen to see it for myself.

I convinced my brother, who was at camp with me, to come with me to see it when they played it one evening. They had to use a huge ballroom on campus because so many people were there. And the best part: they played it on a fairly large screen, from a projector.

I don’t remember how I regarded the movie this first time around, other than I enjoyed it. It was kind of difficult to really follow everything, to be honest. In part, I’d say it was due to the sophistication of the humor, and also some missing knowledge in my pre-high school brain. But more than that, I think I found it difficult to follow because my brother was scoffing about once every other minute. Right in my ear. “Oh my gosh, this is so stupid.” “What? That makes no sense.” And, of course, “Geez, what’s the point?” It was too much to hope that my periodic outbursts of laughter would drown out my elder sibling’s voice.

I do know, however, that I liked Monty Python and the Holy Grail from the start. Even if I didn’t completely grasp everything from the movie that first time, the fact that my brother really didn’t like it was reason enough for me to totally love it. Oh, he tried to play it off like he enjoyed it, but I knew better.

*I was inspired to watch Holy Grail again because my iTunes randomizer started playing some songs from Spamalot, the amazing musical version of the movie.

New Mexico, though generally known as the Land of Enchantment, has another less well-known title: the Land of Mañana. This particular saying comes from our wonderfully laid back culture. In other words, sometimes things are really, really slow out here.

Generally, I’m a big fan of the laid back sensibilities. Shoot, I’d better be, considering I’m a native. But occasionally, it can get annoying. Like tonight, when I was at the grocery store. I didn’t want to go right when I got off work, and I didn’t summon up the energy to actually go to the store until around 8 o’clock. The plan was to pick up a few necessities and then come right back home.

“A few necessities” turned into a full basket of food. The $10 I had had in mind for the expenditure was quadrupled, and then some. And no, I wasn’t hungry when I walked into the place. I just found all sorts of things I needed that I hadn’t counted on. Food can do that to me. And really, I’m okay with that.

Cut to: standing in line to check out. It’s almost 9 o’clock. There’s only a few registers open. And there’s no way I’m doing the self-checkout with so much food. So I got in line and wound up behind a very chatty New Mexican. Very chatty. As in, he couldn’t handle silence. To the point that he explained his entire two-item purchase to me. For his little miniature whiskey selection, and his gallon of distilled water, respectively:

1. “I’m having company over.”
2. “I’m having company over.”

And, given my own friendly New Mexican tendencies, and also the dinosaur slowness of the checkout line, I wound up having to converse genially about why distilled water is the best water to use for a fountain at home, because that way you didn’t get all the calcification from the chemicals in the water. It was for a completely selfish reason that I continued the conversation. I’ve been toying with the idea of getting such a fountain, in the hopes that it might bring some atmosphere and ambience to my humble abode.

When it was finally his turn, and I was rescued from having to be the sole conversant to the chatty cathy, I was, shall we say, grateful. Of course, his conversation could be heard loud and clear even with the shopping cart between us. And while I read the headlines on People magazine, I heard him talking to the cashier while he wrote out his personal check for his $7.00 purchase.

Cashier: “I have no idea what language those people were speaking.”
Chatty New Mexican Guy: “Mmmm hmmm.”
Cashier: “It just sounded like jumbled jibberish to me.”
CNMG: [In his best know-it-all voice, drawl and all] “IIIIfffff I haaaad to guueess, IIII’d saaay theeeey were speaking Poooliiish.”

Because, you know, we New Mexicans are incredibly good judges when it comes to recognizing European languages. I about fell over backwards from rolling my eyes.

I’ve been freezing all day long. And in theory, it hasn’t been that cold today. Seriously. I feel lucky that I didn’t get frostbite. No gangrene to speak of, either. And that seems like the biggest stroke of luck, because damn. I may as well have been in the Arctic.

Oh sure, the meteorologists probably said it was in the 40’s, or somewhere in there. I don’t know, because I didn’t watch the news today. There are those who might say I’m weak (and I wouldn’t argue their point). However. They were not the ones stuck in an office that decided to have no functioning heater. Or should I say, a heater that turned into a total tease. The main unit was working just fine. But the ducts seemed not to be taking said heat to the conveniently dispersed vents around the room.

Which meant that, where the thermostat was located (about a foot away from the furnace), it was nice and toasty. But the rest of the office was fucking frigid. And, lucky me, my desk is located at the point in the room that is farthest away from the furnace. Let’s just say that if I was peer-pressured into licking the glass surface on the desk, my tongue probably would have stuck there. Someone would have had to come over and film it, then make some kind of sick movie (no plot necessary, as long as the part with me stuck to the desk by my tongue is included in there somewhere) and play it for 24 HOURS NONSTOP every November 26th.

If it’s that cold when I go in to work tomorrow, I may contact the nearest travel agency and book a trip to The Bahamas immediately.

After looking at my previous blog entry, it came to my attention that it made very little sense. Which is kind of awesome, in its own right. But that’s the quality writing you get when you’re only half paying attention to what you’re typing, while the rest of your attention is focused on the “Thanksgiving Leftovers” special on Saturday Night Live.

On to the new stuff. Today was a big day: for the first time ever, I attended a baby shower. Both Robert and myself attended, and both of us were virgins. We are no longer. Although none of the “embarrassing games” of which I’ve heard tell were played. So in that regard, I guess we’re not entirely unvirginized.

Of course, we had to regale people at the shower with our shopping tale. We heard plenty of other stories, and heard discussions involving subjects we’d just as soon not want to take part in. Mostly of the diaper changing and diaper rash variety. I must admit I hadn’t expected such open and forthright conversation.

Even though we weren’t the only male creatures at the shower (our host’s husband and son were both there), we were the only ones talking baby shower talk with the ladies.

What also made this baby shower unique was that our friend expecting the baby was not, in fact, present. I wish her all the best! If she happens to see this blog entry, hopefully she’ll enjoy the pictures of Robert and me next to our inaugural bags of gifts.

UPDATE 11/26:

I vaguely alluded to the fact that our friend was not present at her own baby shower. She had a really good reason not to be there, though: she was in the hospital having her baby! But since it was the second try at the shower, it happened anyway. At 12:20 this morning, the baby was born! He’s four weeks premature, and our friend is in some pain. I’m sending as much positive energy her way as I possibly can, and also a hearty congratulations.

Lastly, my new blog friend Aimee recently posted about how the month of November is, among other things, Prematurity Awareness Month. I want to thank her for increasing my awareness, and again, I’m wishing our dear friend all the best!

Drag racing is the shit. Because on Saturday night, there’s nothing better to do than just that. Goodbye, fun with friends, trips downtown, or just hanging out at home relaxing. Hello, asphalt racing ground with 35-40 mile per hour speed limits!

The winner of tonight’s questionably legit drag race: a souped-up silver Ford Mustang. Because how can you compete with a car that’s got an engine the size of which is nearly as large as modern sedans. I knew when it pulled around me to speed up to beat me to the red light ahead, that I wasn’t dealing with just any drag racer. Mere blocks away from the usual racing zone, I knew that this car played to win.

And when I saw it take on that fancy Mercury Villager, I knew the driver meant business. As the opposing light turned yellow, the sound of a revving engine could be heard coming from the Stang. As soon as our light turned green, the sound of squealing tires broke the silence of this normally calm residential street.

And that charming little mini van gave that 220-horse-power (or however much horse power is in there) Mustang a run for its money. So much so, that the Mustang felt that, in order to retain what little “self-respect” it then had, it was necessary to keep speeding along the street. Where we caught up with it at the next red light down the road. And I’m pretty sure I heard Jan and Dean blasting on their radio. I didn’t get to see what the driver looked like, but it could well have been a certain “little old lady.”

Today was the day after Thanksgiving. In retail land, this day is known as Black Friday. For those who seek to spread a message of peace and encourage less consumption on all counts, today is Buy Nothing Day. For me, today was simply the day after Thanksgiving.

The last few weeks, we’ve had reasonably mild weather. Mild meaning it’s been t-shirt and pants weather. Cold at night and in the morning, and warm enough to wonder whether you’re getting a farmer’s tan when you’re outside during the day. The weather decided to do its usual Albuquerque thing (read: something totally bizarre), though. Clouds rolled in yesterday, and it suddenly decided to snow. It snowed through the night and through most of today. Big flakes, too. But the kicker: none of it stuck. Cars got blanketed a little bit, as did the grass. But the roads only got a little wet here in the city (other parts of the state weren’t so lucky). So we were still able to get out and enjoy ourselves.

As far as shopping goes, I’m not terribly fond of the masses of people you encounter everywhere on this day. Robert and I wound up going to a couple of book stores, the Apple store, and, of course, the grocery store. While out, one thing I picked up was this CD, and after barely listening to it, I was hooked. I bought it on the premise that anything by Dr. Seuss is cool, and I was not disappointed. Next up: seeing the production in real life.

The highlight of the day, though, involved a trip to the Albuquerque Museum. We went to see Temples and Tombs: Treasures of Egyptian Art
from The British Museum, the current featured exhibit there. The exhibit focused a great deal on Egyptian sculptures, and I was in anthropology-hog heaven the entire time. Though I’m fascinated by the civilization, I can’t imagine me being well-liked, should I inadvertently be transported back in time there. Something tells me a gay Jew would not exactly be popular. But maybe if I told them how fabulous all their artwork and style is, they’d let me live.

My Thanksgiving was much better than my night-before-Thanksgiving fun. Robert and I were invited to a friend’s house for Thanksgiving today, and we happily attended. It was fantastic: excellent food, great company, good wine, good conversation, and fun games. We started eating around 2:45 or so (that’s a guess, I wasn’t paying attention to the time), and spread the meal out all the way up until I had to leave at 5:30.

We headed for home, because I also had to attend Thanksgiving dinner at my folks’ house. Especially as of late, my family has been cause for great amounts of stress, so I was kinda nervous about going. My comfort was in the form of a bottle of wine, which when I had mentioned I might bring it, my maternal unit told me not to bother: only my dad would be allowed to drink; also, my little brother was not permitted to drink.

I brought a nice Riesling wine anyway, because I decided that I, as a fully responsible adult, may just want to have some wine with my food. While this earned me some fairly scathing looks, wine glasses were brought out anyway. And my little brother and I each enjoyed it, while everyone else suffered the feast without any. Martyrs, the lot of them.

Of course, what’s the fun of drinking wine when you’re told you’re not allowed to if you don’t make a mess of things? We go to toast, and I suavely reach for my wine glass, only to bump it head on and spill a bunch of wine all over the brand new tablecloth. I guess the glass of wine I shared with Robert at the earlier festivities had relaxed me more than I realized.

The trick to dealing with my folks, in addition to my two hour maximum rule, seems to be having alcohol while in their company. The fact that I’m drinking it overshadows any other issues they may have with me at any given time, and I’m much more relaxed and less responsive to them. For instance, when one brother asked how my previous gathering was, and I responded that it was nothing short of paradisiacal, he pulled this line from thin air: “Well, that’s good to hear. Good gatherings are important. It’s sad that people don’t get together more often, but always wait for some ‘holiday’ or such occasion to do it.” I think what’s really sad is that he actually believes his own uninformed opinion.

All in all, a great Thanksgiving: I’m thankful for the wonderful friends who invited us to take part in their celebration. And I’m thankful that the evening with my folks was not a total fiasco. Mission accomplished.

It was bowling night with the brothers tonight. A night of bad jokes, fake laughter, and homophobia. I had some fun, despite this, but I’ve had my fill for the week (actually, for a long time to come) and am seriously dreading the prospect of actually going to Thanksgiving dinner at the folks’ tomorrow. I may just keep the pie and wine for myself, then call and cancel my appearance: “Hi, I’m not going to be able to make it after all. Call me back when everyone is a little less quick on the gay bashing, and less eager to monitor my every move.”

The good news is: I have no sense of humor, because I don’t laugh at any of the jokes. I’m really uptight, because I take offense when someone does their best gay impersonation, replete with “backdoor” punch line. I have personal space issues, because I don’t want to feel my brother’s breath on my cheek when he’s trying to share some “important”/”funny”/”relevant” comment(s). Oh, and because I don’t do every single thing the rest of my brothers do, I’m up to something and they must know exactly what it is, because I’ve changed and so something is wrong.

This Thanksgiving, I’m not feeling real great about things. I’m bothered by the way my family makes me feel, and angry at myself that I’m not more outspoken about it. It seems like every time I try for normal conversation and interaction, things turn to how I’m not the way they want me to be. I’m fucking tired of it.