tag archive for usd

dairy prince

dairy_queen.jpg
in high school, i was the only male employee working at the local dairy queen. the owner of the little fast food ice cream shop was a macho firefighter named jack, who decided it would be best if his store were staffed with nothing but the prettiest of local teenage girls. i spent my 8-, 12- and sometimes 16-hour shifts chatting with the blonde cheerleaders, flirting with the freckled volleyball players and gossiping with the ponytailed church youth group members. this was indiana circa 1995, after all.

i got the job because my dad went to high school with jack, so jack reluctantly hired me, figuring that since i was a boy i could help stock shelves, mop floors and spend what seemed like hours filling the giant vat of ice milk in the so-silent-you-can-hear-your-heartbeat walk-in refrigerator. of course, because all of the other employees were hired based on their looks (or female charms), i quickly rose through the ranks to manager (i guess being able to count change and deal with angry customers helped).

it was a wonderful job for a high school senior to have—flexible hours, unlimited shifts, free sugary ice cream and caffeinated sodas, and practically no adult supervision (jack would rarely stop by his store to check up on us). we played loud music and danced around the cramped store, occasionally getting into butterscotch/whip cream/strawberry fights, and always having a good time.

the final summer before i went off to college, i’d started to grow into the cocky confident eric that i am today. finally assured of my homosexuality, and also of the fact that i’d shortly be sneaking off to college in california, i became quite outgoing (and therefore attractive) to the girls i worked with.

one by one they started flirting with me, and eventually my favorite girl to work with, bridgette left me a little folded-up love letter clipped to my timecard. the moment i’d been dreading for a long time was finally upon me, i had to come out to the girls at work. they took it well, and adopted me as their little gay mascot. i was relieved, too, as now it meant all of their thuggish jock boyfriends would finally stop feeling so threatened by the fact that i was spending 16 hours a day with their girlfriends.

i was also glad, as it meant i had someone to share my juicy new gossip with—i’d started dating my very first boyfriend, jeff. as i’ve talked about at great lengths here over the years, i was head-over-heels smitten with jeff, and as a 17yo pubescent boy i thought about him 25 hours a day. the problem, of course, was that i needed to work my ass off during that summer, in order to earn as much money as i could before going off to university a month later.

jeff and i would talk on the phone every morning, every afternoon as soon as i got to work, later in the evening on my break at work, and the moment i got home after work. i’d often drive over to his house (in the neighboring town 20 minutes away) at 1am, he’d climb out of his window and we’d sneak off to the cemetery or the lake or the train yard—anywhere we could find. it was 100% puppy love, and it was bliss.

he called me up one afternoon, and begged me not to go to work. i would be going off to college in less than a week, and he wanted to spend every last minute with me that he could. i’d already called off so many times already, and jack was threatening to withhold my final paycheck unless i worked all the shifts i could during the peak summer weeks.

i needed an excuse.

i beeped jack and left him a message saying that there was an emergency and i wouldn’t be able to come in and manage the store that night. i’m sure he was furious, but jeff had planned a picnic and i was not about to miss that. i’d figure out what to tell jack when i saw him the next day.

the next day, i arrived at work with purple hickey on my neck, which matched our pink-and-purple (no lie!) striped uniforms perfectly. walking in the back door of the dairy queen, before i could even contemplate my excuse, jack cornered me. you better fucking have a good excuse, eric, cuz lines were around the corner yesterday and i probably lost $500 in business!

the neurons in my noggin frantically struggled, deliberated, and managed to remember the excuse that bridgette used just the week before to get out of her shift. would it work? would jack believe my preposterous reason for calling in sick?

jack, i had a yeast infection.

his muscled hand came up to his forehead in disbelief. dude, are you serious? can guys even get those?

looking down at my chocolate syrup-covered shoes, i admitted, yeah, it’s gross. and it burns. there’s an ointment, though…

he sent me home for the rest of the night, and told me he was off to the clinic to get himself checked too. i drove right over to jeff’s house, and brought him a mint chocolate chip milkshake, which we shared as the sun set.

6 years, 2 months ago
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17:43

soho square

my mobile phone rings as i’m driving down santa monica blvd.

well, it doesn’t ring—it vibrates. you will never ever ever hear my mobile phone ring. i hate the pervasiveness of beeping, chirping, ringing in our society. i do.

so, yeah, my phone vibrates, and i flip it open to hear marcos sing-songing, hi-yaaaaa and a smile creeps over my face as i pull into the dry cleaners where i drop off my laundry.

i assure him, it’s cold here, too as i check out my t-shirt in the mirror. i affirm that, yes, .greg has arrived [back?] in america safely. i explain to him why i need to have someone do my laundry for $1.25/lb instead of doing it myself for $1.00/wash and $1.00/dry.

we talk for 17 minutes and 43 seconds. huh. funny that. it’s great to chit-chat, it’s great to not have any weirdness between us, 5000 miles apart, having left 5 months ago, both of us sobbing like little girls.

i’ve done an excellent job of keeping my mind occupied since my little excursion to london last weekend. my to-do list has stayed filled-to-the-brim with social engagements, spring cleaning, pet projects, and of course loads of magazine work. mental, physical and emotional procrasturbation.

marcos asked me something today, which cut through all the denial of the past week, what do you miss the most?

i miss the pace of life. it’s a vague enough statement, i realize, but it encapsulates all the things i miss about london. i miss my friends, and how we interact, how we care for each other, how we have fun, how we celebrate and how we console. i miss the drive, the passion, the twinkle each of them have, and how we relate to each other.

i miss the myriad of opportunities. the excitement of plummeting down the tube escalator on a friday evening, knowing with certainty, that there’s no way of predicting how the evening might end up. i miss the newness, the constant renewal of london’s spirit, the energy of big city life couple with english traditions and british spirit and european uniqueness.

the sense of possibilities… the excitement that gets dropped on your lap. when you least expect it, you meet an amazing new friend. or, when you’re still struggling with your last breakup, when you’re wholeheartedly, dead-set on staying single for a while, you meet the man of your dreams [for the next 2-6 weeks, at least]. or, even the most jaded londoner flipping through time out to learn 1,587 incredible things to do this week.

i miss london, i really do. and my little trip last weekend was like going to a mexican restaurant and ordering a very tasty appetizer. you want more, you want lots more. and a margarita. mmmm… cadillac margaritas….

7 years, 5 months ago
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baked beans

wedding crashers
wedding crashers

a few fridays ago, i found myself in boston, the city of brotherly love the windy city home of the boston tea party [some lame baseball joke] as featured in the feature-length family film good will hunting. i was in town for a wedding [which i'll discuss tomorrow if you're lucky], but friday was all about hanging out with nick and polly—two mates from london who [very conveniently] happened to be in town at the same time. this would be the first connection to my distant, distant london past life… from six weeks ago.

met the kids at the very funky charlesmark hotel, which, turns out, is home to some of the campest bellmen i’ve ever seen. after a quickie, the three of us sat down to a nice long italian dinner, out-of-doors in the humid boston summer dusk.

sweating over our gigantic american portions, we [perhaps too loudly] dissected all of the craziness that i’ve been up to, they’ve been up to, and how much london misses me. at least, that’s what i heard. sitting with these two very-english londoners, i felt very much like i was dining at a restaurant on kings road, and i impulsively started knocking back the white wine as if i were out with marky or atif or .gregiño. i even found myself making fun of the quote-unquote american waiter. shame on me.

we decided to go even more towards kitschy americana, by grabbing some silly cocktails and the ridiculously loungey kingpins bowling alley / nightclub / bar. nick is a darling, and i really adore his very sharp wit, his way of remembering awful details about me, and for being a sleazy, well-paid consultant with an expense account. we needed a few cocktails to not just pass the time, but for me to get psychologically prepared to head to a big pre-wedding dinner my other friends were having at the sheraton across the street. these other friends would be my long-lost san francisco friends, some of whom i hadn’t seen in four years.

years ago, i would cry at the thought of worlds colliding. parents meeting the friends. coworkers meeting the boyfriend. foreigners meeting the locals. one of the benefits of maintaining this blog, is that by putting the innermost workings of my life and my persona online, for friends/enemies/strangers to judge, to call my bluffs, to put me in my place, well, it keeps me real. it keeps me honest. sometimes it validates me, sometimes it crushes me.

for me, banging out these rambling entires helps me to establish my own identity, document my trials and tribulations… it allows my innermost voice to speak out, even if i don’t really know who’s listing. get a therapist, already! i hear you saying. bite me.

stood in the hallway outside the penthouse suite, with my imported guests and imported liquor clanking in plastic bags, music is booming inside, so i gave the door a good knock. there’s movement behind the peephole, followed by someone shouting, it’s bogs!

i’m suddenly surrounded by smiling faces, many more than i imagined, many of which i haven’t seen in 1, 2, even 4 years. always sprightly allison, bubbly angela, flirty marc, darling .jason, smack-talkin’ baratunde, long-lost kyle, burningman jason and even my jewish doctor husband greg, fresh outta harvard med school. schmuck.

particularly emotional for me was to see bride-to-be stacy, whom i’ve progressively missed more and more since departing san fran all those years ago. we’ve grown apart, sure, but actions speak louder than words. i flew across the country for her wedding, she jumped off the bed to give me a huge hug. sorted.

5 bars later, and it’s just nick and i—the london lads—on a mission. not exactly sure what our mission is… i think it’s to determine whether or not boston boys taste like baked beans. we use our english accents [aherm] to jump past several queues, and even to blag our way into a members only bar. but we’re not happy. my colleagues in london [already enjoying breakfast the next day] are texting afterhours club addresses and hours to us, and nick and i are foolishly jumping in taxi after taxi trying to find the party.

i realize it’s time to call it a night when i look into the front of the taxi, see a $26 fare on the meter, and nick asleep in the front seat [for no particular reason], dangerously close to snuggling up to the homicidal/felonious-looking driver.

the story continues tomorrow with 1) one of the stars of desperate housewives, 2) a naked boy in the lobby of my hotel, and 3) a wedding.

7 years, 9 months ago
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jaxtapose

hot dogs not tacos
dropping names, eating tacos

being anonymous in a sea of celebrities reminded me so much of my first few weeks in london all those years ago… boy george’s birthday party, my first visits to the .heaven vip room, that lost night at the dorchester with the xmen.

ooh, i’m not spinning this right. ugh. i think most of you readers hate me, loathe me, anyway, so what’s the use? you all want schadenfreude, don’t you, you sick bastards? well, it’s friday, and y’all want a story, a juicy slice of celebrity-filled l.a. life, and that’s what we’re serving at the cafeteria today, so eat it!

i knew i was under-dressed for the party when the swarm of valets descended on my car outside the swank roosevelt hotel on hollywood blvd, just down from the famous[-ly overhyped] groman’s mann’s chinese theatre.

i’d dealt with red carpets before, and with paparazzi giving me confused looks [who's he? oh—a nobody], but never of this magnitude. there were bright lights, television crews, and fans across the street. excellent. standing up tall, christopher and i strolled into the main ballroom, to hear the wonderful sound of 300 glitterati chatting and namedropping and networking and giggling.

i could not believe how many stunningly gorgeous women were there. i swear i thought i saw paris hilton about 20 different times. that’s not fair, the girls i met were actually hot. i’m an expert, you know.

it felt familiar [eric being in a party that he really shouldn't be] but at the same time quite peculiar [absolutely nobody here knows me, and vice-versa]. normally, i’d be able to spot at least one or two hangers-on in the crowd, but not this time. this time, the only familiar faces i spotted were celebrities.

i don’t want to name-drop. one, it’s tacky. two, it’s tacky. three, it’s tacky. four, it’s boring. five, it’s not my style. six, celebritydom doesn’t really impress me. seven, i know my site is easily googled. eight, i’m practicing writing blind item gossip articles. nine, i don’t want to be ostracized by my celebrity friends before i even have a chance to take advantage of them or appear in the background of their mtv cribs filming. joking.

started the night chatting with the head of large cosmetics company, spewing typical gay banter whilst he did an awe-inspiring job of smoothly introducing me to random passersby. i can barely remember someone’s name until i’ve dated them for a month, whereas he memorized my whole life story after 5 seconds. i have much to learn about efficient shmoozing.

got passed off to a sitcom star, whom i only vaguely recognized, as her show wasn’t carried in britain. intelligent, sassy, and just all-around charming, she was pleasantly surprised when i asked her what she did for a living, and even more surprised when she had to explain to me what the show was about. i took advantage of our bond by convincing her to smuggle some of the posh lobster-avec-mac-and-cheese hors d’oeuvre puffs we’d been snacking on into her purse for later.

spent most of the evening hanging out with a perky 20yo girl and her boyfriend, gossiping about the party, trying to understand the fake faux-scissor sisters band, and making drunken plans to go to vegas and for me to come check out her new house in malibu. she’d been hinting for a while that she wanted me to ask how much her new house had cost. i took the bait, and ask her.

she tells me, one hundred and fifty. it takes some mental fortitude for me to realize she means $150,000,000, not 150 californian pesos. it takes me even more fortitude to hide my shock, confusion and awe. when i finally learn who she is, it makes sense—she’s one of those heiresses that will probably be having her own reality teevee show next year. but, thankfully, the first impression was already formed. i sneak her some more wine even though they stopped serving.

saw a cast member from saved by the bell, i think i saw my favorite showgirl, ogled some members of a punk band, urinated next to someone from punk’d, most of these things didn’t register till this morning, and after jotting them down here will be promptly forgotten.

apparently the world’s most famous supermodel was there, but i didn’t see her. there are photos of her at the party, but i somehow missed the towering beauty with her mole in the sea of, what, 300 people?

one person i didn’t miss, however, was one of rock’s favorite bad grrls. someone whom, after living with .greg for four years, i know entirely too much about. not a week would go by at my little vauxhall flat without .gregiño showing me tabloids filled with post-rehab/court trial/microphone-throwing photos of his favorite diva.

there she was, large and in-charge. a bit chubby, but good chubby. off-the-drugs chubby. stevie nicks chubby, okay? the makeup was caked on a bit heavy, but her lips were bright and red and sumptuous, as usual. at first i thought it was pouty l.a. icon angelina before it clicked that it was, in fact, her.

after our last few escapades, i decided that i would be designated driver, allowing christopher to get a bit tipsy. leaving the hotel as the paparazzi pack up, he drags the party to some lesbian club in silverlake, where i find myself urinating, again, next to a celebrity. well, a celebrity to me, at least, but maybe not to most yanks. orange hair, crazy mullet, towering next to me was senior from junior senior, who i’d last seen at an intimate 20-person set in san francisco.

okay, so here’s the rub… when you juxtapose london and los angeles, you trade the british class system [mostly one's background, coupled with one's fame determines one's worth] for the celebrity class system [your wealth, coupled with beauty, multiplied by your outfit, determines your status for the day]. for me, in both scenes, i’m an outsider. i’m the joker, the charmer, the gay best friend, the journalist, the observer, the one who doesn’t know anyone, yet chats to everyone.

i felt similarly during my first year in london, when i started to creep onto guestlists and would end up rubbing shoulders with celebrities for the first time in my life. working through the magazine allowed me to flex my muscles, and deal with celebrities as equals, as humans, which took a great deal of courage.

after swimming with celebrities all night, christopher and i juxtaposed the red carpet for red salsa, getting some late-night chimichangas at this divey mexican restaurant at 3am. the place was packed, and after we placed our order in broken español, we stood off to the side, to let the 50 tattooed gangbangers behind us place their orders.

i kept [annoyingly] encouraging chris to drink the frigging water that i’d bought for him, which resulted in him throwing it [rather hilariously, actually] all over my head, leaving me soaked. as i grabbed the bottle from him, the water flew over the gangbangers, and the two 50yo cashier/order takers ran into the kitchen, taking cover from the gang fight that was about to break out.

a simple apology from me averted any crisis, and we juxtaposed our asses over the sticky picnic bench, to eat our chimichangas and tacos los-rel-lanos-i-can’t-pronounce-os under the buzzing fluorescent light. perfection.

7 years, 10 months ago
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or, maybe i’m just pregnant?

cheap seats

was feeling quite lonely earlier today, having not heard from any of my london peeps in a while, feeling disconnected from all that love/drama/gossip/news/partying. taking a stroll along huntington beach didn’t really help… being surrounded by 100s of beautiful suntanned volleyball players and surfers and o.c. kidz made me feel even more alone. the suntanned, boardshort-wearing world zipped by, as pasty old jeans-and-black-socks wearing me pouted at the ocean for a bit.

was just about to buy a jamba juice when i was so excitedly interrupted, finally getting a call from .greg and atif in london… it had been weeks since we’d had a proper catch up. i wandered up and down main street and the pier as we randomly [them drunkenly] shared stories, but it didn’t quite work… them in the midst of a crazy house party, me in the midst of mid-afternoon family outings. i miss my boys, of course, but my life there already seems so very different from the life i’m kick-starting here.

wandering down the avenues of huntington beach, dressed extra funkily with my sidehawk gelled to new heights, i passed by a house with an open kitchen window. as my ipod fell silent between tracks, something inside caught my eye.

always the peeping tom nosy busybody, i deliberately and obviously turned to look inside the kitchen window, my gaze being reflected back at me with a nod, and a [i kid you not] hey dude, what’s up?. cute boy, wearing funky black-and-red striped sleeveless polo shirt, just sitting at his vinyl-covered kitchen table, watching the world go by. not much, i giggle back to him with a shrug. 0.8 seconds of awkward silence before i shift my embarrassed butt down back to my temporary home.

home home home… i’m moving into my fabulous new place in west hollywood on monday. more on that later. ooh and my new car [how adult am i?] and other grand plans. the new adventures are starting. fun.

had a dry run of west hollywood living on thursday night. would i adapt to the scene there? would i enjoy the bars, the clubs, the gutter? would anyone give pasty lil’ old me the time of day? would my london wardrobe [e.g. a dozen cowboy shirts suddenly 2 sizes too small, thanks to me drying them in american clothes dryers] be met with cheers or jeers?

thanks to cousin jason and allison, the outing was a total success—all tests passed with flying colors. blag my way in? check. free drinks from bartenders? check. hungry eyes sizing up the fresh meat? check. random conversations? check. numbers exchanged? check. my mojo has definitely cleared customs and my shmoozing currency has been converted. i’m not being shallow, i’m being realistic. i’m moving to west hollywood to make it a bit easier for me to network, make friends and find the love of my life. that’s all.

otherwise, i have just been busy as a beaver, getting my life in order, working through my move, getting ready for weddings and projects, and catching up with family and friends.

i mentioned earlier that my shirts have shrunk… unfortunately, i’ve also put on some weight from all the catching up with mexican food. i think. i might just be paranoid. regardless, it’s no coincidence that my shirts feel tight, and at the same time i can explain the pros and cons of the fish tacos at 8 different local restaurants. or, maybe i’m just pregnant?

saw willy wonka charlie and the chocolate factory tonight, giddy on smuggled sweets, with cousin jason and allison. initially, i was upset that it strayed so far from the original, but in the end i just appreciated it for what it was. depp was just warped enough to be convincing, and distanced himself from gene wilder to make me giggle. i can’t hear your mumbling!

how did they train all those squirrels? why didn’t gene wilder have a cameo, say as one of the grandpas? the multi-cam filming of the one little person was stupendous, and i found the variety of music to have me laughing out loud [louder than anyone in the cinema, but i'm just uninhibited like that], but i did miss the oompa loompa sing-a-long musical numbers.

funny to listen to people complain about $10 cinema tickets. funny to witness americans still a few years behind europe when it comes to cell phone etiquette. a brilliant evening out with the family—i’m just about used to having loving, caring family members around… for the first time in 10 years.

7 years, 10 months ago
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stop yer whining

today when i went for my morning jog, i finally looked the right correct way when crossing pacific coast highway. for the first week, i was just always looking the wrong way before confidently crossing into oncoming traffic. the second week, i had lost all confidence in myself to cross at non-crosswalk crossings. then i got my rental car, and all bets were off.

three weeks since i’ve left my london home, and my brain is starting to calm down… it’s not noticing, analyzing and recording as many little discrepancies in my everyday life, which is good. there are, however, some substantial differences between my everyday life today versus my everyday life just a few weeks ago in old blighty.

anyone who spends more than a year in london becomes an expert on public transport, and i was the king at analyzing routes and suggesting ways to get from anywhere, to anywhere in the least amount of time. you avoided interchanges at all cost, and would often take routes, which, distance-wise or direction-wise would make no sense, but would be quicker.

in los angeles it’s truly all about the freeway, and very often the least-crowded stretches of the freeways are the interchanges. i spent my first few days trekking up the 405 to the 2, for simplicity’s sake. now, it’s all about the 405 to the 5 to the 110 to the 101 to the 2. in particular, i love cranking my stereo and zipping across 5 lanes to get from the 110 to the 101 in time.

my laptop is happy to be sucking wi-fi, allowing me to maintain my online life, but i hate not having proper phone reception… anywhere.

in london and most of europe, everyone has gsm [digital] phones, as opposed to the old-school cellular technology from the mid-90s. for the past four years, i’ve experienced expensive but perfect reception, no matter where i was in europe.

i’m fascinated by the difference in telephony pricing between england and america, and i hope you are too, cuz now you’re gonna have to listen to my little rant:

landlines in england generally cost a $20/month for line rental, 5¢/minute to anywhere in the country, 40¢/minute to mobile phones.

in america, landlines cost $20/month for line rental, free local calls [including to local mobile phones], 5¢/minute to anywhere else in the country.

pay-as-you-go mobile pricing in england is generally 20¢/minute to landlines or in-network mobiles, or 50¢/minute off-network. incoming calls are free. voicemail calls are free. contracts generally have the same pricing but you might get 200 anywhere/anytime minutes for, say, $50. sending a text message is 18¢, receiving is free.

pay-as-you-go mobile pricing in america is generally 10¢/minute to landlines or in-network mobiles, or 50¢/minute off-network. incoming calls are 10¢ or 50¢/minute when roaming [which is often with a gsm phone]. contracts generally are much more attractive, with 1000-2000 minutes for, say, $20. sending a text message is 10¢-25¢, receiving costs 10¢.

the geography of los angeles [spread out with tons of mountains] plus the weird interference caused by radioactive smog means that static, dropped calls, zero bars of reception are all common occurrences when trying to use your mobile cell phone in l.a.

i’m getting used to it, it’s just annoying. the sun and excellent food makes up for it, so i’ll stop complaining now.

7 years, 10 months ago
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who are you calling loose?

slots slots slots

it was my mom’s idea, but somehow i got blamed for all of us ending up at the trump casino riverboat on saturday for some family bonding.

ever since i left indiana in 1995, the whole region has been inundated by so-called riverboat casinos. first off, they’re all parked on lake michigan, not any rivers. second off, they’re permanently moored [they never move]. the state quickly passed legislation 10 years ago allowing gambling on water, with local politicians drooling over the promised tax revenue and the promised increase in tourism.

alas, 10 years later, pretty much everyone seems to be disappointed with the casinos. apparently everyone’s been swindled, there seems to be no tax money coming in, although they’re as popular as ever, packed 24 hours a day with locals and people from chicago sneaking over.

i’ve been listening to everyone, including my mom, bitch about it for years, but all of a sudden on saturday she had a burning desire to take me. so, we grabbed a few benjamins, got spruced up in our best vegas bling, and hit da boats.

donald trump built two boats in gary, and those are apparently the nicest. gary [birthplace of the jacksons, shamone] was the per-capita murder capital of america for half of the 1980s. but, alas, trump has installed some beautiful tree-lined streets coming off the highway, and managed to rename his little slice of gary to the faux-posh sounding buffington harbor.

walking in, for the first 60 seconds, it feels just like vegas… the blinking lights, the sounds of slot machines, the hustle, the bustle, the shimmering gold and the shiny mirrors everywhere. but, after that, you start to realize that you’re definitely not in vegas.

for starters, the boat was crowded. low ceilings, tiny aisles, cramped seating… people seemed to be pushing and shoving just to get anywhere. and it was smoky, my god it was smoky, and that’s coming from someone who’s just spent four years in the big smoke.

looking around, i was shocked to notice that about half the crowd were elderly/handicapped/obese. when i say obese, i mean like, larger than my refridgerator obese. maybe 10-20% of the people there have canes/walkers. i [swear to god] even saw one woman with an oxygen tank. so sad.

and everyone looked so miserable. in vegas, you see smiles everywhere. smiles from people on vacation, having some fun gambling. smiles from people who are impressed [rightfully so] by the scale and graneur of vegas. vegas casinos -are- impressive… gold, marble, fountains… they’re classy in their own way. this place lacked character.

no, i take that back. it had all of the character of a bowling alley, crossed with that of an unemployment office, crossed with that of a bus station. yuck.

we had a blast, though. after sitting and watching my mom get bored with the $1 slots, we moved to video poker. she feigned ignorance for 2 or 3 hands, then next thing i know she’s up like $160. card shark.

after a few hours of jumping around, i tought the family how to play roulette. i explained to them my foolproof system [which never works for me, but still, it's foolproof] and i watched again as my mom doubled her money. i was more fascinated with the crazy chinese guy next to me.

after each spin, he’d scribble down all sorts of markings on his clipboard. for example P B 41 BB or ₪ 14 14 1. and he had a printout circle replica of the roulette wheel with all kinds of equations on it. when betting would start before each spin, he’d carefully place, say, 10 chips on 15, 3 chips on 18, and one chip on 18/19.

the dealer would spin the wheel, and betting would come to an end. then, just before she’d do her final wave, he’d frantically plop down 10 more chips, scattered all over the board, in a haphazard way. 31, 4, 5/6, 22, 31/32/34/35, black, 00. he’d keep throwing chips everywhere until the dealer would yell at him.

this happened for each spin. and he lost. he was crazy.

afterwards we gorged ourselves at el taco real [that's pronounced ray-ell] where i add another 2 lbs to my body, in an effort to catch up to the rest of the american population.

7 years, 10 months ago
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memories for sale

my mom has been nagging me for years, eric, when are you going to go through all your boxes in the attic?. she’s also been nagging me, eric, when are you going to come back to indiana? and eric, don’t you love your family anymore? see, when i moved out at the age of 18, i raided the house, and took pretty much any belonging of mine with any sentimental, emotional or resale value. i made sure of it—i like to keep my life tidy and organized and portable.

everything else was put away in boxes, and for the past 10 years these boxes have been sitting up in the attic. crawling up the attic stairs this morning, before the hot afternoon heat set in, i found 20 21 22 boxes. what’s inside? no idea. why don’t you look with me, which i’m sure will be as exciting and as long-winded as when geraldo broke into al capone’s vault…

box #1: 1000s of baseball cards, once valuable, now all bent and moldy. i’m guessing the childrens [sic] of 2005 don’t spend much time playing with pieces of cardboard with photos of steroid users on them? treasure: nothing.

box #2: wrapping paper [huh?] and blacklight posters. i don’t really remember having a blacklight. treasure: nothing.

box #3: 8×10 photos of eric in 3rd, 4th and 5th grade. not for sale, but saved for safekeeping, for potential use in upcoming jonny moirée: behind the music special. local newspapers from 1993, featuring dorky interviews with me, with titles such as sommer auf deutschland. star trek books and disturbing books with terrorism themes [e.g. black sunday and the president has been kidnapped!]. empty piggy bank, pinewood derby cars which never came close to winning any races cuz my dad wasn’t that technically inclined, mess kit from boy scouts, probably with mummified peach cobbler inside. 1991 upper deck hologram baseball cars [ebay says they're worth something]. treasure: photos of 8/9/10yo me, $180 worth of baseball cards.

box #4: back issues of boys life magazine [for boy scouts, silly!] and nintendo power [maps of zelda and tips on how to get to the minus world in super mario bros]. gonna keep a few of these for retro kitsch value. trapper-keeper binders from high school. an angry letter i wrote in to the local newspaper, complaining about class size, financial problems, dress codes, drugs, attendance policies, gangs, fights, suspensions, beepers… american schools are falling behind. i was a pretentious faux-foreigner back then, too. term papers on the works of kurt vonnegut. treasure: 1 issue of nintendo power.

box #5: awards: kiwanis scholar, presidential academic fitness, calculator mathematics olympiad, a blank certificate congratulating me for exceptional service in ________ [yet signed by the principal], academic super bowl, science olympiad, german club, honor society, young scientist, teacher’s pet. and like 100 medals from science olympiad. treasure: nothing except the inner geek.

box #6: a few old-school xeroxed zines that i subscribed to through BBSes [pre-interweb]. ooh, and a letter from lisa, this pretty girl whom i worked with at dairy queen, analyzing my flirtations with her and asking me out. via folded-up note. she writes, whatever girl wins your heart, remember to tell her that i wish i could be her. eek! she was the first girl i came out to at work. treasure: nothing except the repressed memories of that complicated summer.

box #7: more awards [geek!]. photo of me with a garter belt on my head, from prom? german magazines. stuff from the chicago cubs convention, 1993. boxes and boxes of baseball cards. most are worth only $0.08. i have notes on some cards listing their value as $125.00 but are now valued for $10. actually, wait, a few are listed at $100+! that’s jamba juice money, my friend! neon yellow sign stating the rules for entering eric’s room [enter at your own risk!!!], heavily worn boy scout manual [troop 10, killer whales!]. regarding drugs: when a junkie gets hooked, he can’t help himself. he must have more and still more. to get money he needs to by drugs from some other ‘junkie’, he may stage a holdup. he may even commit murder. boy scout beads, merit badges, belt. class of 1995 fluorescent pink water bottle… probably matched my l.a. gear shoes at the time. treasure: $500? worth of baseball cards.

box #8: photo of me in new york with my german friends in 1995, wearing a pansy division t-shirt with giant pink triangle. homo! tons of cassette tapes… mostly respectable: tom’s diner, motown philly, now that we found love, i got the power.. some not: unskinny bop, do the bartman, i wanna sex you up. my first communion prayer book and rosary. photos of my high school friends conga-dancing around a mexican restaurant for my 17th birthday, me with sombrero on my head. treasure: a few photos.

box #9: photos from when we snuck mike, our foreign exchange student from germany, to the canadian side of niagara falls, without a passport. jailarity ensued, and [apparently] i’m not permitted to ever go back to that border crossing. letter from q101 deejay samantha james, regretting she will not be able to attend our 80s-themed senior dance, but rather she put together a special mix tape for us with shout-outs from our favorite deejays and a remix of tainted love. photocopies of a dot-matrix, wordperfect printout of the rocky horror picture show script. original nintendo nes controllers and some bits from the power glove which i don’t remember owning. tons of comic books, mostly archie and jughead comics, some other random ones, apparently worth up to $100 each. treasure: $300? worth of comic books.

box #10: an appraisal from phil’s cards and collectibles offering to buy my baseball card collection for $100. funny thing, though, is that it’s dated 1996, when i was away at university. how thoughtful of my little bro to try to make some money off my junk. about 400 more comic books. i look up a few online and see them valued at $40-$100. i gently transfer them to a new box. treasure: $300? worth of comic books.

box #11: rubber-banded cache of folded-up notes from my ex-girlfriend jennifer. she writes: sorry it took me 4 years to write you back, but my intestines fell out, on the titanic, p.s. i must commend you on your last kiss, oow!. floppy disks with games for my old 386. flag of germany. my eric bogs stationery from elementary school, which i used to correspond with penpals in japan and alaska and brazil. a very wrinkled warning: teenager lives here poster. calvin klein underwear advertisements [hmm...] dot matrix print out of local BBS numbers, with hours of operation and accepted baud rates. l33t! a light in the attic, a witty children’s book given to me by my loving grandma whom i lived with for a few years. keeping that one. more end-of-the-world books, e.g. star bright: planet earth is burning, every hour is now a lifetime! one day soon, there will be no future! colecovision donkey kong junior cartridge. garter belt, presumably from one of my 3 [females] prom dates? d.a.r.e. bumper sticker [dare to keep kids of drugs]. treasure: embarrassing photos, book from grandma.

box #12: my actual boy scout uniform. there are too too many badges on it, and i can’t remember what any of them mean. should i wear it in a doubly-ironic way? you know, making fun of all the gay boys who wear them, making fun of the boy scouts? ooh, and the matching red uniform beret. folded clean handkerchiefs, strange. sunglasses from the tom cruise-in-footloose era. pocket telescope [no longer works]. all of the youth for understanding manuals and paperwork from my trip to germany. big novelty eraser which says my brother doesn’t make big mistakes from my lil’ bro. 4 complete sets of baseball cards, probably worth $20. photo of my girlfriend jen hugging me, i have a naughty smirk on my face. treasure: boy scout uniform, baseball cards, embarrassing photos.

box #13: box of chinese checkers, unopened [what a boring game]. my capsela kit! capsela was the bomb. i used to make remote-controlled boats and robots and cars and all sorts of other things. vhs tape labeled german honors project with barry which was my good friend barry and me pretending to be german on film for 30 minutes. christian children books which don’t look the least bit familiar. dot matrix printout of how to configure ansi.sys in dos. photo of me when i had chicken pox. photo from 16 years ago of kevin [who is now dating my sister] kissing cathy [who visited me in london last christmas and whom i'm having dinner with tonight]. printouts of how to cheat in sim city and have infinite money. copy of pc magazine explaining the features of upcoming windows 3.0. chicago bears earmuffs. treasure: incriminating photos.

box #14: spirit of america remote-controlled boat which i used to race across wolf lake. missing the remote control. treasure: memories of when we lived next to the lake.

box #15: my first silkscreening project… a black sweatshirt with bart simpson spraypainting eric graffiti onto a wall. little league baseball mitt. cross country ribbons [orange means 14th place, i think]. trigonometry notebook. b96 bumper sticker from 1993. membership card to american coaster enthusiasts. my first pair of geeky eyeglasses. treasure: nothing.

box #16: complete set of how it works encyclopedias, as seen on teevee. i remember reading each new issue cover to cover, definitely helps to explain why i’m such a know it all. the “H – Le” edition was my fave. can probably find entire contents at howstuffworks.com. treasure: nothing.

box #18: approximately 25 trophies. they look nice. they make my mom proud. we’ll leave these in the attic. treasure: put back into storage.

box #19: more baseball cards. vhs tapes of when i was in germany, some converted to ntsc. the first cassette tape i ever bought [dick tracy by madonna]. i remember being at the mall with my friend matt and his mom… his mom made me call my mom and ask permission before i could buy it. my address book from before university. more comic books… many worth $40, $110. my admissions letter from caltech, dated on my birthday, with a little handwritten happy birthday! note from the director of admissions.

another letter from my ex-girlfriend jennifer. this one dated just after i started sleeping with her boyfriend, but before he and her broke up. i think i was trying to convince her to break up with him—eek! die fantastischen vier postermagazin. a letter from someone in germany named frank. sheet music for joseph and amazing technicolor dreamcoat. letters from different local organizations that gave me scholarships all those years ago. i owe them all a huge thank you for helping me flee indiana all those years ago. treasure: comic books.

box #20: cassette tapes: teenage mutant ninja turtles, california raisins, m.c. hammer, ghostbusters soundtrack, beach boys. 7th grade leaf collection. more photos from germany, high school. chicago cubs puppet, baseball hats which i’ll be giving to my baby sister. german newspapers. autograph from eric clapton. notebook with all my nintendo passwords. the best one is for faxandu: ipgIAItkCEAiEIQtCEA. you can use it if you’re stuck on level 17. junior achievement awards banquet [i help run a chocolate factory for two years in high school]. elementary school yearbooks. freshman speech on alabama, which starts although most of you probably think alabama is just a state full of whiskey drinking hicks, alabama is much more than that. alabama is a very important and interesting state. stuff from my science fair projects. catechism notes: we are to live as adult christians, saying YES to christ, then we will live as he directs us, caring for others as he did [in my own handwriting]. copies of the nintendo newsletter i made for my friends and my mom photocopied at work. hand-painted ceramic statue of e.t. from my babysitter. treasure: cubs stuff for sis, elementary school yearbooks, nintendo newsletters.

box #21: every photograph, film negative, train ticket, scrap of paper or used kleenex from my trip to deutschland in 1993. treasure: fond memories.

box #22: 100s of copies of video game magazines, and of my favorite catalog, 1001 things you never knew existed where i bought entirely too many magic tricks and practical jokes and spy watches and insect repellents and pocket fishing poles. treasure: memories of playing video games 16 hours a day for most of my childhood.

phew. exhausting. i’m not sure how we’re going to dispose of all of this crap… most of it is books and magazines, i wonder if it can be recycled? i’m taking away a small briefcase full of memories, of photos, of letters, of yearbooks. some cubs memorabilia for my lil’ sis [she's a huge fan, it turns out, her whole bedroom is done up in a baseball theme], and a cache of baseball cards and comic books, with an apparent value of $1000+, but which i’ll bequeath to my lil’ bro to sell.

7 years, 10 months ago
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gay bar and bruised ego

popstarz crowd

tonight was my last visit to .popstarz, the unique-to-london club that has defined, reflected and served as a backdrop for much of my london misadventures. perfect timing, of course, because it coincided with their amazing 10th birthday bash.

my tummy’s been all askew since some binge drinking wednesday night with chip [more on that later], so i’ve been staying away from the sauce for the time being. i’m quite glad that i managed to dance for 4 hours last night at .discotec, stone cold sober, and then again tonight i moshed round .popstarz for 4 hours, gleeful as ever [perhaps less slutty though] just chugging lemonade or water.

it’s been a while since i’ve gotten such a sweaty workout [standing up in public that wasn't sex], and i enjoyed every minute of it. when i’m sober, and when the rest of the club is trolleyed [about 1050pm at .discotec, and about 1am at .popstarz], i dance so well [relatively speaking] that people stare at me as if i’m justin timberlake incarnate. tonight i was busting the moves, for real, hands in the air, fingers snapping, goofy expressions and my wild hair punctuating it all.

said goodbye to sooooooooooo many people tonight. it’s amazing how a 2000-person gay indie club can feel like a local bar. i seriously recognized maybe 100 faces tonight, and that’s a wonderful thing. spent most of the evening in the company of mitch, .greg and a very smiley stuart. lots of noooooo! you can’t be leaving! and london won’t be the same without you and now who am i supposed to flirt with? and so on. i feel loved.

electric six did a 5* song set tonight at .popstarz, at what i hear is their first performance at a gay bar. ironic, of course, since their biggest hit song is entitled gay bar. but, seeing them all strut out tonight, you can see that perhaps they’re a bit fratty, a bit blokey, a bit straight. they looked like your typical group of boozing frat brothers, just 5 years after getting kicked out of school.

they were quirky and zany and nonsensical and full of pure rawk-and-roll energy. i was slamdancing with the drunken queens, with the smothered straights, and bowled over plenty of angry lesbians. i enjoyed dance epidemic way too much, and was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic with my clapping for radio gaga, and was only disappointed by their omission of jimmy carter from their set list.

for their encore, they played gay bar. 5 times. in a row. they probably would have played it another 5 times if mikey hadn’t kicked ‘em off the stage. i think there’s something not quite right in the lead singer’s head—and i’d expect nothing less from a rock star.

gratuitous pic of hot boy to show division between my two substories

oh, so, yeah, last night hit .discotec with atif and mark. again stone-cold sober, recovering from wednesday. what happened wednesday?

started off simple enough… some summer wine with .greg, mitch, marky, my mumsy and her boyfriend mike. then an absolutely mind-blowing performance of mary poppins, with the most astounding multi-billion dollar set, the most astoundingly perfect child actors, and [luckily] the best seats in the house. unfortunately, the wine i slurped back during interval tasted like rotten cork, but i didn’t notice until it was too late.

next thing i know, i’m letting chip aka skaterboy aka the boy i obsess about way too much and blog about and love to hate and hate to love and whose boyfriend reads my blog and must think i’m the biggest asshole on the planet convince me convince him convince me to go out dancing to .heaven.

we meet up inside, and we start ordering our drinks entirely too quickly, buying rounds in rapid-fire succession, sprinting whereas we should have been running a marathon. we’re playing our usual games of him flirting with me, me obsessing over him, him pissing me off, me ditching him, him apologizing and flirting some more, me hitting on someone else, him getting insecure. rinse, lather, repeat. and drink.

around 230am, i decided to haul myself home. i said my goodbyes to chip, presumably hopped on the night bus, and found my way home.

i wake up at 1pm or so with one of the worst hangovers of my life. and that’s saying a lot, coming from a professional alcoholic like myself. i blame the dodgy wine at mary poppins, but it could’ve been a combination of that plus our frantic drinking plus whatever else. needless to say, it’s now 48 hours later and i’m still feeling a bit off-kilter.

around 3pm or so, i hear from chip. he’s in hospital. he woke up with an i.v. drip, two black eyes, a possibly broken nose, and no idea how he got there. no idea if/when he left the club. or who beat him up, or why, or where. it wasn’t a robbery as he still had his wallet and phone. he doesn’t even know how he got to the hospital.

the awful thing is, for the first few minutes i didn’t believe him, as he’s played some pretty complicated mind games on me in the past. but once i hear the fear and shaky sadness in his voice, i realize he’s telling the truth. i dig deep into my drunken memory, looking for any clues, but come up empty.

how much am i to blame for getting this 24yo lad drunk? i think back to the first time we hooked up, when he polished off a half bottle of absinthe on his own, and i realize that maybe i’m not solely to blame for his overconsumption of alcohol that night. maybe i should have stayed, maybe i should have kept an eye on him, but our relationship isn’t exactly what you’d term as a straightforward, mutually-beneficial, even-keeled friendship. it’s a twisted, lust-ridden, uneven, unhealthy acquaintance.

regardless, i feel so sorry for him, and hope he regains his handsome features in no time. i’ve been trying to offer my help and support, but i think his boyfriend has stepped in. boyfriend must really despise me now. i’m such a bad influence, sometimes.

7 years, 11 months ago
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meme baby

troubled diva

some people pretend to be above faddish memes as they fly around the interweb. me, i’m just oblivious. well, 5 months ago the ever-eloquent mike from troubled diva passed the tell us all about your fascinating music tastes meme my way, but i dropped the baton. now, through the wonders of anal-retentive link analysis, i was able to re-stumble upon it.

and it’s all very appropriate, see, as i am more than a connoisseur and consumer of music—i devour it, it absorb it, it guides my every waking moment and celebrates the joys, tribulations and sorrows of my life. and, answering his meme call will help me stay awake as i mass-produce my latest mix cds for my going away party this saturday…

1. what is the total amount of music files on your computer?

computer says no. no, actually, computer says: 18,936 files [121,420,727,198 bytes]. so that’s 113gb of mp3s. but, the thing is, my listening tastes [when in the vicinity of the computer] are generally: 75% tunes i’ve downloaded in the past week [which, in turn, are typically the hot tunes that i heard on the dancefloor the previous weekend, and either shazamed or texted to myself], 10% depeche mode [my 'best of' playlist somewhat resembles this], 10% pet shop boys [my 'best of' playlist closely resembles this], and the other 5% are particular albums sparked by nostalgia/mood/diet/weather/drugs [ranging from bis to led zeppelin, scorpions to die fantastischen vier]. point being, 98% of those 18,936 tracks never get played. sort of like my wardrobe—lots of old crap that nobody wants.

2. what is the last cd you bought?

i honestly can’t remember. when i moved to london four years ago, i digitized my 600-disc collection to mp3, gave away all my cds to friends, and arrived in the uk, only to find those shiny plastic discs are 50% more expensive here than in the states. since then, i’ve only bought a handful of cds, usually out of sympathy for the artist or frustration when my super-sleuth empeethree searching skills fail me. seriously, i’ve only bought 5 cds in the past 4 years.

shame, shame, shame on me for ripping off the artists and the producers and the guys who design those cool cd booklets and, i guess, well, the cute clerks at the 5 different virgin music stores that now engulf piccadilly circus that i’d normally shop at, and of course all those record execs. £16 is too much to pay for a cd. how about yahoo’s new music unlimited service which offers unlimited downloading for $4.95/month? now we’re talking.

the last few tracks i sought out and downloaded were: inaya day—nasty girl [full mix], umm… the killers—somebody told me [josh harris club mix] and thelma houston—don’t leave me this way. these 3 tracks were the missing gems for my upcoming mix cds, which i’m now mass-producing in the background.

3. what is the song you last listened to before reading this message?

ford’s siren remix of i’m glad by jennifer lopez. great tune, great remix, by a great girl with a great heart. but, not bangin’ enough, nor atmospheric enough to make it into my new mixes. a few moments earlier, i had just stumbled upon watch out now by the beatnuts, which features the same flute [?] sample as jenny from the block. you can see what i’m listening to at any moment by peeping my playlist at right –>

4. write down 5 songs you often listen to or that mean a lot to you.

i think this list shows off a side of me which is the opposite of the eric that i present to the world here on evijhserf… an eric that is insecure, romantic and kinda pessimistic.

being boring by the pet shop boys…
the concept of looking back at my life when i’m on my deathbed terrifies me. what will my regrets be? will i be proud of living life to its fullest? will i be famous? will i be clinging to old stories from my youth? i’m not alone in my worship— 10 years of being boring is an entire site dedicated to this one anthem.

only when i lose myself by depeche mode…
4 years in london has ruined my sense of romance, at least in the traditional sense, and pumped me full of fillers, artificial ingredients and a warped realization that this city is a playground, where you can always fall for another pretty face just around the corner. rather than adopting the typical london gay boy routine of drinks-drugs-shag-goodbye, i’ve been following my own recipe for bite-sized romance called megadating. best played at full volume, lights out, just after they’ve left, the following evening.

tonight by easyworld…
a sombre but optimistic love song, with haunting vocals and delicate piano which makes me smile and sing along every time. tonight, before you sleep, there will be, a you and me. i guess quite similar to my previous pick.

your song by elton john, sung by ewan mcgregor in moulin rouge…
i love musicals. i’m a closet thespian. i met my first girlfriend whilst performing in fiddler on the roof. i met my first fling whilst performing oklahoma. my first boyfriend starred in the city-wide production of joseph and the amazing technicolor dreamcoat, and used to sing me songs from miss saigon. there, i’ve now been properly outed.

dream a little dream by mamas and the papas…
the closing scene of beautiful thing still pulls my heart strings to this day [maybe partially because i'm living in a council flat not too different from jaime and ste]… also reminds me of a friend who committed suicide a few years ago.

you can stalk my listening preferences more accurately via audioscrobbler, which aggregates my tracks against so-called neighbors.

thanks to mike for prodding me [albeit 5 months ago] and for being a great blogger role model for all us young’uns.

and, no, i’m not implying that mike is old or anything [he listens to the streets for chrissake!], i’m just saying he’s wise and all-knowing.

7 years, 11 months ago
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