The Boys in the Band

I was lucky enough to find a couple of Tylenol PM tablets last night and it helped me fall asleep. Being sick with flu symptoms is not fun, especially when you're trying to get rest. My nose was so stuffed up that I had to sleep with my bass clarinet mouthpiece in my mouth so I wouldn't suffocate. I've always believed that places and things are infused with a sort of energy that connects a person to a specific time in his or her life. When I opened up my bass clarinet case, I was instantly transported to my band geek days in high school.

I never understood how people can be so into something that it takes over every aspect of life. The band geeks in my high school ate, slept, and breathed music while I chose to nibble, doze, and sniff it. I preferred it that way. I had more fun laughing at the flute players who rocked back and forth with the music as they closed their eyes and 'felt the energy flow through their bodies.' That was my band director's big thing: "Feel the energy flowing through your body!"

The only energy I wanted to flow through me was the energy of the young men in other bands. Marching band has one of the highest percentages of closeted homosexual males, with football coming in a close second. It was a veritable smorgas board of hot gay nerds who were ready to explode with built-up sexual energy. See? Energy. Schools from across the state would compete in band reviews and every weekend was a road trip to a different school. It was kickass!

During competitions, we'd scope out the cute boys and pursue the ones with the highest OSV (obvious swish value) so we could make out in one of the many hiding places in the schools where competitions were held. Afterwards, all the gay boys in the band (there were only 4 of us) would get together to tell each other about our conquests. It was kind of like Sex and the City, but with more acne medication. I would have been the Carrie because I had a bling necklace with my name on it.

A flash of amusing, coming-of-age memories were triggered by the touch and feel of my old instrument. I wonder why I don't get memory flashes when I touch my 'fleshy' instrument...?

Lately I've been hooked on watching the E! network, specifically shows that have countdowns of embarrassing celebrity moments or reality show clips (which are full of washed-up celebs anway). There's something about watching Lil' Kim walking out of a courtroom after receiving a jail sentence that just makes me feel good about myself. I had a similar feeling when Leona Helmsley made a fool of herself when she was going to jail for tax evasion.

There's a nagging feeling inside of me that compels me to act more compassionately when it comes to the misfortune of others. It could be a fear of karma and subsequent "divine retribution" theories that have been surreptitiously implanted in my mind by years of conditioning from my mother. Lately, my self esteem comes from seeing other people feel like shit. Is that wrong? Should I be looking to more positive things to build my foundation of self-worth? How does one begin such a daunting task?

Double Hockey Styx

The concept of "Hell" has been a subject of much debate over the years. Some people believe that they will suffer in the afterlife if they'd distanced themselves from God. Others believe that there is nothing BUT Hell. The constant belief is that you are tormented with eternal suffering when you're in Hell.

I can't help but think that certain religions used the concept of Hell to scare people into their faith. Christians hit it big during the plague when half of Europe was dying. All they had to do was spin a nasty tale about fire and brimstone to a scared pagan on the brink of death, and BAM - instant conversion.

I think that everyone's Hell is different. My personal Hell is having to listen to every one of my ex boyfriends tell me about how their days were (at the same time) while I try to iron a shirt without burning it.

Happy Non-Denominational Holidays, Charlie Brown!

I was watching Blues Clues this morning and Joe was watching home movies about how Blue came to live with him. It was a cute little story about Steve and Joe as children, played by cute kids. All around, it was a cute show. Then came the letter from the "friends," which comes every day. This time, the friends were sending a video Happy Holidays card.

There were four friends, a white girl, a jewish boy, a black girl, and a middle eastern boy. Each of the children explained how special their holiday was. They talked about the nice presents they get, the great food they eat, and the special times they share with their families. Then when it was the middle eastern boy's turn, he was like "we celebrate Ramadaan and we don't eat or drink food." I have to give it up to Nickelodeon for attempting to celebrate all cultures. They strategically called the episode "The Happy Holidays" episode.

I guess things have become more politically correct since I was a kid. I remember everything being about Christmas. Christmas carols, a Christmas pagent where I always got stuck being a shepherd (while the white kids were wisemen and kings), and Secret Santa were common traditions in my school. Now that I think about it, we had a lot of Jewish kids in our classes. There was James Goldstein and his brother Joseph. I wonder what was going through their heads while they were forced to be in the pagent. They were probably freaked out by the baby Jesus. Poor kids.

Sticky Rice

I saw a Filipino woman at the bank this week and she had her baby in a stroller with her. I guess I still look ethnic even with a hat and scarf, because she instantly recognized my heritage. "Are you pilipino?" I hesitated with a 'if I say yes, does it mean we have to be friends?' look, then I told her yes. I soon regretted my weekly act of niceness because she wouldn't stop talking. She started talking to me in one of the many languages spoken in the Philippines, but I just stared at her like she was insane.

Fortunately, her baby started screaming so I was free. Then she started singing a lullaby about waiting in line at the bank and how he was a good boy. Leave it to Filipinos to turn anything into a lullaby. I remember when my mother used to sing this really lame song to my brother when he was a baby:

"I have two hands... the left and the right. I have two feet, the left and the right..."

It stated the obvious, it didn't rhyme, and it had no animals in it. What the fuck kind of kid song is that supposed to be anyway?

I think Filipinos are the only people who think that every Filipino is automatically their friend and confidant, strangers included. Ever see two Irish men at the bank embrace their heritage? I didn't think so. I wonder if people will be doing that in the future when we've coexisted with aliens. "Excuse me, are you a human? ME TOO! Let's have lunch!"

Where's Heloise when you need her?

I was watching the Fine Living network this weekend and they aired some short little commercials with quick tips for the holidays. They were more like tips for bored women and gay men on how to be pretentious. I found it disgusting. The first one I saw was a tip on how to avoid holiday crowds at the stores. The woman was sitting by a fireplace with a huge Christmas tree in the background and she was like: “Go during the dinner hours and the stores are virtually empty! Weekend dinnertime is the best time to go because everyone gets together to have dinner on the weekends! What exactly does she consider dinner hours? Since when has any store been 'virtually empty' from November 25 - December 24?

The next holiday tip was about sprucing up drab gifts by presenting them beautifully. They focused on tickets. She actually said: "No one likes to receive ugly tickets. Try putting them in a basket full of bath oils and mineral salts." The camera cut to two tickets to Mel Brooks' "The Producers" being put into a giant basket, surrounded by bath products and a gigantic ribbon. Let's go back to what she said... UGLY TICKETS? What the hell does an ugly ticket look like? Is it oily and full of acne? And if you're going to give such a great gift like tickets to "The Producers," wouldn't you want that to be the focus of the gift? I'd be too distracted with the bath products and the big ribbon.

I can't believe that the Fine Living network actually airs lame advice like that. I can't believe I was watching the Fine Living network. I can give stupid advice to people also. Picture me on Logo, the gay network, giving advice on how to snag a man at the gym:

"Always remember to stretch your shoulders. It helps to reduce injury and it also shows the cute guy across the room that you'd have no problem performing the "reach-around" when you're nailing him doggy style!"

Rub a dub dub, thanks for the grub! Yay God!

Yesterday at dinner, I saw a man make the sign of the cross and bow his head before he ate. People still do that? People still do that in public? People still do that in public and don't mind being made fun of? It blows my mind to see people so pro-God. Seeing that act of devotion got me thinking about my favorite scene from Sister Act, where Sister Mary Clarence is asked to say grace:

"Bless us oh Lord for these thine gifts which we are about to recieve. And uh... ye Lord, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of no food, I shall fear no hunger. We want you to give us our day of daily bread. And to the republic for which it stands... by the powers vested in me, I pronounce us ready to eat. Amen."

It's not that I don't like God. I love God. I've got a God t-shirt. I just find it weird to give thanks to something that is indirectly responsible for the food getting on the plate. It's not like God made the pan-asian cuisine that was steaming hot in front of him. That would be like me thanking Wheaties for providing me the energy to win the 100 yard dash. Am I blaspheming yet? Just checking!

Like sands through the hourglass...

You know you've gone crazy when you've given someone the "when I was your age..." speech. Remember how you used to roll your eyes and tune out whenever a grown-up would start a sentence with those dreary words? I was talking to my brother recently and he was too lazy to e-mail anyone because it's such a hassle. Then I told him: "When I was your age, we didn't have e-mail! We wrote letters and we had to wait days, sometimes weeks, for a response!" Then I stopped myself because I realized that I was turning into my mother. The next thing I know, I'll be playing bingo and wearing a fanny pack at Disneyland.

Change is inevitable, yet somehow history tends to repeat itself. That means that I'll be complaining about my children's music and their clothes the same way my mother did with me. I can just see myself telling little Richie Jr.: "When I was your age, Vanna actually TURNED the letters!"

Germ Warfare: Who's side are YOU on?

I'm starting to turn into Peggy from that Seinfeld episode with James Spader as the recovering alcoholic. Peggy was the germophobe who is fearful of Elaine's germs. My favorite part of that episode was when Elaine rubbed the keyboard on her butt. "How 'bout some germs for your keyboard, huh? How 'bout that?"

I've caught myself wiping telephone receivers, utensils, and door knobs before I use them. I even carry a bottle of hand sanitizer. The weird thing is that I don't do any of that stuff when I'm at the gym, and the gym is supposed to be the germ capital of the world (with Paris Hilton's cooch coming in a close second). Jane T. has been really bad about spreading germs at the office. I've caught her sneezing in open air on several occasions. I've seen her wipe her nose with her hands and handle paperwork. BLARGH!

But the worst things he does is lick her fingers when she is sorting papers. EEEEEEEEEW! She doesn't lick one finger, she licks like two or three fingers and she does it for every paper. Then she hands them to me and after what seems like an eternity of hesitation, I take the papers and eyball my bottle of hand sanitizer. It wouldn't be as bad if she had better smelling breath.

Doesn't anyone realize that the bird flu is just on the horizon? Dr. Gupta said so! If it were up to me, we'd all be living in antibacterial domes. Howard Hughes ain't got nothin on me! A lot of people who know me well tell me to not be so anal about germs and they're sort of right. With all the stuff that I've put my mouth on in the past ten years, I shouldn't preaching about germophobia. ZING!

Favorite toys for girls and boys

As I walked to the train after my spinning class last night, I looked down at the murky gray slush that lay on the ground. It reminded me of one of my favorite toys: The Snoopy Sno-Cone Maker!

You start by popping an ice cube into the barrel and you turn the red crank until it shaves it down into slush. My sisters and I would spend hours making sno cones in that dinky little dog house-shaped machine. Eventually, the handle on the crank broke off and our futile attempt to tape it back together caused us to lose interest in it. Fortunately, this has become a classic toy and it is STILL around! It is one of the things that I am buying for my nieces and nephew for Christmas.

I think we should keep the toys simple and boycott all the huge "all the rage" type toys this season. That carpet muncher Dora the Explorer is dominating the market with stupid little toys that aren't even promoting the idea of the show. She's supposed to be teaching kids about being bi.. lingual (HA HA) and wearing sensible shoes with a low-maintenance haircut. Don't forget about that great big backpack she sports with her belly hanging out of that tiny shirt! Seriously, it's an ok show. It teaches kids a lot of cool stuff. What makes me mad is the fucking promotional tie-ins and insane toys that are associated with her. There's a "Princess Dora" with hair that grows. There's also a Dora the Explorer talking stove playset. GOOD LORD!! Talking stove? The last time my stove talked to me, I was high on the alphabet of drugs. Scary!

Another stupid toy I saw a few years ago was "Harley Davidson Barbie." It didn't even come with a biker daddy, so it wasn't realistic. No single woman with long blond hair would ride a Harley without a hot leather guy in front of her to hold on to. Oooh, my biker fantasy is happening again.

Schadenfreude

Last Friday I was in the office, getting ready to leave for the day. I still had some snow on my boots from when I went to drop an envelope off at FedEx Kinko's. That caused me to slip and fall forward and my face hit my desk on the way down. Fortunately, there were no bruises or broken bones. Before I could pick myself up, I heard someone laughing at me from across the office. It was my boss. For the sake of anonymity, I will refer to her as Jane T.

Jane T. just couldn't get enough of the comedy of me falling and smacking my lovely face onto my messy desk. I don't know about other families, but in my religious military Filipino household, it was considered rude to laugh at people when they fell. I personally worry for the person's health when I see them fall. It all stems from the hours spent watching soap operas. People in soap operas only fall for three reasons:

1) To die
2) To miscarry
3) To become seriously injured resulting in paralysis or memory loss

Who laughs when someone dies, miscarries, or becomes seriously injured? Not me! So you can imagine how blown away I was when I heard her laughing. It was a real "what the fuck?" moment for me. And she's not exactly a graceful swan either! I find it revolting when people take pleasure in the physical pain of others. Oh yeah, then she had the nerve to ask me to get her a latte before I went home. I was like: you'll get your latte after I go put ice on my face.

Mile High Misery

About week before I take my holiday vacation to see my nieces, I am treated to two very inspiring news stories involving planes. The first one is the crazy man who was shot and killed by the air marshall because he claimed to have a bomb and the second is the jet that lost control and skidded into the street, killing a child. As if my aversion to airports and traveling isn't bad enough! I'm gonna need extra valium when I leave for Georgia.

I've traveled enough after 9/11 to have a routine that gets me through the airport with a minimum amount of fuss and I will share it with everyone:

• First, I make sure that my bags are properly labeled and will fit under the seat in front of me. I don't check ANYTHING with the airline because they search the shit out of your stuff, it can get lost, and a million people have black canvas luggage. Cut to you at the baggage carousel after an insane flight with a hundred other people and grabbing someone else's luggage because you think it's yours. Not fun!
  

• Next, make sure that you have NO METAL on your body. This includes zippers, buttons, pocket change, and cock rings. I personally like to travel in pajama pants and a tank top with a neoprene cock ring. It's comfortable, you get cruised by hot business men, and you can breeze right through a metal detector... unless you've got a metal plate in your head or a prince albert.

• Bring a snazzy electronic device to play with on the plane. My favorite is the game boy advance with Tetris. It lets people know that you're hip, you've got great hand-eye coordination, and that you don't want to be bothered. Some people prefer the iPod video so they can look at porn. But you can't really play with yourself on the plane, unless your flying on Michael Jackson's Neverland jet.
  

• There's nothing more embarrassing than having a pill bottle out for people to gawk at. Don't give them any more reason to gossip about you! To survive those long plane rides, hide valium in your mouth, between your cheek and gum. Then pop it when they offer those cute little overpriced vodka bottles. Welcome to dream land!
  

Follow these simple steps, and your travel experience is sure to be filled with sexy adventure and a minimum amount of drama. Now you can focus on having a quickie with the cute flight attendant in the lavatory. Watch out for the sink!

The Dating Game

I was watching Elimidate last night after South Park, which was fucking hilarious. It was the episode where Butters' dad goes to a gay bath house and his mother is so humiliated that she goes crazy and tries to drown Butters in the lake. Good times. Anyway, the guy starts out with three girls and they go on a huge date. Throughout the show, he eliminates two girls as he gets to know them.

The show is really stupid, but I couldn't find my remote control. That meant I had to watch it. The guy was faking an Australian accent and the three girls were just gross. One was a plastic looking bikini model, another was a loud plain girl who didn't wear makeup, and the other was a chunky hispanic girl with bad grammar. The plain girl and the hispanic girl immediately ganged up on the plastic girl as they kicked a soccer ball around to each other, claiming that she was a slut and she had nothing interesting to offer in life. The soccer ball thing was just stupid. They just girl kicked a fucking soccer ball to each other as they're slamming the barbie. The guy asked the plain girl if she was the most interesting person in the group and she said YES. What a cunt.

Anyone who has to say that they're interesting isn't interesting at all. The title of "interesting" has to be given to you by someone else. It's like knighthood, but you don't have to be British.

For gay people, the competition between singles to snag a good guy is fierce and brutal. We're just like the three Elimidate girls, but with more clever things to say and cleaner nails. If two gay boys are competing for the attention of a guy, the outspoken one who throws himself at the guy will win out every time. Or will he? The quiet and witty young man doesn't exactly have a snowball's chance. It's a well-known fact that boys who are polite in public are registered freaks in private. They rock worlds all over the gay community!

Smell ya later!

I hate Mondays at the gym. There were no machines available except for one stair climber. Stair climbing is really friendly on my feet and it helps me stay in my target heart rate zone better because I'm working large muscle groups in my legs. The reason why I detest it is because there's this guy who likes to show off. He puts the machine on the highest level and it looks like he's working really hard, but he's actually holding himself up on the side rails so his arms are getting the workout. If you look closely, he's just plain cheating.

A boy came up next to me and he started to sweat. Suddenly, I noticed a foul odor that reminded me of vinegar. It was really rank. I couldn't tell if it was him or me, so I started to sniff myself in various places. Nope, no smell from me. I was fresh and pure like my virginity. Then my trainer friend came up to me and we started to talk. I said out loud how someone's smell was making me sick and we both got a good laugh. I think the boy next to me got offended because he stopped his machine and walked away. A few minutes later, I noticed that the sweat from my sweatband was dripping down my ear so I adjusted it. That's when I noticed the smell. IT WAS ME! My sweatband was generating that foul vinegar odor.

Horrified by my rude behavior (and the stink from my sweatband), I went out in search of the boy that I offended. I saw him talking to a friend of mine, so I went over to apologzie. After explaining the whole thing, he got a big laugh out of it. We introduced ourselves and proceeded to shake hands, because us gay boys like to pretend that we're butch when we're at the gym. He realized he was wearing gloves, so he took them off before shaking my hand. Suddenly, a familiar scent filled my nostrils. Well it didn't fill them, it kind of INVADED my nostrils. It was a stink so potent that scientists use it for biological warfare research. That nasty vinegar smell was coming from his gloves! He was wearing them while he was on the stair climber! I politely smiled and walked to the sink to wash my hands.

I know what you're thinking. You're probably saying: "Richie, maybe it WAS your sweatband that made the smell and it was just a coincidence that his gloves smelled too." Actually, my sweatband had a muted and surreptitious smell. His gloves had the BAM! smell to them and that's what I smelled when I was stepping. So there.

The moral of this story? Never doubt your freshness.

Fear Itself

So Saddam Hussein says that he's not afraid to be executed. Does this guy creep you out, or what? He's got that scary, child molester / high school janitor look. Of course he's not afraid to be executed! His religion says that if he dies for a holy cause, then he'll go to paradise. DUH! The trick is to find out what he does fear. I suggest that we subject him to various stimuli to find out what makes him clutch the pearls.

He looks like a claustraphobe to me. Oooh, we can put him in a plexiglass box with tiny air holes until he snaps. Or we could just let him loose on an episode of Fear Factor. That show has been known to reduce the manliest of men to quivering piles of pussy discharge. Remember the episode with the electric obstacle course? Ha ha ha! ZZZZZZAP!

Saddam has no doubt prepared himself for all of the conventional means of punishment, so the best way to get to him is to think outside the box. We have to throw everything we've got at him! How about a snake-handler dressed as a clown, riding a giant tarantula?

Farewell to our funny lady

I was sad to hear that Wendy Jo Sperber passed away yesterday. She was diagnosed with breast cancer back when I was in high school and has been a leading advocate for cancer awareness since then. My mother is a breast cancer survivor and that's one of the reasons why I feel so strongly about the cause.

My sisters and I agree that she is one of our favorite actors. Ever since "Bosom Buddies" and all through "Private Benjamin" and "Babes," we've enjoyed her down-to-earth brand of comedy. Our favorite line is from "Back to the Future" after Lorraine (Lea Thompson) explains how she met George (Crispin Glover):

That was so STUPID! Grandpa hit him with the car!

We'll never forget this spectacular and courageous woman who has made us laugh since we were just wee little latchkey kids watching her on the television while other kids were playing outside.

December 1 is world AIDS day. Visit www.worldaidsday.org
"WHO? WHO DOES NOT WANT TO WEAR THE RRRRRRIBBON?"