Where the fuck am I standing?

Sometimes I wonder that. I know it makes no difference, but I still like to ask myself. Ask myself: torture myself. You know, listening to some subtly suicidal music like One for my baby (and one more for the road) or Take me home by Aqualung. I’m gay, you’re saying? Maybe, but a quiet one. In the meantime —I mean, while I’m not depressed and full of questions— I also think of other things. Like art and sex and people and money and future, the fucking future, and Hollywood and dudes and college and Internet and what the hell happened to Gregor Samza and the loyalty of my friends and the unfairness in the world and that bunch of issues that run through my head and I just can’t seem to take out. What else could I write about? So here it is, a magic blend of nothing-to-do-with-each-other blend of topics that will unleash the emotionally unstable inside of me. And the sexy beast. And the repressed student. And the politically-incorrect. And the gossip columnist (not so much, I hope). The mainstream and the alternative. The pseudoscientist. The confused. The teenager and the old man. The James Dean. And the wannabe blogger.