01. The New York Times: John F. Burns:
‘At Least 64 Dead as Rebels Strike in 3 Iraqi Cities’
02. The New York Times: Sheryl Gay Stolberg:
‘On a Deadly Day in Iraq, Republicans Step Up Debate Over Whether Rumsfeld Should Stay’
03. The Washington Post: Jim VandeHei & Charles Babington:
‘More Aggressive Congress Could Hinder Bush’s Plans’
04. The New York Times: Anthony Tommasini:
‘Renata Tebaldi, 82, Soprano With “Voice of an Angel,” Dies’
05. The New York Times: C.J. Chivers:
‘A Dinner in Ukraine Made for Agatha Christie’
06. The New York Times: Bob Herbert:
‘War on the Cheap’
07. The Washington Post: Howard Kurtz:
‘Iraqi Bloggers, In the News And Critiquing It’
QUICKTAKES
01. I’ve come to the conclusion that finding a Nintendo DS in a store would be akin to reclaiming my virginity.
02. Considering my absence of a sex life, it actually is quite possible I would become a virgin before finding the DS.
03. Much to the horror of fellow bloggers I adore: I hereby wish that Ms. Duff, Ms. Lohan, Ms. Simpson and Mrs. Simpson-Lachey (and others of the same ilk) would all be bound and gagged and mysteriously stuffed in an empty red velvet bag on Santa’s sleigh. Next stop: North Pole. ‘Rumors’ indeed.
04. Am I the only one who gets all giddy on ‘Desperate Housewives’ night? Last night was deliciously wicked.
05. On a recent media junket, ‘Desperate’ creator, Mr. Marc Cherry, was asked whether there would be a gay resident of Wisteria Lane. He replied with a chuckle, ‘Who knows? Maybe there already is?’. Let the guessing games begin.
06. In addition to the traditional chocolate fudge, I made a batch of peanut butter fudge with Reeses’ peanut butter chips. Haven’t tried it, but it should be interesting.
07. While I’m a big fan of the Nikon Coolpix line of digital cameras, I have a sneaking suspicion I might be the owner of a new Canon PowerShot come Christmas day. Ssssh.
08. For TLC connoisseurs, would you rather be the meat in a Farmer-Cameron, Oosterhouse-Dewar or Bartolomeo-Brown club sandwich? (Shut up, a boy can dream.)
OBLIQUITY’S TOP FIVE MOVIES OF 2004
01. ‘Bad Education’
02. ‘Closer’
03. ‘Maria Full of Grace’
04. ‘Sideways’
05. ‘Hotel Rwanda’
RECOLLECTION: THIS FIRE IN MY SOUL
I graduated high school in May of 1983. I was seventeen years old. I’d spent the first two years of high school as the the stereotypical bookworm, over-achieving nerd. Then my junior year, my social status on the tenuous ladder of the high school popularity seemed to take off (much to my surprise). I got involved in a lot of clubs and extra-curricular activities. I was suddenly faced with the prospect of being a social butterfly. But, the butterfly had a secret.
I’d come face-to-face with my sexuality in my freshman year. It was knowledge I wasn’t sure how to process. I wasn’t ready to process. So I lied. By the time my high school experience came to an end, I had excelled academically and socially. On the night of my senior awards banquet, I won the awards for Chemistry, Physics, Big Brother, Band, Honor Society, and a tuition scholarship. Somehow along the way, I’d even managed to have two girlfriends. Everything was nearly perfect. Nearly.
By August of 1983, I was a freshman in college. I was elected senator from my college. I finished my first semester with a 4.0 grade average. I had a great new circle of friends. It was like picking back up where I left off. Nearly. I was now eighteen and a virgin. Oh yeah…and gay. It was now that life seemed like that statue of justice. The blindfolded lady holding the scales in perfect balance. I was blindfolded. One side of my scale was filled with school, friends and activities. The other side was empty. But somewhere in the back of my closet behind all the clothes was a big block labeled ‘gay’ on all six sides. My quandary was if I freed the block and placed onto the empty tray, would the scales stay in balance? Or would the weight of that cube knock everything else to hell?
It’s easy to write-off sexual urges and desires to hormones and growing up. There’s probably a lot of truth to that as well. Yet, for me, there was always something else that poked my side like a sliver of steel. There was this desire. There was this craving. The unmet need to break a boundary of intimacy with another man. The need and desire to touch male flesh. The want of a hug. Not the hug friends give one another, but the kind that broke that invisible shield we all put up. The kind where if you are lucky flesh melds and hearts delicately touch. There was no doubt that I wanted the carnal knowledge of another man. But, there was burning need to acknowledge to myself the thing I hid from. Even if the sun were to burn out, I had to let go of my fear and inhibition and explore my baser wants and desires.
So the cube was pushed and dragged from its storage place and thrown on the scale. The pans moved up and down. For awhile, there was a disconcerting vertigo. The scales swung one way, then the other. Some dips worse than others. At times terrifying and then exhilarating.
One of the fondest and clearest memories I have of my college experience was the first time I ever touched another man. Really touched a man. He was someone who would become a dear friend. He was someone who helped me grow in leaps and bounds. I can recall laying next to him in near darkness. The quiet was explosive. The only sound was our breathing. There was no hurry, no rush. A thousand things flashed through my neurons before I lifted a hand to raise the bottom of his t-shirt and lay my palm against his skin. I’ll never forget the heat–the electricity of that touch. To feel another human being breathe under your hand. To feel desire come alive under the power of touch. To feel another body respond to you in magnificent ways. To end this self-imposed exile. To finally feed the fire that had burned in your caged soul. To add fuel and burn with intensity. To place your lips in that spot that your hand had just left fingerprints. To really understand touch and desire. To feel breath and flesh on your flesh. To have lust, desire, hunger, want and flesh evaporate in a spectacular combustion.
That single night, my life started over again. The fire in my soul was stoked and every fiber of me was finally living. Even more astounding than that unforgettable fire were the embers. The embers that left flowing trails of light that still burn in my heart to this very night. Trails of light that have led me on the path to the man I am today.
For some reason sitting in front of the tree tonight watching the lights burn, I was reminded of that night. I was reminded of Eric. I was reminded of the fire still in my soul.