Thursday, December 29, 2005

The Christmas Card

I don't often feel like a very good member of the gay community. I don't really like the gays. I like being gay. The sex is good. But I don't really like the other stuff that goes with the typical identity. I've basically ostracized myself from my own people. But every once in awhile, something happens to me that makes me feel connected to the gays. And this year, it was a Christmas card from Mario.

He usually sends me a couple of cards a year. I never send cards. To anyone. This year's card was the typical Christmas card: a frosty blue color with a drawing of snow covered trees with birds on their branches. The words "Season's Greetings" delicately etched in sparkle across the front. Inside was not only a message from Mario, but a picture was enclosed. It seems that Mario went on a gay cruise co-starring Charro and managed to get a picture of him with his arms wrapped around her waist. And he sent it to me in my Christmas card, sent all the way from San Francisco. It's official - I have gay friends. Well, at least one. But he sent me a picture of himself on a gay cruise with Charro. That has to count at least double. Right?

I never send cards back. I sent Christmas cards one year, my first year living in Boston. And I never did it again. I had only sent out half of the cards I had originally intended to send when it occurred to me: If I do this, I'm going to have to do this every year or else I'll be known as "that guy who used to send us a Christmas card every year". It was just too much pressure. First of all, it's a lot of fucking work. It takes a lot of time, you have to write stuff and try to be clever, and to be cheap, 37 cents is just to much to send a fucking card. So I threw the rest of them away and never, ever sent anyone a card since. It was probably one of the smartest things I did the entire time I was in college. Or since for that matter.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

The Hurting Time Begins

Johnny is a Yankee. It hurts to just type that. I cried a little at my desk, surrounded by the black lillies that my co-worker brought into the office today. My Johnny Damon Bobblehead looming over me, now adorned with a boycott symbol taped over his face and a dunce hat on his head that reads LOSER.

Sure, the threat of Johnny leaving Boston has been hanging over us since he played out his contract with the Red Sox. but Johnny himself said he didn't want to play for the Yankees, or any other team for that matter. No, Johnny's heart was, according to him, with the Red Sox. He wanted to finish out his career playing for Red Sox Nation, at least that's what he told us. Is that why he took a four-year deal with the Yankees for a mere $12 million more than what the Red Sox were offering? Damon also said it wasn't about the money. He knew the Yankees were going to come at him hard and offer alot, but the Jesus of baseball preached that baseball is worth more than money. Apparently not. Lie to yourself, Johnny, but don't lie to me.

I hope that cutting your hair and shaving your face before each game is worth that extra few million a year. Because I'll tell you something, Damon. It's going to be a lot easier to hate you than it will be to become a fucking Yankee fan. You truly are an idiot.