I’m at a crossroads, I suppose you could say. That point in every man’s life when he looks at where he is, what he’s done, where he’s headed, and double checks within himself that all the choices, decisions, endeavors, relationships, advice taken, advice ignored, and each step along the way was the right thing to do at the time. I’m 30 now; shit’s gettin’ real. Continue reading
For the past two years, I’ve worn an insulin pump as part of my diabetes management. As wonderful a tool it can be, I’m finding the negative side effects affect mostly my social life. Guys, whether they be new friends or potentially more, have often made jokes about it, thinking that I still use a pager and am not hep to the smartphone age. Though, every once in a while, someone thinks I’m a doctor, which is initially flattering but then leaves me reeking of unfulfilled potential. But more often than not, the jokes are either allusions to drug deals or snobby critiques of my retro choices in personal electronics.
I find it a bit funny that The Great Depression began in the end of ’29, because as I turn 30, I can’t help but feel like my stock is plummeting. Continue reading
I was born to two San Franciscan natives 29.93 years ago in suburby Walnut Creek, California. I grew up in California, and with the exception of a minor three-month stint in Seattle when I was 21, I haven’t lived anywhere else. So I realize this puts me in a bubble, a place where I can see what’s happening around me, if I choose to, all the while protected from some of the harsher realities of the world. Continue reading
You know, it’s kinda funny.
When I was younger, I always felt out of my age. My mind and soul, as pretentious as this may sound, were larger than my body, requiring more elbow room for anecdotes not yet experienced and emotional roller coasters yet to begin. When I was ten, I felt thirteen. When I was thirteen, I felt sixteen. When I was sixteen, I felt nineteen. When I was nineteen, I felt twenty-five. When I was twenty-five, I felt thirty. And now, just shy of a dozen weeks before my thirtieth birthday, I feel… ancient.
No, wait… that’s not really funny at all.
Anyone who has known me for a long time will attest that reality television is… not my favorite. Most of it is just cameras rolling on attention-seekers hoping to be famous for nothing, and I’ve never been one to believe in easy rewards. So I actually surprised myself when I started watching RuPaul’s Drag Race on Logo. It may be reality television, but these ladyboys deserve the spotlight as well as demand it. This post will assume you’re up-to-date on the current season and know a bit about previous seasons, so if you’re still catching up, maybe turn away now.
I didn’t really get into Drag Race until recently though. I caught snippets of Season Two at the bars I went to (I’d rather go out on a Monday evening than a Friday night, but that’s another post all together). Then I started watching Season Four when there were only 4 or 5 queens remaining, then caught myself up on Seasons Two, Three, Four and All Stars via Netflix, LogoTV.com, and iTunes. Season Five is the first one I’ve seen as it’s aired from the beginning, and until they announce the winner in two weeks, I will be an emotional wreck. I have very strong feelings about the outcome, not only because I want the girl I like most to win, but the three queens remaining represent three very different aspects of not only drag culture, but American society as a whole. I’ll be scoring them on my own terms, using Ru’s own four defining criteria: Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve, and Talent. Please note the below are just my observations and opinions. No one paid me to write this, and I certainly mean no offense to any of the contestants mentioned, or not mentioned, below for my opinions as a viewer.
Throughout my life I’ve always been interested in Greek myth. I loved learning how people explained natural phenomena and human behavior before science proved it. Though they all hold a place in my heart, the one story that resonates within me still is the story of Echo and Narcissus, the woeful nymph and her unrequited love. Continue reading