Cory fact: My mother once told me that if I had been a girl (a real girl, mind you) I would have been named Candice. I document that here only because it's one of those little things that pop up in your mind for no reason, and you need to document it somewhere before you forget it for good. I thank God that I ended up with one X and one Y chromosome, rather than two Xs, because then I would have inevitably had to go through life being called "Candy", and that wouldn't have pleased me at all.

Ze Plane! Ze Plane! I'm a little embarrassed to confess how excited I am, and how great an idea I think it is, for "Fantasy Island" to be returning to TV - but this time as a "reality" series. Real people going to a remote island to have their fantasies - romance, adventure, whatever - come true. Sometimes things will work out for them, and sometimes they won't. Just like in the original series, guests will arrive on a tropical island by plane. I can just see people getting off a plane, having lei's given to them by beautiful girls and boys, and being handed a glass of champagne for a toast with the host. "Welcome to Fantasy Island!" Oh man, if they do it right, this could ROCK! I loved the original show when I was a kid. How come this makes so much sense to me? How come I think this is one of the best ideas ever? How come I want to sign up right now? I need to figure out what my fantasy would be, though.

Just e-mailed to me by my co-worker, Ginny. Her job description has been a bit nebulous lately, due to some restructuring in the organization. She sat me down earlier today to announce that she had just found out what her new job was: Senior Accessories Manager. About an hour later, she sent me this: TO: ALL STAFF It is with great pleasure that I take on my new role as Senior Accessories Manager. This is a not for profit organization, but that doesn’t mean we have to look that way. The days of worn out Birkenstocks are gone -I’m seeing Prada on every floor. At long last I have been elevated to my level of competence and professional capability - that of criticizing the fashion don'ts of others. Some of my pet projects I’ll be working on starting tomorrow: Major Technology project- I will be implementing a Siebel CRM program (Clothing Requirements Manager) almost immediately that will ask for input on your outfit each morning, then recommend an accessories profile. It is accessible from your home computer, and those without home computers can stop by a library or buy a palm pilot and download a week’s worth of outfits to have ready. Communication Project - Each employee will have their accessories profile communicated to them, loudly in the lobby every morning. I was recently interviewed by French Vogue (a transvestite I met in the South End) and I think a fitting tribute to my new exalted state is properly described here: INTERVIEW WITH FRENCH VOGUE French Vogue: I look at you and think - “Who the hell does she think she is?” How do you feel about that? Ginny (blushing): Why thank you French. You always say the nicest things. Are those Lee Press On Nails? Nice color. Metallic Lime. I remember when that was in style. French Vogue: Bitch! And I think that says it all. I look forward to working with all of you. And it will be work. And it will be all of you. I’m going home to shower and color my roots. I have a broken nail and I need a nap. Ginny is so whacked. I think I love her.

The crazy train stopped here, too. Although I do not currently feel the need to see a shrink, or get any sort of professional help for my considerable neuroses (other than what I can self-medicate from a bottle or a keg), I felt that I needed to share a little about my own current mental state so that certain other people don't feel alone. What I'm feeling is definitely anxiety. Since September 11th I've been living in a constant state of uncontrollable, uncomfortable, anticipation. Almost on the verge of being panic attacks (which I've had before on planes) but not quite. The fear that something horrible might happen (not necessarily to me) and the anxiety that goes along with it. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, and feeling disappointment that life won't ever be quite as care-free as it was. I can still go to work, go food shopping, walk down the street, etc. I am not having trouble sleeping at night, generally. I certainly am not letting it interfere with my social life. However, I do pull up the CNN web site every spare moment at work - I am addicted to the damn TV news at night (which makes my anxieties even worse). I'm avoiding indoor malls, Downtown Crossing, Faneuil Hall, and I haven't been on the subway in well over a month. I've started to look at fresh fruits and vegetables suspiciously, I'm uncomfortable with unmarked or rented vans and trucks parked unattended. I'm highly aware of sirens and the many plane noises overhead. I avoid the mail (both at home and at work), and analyze everything carefully before opening it. I won't even get into my new fears surrounding flying, as they are too numerous to list here. I don't feel like I'm being irrationally concerned (do you?), and actually I think I'm coping pretty well for someone living and working in one of the country's largest cities - one linked very sadly to the WTC attacks. Like so many other people, I've considered the fact that moving out of the city would potentially provide me with some relief - lessen the chances of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But am I willing to change my quality of life for something that might happen? No. The only place that we're seriously moving to at the moment (NOLA) brings its own set of potential tragedies even beyond terrorists to be anxious about (hurricanes, flooding, termites, Bianca Del Rio). I'm just trying to get through each day, living to the fullest, and keep the statistical improbabilities in mind.

It was time. Not that it probably matters too much, because I think most people bookmark or link directly to this Blog Spot, but I did think it was worth a mention that today I took a giant step forward in my web maturity. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you:

www.corycnc.com I'll still probably keep my Blog here, just because there's no need to fix something if it isn't broken. I'll be moving all my other pages over soon, though, and shutting down operations on AOL's servers. And won't that be nice?

Friday night the hubby came home late - and slightly drunk (naturally) - having been at a work function all day that led to drinks afterwards. Several months ago his boss had patted Curt on the back and told him he was setting him up for a high-level sales manager job where he'd be in charge of his own team of hand-picked marketing/sales geeks. Curt had been doing training, and was being included in high-level meetings (like the one on Friday), to ramp-up and get in gear for his new role. So at this off-site workshop with a group of people who are all above him in the company, he discovered that his boss had been "re-engineered" the day before and now had no power at all. So much for that promotion. Then, just to cap things off, it was announced that a huge chunk of the company would be laid off this coming week (no surprise), and for those who made it through that round (and it seems that Curt actually might) there would probably be another round of layoffs in three months (surprise!). At the end of it all, the boss gets up and announces, "Well, that said, I'm going to bar. Anybody want to join me?" When he got home, Curt expressed a strong desire to forget his troubles, forget his cares, and go shopping for some party supplies. And so we did (and we did). But not before we did alot of talking, and a lot of soul searching, about where we are in life and what we want to be doing. Seems we've been having those kinds of talks a lot lately. Curt takes these lay-offs personally to some degree, and I keep reminding him that it just comes as part of working in the high-tech field. He's great at what he does, but he's at the mercy of the many Bozo's who run these companies and the volatile nature of the industry. The irony is that he really enjoys this particular job and the people he works with. He would be very happy staying at this company for many years to come. Still, if remaining with this company is not in the cards, we need to decide what our next life move will be. Do we stay in Boston? Do we buy rental property in Provincetown? Do we risk a major life change and start completely new in NOLA? Personally, I'm happy to do whatever. After 14 years with my organization, I'm craving a little excitement and a change - even if a big change comes with no guarantees. Stay tuned.

Has anyone noticed that when the terrorist attacks started, the shark attacks stopped? Coincidence?

"I only smoke weed when I need to And I need to get some rest I confess, I burnt a hole in the mattress Yes, yes, it was me, I plead guilty And on the count of three I pull back the duvet Make my way to the refrigerator One dry potato inside, no lie Not even bread, jam When the light above my head went bam! I can't sleep, something's all over me Greasy, insomnia please release me And let me dream about making mad love on the heath Tearing off tights with my teeth But there's no relief I'm wide awake in my kitchen It's dark and I'm lonely Oh, if I could only get some sleep Creeky noises make my skin creep I need to get some sleep I can't get no sleep...." I knew it would happen - after three nights of 9+ hours, last night I had a massive bout with insomnia. First, a road work truck or something pulled up right outside and its revolving flashing lights flooded our condo for over an hour (we are on the first floor and the light even came through the shades) - men barking at each other the whole time right outside our window. Then, after the truck crew left, a mosquito started attacking us (no killing frost in Boston yet). I was flopping around like a fish for the next few hours, finally giving up and getting out of bed around 2am. Sat on the couch, checked on the news, landed on some weird bizzarro male version of "The View" called "The Other Side". One of the hosts was kinda cute, and at 2am when you can't sleep, even Danny Bonaduce (one of the other hosts) looks kinda hot, so I put on a video and relieved some tension (if you catch my drift). Went back to bed to find that my 6'6" honey had taken over the whole thing. I fight for some space back, then sit wide awake for a while longer until finally drifting off, the lyrics and orgasmic synth chords of Faithless' "Insomnia" going through my head. Two hours later, I woke up and had to rush in order to get a ride into work with Curt. Not even enough time to shave my head. Dash over to Cafe Zin and I'm awake just enough to appreciate the tall, slim, beautiful, gravely voiced, straight (I hear) black barista with the great ass (and, I hope, enormous schlong - worthy of a link to this twice in two days) dole out our coffees. I tip him a dollar (maybe subconsciously I think he'll suddenly turn into a stripper?) Now here I am at work, not ready for the day ahead. Haven't shaved my head. Want to go to bed.

I can't decide if I want an Ipod or not, but I do think it's cool as hell. My problem is that although I love gadgets, I do not use gadgets. Take for example, my Palm Pilot, which I carried with me everywhere, and dutifully used to document every detail of my life. We were inseparable for two months, then one day I put it in its cradle and now, over a year later, it still collects dust. The problem? I found that it really wasn't much more efficient than my trusty Day Runner and, in fact, in a lot of ways it was a much bigger pain in the ass. It wasn't convenience, it was hell. I guess I don't really need to have 1000 songs with me at all times. Hell, I'm not even sure I own 1000 songs! The technology is cool, though, and I'm sure I'll ooh and aah the first time I actually hold one in my hands. Gadgets that I do use and love? My Mac (naturally), CD burner, cell phone, portable CD player (but only when I'm running). Otherwise, that's about it. I guess I'm just a simple boy when you get right down to it. Oh, and this (for use on others), and I'm thinking about one of these (because I'm a pig). But do they count?

Well, the gig's up! I'm starting to get noticed by people with Blogs far, far, better (and more widely read) than mine.

Mario and Jennifer. Yesterday I spoke to two people that I'm not usually in contact with, but who mean a lot to me. First, my phone rang at work and on the other end was Mario, who used to be a neighbor of mine that I kinda-sorta dated when I was breaking up with my Ex. He's been living in Florida for the past few years and working as an airline attendant. He said, "I just wanted to hear your voice". It was nice catching up with him, if only for 10 minutes. Mario is an ex-bodybuilder, extremely handsome, and was always fun to be seen with. I say we kinda-sorta dated because it was never anything serious, just two friends that got a little more involved but realized that nothing more could ever come of the relationship. He went in one direction, I went in another (and ended up meeting Curt), but not before one pretty intense trip to Italy together. Once in a while we just pop back into each other's lives to check-in. The other reconnection I had was with my friend Jennifer, who lives in NYC and had called and left a message on our machine over a week ago. Jennifer used to be my vocalist back when I was heavily into writing and producing dance tracks and trying to secure a record deal (long story for another time). She and I got very close, but I'm horrible at long-distance relationships, and so when she moved to NYC we just started falling out of touch. She called to tell me that she was moving to Las Vegas soon, to explore a relationship with a 25 year old guy (not just any 25 year old guy, a specific one) and possibly get a singing gig there. I have a feeling this is a good move for her. It was a bit odd to talk to two people in one day that I haven't been in contact with for a long time. It was nice, but weird. I guess lots of people are trying to reconnect these days. It's reassuring. I do need to be better about keeping in touch with old friends. I try to tell them that just because I don't call them doesn't mean I don't love them. I hope they know that, because it's true.

Life is good. Had a yummy dinner last night, went to bed early curled up to my man, slept for 9 solid hours, took our time getting ready this morning, went and fetched really good coffee from Cafe Zin, and drove to work blasting and singing along to ABBA (specifically, "Fernando" and "Gimme, Gimme, Gimme"). Made me realize that we only have about two more weeks to see this before it leaves Boston. I better get tickets - and soon!

Sniff! For the past year I've been working with a woman that I've found myself getting quite close to. Her name is Ginny, she lives out in rural MA, is married to a 60 year old guy (who is a dead ringer for Dabney Coleman), and makes quilts that fetch huge sums of money at craft shows. But the thing is, she's funny as hell, dresses funky, and totally clicks with me (this is odd only because I usually keep my co-workers somewhat at arms length, but I could totally see being friends for life with this woman). We usually spend a good portion of each day sitting in each other's cubicles, talking about sex, pop culture, and sometimes (but seldom) work. When Ginny was in her twenties (back in the late 70's and early 80's), she lived in NYC and was, as she says, a disco queen. She did a lot of drugs and knew all the fabulous people at the time. She loves to tell me about her past escapades and, of course, I love to hear them. Today, for some reason - we start talking about drugs and she says, "Hey! You know what was great? There used to be this stuff called amyl nitrate. I used to go through so much of that stuff!" So I stop her and say, "Yeah, poppers. You used to do poppers?!" "LOVED them," she says. "We used to take bottles of amyl to clubs and dance while we were doing it. We'd dance for hours and hours on the stuff. But I'll tell you, it's only good for two things - dancing and sex. I loved sex on Rush!" So I'm sitting there, amused to no end, and I finally decide to confess. "Ginny, gay boys still all use poppers for sex, but for dancing its pretty much been replaced in popularity by ecstasy." She gets all wide eyed and says, "Gay guys still use it? It's still around?!?" "Yeah, you just need to know where to get it". Needless to say, dear Ginny will soon be receiving the gift of a little brown bottle filled with "Video Cleaner", "Jungle Juice", or "Aroma". I do hope she finds a situation conducive to re-living a few memories. I may have to burn her a CD filled with the best club tracks from two decades ago to accompany it, just to make her experience complete. Better yet, maybe I'll invite her to oldies night at Chaps, where she can be a disco queen one more time - laughing, drinking, snorting Rush, dancing until closing, and just being that fabulous young girl in NYC all over again. It will be fun playing fairy godmother.

Personal note to Tom Cruise: You know Tom, you're starting to get kinda old and harsh looking, but hey - we're all getting older - and I just want you to know I'd still get all Chad Slater (aka Kyle Bradford) on your pretty white ass any day of the week. Ya big girl! XXOO - Cory

NOLA? (I must preface this by pointing out that Curt knows almost nothing about the going's on of him and him or him, nor does he know about the recent relocation by him, so don't be thinking we're just trying to form some weird utopian Blogger community, because we're not.) So yesterday morning Curt and I are both up early. We're drinking coffee and relaxing at our respective computers - Curt at his laptop in the livingroom playing games, and me at my Mac in the bedroom reading Blogs and cruizin nekkid boy sites. All is quiet until suddenly, out of nowhere, I hear Curt say, "Honey, if I get laid off again, do you want to move to New Orleans?" Woah - where did that come from!?!? NOLA is, of course, one of our favorite cities to visit and play in (Halloween, Southern Decadence, etc.). We had often considered the possibility of getting a place down there - years from now - once our prime work years are over and we can spend our time gardening, working on a house, and bar crawling. Maybe living there part of the year, and the other part in New England. Lately though, our 10-year plan has just involved buying income property in Provincetown (or another property in Boston) and doing the landlord thing. New Orleans has just been a distant fantasy - a whim . . . Until yesterday. You see, Curt has been thinking a lot lately about what his latest potential lay-off (his third in two years) means in cosmic terms. Ever since he moved to Boston he hasn't been able to keep a job for more than a year. Every company goes belly-up, or does major cut-backs. Sure, you can blame the fickle hi-tech industry, and now the sluggish economy, but you can't blame him for wondering, "What the hell am I doing and why do I keep putting myself through this?" He's tired of the corporate grind, anyway. His dream has always been to just own a home - maybe a little fixer-upper - something that he can putter with, and optimally, have one or two attached units that could be rented out for some income (a situation that is hard to find in Boston, where real estate prices have been out of control for the past 10 years. We could do it, but we'd need to leave the city - no more walking to movie theaters, restaurants, clubs. It'd mean loosing the convenience that we love so much about living in the South End). As for me, I've been with the same organization for 14 years and would welcome a change - if and when the time was right. I'm perfectly content where I am (and making good money), but I'm not adverse to other possibilities, and the idea of having more of a home (rather than a condo) is appealing to me. Plus, I love the soul of New Orleans: I love the feel of the city, the food, the music. Even before I ever visited the city I felt some strange connection with it. Somehow, the possibility of spending a portion of my life there feels right. So, let's review: NOLA offers more bang for the buck (we can sell our places and probably buy the kind of property we want outright in the Quarter or the Marigny) - maybe something with a court yard, or even yard space, with hopefully one or two units attached for rental income. We'll be exchanging four months of the year in extreme cold for four months in extreme heat. We can start new careers - begin a different kind of life. And frankly, upon reflection, we've had to admit to each other that we don't really ever take advantage of Boston's cultural offerings. We usually stay at home, nesting, cooking, watching DVD's, and - on the occasions we do go out - it's usually to eat out, bar hop and/or pick up a cheap and tawdry third for the night (Did I mention the party scene is better in New Orleans?). The rest of the time we're working. As much as we like Boston, there's really nothing keeping us here, and the pluses at this point seem to outweigh the minuses. We're not packing up yet, but we're contemplating our possibilities. Any and all arguements, either for or against this potential relocation plan, are welcome. Caller, you say what???

. . . was just feeling patriotic.

Giving head on the Charles. Okay, we had good intentions - we headed over to the river to check out the first day of the Head Of The Charles rowing competitions. We even had an invite to a corporate VIP tent (we're thinkin free booze- we're there!), but once we were on the river we realized that the action doesn't really take place on the Esplanade, but much further up near MIT, Harvard, and all the boathouses. We attempted the trek, but hunger and thirst caused us to turn back, and we ended up at a favorite place for lunch and then went home and took naps. There is always tomorrow - the VIP tent will still be there, and at least now we know where to go and to eat before we attempt the hike. Tonight we had good sex and ordered Thai food, making extinct any desire we may have had to go to a party we were invited to or to go clubbing. So it's another Saturday night in our comfy-cozy's, watching TV and surfing the 'Net.

Two pictures from Thurdsay night. Me, and the husband. One is not drunk, and the other is.

Just your standard New England homo. I am exactly the median age of a Massachusetts resident (36.8), I am white (5,255,083), I am a householder (2,488,295), I consider my household a family household (1,541,920), and I have 2 people living in it. I am predominantly of Irish descent (1,426,339) and speak only English at home (4,669,018). In short, aside from the unmarried partner angle (115,564), I am pretty much your average Massachusite - Massachusian? Massachuser? (6,127,881)

"It's the scene and the season. It's the October light and air, the leaves - scarlet, russet, maize - drifting to the riverbanks. It's the serpentine nature of the river (Quinobequin, the original Indian name, meant ''the river that winds''), the half-dozen bridges that terrorize unsuspecting coxswains, the Georgian dormitories and Victorian boathouses at Harvard, the cheering crowds with their grills and picnic hampers." That's weird, 'cause the only reason we're planning on going is to scope cute guys. Whatever!

Had to have another visit tonight from my new best friend, Ms. Clairol. Herbal Essences Bleach Blonding XL1 Lightening Kit, to be exact. Now my goatee is really blond. I had no choice in the matter though, my facial hair had grown out so fast since last Friday that I was getting noticeable, unsightly, dark roots - and it just wasn't pretty. Damn my over abundance of testosterone to hell! No, but seriously folks, does anyone know of an easier, faster, cheaper way to bleach my goatee blond every five days other than spending ten bucks a shot on the Clairol stuff? I like the effect, but if I can't find a better solution I may start considering other colors. Something darker so that I don't have to re-apply so often. A nice auburn, perhaps?

Oh Daddy! Maybe it's just the age factor kicking in (you know - as you get older you start finding other older guys attractive), but as I watched the debut of SMALLVILLE on the WB last night, I wondered how come the hottest guy on the show isn't the model they hired to play Clark Kent, but 40+ year old actor John Schneider as his daddy, Johnathan Kent?!?! Take that shirt off and bail some hay, Pa! I'm old enough to remember him in The Dukes of Hazzard. What a horrible show that was, and even in my youth I was smart enough to steer away from crap TV like it (sorry if I offended anyone with that statement, I'm sure there are probably - like - scrillions of D.O.H. fans reading this). But boy, Schneider didn't look that good then. He's definitely improved with age!

I made dinner last night for my hubby and my Ex. No special occasion, Chris (my ex) just happened to e-mail me yesterday and ask whether we wanted to have dinner or drinks. I had been looking forward to a quiet evening at home, so thought that making dinner and having company would probably work best (with Chris, both Curt and I can just hang out in our comfy-cozy's and not be "on"). A bottle of my favorite wine, some Smirnoff Ice, a little nosh and a fire (admittedly though, a pseudo one). Lovely. I'm very lucky that my husband of 6 years gets along well with my Ex of 12 years (God, how old am I?!?!). Sure, they have their issues with each other, but they can appreciate one other and are adult enough to be above any petty insecurities or jealousies. I picked well - twice. It was quite coincidental that also yesterday I read about the breakup of a Blogger I frequently read and his boyfriend. I tried to offer them some sage advice, although I know each situation is different and it is never easy. It had me flashing back to my own breakup, thinking through what we did right and what we did wrong during it all. I think more often than not with couples who've been together several years or more (especially couples that start their relationship in their early or mid-twenties) that you sometimes just discover one day that you've gone in totally different directions. I don't think there should be much surprise in that - after all, you're still growing as individuals throughout your 20-something years. Curt and I were both almost 30 when we met, and we were pretty much established in our jobs, and our own skins, by that time. It may be the key factor in being 6 years into our relationship now and both being just as happy and content as we were at year 2. Maybe even more. I guess I'm rambling. What I just want to say is this - in my humble opinion you need to expect that you and your partner will always end up growing in different directions over time. Sexually, financially, interests - everything. And if you're under 30 when you start out, multiply this likelihood and the extent of your differences X 5. Eventually, if it gets to the point where you're better friends than boyfriends, recognize it for what it is, be adult, and do whatever you need to do to BOTH be happy. Don't view it as a failure, because it's not, and don't place blame on each other, because it's only natural. And finally, and most importantly, remember that if there was enough attraction there to be boyfriends for multiple years, then there should still certainly be enough fondness and common-ground to retain a friendship. Don't throw away all those years, and be left with nothing. That would be the only true failure.

Fabulous, Sweetie! The much anticipated return (if only for 6 more episodes) of one of the funniest British comedy's ever. And, its return is made all the better with a launch party here in Boston on Friday, November 2nd. Stoli-Bolli's for everyone!!!

Awwww. First Walt drops me a "Hi", then he even links to me on his own site. Favor returned, Leo Boy! Bet he didn't think I'd notice.

Just Cheap Ho's. Just so ya'll know - in case I've got any prissy readers - I'm objectifying men lately. Not sure what's bringing this on, but I'm totally into cruizin' guys and assessing them on the most primal level (even more than I usually do). They are just cheap sexual objects to use and toss aside (other than Curt, of course). Just holes and poles, baby. So expect me to post more pictures of men in this Blog than usual - to gawk at and use for our own pleasures. Grrrrr.

What strange form of terrorism is this? Be careful, my gay brothers, for there is terror arriving in your mailbox. No, not Anthrax, silly - International Male catalogs! Retrieved our mail last night and found that somehow, International Male had gotten my name and address. Not that I've never been on their mailing list before - I first discovered their homoerotic catalog when I was in Junior High School. It was about as close to gay pornography as I could get on a regular basis (I wonder if my parents ever wondered why I disappeared into my room whenever a new catalog came in the mail?) It got me through some pretty high and dry times in my adolescence, and in college I think I even ordered a couple of things from them - some of their tamer items as I remember - a pair of shoes, a pair of pants, a bracelet. I haven't ordered from them in over 10 years though, and they stopped sending me catalogs long ago. You can imagine my surprise to find I had gotten back on their mailing list. Unless I suddenly decide to look like a modern-day Lestat, Valentino or a pirate, I do not think I'll be ordering from them anytime in the near future. The catalog is still pretty decent soft-core porn, though. I was surprised to discover that one model's picture in particular (a favorite of mine long ago) is still being used and they are still schlepping the same shirt and pants. I guess these fashion's never go out of style (how could something never IN style go OUT of style?)

Fun, fun, fun! You can now comment on my posts just by clicking on the hyperlink under each. This is both cool and scary at the same time. I will keep it up for a while and see if anyone uses it. If not, I will probably just get rid of it.

1 loving, cuddly boyfriend + 1 blanket + 1 DVD of CHARLIES ANGELS + 1 DVD of BEST IN SHOW + 1 margarita + hotdogs & popcorn - CNN for 4 hours = recipe for feeling safe, happy and secure (for a while, anyway)

Couch potatoes. That's what Curt and I were on Saturday. It was rainy and gloomy and so we never even left the house. We considered going out on Saturday night - we both agreed that we weren't necessarily in the mood to party but were both craving other human contact - but in the end we never mustered up the energy. So yesterday (Sunday) we jumped at the chance of joining Wendy, Rob and Eve for brunch at Doyles (tempted with the promise of pitchers of Bloody Mary's). The Bloody's turned out to be top knotch (but what's with all the ice? And who really wants all that celery?), but the food scored low - almost off the meter low. If fact, Curt (who is not in any way a food snob) proclaimed it the worst brunch he'd ever had, and "To try to pass it off as being Irish cooking is a slam to the Irish". I agreed. It was edible, no more - no less. It filled a hole, as we say. The company made up for the food, though, and brunch was followed up with sharing a really wonderful bottle of pear wine with the crew. Afterwards we gave Eve a ride back to her North End home and saw about 8 armed Coast Guard stationed outside their Boston base of operations. Weird to see armed soldiers in Boston Streets, and even weirder to have one of your friends living only a block away from something that needs so much security.

Ladies, let me tell you the truth. This online Cosmopolitan helpful hint report on men's "moan zones" is full of crap. And so, as a public service to all my hetro sistah's out there, here is low-down on each of Cosmo's pointers from moi. Although I may be queer as a two-dollar bill, I don't think that makes me any less qualified to comment on these pointers, which seem obviously to have been written by a woman. Last time I checked, straight men and homo men were built basically the same. (For our research purposes, I simply imagined The Rock trying each of the 9 tips on me). 1. Get the hell away from me! 2. Okay, maybe. As long as you're unzipping my pants at the same time. 3. Boring! I want it hard and nasty - with lots of tongue! 4. Again, maybe. As long as you're unzipping my pants at the same time. 5. What? Endorphins? Euphoria? Are they kidding? 6. Yeah, okay. But be unzipping my pants at the same time. 7. Ha! What a hoot! Do women actually believe this stuff? 8. Just get to the good part, honey. 9. Yup. Don't know what that "open your hand so the flattest part of your palm is resting on the head" stuff is all about. That's not gonna do a damn thing. But the rest is fine. 10. Yeah! But don't do it gently - slap that ass, girl! 11. You shouldn't have gone that far past #9.

Caught with your pants down. I seem to have the most horrible misfortune of running into old friends that I haven't seen in years when I am flat-out drunk off my ass. It happens, with eerie regularity, when I happen upon former ACT-UP BOSTON members who are back in Boston for brief visits. And so it went on Thursday night, when after a full night of heavy drinking at Club Cafe and then Mokka, Curt and I stumbled into The Eagle on our way home. Who before my weary eyes should appear? Dear, sweet, sexy, Ben, who I last saw in Provincetown many years ago. As my husband proceeded to expose himself to any drunk boy within flashing distance (and attempted to get everyone else to do the same), I tried to conduct a somewhat coherent conversation with my long-lost friend. It was one of those times when I was actually thinking in my head, I really wish I wasn't drunk right now, but thinking it and the ability to actually achieve willful soberness are two different things entirely. In the end, I managed to sort out a few details of Ben's new life, enough to reconnect and establish a way to keep in contact. I can't help wondering how he must have perceived our chance meeting, though. As I said to Curt the next day, I think I introduced him to Ben with the line, "Hey, honey - put your dick away and say hi to Ben!" If it hadn't been for how I got to know Ben in the first place (AIDS activist demonstrations of all sorts, safe sex parties, passing out condoms and lube in cruise areas) I would have been completely horrified, but all he probably just thought was "Gee, Cory hasn't changed much at all". I do remember one thing very clearly, and that is that he did think the hubby had a nice dick, which brought a smile to my face (Thanks Ben, yes he does!). Hopefully next time you're in Boston, we can get together and catch up the way old friends should.

When the going gets tough, the tough start bleaching. In these uncertain times, there's nothing like a few cosmetic changes to raise one's spirits and take your mind off biochemical threats and other possible terrorist plots against your city. That is why I finally decided to do something that I've been thinking about doing for a long time - I bleach my goatee shockingly blond. It helped, of course, that while walking down the street Curt pointed out a few grey hairs developing in my whiskers. I tried to explain to him that my beard has natural blond highlights and that's what he was seeing, not grey (he only giggled at this suggestion). Then he said that if I wasn't going to bleach then I should at least buy some Grecian Formula to cover up my developing grey. Once I was done poking his eyeballs out in retaliation, we marched right over to Walgreen's, bought a ten-dollar kit of Clairol's best, and 45 minutes later I was a blond (well, at least my chin was). The results are going to take a little getting used to. My goatee is trimmed quite short at the moment and it really needs to grow longer in order to achieve the full affect of the blond. I intend for it to look a little extreme (if you bleach your goatee there's no sense in trying to make anything about it subtle, is there?), so more length is definitely necessary. I haven't ventured out in public since the change, so I've yet to see how people react. I hope it looks good, and doesn't look like some thirty-something trying to be cool. I think it's fun, different, and hopefully (possibly, maybe) even sexy. I know at least my boyfriend approves. In his words, "You're 36 years old but you've finally got your groove on!"

True or false, why take chances? I hate to succumb to rumors and speculation, but just to be on the safe side, I'm not going to be in a mall on Halloween. Actually, lately I've sort of been avoiding malls or any large gathering places entirely.

Not a hottie to be found. You'd think that out of the 22 on the list of Most Wanted Terrorists, there'd be one that would make you think "Awwww, he's too cute to be a mass murderer!" But no. They all look as nasty from the outside as they apparently are on the inside.

Terrorists partied with hooker at Hub-area hotel ``. . . for the most discriminating of gentlemen and their most important occasion.'' Seems that many of the 19 terrorists conveniently left their religious belief's behind in the days preceding the WTC and Pentagon attacks in order to get themselves a little nookie.

Happy Birthday, Rob! (one day late) Went out with Rob and Wendy (fresh from their 1 year anniversary vacation in beautiful, sunny, Puerto Rico!) and Eve last night for birthday drinks at Baja and Cleary's. Got a little drunk, but not obnoxiously so. While we were waiting to hook up with them, Curt and I checked out a bar we hadn't been to in a loooong time. The place was packed and full of cute boys. Curt said, "I can't believe how young and twinkie this place got!" I had to point out to him that the place didn't get young and twinkie - we just got older. Regardless, it might be worth planning some more visits in the near future. Definitely a good place to hook up with some young and impressionable (and hopefully, easy) hotties. We can gladly work that Daddy thing if we have to.

Today the U.S. finally hit the Taliban with military strikes, and I was reminded that two weeks ago we cleaned out our clothes closets to donate what we didn't need, or could no longer fit in, to the Salvation Army. We were wondering if, somehow, some of our clothes just might end up going to refuge camps in Pakistan and Afghanistan. As Curt was looking over the pile of clothes I was getting rid of, he saw a pair of pants that I'd bought in Montreal two years ago that I had NEVER worn. They were made of nylon, were meant to be worn at some point when I lost some weight (never happened) and were what we call "vacation mistakes" - clothes that you buy on vacation and never wear when you get home. But they were everywhere in Montreal that year, and they looked great on all the boys that I saw them in. They just never looked great on me. Curt said, "I can't drop these off at the Salvation Army! I'm embarrassed to donate these pants." "Why?" I asked. "Vacation mistakes!" "But they aren't THAT out of style, " I argue. "And besides, they might end up in a refuge camp in the Middle East filled with young skinny boys and Lord knows, they NEED new club clothes!" He finally saw my point. We donated the pants.

One of the reasons (but not the only reason) that we find ourselves mesmerized on weekends by The Learning Channel's Trading Spaces is cute carpenter Ty Pennington, who can pound his nails into our studs any time he wants. (This is an open invitation, Ty. You can come to Boston and have your way with us anytime you want. Really. XXOO) But, what's this about a new host replacing sexy Alex Mcleod for the second season? I loved that chick! I even had fantasies about she and Ty getting it on and video-taping it with the "Alex Cam" for me!

Oooo, look! My rock star boyfriend is Kurt Cobain! But wait - can't I please have one that's alive??

A few quickies: - Curt returns from Philly tonight. I plan to be at the train station to meet him. - Wendy and Rob returned safely last night from their 1-year wedding anniversary trip to Puerto Rico. - Wendy was told today that she was going to be laid off effective November 30th. Welcome back!

The table from Norway is in the center of the big room where it's always been, covered with a Marimekko cloth. The old Garland professional range is at the entrance to the kitchen. Crocks of cooking implements, labeled ''wood,'' ''spats & misc.,'' ''forkery,'' ''r. spatulas,'' and ''spoonery,'' sit side-by-side on a stainless steel shelf above the burners. Goodbye, Julia. The lovable Mrs. Child is packing up and moving from Cambridge, MA to California next month, but her kitchen is actually going to be taken by the Smithsonian. Cambridge (and Boston), is going to greatly miss her.

According to an astrologist I once went to, and this site, my Sun is in Cancer, my Moon in Aquarius, Ascendant in Leo. When I was born, the Sun was in the Eleventh House, Moon in the Sixth House, Saturn in the Eighth House, and Venus in the Twelfth House. I won't bore you with the details of what all this means, but a lot of it does seem true.

Gawd, I have GOT to go to bed. I have realized that if it weren't for Curt, I would become a stoned, DVD watching, blogging, web surfing, masturbating, fast-food fueled zombie who never goes to bed until 2am and functions at work only by the grace of the caffeine god. It's scary how quickly I fall into this - and he's only been gone a day and a half! Thank heavens Curt's coming back tomorrow night. I need to get structure back in my life.

Picture it - 1978. Video players aren't common household items. Video stores are not in every town. Between 1977 and 1978 however, some of the greatest sci-fi/fantasy genre films ever made were released. Films that would eventually go on to be huge video and DVD sellers. Ground-breaking films like STAR WARS, CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND, and SUPERMAN - THE MOVIE. Being 12 years old - with an eye towards becoming a filmmaker - I was totally absorbed in these films, going to see each of them in the theatres several times. But that wasn't enough - I needed to be able to re-live them at whim. What to do when there wasn't a video store - much less a video player - at my disposal? Starlog Magazine (which yes, I subscribed to back then) used to have an ad in each issue for a company in California called (I think) Still Things. This might seem kind of strange to the under 30 crowd, but before you could actually own a copy of your favorite film about the best you could do was to collect stills (pictures) from them. I sent away for a catalog from Stills Things because they also sold screenplays (which I was more interested in than stills). As soon as I got their first catalog, I happily discovered that this company also sold audio tapes of many movies. Yes, audio tapes. For about $25 bucks, you could order cassette tapes and listen to your favorite film. I have no idea exactly how they were able to get audio tapes of these films, but they were pretty good quality (I think even in stereo), and I ended up purchasing tapes of two films, CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND and then later SUPERMAN - THE MOVIE. To say I would listen to these films is an understatement. I absolutely immersed myself in them, listening over and over. Sometimes I'd listen to one in its entirety two or even three times in one day - as I lay in bed at night, or with my bedroom door closed so I could reenact scenes. I was just a wee bit obsessed, and knew the dialogue, sound effects and music scores in detail. (Yes, I know this sounds weird, but remember - there weren't any videos available to me in 1978, I was really interested in filmmaking, and these were the films that were inspiring me. I hear about kids now who watch The Lion King or The Little Mermaid endlessly and it's the same kind of thing.) Eventually, as I got a little older, these cassette tapes got put aside and collected dust (despite how all this sounds, I actually did have a life). I moved onto other things, and a few years later, I actually started being able to rent Beta and VHS copies of movies (our first video player was the Beta format, but that's another story entirely). Because we were renting though, I never was able to really familiarize myself with any of them like I did those two that I'd had on audio cassette (although I must confess that Kubrick's THE SHINING was returned to the video store considerably worse from wear and several days late). I grew up, went to college, moved to Boston, etc., etc., and it's only now - at the age of 36 - that I'm watching these films again. For the first time in over 20 years! I must admit, it's a little strange and to some degree even a little unnerving. I know these films SO well, and the new "definitive directors cut" and "dynamically remixed digital audio" have made the them just a wee-bit different from what I fondly remember. For instance, watching SUPERMAN - THE MOVIE, I'm jarred by some sound effects here and there that are different than in the original version. In CLOSE ENCOUNTERS, they've added some scenes from the Special Edition (released a couple years after the original) and some other scenes have been re-edited to either expand or shorten them. I was actually watching a scene early in the film last night, and I immediately recognized that it was starting earlier and included material that wasn't in the original version. I was even able to recognize where the scene used to start. Despite the changes (most of them minor, but they just stick out like sore thumbs to me) I'm loving getting "reacquainted" with these films.. Watching CLOSE ENCOUNTERS, in particular, is almost surreal for me. After all this time, I still know that movie inside and out. It has all come back. Every sound, every line of dialogue, every little nuance. It gives me a nostalgic, comforting kind of feeling. I'm not quite sure how to explain it. It's almost a feeling a deja-vu. I anticipate everything just a few beats before it actually happens. You know something forwards and backwards, don't really think about it for over 20 years, and then sit down and see it again. Deja-vu. I'd actually forgotten about those audio cassettes from Still Things until this week. I wonder if they're still sitting somewhere in a box at my Dad's house in upstate New York. I don't really need them now I suppose - now I've got the films on DVD, which should last me well into my old age. Now I've got the sound AND the picture. Imagine that!!

Happy birthday to you Happy birthday to you Happy birthday dear Christopher Happy birthday to you! 36 years young, baby!

I guess everyone is still trying to process the horror and implications of the World Trade Center attack. It's incomprehensible and I, for one, will probably never be able to truly wrap my head around it all. I'm not sure if reading things like this New York Daily News recount of the 991 calls makes it easier or harder. Things like the 9:12am call from a man calling to say he's on the 106th floor with about 100 other people in a room, asking for directions on how to stay alive. I read that and I realize that's about the number of people I work with, and I try to envision what it would be like for us to all be trapped together, panicking, getting sick from the smoke and fumes, hope fading and unsure how the end will come. Okay, I promise not to be so morbid in the future.

Curt has traveled via high speed rail to Philadelphia for a "retreat" or "conference" or some such thing, so I had the place to myself last night (and will again tonight). Of course, we are pitifully joined at the hip and I spoke to him on his cell phone twice on the train, once in a taxi to his hotel, and then again in his room. Codependent much? I ate leftovers, laid on the couch in a pair of his underwear, watched my new DVD of CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND and watched endless Q&A's about biological warfare on TV (a topic that I am very, very tired of by the way). Tonight I plan to lay on the couch in a pair of his underwear, watch the rest of my CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND DVD, and avoid all panic inducing topics of any nature what-so-ever.

We contributed to the economy this past weekend by going on a bit of a spending spree (well, it was a spree by our standards since we very seldom go shopping). Among the purchases, new underwear and socks, shoes, several mens fragrances and a few must-own DVD's (a big thank you to Peter-moo, who was working at a certain Downtown Crossing Record/Video store and who gave us a discount).