Going, Going...

Only a few days remain for me in Texas. My friends and I have reached that awkward stage when somebody is moving. A quiet distance develops as one becomes a sort–of-dead-man-walking. Every major trans-regional move that I have made resulted in the same awkward week of lame-duck friendship. Not much is really different, but there is that bitter sweetness of an immanent departure.

In addition to me leaving for the year, there are two other queer folk also departing this university. They made the wise choice to make their departure permanent. Boy, that makes here seem even smaller. The local gay community probably just lost a third of its out contingent.

There are many, many, many hours of packing ahead of me. I have to wonder, just why do I own so many goddamn books? Seriously – There are books that I have not read in over a decade. Others I don’t think that I ever read. Plus, they are really heavy. I don’t own any furniture, small kitchen appliances, or winter clothes to take with me to Boston, but I could open a history co-op.

My solution? I am storing my non-essential books in my Texas office for the year. This has meant traveling back and forth the past few days. I take the books from my office that I actually need for my research and replace them with books from my house that I don’t need. Have I mentioned how goddamn heavy books are? Academics are not known for our astounding feats of physical prowess.

Plus, I also need to take all of my tenure files with me to Boston so that I can revise them and send them back to Texas while I am away (I have no plans to return to Texas at all in the coming year, if I can help it). Then I still need to transfer all of my porn important files onto my new computer.

It’s times like these that I wished that I had a helper monkey. You know, like one of those cute little rhesus monkeys who can lift things with their tails. The great thing about rhesus monkeys, from what I understand, is that they always come in packs of two in a nifty orange wrapper.

Of course, though, you didn’t point your web-browser in my direction just to read about my moving woes. You came here because I am the most desirable man on the blogosphere. Or, according to my site meter, you were looking for pictures of either a circumcised or uncircumcised (depending on the hour) hung gay penis. Or you were looking for a picture of Cydney Bernard. Sorry about the disappointment(s). Life is suffering, darlings.

In the meantime, we can talk about the man in orange and green tights. I noticed at Crocodile Caucus that WB shelved their Aquaman television show. Poor Aquaman never can get much respect. Truth in advertising: I had Aquaman Underoos at the age of 4. Be aware this might impair my judgement.

Aquaman had his own franchise. Like Batman and Captain America, he also got a man-sex-slave sidekick named Aqualad. As a duo, though, they never really accomplished much.

During the seventies, his most memorable incarnation came on Superfriends. In that show, a giant seahorse seemed to be his only friend. Then, in the ninties, DC decided to give him a mullet. You know that mullets are always cool.

Turn-of-the-century Aquaman did not fare much better. The very, very, very extended cable show X-Play named the Aquaman video game the worst game – ever. Geez -- If people on channel 186 can give you a hard time, you know your celebrity has faded.





Nothing good seems to ever come Aquaman’s way. Somewhere along the way, he lost his hand and got a hook. Even Wonder Woman got tired of his soggy ways.

Aquaman never even got to talk with Charlie about the benefits of Starkist tuna. Of course, if Aquaman had talked with Charlie, perhaps he could have gotten to the bottom of Charlie’s self-loathing. Why did he want to be caught and eaten so badly? Charlie, you have a life to live! Embrace it.



I am sad that WB didn’t give Aquaman a chance. Don’t get me wrong – It looks god-awful and had almost nothing to do with the comic. Given, however, that a) WB produced it and b) It was set in an ocean setting, we could have been guaranteed many, many, many, many hunky men running around without their shirts. In truth, this seems to be all I want out of t.v. these days.

Give the square-headed lug a chance and download his pilot episode from itunes.

In the meantime, I will leave with the following video that Dorian pointed out to me. It pretty much gives you an idea of what I look like as I do my housework. I would also have no problem saying "Si" to ol' Pietro there.