Summer Can't Last Too Long

Okay – I am not inclined to have the last post as the “most current” one at CoG, particularly since I don’t update like I used to update. The whole queer blogosphere needs to move forward and allow time to work its magic potion of forgetfulness.

In the meantime, I thought that since summer is over half over we could check in with the plans that I made for myself way back in May. How much has GayProf accomplished? Here are the goals that I wrote and how far I have come:

* Complete the Never Ending Research Project of Doom. Yeah, this has been on my list consistently. This time, though, I really mean it.

Progress is being made – Edits being accomplished. Will I make it in time? Ugh -- So much stress! We'll keep this one in the "active" file.

* Ruthlessly exploit friends and colleagues by having them proofread drafts of the Never Ending Research Project of Doom.

Sadly, two of my friends are now blind, one is institutionalized, and at least five others won’t return my calls or e-mails. And yet I am still finding typos. Ugh.

* Invent a new cocktail and name it the Gravitas.

I am thinking of making this into a blog contest. What do you think? Otherwise, I do have a cocktail idea in mind.

* Attend an all-day meeting to discuss matters deemed critical for the direction of my academic department.

Yes, I did this thing. It really was all day long. The good news: They served lunch. The bad news: The lunch did not include cyanide.

* Single-handedly heal the wounds of the Democratic Party once they finally decide on a candidate. The key will be baking enough delicious Bundt cake for everybody.

You know the effects of that delicious Bundt cake would take effect sooner if Obama would stop swinging to the right.

* Lose eight pounds. I am at that awkward stage where my regular clothes are a tad tight, but my fat clothes are still too large.

Hey, I actually accomplished one of these goals! Eight pounds and more have been shed thanks to my secret diet plan: Strep Throat.

* Take my Honda Civic for much needed service. It’s odd that at the point that I finally paid it off, I decided to see if I could destroy it by not bothering to get its oil changed.

My Civic is fully serviced with a top lube job. Huh – It’s funny how the metaphor for sexual activities still sounds sexual even when it's not a metaphor.

* Quash my environmentally dubious desire to purchase the insanely hot Dodge Challenger. I am not ashamed to say that I would probably have sex with that car. I would do it on camera too as long as I could keep the car afterwards.

Well, gas reaching $4.26 in MFT probably did kill some of the desire. Still, it is a hot car. Nobody from Chrysler has yet to approach me about that video deal.

* Vigorously shake working-class whites until they realize that the Republican Party is their worst enemy.

See my comment about the Bundt cake.

* Spend ample time in the sun to obtain a much needed tan and to stave off rickets.

I got a tan – Then it faded. Then I got a new tan, then I got strep throat. Now I don’t have the leisure time to restore the tan once again. So, I think that I have staved off rickets, but have a slight problem with skin cancer. And I still don't have a rosy glow.

* Travel to New Mexico for research purposes.

Ugh – When will I have time for this? This might be pushed into the fall. And it would so help my tan, too!

* Enjoy refreshing TaB cola.

It’s TaB-ilicious. Ow, my kidneys!

* Enjoy even more refreshing tequila.

If you are thinking about a potential Gravitas cocktail recipe, let me offer some advice: TaB and tequila do not mix. Actually, I think that combination produces a toxic vapor.


* Travel to Philadelphia and New Jersey for an event on my mother’s side of my family.

I did this as well. Good times were had by all. I also learned that the Midwest is not the only part of this empire nation that is crumbling and falling apart. I am amazed that a bridge didn’t land on our car as we were driving.

* Contemplate just how much worse traveling by air will become if we allow Delta and Northwest Airlines to merge. Do we even remember that this nation once had anti-trust laws?

I wrote this before they started charging for baggage. The airlines are screwing us. If they raised their fairs a little bit, instead of charging for baggage, it would be a temporary raise in price. Once they go down the road of charging for such “frills” as baggage, however, it will never be revoked. Let’s start trimming the salaries of those CEO's. They are the ones who drove their companies into bankruptcy, why are they still making so much money?

* Solve the mystery at Lilac Inn.

The maid did it. Now I am off to Red Gate Farm.



* Use my federal tax stimulus check to buy a single week’s worth of gasoline.

Sometimes I forget that I can be pretty funny on this blog. That check couldn’t possibly stretch far enough to buy an entire week’s worth of gasoline.

* Update CoG more often (Unlikely if I want to accomplish the first thing on this list).

Um – Pass. Next item...

* Remind the nation that allowing John McCain to assume the presidency would be to install somebody who has no moral conscious; enjoys war as a pastime; voted against the federal holiday honoring Martin Luther King, Jr.; has promised to continue the disastrous economic policies of the Bush presidency; and smells like Bengay.

Alas, I would still take a right-wing Obama over a right-wing (and incompetent) John McCain.

Hey, nation, John McCain literally doesn’t know how to turn on a computer. This is no joke. Use a mouse? Forget about it. Do you really think that he is touch with the lives of working Americans? Or this economy? Wake up and smell the old person.



* Watch films that center on an alcoholic industrialist with a metal suit; a cowled misanthrope with abandonment issues; and an aged archeologist who probably also smells like Bengay at this point.

I saw one of the three films listed here.

* Wonder aloud about why Gwyneth Paltrow has a screen career. Conclude that it has to do with the U.S.’s incredibly low standards for acting.

Unfortunately, the one film of the three that I saw involved Gwyneth Paltrow.

* Change my currency into something less likely to lose its value than the U.S. dollar – Like the Colombian peso.

Well, I am going to need to do this before going to New York. I think that they only accept Euros there now.

* Purchase a new bed and/or couch – Depending on whether I imagine that I will have more house guests or overnight guests.

I decided I should look for a couch that turns into a bed.

* Laugh at the fact that the media/government is trying to spin the loss of jobs in the economy as a sign of growth. Hey, we didn’t shed as many jobs as we expected, so things are looking up. That’s a great strategy that I am going to start using with my credit card companies. Hey, my check wasn’t nearly as late as I thought that it would be, so, really, we are ahead.

I would laugh, if only I wasn’t living in a state with crushing unemployment. You might have heard of my state's new license-plate motto: The Land that Democrats Forgot.

* Completely redesign the syllabus for one of my fall classes (Unlikely if I want to accomplish the first thing on this list).

Looking over my evaluations for my classes from last term, I noticed that students complained about the reading load. Huh – Maybe I shouldn’t have increased the number of books that I am assigning in the Fall.

* Wrestle control of the Federal Reserve Board away from the incompetent and dangerous Ben S. Bernanke and the other conservative white men who currently staff it (Yep, all conservative white men on the Fed – Nobody else seems to have noticed that).

Hey, nation, did you know that the Federal Reserve Board is supposed to have seven (7) members? Did you also know that the current Board only has five (5) members (one of whom's term has expired)? In the midst of an economic crisis, do we really think this is a good idea to be short staffed? I mean, couldn't we call a temp agency or something?

* Spend some quality time playing with my Mego Wonder Woman doll.

I like her blue wrap-around dress the best.



* Convince my friends that spending quality time playing with my Mego Wonder Woman doll is not evidence of the long anticipated mental breakdown.

I could be more convincing if I hadn’t made that statement about her blue dress -- or if I wasn't in the middle of a long anticipated mental breakdown.

* Celebrate the genius of Dolly Parton.

Why – WHY? – Why didn’t I go with my friends and see her when she was in Decaying Midwestern Urban Center? Damn you, NERPoD. Damn you!

* Be grateful to Guadalupe that I don’t have to move this year (unlike the previous three years).

I am grateful. Man, I haven’t finished unpacking from the last move.

* Start a movement to finally dump the 1789 Constitution and replace it with a parliamentary form of government for the U.S.

Maybe I’ll stick with reforming the Federal Reserve for the time being.

Starting Over. . . Again

Rain finally came to Midwestern Funky Town. Since moving here last week, it has been ungodly hot. It was more Midwestern Melting Town than Midwestern Funky Town. Let me tell you, I didn’t move to a place where the state flower is an icicle just so that I could spend my days sweating.

If I am talking about the weather, that also means that not much is really happening in my life. Sure, I am super busy. Boxes are being unpacked, organizing is being done, and work on the never-ending-research-project of doom is proceeding. None of that, though, makes particularly scintillating blog reading. It’s not as if I am going to discover a hunky naked man in one of those boxes. Nor is it likely that we would then have hot, hot monkey sex upon that discovery. After all, I have all my hunky naked men shipped via UPS.

So, given that I don’t have enough energy/ambition to create a coherent post, I will cobble together an entry from several thoughts that I have had over the past week:

*Starting over seems like a slow process. One also has to get acclimated, clean, connect utilities, and update all those online profiles. These things take even more time when there is only one of you in the move. After all, there are certain contents in a household that remain the same whether there are one, two, or four individuals in the unit. Everybody needs cookware. Everybody needs towels, etc. When there is only one of you, it takes that much longer to unpack all of that crap.

*Starting over also requires a lot of emotional energy. No matter the circumstances, there is something viscerally unsettling about suddenly living in a new place. Still, if Jesus has the power to rise up from the dead and take to the sky, then so do I.

*In all of my unpacking, I have concluded that I own way too many books and way too many dishes. At least I can justify the former (somewhat) by the fact that I am a professor. The latter, though, is seriously out of control. I am volunteering myself to the American Psychological Association as a case study to update the DSM with a new diagnosis of "Dish Mania." Why – WHY – do I need four sets of dishes? Three of those sets are seventy years old – the other forty years old. Why? Why? Why?

Do I seriously think that Fergie and her posse are going to drop by at any moment and will require massive catering? And, let’s be honest, if Fergie and her posse did drop by, I would use paper plates. This whole dish thing is out of hand. I need help.



*Unpacking those dishes was slowed by placing shelf-liner in all of my new cabinets. To be honest, I have never really seen the purpose of shelf-liner. Before she left, though, my sister and I went shopping for household items needed in a new place. When I informed her that I didn’t really plan to line my shelves, she looked horrified. As a result, I dutifully bought several rolls of the stuff. Seriously, though, why do I need this? Does it protect the dishes from the shelves? Does it protect the shelves from the dishes? Why is there such an antagonistic relationship between the two that they need a neutral zone of paper?

*Beyond unpacking, watching ancient t.v. shows, and starring blindly at a text that needs revising, I have also poked around the town a bit. Yesterday, I went out to search for a birthday gift for my other sister (Yes, there is another). She is a Leo (which fits her perfectly).

I decided that the funky downtown of Midwestern Funky Town would be an ideal place to find a funky gift.While wandering around, I discovered that every shop, regardless of its actual contents, was a “gallery.” If there was a 7-11, it would have been renamed the “Big Gulp and Slurpee^© Gallery.”

It seems to me if you are selling a vinyl LP that has been melted into a chip and dip bowl, you have forfeited your option of claiming “gallery” status. Don't get me wrong. I understand the quaint appeal of the item, but it's not really a "gallery piece."

Trust me, they weren’t selling this item with a sense of Andy-Warhol irony either. Midwestern Funky Town is not that funky – yet.

*I am in a major hurry to get the Texas license plates off of my car. I don’t want anybody in Midwestern Funky Town mistaking my unfortunate tags with an endorsement of that state’s atrocious politics.

*When I get those new plates (Monday – probably), I want the traditional blue plates of my new state. I hate all of these novelty plates that every state keeps issuing. What is with pasting lighthouses, sunsets, or boats all over vehicle tags? It’s a means of identification not an ad for freshness.

Yeah, I know a lot of these plates represent a minor donation to some worthy cause. This leads to its own absurdities, though. Like the idiot who drives a giant pickup truck but has the nerve to buy a “wildlife” plate. Clearly he reasons that forking over an extra ten bucks a year is going to undo the eco-damage of his four-miles-per gallon gas milage. It’s a little like Dick Cheney suddenly sporting a peace button on his lapel. Sure, the message is great, but it’s a little hollow when it’s resting on somebody slightly to the right of Kaiser Wilhelm.



*Meeting my new colleagues at Big Midwestern University certainly contrasts with my first weeks in Texas those many years ago. It’s great to have so many people interested in the history of race, gender, and sexuality all in one place. They seem happy to have added me to the faculty and have really gone out of their way to make me feel welcome.

I can’t say that this will last my entire time in MFT, but it sure is different than my Texas institution already. During my first week in Texas, in contrast, several senior colleagues came by my office to inform me that a) They didn’t want to hire anybody in Latino studies but were overruled by higher ups b) they didn’t think that Latino Studies was a legitimate historical discipline (too regional, don’t you know?) c) they really, really didn’t think that sexuality studies was a legitimate field of inquiry (too “trendy”) and d) they hoped that I didn’t take any of that personally, but thought I “should know.” Still.Not.Over.It.

*Before leaving Boston, I finished reading the latest Harry Potter book. There are some things to say about it, but I will wait to write about it until it is out of date no longer topical won’t be a source of spoilers for those who haven’t finished. What I can say is that it was an adequate book that answered most of the questions raised by the other books. Overall, though, it took a bit of the magic out of the series for me (especially the dreadful last chapter). I suppose, though, she didn’t write it for me.

*Moving still sucks.

Which Life Is He On?

I am now officially a resident of Midwestern Funky Town. I really hope that I am content to spend the rest of my days in my new little cottage, because the thought of moving again makes me want to take my own life.

Granted, this move was not nearly as traumatic as the move from Texas to Boston. For starters, my sister came to accompany me on the trip. Also, paying people to move your crap saves on a lot of backache.

Movers, I found, come with their own hassles. GayProf is not somebody who loses his temper easily. True, true, I can get mighty angry. Usually, though, I am more of a “slow-burn” type of guy. Indeed, I couldn’t even think of the last time that I yelled at anybody. My best guess is that it was Liar Ex (Who Should Have Been Yelled at Much More Because of All the Lies that He Told) a couple years ago.

Imagine my surprise when, at nine in the morning, I found myself in a yelling match with my “moving team leader” over the third delay in delivery. Actually, it wasn’t so much the delay that set me over the edge. In truth, the actual delivery time from Boston to MFT was pretty swift. Rather, I lost my shit after their latest delay when the team leader tried to claim that he had originally promised his new [late] time in the first place and was, therefore, not at all late (Somehow forgetting our previously missed appointments and the promise (PROMISE) that they would be there at this new time. I can deal with being late, but I can’t deal with a denial of a promise. Plus, moving just stretches me beyond my normal zen limits.

In short, I probably followed very few of Tenured Radical’s Patented Tips for a Healthy and Successful Move^©. Why do we never learn from those who have the experience?

Now that I am in MFT, I have not had many opportunities to avail myself of its funkiness. On her last night in town, my sister and I ate at the local Ethiopian restaurant. Beyond that, my life has been devoted to unpacking and pensively waiting for my internet connection. No matter how many times I twitch my nose, the boxes don’t open themselves in order to allow all of my belongings to escape into their respective cupboards and shelves. Maybe I just need the right incantation... Untill then, I am just unwrapping. It’s like Christmas – Only there aren’t any surprises and I already owned everything. Maybe Uncle Arthur will pop up in my oven to break the monotony. . .



Many of you have inquired about Cat. Alas, if his master dislikes moving, Cat loathes it with every fiber in his tiny little being. He probably also despised his master for having misplaced the kitty tranquilizers.

We had not left Boston when the distinct smell of Cat scat made the car rotten (Dr. Seuss has nothing on me!). Well, I can at least count my blessings that he didn’t shit on me as he did last time.

Despite that inauspicious start, he settled down considerably by the second day. Indeed, he became so quiet during the second day that I began to wonder if he had suffered a heart attack and died somewhere along the journey.

What does one do if their pet dies on the road? Do you try to find a kitty crematorium and have them mail you the remains? Do you pack the body in dry ice? Do you stop at the next historic marker and make a hasty grave? These options all seemed like a fairly ignoble end for poor Cat.

Finally, when we crossed through yet another toll booth, Cat roused himself enough to register his ongoing complaint about his predicament. It was a relief to know that he had not yet shuffled off this mortal coil.

Now that we are in the new digs, Cat seems to be having a ball. After a year in a studio apartment, he seems almost drunk to run across the house (Yes, it as pictured in the previous post).

With all of my worry about Cat, I began to consider if, indeed, I have become "CrazyCatProf.” I go back and forth on this. In the end, I decided that I would let the readers of CoG decide. Here, ladies and gentleman of the jury, is the evidence:

CrazyCatProf: I have made special trips to the grocery store just because Cat was out of snacks. He wasn’t out of FOOD, just snacks.

Not CrazyCatProf: Once Cat does ascend to the great scratching post in the sky, I have no intention of replacing him with another cat. Don’t get me wrong – I love Cat and hope he has a long life. I am not keeping a death watch on him. It’s just that, once he is gone, I think that I will have accomplished all that can be fulfilled with feline ownership. In the future, I will adopt another dog (but probably only after I retire).

CrazyCatProf: I know the exact type of ball that Cat will play with and which types of balls/toys bore him.

Not CrazyCatProf: I rarely toss that ball around with him. I expect Cat to be self-entertaining.

CrazyCatProf: I keep a statue of St. Francis around that I consider his.



NotCrazyCatProf: I also happen to think it is a cool statue and would own it anyway.

CrazyCatProf: When I travel, I have much angst about Cat’s safety and comfort.

Not CrazyCatProf: Though he has a name, I rarely use it. He is most often referred to as “Cat.” For example, “Get out of my way, Cat.”

CrazyCatProf: Though my own meager belongings are quite trashed at this point, I left behind Cat’s scratching post so that I could buy him a new one. Indeed, it is the only piece of “furniture” that was left behind so that it could replaced with a better one.

Not CrazyCatProf: Though the sitting part is clearly too small for Cat, I opted for a new scratching post that was 75 percent off at the local pet store. They had the exact one that he had before, but that was full price. Given it is just some carpet and twine stapled to a bunch of plywood, I will always go for the bargain.

CrazyCatProf: I was relieved that Cat didn’t seem to mind the much smaller seating section on his new post (Though he does look a bit squashed).

Not CrazyCatProf: I consider scratching posts an investment to keep my furniture from being destroyed by a bored Cat.

Not CrazyCatProf: If Cat is sleeping on a piece of furniture that I want to use, I will wake him up and toss him off (I have seen other people make other arrangements for themselves rather than disturb their sleeping animals).

CrazyCatProf: I am not impressed when dates try to ingratiated themselves with me by paying attention to my cat. It just annoys us both. Tell me: What cat, anywhere on this planet, enjoys a stranger picking them up and getting in their face? None.

Not CrazyCatProf: I have no trouble locking cat in another room for hours if I have a date (with food and water). Indeed, Cat knows not to whine or meow under such circumstances because I will not let him out (Consistency is the key!).

Not CrazyCatProf: I consider forcing any animal to wear little sweaters and outfits inhumane. Even this one:



Not CrazyCatProf: I have considered shaving my Cat to avoid having to deal with his fur everywhere.

CrazyCatProf: I would consider letting somebody else adopt Cat a betrayal of the trust he placed in me.

Not CrazyCatProf: I know that Cat does not really have human notions of "trust."

CrazyCatProf: Cat clearly prefers my company over all other humans on the planet.

Not CrazyCatProf: Given my many experiences with Cat shitting on everything, he will no longer have the pillow insert for his carrier ever again. From now on, Cat only travels in or on things that can be easily hosed down and disinfected. Screw his comfort.

CrazyCatProf: I have just devoted a blog entry to my Cat.

Won't You Take Me to [Midwestern] Funky Town?

Here we go again, Kiddies. GayProf is starting his life over . . . again. All my library books have been returned. My internet connection will end at midnight. My goodbyes have been said. The movers are coming to pack and haul away my meager positions in Boston. I will leave tomorrow to set up residence in Midwestern Funky Town.

Leaving Boston makes me incredibly sad. I loved this city. I also met many cool people. The goddess truly protected me by giving me a chance to escape Texas after the worst year of my short existence.

Everything about this city made me feel like I was home. Alas, I am so sentimental that I will even miss the MBTA.

Sometimes, though, it is no use liking or disliking change in our lives. Rather, it’s better to just go with the course that appears before us.

Don’t get me wrong. Midwestern Funky Town will certainly be a cool place to live in its own right. Compared with Texas, it is Xanadu. Big Midwestern University is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better job that I go to, than I have ever known.

Plus, I look forward to living in the little cottage that I rented. For almost the same rent as my studio apartment in Boston, I am getting a whole house in MFT. It will be great to have a kitchen where the appliances aren’t the size of an Easy-Bake Oven. I will also have distinct rooms that can be labeled “bedroom” and “living room.” Though the landlord had wanted to rip out the woodburning stove for insurance purposes, I eventually convinced them to leave it. It should be cozy, but still a palace compared to my more recent abode.



Most importantly, though, I needed to make sure that I wrote this entry for July so that I didn’t break my streak of 9's. With the odd exception of February, CoG had nine entries every month this year. I did not plan this at all. Actually, I only noticed it relatively recently (about the time VUBOQ also pointed it out to me). So, if I didn’t plan it, why did I always turn out with nine entries per month?

Well, I had one theory that involved a future me, who is trapped in a temporal loop, sending back messages to the present me in order to prevent a future disaster. Yet, I can only receive those messages as a subliminal thought. That might be unlikely, though.

Whatever the case, here are some things that I have learned about the number nine:

Many Buddhist rituals require nine monks.

Ancient Egyptian belief focused on nine major gods and goddesses.

Nine is not the loneliest number that you’ll ever do.

Nine out of ten are the number of times that the Orange Line was delayed when I needed to use it.

The Bible has nine chapters in the Book of Amos.

Cloud Nine, from what I understand, is supposed to be quite nice.

Mayan religion proclaimed that there were nine levels to the underworld. The ninth was a place of extreme darkness and suffering.

The villainous character Giganta first appeared in issue number 9 of the original Wonder Woman comic.



Many people consider the Nine of Wands card as a warning to proceed carefully when it is dealt from a Tarot deck.

When GayProf was nine years old, he joined the Cub Scouts.

In the year 9 A.D., Ovid was banished to Tomis.

There are nine planets in our solar system (Well, only eight now if you accept that Pluto has been downgraded).

New York’s Ninth Avenue runs 45 blocks before turning into Columbus Avenue.

The Searchers had a number one song entitled “Love Potion Number 9" in 1965.

Sagittarius is the ninth sign of the Zodiac (I know almost nobody born under Sagittarius except my father).

Dante described nine circles of hell in The Divine Comedy.

Gotta Move On. . .

I have arrived for a brief layover in Midwestern Funky Town. It is how I remember it: Midwestern and funky. For those who are tracking GayProf’s journeys across the nation, you will know that I am just here to deposit my car before returning to Boston for the final move (*sob* to leaving Boston).

Moving still sucks. Right now I am having arcane banking issues. Who knew, for instance, that check cards had daily limits that were much less than your actual account balance? Nobody told me this! Or, if they did tell me, clearly they weren’t attractive enough for me to bother listening to them. We’ve been through this before, people. Important financial rules and regulations should only be delivered to GayProf by muscular, brown-eyed men (preferably from Southern Spain).

While I am complaining, let me also mention that while in Texas I wore some new shoes that totally trashed my feet. I now have quarter-inch-deep slashes on both of my ankles. Even though I obtained another pair of shoes (basically canvas slippers) days ago, my wounds are still bleeding. Given how painful they are, I can only assume that many of my faithful readers are spontaneously developing sympathy sores on their own ankles. It must surely be a version of gay stigmata. Wounds for fashion are, after all, the most holy.

My oozing sores aside, driving through the center of the nation reminded me of things that I had not thought about in quite some time. It’s surprisingly easy when you live in the greater Boston area to forget about what is actually happening in the nation west of Worcester. Actually, it’s surprisingly easy to forget that there is a nation west of Worcester.

Of course, I am kidding. Nobody thinks about Worcester.

On the long drive, however, I had plenty of contact with the South and Midwest. These encounters are good “reality checks” for me. For instance, many of my friends and I have constantly chatted about Bush’s approval rating. It is one of the lowest (soon to be the lowest) that any president has ever had. Yet, he still has the support of around 30 percent of the nation. “Who?” we always ask, “Who are these people that compose the 30 percent?” Texas provided the answer.

No sooner had I literally set foot on my former campus when I saw a student wearing a “Texans for Bush” t-shirt. No, he did not wear it with irony nor was he attempting a naughty double-entendre. It turns out that Bush still has quite a lot of support in Eastern Texas. People there will even choose their garments to demonstrate their love for the man despite his tanking the economy, hiding in a bunker on September 11, trashing the environment, starting wars, screwing-over the veterans of those wars, and using the Constitution as a Depends undergarment.

Of course, it’s easy to criticize Texas. It’s fun, too. All the same, this type of extreme conservatism isn’t just limited to the Lone Star State. Illinois surprised me with the number of right-wing road signs that dotted the highway.

The Land of Lincoln, unlike Texas, is a state that I actually like. For starters, it has my favorite city in the United States: Chicago. Boston is darn close to toppling Chicago, but the MBTA needs to start building more subway track for that to happen. I don’t mean zombie green-line track, either. I mean real subway track that is actually sub.

Annnnyway, because Illinois has Chicago as well as its own MFT in the form of Champaign/Urbana, I always thought of it as a nice blue zone. So, I was a little taken aback by the unending religious bill boards. You know the types that I mean. They usually say things like, “Gay Marriage Makes Baby Jesus Cry” or “Jesus Eats Satisfying Snickers Bars” or whatever it is that ultra-Conservatives believe that people want to read on the highway.

More than those messages, though, I was not expecting a barrage of roadside gun propaganda. The most memorable of these attempts was a series of signs that said, “A hooligan would think twice if he knew that his teacher was packing. Guns save lives.” Wow – Somebody at the Ministry of Truth deserves a bonus for that one. Not such “Ignorance is Strength” have they come up with such amazing double speak.

This whole idea of arming teachers really strikes me as bizarre. Some pro-gun loonies always propose these ideas after the nation has a mass shooting. Apparently they think that every school should resemble the O.K. Corral.

These gun folk are also usually pretty inconsistent. They often claim to want the Constitution to be interpreted “literally,” except when it comes to the gun question. They all tend to ignore the “well regulated Militia “ bit of the Second Amendment. I wonder how hard it would be pry the guns out of ultra-conservatives cold hands if ownership meant a tour of duty in Iraq.

Their solution instead is always to hand out more guns. Let me tell you, as somebody who works in a classroom, the solution isn’t to give firearms to teachers and professors. We would be too tempted to use them.



Students who submitted papers two days late would just be asking to be grazed. Taking classes “Pass/Fail” would require Kevlar body armor. Grade grubbers would have to ask themselves if they were feeling lucky before coming to office hours.

Arming professors would also make academic conferences much more entertaining, if not also more deadly. Who would need a quip to retort a tough question about your research when you have a Magnum? For my part, it would sure solve the problem of trying to convince conservative historians that Latino Studies is actually a real academic field.

Maybe that is the best way to convince conservatives of the need for gun control after all. If the nation's lefty historians start looking like their own army, suddenly legislation restricting the sale of fire arms won’t seem nearly so extreme.

If I Owned Hell and Texas. . .

Greetings from the greatest place on earth! Well, the "greatest" if you have drunk the Kool-Aid and sat through the indoctrination sessions. For everybody else, it’s just Texas.

My return to Texas coincided with the death of Lady Bird Johnson. That made me sad. She was always an underrated person. Let’s be honest, she didn’t have the best chances for being a beloved public figure. Following Jacqueline Kennedy as First Lady must have been miserable. How could one hope to top pill-box hats and historic preservation? I am sure she got tired of hearing things like, "Jackie Kennedy was so young and pretty! Everybody wants to dress like her." or "Jackie Kennedy restored the White House" or "Jackie Kennedy speaks French fluently" or "You know, Jackie Kennedy's husband cheated on her constantly and even slept with Marylin Monroe." Well, maybe Lady Bird never got tired of hearing that last one.

Of course, Lady Bird didn’t help herself by digging bar-b-que pits into the White House lawn. Being from Texas is no excuse for being tacky.

That aside, Lady Bird did at least one thing in her life for which I will forever be grateful: She promoted the continuous seeding of indigenous wildflowers along Texas highways. This made Spring the only desirable time to live in Texas and it was truly spectacular. Trust me, when you live in a flat, colorless void, a little bit of natural color goes a long, long way.

Aside from mourning the death of a national matriarch, my goals for returning to the Lone Star State have been attained. Yesterday, the shipping company came and swooped up the last remaining items that I still had in Texas. Right now, they are hurdling their way to Midwestern Funky Town.

Coming back to this small Texas town has not involved nearly the level of unpleasantness than I expected (knock wood). Don’t get me wrong – Any aspect of moving still sucks. Returning, however, hasn’t really depressed me like I thought that it would. It has made me very, very sweaty (Jesus Christ, it’s hot here), but not depressed.

Probably that has a lot to do with the fact that I know that I am leaving. Most of the bad memories are, well, just memories. If I spend a good amount of time thinking about them, they can make me sad again. So, I don’t. Instead, they are just shadows on the edge of my consciousness about a part of my life long since left behind.

Thanks to a Sassy and generous friend, I am staying a couple more days in Texas for social reasons. I had forgotten and/or taken for granted that there were some really interesting people in town. My time with my Sassy friend, in particular, has been great. She even hand-painted a sassy picture for GayProf:



We have drunk lots and lots of wine and eaten lots and lots of food. We also had a ritual viewing of Legally Blonde.

There have been lunches and cocktails with others in town as well. Still, I long for something outrageously ceremonially to mark my departure. Would it have been so hard for the town to arrange a public holiday where officials spoke about my greatness? Or, at the very least, there could have been a parade so that I could dress like this:



Well, maybe that would be a little silly. Clearly that is a winter hairstyle.

Even without the parade, I have discovered that a good number of people in my former town have found CoG. Why is my secret identity the worst kept secret on the web? Oh, right, because I make only half-assed attempts at concealing it. . . Damn it! Diana Prince made it look so easy.

Oh, well. Time to break out the golden lasso and force them all to forget about me. It's more humane that way. They would try to carry on without me, but they would always feel the crushing void of my absence. To prevent them from accidentally being reminded, I have also removed the entry for Center of Gravitas from the library's card catalog system:



Now I shall rest up before my big drive across the center of the nation. I will close, though, by offering what GayProf would look like should he ever appear as a character on The Simpsons:

I Shall Fear No Evil

For the past year, one thing has caused me dread. Now that time is upon me. Today I return to Texas to pack and ship the last of my items still there. Fortunately, it will only be for a short time. Still, I am not looking forward to it. While the politics in Texas are atrocious, my real reluctance derives from the fact that returning will surely dredge up some of the worst memories of my life.

At the same time, I am happy that I will get to see some people who are important to me. Also, I will always be grateful to my former Texas institution for the job that I had.

Once I have completed my task in Texas, I will make the long drive with my car to Midwestern Funky Town. After that, I will fly back to Boston for my last time few weeks here.

In the meantime, here are some things that you might or might not know about the state ofTexas:

* The Mexican federal government never recognized Texas as an independent nation. When Santa Anna return to Mexico, the Congress disregarded the agreement he made with the Texan forces. For Mexico, Texas was a territory in rebellion.

* Mexico emancipated all slaves in the republic in 1829. Texas refused to oblige. In 1835, Mexico once again banned slavery within its boundaries. Texas ignored this law.

* Under Spain and Mexico, Texas was a fraction of its current size. Its current boundary at the Rio Grande was a total Euro-American invention without historical basis. The original boundary of Texas ended at the Nueces River.

* Texas launched an invasion of New Mexico in 1841 with the intent of claiming it as part of their rebellion. Leaders in Texas believed that they would be greeted as liberators. When they arrived in New Mexico, they were promptly arrested and sent to Mexico City as prisoners. Their defeat was widely celebrated in New Mexico.

* A nineteenth-century-New-Mexico playwright created a dramatic interpretation of the 1841 Texan defeat. It has my favorite line of dialog ever: “You insolent Texans, how dare you profane the territory of Mexicans?”

* During the U.S. Civil War, Texas attempted to invade New Mexico again. They were defeated again by the predominantly Mexican Union Army stationed in New Mexico.

* Dr Pepper was invented in Texas.

* El Paso, Texas is geographically closer to Needles, California than it is to Dallas, Texas.

* Texas had not officially claimed to be an independent nation at the time of the Battle of the Alamo.

* On January 6, 1915, a radical group of Mexicans issued the “Plan de San Diego.” in San Diego, Texas. Essentially, the plan called for Mexicans, African Americans, and Asians to unite against a common Euro American enemy. As a response to the numerous lynchings suffered by Mexicans and African Americans in Texas, they called for the murder of all Euro American men over the age of 16.

* Students at the University of Texas voted singer Janis Joplin the “Ugliest Man on Campus” when she was attending the school in the early 1960s.

* Texas is the nation’s top producer of wool.

* The song “The Yellow Rose of Texas” was written about an African American woman of mixed ancestry. The titular reference to “yellow” was commonly used in the nineteenth century to describe an African American who had a “lighter” complexion. The original lyrics read:


She's the sweetest rose of color
This darky every (sic) knew
Her eyes are bright as diamonds
They sparkle like the dew
You may talk about dearest May
And sing of Rosa Lee
But the yellow rose of Texas
Beats the belles of Tennessee


In the twentieth century, all references to race were expunged. The new lyrics read:


She's the sweetest little rosebud
This soldier ever knew


* When asked directly about the consequences a 2005 Constitutional Amendment banning same-sex marriage would have on real-life queer Texans, Governor Rick Perry responded, “Texans made a decision about marriage and if there's a state that has more lenient views than Texas, then maybe that's a better place for them to live.”

* Over 2 million children live in poverty in Texas.

* Has the highest percentage of children without health insurance in the nation at a shocking 20.3 percent.

* State and Federal environmental agencies have found that the Hayes-Sammons Chemical Co. left a significant amount of toxic waste in the predominately Latino community of South Mission. Efforts by residents to seek compensation for illnesses and deaths related to this contamination have been ignored since 1972. The Texas Supreme Court has refused to hear a case pending since 1999. This story is repeated countless times across the border area.

* In 2003, school children became required to recite a “Texas Pledge of Allegiance.”

* On June 15, 2007, the phrase “under God” was added to this Pledge.

* Texas murders more prisoners as part of state-sponsored executions than any other state in the nation.

* Texas Penal Code 2016 makes it a felony to sell sex toys in the state.

* It is also illegal for any individual to own more than five sex toys in Texas. Owning six sex toys is considered “intent to sell” under the Texas law.

* Texas has three of the largest cities in the U.S.: Houston (Fourth largest), San Antonio (Seventh Largest), and Dallas (Ninth Largest).

* Texas also has three of the fattest cities in the nation: Houston (The fattest in the nation), Dallas (sixth fattest in the nation), and San Antonio (Tenth fattest).

* Texas is a non-white majority state. The student body at the University of Texas, however, is less than 15 percent Hispanic and only 3.9 percent African American. At Texas A&M University, 11 percent of the students are Hispanic and around 3 percent identify as African American. The two flagship universities in the state, in other words, do not at all reflect the reality of the state’s population.

* According to the U.S. Department of Justice, there were 221 victims of Hate Crimes in Texas in 2005. In other words, in less than every two days, somebody in Texas is attacked based on their perceived race or sexual orientation. This number is also probably a serious undercount as the DOJ is notoriously conservative in considering what constitutes a “hate crime.”

* John F. Kennedy was shot to death in Dallas, Texas on November 22, 1963. Moments before he was shot, the wife of the Texas governor, Nellie Conally, told him "Mr. President, you can't say Dallas doesn't love you."

* It was revealed in 2005 that a captain at Val Verde Correctional Facility and Jail in Del Rio, Texas displayed a picture of himself in a Ku Klux Klan hood on his desk.

* Houston is currently building an eighteen-lane highway. It’s a not so subtle “Fuck You” to the environment.

* George Bush, Sr. has his presidential library at Texas A&M University.

* Faculty at Southern Methodist University have protested a plan to build George Bush, Jr’s library at their university. The alma matter of Laura Bush, the SMU administration is strongly in favor of the idea and has ignored the faculty’s feelings on the matter.

* The administration of George Bush, Jr’s own alma matter, Yale University, has expressed no interest in placing the library on their campus.

It Actually Was a Nice Shirt...

Searching for housing is one of those activities where you develop a whole set of skills that you only use a handful of times in your life. Well, at least I am hoping it is only a handful of times.

I have returned to Boston with a couple of places that I thought were generally okay in Midwestern Funky Town. Now I feel like a contestant on a game show hosted by Bob Barker (God Rest His Soul (I know he is not technically dead, but he isn’t on t.v. anymore, which is pretty much like being dead in my eyes)). In front of me is a big spinning wheel with slots labeled things like, “Perfect Location,” "In-Suite Laundry," or “Hunky Neighbor.”

“Tell us, GayProf,” ol’ Bob would ask, “Do you want to take the place that generally fits 85 percent of the things that you wanted? Or are you going to gamble and try to search MFT again a few weeks from now? Thirty seconds on the clock!” While I made my decision, the audience would be shouting, “Jump, jump, jump!” Oh, no, wait – That is something else...



While in MFT, I certainly saw a wide variety of places where one could live. I looked in the country – I looked in the town – I looked in an altered-drug-induced reality. Well, it wasn’t my altered-drug-induced reality.

Seriously, though, why would a landlord think that an apartment strewn with bongs and empty liquor bottles would “show well?” This was the same apartment where the leasing agent asked me to peer into the bedrooms where the current occupants were passed out naked in the bed (No, I am not making this up...). Somehow, that did not build confidence in signing a lease right then and there. Besides, that apartment didn't have air conditioning.

Okay, maybe I am uptight. Still, if I am going to be sneaking through a stranger’s bedroom, I would at least like for him to have bought me a drink first.

This brings up a related point about my search for housing. My penis apparently has a manual override switch for all of my brain's higher logic. Some of the least appealing places suddenly gained new charm when being shown by a hunky, hunky man.

“What’s that?” I vaguely remember saying to an erstwhile agent, “All of the neighbors are undergraduates who play in rock bands? Well, that probably isn’t where I am looking to live, but you do have nice eyes. What? I would have to pump my own water from a spigot out back? Maybe that’s why you have such great forearms! Let’s talk about this unit some more.”

Yes, GayProf can be really shallow. Still, even amazing forearms or sparkling eyes didn’t win the day.

I did see many nice and comfortable places as well (sans the naked bodies and shown by much less attractive agents). There are a couple of strong possibilities in my game-show debate.

One thing is clear. While MFT’s rental housing is (IMHO) a bit overpriced, it’s not even close to the craziness that exists in the greater Boston area. For around the same rent that I pay for a studio on the edge of the metro area, I could get something twice the size in MFT. Plus it would have those little “extras,” like interior walls.

Aside from the housing search, I also met some new people (including VUBOQ's aptly named SuperFantastic cousin). Plus, I completed my paperwork for my new job so that I can eventually be paid. There will be many advantages to living in MFT.

So, I returned to Boston thinking about that late last night. Upon entering the T, I discovered that the trains were delayed for “scheduled maintenance.”

I have always been confused about why the T does maintenance during the day. The MBTA shuts down the whole system at an unreasonably early hour in the evening (12:30). I think that I could take almost any hassle from the T if it kept running a few hours later, especially on Friday and Saturday.

See, I don’t make a pile of money as a history professor. Despite what your high-school guidance counselor might have told you, the real money isn’t in researching the past. I, therefore, can’t always afford to take a taxi and have my cocktails made with top-shelf liquor. Let me tell you, by top-shelf, I mean that I want to see the bartender on his tippy-toes. The T isn’t helping my cause by making me fork out money for cabs (not to mention overtly encouraging people to drink and drive by shutting down).

Given that the MBTA isn’t bothering to provide any service mid-evening, shouldn’t that gap be the time when all maintenance work is done? I am not a city-planner, but if they can build highways in the middle of the night, I think that they can fix some underground track as well (where it is going to be dark at 12 noon or 1 am anyway).



So, as I waited for Godot my train, a not-quite-right woman roamed the platform sipping a Diet Coke. She appeared disoriented, twitchy, and a little paranoid. At first I thought that she was a tourist. Clearly, though, she had been there for sometime because she had memorized the automated safety announcements that periodically play overhead. With each one, she mouthed along the words dutifully. When the announcement about “reporting any suspicious or unattended packages” came up, she eyed my suitcases.

“Those could be suspicious packages,” she said to nobody in particular, “I am not riding the train with him.” Clearly she was crazy. To be able to ride the train with me would mean that the T would actually show up. Nobody in their right mind ever banks on that.

I and my suspect luggage were only a passing thought, though, as a man wearing a brightly colored shirt appeared on the platform. “I like your shirt!” She yelled at him.

“Uh – Thanks,” he responded as he edged closer to the wall, clearly thinking that she might toss him into the tracks.

“I said, ‘I like your shirt!’ Don’t I have freedom of SPEECH,” she started yelling at the man. “Isn’t this still a free country? Can’t I say that ‘I like your shirt?’ Are you gong to call a cop, now? Huh? Because I said, ‘I like your shirt?’ Are you going to have me arrested? I LIKE YOUR SHIRT. Can’t I say that? HUH? Well? Can I?” The last inquiry was delivered with an ear-shattering scream as she sloshed Diet Coke onto the platform.

“Look, lady, I will give you my shirt if you will go home and take your medication,” the man said as the train arrived.

Sigh – I am going to miss Boston.

Well, I Talk About It, Talk About it, Talk About Movin'

I am currently in Midwestern Funky Town searching for a place to live and doing an unending amount of paperwork for my new job. If I started work at the Justice Department, there would be fewer forms to fill out. Heck, given the way Alberto Gonzales runs the place, I wouldn’t even need to show that I had a law degree.

So far, I am surprised by the swiftness of Midwestern Funky Town’s tight rental market. Granted, it’s not the out-and-out blood sport that the Boston rental market is, but things don’t seem to last much longer than a few days on Craigslist.

I didn’t help myself much by leaving my checkbook sitting in Boston, either. Alas, I might need to return again. I am not really that picky. I simply want to live indoors.

Regardless, time in Midwestern Funky Town also gives me an opportunity to get a better sense of my soon-to-be locale. I get the feeling that it’s a bit like Cambridge, MA (which is good), only without the rest of Boston surrounding it.

It’s amazing how rapidly I reoriented my sense of distance in this new environment. In Boston, riding the T for fifteen minutes would be construed as a fairly good commute. Even in my short time in Midwestern Funky Town, though, I am now considering a ten minute drive (alas, no rapid transit in Midwestern Funky Town) to my new job as “just too far.”

Something else caught my attention this trip as well. Traveling so closely behind my jaunt to New York reminds me again about the major airlines’ corruption and greed. No, I am not going to go on and on about the stupidity of the liquid limits and one-quart zipper top bag (Which I still think is dumb and doesn't help with safety even a little bit). Instead, I am going to go on and on about airline corruption.

Traveling to New York, I took JetBlue. It was my virgin experience with JetBlue. As we departed Logan, they whispered softly in my ear, “Years from now when you talk about this - and you will - be kind.”

Kind, I am! JetBlue reveals the emptiness of other airlines’ claims that they have to cut basic comfort in order to be profitable. JetBlue also contrasts sharply from other “bargain” airlines like Southwest, which clearly conceive of their passengers as cattle. For the short forty minute flight between Boston and New York, JetBlue managed to serve sodas and a bag of chips (Yes, JetBlue is literally all that and a bag of chips).

Meanwhile, for my trip here, Northwest Airlines showed that the allegedly full-service airlines are anything but full-service. Maybe I was just more sensitive because I didn’t have my usual pre-flight cocktails, knowing that I was going to be driving in Midwestern Funky Town. Still, the seats were so tightly squeezed together that my snack-table almost literally touched my chest when the person in front of me reclined her seat.

Of course, there was little reason to even lower the snack table given that Northwest has the audacity (AUDACITY, I say) to charge five bucks for a bag of M&M’s on board. I haven’t seen that type of price gouging for candy since I was forced pimped-out volunteered to sell sugary snacks as a fund-raising tactic for my High School Student Government.

At this rate, it’s only a matter of time before the emergency oxygen masks become coin-operated. “Damn,” I will say as the plane hurdles towards the ground, “I knew I shouldn’t have spent all those quarters on laundry.”

Things aren’t going much better in Business/First Class, either. Before this year, I flew often enough that I earned “elite” status in a frequent flyer program. As part of that status, I was periodically upgraded to Business/First class. Over time, the only advantage to being in the first class cabin became the extra space and a semi-private lavatory. Yet, JetBlue’s all-economy seats were almost as comfortable as many of the first-class seats.

Instead of charging outrageous prices for snack items, I think that the major airlines should be more creative in collecting revenue. For instance, I would be willing to pay $10-$20 more per ticket if the airline could guarantee that nobody under the age of 18 was on-board. I have always been confused about why children don’t ride in the cargo hold anyway. Hey, don’t get bent out shape. I am not a monster – I am talking about the pressurized section of the cargo hold.

Or they could institute a “dumbass” fee. Are you trying to claim a chandelier as a “carry-on” item (Yes, I have actually seen somebody try this)? Well, that will cost $20 just for asking.

Are you knowingly traveling with a drug-resistant strain of TB? Well, you will be paying for free flights for everybody onboard for the next ten years.

I grant that comparing the relative merits of different airlines is not the most scintillating of blog topics. This is probably especially true given my recent pledge to increase the discussion of gay porn on CoG. Still, I am annoyed by how much the federal government subsidizes airlines like Northwest while we are getting less and less in service (but the CEO’s are getting bigger and bigger paychecks). The number of people traveling by airplane today is higher than it was before September 11. Yet, they claim they can’t figure out how to make it work. JetBlue seems to be doing just fine.

Keep Me Movin'

Moving sucks. Don’t get me wrong – I am happy to be starting a new job and relocating to Midwestern Funky Town. It’s not about the place or the idea of establishing a life somewhere else. All of that is actually very exciting. No, I mean the actual labor and logistics of getting one’s shit from door A to door B. If I were moving down the block, I would still come to the same conclusion: Moving Sucks.

When I was in graduate school, I stayed in a crumbling apartment for four years just because I hated moving so much. Sure the building’s plumbing was so bad that the upstairs neighbor’s bathtub periodically emptied into my bedroom closet. Hey, it was better than moving!

Yes, I was willing to trade somebody else’s scuzzy wash-water rather than pack all my belongings and relocate. If I stayed much longer, I was going to ask her to start showering with Tide detergent so at least my clothes would end up spring fresh. Clearly it takes a lot for me to move. Usually only the offer of a better job prompts me to move.

Nobody enjoys moving, I recognize. Some people, though, seem to find it more of a nuisance than the trauma I imagine it as. One of my sisters moved every year, sometimes twice a year, for almost a decade. She changed apartments more often than I changed the oil in my car. If that had been me, I surely would have left my sanity behind by the third move. You would have seen me wandering down the street mumbling to myself and popping a roll of bubble wrap.

Maybe part of my hesitancy about moving can be found in astrology. As we know, I was born under the super, sacred sign of Cancer the Crab. Real crabs hate moving so much that they carry their house with them on their back. Wherever a crab goes on the beach, they are always in their own little studio apartment. It’s only when they are being served up with butter and some cheesy rolls that you see a crab separated from his home. Now there’s a creature that hates moving.



Something about moving must be against our basic natures. The uncertainness about having basic shelter is really stressful. Once I am all moved into a new place, I know that I will feel just fine. In the meantime, there is an irrational fear of not being able to find any place to rent and ending up roaming the streets. Should this be the case, please remember to come and shoo away the pigeons from GayProf as he sleeps.

Keep in mind, I am still two months from actually departing Boston. If I am already whining, you know that you are in store for many, many blog posts filled with complaining. This isn’t even really a post about my moving. It’s really a post about the expectation of the stress of moving. To be fair, though, the last time that I moved I ended up speeding down the highway with a pile of cat shit in my lap. After that, I had to use my little stick arms to singlehandedly lug my crap up to the third floor of my apartment house. I might have reasons to loathe recreating that scenario.

This time things should be a bit easier. For one, my new institution will actually reimburse moving expenses. This is a big change from Texas. The legislature of that state imagines that state employees should be so grateful that they can move to Texas that they are required to pay their own moving expenses. I am surprised they don’t tax us when we cross the Oklahoma border.

Maybe it's just that a few minor events from this past week have left me feeling a little edgy about the move. First, because of a bureaucratic snafu, my new university won’t be able to give me my first paycheck until a month later than they originally promised. That was not good news to credit-challenged GayProf.



It turns out, also, that finding movers is a tricky business. I’ve learned something about moving companies. They hire some of the sweetest, most chatty people to answer their phones. That friendliness, however, has nothing to do with actual moving abilities.

I phoned up one company where the operator couldn’t have been nicer. Talking with her felt like making a new friend. She was filled with questions. Indeed, I don’t think my own mother expressed as much enthusiasm for my new job. If she could have, this operator would have telephonically poured me a cup of tea. She told me to tell you all hello, by the way.

All I really needed from her, though, was to send some people out to my apartment and give an estimate (I am no fool: I am shopping around for movers). I waited dutifully for three hours for them to show up.

Eventually I called my new friend back to find out if I should keep waiting or maybe start a novena for their deliverance. Though midday, only an answering machine picked up the phone. Several days later, she did phone back to say that their computer had broken down that day (which I guess must control all of the phones as well...?). She was more than happy to reschedule.

Um, yeah, no. If they can’t even figure out how to make it to my place for an estimate, what’s going to happen when they have all my worldly possessions? If a glitch in Outlook shuts down their whole operation, I think that I will pass on their services. Sometimes it just seems like it would be easier to tuck my cat under my arm, douse everything with kerosene, and toss a match over my shoulder as I walk away.

Alas, I am much too sentimental for all of that. How could I possibly leave behind my copy of The Odyssey which I have been lugging around for the past ten years? True, I haven’t read the The Odyssey in over fifteen years (if not longer), but the mood might strike me at any moment.

Whatever the case, I will think more about the whole moving thing on Monday. In the meantime, I hope to meet some members of the gay-blogging aristocracy this weekend.