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TheJuice

  • "Just brilliant." - Joe.My.God.
  • "Turns out he is as delightful and engaging in person as is his blog." - The Malcontent
  • "Damn, you got some good stuff on your blog!" - FishbowlNY
  • "It's genius." - Boozhy
  • "We would be very nice to you at a party!" - The Fagat Guide
  • "AatomBomb is going pro." - FHC
  • "Jesus, are you reading this from a teleprompter on the e! news set or something?" - House of Pretty
  • "...he is frightfully eloquent..." - The Conjecturer
  • "...awesome writing and reading. im jealous..." - ElectroPlankton
  • "He can write circles around most everybody in the blogosphere and his political examinations tend toward the brilliant" - Bill In Exile
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Thursday, September 11, 2008

TheDayAhead

Towers of light I suppose I shouldn't let this day pass without some sort of comment about that day. Seven years later, the immediacy of the thing is almost completely drained from me. I jumped a bit the other night, startled to see the towers of light piercing the night sky across the Hudson. It had completely slipped my mind. I sat there for a moment, soaking in the melancholy aroused by such a poignant display. 


When I got to work today, MSNBC was replaying hours of original footage from seven years ago when New York lost two huge pillars of commerce and urban life. Seeing reporters on the street downtown shaking uncontrollably while attempting to spit out what they were witnessing was unnerving enough to take me back for a few minutes. Back to the state of suspended disbelief. Back to the shock, the purity of emotion. Back to the horror, the hope, the heroism. 

While I watched the plasma screen in our cozy corporate cafe, the counter girls fussed over jars of snack food, arranging them for the citizens of a different pillar, moving briskly about their business seven years later. Some have trouble escaping the past - holding on to fears, conspiracies, wars, blame, guilt. But our pillars of steel and concrete are only as strong as the millions of people who give them purpose, propelling them skyward in order to continually reinvent this city of tomorrow. Never Forget thus becomes a type of burden. Those who don't forget the past, somewhat at least, are doomed to stay there. 

It was with some sense of relief that I found myself surprised by the towers of light, appreciating their awesome ascent into the darkness of space with fresh wonder before leading the dog inside to feed him, kiss my boyfriend before bed, and prepare for the day ahead.

Monday, February 25, 2008

Rocco!

Pict0110Our little bundle of joy arrived yesterday, and after much discussion we decided that Prosciutto just didn't suit him well enough. We agreed that Rocco felt much better, and had the requisite two syllables that a dog name seems to require. It also suits the boyfriend's Madonna obsession.

He took to his crate right away, and is possibly the most gentle, snuggly little beast I have ever met. He doesn't chew, or bark, or jump, or beg. He's easy on the leash and loves to walk around making immediate friends with everyone who stops to admire him. He slept in our bed last night and never made a peep. In other words, we just won the puppy lottery. More schmaltzy dog-blogging TK!

Saturday, February 23, 2008

ALittleSideOfHam

Procuitto02_2After months of talking about it, my boyfriend and I found a new addition to our little family. Meet Prosciutto Rocco, a too-cute-to-be-true Lab/Shepherd/Chow mutt saved by the supernaturally dedicated people at Stray From The Heart. Our little ham arrives tomorrow, and we have spent the last 72 hours puppy-proofing the apartment, setting up a giant crate, finding a local daycare, sweet-talking cabbies into carting us around with him, and laying out his new Winnie the Pooh sweater. Our transformation into lesbians is now complete.

We discovered Stray From The Heart in the West Village one evening, when we saw a beautiful golden mix outside a small store, and the owner told us she got him there. "There" turns out to be a small operation run out of the apartments of several friends on the Upper West Side, who have turned their love of dogs into a non-profit that saves puppies from all over the country and South America, finding stable, loving homes for them in the area.

We went to see a different puppy, Prosciutto's sister to be exact. Bernadette Peters was named after her celebrity human counterpart, a good friend of the organization, who happened to be there when she arrived to donate more money to the cause. But when we arrived, her adorably shy little brother stole our heart instead. Beth, who had been taking care of both of them, agreed that Bernadette was a bit of a wild child and probably needed a yard to play in. Prosciutto was clearly her favorite as well, and she seemed overjoyed that a nice gay couple fell in love with him.

Until we actually told her yes on the phone, it all seemed a bit unreal, like pining for a pony at Christmas. Once it sunk in that this was actually happening, the full weight of adopting a young child into our home hit us hard. Pet ownership is an awesome responsibility, and we will always be acutely aware of the precious life that relies on us to survive. But the short, interminable wait to get him leads me to believe that we made the right decision. We pick him up tomorrow, and we're both jumping out of our skin with impatience.

Stay tuned for better pictures and updates.

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

TurnsOutPuertoRicoIsn'tJustForPorn

Pict0033_3

It's been a long holiday season here at Casa d'Aatom. I left my day job after six years to pursue something that might actually make me happy once in a while. Turns out advertising sales is no fun at all unless you really enjoy the thrill of it. And even then you end up bitter, botoxed, and incapable of leaving a building without an assistant's help. So I am a free agent. I have enough money to last a few more months, and I'm hunting for someone who wants to give this budding genius a chance at writing copy. I just want to love my job, is that so wrong?

I took the boyfriend home for Christmas, where he gained a more complete understanding of what functional alcoholism means. Then it was off to Puerto Rico to celebrate New Year's Eve. After American Airlines fucked us all day getting there (our three hour flight turned into a twelve hour ordeal that involved both Newark and JFK, and then they informed us curtly that they "don't do pillows anymore"), we finally got to San Juan just in time for an over-priced dinner at the New York steak house in our hotel.

Everyone assured us that the place to be for the best New Year's party was the El San Juan hotel. It is a beautiful historic hotel, worth the price of admission for the lobby chandelier alone, but unfortunately the open bar was in the little nightclub at the hotel. Let's just say we could have gone to Hoboken and seen the exact same crowd. So we rang in the Puerto Rican New Year surrounded by low-cut black dresses and bad heels, gulping down free cocktails. Then we adjourned to the glamorous lobby to ring in the New York New Year (which happened one hour later) with the older casino crowd.

The rest of the week was pure bliss. San Juan is gorgeous, and the amount of construction was staggering. $1.5M apartment buildings spring up just as quickly there as they do here, and they are infinitely more interesting architecturally. Ashford Avenue in the Condado neighborhood is a luxury mecca, no need to shop online for Chanel pumps there. Our hotel, a redesigned Wyndham now called the Condado Plaza, had a bar in one of the pools, seen above. That's pretty much all I need to relax. A trip to the nasty local gay bar (where they drink a hideous concoction of rum and fruit juice called Gasolina out of foil pouches), a wonderful tour of El Yunque rain forest, and a strange night getting lost in Old San Juan rounded out the week. The best part was relaxing by the pools with my lovely boyfriend, drinking and soaking up the sun.

So now we're back, and I have been working on closing the next issues of movmnt and noiZe. I'm procrastinating my noiZe work as we speak! We hired a new hot-shot editor-in-chief, Steve Weinstein, an amazing writer and editor from what I can tell so far. I'm taking a course downtown in Ad Copywriting, and hope to land a job in the next several weeks.

As for blogging? Well, I never know when the mood will strike me. But I do have several loyal readers who make me feel guilty for not posting more often, so stay tuned...

Here's a pic I took from the rain forest, on a clear day you can see St. Thomas on the right:

Pict0134

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Tag_card_2Kevin, the Queer Conservative, has tagged me to tell you 7 things you may not know about me. Let's get all MySpace for a moment, shall we?

1) I'm fairly certain that I will be run over by a car or bicycle in the streets of New York. This gives me a strange confidence in the face of more realistic dangers.

2) I, too, played clarinet as a young student. I wanted to play flute initially, but my mother and the music salesman convinced me that it was a girl's instrument, and forced me to buy a clarinet instead. I enjoyed it much more than I would have enjoyed the flute, as it gave me a chance to sit with the larger girls and gossip about the cute drummers.

3) I have very few meaningful or detailed memories of growing up, yet I have no personal traumas in my past that would explain this. My memories begin to fade almost immediately after forming them, and I end up telling people the same stories constantly. Yet I can still remember the ISBN code of a bookmark from when I worked at WaldenBooks in high school: 68180322.

4) When I was a toddler (according to my mother) I wandered back into the barnyard behind our house in Washington state just as the abattoir was chopping the head off of a steer that we were having butchered. As she swooped me up to take me back to the house, I peeked over her shoulder and told my mother, "That cow lost it's head!"

5) I'm very good at many things, but master of none. If I were younger I would probably have been put on ADD medication at an early age. Which probably helps explain my taste for stimulants.

6) I am neurotic about staying on straight lines, patterns and lighter colors when I walk through Manhattan.

7) I do not believe in the supernatural, but am absolutely convinced that this city has a personality greater than the sum of its parts. I feel lonely anywhere else.

Have a great holiday, everyone.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Boyfriend:MovingDay

RoommateAll five times that I have found myself with what we mutually consented to call a boyfriend, I have found that the word, if it has meaning at all, must be one of the most malleable in the language.  This is not to denigrate the concept, but to point out how strange and wonderful it can be each time.  Whether out of luck or a perverse form of cosmic justice, I am still very close friends with all but one of these men.  I sometimes consider not counting that one at all, as the mutual consent was less binding and I soon realized that the only person he could ever date was himself, but even mistakes help you grow to love better and stronger as age deposits its stores of wisdom and cellulite.

#5 both embodies and confounds the boundaries of the word.  A whirlwind of nine months has brought us from conception to this moment.  The birth, if you'll allow the lazy metaphor, of our lives together as roommates.  He spends today sorting, boxing, reminiscing, closing the door on a life he left eagerly but will no doubt feel tender towards as he makes a million Sophie's choices about which things to keep, which to discard, and which to sit silently and stare at for just a little longer. 

I suppose the idea of having a boyfriend move in should frighten me, as he says goodbye to his former roommate (also an ex).  But if there are patterns or warnings here to heed, I am blissfully ignoring them.  We're different, you see.  We are drama-free, endlessly considerate of one another, perfectly at ease sharing living space, wonderfully in sync with each other's needs.  In short, we're perfect.  This is the lie I choose to cling to for as long as possible, until such a time as we are forced to deal with the frictions of life together, the spectre of unspoken desires, and the routine of being in love.  I have no doubts about this step in our relationship - in a world swirling with doubt and fear the only other decision that felt this easy was moving to New York. 

After all, what is there to fear?  I am gaining a chef, a confidant, a midnight movie and munchies partner, lowering my rent, forcing myself to organize and streamline my piles of needless possessions, sweep the dust bunnies from under my world and start fresh with an adoring face to greet me in an apt. that will finally feel completely like a home.  With a live-in boyfriend in as traditional a sense as you can have one in this world, I plan to enjoy exploring all of the ways in which the word can evolve.

(fierce image, inexplicably titled Roommate, found here)

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

BringOn2008!

Saks_blows_snowThere's nothing like the snow show on the front of Saks for the holidays. The entire facade of the building commands your attention as giant flakes perform a wild strobe dance to the ear-shattering decibels of a surprisingly funky bell song. Like a west 27th St. nightclub without the bottle service.

My break was relaxing in that nerve-wracking way that makes you feel as if you should be doing something with yourself, but you're stuck in a giant food and alcohol coma the whole time. We had the entire week between Christmas and New Year's off, which was a nice taste of a more permanent kind of break coming for some of us.  I managed to finish my next piece for movmnt, on environmentalism. I recommend funding space research. It's time to cut our losses and find a new host to suck dry, trust me. Is it genocidal to suggest leaving a few continents behind?

My New Year's resolution (well...the one that doesn't involve personal appearance or illegal activity) is to blog more this year. But I made the same resolution last year and I'm still out of shape and coked up. So we'll see how it goes. 

I was dropped from the Fagat Guide's blogroll, which bothered me for a moment. I actually develop crushes on people based on their writing, making me the worst kind of geek. The upside is that he put me back on, and I made FHC's list as a kind of pity fuck. Score.

On a nice personal note, I started dating in the fall, and he's turning out to be just the right combo of infinitely patient and hopelessly addicted to me. I'm a full time labor of love, trust me. Most importantly he loves sushi and cocktails. If I'm lucky I'll beat my record of 8 months before I scare him off. I was given a promotion at my day job, one of those made-up titles that they give to people who will still be doing the same job essentially, but it is nice to be recognized. Big surprises in store for the third magazine I work for, as a Sr. Editor for Circuit Noize. Check your local gayborhood bars and underwear stores in February for the unveiling.

Alright, kids, there you have it. My first post of the year. I'm going to try to squeeze at least 2 or 3 more in before 2008. Here is my new year's wish for you all: peace and fucking happiness. Or just fucking. Whatever floats your boat.

Monday, September 11, 2006

TheWarOnFreedom

Phoenix_from_the_flamesI've been quietly absorbing 9/11 remembrances and reactions all day, trying to figure out where my own head is on this macabre anniversary, and I must admit that I began to feel a little guilty at times.  I can't seem to find the immediate emotional connection that I had in 2001, and even for the next few years as 9/11 insisted on happening every 365 days.  But today all I felt was a detached feeling, a lethargic apathy, even a mild annoyance at times while reading some of the more cloying and seemingly obligatory gravitas online.

September eleventh, two thousand and one changed me.  Before that date, I was politically detached, vaguely liberal, and blissfully unaware of the bulk of what happened outside of my own NYC fortress of solitude.  I suppose it was a terribly predictable psychological response to the trauma of that day to veer in a more bellicose and hawkish direction politically.  Bush seemed to understand the symbolic power of what had just happened in a way that no Democrat seemed to be capable of vocalizing.  And he was surely the only one who had the authority and will to make swift, decisive moves in response.  My enthusiastic support for both Afghanistan and Iraq was based on a belief that he would do everything in his power to make his bold words effective on the ground, mustering the awesome might and formidable resources of the American military to wipe the slime off of those two portions of the map for good.

Five years later, it feels as if we are emerging from a fitful slumber to wake up with one of the worst hangovers in history.  Afghanistan is slipping into the kind of chaos that made it ripe for Taliban rule the first time, and the Taliban has indeed already established itself once again in the northern province of Pakistan, our so-called ally in the nebulous War on Terror.  Ironically, our addiction to the even more nebulous Drug War might be having the unintended consequence of driving the populace right back into the arms of the repressive Islamists that we temporarily vanquished.  Opium production is at an historic high this year, while our blunt efforts to raze their cash crops indiscriminately has not led to very much goodwill between us and the poor farmers that rely on the opium yield to live.  One is forced to wonder if parroting the same prohibitionary rhetoric as the Taliban itself in reference to opium is indicative of some rather deep flaws in the Drug War mentality itself. 

I had a hippy history teacher in high school that taught us a very important lesson about the nature of repressive regimes.  They often make the trains run on time and the streets immaculate she told us.  She referenced Franco's Spain, but the parallel works in places like Afghanistan and now Lebanon just as well.  Seeing people approach you with money, goodwill and plans for infrastructure building can quickly erase any reservations you might have about their stringent, or even homicidal, moral code.  Our failure to fill the vacuums we helped create with goodwill and solid infrasructure ourselves is inexcusable. 

Then there is Iraq.  The fact that Bush and Rumsfeld have managed to make the strained Vietnam comparisons seem less strained enrages me.  This was clearly no Vietnam.  We had clear goals, and should have moved in with decisive force and then spent the time and money to do the necessary reconstruction that would have short-circuited the Shiite power play from Iran.  But we went in with only the most barebones military strategy and absolutely no reconstruction strategy, and now it's becoming more and more difficult to tell people we're not lost in another nightmarish quagmire.  For a hawkish libertarian like me who still passionately believes in the goal of establishing relatively stable societies in the middle east that don't use mass murder to regulate order, this is a tragedy on a massive scale.  I am furious.

Iran is now in the best position it has been in since their revolution.  Their lunatic President seems to honestly believe his own eschatological rhetoric, and is quickly amassing the hardware to do God's will and eradicate all non-Muslims off of the planet.  They now have a strong foothold in Iraq and once again in Lebanon, and feel completely at ease invading Israel through their Hezbollah puppets.  Even if he is all bluster, the Iranian regime clearly has all of the cards it needs to render any success we have had in that region null and void. My fear is that we will look back on this era of history much as we study the early geopolitical maneuvering before the first two world wars.  The fault lines are being drawn, and with formidable powers like China and Russia growling a bit in our direction, a real nuclear world war is not nearly as far-fetched as many believe.  I certainly hope it never gets to this point, and there is plenty of opportunity to make sure it doesn't, but one could safely argue that we are closer to that point now than we were five years ago.

Have I traded my robust optimism for a grave pessimism?  It might sound that way, but I have not.  I am merely adapting my feelings on these issues to absorb the difficult realities of what we face right now.  Do I think there is a way to fend off global disaster and help steer the world in less barbaric directions?  Certainly.  Am I certain that the American empire will continue to dominate world affairs for the foreseeable future?  Somewhat, but I am less sure now than I was five years ago.  What I do still believe, and what ultimately makes me an optimist and a proud American, is that the idea of freedom is a Pandora's Box that can never be closed completely once it is tasted by those who have never experienced it before.  For a great many people in places like Iraq, Afghanistan, China, Russia, and North Korea, freedom seems more real than ever before.  More chaotic, less stable, and certainly more difficult on a day to day basis, but time and time again people willingly choose the more difficult path in order to feel free from the chains of religious, moral and political tyrrany. 

Not all people, of course.  Many people flee into the arms of that tyrrany, wrapping themselves in the warm, narcotic ease of strident fundamentalism.  Death cults often prey on the downtrodden, the poor, and the desperate in order to swell their ranks.  There is a form of mass psychosis infesting Islam, and I unequivocably denounce it and anyone who is seduced by this global murder cult.  I may feel a sadness at their lot in life, but we must never forgive murderous rage simply because there may be a context to it.  A serial killer is a serial killer, and whether or not he was abused as a child has nothing to do with the swift punishment his actions deserve.  But it is the Islamist leadership that truly offends the spirit of everything I believe in.  The once pampered elites of the Muslim world.  Ivy League educated oil baron brats and diplomat sons.  Disaffected and decadent, they developed visions of a radical form of global revolution, with pipe dreams of re-establishing a caliphate on the planet once again.  It is for these international Islamist playboys, Osama and his ilk, that I reserve a particular rage.

But today is not for rage.  It is for reflection, and my reflections today have been mixed, and not as emotional as I had expected.  I am still a New Yorker, and I walk past the ghostly footprints left by two giants of cosmopolitan architecture many times a week.  I can still remember the smell of burning flesh and paper that crept its way all the way into the West Village for weeks after we were attacked by an enemy that can't wait to do it again, on a much more devastating scale if possible.  But I don't feel the acuteness of my emotions any longer, which is the inevitable decay that time provides.  Some call it healing.  I'm not sure if it's healthier in this case.  But my resolve against the dark forces of evil that wish to turn back the calendar 500 years or more is still intact.  My thoughts this year are forward-thinking, disappointed but hopeful.  We must find leadership, amongst ourselves and within ourselves, in order to begin the long, arduous process of routing out the enemies of freedom wherever they may be, and leaving instead a taste of what might be for those who crave the messy jumble of liberty just as much as we do. 

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

SummerMakeover

Aatombomblogo1_5If the Malcontent can fluff themselves and trick their site out with all sorts of cumbersome bells and whistles, the least I can do is switch up my color scheme.  I don't do fancy things like popularity percentages, mobile editions, or video clips that get you sued by Oprah like really cool bloggers do, but I will continue to drop occassional wit and/or wisdom on your ass.

Enjoy.

Monday, June 05, 2006

StrangeAnniversary

Hiv_regina03This year marks the 25th year that the world has been dealing with HIV.  To mark the occassion, the CDC is revising its recommendations to encourage every person between the ages of 13 and 64 to get tested by their doctor, so as to prevent a still staggering 25% of new infections being caused by people who did not know they were positive.  I imagine we will hear the usual doomsday shrieking from the AIDS service providers, who seem to think the government is constantly busy cataloguing and tagging people for extermination somewhere.  But this sounds like a reasonable request to me.  If you've got it, you are far better off knowing you have it, and if you don't then there's nothing to worry about.

Joe My God has a typically touching piece to mark the occassion, and directs us to a HuffPo post about the recognized date of the anniversary, and why it seems wrong.  PBS did a stunning and exhaustive Frontline documentary on the virus; it is a must-see.   It has been seven years since my own body was invaded by this historic little virus.  Seven long, strange, but ultimately wonderful years, spent blissfully meds-free up to this point.  I've learned a lot, laughed a lot, cried a little, blah, blah, blah.  The interesting thing, to me, is how deeply this amazing city has been impacted by the virus and emerged stronger for it.  I've been getting to know segments of the positive population here ever since I seroconverted, and have encountered so many positive New Yorkers, each responding to the virus in unique and often inspiring ways.  The fight is not over, etc, etc.  But I've always found comfort in the fact that I could not have chosen a better city to support me when I need it, catch me when I'm falling, yet continue to constantly treat me just like every other asshole.  Nothing could comfort me more.

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ADDENDUM: The mark of a great writer, for me at least, is that they seem to tease out the very things that run through my own head in less poetic terms.  Andrew Sullivan, despite the almost universal distaste that many of my blog brethren have for him, will always remain a favorite of mine for continually being able to do just that.  In fact, I believe I have said the last line of the following almost verbatim on many occassions:

"I knew I would one day want to block it out, that one day, I would forget most of it, especially the terror of it, and so I made myself write it out at the time. Now I find myself with little new to say, or, rather, nothing to say, except the obvious. I survived. Others I loved didn't. There was no fairness in this. None. Countless more are dying - and surviving - with the same senseless randomness. In this sense, AIDS and HIV are just more intense experiences of life itself. Except death, once encountered, becomes always more real; and life never again resumes the ease and oblivion it once contained. HIV is a crash-course in being human."