Category Archives: Personal Life

Gay Action Figure Theater (NSFW)

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As I’ve mentioned here before (I think), Valerie used to collect action figures.  Sometimes she would pose them in naughty positions, but hey, who didn’t?  I inherited her action figures, and as a tribute to her, they are all making sweet sweet love down by the metaphorical fire.

She also made this incredible youtube series using her action figures called “Gay Action Figure Theater.”  It’s stars Buffy, Rogue, My Chemical Romance, Pete Wentz, Batman, and Oscar Wilde, among others.  Not only is it brilliantly witty and charming, it does a pretty good job of capturing who Valerie was (especially the rant at the end of part 2).

I love this so much and I wanted to share it with you.  Feel free to share it with the ones you love too.  And hug them, don’t forget to hug them.

 

I was just thinking about…

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About how Valerie and I would sometimes have “working dates,” where I could sit on her couch, typing away at my latest story or editing my novel. She would sit and work at her desk (she always worked at her desk) with Rancid or The Transplants or any one of the millions of Tim Armstrong projects pumping his frantic mumbling into the airwaves.  Valerie loved to work.  She loved to be doing something, anything.  We both found comfort in our work and in each other.

There is a reason why this is so extraordinary:  I don’t like people.  What I mean is that when there are people around me, it raises my stress levels.  At times it has caused panic attacks, though this is usually associated with a bipolar cycle.  It is very hard for me to be in public.  I often have vomiting fits from being around too many people.  I usually put on a persona–a super-nice, polite guy who isn’t me at all–in order to survive.  Of course, people like the super-nice me better than the real me.

There are only a few people that do not trigger this reaction.  My brother, Scott, is one, I’ve had a lifetime with him.  Some of my friends from college (Like Osvaldo) are others, but it took a long time to feel that way.  The same with my college girlfriend, Jolene.

Valerie was the only one where I felt that way immediately.  She made me feel so comfortable, she became a part of who I am so quickly and completely.  It was like she was always there, and I didn’t know it until I met her.

Damn, I am crying again.

Switching to a more postivie topic, Chapter Four of The Watchmage of Old New York is up and running at Jukepop Serials.  I suggest that you read it, vote for it (you have to register, but that takes half a minute) and share it with your geekier friends.  You can vote once for each chapter, which means that right now each of you can give me 4 votes.  The votes are what keep the serial alive, and if I get enough, I can get bonus money.  To a starving artist like me, that bonus money means that I can buy new pants…I really need new pants.

I Promised Big News . . .

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And here it is.  Drum roll please . . .

My novel Song of Simon was accepted for publication by Damnation Press.  It is a small press, and I will have to do most of the promotion, but it’s still a big step up from self publishing.  I am still waiting for the contact, and of course I’ll have a lawyer take a look at it.  Mama Sanders din’t raise no foo’.

For those that aren’t reading my serial, The Watchmage of Old New York, you’re missing out on a great romp.  I just posted Chapter 4, and the whole series is a lot of fun.  I highly recomend it if you enjoy fantasy fiction.

Rest in Peace, My Valerie (1977-2013)

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I buried my soul mate yesterday.

Last Tuesday (Jan 22), I went up to Binghamton to visit Val.  She was up there to begin her PhD candidacy in English.  I climbed the stairs to the back door and knocked.  I looked through the screen, and she was on the floor.  I don’t think that Val would want me to tell the final details of her life to strangers, so I will refrain.

Val was pronounced brain dead Thursday morning.  She died that evening.  She was my world.  She was the most brilliant, caring, gifted, loving, person that I will ever know.  Her writing is some of the best that I have ever read.  I only wish that I could write like her.

Her obituary is here.  Her website is here.

If you read my blog, you know how much I love her.  We just celebrated our anniversary.  I went to her mom’s for Christian Christmas (as opposed to my usual, Jewish Christmas.  We just didn’t have enough time together.

I want to tell you all about her.  I want people to know and love her the way that I love her, the way that she deserves to be loved.

This is what I told the Binghamton reporter that is writing her memorial:

She was about as warm and giving a person could be.  She cared very deeply about her students and would always go the extra mile for them.  Her favorite writer was Oscar Wilde, and I am sure that she could go wit for wit with him and come out the victor.  On her wall there was a picture of Oscar Wilde next to a picture of Malcom X.  I asked her about it once, and she said “I’d like to think that they are lovers in Heaven.”
Val loved so many things:  Joss Whedon (especially Buffy the Vampire Slayer), Rancid (for the past year she has been keeping a tongue-in-cheek photo journal updating the status of Tim Armstrong’s epic beard.  That was just her sense of humor), action figures (she had a massive collection of action figures, she would sometimes use them as writing prompts for students, but mostly they just hung around the house).  She loved to write, she was constantly writing, but even more than that, she loved to teach.  She loved the Oxford Comma, if you could love punctuation.  She had a passionate affair with Semicolons.

She was a strong woman: independent but not distant, tough but not hard, witty but not cruel.  She was brilliant, the most intelligent person that I have ever met.  She loved Grammar.  She was very excited to be taking a Grad level Grammar class at Binghamton.  She felt a great sadness for people that couldn’t use “there, their, and they’re” properly.

Her writing was incredible.  When we first started dating, I asked what she wrote.  She said something like “I do mostly short stories, mostly humorous, but when you say you write humor people think you write bad stand-up or something. I love the type of short story that can make you laugh and feel sad within like five pages so that’s what I try for.” 
If you read some of her writing (on her website), you will see that she succeeded everytime.
 
If you would like, I can recommend some of my favorite stories. 
 
I don’t know what else I can say.  She was the most perfect person that ever walked the face of this Earth.  She was too perfect, too gifted, too gentle and loving for us.  I would say that she was ahead of her time, but Time will never catch up to her.
This is what I said, but there was so much more to her.  She wrote erotic fan fic  as a hobby, and helped form an entire community for it.  Her frank talk and writing about mental illness was inspirational and life saving for many people.
On our first date, she gave me a toy for my turtle.  Who does that?  Who is that thoughtful?  Val was.  On our second date, I spilled an entire move-sized diet coke in her lap, and she didn’t walk out on me.  On the contrary, after the movie, she still made out with me.
She did all of this, but I knew that she was the One when I first walked into her apartment, and there was a giant Godzilla doll on her refrigerator.
I am concerned with her legacy.  I want the whole world to know how gifted a writer she was.  I want her name immortalized the way that it should be.  She was everything that I could ever want, or want to be.
I love you so much, Valerie.  I will love you forever.
The two of us, late December, 2012

The two of us, late December, 2012

Birthday: Reflections, Refractions, and a Serious Confession

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Last week was my 36th birthday.  I just getting around to writing about it now, mostly because I don’t know how I feel about it.  One thing is certain:  I feel old.

I broke a rib on New Years . . . Coughing.  I broke it coughing.  Who the hell breaks a rib coughing?  I have saggy man tits and a jiggly belly.  My back hurts.  My blood pressure is up.  I suppose that these are normal things, but there is a lot more on my plate.

Lifewise, I like where I am right now, but it’s not where I expected to be.  To be honest, I expected to be dead by now.

I have a serious confession to make.

I have severe Bi-Polar Syndrome.  I was diagnosed when I was 14.  I spent much of my teenage years in and out of hospitals.  I went to a special school for the “emotionally challenged.”  The side effects from the various medications are torturous, to the point where I no longer know what it’s like to “feel good.”

As an adult, I have never been able to hold a full time job for more than a year or two.  No matter how extraordinary I am at the job, I inevitably have a manic or depressive cycle and lose it.  I ended up working low paying odd jobs and resigning myself to poverty.

Last year, I ended up homeless in the middle of Winter.  I was living out of a ’97 Saturn, which I would park in a park or parking lot and hope that I wasn’t carjacked.

Through most of my adult life, I suffered without help.  I didn’t know that there was help out there for people like me:  mentally ill, but not ill enough to require a group home.

Thankfully, I found help.  MHA found me a place to live, and helped me to apply for disability.  So yes, now I am a drain on society.  I am ashamed of this, very ashamed.  I hate myself for it.  I wish that I could stand on my own, but I tried and failed at this for 36 years.  I still live well below the poverty line (you don’t want to know how low), but at least now I know that I will always be able to pay the rent and have food to eat.

This is not where I expected to be.  I still work towards getting off of disability, but the only thing I am able to do, even when I am having an attack, is write.  It’s the only thing that I have ever wanted to do, and oddly enough, it’s proven to be the only thing that saves me.

I don’t know why I am confessing something that I am so ashamed of, especially when there is such a public stigma towards it (no, I don’t own a gun.  If I did, I would’ve turned it on myself a long time ago.  It worked for Hemmingway, right?)

I am ashamed of being ashamed.  Ashamed of hiding who I am.  I just turned 36 years old, and I don’t care about being stigmatized anymore.  I don’t care if you judge me.  I don’t care if you are revolted, scared, or made uncomfortable by me.  I don’t care if you think that I am melodramatic and think that I should just “suck it up.”

I just turned 36 years old.  I have bi-polar syndrome.  If you have a problem with that, you can go to Hell.

That’s what I tell myself.

Thank you for reading my blog.  If you like it, follow me.  And don’t forget to check out and vote for my serial “The Watchmage of Old New York” on Jukepop Serials.  Chs. 1 & 2 (of a planned 6) is up now.  Registration takes a minute. 

And of course, you can look at my fiction and nonfiction right here on this website.  Writing is the only thing I do well.  Help me to keep doing it.

One Year Ago, Today

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One year ago, today, my life changed forever.

I went on a date with a girl that I had been talking to online.  We met at an Italian resturant named Capri.  As I pulled up in my car, I saw a girl leaning against a pillar, smoking a cigarette.  I though Hey, if this date doesn’t work out, I can go hit on her.

It turned out that she was my date.  We went inside.  I ordered chicken marsala, she ordered chicken francaise.  I’m not sure, but that may have triggered the infamous “French Style” story (I might have saved that for another date.  I hope so, that is not a first date story).

I will never, ever, share the “french style” story on this blog. You’ll just have to ask me in person . . . if you dare

Afterwards, we went to get Starbucks because neither of us wanted the date to end.  The barrister had a giant beard, and I complimented him on it.  I called him my “brother of the beard.”  I was trying to impress her by being all friendly and social (which I am decidedly not)

Not quite this epic

We talked for a long time, and when the date was over, I gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

the pasta was delicious, by the way

It was the best date that I had ever gone on where I didn’t get laid.

One year later, Valerie and I are still together.  I can’t believe that she puts up with me;  lord knows I wouldn’t.

Baby, I love you so much that it makes me nauseous.  Here’s to forever!

Writer’s Angst

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I am suffering from a bad case of Writer’s Angst.  This is the feeling of depression and anxiety that only an arrogant douchebag that thinks that anything that he creates is worthwhile and can somehow contribute to society can have.  I am an arrogant douchebag.  I am also full of self-loathing.  I suppose it is these contradictions that make me a writer (see?  it’s comments like this that makes me a douchebag!).

So the reason I am full of angst right now is because I ended the year:

  1. with stories left unsold (and by ‘unsold’ I mean ‘given to magazines for free because it is such a ridiculous buyer’s market that writer’s are grateful just to see their work in print)
  2. by finishing up an unsellable story (a novellette!  who buys novellettes?) and having too many ideas for projects to start next
  3. realizing that I am getting old and I am still relatively unknown, and that I will probably die unknown, with all my dreams unfufilled.  The downside of having dreams is that they almost never come true.

Also, my girlfriend has moved away to go back to school, and I miss her very much.

Re: my New Year’s Eve party:  3 people came, they left by 11pm.  Another rager.  I swear that I am fun.  Fun fun fucking fun!

This has been another whiny post.  I promise that my next two will be funny, even if I have to quote people funnier than me.

I will end with Grumpy Cat

New Year’s Eve Party at Hotel Craiggers!

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I am currently waiting for guests to get here for my big giant hugemoungous NYE party, that really isnt that hugemoungous.  I am expecting 6 people, including myself, but that is about the maximum capacity of my tiny studio apartment.

I love to entertain, and I spent far more money getting ready for this than I should’ve.  I’m a writer, which means that I am painfully poor (more writer’s angst in a later post).  I wanted one of those giant subs, so I ordered one.

Myyyyy hero *swoon*

It came at 1pm.

That means that I had to find a way to fit 4 feet of American Hero (half without cheese) into my fridge to keep it fresh until guests get here.  That’s a lot of sub for 6 people . . . or not enough.

I also put out a dish of my precious Starbursts (they are a contradiction, just like me).  I hope that somebody brings booze.  I only have one bottle of Bacardi.

I really love entertaining, but I always expect that something will go wrong.  Mostly, I’m afraid that no one will show.  This comes from experiences in my childhood.  I was unpopular and only a few kids would come to my birthday parties, even if they were at someplace fun, like at a bowling alley or an arcade.

12 year olds all bowl with blue balls . . .

 

the kicker was that none of my school friends came to my bar mitzvah.  3 Friends came, and I knew them from outside of school.  Instead, of all my “friends” went to another kid’s party because they liked him better.  A couple did come to the service, and for that, I am grateful, but there is nothing like being the center of a party where the only people there are relatives that you hardly know.

When I was a teen, i always tried to have people over at my place and I would supply the beer or weed.  I wanted them to like me.  I think that they did, but they certainly liked my beer.  The fact that none of them talk to me anymore is probably for the best.  Sure, people drift away, but that little kid standing alone at his bar mitzvah still feels like he’s up there on stage alone, in an awful brown suit, with terrible hair that my mom cut and big ugly glasses.

This turned into a very whiny post.  I am sorry for that.  I will end with 5 things I like about throwing parties:

5 — I don’t have to drive home — I can get as drunk as I want and don’t have to drive drunk. (BTW: AAA will drive you home for free tonight)

4 — No passing out on a strange couch — There is always the danger of waking up with a penis drawn on your forehead.  Once I woke up covered in vomit and girlfriend (Not the current one)

3 — People bring you beer — alcohol delivery system 🙂  Remember, in fiction, all writers, priests, and wizards are alcohol dependent

2 — The antici . . . pation — I love the feeling of right now, waiting for people to show.  It’s all very exciting

1 — Validation — I am weak and I need to believe that people love me.  More whininess.  I am such a douche.

HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE!!!

Toooo muchhhhh Christmas

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Oy vey!  I went to Valerie’s mom’s place for Christian Christmas (as opposed to    Jewish Christmas).  So much food!  So many presents!  I’m in shock.

This is only the second time that I have celebrated Christmas with real live Christians.  I have to admit, it is a fun holiday.  The traditions, the egg nogg . . . ohhhh the egg nogg.  Yesterday I was craving egg nogg so bad that I went out in the snow storm to get some.

Egg Nogg — what makes family bearable

I was shocked at the huge number of presents that I got.  Stocking stuffers are a concept that doesn’t exist in Hannukah. They’re awesome, because you have more things to open up, and the surprise of unwrapping is the best part of any present.

This is my haul:

  • A box of Spree
  • 2 bags of Skittles
  • a Jets scarf
  • a Jets blanket (already draped over my couch)
  • The Muppets Take Manhattan DVD (My woman knows me so well)
  • Kermit’s Swamp Years DVD (more muppets!)
  • Jay and Silent Bob action figures

I am such a man-child.

So what I have to say is:  If Christians want to convert people from other religions, just expose us to Christmas . . . I ate ham!  A big baked ham, and while I never kept kosher as a kid, we never had baked ham for dinner either.  A couple of egg noggs and some “A Christmas Story” and you can convert the Ayotolla.

Have I mentioned that my girlfriend has a novel out?  It’s called “The Epic Love Story of Doug and Stephen,” and it is hilarious.  The greatest gay romantic stoner comedy ever (but it’s funny for straight people too).  You can buy it here for only 99 cents!