never trust a man whose thighs touch when he walks...
so i realized something rather defeating today, that if it weren't for other people in my life, i would live in the dark. i'm not getting all sentimental on your asses, but literally--when light bulbs burn out, i rarely ever get around to changing them, rendering my physical existence dimmer than it could be. or should be.
last night was new years, and now it's 2010, and i'm not terribly excited about it but i'm not disappointed, either. i'm writing a book this year, so i've got a full vagenda to contend with.
the title of the aforementioned book, now that i've finished it, can finally be disclosed: call me by your name by andre aciman. NOT twilight, as foolishly propositioned by some, though i get how the "E." reference could have been linked to protagonist edward cullen and his admirable, yet paltry attempt to make pallid skin and jaundiced eyes sexy, though the movies only serve to parlay one director's vision of edward's character. no, my "E." referred to elio, and i'm still internally raging over him.
what's with this entry not being the yellow and white striped circus tent of positivity i've come to emit with semi-regularity? could it have something to do with my blinding hangover? or my mind's preoccupation with piecing the shards of last night together to make one coherent memory of one of the best new year celebrations i've ever had? either way, i figured it would be wickedly uncool not to start the year with some sort of blog contribution, and by the power vested in me and all the metallic shit i wore last night and well into the morning, i bring you this. and please run--don't walk--and buy call me by your name. it's not a love story; it's not even a lust story; it's a human story, a strong attempt to debunk and decode but never successfully dispel the inexplicable attractions human beings inevitably form between themselves, providing a sliver of insight into understanding our social proclivities, and presenting a side of desperation that would never survive the beer-fueled iteration of a hair-tossing, boy-eventually-gets-girl teen movie.
some endings are neither happy, nor sad, but when you've jerked off to pretend to have sex with a character you've never met, the pieces fall into place as you realize you're just as divine as someone you've idealized well beyond worship, and they just as human as you.
and to that boy on whom i spilled shiraz last night, i didn't mean it, and i'll gladly foot your dry cleaning bill. i'm surprised you weren't one of my 74 facebook friend requests today. flattered, i am.
xo and happy new yearaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa