I have long been fond of this New Yorker cartoon, both because of my first name and because of the many ways I turned out different from what my parents expected.

(Search for any New Yorker cartoon.)

In today’s paycheck, we got a long-anticipated pay increase. It was retroactive to last June. In fact, we were to get not only a performance-based increase, but also a 2.9-percent cost-of-living increase. I knew I’d be getting my new paycheck today, including not only my new salary but also the retroactively-owed amount from June to the present. Visions of increased monthly student loan payments danced in my head, as well as a nice little retroactively-created lump sum — the sooner to pay off that pesky loan! (I know, I’m boring when it comes to money.)

But there are two things I didn’t realize.

One, we already got the cost-of-living increase back in July. I just didn’t realize it at the time.

Two, more of the increase goes to taxes than I’d realized.

So I’ll be increasing my monthly student loan payment, but not by much.

Sigh.

It’s almost enough to make me a Republican.

(Ow! I was only kidding.)

My site has recently received five hits from searches for the phrase “how is the sex happened between man and man.”

Indeed, how is it happened? Well, I won’t go into details, but it usually starts with two frat boys and a six-pack of Natty Light.

Speaking of search engine referral stats, I don’t know why some people are so obsessed with the D*bbie Down*r character from “Saturday Night Live.” Last May I posted a link to a video of the first such sketch, the one where everyone wound up bursting into laughter. I entitled the post “D*bbie Down*r” (no asterisks), and since then, online searches for D*bbie Down*r were showing up in my site referral stats like crazy. Fully 25 percent of my referrals were coming from searches for her. I don’t understand it. I mean, there have been two more DD sketches since then, but why people are still searching online for her weeks later is beyond me.

A couple of days ago I finally retitled the offending entry “SNL Skit,” and the search engine referrals for that woman have dropped to near zero. Thank god. I was so sick of seeing her name.

Now about the frat boys and the beer…

Tonight’s plans:

1) Sing in this concert with Matt.

2) Go to this and hang out with the gay New York bloggers and out-of-town blog guests.

Should be a fun night.

Here’s Matt and I in our tuxes last night. I think it’s one of the best photos of Matt I’ve ever seen.

Me, I don’t know…

Last night’s activities ran the gamut from singing Christmas music in a tux in a church to getting drunk off Absolut Mandarins with cranberry juice in a gay bar and (just like two weeks ago) stumbing home drunk to Matt’s place. (Fortunately, this time I didn’t trip over anything or wake him up.)

The concert was terrific — one of our best ever. My parents, my brother, and his girlfriend came, my brother looking particularly dapper and J-Crewish. I’m always nervous about singing Christmas music in front of my family, especially the really religious stuff, since we’re Jewish, but they didn’t seem to mind.

Following the post-concert reception at the church, Matt and I changed out of our tuxes in the changing room, and then I left for the gay blogger meetup at Therapy. I tried to convince Matt to come, but he was exhausted, so I went alone and he went home.

When I first got to Therapy, I was confronted by crowds of beautiful gay men. I scoured the place high and low, looking for the bloggers, but I didn’t see any faces I recognized. I went back outside, called Jere, who was on his way over, and then went back in and checked the one part of the bar I hadn’t checked yet — and, lo and behold, I recognized Hot Toddy from his photographs. (Also, he was wearing a shirt that said “Hot Toddy” on it, which helped.)

I spent the next couple of hours meeting bloggers and drinking drinks. In addition to Toddy, I met Aaron, Patrick, Karen, The Executive, Watersea, and Michael. I also talked briefly with Byrne and MAK, both of whom I’d met before. There were a few others whom I either didn’t get to meet or whose blogs I can’t remember (I know that one of them was a Blogspot blog with a very long name).

One thing I learned last night is that it’s not good to go drinking when you’ve had no lunch that day and a very small dinner (namely, a plain, unaccompanied bagel and a small piece of cake). On top of the lack of food, the bartender made my drinks particularly strong. Just two drinks, and they went right to my head. (Half a Corona, too, which I wisely decided not to finish.)

Anyway, it’s always fun to meet new bloggers. I hope all the out-of-towners make it home okay, and I hope to see the local bloggers again soon.

A “Jack & Bobby” chronology — taking into account the various past and future events that have been mentioned in the series so far. I’d been looking for something like this.

Here are a bunch of photos from Saturday night’s blogger meet-up (and apparently some from last night, too) taken by Wayne. I believe Aaron (who has the coolest-designed blog ever) will also post some he took on Saturday night, but he already sent me the ones in which I appear. He applies a really neat patina (if that’s the right word) to all his photos, so my hair looks white.

Me.

Me and Jere (a.k.a Jere-Rigged).

This photo appears to have been taken at the same time as the first one above.

And judging by this one I appear to have begun the balding process. Oy.

And here is my back.

(Update: here are Tunagirl’s photos. I’m in a couple of them.)

Cute New York Times correction today.

I can’t seem to read a book lately. It’s been at least three months since I finished one. I’ve tried to start a couple — The System of the World, The Corrections — but I haven’t been able to get past the first few dozen pages of either.

It’s almost as if my subconscious wants me to focus on other things right now. As if it thinks my time is too valuable to spend on committing to a book, when there’s a life out there to live.

I’ll be 31 at the end of this month. Where has 30 gone? It’s been a great, stable year — perhaps the most stable year of my adult life. Steady, non-annoying job, check. Wonderful boyfriend, check. Great apartment (which I will be losing in about a year), check. Don’t they say that you can’t have a great job, a great apartment, and a great boyfriend all at the same time? The job may not be my life’s dream, but it’s very good for me right now. So I’ve more or less hit the trifecta.

I’m sure my medication has helped, too. At my most recent meeting with the psychiatrist, he told me that some people, after their lives improve, are not sure how to deal with the absence of anxiety, and they respond by recreating that anxiety. By sabotaging themselves. I don’t want to sabotage myself. But I don’t know what to do with this absence that used to be filled with worry and messiness.

Maybe, like Pippin, instead of reaching for my own corner of the sky, I should learn to be happy with my own corner here on earth. But I want more. I want some big life goal. (Broken record, party of me.) I want to accomplish something. It’s just that that something always changes.

Walking around in circles walking around in circles… it’s what I do.

Turning 30 wasn’t as traumatic as I thought it would be, in part because I’d prepared myself for any expected traumas, in part because I gave myself closure, and in part because everyone comes together for your 30th birthday and makes it a big happy deal. But 31, I’m not looking forward to. Because if 30 has gone by so quickly, what does that say about the future?

On the other hand, I’ve learned to expect the unexpected. You never know when good fortune will appear. You have to put some effort into creating your own future, yes; but sometimes great things just happen, and you have to set things up so that you recognize them when they do.

In the meantime, my aunt has just sent me a bunch of good books as an early Hanukkah present, including The Line of Beauty, a gay novel that just won the Booker Prize. I’ve been wanting to read it, so I’m going to attempt it (I’ve got it in my bag, in fact).

And for now, other that, I guess I’ll just… well… live.

Given the recent onslaught of photos going around, I decided it was time to update my photo page. I’ve added some of the photos I received this weekend as well as a couple that I’d been meaning to add for the last few months.

Put the U.S. states in their proper places. Pretty cool.

Next Tuesday night, Matt, I, and several cohorts from our gay chorus will be singing a few holiday songs at the first all-musical WYSIWYG. The other performers will be:

* The Hazzards
* Jonny Goldstein
* Jessica Delfino
* Dan Fishback
* Phoebe Kreutz

I’m so nervous, because we chorus guys won’t be singing typical WYSIWYG fare. (In other words, we won’t be funny, unless inadvertently.)

Unlike MAK last month, I’ve requested that my full name not be mentioned in the WYSIWYG materials, because I don’t want to make it any easier than it is for Googlers to find my blog. Three years ago, I was interviewed by an AP reporter for an article about 9/11 and blogs. I was quoted in the article, and I had to use my full name, and therefore, any enterprising Googler can now find my site. But I didn’t want to make it any easier.

Anyway, come see us next Tuesday!

— Jeff S.

Newton’s Third Law

Sometimes you know something intellectually. Cause and effect. I am this way because of that. The reason I feel this way is because of that other thing.

But sometimes knowing something on an intellectual level isn’t the same thing as knowing it.

I had a breakthrough during the last five minutes of therapy last night. (Why do these things always happen in the last five minutes?) It left me enraged. Walking to the subway afterwards, I wanted to scream and kick something. But there were people around. So instead I punched my messenger bag, hoping that nobody thought I was crazy.

We were discussing why I’m so sensitive to the passage of time. I always have been. Time’s constantly slipping away. Nearly 31 years old now, and 30 has gone by like *that*. I’m constantly trying to slow it down, recapture it, so I can… do what? Catch up, perhaps. And yet no matter how much I try to catch up, I never feel like I am. But the target isn’t moving further and further away from me; the problem is, I’m not even looking at the right target.

“I just wish I could… slow it down, go back,” I said.

“What time do you want to go back to?”

“Childhood,” I said instantly.

Well, duh. I’ve been in therapy on and off since I was 17. I long ago figured out these things, and understood my regrets and how things could have gone differently. I’ve known it forever.

But last night I said, “Childhood,” and then a stream of sentences flew out of me. I was saying things I already knew and had discussed before. But suddenly I didn’t just know these things. I felt them.

I was fucking angry as hell.

Then the session ended, and I told her it had been a great session, and I walked out onto the street and wanted to yell and kick things. I hoped that this white-hot feeling would last, that I could hold it in my hands and gaze at its facets before it diffused into the rainy streets and dark sky and anonymous people around me and I forgot what it felt like.

I wanted to say a big fuck you.

Fuck you to my childhood. Fuck you to all the pressure. Fuck you to my teachers, especially the one who told me she was surprised that I of all people loved to watch TV. Fuck me for not letting myself feel it was 100 percent okay to have fun. Fuck you to my dad for making me scared all the time. Fuck you to my parents for never being satisfied. Fuck me for making myself compete with M.C. and his competitive mom who kept pressing my mom to tell her my SAT scores. Fuck you to my parents for wanting me to take the test again because my verbals could have been higher. Fuck me for spending so many years afraid of being gay. Fuck me for being terrified of sex until I was 24.

And on. There’s more. But yeah.

But — there’s nobody to blame. That’s the most frustrating thing about it. Nobody was being evil. Everyone had the best of intentions. My parents and I have had many long talks, and they’ve realized what they did wrong and I’ve realized what they did right.

But it’s all still out there. In me. I spend so much time rebelling against who I used to be and then feeling bad about rebelling. I’m trying to be the rule-maker and the rule-breaker at the same time. I bounce like a ping-pong ball. I’m buffeted by outside forces instead of listening to my core. Do I even have a core?

How many years of catching up do I have to do before I get those years back? But they will never come back, ever. I won’t get a do-over. And those years flowed into later years, which flow into now. I can’t win by catching up. I lose before I start.

The next step is to figure out how to sort all this shit out. There’s so much action/reaction going on inside me that’s been distracting me from what’s real.

So next I have to learn to be okay with being me.

Not rebelling or obeying, but being.

I just got back from buying my six-year-old cousin a Hanukkah gift to give to her at our family Hanukkah party tonight. I’ve decided I love shopping for little girls. I saw a Barbie dressed as Batgirl and a Barbie dressed as Poison Ivy. Fortunately I didn’t see Barbie dressed as Halle Berry in Catwoman, or I think I would have gone blind.

I wound up buying my cousin a Barbie “Princess and the Pauper” gift set. I told this to Matt when I got back and he looked at me in horror. I think he thought I’d bought a Barbie dressed as a homeless person. (Homeless Barbie! Mattel needs to get on that.) Then I told him the Barbie came with two little girls, and he said, “Are they orphans or something?” I imagined two little-girl dolls dressed in rags with sad expressions on their faces.

Rest assured, the Barbie is wearing a beautiful pink dress and a golden crown, and the two little girls are wearing pretty dresses as well. There’s also a little cat. My cousin won’t be having any nightmares.

I awoke this morning from uneasy dreams to find myself transformed into a giant latke. Oil was oozing from my pores and I felt all starchy and crispy. I immediately got up and bathed myself in sour cream and apple sauce.

I went to not one, but two Hanukkah parties this weekend. Latkes and brisket and dessert were eaten. Wine and beer were drunk. Presents were opened. I received a Krups Panini Maker (which doubles as an all-purpose grill) and “Quantum Leap” Season One on DVD. I also got a cute little pen with cartoon snails on it from my six-year-old cousin. And she loved loved loved the “Princess and the Pauper” Barbie. Apparently it was something she had wanted. She also got the Barbie “Cali Girl” Pool Playset, which my brother and I spent quite a while putting together after she opened it. I think we had even more fun than she did.

I used to love playing with my Fisher Price Little People and my Super Powers action figures when I was a kid. But the stories I made up always had more of an emotional component than most kids’ stories, I think. I’d make up these big complicated soap operas broken up into shorter episodes that ended with cliffhangers. When I began watching TV soaps at 11 or 12 years old, it was really just a natural progression from that. Or maybe the TV soaps came first. I’m not really sure.

Anyway — no more latkes for me.

Not for a while, at least.

I came into work late this morning, because on an impulse I decided to go to J&R and pick up “The Return of the King” Extended Edition, which was just released today. It cost $22.90, and there were several other people at the store buying it. Then I went back to Matt’s place and watched the first 20 minutes or so before deciding it was time to go to work.

I also went here and ordered a free slipcase for all three extended movies. There’s a $3 shipping/handling charge.

At some point I’ll have to sit down and watch all three extended movies, 11+ hours, back to back, after which I will curl up into the fetal position murmuring, “My precious…”

I Gave My Love a Cherry

Last night I gave Matt a Hanukkah present. I’d ordered it online, and it arrived yesterday in a plain, brown, slightly oblong box, about seven or eight inches long. Before wrapping the box, I took a black magic marker and crossed out the name of the company, because that would probably give away what the gift was.

He pulled off the wrapping paper and said, “This is sort of a strange-shaped box,” and he gave me a curious look. He couldn’t get the tape off the box, so I got some scissors and then he began cutting the tape away, becoming more suspicious by the second.

He opened the box and, beneath the bubble wrap, he vaguely saw something about six or seven inches long, with a circumference similar to that of a banana, and a look of shock crossed his face.

Then he removed the bubble wrap and realized it was a new TiVo remote, which I’d gotten to replace the one he’d lost a few years earlier.

He’d thought I’d gotten him a dildo, of course.

Upon hearing this, I became as embarrassed as he’d been a few seconds before.

Just a reminder that we’ll be performing at WYSIWYG tonight at 7:30 p.m. at P.S. 122. (Here’s my previous post on the subject.) Drinks to follow.

See you tonight if you can make it!

I have several vacation days I have to use or lose by the end of the year, so I’ve taken the last two Wednesdays off in order to see Broadway matinees. Last week I saw Craig Lucas’s Reckless, starring Mary-Louise Parker, and yesterday I saw Michael Frayn’s Democracy, starring James Naughton and Richard Thomas (John-Boy from “The Waltons”).

Democracy was particularly meaty. It’s about West German politics, a description that’s enough to drive most people away. It was very cerebral and dry, and rather long for a play — 2 hours 40 minutes — and I nearly nodded off a few times. But I liked it. I had a great seat, fourth row center. The overriding theme of the play is the notion of split identity. In this play you’ve got:

* Two Germanys, East and West.

* A West Germany containing two or three major political parties vying for control.

* A particular political party, the SDP, containing officials with competing motives.

* Characters who are divided internally — divided consciences, conflicting impulses.

Walt Whitman is quoted — “Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)”

With so many levels of internal conflict, it’s amazing that anything gets done.

I’ve long been interested in the notion of conflicting impulses, probably because it describes me well. I think that the more self-aware you are, the more aware you are of different motivations, desires, and feelings inside yourself that are often at war with each other — or at least in tension with each other. I guess that’s one of the reasons I enjoyed the play.

Anyway, in addition to the past two Wednesdays, I’m also taking the entire last week of December off, in order to create a nice little buffer zone between the old and the new year, and also to celebrate my birthday. There are a few shows I want to see, although I don’t have the money to see them all in one week: Twelve Angry Men, La Cage Aux Folles, Dame Edna, and I still haven’t seen Hairspray. I’d also like to see a few shows again, because of casting changes: Wicked, Wonderful Town, and Fiddler on the Roof.

It’s gonna be a busy winter.

I don’t watch “South Park” very much anymore, so I don’t know where last night’s episode ranks, but: oh my fucking god. Maybe it was the satanic orgy where one of the animals was fucking another animal up the ass. Or maybe it was the abortion clinic scene. Or maybe it was the last couple of lines of the episode.

I know every episode of “South Park” is supposed to make you say it, but… oh my fucking god.

I’m thinking of cancelling my newspaper subscription. I’ve barely read the paper since Election Day, except for the Arts section, and it’s just been a waste of money and floor space. (I have piles of newspaper going back several months that I really must recycle.) Unlike some people, it didn’t take me very long to get over the presidential election. By November 6th, I’d moved from depression into apathy. There just wasn’t any point in wallowing. And I never really watch TV news.

It’s interesting how easily you can shut down once you feel powerless again.

Anyway, I wish I could get a discount on my subscription by receiving just the Metro, Arts, Circuits and Science sections every week (in addition to the Saturday and Sunday papers). I can’t live without the daily crossword, and those other sections are the only ones I find interesting lately. In fact, I might just get rid of my weekday subscription and pay 35 bucks to access the crossword online for a year. It would take me about two months to break even.

Remember: if the news gets you down, you can turn it off. You don’t have to be a media slave.

I woke up at 2:30 in the morning and spent at least the next hour awake. After getting up to pee and check my e-mail, I crawled back into bed and snuggled up against Matt’s warm back. Thoughts fluttered through my head for the next half hour.

I should go back and read all my old journals — everything from high school up through the summer I realized it was okay to be gay — and see what I was like back then. I should do some research.

It’s odd how we project ourselves onto others. You know someone who’s like you in some particular way, and you assume you both got there on similar paths. But it turns out you didn’t. His path was much different from yours. So you’ve dug beneath the earth and seen the underside, the roots, and you see that that particular trait — responsibility, thinking about the rules — is similar in only some ways, not all.

Every person is completely different.

There’s a sweetness in knowledge, in continuing to get to know someone even after more than a year.

I’ve noticed that someone’s sent me a few more items from my wishlist for my birthday. I couldn’t help but look at the list and see what’s been purchased, and based on that, I’m pretty darn sure who’s sent them, unless it’s someone I don’t know.

So thanks, you!

So the story behind this (since he wants me to write about it) is that I brought Matt to therapy with me last night. It’s something we’d been talking about for a while, and we’d planned it with my therapist a couple of weeks ago. Since I talk about Matt all the time in therapy, we thought it might be interesting for my therapist to meet him, and perhaps it would give Matt and I some insights into each other.

In all my years of therapy, I’d never brought someone with me before. It was odd at first, introducing him into my inner sanctum, where the dynamic has always been between me and my therapist. Matt was suddenly made flesh for her, and vice versa. I joked at the end of the session that I’d finally proved that Matt wasn’t imaginary, like Snuffleupagus.

(Yes, I know that the whole point of Snuffy (originally) was that he wasn’t actually imaginary, it’s just that nobody besides Big Bird could see him, but give me some license here.)

I don’t know if any of you out there in Therapyland have ever brought a significant other with you to a session, but it was enlightening. We’ll probably do it again, in fact.

Well, this is the first time I’ve ever been cited in a Christian forum, but apparently I’m an authority on whether it’s homosexual to wear one’s shirt untucked.

MAK may not be feeling the holiday spirit this year, but for some reason I am, more than usual. And I don’t even celebrate Christmas.

The holidays just seem to be looming larger in my life this year. I lighted my menorah for the first time in several years, partly because I have someone to light it with (it was his first Hanukkah ever). We lit the menorah four or five times. In addition, we went to two Hanukkah parties. My chorus sang a Christmas concert, and then a small group of us did some more Christmas songs last week. I saw the tree in Rockefeller Center and the windows across the street at Saks, which I hadn’t done in a long time. And I don’t know if my office’s secretaries have put up more Christmas decorations this year or if I’ve just been noticing them more.

Frankly, I don’t give a damn about the trumped-up “Merry Christmas” issue. Christmas long ago became a de facto secular holiday, as far as most of the country is concerned. I grew up wishing my family could celebrate Christmas like everyone else did, because it seemed so much fun. I felt I was missing out on something, and sometimes I felt a little sad. But I didn’t feel oppressed or offended. It’s one of those things you get used to when you grow up Jewish in America. In fact, whenever someone learns that my birthday is December 27 and says something about it being so close to Christmas, I respond that I’m Jewish.

Until recently, the whole Christmas thing struck me as a bit odd. You Christians spend a whole month getting ready for this holiday, putting up decorations and buying a tree and baking cookies and running around anxiously buying last-minute presents for your third cousin once removed and your mailman, and then it’s all over in one day. But this year I’ve realized that the season isn’t about Christmas Day — it’s about the season itself. It’s about taking a few weeks during the year to be festive and eat treats and go to parties and hear familiar songs and put up pretty lights to ward off the winter darkness. Instead of seeing the Christmas season as a buildup to something that can probably never quite match the anticipation, I’ve realized it’s more fun to enjoy the season as the season. Not as a journey to a destination, but as an end in itself.

And I don’t even celebrate Christmas.

Well, I was two-thirds correct as to the mystery gift-giver. It turned out there were actually two gift-givers. For some reason, when I saw what had been purchased from my wishlist, all three items screamed “Jere”. But it turned out he was responsible for just two of the items — Wicked (the novel) and the “Wonderful Town” CD.

The third item turned out to be from Thom, who got me How I Paid for College: A Novel of Sex, Theft, Friendship & Musical Theater. When I was trying to guess who’d sent me the gifts, I hadn’t even been thinking outside the circle of people I know in New York. I was pleasantly surprised to get something from Thom.

I can’t wait to read/listen to these items. Thanks so much, you two! I’m all verklempt now.

Speaking of mystery gifts, Matt received a mysterious package in the mail yesterday, which he showed me when I went over last night. It was a manila mailer addressed to him. His address was also printed in the return-address location. The postmark said, “Santa Claus, IN 47579.” I didn’t even know there was a Santa Claus, Indiana.

More strangely, on the back of the mailer was a handwritten message:

FROM:
THE MOVE IN WITH MATT FAN CLUB
AND
THE TIN MAN ORAL HYGIENE SOCIETY
32 YELLOW PLAQUE ROAD
THE EMERALD TOOTH, OZ

Inside the package was an electric toothbrush.

We can only assume it’s from someone who read this.

I swear – between that and the real tin man someone sent me in July, I’m starting to feel famous. Maybe I’ll get a display case.

Can someone recommend a good place for a happy hour next Thursday evening? Preferably a gay bar or lounge, or at least gay-friendly, with some seating?

Feel free to leave a response in the comments or e-mail me.

Poor Martian Manhunter.

“As movie projects featuring founding members of comic book land’s Justice League of America ramp up, the green-skinned detective from our solar system’s fourth planet can’t get arrested in Hollywood.

“Which begs the question: So, um, who’s Martian Manhunter?

“‘The Martian Manhunter is the Shemp of the Justice League,’ says TV writer-producer and comics guru Mark Evanier.

“More specifically, Martian Manhunter is one of the seven original members of the JLA, the all-star superhero collective founded by DC Comics in 1960.”

Given that Martian Manhunter (also known as J’onn J’onzz) is 6’7″ and 300 pounds, I don’t think you want him to hear you calling him Shemp.

(He’s always seemed like a nice guy to me, though.)

(More on J’onn J’onzz.)

As of yesterday at 3 p.m., I am on vacation. I won’t be back in my office until Monday, January 3. Hooray!

I plan to celebrate my birthday, read some books, see a bunch of movies, sleep late, go to some parties, spend time with Matt, and loaf around.

The fun began last night, when Matt and I went to Barracuda for a happy hour with a few people. I played Simpsons Pinball badly. Afterwards, six of us went to a French restaurant on 7th Avenue between 20th and 21st, the name of which I can’t remember. The waiter’s accent was straight out of French Restaurant Central Casting. I had a delicious steak and French fries.

I also broke a wine glass. I was squeezing out between our table and an empty table so I could use the restroom, and it was so tight that I pulled part of the tablecloth of the empty table with me, knocking a wine glass onto the floor in the process. It sounded beautiful as it shattered into a zillion pieces; some of the pieces landed in my friend Russ’s umbrella, who dutifully shook it out once we all stepped back outside.

It was the second time in three weeks that I’d broken some glassware. The other time was at the Duplex on a recent Friday night; Matt and I were leaving after an evening of hanging out with Dan and Mike. I’d put on my jacket and slung my messenger bag around me; as I turned to leave, my bag knocked into a glass on the table behind us. It fell over, landed on the carpet and shattered. It was a grand exit.

Mazel Tov! I’d be great at Jewish weddings.

(Strangely, although I’m Jewish, I’ve never been to a Jewish wedding.)

I’m getting congested and my throat’s a little scratchy. I must have caught the cold Matt’s had for the last few days. And it’s gloomy and cloudy and cold out, and it was flurrying earlier.

My holiday’s been nice so far. On Christmas Eve, I went over to Mike’s mom’s place for a Benedetto Christmas Eve buffet, while Matt stayed home and nursed his cold. (Don’t worry, I did lots of nursing before I left.) All of Mike’s friends at the party — me, Russ, Steve, Marc, and Jenn — were Jewish, and we all ate ham that night.

Yesterday, Christmas Day, Matt and I saw “Phantom of the Opera, the movie. I didn’t dislike it as much as I’d expected to, but only because I’d expected to hate it. I did think Patrick Wilson and Emmy Rossum were miscast, though. I hadn’t heard the music in years, and there were some songs I’d completely forgotten until I heard them again in the movie. As much as I dislike Andrew Lloyd Weber’s music, “Phantom” does have some wonderful melodies in it.

After the show, we had Chinese food — the traditional Jewish Christmas dinner.

We also watched The Christmas Special Christmas Special yesterday on Bravo, a terrific examination of how Christmas on TV has influenced popular culture over the years. And in the evening, we watched “The Sound of Music” on ABC. I hate to say this, but I’d never seen it before. I have the Broadway cast album, and so many of the songs are embedded in our culture, but I’d never seen the actual show.

I also looked up the origin of Santa Claus yesterday.

At night, I went to the Phoenix to meet up with Andy, Steve, and Marc, all fellow Jews (while Matt continued to rest). Between last night, Christmas Eve, and Thursday night, the Jew Crew seems to be reconstituting itself. (Ask Andy, one of the members of the original Jew Crew, for an explanation.) It’s so strange — this is something that just seems to have popped up in the last week or so, possibly aided by the arrival of Christmas.

And now I’m trying to decide what I want from my parents for my birthday. I keep thinking I want an iPod, but Matt thinks I should get an iPod mini, and I’m wondering if I even need an iPod at all. Matt says I could use his, because he never uses it anymore, but there’s something about having one of my own. Anyway, this is a major dilemma for me for some reason, but I guess it’s not a bad sort of dilemma to have.

Anyway, tomorrow’s the big day.

Hooray… I love this time of year.

Well, it’s my birthday and I’ve got a temperature of 100.6. (About 20 minutes ago it was 101.2.) I feel all achy and tired and chilly. Matt and I were going to go out for birthday dinner with my parents tonight, but instead we’re putting it off.

Bleah.

This isn’t my worst birthday, though. My worst birthday was my 17th, when my family was on vacation in Thailand — Phuket, actually, which was ravaged by tsunamis yesterday. I was in a swimming pool and as I was getting out, I somehow gouged out a chunk of skin from my left big toe. We went back up to our hotel room and it bled and bled and bled before finally stopping. I’ve got a scar on my left big toe to this day.

And at least I’m not in Phuket now. I can’t imagine what it must be like in southeast Asia right now.

Anyway — I’ll live to fight another day…

Happy Birthday to Me.

Well, after two nights of sweating out toxins, my fever is gone. Now I’m only congested. I haven’t left Matt’s apartment since Sunday evening. Last night, between Matt’s coughing and my sniffling it was a cacophony of illness. At least we’re both getting better.

Yesterday I began reading “Wicked,” and last night, as I drifted in and out of sleep, visions of Oz wandered through my head. At some points I even dreamed that I was reading.

This isn’t the most exciting way to spend a vacation from work, but at least I don’t have to be anywhere. And hopefully I’ll be in good enough shape for my birthday gathering tomorrow night. (I’m having people meet up at Posh tomorrow at 6:30 for a happy hour — anyone’s welcome to come.)

Sniffle sniffle cough cough. Over and out.

I’m sure there’s nothing more boring than blog entries about being sick, but — well, it turns out I’m still sick. My flu is gone, but it’s left behind a probable sinus infection. I’m seeing the doctor today to find out for sure. (I get a sinus infection every couple of years or so.)

I feel crappy. So I’ve decided to postpone my birthday happy hour that was going to be tonight. Damn.

This week of vacation is not turning out how I’d expected.

At any rate, a week off is a week off, so I’m still getting to laze around and watch TV and read. And assuming I’m prescribed antibiotics today, I should begin to feel better tomorrow. So I’ll still have a few days to do stuff before going back to work. Anyway, I had to use these vacation days by the end of the year or lose them, so no big loss there.

Yesterday we watched the “Buffy” Halloween episode that takes place at the fraternity house, where everyone’s fears start coming true and at the end they have to face the demon Gaknar. It’s got a great ending. Sigh… I miss Buffy.

Since tomorrow’s the last day of the year, I guess I’ll do some sort of year-end round up tomorrow.

In the meantime, you can play Pac-Mondrian. It’s cute. But I find that the music adds a ghostly nostalgic feel to the game.

Well, we’ve come to the end of 2004. Every year seems to go by a little bit more quickly than the one before, and this one was no exception. This year has been kind of a blur.

There was one momentous change for me this year. Matt and I met in the fall of 2003 and started dating, but it was last January that we officially became boyfriends. It was the biggest and by far the best thing that happened to me in 2004.

And I got to introduce Matt to my family. A long time ago, the idea that my boyfriend and I would someday spend the night in my parents’ house seemed impossible. But this year, it actually happened. (A couple of times.)

It was also the first year of my thirties. True to what I’d been told, I hit 30 and things stabilized a bit. I stayed in the same job and the same apartment. In September, I reached the end of my three-year job commitment, which means that I’m now free to leave the job if I want. Oddly, with that restriction lifted, I actually enjoy it a bit more. And I’ve begun socializing with my coworkers more, which is good.

I continued singing in my chorus and seeing shows. Tons of shows.

I got a TiVo.

I went to San Diego for a weeklong conference; I went to upstate New York for my chorus retreat. Matt and I went to D.C. for a long weekend of vacation, and we also went to Tennessee, where I met Matt’s family.

The most poignant stage show I saw this year was Dog Sees God, which imagines the Peanuts gang as teenagers. It really moved me.

So. 2004. I guess I’d call it the Year of Matt. Or, rather, the First Year of Matt.

And now I continue into the rest of my 30s. Life’s better than it used to be… better by far.

Happy New Year, everyone, and here’s to a great 2005.