So, try though I may, I will never be able to pull off the kind of looks that I would like. I will never be the rumpled, bed-headed frat boy (aging or otherwise), or the slick, counter-culture hipster. I will always be the guy most often confused with someone’s English professor from a small, private University with a reputation for radical thinking. Not the worst fate, possibly, but frustrating in our glam/casual universe. Especially for a gay man, for whom your look is like, crucial.

Nice post.

As evidenced by a prior post, I’m thinking more seriously about joining a gym. I’ve been annoyed at my body lately. More specifically, I’ve been annoyed at my right knee.

For some reason, I woke up one morning two months ago and my right knee felt cramped. Ever since, whenever I stand up after sitting down for a while, my knee hurts and I have to walk it out. It happens when I get up from my office chair, it happens when I get up from sitting on the PATH train. I’m only 32 years old, and my body should not be falling apart yet. I have no idea why the fuck this is happening to me.

Upon hearing this story, two different people (albeit not professionals) have told me that I need to get exercise. So on Monday evening I started doing these knee exercises that I learned last year when I did a little physical therapy.

But I really should be exercising regularly, more generally. It’s important as you get older, and I’m older than I once was. But I loathe exercise. It’s just so boring, and you wind up feeling sore, and you have to wait for people to finish using the machines, and I’m impatient, and it’s expensive. But I should be doing it. I’m just reluctant to, especially because of the money involved. But it’s probably a good investment.

I’m hoping that by complaining to myself about it I’ll actually get my shit together and do it.

From an article about English people and alcohol:

Drink also featured heavily in the life of George Brown, a Labor foreign secretary in the 1960’s, who is once said to have stumblingly invited a guest in flowing purple robes at a reception in Peru to dance. But it was not to be.

“First, you are drunk,” the guest is said to have replied. “Second, this is not a waltz; it is the Peruvian national anthem. And third, I am not a woman; I am the Cardinal Archbishop of Lima.”