NEWS FLASH! It has just been brought to my attention that the subject of last week's oh-so-crappy article, Leviticus 18:22 ('And you shall not sleep with a man as with a woman, you ungodly bastards,') actually referred to hogging the covers. If men BOTH tried to hog the covers, war would break out. So God was just telling Moses to act civilized with his boyfriend. Sorry for any inconveniences that may have caused. No, you MAY NOT proceed to the exits to the left and to the right of the stage, I'm not done yet... mwahahahahaha...
Sorry about last week's article people, and for those of you who actually liked it, sorry for (oh god, what's that word' Dammit, I just lost my train of thought...) it's not intruding... oh yeah, sorry for trampling on your opinions. I usually don't write like that. Refer to the article before that... I don't know where you'll be able to find it, or how, but hey, it's out there... somewhere... (X-Files Music begins) But anyway, here's my excuse-Me, being the high priest of procrastination, procrastinated writing the article until the last minute. And me, also being a master of ingenuity (stupid, crappy ingenuity, but ingenuity nonetheless), and knowing I had another article for something else lined up, used that instead!!! Aren't I a genius!!! Yeah well, you can email me compliments. Email me, goddammit! Hey, the world didn't end. Or did it''' I mean, what if we were all actually dead, only we were in The Sixth Sense. Like, we could be dead, but we wouldn't realize it. What if we're all actually dead and we don't realize it' AAAAHHHHHH!!!
Well, due to the fact that Singapore's ONLY newspaper that isn't a tabloid happens to be run by the government, who's obsessed with bringing to the people the most irrelevant of news stories (Front Page Story, last Thursday: MEGAWATI'S GIFT TO THE PRESIDENT: SHOES... the article was about how Indonesia's Vice Prez Megawati Sukarnoputri felt a need to refurbish the Abdurrahman Wahid's shoe wardrobe), I only hear about the beating of gay soldier Barry Winchell here, in New Zealand. Well, I was in New Zealand, for the millennium. And I'm still pissed that nothing happened. I mean, wouldn't the day just have been so much more interesting had God/Vishnu/Allah/Adonai/Jupiter/The Wicked Witch of the West came down from the sky and did something?
But anyway, back on track-Barry Winchell. So I read this article in Time, slightly horrified with an anti-flag attitude, and I couldn't help but thinking that every other OASIS writer must've written something about him. Cept me. And I couldn't help but putting myself in the place of the reader: 'What a calculating, calloused, self-infatuated little shit!' Not only was I sad, but doleful, woebegone, lugubrious and totally and utterly speechless. God, I almost wrote 'udderly' there. That would've been embarassing. But I couldn't think of anything to say about Barry Winchell. And I'm really, really sorry he died. Incredibly sorry. But it was and wasn't his fault. Gays should be allowed in the military, but nothing is gonna protect us from getting killed. SO WHY GO IN THE MILITARY' I don't see why we should protect the very people who profit off our blood. Yes, this is a call to riot. But in any case:
Rest In Peace, Barry Winchell
And so, here's the start of 'THE COLUMN! January, 2000, coming to you LIVE from the Four Seasons Condominium Park, Orchard Boulevard, Orchard, Singapore. And just for you geography buffs out there (yeah, right) I was in Whitianga, North Island, New Zealand. Auckland too. Cool place. Andrew Paul Strike? *echo echo* dammit! But if you're reading this, HEYYYY even if you don't like me anymore, or never did to begin with, or still do, I have a huge crush on you, and to everyone I know in Boston, your new name is 'The Object of Myke's Affection.' Spiffy.
Speaking of 'The Object of My Affection,' I just got around to seeing it, and ironically, it was exactly the same day, time, and month I came out last year. 'I do believe in fate, but it works in some pretty fucked up ways.'-Denise from 'Can't Hardly Wait.' :::sigh::: wouldn't we all like a boy like George :::sigh::: for that matter, wouldn't we all like a life like George's :::sigh::: too much damn sighing :::sigh:::. Mmmm... dairy products...
What scares me the most about writing this article is that I've gotten email from people who are from my old town in Massachusetts (Wellesley), email from people who used to go to my school (Singapore American School, Woodlands), and people from other schools in Southeast Asia (yeah, M. that's you...), but I have never, ever, Ever, EVER gotten one damn email from somebody right here, right now, which pisses me off to no extent. I mean, I guess it's understandeable, since if anybody from here emailed me, chances are, desperation would force us to become friends, if not boyfriends, even if we thought of each other as total assholes. But hey, if you're reading this, and you're from SAS or Singapore, for that matter, EMAIL ME, hell, I'd stop the whole friendship thing if necessary, I just need to know if somebody out there in this damn country is reading this...
Back on track: the same day I saw 'The Object of My Affection' I saw 'The Wedding Singer,'... well, part of it. I turned to the station at the EXACT MOMENT when Adam Sandler goes 'Yknow, some of us will never find true love. For example, take... me. And that guy right over there. And the lady wth the side burns. And basically everyone at Table 9. But the sad thing is, me, Fatty, Sideburns Lady, and the mutants at Table 9, can't do anything to better the situation.' I repeat, 'I do believe in fate, but it works in some pretty fucked up ways.'-Denise from 'Can't Hardly Wait.' Great movie, by the way, if you fall for bad humor, shallowness, and gushy romance.
And the following statement might be pathetic, narcissistic, sad, pitiful and annoying, but here goes-unlike the Wedding Singer, I don't believ my lovelife will consummate in a happy Cinderella ending. More like, I'll get stuck with some asshole Chickenhawk. Arrrghhh!!! Let's review Myke's lovelife, shall we' Fun fun. Number one: A short one hour half-fling with one of my better friends. We were in a group sleepover three days before I was gonna move to Minneapolis (last June), and he said he was bi. Fifteen minutes later had our arms around each other (I had come out to everybody last Christmas... course you probably already figured that out. Whatever. Just in case you follow your own calendar or something.) Forty-five minutes later had him saying 'Let's just be friends.' He now denies he's bi. Number two: A fling with a guy I met online, whose climax was in a unisex bathroom in the Mall of Americas, in Bloomington, Minesota, this past July. Previously he had told me he'd slept with fifteen people, aged 11-45, as well as making a comment along the lines of 'Hey, is your little brother gay too' I'd love to get two hotties.' Same day: he tells me he has a 20-year-old boyfriend (he was 15). The day after that: he decides to dump me because he doesn't like how I look. Lemme say something, just to counter that (for my own sake). I am not an ugly person. I had three girlfriends prior to that. I almost went to my semi-formal with a girl on each arm. Shut up, I know you're laughing!!! Okay, lemme continue-he wasn't exactly racist in that he dumped me, but it was the way he said it that pissed me off entirely, like 'Hey, you're something that happened to me.' Well, he apologized, and then I tried to chat to him and he logged off. I dunno. So if you haven't totally ditched this article yet, let's continue:
The other day I got IM'ed by some guy in Minnesota. He found my name at a personals board for District 202, a club for gay youth in the Minneapolis/St.Paul area (I lived in Minneapolis for two months this summer, while my dad worked). He was looking for sex, and the conversation ended with me being the virtuous one on the pulpit, lecturing about the downfalls of being horny and sleeping with every guy in sight, and him inquiring about the best porn sites of kids our age. And kid, if you're reading this' It may surprise you, BUT THERE ARE SOME KIDS IN THE FUCKING GAY COMMUNITY THAT HAVE GOT SOME FUCKING DIGNITY AND DON'T LET THEIR FUCKING LIBIDOS RULE THEIR FUCKING LIVES!!! Well, that sure feels better :-) Okay, back to normal. Well, that's about it for this week, but some quotes (Crying, Cheers of Happiness):
'Life's a dick. When it gets hard, fuck it.'-Jason Burgess. And no, he didn't mean it that way, he's straight. *slitty eyes* I know what you all were thinking, you horny bastards! ;) haha.
'Every age, every culture, every custom and tradition has its own character, its own weakness and its own strength, its beauties and ugliness; accepts certain sufferings as matters of course, puts up patiently with certain evils. Human life is reduced to real suffering, to hell, only when two ages, two cultures and religions overlap.'-Harry Halle rin 'Steppenwolf.' By the way, it's a good book, read it, it's by Hermann Hesse, it's weird by a good way, deep stuff...
'THE PRODIGAL SON IS A BARREL OF FUCKING MONKEYS!!!'-Father McNulty in 'Detroit Rock City.'... hahahaha. Okay, I swear to God, I didn't pay to see that, I saw it on a flight!!! You gotta believe me. If you never saw that one, that was the part when they spiked the priest's pizza with shrooms so they could go see the Kiss concert.
Now, at the end of the article: '(Fisher and Glover's) fate, and Winchell's, sugggests that 'Don't ask, don't tell' is an unfufilled promise, not a functioning policy.'-Mark Thompson, in TIME Magazine.
Does anybody else see that 'Don't ask, don't tell' is a hateful policy' Does it <u>solve</u> anything' It solves the government's problem of bad publicity, the army's problem of bad publicity, and it fuels the ongoing hatred against gays in that it assumes that being gay is a bad secret. So feel free to email me on this one, but know this-right now I'm in that bitchy sorta Anti-Flag punk mood, after listening to Rancid for about an hour, and I'm only up to respecting people who know everything about America and have gotta strong opinion about it. Sorry.
Merci Beaucoup shadows stretched onto my pant leg laying by the pool in a tight purple camiosle leotard daisy dukes capris my hair is wet from the spinning of the red faucet as flies sketch self-portraits over white stones i try people pushing me like that glittering on the treecapped mountains like a jewel in the compost heap the bodies of moss crushed up against my window pane as wind crashes into a kamikaze tree and turns it yellow, green i am the flower in your tresses trying to become the important omnipotent dream of a dead america snshine casts a glow in fluorescent lighting over my bathroom mirror and hot stairs blind me doors crashing scaring scarring staring as i crash down from my flying machine in a green sky you are horrified at my and your existences pink flowers bounce up like checks sketched