BuggBlog

FJ Cruisin'

I'm rather sad at the moment -- I have to relinquish the FJ Cruiser I've been tooling around in this week. I'll admit, when I first saw the FJ, I wasn't convinced that a mid-sized SUV modeled on the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man was the best idea. I have officially changed my mind, and the FJ has vaulted to the top of the "vehicles I will consider when replacing my Wrangler in 2007." Really, it's a lot of fun to drive, it looks better in three dimensions than it does on flat paper, the interior is spacious, it's not as obnoxiously over-sized as an Escalade or Expedition, and it rides much smoother than you would expect.

It's not perfect. The rear suicide doors can be a bit awkward, because you have to open the front doors first. The C pillars in the back create blind spots so big they should learn to read Braille, and visibility out the back window is hampered by the spare tire. And, yes, it could stand a better rating for gas mileage (though it does a bit better than my Jeep, not that it would take much), particularly with its thirst for premium.

I don't really care, though. The FJ pretty much hits my niche dead on -- if I don't buy one next year, then I'll probably be buying a Tacoma crew-cab pick-up, which should explain everything you need to know about my automotive personality. Well, along with the fact that the car I buy after the FJ/Tacoma will be a Corvette, God (and business prospects) willing. As a friend of mine said of my Corvette desire, "Are you sure you're gay?"

I'd make a joke about my preference for rear-wheel drive here, but that would be lame.

Ponies and unicorns for everyone!

Somehow, Passport -- the insider's guide to gay travel, don't you know -- tracked me down at my home, and slipped its discreetly wrapped self into my mailbox. The cover, adorned with the obligatory bare-chested and hairless man, advertised a story with Christopher Rice. Now, that's generally enough to make me set fire to any publication without opening it -- do I really fucking need another paean to nepotism in my life? But, I was bored so I flipped through. One thing stood out,  from the lead editorial on the global warming crisis, inspired by Al Gore's recent film.

"[W]e must encourage our elected officials to dedicate themselves to passing laws making it mandatory that 100 percent of the energy we use come from renewal [sic], non-polluting sources within the next 10 years. The time for hesitation and apathy is over. It is up to us as individuals, and as members of the human race, to take control of our destiny."

Because nothing says "I'm serious about the environment" like wildly unrealistic policy proposals that couldn't happen even if the oil companies and Greenpeace got together, held hands, sang Kumbaya and emoted really, really hard. What makes it even more delicious is that this proposal's coming from a magazine that owes its existence to the cheap and easy travel by air and car afforded by petroleum-based transportation.

I count myself among the people who think global warming is a serious concern, who would like to see U.S. dependence on foreign oil lessened (and eventually eliminated), who wants to see alternative fuel sources such as hydrogen powering our transportation. It's hubristic to think that human endeavors have no impact on the environment -- it's also hysteric to believe that the world has degenerated into some big, Malthusian train wreck, when all evidence is that technological advance have generated such astounding quality-of-life increases (and not just in the West).

Do you see what I see?

The libertarians at Reason and Andrew Sullivan are both a little giddy over research showing that shrooms can have a "spiritual effect." Of course, that's for people who are predisposed to believing in or desiring spiritual experiences. I love this sort of news because it's a perfect intro for sharing crazy tripping stories. Don't have any? Don't worry -- those of us who do generally have more than enough to share.

I don't believe I ever tried magic mushrooms -- I could be mistaken, given that some of the memories are a little hazy -- but my first hallucinogenic experience involved about the next best thing, mescaline. On a Saturday night at Tracks. Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I ended up spending a good hour with my head on the bar covering my face, because every time I looked up at all the people I started laughing hysterically. Unsurprisingly, I spent most of the evening by myself, because that type of over-the-top behavior only gets you laid after last call. I did not see God, though I believe He may be the one who smote me with the splitting headache about three hours into the trip. I took it as a sign -- I didn't do it again.

Acid was much easier on the system.

This Perfect Day

So, I wake up early on Saturday morning filled with anxiety and trepidation. It was, after all, time to have Breakfast at Wimbledon and see if my personal lesbian hero Amelie Mauresmo would exact sweet, sweet revenge on Justine Henin-Hardenne for the latter's gastronomic hijinks at January's Australian Open.

Mauresmo won, and I knew that the day would be good.

Then I went to play tennis myself, a singles match against a player who had beaten me in our last match and who I knew would give me trouble. The weather was perfect, the sun stepped in to blind my opponent, I served well and hit a couple of backhands the likes of which I haven't hit in months.

I won, and I knew that the day would be great.

Then I went to play the final regular season match for my USTA 3.5 team, The Advengers. Although I started off annoyed by doubles opponents whose strategy appeared to be to play at the pace of a seriously herniated tortoise, my partner and I proceeded to play some really excellent tennis and stomping some butt for a 6-1, 6-1 win.

Our opponents accused us of being 4.0 players, and I knew that the day was turning out to be pretty frickin' awesome.

So then I took Cavin out to buy his birthday present -- they didn't have red so we settled for pink -- and we had some dinner and a couple of Czech Lagers (and half a Hefeweizen for him) and I had one of those moments where I viscerally felt through my whole body why I fell in love with him.

And I felt that way even before the Lagers, so I know it was pretty much a perfect day.

Why I suck at blogging

No, it's not just because I blog these days with the regularity of a senior citizen on an all macaroni & cheese diet. It's because I come across something of great interest to me -- more information on the murder a few weeks back of two Iraqi tennis players. I first heard of the story through Andrew Sullivan on his blog, so I think, Hey, Andrew's not a tennis fanatic like me and likely won't see this on his own, so I should just send this right along. So, I did that and he linked to it and now many, many more people know the apparent facts behind this truly appalling incident.

So, why does that make me suck? Because I forgot that in blogworld I was supposed to write something about something that someone else already wrote before passing that something plus my something along to a big famous Googlicious blog such as Andrew's so I could shamelessly blogwhore myself begging for a hat tip to drive traffic to my poor, little underused blog. Because it's not about the ideas, it's about tricking people into linking to you. So, here's a lame entry with a trackback to half-assedly make up for it.

While I'm at it -- please go read the first link in particular. Pointless self-referential joking aside, what happened to those Iraqi players was truly vile. As a gay person in the U.S., it's way too easy to think that dangerous religious fundamentalism only comes in the shape of a cross. If you have the time and inclination, you should also look at attending the D.C. protest on July 19 that's part of the International Day of Action Against Homophobic Persecution in Iran -- 5 p.m. at Dupont Circle (contact Rob Anderson at rcand@mac.com). I commented about the hanging of gay teens in Iran last year and the "don't rock the boat" approach so wrongly advocated by too many when it comes to criticizing homophobic and theocratic governments (outside of the U.S. and Europe, of course).