the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Category: Blogging and the Internet (Page 37 of 57)

Giving Thanks #2

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Today, I attended an amazing seminar at the Anaheim Hilton, titled “People Pleaser No More!” led by the brilliant Dr. Schmoozeno Schmutz. It was as if I had three years of intense therapy in one day (with free pasta bar included for lunch). I learned that I feel “smaller” than other people, when I should feel “bigger.” I shouldn’t worry about speaking my mind or telling others the truth. Others will still like me, and if they don’t — to hell with them and good riddance!

This new attitude is going to trickle down into my blogging style. No more self-deprecating humor or putting myself down in posts. There now will be a new regime at Citizen of the Month. I’m not going to be a “cheerleader” in your comments anymore. If your husband divorces you, I’m not going to be all cutesy and nicey-nice by saying, “It’s his loss! You can do better.” I’m going to tell you what I really think — “It was all your fault. Maybe if you would have given him head every once in a while, he would have stayed!”

I recently wrote a few thank you emails that I sent to some of you about the birthday gifts and cards that I received. When I re-read my notes today, having graduated Dr. Schmutz’s seminar, I got sick to my stomach. Each note is peppered with “loser” phrases like “you are so generous,” “you are so sweet,” and “I’m so glad to be your friend.” Tie me with an apron and gag me with a spoon. Why do I have to make believe that I’m not worthy? LOSER! Dr. Schmutz has taught me that I AM worthy. In fact, rather than being all grateful and crying with joy over you “caring” about me, I should be wondering why didn’t I get MORE GIFTS and from more of you?! Where were you, Mrs. Mogul and Brooke, for example?! After all, YOU all should be grateful that I still hang around with you when I could be blogging with my peeps — Dooce, Amalah, and the other A-listers.

On Sunday, I received the last bunch of cards and gifts from Danny. Sure, I could say “thank you” and how much I appreciate it, but let’s cut the crap, should we? I think you’ll respect me more if I am more honest with you and tell you how I really feel about what you sent me. Otherwise, I’d be doing a disservice to Dr. Schmoozeno Schmutz’s teachings and to myself.

Heather B, Fatma, Evil Eye Cafe, Mist 1, Karlababble, Whoorl, Miriam, and Otir

Yeah, it’s nice that you sent me some cute birthday cards, but WTF, where are the GIFTS? Couldn’t you have at least included a few dollars tucked inside?

Elisabeth

I enjoy you as a blogger, but I never want to meet you in person. You seem completely inconsiderate. Who in their right mind sends someone the entire collection of Proust — six books?! I couldn’t get through Volume One in college and you want me to read the whole series? Are you a freaking SADIST? Are you doing this because I once called the French a bunch of anti-Semites and this is your payback?

Paris Parfait

I’m convinced that you and Elisabeth are working in cahoots. It must be the French connection. You sent me “Reflections on Exile” by Edward W. Said, knowing that I once took a college course with the late Professor Said. You knew that I only got a B in that class, and clearly you wanted to “rub it in” that you are smarter than me. And now I have to explain to Sophia why I’m reading a book by a Palestinian activist! Thanks for the “gift.”

Ariel

You sent me a copy of “Out of the Ordinary” by John Ronson. Pretentious! I never read British novelists. When are you guys going to accept that your literary heyday ended with George Bernard Shaw? I’ve already exchanged the book at Amazon for Paula Abdul’s new autobiography. She is an American.

Sputnik

You sent me “Don’t Make Me Think” by Steve Krug. I wish you did some thinking yourself before you bought me this insulting gift. The book is all about bad website design. What are you trying to tell me about my blog? That it is ugly and user-unfriendly? Why don’t you just stab me in the back and give it a good twist?

Churlita

An Iowa lottery ticket? Like Iowa actually pays off anything worthwhile in their lottery. Are the winnings in corn cobs?

Michele V

Yet another losing lottery ticket… I won nothing, bupkes, AGAIN! How about sending me another one, or two, or three?

Ali

Multi-colored sea glass from the beach near La Rochelle, France? How do I know these are really from France? How do I know you just didn’t break a bottle of Budweiser and put the pieces into an envelope? If I cut myself on one of these, I’m suing you before you can say “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”.

TherapyDoc

You’ll have to explain to everyone what you sent me, because just thinking about this mirror paper/”self-help toolkit” makes me dizzy and nauseated!

McKay

Certificates for a dinner entree and a movie? At California Pizza Kitchen? I’ve been there already. Couldn’t you have at least found me a new place to eat? I like sushi.

Wendy

While I’m sure you enjoyed these two romantic comedy DVDs you sent me, did it occur to you that I am a man, and I would much prefer a movie with some tits and trucks blowing up? “Love Actually?” Do you think I’m gay? The $25 gift certificate for IHOP was a nice gesture, but what the hell do I need that for? Do you know how many coupons I have to IHOP already?

Bre

A Penn State t-shirt? If you actually read this blog, you know I went to college at an IVY LEAGUE school! Do you think I’m going to allow a Penn State t-shirt to touch my ivy-covered chest?

Jen

An Alabama t-shirt? It may be “Sweet Home Alabama” to you, but have you ever seen anyone Jewish wearing an Alabama t-shirt?

Paperback Writer

A book on how to speak like a Pittsburgher? I’m married to Sophia and I still haven’t learned any Russian, for Pete’s sake! Now you want me to learn YOUR language?

Suburban and Jason

Silly Putty and a whoopee cushion? What do you think I am — a five years old?

Expat Jane

The Korean tea set you sent from Seoul is very pretty, in a cutesy Asian kind of way, but I already sold it on E-bay. You may have missed some of my earlier posts, but most of my regular readers know that I DON’T LIKE KOREANS.

All of my previous gift givers, just count your blessings that I thanked you before I attended this seminar by Dr. Schmoozeno Schmutz.  That means you —Two Roads, Alexandra, Question Girl, Becky, Noel, Lefty, Nelumbo, Leezer, Rhea, Eileen, Jocelyn, Irina, Michele, Bella, Don’t Call Me Sir, Zoely, Claire, Postmodern Sass, Colorful Prose, Communicatrix, Everyday Goddess, Karl, Old Lady of the Hills, Lynnster, Nancy French, Richard, Mr. Fabulous, NSC, Buzzgirl, Leesa, Jurgen Nation, Hilly , Deezee, PocketCT, Blundering American), Ash, Kapgar, Albert, V-Grrrl, Javacurls, Fresh New Hell, Spinning Girl), EEK, Ellen, Alissa and Evan, Orieyenta and little Orieyenta, Psychotoddler, Pearl, Deanna, Katie, Mo, Margaret, Stepping Over Junk, Caron, Finn, Nance, Lauren, A Take on the World, Blitz Kreig, Tamar, Doris, Daisy, Better Safe than Sorry, Jules, Roberta, Ascender, Introspectre, Ms. Sizzle, Dave, and Danny.

OK, my birthday 2007 is now officially over!   Much love from Sophia as well!

Letter from Iran

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Today is Passover.   It’s one of my favorite holidays, because of the food and the re-telling of the dramatic story of the Israelites leaving Egypt.   Who cares how true it is!  I perfectly understand weaving a tale filled with half-truths and exaggerations.  Maybe the Israelites just crossed a little river, but who’s going to see that movie OR join that religion?  Let’s make it the entire RED SEA!  And let’s give it some action, with the Pharoah and the Egyptians at their heels, racing to capture them.

Sadly, the Middle East is still a place of conflict and hatred.   Arabs hate Israelis.   Sunnis hate Shiites.   Our troops are fighting in Iraq.   Iran is creating nuclear weapons. 

I hate to sound Pollyannish, but I think we’re all basically the same at heart.  If you’re a man — I don’t care if you are from Toledo or Timbuktu — you have the same SEVEN BASIC worries as every other man.

1)  Can I get a date to the prom?

2)  Will my wife still look good in twenty-five years or will she look like her mother?

3)  Is there any safe way to make my penis even bigger?

4)  Is this the clitoris and should I ask her to make sure?

5)  Why do I make such a small salary?

6)  Why do the assholes from college always become the most successful ones?

7)  Boxers of briefs?

We think we are different culturally, mostly out of pride or nationalism, but it isn’t true.  We are all the same.  And every once in a while there is a brave hero who acknowledges that.

One of these heroes is Hedieh.    Hedieh lives in Iran.  He wrote me this email from Iran.  Af first I thought it was spam, but it is actually from Iran —

Hi,
    
I have no idea how inconvenient this might be to write you an e-mail, but I thought it might be interesting for you to know that someone reads your blog from IRAN.
    
I was once browsing through weblogs trying to find one who talks about life, women, family, tough times, a bit of politics,…. And I came across your blog.  I started reading, and before I know it, I had been scrolling down for hours. Anyhow, just wanted to let you know that I truly enjoy your writing, your ideas and your style.
    
Oh, and you are funny, really.
    
Thanx
Cheers
Hedieh

Cheers to you Hedieh.   I knew it!  Deep down in their hearts, all men enjoy corny sex jokes!   In fact, wasn’t it the great Persian love poets of the Safavid era who combined both mysticism and erotic passion? 

Can blogging create world peace?  Hedieh, please tell you friends about some of the other blogs on my blogroll.  Read them carefully.    A bunch or weirdos, right?   Neurotic.  Horny.  Confused.  But dangerous?  War-monging?   Nah.   The just want to eat hummus, have orgasms, and watch sports on big-screen TVs, just like you do!   Why can’t we all get along?

May peace come about through blogging!  Happy Passover!

(update — this post makes less sense now that I learned that Hedieh is a woman!)

Thanks for the mention about “The Secret,” Star Tribune of Minneapolis-St.Paul.   I love Minneapolis, home to such wonderful people as Voix de Michele, Not Faint Hearted, and Mary Tyler Moore.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Double Entendres and Croissants

April 12th

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Ever since I moved back in with Sophia, she’s been trying to get me to move out of the house and into my own apartment.   I’m always telling her that I’m too depressed to go through all the trouble of looking through the classifieds, etc. 

Now I have something to admit to you.   Sophia cleverly found a way to break me out of my depression.  She threw this amazing virtual surprise birthday party for me, in which so many of you sent such lovely cards and gifts.  All your kindness and friendship worked better than Prozac!

But here is the actual surprising part, and it is a little embarrassing to reveal, but  — it wasn’t really my birthday!   The entire event was all set up by Sophia as a last-ditch effort to “make me feel good,” right before our trip to Portland,  so I wouldn’t have any excuses not to move out the house when we returned. 

Isn’t Sophia devious, but amazingly clever?  I’ve started visiting some vacancies today in Los Angeles with my mother, thanks to Sophia’s push (and with your generous help!)

Luckily, I have some other good news.  My REAL birthday is coming up on April 12th!  If you were unable to send a gift the first time, here is your opportunity to do so now!  I would also love it if everyone who sent me a card or gift for my fake birthday, does it again for my authentic birthday.  It would mean so much to me.  All of you are such good friends!

Since I’m not sure if I’m going to be living with Sophia or in my new apartment in two weeks, please send all packages to Danny.

Thank you in advance for making my upcoming birthday on April 12th the best one I’ve ever had!

Love, Neil

The Sprint Phone and the Ticking Clock

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A year ago, I wrote about being offered a free Sprint phone as part of the Sprint Ambassador Program for bloggers.   All the service, music, TV on the phone and other special doodads were included for free for 6 months.  Sophia, being the gadget freak of the family, was extremely jealous, so much so that she convinced Sprint that she should get one too as my blog editor. 

After six months, the service was cut off and Sophia went into severe withdrawal.   She insisted that I pimp myself out on my blog so Sprint would include us in Phase II of their Ambassador Program.  What I didn’t realize was, that during the six months, Sophia had been giving Sprint extensive feedback on the phone and the various services, which explained why Sprint offered Sophia a different free phone for Phase II, but told me to go to hell and use the Devil’s pay phone.

Phase II is now coming to an end, and all week, Sophia has been acting all jittery.  She even kicked me out of bed a few nights ago, saying there wasn’t enough room for the two of us AND her Sprint phone all in the same bed.   The next morning, I found the two of them cuddling together, the flip-top of the LG Fusic phone leaning comfortably on the softness of Sophia’s right breast, singing her a love song that was a free purchase, of course, under the terms of the Ambassador Program.

Two nights ago, we were driving home from the Valley, stuck in traffic on the 405.  Sophia was reading her email on her phone.

“Oh God!  Sprint is announcing Phase III!   They’re already chosen the participants, but are leaving 100 slots for previous Ambassadors!  The first 100 people… First come, first served!  Stop the car!  We need to sign up.”

“Can’t we wait until we get home?”

“Are you crazy?  It’s only 100 people!  And it’s some brand new exciting-sounding phone.”

“Can’t you sign up ON the phone?”

“No, we have to go online.  I have the laptop in the trunk.  We need to find some place with wi-fi.”

“We’ll be home in a half hour.”

She glanced down at her mobile Yahoo account.

“Look, there’s another email for you.  They’re offering you a chance to sign up, too!”

“They are?  That changes everything!   We need to stop the car right now!”

I twirled the steering wheel, exiting the freeway, nearly causing three accidents, all that time thinking who gets to sign up for the phone first.  After all – it’s first come, first served.

Right off the freeway was a McDonald’s.

“McDonald’s has wi-fi.”

“They do?”

“Yeah, they all do.  It’s like $2.95 an hour.”

“OK, let’s do it.”

We pulled into McDonald’s.  Sophia set up the laptop as I ordered a diet Coke, not because I was thirsty, but because I felt weird sitting there without ordering something.  Microsoft Windows booted up, but we didn’t receive any wireless signal.  

My luck.  I picked the only McDonald’s in Los Angeles County without wi-fi.

“There must be a Starbucks around here,” said Sophia.

“Do you know how much wi-fi is in Starbucks?!”

“Now’s not the time to be chintzy.  The clock is ticking.”

I visualized bloggers around the country typing on their PCs, signing up for a free phone while some Sprint executive was sitting in Sprint headquarters counting down how many of those hundred extra phones were left to hand out first come, first serve. 

Sprint Executive:  “100… 99… 98… 97…”

It felt like we were in an episode of “24,” and the split-screen was filling up with several different events all happening at once —

1)  Sophia adjusting the laptop in different directions, hoping to steal some wi-fi.

2)  Neil asking the McDonald’s manager for the location of the nearest Starbucks.

3)   The Sprint executive packing phones into boxes, one by one —

Sprint Executive:  “91…90… 89…88…”

“I have an idea!” I told Sophia.  “We can use the Sprint phone from Phase II to help us get the Sprint phone from Phase III.”

Sophia nodded, understanding my suggestion.  The Phase II Sprint phone came with a USB cord that you could connect to the laptop, so you could use the phone as a modem.

I ran outside to the parking lot to search the glove compartment of Sophia’s Prius for the USB data cord.

Sprint Executive:  “81… 80… 79… 78…”

I “sprinted” back into the fast-food joint, clutching the cord.  We connected everything together — the laptop into McDonald’s outlet, the modem into the USB slot, the data cord into the Sprint phone.  As we were about to make lift-off, the phone started to beep and sputter.  Uh-oh, it was seriously out of juice.

“I told you to charge it last night!” yelled Sophia.

“It’s your phone.  Not mine! I don’t have the Phase II fancy-schmancy phone like you do!”  I screamed back.

As in any tense situation, the affected parties began to blame each other for the miserable turn of events.

“Wait…wait…wait….” I shouted.  “I have that emergency Energizer phone charger that Chelle sent me for my birthday!   It’s in the car, still in the package!”

If ever another blogger had saved my marriage, this surely was it.

I ran to the car again. 

Sprint Executive:  “61… 60… 59…”

By the time I rushed back in, holding Chelle’s gift, everyone in the McDonald’s was staring at us, wondering if we doing some top secret government work.

Sprint Executive:  “52… 51…”

All I had to do now was open the package, but it was impossible to do, either with your hands… or with a McDonald’s plastic fork.    I cursed Energizer and their Bunny.    Luckily, a car key finally did the job and sliced the plastic.   I extracted the emergency charger and tried to plug it into the Sprint phone, but I couldn’t figure out how to make it fit.

“Can’t you read?!” said Sophia, annoyed.  “This charger is for your Nokia phone, not for my Sprint LG Phone.”

“Why do they have to make this electronics crap so complicated?!”

Sophia and I glared at each other.  Things were getting worse by the second.  Visions of divorce papers floated over our heads, all because of our greediness for this new Sprint phone.

Sprint Executive:  “48… 47… 46… 45… 44…”

Our quest seemed hopeless.  But as “The Secret” has shown us, if you believe it, good things can happen.

“Over here!  Come over here!”  called out a Voice.  Was it God?

No.  It was some Asian guy in a UCLA shirt, sitting with his Pocket PC on the other side of McDonald’s, beckoning to us.

“If you come over here you can steal wi-fi from the 1-800-Mattress store next door!”

We quickly made the move to the other side of the McDonald’s, right next to the display for their new “Honey Mustard Grilled Chicken Snack Wrap.”   The good Samaritan’s kindness made us feel guilty for the harsh words we exchanged with each other.  We told each other how much we loved each other, and begged that the OTHER sign up first.

“You go first,” I told Sophia.

“No, no, you go.” she said.

The clock was still ticking. 

Sprint Executive:  “31… 30… 29… 28…”

“Well, one of us should sign up already!  Go.” she said.

“OK, if you insist!”

Sprint Executive:  “21… 20…19…”

Frankly, I was really glad I was going first.  I mean, Sophia is great and all, but I AM the blogger.  I’m the one who deserves the phone, right?  I signed up for the Sprint Ambassador Program, Phase III.  It took me about ten minutes, because I had some technical problems.  I received a message that I would be under consideration. 

“My turn!  My turn!” cried Sophia, almost pulling her curly hair out.  I gave her the laptop and she signed up as well.  She got the same message:  under consideration.

Today, Sophia received an email that she was accepted.  They loved all the feedback that she has been giving Sprint.   Her new Sprint phone was in the mail. 

I checked my email.  I received nothing except for a few more spams telling me where to get some Viagra on the cheap. 

The Sanjaya of the Blogosphere

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My mother arrived in Los Angeles today, in preparation for Passover next week.   After she unpacked, Sophia and I showed her all of the birthday cards that I received from other bloggers.

“You see, Mom, friendship is more important than actually making a decent living through writing.” 

“Well, let’s not get carried away this…” added Sophia.

My mother opened up a cutesy hand-made card from a Canadian blogger.

“And so many women!”

“Neilochka’s very popular with female bloggers.” explained Sophia.

I beamed with pride.  My mother may have once imagined me as a Jewish doctor or lawyer, but I doubt she dreamed that I would grow up to become an international sex symbol. 

“You’re like that boy on TV,” she said.

“What boy?”

“The boy in American Idol.   The boy all the girls like.  The Indian boy.”

“Sanjaya?”

“Sanjaya!” Sophia repeated, laughing.

I felt insulted by my own mother.  She just nodded.

“When I saw him the first time on TV, I knew he was going to win.  He has so much personality.  So much more than his sister.”

“Personality!?  He’s awful,” I protested.

“Oh, yeah?  I bet you five cents that he wins.” offered my high-gambling mother, her recent Mah-Jongg winnings making her cocky.

For the rest of the day, my mother’s words rang in my head, making me wonder if I should have accepted that Prozac from that therapist last week. 

While my mother was upstairs, I cornered Sophia in the kitchen.

“I’m not like Sanjaya.  Am I?” I stuttered anxiously, acting just like a person with a dependent personality structure.

“Well, maybe your mother has a point.” said Sophia.   “I think little girls like Sanjaya because he is safe and non-threatening.”

“Are you saying female bloggers think I’m safe and non-threatening?”

“Well…”

There was a silence heard around Redondo Beach.

“How can I be safe and non-threatening?!  I’m always writing about sex… about how I want to f**k them!”

“Yeah, well… sure… you write about it.   Sanjaya also wore a mohawk last night, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to be a punk rocker.”

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A Year Ago On Citizen of the Month:  The Best Teacher I Ever Had

Well-Developed Intuition

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Sophia got this email today, supposedly from the Ukranian woman in this photo. It links to some dopey website matching American men and young Russian girls.

Hi, dear —

I can imagine that you will wonder to get today the letter from unknown, but pretty woman from such far country like Ukraine. As for me I could not yet believe that I write to foreign man whom I don’t know, but whom I do want. The reason of my letter is very simple: I want to find my love, my soul mate, that is why I am here. I decided to try to find love with you. I feel with all fibres of my soul that you are descent man and your heart is kind and is able to love. You may ask me how I know. I will tell you that I have well-developed intuition and my intuition chose you among thousands. and I want you to become the One…

I ask you not to ignore my letter and not to throw it to the rubbish bin. Read it, please, as attentively as you can. I am as serious as i have never been. I am fed up to be lonely and to feel jelous if I see loving couples. I want to scream, I want to cry, but I doing nothing I won’t change situation. If love don’t come to me, I want to invite love to come into my heart. And that is why I need to find my soul mate. If you agree to help me to find love, become my soul mate -write me, I will wait (at some website)

Waiting for your mail

Nastena

Sophia: “Isn’t that funny?”

Neil: “I dunno. It’s kind of touching.”

Sophia: “Are you crazy? It is email spam saying I’m her male soulmate!”

Neil: “Maybe it’s my new poetic sensibility. I feel her yearning for love.”

Sophia: “It’s fake!”

Neil: “What is “fake” after all? Isn’t all writing “fake?” On the other hand, maybe life itself is an illusion? And language is the reality. Do we even know if the material world exists outside of language?”

Sophia: “Yes, we do. And I STILL want you to clean the guest bathroom before your mother shows up for Passover.”

Neil: “Wait, wait… poetic inspiration —
“Ah, graceful toilet, porcelain throne,
Sitting in the corner, yet all alone…””

(THE REST OF THIS POST WAS DELETED ON THE ADVICE OF THE BLOG EDITOR AND THE SUBJECT COMPLETELY CHANGED)

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I have a lot of bad qualities. I can be vain. I can be passive-aggressive. I sometimes stare at cleavage a little too long. But I DO KEEP MY WORD. For my birthday, a few bloggers sent me scratch-off lottery tickets from other states and Canada. In a previous post about my birthday, I said that if I won something, I would share the winnings with my fellow bloggers. Well, good news! Indiana’s own Oospy Daisy sent me a “9’s in a Line” scratch-off from the Hoosier Lottery, and we’ve hit the jackpot. Three nines in a row! Ten dollars!

Who wants in? Just tell me and once I work out the long division, I will mail you a check with your share of the winnings. It’s the least I could do to repay your for all of YOUR kindness.

By the way, Danny has been in New York, so I still haven’t seen some of your birthday cards and gifts, which are still in his living room. So, if I haven’t thanked you yet, don’t blame me, blame Danny.

Quiz

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For which website am I LEAST likely to have written a post today?

A) ebony-ivory.oregon.gov — African-Americans Who Love Portland

B) do-svidanya.ru — The Self-Help Site for Separated Men with Foreign-Born Wives

C) members-only.biz — A Forum for Co-Dependent Men and Their Co-Dependent Penises

D) poetrythursday.org — An online project that builds community by encouraging bloggers to read and enjoy poetry, as well as sharing it with others.

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month: Teacher of the Year

Dear Emily Blogpost

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Dear Emily Blogpost,

I’m a male blogger who lives in the Los Angeles area.  Recently, it was my birthday, and I received cards and gifts from other bloggers.  Today I started writing “thank you” emails.  Things started out well.  I sent four emails, but then I suddenly stopped, feeling myself going into a panic.  Sweat poured down onto my shirt.  What was the problem?  I feared that I had made a terrible mistake in blog etiquette. 

I quickly reread my notes and it was just as I had feared –  at the end of each note I signed things off at the end as, “Love, Neil.” 

Now, while I am fond of these bloggers, I’m not sure I actually “love” them in the traditional sense.  I probably was overdoing the literary hyperbole, which is a frequent problem of mine as a writer.  When I used the word “love,” I hoped to convey a friendly fondness, much like a person can love a cat, or a bowl of Fruit Loops.  I hope that this “love” is not misinterpreted by others to mean “I am now stalking you” or “I know your bra size is 36D and I think about you when I caress the Bali Bras at Target,” or “meet me in the Westin at LAX, room 1201 on Saturday at 3PM so we can **** for a couple of hours on Westin’s trademarked signature Heavenly Bed (with ten layers of comfort!).

Perhaps I should just stop writing, “Love, Neil” on my thank you notes. especially to other men.  I thought about ending each email by saying, “Your friend, Neil,” but that seems lame, as if we hang out together and play Texas Hold Em on Thursday Nights or go to see action movies together.   “Your Blog Associate, Neil” is even worse, because it sounds like some new-fangled job description at Google.

Eh, maybe I’ll just go back to “Love, Neil” and hope someone hot misinterprets it and shows up at the Westin.

Emily Blogpost, please help!

Loves Too Much

P.S. — In a sidenote, while we were travelling, Sophia and I found it amusing that hotels still don’t have 13th floors in 2007.  Isn’t this the silliest superstition to have in modern times?  You can bring a hooker to your room, but can’t sleep on the 13th Floor?  Why not just ban mirrors and black cats?  Hell, Sophia and I got MARRIED on October 13th!

A Year Ago on Citizen of the Month:  Meeting Barry at Canter’s

City of Bitchin Beautiful Bloggers

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City on the Bay.

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We had a great day today. It started out with us meeting Dagny and Buzzgirl. We had Sunday brunch (everyone in SF eats brunch), saw a lot of gay men with perfect bodies, met Buzzgirl’s sophisticated twelve year old daughter who mocked my French, and Buzzgirl took us on a tour of the “real” San Francisco that the tourists never see.

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At night, we went to a Thai restaurant with Stacy from Jurgen Nation and her super-smart boyfriend, Matt. Here is Stacy with her always-present Nikon camera. She loves taking photos so much, she even asked the restaurant manager if she could take photos of the interesting lanterns hanging in the adjacent room.

When we left the restaurant, some very talky homeless guy passed by and Matt quickly moved to block Stacy from any danger. I just stood there and watched. I didn’t even notice much, until Sophia told me how manly and gentlemanly she thought that was of Matt.  Thanks a lot, Matt. Next time we meet Stacy, I hope she leaves you at home.

Tomorrow — Carmel, then back to LA on Tuesday!

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