In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.

The drainpipe was rattling on the house today and we had to tie it down.

One thing hurricanes make us think about is that Neil Young song, “Like a Hurricane.” (Hmm, wonder why? Lol.)

When we were in high school, we were obsessed with Live Rust. Especially the electric LP, sides 3 and 4 (except for “Tonight’s the Night,” which was always kind of a downer).

Then one day we left it out in the car and the LPs melted and we had to throw it away.

But we kept the sleeves, because we loved staring at those blurry photographs.

How fucking awesome was it that Neil Young had that pin of Jimi Hendrix on his guitar strap?

Probably not that awesome, actually, but at the time it seemed that way. Plus all the roadies dressed as Jawas!

A bunch of us made a “time capsule” when we graduated from high school: we put in those Neil Young record sleeves because we could see ourselves in twenty-five years, rockin’ out just like Neil.

Lol.

That thing is buried somewhere on our high school campus.

We hope it stays that way for a long time.


In which the Tsarina exhibits a seraphic aura.

Friends…not every cat is a lolcat.

(Photo and “seraphic aura” language by CBNY.)


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with birds.

With the addition of Sarah Palin to the Republican ticket, the choice in the 2008 election is even more clear: it is those who embody the ethos of the city — the metropolis — versus the graceless, who are too afraid to doubt. We are consoled that this conflict has been ongoing for thousands of years.

I hope you love birds, too.

–Emily Dickinson


In which The Gay Recluse looks through leaves at the sky.

For a while we were thinking about watching some of the Republican convention.

But — incredibly — it seems even dumber than the Olympics the Democratic convention.

It’s hard to imagine people living their lives as politicians, or even journalists. But somehow they do it!

It’s strange to think that these people want to control our lives.

When we can barely control our own.


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.

Summer was a waste.

“I, too am obsessed with the George Washington Bridge, and have been ever since as stoned youths me and my friends cavorted in the park on the New Jersey side that is directly below the place where the roadway meets the land. We were convinced that the Bridge is the largest thing in the world. For a true enthusiast such as yourself, I strongly recommend a stroll across the span, and then a picnic lunch along the walking paths underneath. Disclaimer: individual results may vary; inebriants are recommended to enhance the forcefulness of the desired optical effects.”

– The Blind Architect, 2008.


In which The Gay Recluse reports on monthly traffic whoring metrix to the Board of Directors.

I. Summary
OMG we were such whores, barely writing a word about anything and relying on an old post about women’s beach volleyball for almost all of our traffic! August was a stable month.

II. Traffic Whoring Metrix
WordPress
Total Views August: 10,435
Grand Total Number of Views: 91,282
Monthly Breakdown

  • September: 68
  • October: 1959
  • November: 3528
  • December: 3112
  • January: 4591
  • February: 6545
  • March: 15,033
  • April: 13,957
  • May: 8995
  • June: 10,540
  • July: 12,519
  • August: 10,435

SiteMeter
August Visitors: 9061
August Page Views: 12,388

Monthly Traffic Whoring Charts

Daily Traffic Whoring Charts

Technorati (As of August 31, 2008)
Whoring Rank: 94,440 (down from 91,512)
Whoring Authority: 70 (down from 74)

III. Feed Stats
Feedburner
65 subscribers (up from 59)

Bloglines
11 subscribers (up from 10)

IV. Major Links

None! We didn’t even try!

V. Forecast

Ok, we’ve been phoning it in. September will be better, we promise.


In which Zephyr gets political.

Friends! Did you not hear it?

In these dire times, we must always remember one thing.

Not every cat is a lolcat.


In which The Gay Recluse hates smug people of any political persuasion.

Aww, NYT “Domestic Disturbances” columnist Judith Warner is upset! She doesn’t understand why we have to spend so much money on pets, when we could just take them out in the backyard and shoot them when they get hurt or sick, like they used to do in the good old days. Srsly, that’s what she wrote, quoting some dipshit from “rural North Carolina.” She sums it up like this: “It seems to me that pet ownership has become – like so many other aspects of modern ‘parenthood’ – a realm in which the goalposts have been moved to greater and greater lengths of expense and absurdity.” Ha ha, we know some guys from rural North Carolina that would say the same thing about women, too, Judith! The comments are really sad, though, because in addition to all the scolds like Judith, you can tell she really hurt a lot of people’s feelings, sad losers like us who don’t even exist in her world because we’re not straight and married with children.  But some people were very eloquent and deserve a column of their own! Like Jen, who writes: “A person who loves animals should not be an object of contempt,” and Ed: “Life is too short — and sometimes too difficult. A dog can make all the difference in the world. I know it has for me.”

As for Sarah Palin, she’s basically a self-described fucking Nazi evangelical Christian, so we cocksuckers don’t exist in her world either. (Or at least not as equals.)

There’s a lot of beauty in the world. Why do we get the sense that Judith Warner and Sarah Palin are equally incapable of seeing any of it? Part of us wants to know what they would say about Beatrice, and part of us already knows, which is why we hate them both.


In which The Gay Recluse is tired.

Bedtime.

Sometimes even the bridge seems small and far away under the tumult of the sky; once crushed with regret and longing, we are inspired by its patience.

–The Gay Recluse


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with campanula.

Before we bought this variety, we always wondered why it was called a bellflower.

Campanula is Latin for “little bell.”

Wikipedia


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.

“Love is perceiving and perception is anguish.”

— James Baldwin, Just Above My Head


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.

Change we can believe in.

“The George Washington Bridge over the Hudson is the most beautiful bridge in the world. Made of cables and steel beams, it gleams in the sky like a reversed arch. It is blessed. It is the only seat of grace in the disordered city. It is painted an aluminum color and, between water and sky, you see nothing but the bent cord supported by two steel towers. When your car moves up the ramp the two towers rise so high that it brings you happiness; their structure is so pure, so resolute, so regular that here, finally, steel architecture seems to laugh. The car reaches an unexpectedly wide apron; the second tower is very far away; innumerable vertical cables, gleaming against the sky, are suspended from the magisterial curve which swings down and then up. The rose-colored towers of New York appear, a vision whose harshness is mitigated by distance.”

– Le Corbusier, When the Cathedrals Were White, 1947.


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the GWB.

July is the new August, and August is the new September.

Sometimes even the bridge seems small and far away under the tumult of the sky; once crushed with regret and longing, we are inspired by its patience.

–The Gay Recluse


In which The Gay Recluse is still voting for Obama.

He’s not Janice Dickinson, but whatevs — did he not promise to mandate Sunday bagpipe maneuvers in the park?

Let us now make clear our one non-negotiable demand: henceforth we will limit our support of presidential candidates to those who promise — upon assuming the office — to mandate the playing of bagpipes at the entrance to our favorite park each Sunday afternoon. Candidates, take heed! Do not take this lightly! Of all the demands we have made — marriage equality, environmental protections, universal healthcare, improved public transportation, redistribution of wealth — this is the one you should approach most carefully, for we would never be willing to negotiate or “water-down” its essence.

–The Gay Recluse, January, 2008


In which The Gay Recluse loves the weeping blue atlas cedar and the first episode of The Hills.

We finally saw the first episode of The Hills.

Lo was really mean! (But so was Audrina.)

We’re never interested in Heidi and Spencer.

Mostly we watch for Lauren.

There’s something heartbreaking about her idealism.

We can’t help but think of her ten years from now, when everything will have changed.

And how little will remain.


In which The Gay Recluse loves trees.

So we sit down on the subway next to this guy who starts to aggressively hum. (We’re like: why us?)

And then he karate chops at the air in front of him.

We ignore him and think about Chamaecyparis obtusa.


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with The George Washington Bridge.

Summer predicts the fall.

I too had an obsession with the GWB when I lived in the Heights in the ’80s. Mine was doing as much cruising as possible under that majestic bridge. The “little red lighthouse” was used for a probably unintended use on many an occasion.

Commenter David


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.

Most days we contemplate the bridge and wish that it would bring the same sense of order to our thoughts as it does the millions of cars that constantly stream over it.

“I, too am obsessed with the George Washington Bridge, and have been ever since as stoned youths me and my friends cavorted in the park on the New Jersey side that is directly below the place where the roadway meets the land. We were convinced that the Bridge is the largest thing in the world. For a true enthusiast such as yourself, I strongly recommend a stroll across the span, and then a picnic lunch along the walking paths underneath. Disclaimer: individual results may vary; inebriants are recommended to enhance the forcefulness of the desired optical effects.”

– The Blind Architect, 2008.


In which Dante hates pigeons and windows.

Friends! We are literally confronted by this thing we hate — we would kill it in a second if given even the slightest opportunity! — yet must resign ourselves to our inability to do anything about it. (Also: not every cat is a lolcat.)


In which The Gay Recluse loves the Manhattan Times.

Hey, New York Times! Instead of David Brooks, William Kristol, Maureen Dowd and so on (Zzzzzz), maybe you should turn the column over to a new generation of writers, who aren’t afraid to tell it like it is, and moreover, know how to entertain! We suggest you start with Tina Ritter, who wrote the following piece in this week’s Manhattan Times (bolding is ours):

Teenage Brain: Work is way more relaxed than school

by Tina Ritter

When I was little, my dad would  come home from the office, and over dinner my mother or my brother or I would ask: “So, Barry (or “daddy” as the case may be), how was work?” And he would answer, with a level of utmost predictability, “busy.” I never understood this. When I went into work with him for Take Your Daughter to Work Day, I thought it was always fun times, like a perpetual birthday party, but donuts and coffee instead of cake and ice cream. And of course adults were having fun at work, because that was just the way the world worked. You go to school for all of your childhood, you listen to your parents and life just isn’t fair, and then you’re an adult and you’re allowed to have fun.

It always amuses parents when their children insist that adulthood is significantly better than childhood. Adults always respond with the hardships of adulthood like paying taxes, having to work and, depending on the mood of the parent, the hardship of having children. But having spent my entire summer interning and holding a “real job,” I’m convinced that all this time, the kids have been right. Six weeks (and counting) sitting at a desk job in a Manhattan health care provider has given me the following insight, which dispels several adult-initiated rumors about office life.

One source of misconceptions in the adult life is the hours that they work. My father works Monday through Friday, 9 to 5, plus time spent on the subway commuting each day. This seems like quite a lot of time until you compare it to the average high school student’s day. As a junior, I spent pretty much the same amount of time commuting. My day in school started an hour earlier than his day in the office, and ended about an hour earlier. Clearly, 9 to 5 is comparable to 8 to 4. But 8 to 4 doesn’t even cover the amount of work after school lets out, including obligations to sports and other extra-curricular activities, not to mention the mountains of homework. School is an all-consuming activity, whereas my experience in the workplace is that for many employees, leaving the office means work is over.

There’s also a difference between office life and school life in the percent of the day spent actually working versus just sort of chilling out. Although the day begins officially at 9, many employees don’t end up coming into the office on time. There are also those who take breaks every couple hours or so for cigarettes, a snack, a soda, or just chatting time. There is also the hour-long lunch break that employees are entitled to. Finally, in my department, there are people who work pretty flexible hours. Some people leave regularly at 4 p.m., while others begin to pack up and leave around 4:45 p.m.

With all of these built-in breaks, it’s a wonder why adults complain about work in the first place. During school, coming even a few minutes late can mean a lower grade or a detention. Leaving early isn’t typically an option. A student’s lunch break is usually one period long (which for me means 45 minutes), and assumes the student even has a lunch break in the first place (because some don’t). The biggest break that students get, besides lunchtime, is a few minutes in between periods to get to the next class. That doesn’t leave much time for a quick stop outside for a cup of coffee or a soda. At 3:15 p.m., when my dad is tired and needs a quick caffeine fix, he runs to Starbucks for coffee. At 3:15 p.m., when I’m tired, I’m stuck in English class. The office life lends an element of flexibility that just doesn’t exist in school.

These are generalizations, though. Some students have easier schedules and lighter workloads. Some adults end up taking work home. Maybe the office isn’t a perpetual party, but it’s still more
forgiving than high school.

Tina Ritter is a rising star senior at the Bronx High School of Science where she spends her time either over-thinking or not thinking at all.

Rock on, Tina! We’ll be watching for you!