balding angrily

I met with the editor of a local newspaper on Wednesday, and she gave me an assignment. I have an assignment! Just like a real life writer that gets paid! Let me whip out my pocket notebook with the metal spiral at the top. Let me me lick the tip of my pencil and flip the pages of that notebook and jot a few notes. Let me shove a bulbous microphone in the face of an avoiding politician. Let me step into this telephone booth and save Lois Lane from a helicopter perched perilously on the rim of the top of the tallest skyscraper.

Seriously, I’m looking forward to it. She said I might also get involved in the paper’s volunteer blog. When I do, I’ll link to my posts here. That is if I still have any readers here.

Look! J-pop! (Not J-rock.)

There are real punch-lines in life, and unfortunately the punch-line of this story is this. I yelled at a stranger, “Because you’re fat and ugly!” I’m not proud of it. And it’s not funny. And it speaks volumes about my character.

Yesterday my sister, Jerry, and I had come back from a day of shopping and movie watching. She was obsessed with taking a picture of a stuffed monkey next to a placard outside our building. I was having none of it. I was feeling ornery, so I stood by the elevator watching the two of them fiddle. Then I was feeling strange and I put my hands at my waist like Superman. Then I was feeling extra strange and I put hands on my ribs like Superman if he were wearing an Empire waist.

While I was experimenting with my midsection, a guy came up behind me. I walked away because I was embarrassed by my heretofore private waist-play. I heard the guy let out a sigh and say in a passive-aggressive loud-whisper, “Jeez. Just standing there…” I ignored him and started walking toward my sister and Jerry. I reached the other side of the lobby and heard him say to our concierge, “I mean he was just standing there. And he didn’t push the button.”

Because there are few things that drive me more crazy than a passive-aggressive loud-whisper, I snapped. I turned back and yelled at him, “You have two able-bodied hands! You could have pushed the button!” (I have a theory that words crowd in the backs of mouths in repose. In times of stress, they flee out. Some words are pushy and quick, escaping before other words. Apparently able-bodied is one of those.)

He showed me what he could do with his two able-bodied hands by flipping me a double-bird. The guard and concierge standing near got closer to us, ready to break up a brawl. I noticed and thought, “I am toast if this guy jumps me.” I blundered, responding with something like, “Don’t show me those!” or, “Yes, I see your hand work!”

He got in the elevator, which came in time to alleviate us of more blundering. As he turned into the elevator, he lobbed back at me, “I would invite you up to help me with my stuff. But you’d probably just stand there!” The doors were closing, and I shot back, “I wouldn’t want to come up because you’re fat and ugly!”

********************************************************************

I was in M.U.N. in my freshman year of high school. M.U.N., Model United Nations, was our school’s version of a debate team. We pretended like we were delegates, made speeches, resolutions, and went to conferences. I hated it. I do not articulate under pressure.

Where’s Brandon Routh? What good is a giant crystal without a half-naked, 6′-4″, dark-haired, blued-eyed hunk of manflesh standing in front of it? If National Geographic really wanted this article to be seen, they would’ve at least hired a tight-shirted Tom Welling showing nipplage to point authoritatively in a direction that would best accentuate his triceps. (via Slumbering Lungfish)

Bad Visual Effects: Check

Bastardization of an American Icon: Check

Impromptu Dancing and Singing Including In-Flight Dancing and Singing: Check

Monty Python Levels of Absurdity: Check

It must be Bollywood! (via BoingBoing)

Here’s stuff I done got for mah birfday.

Red-Haired Mom is a wonderful woman if a bit loopy. She sent a big box of stuff to Jen-An and Owen to deliver to me instead of just sending it to me. She wanted me to be presented with stuff, instead of getting a brown box in the mail. Here’s the bag that they shouldered into the restaurant. You can see I started unwrapping stuff before I thought to take the picture:

Here’s all the stuff in the bag. It’s hard to see in this picture, but the Garfield on the far left is wearing a baby hat. I presume that Red-Haired Mom included it in the package assuming that it’s mine. It is just as likely that it belonged to my brother or sister, and she stuffed it into the package with an attitude of, “Meh. He’ll never know the differnence.” She also included in the package a large file of pictures from when I was living with her. I haven’t opened the package yet because I haven’t had much time:

You might recognize the stuff from this picture as I’m getting ready for my senior prom. Though it pains me to admit it, here is photographic proof that a senior in high school had Garfield stuffed animals displayed prominantly in his bedroom. My mom never sat me down and said, “Alex, you’re weird. Please stop being so weird.” I blame her for the way I am now:

My dear sweetness gave me a ring. I lost my wedding ring maybe six months after our wedding. I took it off at the gym while working out, and I left it in the locker when I left. I immediately realized my mistake, but by the time I called the gym and got back there, it was gone. Jerry was diligent and found the exact same ring and got me a replacement. His ring also has a knot motif but is a bit more traditional. We liked the idea of having rings tied in theme if not in aesthetic.

Yargh!!! I’m going to get you with my stubby fingers and hairy knuckles:

Crump done give me a book I asked for. She said she liked the title because her name comes up as “cannoli” when she uses spell-check. Someone please go buy some art from her. She’s the nicest person I’ve never met. Jerry’s sister and brother-in-law gave me this kick-ass DC Comics book. I’m not sure what the 365 pages signify. Am I supposed to read it in a year like one of those bibles? That’s too much pressure, and I’m not going to take life-lessons from this book. Probably:

Finally, Jen-An and Owen gave me “Blackbird” sheet music, a small jewelry jar with the lyrics to “Blackbird” on it, and a small hand-colored piece of art with a web link on it. All of Jen-An’s family are artists. She did this. I haven’t gone to the link yet. I’ll let you. “Blackbird” was one of the songs that was at Jerry and my wedding. It was really the only thing we knew we wanted before we decided on anything else. Funnily we hadn’t really paid attention to the lyrics and were scared that it wouldn’t work. After sitting down one night and listening, we were relieved. What’s not pictured is some more art that Jen-An did to personalize the sheet music. She made the cover a kind of birthday card. Because she and Owen signed it with their real names, I didn’t photograph it even though I really want to show you her awesometude.

Ma and Pa Jerry and Dad and Blonde Mom also got me wonderful things that I will put to nefarious uses, but unfortunately they’re not very photogenic.

Finally, just because I’m not above pandering to get an “Awwww,” here’s a kitty with some kitties (”im on ur cowchez, maken beeleev”):

In the mail! Lookie! If you want things in the mail, buy things from Crumpet. She was also nice enough to make me a mix tape…but on CD. She knows I love Superman.

In case you missed the first “I’m peeking at you,” I commented on the search terms people most typed into Google to get to my site. Here’s the April edition; my hosting peoples start me fresh at the beginning of the month, so I thought this would be the perfect time. Following are the search terms with the number of times people typed them in to get to Balding Angrily.

Always with the bullets.

• alex knesnik (10) - Who dat? Over the past month I’ve slowly come out of the closet about the website to my loved ones. These are all people to whom I’ve said, “Yeah, I have a website, but I don’t want you to read it because I’m embarrassed about the stuff I write about.” So. Hi mom!
• alex balding (7) - Who dat else? Let’s think of all the other balding Alexs. Alex P. Keaton wasn’t; he’s shaky but not balding. Oo, a Parkinson’s joke. That, ladies and gentlemen, makes me a bad person. But really, it doesn’t make me love him any less. I think Katherine Hepburn was the most beautiful and talented actress in the history of cinema, but she was a bit shaky.
• kiefer sutherland (4) - I Googled Mr. Sutherland after I saw this to see how far down the list Balding Angrily was. I got to about page 6 and gave up. You must be pretty hard up for Kiefer bits if you get here using that search term. You must need a Kiefer drip. “Really, this is the last website. After this, I’ll shut down the computer. I just want to see if this next site has just an itsy-bitsy, minute, barely visible slice that I couldn’t get from the other 200 websites.”
• frequency kenneth gay (4) - How often does Kenneth get gay with his work buddies? Twice a week? What does Kenneth do when he gets gay with his work buddies? Over-the-underwear activities? Does he have a martini party? Does he match the towels in the executive bathroom to the bathmat? And who’s curious about poor Kenneth and the frequency with which he gets gay? What kind of friends are those?
• jcrew employee discount (4) - Hm. Sorry I didn’t provide an answer before. I believe it was 50% except on special items. That discount applied to sale items too. I have a pair of pants in my closet that were originaly $120. I got them for about $20. If you were wondering if you should apply, I’d say, yeah. If they still have that discount.
• batman spanking robin (3) - My favorite part of this exercise is finding out about people’s little quirks. Some would call them sicknesses, but I won’t. At least 3 people want to see pictures of Batman spanking Robin. That’s cool. I think, though, to be fair you should also want to see pictures of Robin spanking Batman or Superman spanking Batman or Aquaman spanking She-Ra or Skeletor spanking Man-at-Arms. To limit it to just pictures of Batman spanking Robin seems incomplete, like you’re just not committing fully to your sickness quirk.
• get to know you questions deep (2) - Who is judging how intimate I should be with my questions? Who is telling me that me and my questions should go to a happy hour and spend three hours discussing our common loves and losses? I’m happy with the relationship me and my questions have right now, thank you very much. Maybe in a couple of months we’ll want to take it to that next level, but, you know, we just met. Why rush things?
• balding suicide (2) - I told you before the last time you did this; Jesus loves your bald head. Actually, this is a little more serious than the others. It makes me sad if someone out there is considering suicide because they’re going bald. There are many, many, many, many other things in this world that are more depressing and worthy of anxiety than a chrome dome. Do me a favor. Tell those other pretty-boy, skinny, black-hearted queens that their spiked, bleach-tipped hair looks ridiculous. Tell them they look like a porcupine run over by beauty supply van and their Armani WW1 flight goggles/sunglasses make them look like a Devo music video from the 80s. Tell them that you are a real person from the top of your shiny head to the tips of your unpainted toenails. Tell them to kiss your (more than likely) hairy white ass and not to come up for air until they are ready to recognize that bald is beautiful. That Bruce Willis gets more tail then they’ll ever hope to get. That Mr. Sexy-Ass-Kiss-Me-In-The-Morning-Then-Just-Walk-Away Jason Statham could tranport their sorry kneecaps to the backs of their legs. That the mother fucking King of Siam told you to tell them that “they be only womens and Christians and therefore unworthy of Buddha’s interest,” et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
• tailoring shirts tight pecs (2) - This sounds like a dance. It’s all in the hands and arms with this one. In the first part of the move, the “tailoring shirts” part, you put your arms in front you and make like you’re threading a needle, and in the “tight pecs” part, you feel on your breasteses in a circular fashion but with opposite hands, forearms crossed. Do it with me. A one and two and tailor shirt, and three and four and tighten pecs. Do whatever you want with your legs. Hopefully you’re close enough on the dance floor to the person you want to have sex with that they’re not looking down at your legs. And who cares anyway? He’s drunk. If you’re doing the Watusi with your legs, it wouldn’t matter because your beautiful, perfect, hairless head says to him that you are virile; you could last hours in the sack.
• batman spanking robin’ (2) - Now with apostraphe! For added possesiveness.

Since I put that little Amazon advertisement down there underneath all the other detritus in the right column, I’ve been paying attention to what comes up. Amazon calls it an Omakase link, which, according to them, is Japanese for “leave it up to us.”

It is commonly used in Japanese restaurants for a meal where the chef uses their experience and knowledge to select and prepare the meal for a customer without specific directions.

Omakase - try it, you’ll like it!

In other words, Amazon is reading your browsing habits right now - RIGHT NOW, I TELL YOU!!! - to select the perfect product for you. If you’re scared that this is a little too close to Big Brother, you can read their privacy statement under the ad. I’d hate to lose you as a reader. Though, if by now you don’t know the government is reading your every move through the internets, you’re hopeless and very naïve.

ANYways, I noticed today that its pick for me is the soundtrack to Jerry Springer: The Opera, but it’s hard to see “The Opera” part. I just saw “Jerry Springer.” I found that a bit offensive. This little bit of Japanese sushi is telling me that I would really enjoy Jerry Springer? Sure, I loves me some Project Runway and I loves me the first couple of weeks of American Idol when all the crazies come out and wag their fingers at Paula and I loves reading on the internets when Paula gets all crazy drunk and nearly falls out of her chair during an interview and I loves me some Britney actin’ a fool, thinking she’s Kojak with a lollipop in her mouth.

But Jerry Springer? Come on. A man’s got to draw a line somewhere. Then I read “The Opera” part, and I felt dumb. ‘Cuz Jerry Springer: The Opera sounds delightful.

Which leads me to this: How can I get that bit of Sanrio code down there to come up with, say…The Joy of Gay Sex or Our Bodies, Ourselves or Zamfir Plays the Most Beautiful Melodies: Volume 2 or Helen Reddy’s Greatest Hits? I’m not sure why suddenly I want to be swamped with pulp from my parent’s generation, but that’s not the point; I just want it to.

Or, what about a book on apples? I want to learn about apples. How are they made? Who puts the seeds in them? How come my local Albertson’s is only stocked with mealy, smushy apples that fall apart in your mouth like pre-chewed food from a momma bird? (I imagine.) Why is it always the apple that Eve supposedly took from the tree of knowledge, leading to millennia of suppression of the fairer gender? Why not a passion fruit, mango, or kiwi? Would it have made a difference? Would it have been a deadly, furry kiwi instead of an apple that poisoned Snow White? Is it the shape of the middle of a sliced apple that gets people all atwitter? The fact that it looks a little like, erm, lady-parts? Is the apple in the creation story supposed to represent lady-parts, thereby reinforcing the sin of woman? If the apple had been a furry kiwi in the creation story, would fuzzy bald men’s heads be a symbol of sin? Would I have to wear a hat to cover up my sinful, fuzzy head? Ooooooooh! Maybe it originally WAS a kiwi! That explains the Yarmulke! But then, what about Superman? When he’s Clark he wears a hat, and when he’s Superman he doesn’t! Does that mean Superman is sinful? Does that mean that saving people from falling glass using your heat-vision is sinful? Does that make Kryptonite some sort of holy instrument like a papal relic? I wonder if the Pope would bless a piece of Kryptonite…like if Lex Luthor somehow snuck a piece in front of him in a crowd and the Pope accidentally blessed it. What would happen? Do you think Superman could be cool with a blessed piece of Kryptonite? He’d be like, “Yeah, I know it could kill me, but come on! It’s blessed! Whaddaya gonna do?” I’m not sure why Superman had to turn into a Soprano just then, but it probably wasn’t the first time. And did you know that Miss Teschmacher’s first name is Eve? How’s that for a coincidence?

So, yeah, let’s just see what Okinawa down there comes up with now. Call this experimental theater.

-Update-

If you’re reading the comments below, this post used to have a lot of boldeds where now there are italics.

I was doing some dicking around (har-har) on superdickery.com when I came across this. Most of the captures in the gallery I was looking at were instances of unintentional lapses of judgement on the part of the artist - pictures of Batman spanking Robin, pictures of Robin diving head-first into a crook’s behind, Robin’s face dripping with a white fluid. The picture below is obviously intentional, and I’m going to believe that it is a little present to Superman’s gay fans.

I’ve gone to a lot of comic book stores and asked about specifically gay characters, and the out and proud ones are usually kind of lame. (Yes, I’ve had to actually ask the comic book guy behind the counter. It’s very embarrassing, and Jerry can’t believe that I can do it, but I do, and I feel stronger for it.) It’s not like there’s a graceful way to shoehorn a gay story line into an action-based comic. If I were looking for more explicit images with men in superhero clothing, there’s plenty of that out on the web. And it’s usually lame. And horribly photoshopped. And the models are a dime-a-dozen. And what makes a superhero a SUPERHERO has been stripped from the images. Superheros, I think, as a matter of their nature, walk that strange line of being very sexual - wasp-y wastes, bulging muscles, chiseled features, revealing clothing - and being very wholesome - saving kitty-cats, waving to crowds, sparkling smiles, upholding values. That wholesomeness is what’s missing from those kinds of images, and that wholesomeness is what attracts me to superheros and Superman in particular.

But this kind of image is perfect. Sups is keeping it above the waist, but he’s also giving me a little poke - well, not so much a poke as a donkey-punch - to the campy quadrant of my cerebellum.

When a co-worker gave me a valentine’s card today, she stood behind me with anticipation and said, “Open it.” I rolled my eyes without actually rolling my eyes. I opened it to this:

I love that people know me so well. What more could I ask for than Superman sporting wood?

Jerry and I spent the morning exchanging love gifts. He bought me a couple of concert tickets to the symphony of my choice. I’ve had this fantasy ever since I saw No Way Out of going to a symphony or opera, me and my man dressed in tuxedos with hair slicked back, wearing a sultry cologne, and getting busy in a limousine on the way back, like Sean Young and Kevin Costner.

I’m not sure we’ll do all that, but it’s a possibility.