“You look so ugly when you talk like that,” said my mother one day when I was seventeen, “I wish I could record you so you could see how ugly you are.” I don’t remember exactly what we were fighting about—I had recently been discovered as homosexual and our relationship had become yet more strained under their dismissal and increased persecution. I was a very good kid—I got the best grades in my family, never tried drinking or smoking, was still a virgin…
Read MoreI spend much of my time ruminating on the possible origins of who and why we are as human beings and the various dynamics that might have lead to establish everything from the size of our brains to the reasons we enjoy fried potato chips (it’s because they resemble crunchy bugs which roughly four billion people on the planet still consume).
Read MoreOne bright, beautiful summer Saturday when I was twenty-eight I was at a party in the Hollywood Hills. My friend's pool was once Walt Disney's, though this contemporary house had been built between Walt Disney's actual house and the pool so we were not in the same rooms that Walt used to walk. The house looked over the whole of Los Angeles, and since there were only about twelve people at the party, all of us familiar with each other now for a number of years, there was a more intimate feeling than usual L.A. pool parties.
Read MoreOne Saturday when I was sixteen our family was driving home from my Dad's office buildings doing janitorial work where we earned extra money instead of having normal summer jobs. I was staring out the window like a proper brooding teenager, dreaming of all the ways life could be better than it was while my five siblings, tired from the day’s janitorial effort were silent and nodding off in the back.
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