It has struck me for some time that there's a fundamental inconsistency here on The Neighbors Will Hear. I'm fairly scrupulous about accurately describing my sexual activities (and other activities, I suppose). At the same time, the pictures are mostly eye candy, of the sort that I rarely get (or want, really) to devour in real life. But, hey, I like eye candy. I suppose I could post pictures of more ordinary (i.e., less visually attractive) men, but they're just images, right? Images don't really matter much to me. Images lie. I guess words lie, too, but mine don't.
Sometimes, though, it would be really convenient to be able to make stuff up without owning up to the fiction. Like this week, when b&c is home, and I'm working late, it'd be really nice to be able to say that I fucked a hot construction worker in the second floor men's room. There was a period of about six months at my office when they were demolishing and rebuilding the men's room on my floor (it ended up looking almost exactly like it did when they started), and during that time, we all had to use the rest rooms on the second floor. Also during that time, there were often hot Latin construction workers, and they sometimes walked around on stilts, which put their asses right about at eye level. So I spent a lot of time fantasizing about fucking a particularly attractive one in the second floor men's room. But I didn't do that.
For the record (because somebody asked), there was no sex with the Republicans last weekend. I'm not interested, and they're not interested. There was some fooling around with b&c, of course, but, well, fooling around with your partner is important and pleasant and sometimes hot, but generally unremarkable. Similarly, I would not and will not be engaging in any manner of sexual activity with any of the Republicans at the upcoming bowling party. They're all, to a man, the sort of people who will tell you that being gay is just a small part of who they are, but it isn't central to their identity. Except that they'll say it even less eloquently than I just did, and they'll all, to a man, tell you that as if it's something a) profound and b) original, as opposed to something b) that you've heard a zillion times before and a) stupid. Really, if you're sexuality isn't central to your being, I have no interest in exploring it.
But, because I know you all care deeply, I will tell you that b&c is heading up to New Jersey this morning. He'll be returning in time for Friday's party. YFU will be over this evening, but tomorrow night, I've invited Logan for a sleepover. So I may have something interesting to report. Thank Cthulhu for Sarah Palin (unless Sarah Palin is Cthulhu, something I've come to suspect recently): because of tomorrow night's VP debate, choir practice has been moved up, so Logan and I can get started an hour earlier than we otherwise would have. Last time he was over, he complained that we only got to play for ninety minutes, which wasn't long enough for him. Be careful what you wish for, Logan.
Nike has been pestering me to let him come over and suck me and b&c off. I've been putting him off because I really haven't had the time. B&c said he was willing, so I suppose that when the opportunity arises, we'll go ahead and play with him. I'm a bit hesitant because even though Nike is a nice guy, he's a little bit high maintenance, and I worry that he could introduce a small level of chaos into my domestic life. Not a threatening level of chaos, mind you. I just since the potential for small amounts of drama and moderate levels of guilt. If I want guilt, I'll rejoin the Southern Baptists.
Speaking of drama and guilt, last night's performance of La Traviata was magnificent. Elizabeth Futral was awesome. Violetta is a very demanding role, and she was more than up to the challenge. She has a truly lovely voice, and her acting was compelling, too. The other leads were also splendid, and Arturo Chacon-Cruz (whom I was able to forgive for being a handsome tenor because he's short) and Ms. Futral made a terrific couple. In other opera-related news, it appears that I will not have a ticket to see Aida later this year. I will, instead, be seeing Porgy and Bess. So no elephants in my immediate future, but I take that as a good omen for the fall election.
I could, of course, just not post on days like today when there's nothing much to say, but the real reason that I started this blog was that I wasn't writing enough outside of a professional context. And, really, explaining to the staff the proper treatment of interest on acquisition indebtedness may be of value to my employers, but it's not very fulfilling to me. I've always been able to write quickly, comprehensibly, and competently (also, I type very quickly, which is the answer to those of you who've asked how I manage so much output in my limited time), but I thought that writing on a daily or near-daily basis would a) entertain me and b) help me write better without sacrificing speed. And on those accounts, I'd have to say that the blog has been a) wildly successful and b) a dismal failure. I'm not saying that I write badly because I think that I write pretty well. I'm just saying that my writing hasn't improved significantly since I started. I still see the same bad habits. But, truly, keeping myself entertained is much more important to me, so I'm just going to keep writing. Even when I have nothing to say, I have a lot to say. Besides, any fool can churn out 5,000 words when he's got a lot to write about. It takes a special fool to regurgitate a thousand when he's got nothing to say. Go me.