Zeitbites Monday: Gainful Un-enjoyment. Link me up.

My world is somewhat not in the greatest shape right at the moment, but, I know that there are much bigger problems in the world than my inability to find gainful employment, a literary agent, or, actually, a place and way to live. SO… if you know of someone looking for a caretaker, or a long-term house/pet sit, or a walker who can toss of the witty bon mots with the best of them — let me know. I’d prefer leaving the U.S. at this point.

Enough intro whining! I Tweeted this today– the joy of this child, already loving Sondheim — I defy you not to smile or weep or both from this — LOVE THIS KID!

SOOOOOO, moving on — if you people would JUST

FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER I wouldn’t have to link all these stories and my (as advertised) bon mots (although as THIS day has gone on I am feeling progressively less clever, loved, or at home anywhere). Alas, as I said to my darling nephew — in a text, I don’t actually SPEAK to anyone — surprisingly few people think I am qualified to be the definitive word on anything. Alas. Well, definitive or not, I’m going to keep on. So, here you go — be enlightened and delighted by the Love and Light, or not, up to you. 

2015: I resolve … you should get the hell OUT of my way at the gym …

It’s 2015! As previously noted, not a resolutions kind of guy. Nonetheless, I am making a change or two. Not, however, the kind of change that inconveniences others by which I refer to those tyros crowding my gym at the moment. I cannot wait for the New Year and their resolve to fade into the past so I can once again have my preferred parking space and elliptical. Ugh. They are getting in my way, these fools, and delaying my ability to make good on my 2015 motto: I’M CAST YOUNGER THAN WRITTEN, BUT WHO CARES?!”

Said motto was inspired by Twitter-conversation with the delightful editor at St. Martin’s Press, Hope Dellon, about the television adaptation of the Agatha Raisin character as developed in the charming, fantastically entertaining mystery-cozy novels of M.C.Beaton. Watch this:

Speaking of which — those novels and delight and charm and fantastic — Ms. Dellon, having noted my love of said novels and effort to collect them all, as well as my upset during the holidays, contacted me and asked for my address so that she might send me some.


Book Box

My box of M.C.Beaton and Louise Penny, sent to save me by Hope Dellon. How beautiful is this? HOW BEAUTIFUL IS THIS and the timing? JUST PERFECT. My day has gone from not great to sort of terrifying so YAY! Books! Editors! Literature has ALWAYS been my safe-place.

The kindness of virtual friends, amazing. True blessing in my life, the people I have come to “virtual know” through Twitter. The literary world is a brilliantly loving and supportive community. I feel I’m living my own sort of Algonquin Round Table fantasy here, during my declining years as crazy uncle in the basement. Now, if only I could actually manage an agent and publication. Oh, there’s time. Age means nothing. Speaking of —



She’s the new face of Celine. Click HERE for BuzzFeed story (and more pics).


It’s Zora Neale Hurston’s birthday. When I was younger, I did a lot of running away. Rather than actually go to college – for which I had neither the money nor interest nor grades as I stopped giving a fuck long around seventh grade  — I ran away to New Haven and lived in a slum-hovel that was burgled three times in the year I lived there, only a few blocks from Yale and across the street from a vacant lot where the bodies of dead prostitutes were repeatedly dropped. Scary place. Where I walked. All the time. At night. Alone. I have dodged a lot of bullets — real and metaphoric — in my day.  In New Haven, I walked in pursuit of those Yale-boys, waited on tables (until I was LITERALLY chased out of the restaurant and my job by an irate table-ful of Yale football players at whom I had sort of thrown a pizza when they called me a fag) and hung out at the local bookstores where I would buy the novels marked as assigned reading for courses I thought I’d be taking had my life turned out another way. One of the first I bought was Their Eyes Were Watching God [click HERE].

Read about the iconic Ms. Hurston HERE at BookRiot (p.s. LOVE this site – check it every day.)



Kirby Delauter … say his name say his name

My hometown, Frederick, Maryland, is mostly a wonderful place and full of many wonderful people. Alas, the “good ol’ boy” network that once ran the town still holds some sway. Less and less, but, still some. Blue a state as Maryland is, Frederick County is majority Republican. And, wow, one of the local politicians has gone national with his idiocy. Kirby Delauter is his name. And, wow. Just. Wow. He threatened to sue the local paper, The Frederick News-Post, for using his name. Yes. He. Did. Here is their response. [CLICK HERE FOR FNP EDITORIAL ANSWER TO KIRBY DELAUTER] Surprisingly good for a paper not known for its — well, let’s just leave it at not known. Just, DON’T USE HIS NAME!



I was alerted today to the Lake Superior State University’s 40th Anniversary List of Banished Words [click HERE] by Twit-Lit-ite and brilliant author of The Swan Gondola [click here], Timothy Schaffert [click here]As I Tweeted on January 4:

3 words I believe should be retired: Truth. Authentic. Reality. Over-use & facile Oprah-esque self-helpism has rendered them meaningless.

I suggest those three be added. Thank you.

OFF TO (and at) THE GYM …

[ASIDE: Above headline is a Sondheim lyric riff. My dear nephew, mentioned in intro, went to see INTO THE WOODS, which he shame-facedly — as shame-faced as one can get across a text — confessed was his first Sondheim exposure. I have failed as guncle. (That’s GayUncle speak round here)]

In any event, it’s back to the gym for me tonight. Which reminds — a month or so ago I mentioned having witnessed a truly great ass on a treadmill in front of my elliptical, and having been horrified when its owner turned around to exit treadmill and was revealed to be an 18/19 year old I’d known as a child. Well, I ran into his equally hot father at the grocery store the other day and … well, here’s the Tweet-splanation:

1/3 Ran into eroticism-oozing fellow whose home I’ve long fantasized @ wrecking. Convo? He tight embraces me. Starts telling me story …

2/3 … about his 19 yr old son’s activities. Asks if I’ve seen him. I say, “Funny story. I’m at gym & see guy w/really hot ass on …

3/3 ..treadmill, he turns around & it’s [REDACTED] & I’m HORRIFIED.” He says, “Why? It is hot.” I, being me, stammered away.

Stephen Fry and fiancee

Click on pic for story

I’m not afraid to broadcast my foolishness. I mean, once he’d asked me if I’d seen his son lately, well, the ass on the treadmill story just started pouring out and — what could I do then? He took it very well and very nicely. So well and nicely, in fact, I ought to have said something clever like — “No wonder he looks so good — I mean, look at you.” But, you know. I didn’t. He is, after all, a married man. Whatever. I am often an idiot. Foolish. SO WHAT? I revel. And younger men? SO WHAT? I’m not afraid to be attracted to 19 year olds. Look, Stephen Fry is about to marry his thirty-years-younger fellow. Hell, if I could find me a thirty-years-younger fellow, I’d marry him too. I mean, EVERYONE is hooking the hell up and I am not happy about it — RECENT TWEET:

WTF? 1st you tell me married. Now ? Who next? – WHAT? DAMMIT! If weds, I am OUT.



Yes, I like younger men. But NOT at the gym. And NOT on parole. Oh please kill me.

There’s this kid at they gym — and I do mean kid — he can’t be older than 19 — who keeps giving me the 1970s-1980s gay bar cruise. I mean, yes, really, THAT obvious. As in walking away then sharp turn back and stare — and I am confused. First of all, he’s beautiful. Second of all, he’s beautiful. And third of all, I’m not. And I’m AT LEAST 30 years older than is he, so, I have come to the conclusion that he must be some sort of plant by the gym or police, trying to entrap me into making a move.

At the gym? Uhm, no.

BUT, speaking of police and moves. I was semi-talking to someone who had contacted me and , well, recent Tweet:

My new low: “You have to come to me. I’m on GPS-parole. Can’t leave apt.” Yes. I think I will now recline & … well, nothing. I suck so bad

Yeah. My luck. My taste. My fate. My life, not going so well at the moment LOL. So, another recent Tweet:

Available Immediately: Live-in Cleaner/Cook/Caretaker/Dropper of witty bon mots. House/Pet sit. Or, reliable admirer. Please call me.

Tovey, Russell Dec 2014

Russell … call me. I can watch your house. Your dog. Your anything.

Wouldn’t it be ever so much easier if you’d just FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER (I’m talking to YOU Russell Tovey. HEY – BRILL — Russell, do you need someone mature — but still cute if you’re drunk enough — and reliable to watch your U.K. place when you’re here in U.S. and your U.S. place when you’re home in U.K.? I’m good with dogs. And cubs, otters, bears, whatever. You pick an animal. I’ll pet you it. And, face it, wouldn’t ALWAYS being a continent away from me be easier than having to keep renewing those restraining orders? I mean, if I was working for you I’d HAVE TO DO WHATEVER YOU ORDERED ME TO DO IN ANY POSITION YOU DEMANDED.)

Okay, this entry isn’t helping my mood, situation, or bon mots reputation. Love and Light, kids. Later.






Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s