Everything is wrong with me
Monday, October 10, 2005
 
Jason Mulgrew, Hot Sexy Bear
I’m currently on the LimoLiner, traveling from Boston to NYC. I was off from work all last week, dividing my time between NYC, NJ, Philly, and Boston, spending most of the week away from the internet. It was difficult, but fortunately I had many, many beers during this time off, so I made it through. Seriously, I think I gained a solid twelve pounds last week, but more on that later.

Due to the miracle of technology, I can check email on the LimoLiner, something I have neglected to do for the better part of two weeks. I apologize for this – both for my lack of posting and to everyone who emailed me in that time – but sitting at my dad’s computer, which was purchased in 1996 and outfitted with the slowest dial-up internet possible, while he stood behind me smoking cigarettes and asking me questions like “Have you seen the show on cable about the 600 pound woman?” and “You been talking to any girls lately?” and “You want a cigarette?” was not the ideal scenario for me to answer emails.

But while checking email now, I came across this gem from Owen in Chicago:
Jason,

I just wanted to drop you a line because my friend pointed me toward your blog, specifically to the post about The Weekly Dig cover and how you look exactly like the dude in the Red Sox jersey. Reading it cracked me up, mostly because I am that dude in the Red Sox jersey. To compound the irony, I too am from a big Irish Catholic family in Philadelphia (Narberth, actually), and I also love dairy products and Otis Redding. Super weird.

Anyway, I read a bit of your blog and I wanted to compliment you - it's great stuff. Obviously, I'm not the only one to reach that conclusion (dude...People magazine's 50 Most Eligible Bachelors? Rock on). I have my own blog over at livejournal although many of the posts I make have limited visibility, because I lack the balls necessary to put my entire life out there to the psychotic internet public. However, I've made a series of public posts about The Weekly Dig cover that I did with my boyfriend Dave (who is from Boston) and the little stir it's created. There is also a larger version of the picture, if you REALLY want to shock your friends and family.

All the best,
Owen
All I can say is: God bless the internet. I write something about someone I don’t know and a few days later, he writes me to say that he’s seen it. I’m not sure if I should be happy or afraid. My only hope is that Lindsay Lohan somehow gets wind of the letter I wrote her on here last week.

But back to Owen’s email, which was appropriately titled “Big Gay Doppelganger”. I checked out Owen’s blog and we really do, in fact, look like each other. Although Owen is a more clean-cut version of me (or rather, us), as I’m growing my beard out, shooting for the Jesus look, and I haven’t had a haircut in about two months, shooting for the homeless person look.

Even better, Owen has a post dedicated to my post, complete with dozens of gay men riffing about me! One guy even comments about Owen and I: “YOU'RE BOTH HOT SEXY BEARS AND MUST DO DIRTY BEAR THINGS IN FRONT OF ME!!!”

Ladies and gentlemen, I have officially made it. As anyone in Hollywood can tell you, once you take root in the gay community, you’re in. And please note that that sentence was not intended to have any puns.

So thank you Owen and friends. Now I can start calling myself “Internet Quasi-Celebrity/Hot Sexy Bear”. This is an important first step toward something I have aspired to since I first saw “Grease” as a pre-schooler: gay icon. Baby steps, but we’ll get there.

But for now I must get back to the other emails. It’s all I can do to keep me from murdering a woman on the bus with me. She’s your typical middle-aged “I’m fat and so very needy” type. She’s already asked the attendant for cranberry juice mixed with water, potato chips (when the attendant informed her the chips would be given out to all the passengers later, she asked for hers now), and “anything sweet” (the attendant got her some cookies). She’s also complained about the movie and the sandwich and when she’s not laughing and snorting at the Johnny Carson rerun on one of the televisions, she’s breathing like a cow with a hand down its throat. Good lord. I want to stand up and yell, “You’re the reason that people hate fat people! Just sit there and shut the fuck up! Don’t you see that other passengers are looking at me as the other fat person on the bus and starting to hate me because you’re being such a pain in the ass! God damn it! You’ll be home with a Whopper soon enough – just behave, chubby!” But instead I’ll just look at the rain out the window do my best to keep under control. Wish me luck.



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