The Outlaw meets Faustus
I ran across an amazingly inspiring and riveting (in my meager opinion) blog today. The author is a gay man in New York telling his stories of life, love and the lackluster of each. I find his witty writing style to be one of the most amusingly endearing pieces of electronic literature I have come across recently (perhaps a close second to HomeStarRunner!). Here is a link to his blog - - > http://searchforlove.blogspot.com

And for grins and giggles (especially for me once some of my more homophobic readers catch this post!), here is a sample post from his blog:

"Tuesday, April 16, 2002

So last Friday I went on a date with a guy named W.F. At least I think it was a date. It didn't end in sex, and in my hyper-sexualized state of existence, that threw me into a morass of uncertainty.We had lunch at Raffaela's and then we got dessert. He got up to look at the dessert display and came back and said, "I know what I want. It's this hexagonal tart that's part raspberry mousse and part chocolate." So he ordered that, and it came, and it was a regular, triangular piece of dessert.

This was my immediate thought: "That's not hexagonal. I can never love you. You don't even know basic shapes."

Then a second thought occurred to me and, pretending that I had to go to the bathroom, I got up and snuck over to the dessert case. Indeed, his dessert was only a slice of an originally hexagonal dessert. So I realized I could love him after all. Of course, it wasn't a tart, but I can forgive that.

Except--wait--it is just occurring to me that maybe he said not "tart" but "torte," which is what it actually was--in which case he is perfect and I love him.

Now I have to figure out if this was actually a date or not."


"Monday, February 11, 2002

Three days to Valentine’s Day. It’s a shame that we’ve forgotten the origins of Saint Valentine’s Day. In 269 A.D., by order of the prefect of Rome, Valentine was beaten with clubs and then beheaded. I think it would be appropriate for each of us to commemorate his day by selecting someone to beat with clubs and then behead.

I went to Tea & Sympathy (my new favorite place) in the west village with a date last week. I ordered the afternoon tea (which I highly recommend) and my date ordered the Welsh rabbit. When our food arrived, after we had eaten for a little while, I asked him “So how’s the Welsh rabbit?” He said, in a very cheerful tone, “Well, first of all, it’s Welsh rarebit, and it’s very good.”

This is not a person I need in my life.

First of all, anyone who insists that "rarebit" is preferable to “rabbit” is pretentious.Second of all, he is wrong. The Oxford English Dictionary lists 1725 as the first appearance in English of the term “Welsh rabbit,” almost certainly a borrowing from the French “lapin gallois”; not until 1785 does “Welsh rarebit” appear, probably as a “corrected” version of the name of a dish that has no rabbit in it.

Not that I have a thing about being right or anything.

And I wonder why I don’t have a boyfriend."

No fan list (aside from this guy's entertaining blog). I already did one today!

CHEERS!

- posted by The Outlaw @ 3:04:00 PM