This story is
fictional blog of a contemporary American teenage boy and the fictional
of a teenager from the nineteen-seventies. This is not real and the
with the exception of any historical or public figures mentioned, are
and any similarity to real individuals is purely coincidental. This
story is a
gay romance and mystery and though sex will be mentioned, there will be
explicit or gratuitous descriptions of sexual activity. This is not a
pornographic story. However, if you still feel you will be offended by
content, please read no further. I am not a lawyer and I do not play
one on TV,
(nor have I ever stayed at a Holiday Inn Select- apologies to
LOL), but I seriously doubt that reading this story will violate any
laws. I cannot comment on anything legal outside the
You may assume that any spelling, grammatical, or factual errors are deliberate, as these are supposed to be the works of two adolescent males. Yeah, that's it. That's the ticket. They're deliberate! Yeah. And, Heather Locklear told me so. Yeah!
would like to read any comments you might have about the story and
appreciate your sending them to: email@example.com.
I would also invite you to check out my real blog: Christopher Macintosh.
Excellent Blog- Friday, July 1, 2005
Listening to: Ben Jelen/Give It All Away
I'm not really sure what I am going to do with this blog. It seems like everyone has a blog, but then, everyone has a cell phone, an iPod, and a pierced navel, too. I can't afford a cell phone. Besides, I don't have anyone to call anyway. I can't afford an iPod, either. And, if Mom ever found out that I had pierced anything, she'd have a heart attack, (not a bad idea, actually), then make sure I had a heart attack, too, (also, probably not a bad idea- maybe I should rethink this!). But, Blogio is free, so what do I have to lose. Except self-respect, privacy, and a chance for freedom. But, then, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
need a place to vent, a place to vomit up all my angst and emo, like
Internet really needs another self-pitying, angst-ridden alienated
vomiting up pain and ennui. Hey, two vocaulary words in one sentence!
ennui. Impressed? Probably not. Nobody ever is. Nobody likes a
smart-ass, as I
have learned to my dismay. And, I am a smart-ass. Probably one of the
reasons why I have no friends and my family can't stand the sight of
Another is probably because my nickname is Tubby. I look like a dork. I
really blond hair and fair skin and these really gross puffy pink lips.
a girl at school named Ashley, (off course- aren't all the snotty
always named Ashley?), who says I look like a fat Macauley Culkin. I'm
really fat, but I am a little overweight. Thus, my nickname- Tubby. I
really get it. Half the school is overweight.
Why did Dad have to name me Toby? Actually, I know why. His father, when he was a kid, read a book and saw a movie about a kid named Toby Tyler who runs away from home to go to the circus. Dad had a pet turtle when he was young which his dad suggested he name Toby. He loved the turtle and took devoted care of it and when it died, he was devastated. He even had a real funeral for it, too. Took the Book of Common Prayer out and went through the whole ritual under the cedar tree in their back yard. Great. So, I'm named after a runaway and a turtle. Actually, though, when I think about it, it's really kind of sweet. OK. I'll stop nauseating all the Goths and Emos, now.
So, I guess you're wondering why I call this Toby's Excellent Blog. Well, it's not because I'm being a smart-ass. It's actually a tribute to my dad. He used to do this really lame thing where he would brush his hair down his head and hold his thumbs up and say, "Excellent!" like a California surfer dude. It was from a movie called Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. He also liked to get this really spaced out look on his face and hold his fingers up in a peace sign and say, "Groovy, man!" I know it sounds lame as hell, but to a kid it was hilarious. He knew it was lame, too, and he didn't care. He liked to fuck with people's minds. Sometimes he would make up completely weird words and put them in conversations as if they were totally real and the people would be like, "Yes, of course." It was hilarious. I could always tell when he was fucking with someone because he would get this totally innocent look on his face, but there would be a wrinkle at the edge of his eyes and his mouth would sort of go up at the edge. I was the only person who knew he was doing it and it made it special. We would laugh our asses off about it later. Even Mom never figured it out. So, that's why I call this my Excellent blog. It's a tribute to my dad.
know it's not kewl to like your parents and I only like one of mine, so
I'm not totally lame. My Mom acts like I'm in the way and that I remind
something she doesn't want to remember, like living with my dad. My
step-Feuhrer can't stand the sight of me and I can't really understand
always insists I join the family for various activities since all he
criticize me when I'm around. Maybe he's one of these power-freaks who
off on putting people down, like a sadist who enjoys torturing his
But, Dad was totally different. Dad was the kewlest man I ever knew.
was depressed a lot, but he never acted like it around me and he always
to make sure I was happy. He did everything he could to teach me, to
to art, music, books, plays, opera. He took me to baseball games.
hiking on the nature trail and play Frisbee golf up at
I just wish I knew why he left.
Excellent Blog- Tuesday, July 5, 2005
Listening to: Matthew Sweet/ Sick of Myself
Well, this is the first chance I've had to use a computer since Friday. I have a computer, an old laptop my Dad gave me when I was eleven, but it doesn't have a modem. The family has a computer, but Mom and Der Feuhrer are superchristians and think the Internet is Satanic. So, I can only use it for school work. Of, course, this is summer break. So, I go to the library and use theirs. There's also this coffee place Internet cafe in the shopping center near my house which also has computers you can use. So, I can still access the blog. I set up a blogiomail account so if anyone reading this wants to email me, click on the link at the side of the blog. Plus, if I need to write, I can always save it to disk and bring the disk to the library. Coffee and Silicon doesn't have computers with A drives- they use iMacs. So I have to use the library.
So, the last weekend sucked enormously. I had to stay home Saturday and mow the grass, even though it was ninety-eight and I was dying. Mom and Feuhrer went to work Saturday night and Feuhrer's sister, Letitia, (which she pronounces "Letisha" but which I like to pronounce "Letittiya" to piss off Feuhrer), babysat. Not that I needed a babysitter, but Zach and Megan are total vermin and they never listen to me so Mom and Feuhrer finally realized it was a waste of time putting me in charge, even though it gave Feurher a chance to yell at me whenever Zach would dump the neighbors trash or set dogpiles on fire on Mrs. Venturi's front porch. God only knows what Megan does, probably trying to enter the Guiness Book of World Records for the youngest pregnancy with that inbred moron Leroy who lives behind us.
Sunday was church and that'ss always a descent into Hell. I am so not
Christian. We live a
miles from downtown, but Feuhrer insists on going to this suburban
called Faithbuilders. It's a joke. The place is a giant auditorium and
are big-screen TV's around the front so everyone can see Brother Willy
he's preaching. There are always people standing up in the audience, (I
call it a congregation because it's too much like going to a show or a
or something), and they hold their arms up in the air and start
Lord right there in front of God and everybody. And, of course, Brother
is always telling everyone that if they give "seed" money, they'll
get it returned a thousand-fold. Plant a seed and grow a tree. Invest
and God will give you a huge return on your investment. I swear to God
what he says. And, then, he goes off on all the babykillers and
liberals that are destroying
But, sucky as Sunday morning at Faithbuilders is, it's nothing compared to Youth Group on Wednesday night. And, I HAVE to go to that no matter what. I can't stand it. All the kids there are so fucking fake it makes me sick. I know several are having sex. There's one guy who sells weed and X at my school. And, the Youth Minister is a pedophile. He loves to hang around all the cute boys, the ones with the kewlest hair and the prettiest faces, and the buffest bodies. I can hardly wait until he gets caught. We always have to listen to people talking about the evils of drugs and the tempations of the body and how public schools can lure you into homosexuality. Well, I've got news for them. Well, never mind. And, we sing all the fucking time when we're not testifying about how the Lord has changed our lives. There's one guy there who I think thinks like me. He never dresses up for Youth Group. He just shows up in a tee-shirt and cargo pants. He rolls his eyes just like I do. Maybe Wednesday, I'll sit near him and try to start a conversation. It would be kewl to have someone there who laughs at all the hypocrisy like I do. God, it would be so nice to have a friend.
I had Sunday afternoon free, though the library was closed. Nobody in
family gives a fuck about me on Sunday AFTER church, so I always take a
and ride my bike over to the gardens behind the
Right now, I'm reading reading Eragon, by Christopher Paolini. If he could write a book like this at fifteen, why can't I? I'm intelligent. I'm creative. Oh, well.
The place where I like to sit the most is the bench under the Water Oak. All the trees in the arboretum have metal plaques in the ground in front of them. At the other end, there's another I like called a Caddo Sugar Maple. It's my favorite cause it turns this really cool orange red color in late October. Anyway, nobody ever comes to the arboretum during the day, so it's like my own private little park. I love it. It's mine.
Unfortunately, during the week, the evenings suck because about six-thirty, a line of SUV's pulls up and they disgorge dozens of yuppies and dogs and they let them run free all over the place. The museum puts signs up saying the dogs have to be on a leash and they even provide baggies to pick up the dog piles. But, the yuppies don't care. I hate yuppies. So, I never go to the arboretum in the evening.
Then, on Monday, it was the Fourth of July and I had to spend ALL day with the family. Happy Happy. Joy Joy. Instead of going down to the river with the rest of the city to watch the main fireworks display, we sat in the parking lot at Faithbuilders and listened to really lame Christian rock and watched a few roman candles shoot.
So, that was my weekend. I am so happy, I could just fart.
Oh, and, by the way, I'm gay.
Excellent Blog- Thursday, July 7, 2005
Listening to: The Calling/ Wherever You Will Go
were several terrorist bombings in
I guess the reason I’m so scared, the reason I’m more scared of the government than I am of the terrorists is because of that cliffhanger I left you with at the end of my last entry. Yeah, I’m gay and I can’t believe that I am writing this on the Internet for everyone and their mother to read. Of course, you don’t know who I am or where I live or anything like that. But, it is still scary for me to admit it. I have never told anyone. No one. No one knows I’m gay. Of course, everyone thinks I am. They look at me and see someone smart and fat and who isn’t into athletics and they automatically think- queer. I’ve never done anything that would give anyone any real reason to think I’m gay. I don’t perv on the guys at school. Well, OK, I do. But, it’s not like I’m drooling on them or anything where anyone can see. I don’t mess around with anyone. I don’t know any gay guys at school. Well, actually, there are several guys who are out, but I don’t talk to them. But, then, I don’t talk to anyone.
love to stereotype, especially here in this awful place. I can’t tell
city I live in, but it’s kind of in the South and it has LOTS of
and evangelists. There are gay people here and they even just had their
Parade a couple of weeks ago. That nutcase preacher from
I probably lost most of you when I admitted I was gay. I don’t know how many people are reading this and so far, no one’s commented. Maybe nobody’s reading it. Maybe I’m just writing to myself. That’s the way it usually is.
I want a friend. I want a gay friend. I want someone who understands me. I want someone who would like to sit in the garden behind the Gallery and watch the sunset and listen to the birds and read poetry with me. Does that sound really lame? I know it does, but that’s me. I want someone who doesn’t care that I’m overweight or that I have a Macauley Culkin mouth or that I’m a loner. I know there’s someone out there who’s like me. I know that you’re out there. You just haven’t found me yet.
Oh, by the way, I went to Youth Group Hell last night at Faithbuilders and tried to sit next to that guy, but he didn’t show up, so I guess I’m still the only one there who thinks like I do. Oh, well. Maybe when school starts. I’ll be a sophomore and they changed the district lines this year. They closed Central, so I’ll be going to Southside now. There has to be somebody out of two thousand students that I can hook up with. Someone.
I know you’re out there. I hope you find me.
I hoped you liked Chapter One of Then and Now. I would like to read any comments you might have about the story and would appreciate your sending email to firstname.lastname@example.org. I would also invite you to check out my real blog: Christopher Macintosh. Thank you.