I was born during Miami Vice in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Once high school was over, I made the move to New York City for college and to be two hours away from Scranton. Six years later, I am living in Brooklyn and working in Manhattan. There was a year teaching in Japan somewhere along the way, too. My wanderlust is insatiable. I love ghost stories, Joan Didion, cooking and running. 'Co będzie Twoją przygodą?' means 'What will be your story?' It's tattooed on my arm and my brain. You can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org. (P.S. Thanks to Kareem for getting me in touch with TNG)
Recent Posts by Jude:
Co będzie Twoją przygodą?, History, Photography »
Avery would cut through the bottom left corner of the park, to get to a Q-train at 57th Street and eventually home to Brooklyn. Though his iPod had died on the way uptown, he kept the earphones in, only listening to his own muffled footsteps. Each passing lamp post kept him from being swallowed by the black that such a moonless night provided.
Co będzie Twoją przygodą?, Commentary, Ideas, Television »
Our Editor-in-Chief Zack Rosen recently posted a piece in “Zack’s Ramblings,” lamenting the old gay archetypes he’d been encountering: The Advocate putting Liza Minnelli on their cover, a ‘mo singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” at an alterna-disco he had attended. Later that same day, Glee aired its “Duets” episode on Fox. I realize this is an especially contested mainstream cultural phenomenon on The New Gay, but it did deal with some related issues.
Civil Rights, Co będzie Twoją przygodą?, Dating and Relationships, Personal Narratives, Sexuality »
I never had a wedding date before. My father is the youngest of six, which had ensured me a childhood and adolescence spent watching all my older cousins get married, while I drank underage with my little sister and slow-danced awkwardly with girls my age from whatever other family we were marrying into that day. Last spring, I received my first wedding invitation that read “and Guest” next to my name—the Guest being my boyfriend Guillermo, who has been gradually introduced into this side of my family over that past two years.
Co będzie Twoją przygodą?, Health, Uncategorized »
“Jude?” He read off a clipboard.
“Hi, yes, hey,” I said, getting up from my spot in the waiting room.
“I’m Dr. Prekesh. It’s nice to meet you.” His hand was stretched out, and I took it, though our eyes never met. “Come on back.”
“It’s my first time at a dermatologist,” I admitted upon my instruction to sit.
“And what brings you here?” he asked.
Books, Co będzie Twoją przygodą?, Culture, Film, Ideas, Personal Narratives »
Upon coming to Japan, I found a culture that seemed not only aware of death, but almost fixated on it. I was told to never stick my chopsticks into a bowl of rice, not just because it was bad manners but because it symbolized the incense used at funerals. When a weasel sneaked into my school office one night, I learned that this too was a signifier of death. Don’t wear a watch on your wrist. Don’t wear white. I missed my train home to Sakurai one night last week because someone had thrown themselves in front of it.
Co będzie Twoją przygodą?, Ideas, Race »
Books, Co będzie Twoją przygodą?, Sexuality »
Vivek Shraya dedicates his new book, God Loves Hair, to “the boy that was almost lost.” What follows is a coming-of-age story that is as touching as it is succinct, and will certainly echo the childhood realities of so many from our generation and community. After all, today’s electro-indie musicians and editorial assistants and gallery interns and graphic designers and blogging book critics were all—at one time or another—spit on in the hallway, called a faggot in front of their teachers and getting changed in the corner of the locker room before gym class.
I instructed people to leave their shoes lined up in the hallway, certainly not for the sake of our brand new hardwood floors, but so that I could play Saint Nick and fill them all with little treats throughout the course of the party. Growing up, my siblings and I would wake up to find our frozen school shoes filled with chocolate coins, Hershey kisses and candy canes. Now adapting it as my own tradition, I just threw in whatever we had lying around—unwanted Butterfingers leftover from Halloween, pretzel sticks, vitamins, a spare cigarette, maxi pads, some loose change and Trojans. The next guests to arrive were George and Michael, our friends from the fashion marketing program at Parsons. Michael set down his Marc Jacobs shoulder bag and began to unwind his pashmina, before taking a look around and saying, “Well it wouldn’t be a hipster party if it didn’t smell like B.O.”
As I try to envision what would constitute a medical emergency at the dentist’s office, I am unaware of how exactly I am being tested. Say there were an emergency; maybe Dr. Pirelli’s drill slips while he is daydreaming about the toothy-grinned sharks he’d caught on the Mayan Riviera, and it somehow plants itself into my cerebral cortex. Would I want Rhonda to call my boyfriend Guillermo, or should my Mom in Pennsylvania be the first to bear this unfortunate news?