A note to readers: today I turn another year older. As the passage of time continues to rather morbidly remind me of mortality, I have decided – after about 17 months of working for TNG – to take an break indefinitely from the grind of weekly writing and publishing. I hope to be back soon, perhaps not a younger man, but at least with some newly-born ideas. Until then, take care.

A little math and a little mayhem make up this week’s LBB.

My weekend routine.

It’s either here or the art museum. This being a long weekend, I did both. The museum yesterday, the mall today

Before, there had been dancing, dining, a resort… The half-forgotten problems of the those nights – something involving a fat man and a sauna? – were now stripped of their serious façade and revealed, alas, to be but trivial bumps in what was once an easy road.

After the disaster, my aunt’s semi-Southern home had turned into a shelter of sorts where people gathered to piece together the remains of their lives. My family did not seem to be greatly affected, but countless others were, and she opened her doors to them (though only proverbially, as we stayed steadfastly outside).

Upon the announcement of their engagement, we all kind of said, “Huh?” Not because – you know – but just because we didn’t think they were the marrying type.

She said a YouTube video changed her mind. Welcome to romance in the digital age.

As I packed to head home to the east coast, I questioned whether I should bring a jacket from what I call my “vintage collection” – the clothing I still own from before I came out.

It is strange returning to things that we’ve left.

In a new short story, Corey gives glimpses of lives just out of their own grasps.

In a set of poems, Corey finds a way to make a visit to Barnes and Noble an emotional experience.

People who speak of the secularization of Christmas perhaps have a near-sighted view of humanity. Yes, much of “the holiday season” lacks a clear relation to the religious ideals upon which it was founded, but the fact that it defines an entire season of American life, and the fact that it is the holiday season, and not just one among equals, give it a conspicuously prominent place in our culture.

It may not always be theological, but it nonetheless reeks of religion.

This weekend, I went to see the Colorado Shakespeare Festival’s production of A Christmas Carol in Boulder. The friend who accompanied me, a Jew, and myself, an Agnostic, were perhaps not the likeliest pair to go see this together. In fact, it being the evening of Black Friday, I was probably the only homosexual with a shopping addiction who wasn’t out hunting down discounted coats and designer jeans.

The queer marriage should begin by the age of 24, when – exhausted from 2 or 3 years of the woes of gay dating – two partners decide to settle and settle down.

The queer marriage needs by default to be tacky and unseemly, for while one gay might mean good taste, two almost always means a mess of uncompromising positions.

The queer marriage should not take place in a church, or other house of worship, because how fucked up is that?