The World's Leading Blog

        Some people have called to ask what LL does when FHC is away for so long.  Is Kevin D. any fun?  Who controls the netflix queue?  Do your supervisors wonder why you don’t bring your charming French boyfriend to any events  and assume that you must have broken up with him because gays can’t stay monogamous?  Does Kevin W.’s ambien business collapse without the usual offers of $50 from a Nigerian bank account for four pills?
        There are two answers to all these questions: Nothing is different, but also everything is different.  My daily habits stay exactly the same.  I wake up at 7.30am, make coffee, eat toast, get on the bus, come home from work, watch Cold Mountain, and go to bed early.  Occasionally on weekends I get incapacitatingly drunk, mock Midwestern states like Nebraska, and eat a midnight quarter pounder with cheese. 
        But doing all these things sans FHC just isn’t the same.  Sure, Kevin D. was a fun date for Cold Mountain mostly because a) it was a terrible movie and he was good at mocking it and b) I could watch without subtitles.  The difference, though, is that without an accomplice saying things in b roken English, life isn’t as much fun.  When FHC and I scarf down a 1 million calorie sandwich from McDonald’s together, we have a sense of camaraderie in the American experience of obesity.  When I’m alone, it’s just déclassé and embarrassing, so much so that I have to hide the bag from Kevin D. to avoid being busted.  Or take today for instance.  I finished watching Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room (two thumbs up) and am sitting here alone with no one around to discuss all my questions: where does that macho eat-what-you-kill attitude come from and why don’t gays have it?  Is the collapse of FHC’s blog the next Enron?  And, most importantly, don’t we all secretly think Andy Fastow was a little bit dreamy? 
         Maybe worst of all, people treat me as though FHC has died.  So have you moved on with FHC gone?  Who makes you pasta with sauce every night?  Are you really going on a bike ride alone to keep his memory alive?  Are you going to open a Friendster account?  Can I have his Vilebrequin bathing suit?
        Most of these questions will never be answered.  But in the meantime, I’m going tonight to Carlos U. and Malcolm X.’s “pub crawl,” which apparently includes 7 bars, a scorecard, and lunch with Carlos and Malcolm themselves for the unfortunate winner.  Note that this is the type of activity that only a lawyer would characterize as “fun.”