FHC’s resurrected blog

ESLL, or Adventures of a Bilingual Couple

        When FHC came to this country, he didn’t speak a word of English.  When he and George M. first started dating, FHC would just sit there silently, looking pretty.  After of year together, FHC slowly learned English, and George learned that he had a lot to say, and most of it unpleasant.  By the time they broke up, he regretted that FHC had ever learned the language.
        Now that I’m part of an ESL couple, I understand what George M. suffered through.  The problem isn’t FHC’s sarcasm or hilarious accent; it’s that he learns English like a toddler.  Sometimes it’s really adorable: when we came across some deer the other day, FHC  told me to “look at the Bambis.”  When people are fat or ugly, FHC calls them “porks,” and of course we all remember when instead of asking for veal he ordered “son of a beef.”   
        Cute, right?  The problem is the more vulgar words and phrases that he learns and refuses to stop repeating.  Just this week he learned “butt pirate” and “bonehead” and tries to adopt them in everyday conversation.  In the checkout line at Soviet Safeway: “Do you think the person in front of us is a butt pirate;” or while introducing himself: “Ow are you.  Please call me Bonehead.”  Our good friend Fagat taught him the phrase “I want to feed you blow and watch you jerk off” and FHC has repeated it ever since to clerks at J. Crew, baristas at Starbucks and Oliver D. le chat.  Great, thanks Fagat, we really needed him running around saying that to total strangers.
        We had a very full day today, which like most of our Saturday mornings started with a fight at the Post Of fice, midday brunch in Georgetown, and then a bike ride to Reagan National Airport we watched 1) A really gorgeous guy make out with is girlfriend 2) a pair of ducks, which got LL particularly excited and 3) planes take off and land (Vide attached: Download oceanair_815.3g2).  FHC, as always, had the politically correct observation that the activity was perfect for (edited for racist content) because it was free entertainment.
        See you all next week, when we’ll blog about FHC’s ebay habit. 

No Man is an Island

  Other than calls from FHC, my cell phone hasn’t rung since SET called at 5.21.2006 at 12.43pm.  I’ve gotten one or two text messages here and there, mostly from Nick D. who was just using me to get information or people like Ben T. who text only to explain why, after listening to voicemails I’ve le ft for them, they’re not able to call me back.  The text message “I can’t hang out with you and FHC” excuses range from “I’m in LA LA land” (yes, Ben, we know) to “who is this anyway?”  We even had a camping trip for this weekend that was “cancelled” – it wouldn’t sound so fishy if Kevin D. hadn’t packed his tent, sleeping bag, condoms and birth control pills before disappearing for the weekend.  When we go out (with our Mark H. since we have no gal pals of our own), the only people we bump into are current UPenn students born in 1990.  Even our attempts to fish for friends haven’t been successful; after pretty much begging Cub B. to play with us, all FHC got was a short message: “Mucho thanks for the b-day shout-out on le blog.”  Yeah, thanks is right.
With this absence of social companions, FHC and I are left to – gasp – spend all our time together.  We’ve been obsessively watching the first season of “Lost” from Netflix, and by “watching” I mean fast-forwarding through the boring parts and slowing down whenever we think we might get to see Ian S. shirtless.  We’ve also been trying to do more “sports,” or really FHC goes to Results each night to catch a glimpse of the new twinks in town and I pretend to go jogging with him but last for about 20 minutes before collapsing and wishing I’d stayed home to do laundry instead.  Tomorrow we’re going outlet shopping for pants, since “business casual” doesn’t mean jeans and a polo.  Oops.

In Which LL Asks FHC to Stop Titling Posts "In Which . . ."

  FHC finally took me to the Billy Goat Trail yesterday.  Apparently, in the metropolitan DC area “trail” means “pile of rocks” and “seeing nature” means maybe a squirrel and if you’re lucky a few ducks.  Also, walking along a river would usually be pleasant, except that the Potomac is so polluted that the surface of the water is covered by an unidentifiable beige froth.  In preparation for our rigorous hike, FHC took me to get a mani-pedi.  Enough said.

Sadly, we’ve also run out of friends in gay DC.  On Thursday night we had dinner with the Gs, apparently the only people left who enjoy our company, or something like that.  We went to Pigalle,  which “replaced” Peppers on 17th Street and I got food poison from the mussels.  Ben T. commented that ordering that entrée at that location was an invitation for violent illness.  Everyone else we contact for plans politely declines or “has a friend’s birthday to go to.” If it sounds fishy, then please send us an email inviting us for drinks.  Because we’re now total outcasts, FHC and I watch hundreds of movies.  All of them are about gays, immigrants, or Jews.  Occasionally we watch a movie about the Nazis, which conveniently covers all three.

Now comes the part of the blog where LL runs out of things to say, so I have question for commenters (slash Oliver D. and his pussy cat suitor) to answer.  Why is the US postal service working with FedEx?  Has anyone else noticed that local post offices now contain FedEx drop-off locations, and USPS express mail has a FedEx logo on it?  Because honestly, if the post office is going to admit they suck and give up, I’d rather if they stopped stealing my tax dollars to do it.
Lastly, our good friend has gone missing, and so I think someone ought to start a blog called Fishwatchwatch to keep track of his whereabouts.

We Now Know

If FHC were blogging today, this entry would fall into the "FHC has nothing to say category."  That seems to be the trend lately: I opened up my Grand Sichuan fortune cookie last night and a fortune in side there was not.  Does this mean that I have no fortune, or that life will continue to be dull dull dull?  I think my lack of a fortune beats KMZ's, which observed "Depend on the support of the collective."  They must have run out of the "stick with your wife" and "the revoluti on, and the recognition of class and class struggle, are necessary for peasants and the people to overcome both d omestic and foreign enemy elements" fortunes.

Now that the academic year has ended, I'm forced to decline invitations to Yankees games because I have to "clean up" and "pack" instead of "study property," "throw coffee" or "see David Blaine."  Somehow none of those excuses seems convincing, and since the sun is shining, neither does "it's about to pour."  I've pretty much turned into a zombie in front of the TV, watching Dateline NBC set up suspected child rapists and notsuper-models open briefcases on Deal or No Deal.  I tried to tape the first program for FHC, cough cough, but he said he wasn't interested in watching it.

Finally, the most fun game on the internet is actually Google's new search feature - "Google Trends."  What's amazing is that you can figure what the CIA is interested in, and what it's not based on how often people from "Reston, VA" are searching for a given term.  (NOTE: that the CIA hides the fact that it's in Langley)

Here are some examples from http://www.google.com/trends:

Valerie Plame: 1 Washington DC; 2 Reston, VA
Joe Wilson: 2 Reston, VA
Scooter Libby: 1 DC; 2 Reston
Moussaoui: 1 Rabat Morocco; 2 DC; 3 Reston
Duke Cunningham: 1 San Diego; 2 Washington DC; 3 Reston, VA
Porter Goss: 1 Washington; 2 Reston
Maureen Dowd: 1 NYC; 2 Cambrige; 3 DC; 4 Reston!

And, for those of you who think Reston is just a populated place so of course people there are looking for common DC figures:

FBI:  1 Washington; 2 Miaimi; 3 San Diego; 4 New York, etc.
Wonkette:  1 McLean, VA; 2 Washington; 3 Arlington, VA

Does Anyone Know if FedEx Comes on Saturdays?

During our phone conversation last night, FHC said he was going to implement a number of rules for this summer to make sure the two of us get along as “roommates.” Here are some of the rules I’m goin g to have to follow:

1. There will be a lot of you shutting up
2. There will be a lot of me telling you what to do
3. There will be a lot of you not seeing your friends if I don’t want you to

In other words, someone call Ari S. immediately and have him do a story called Modern Slavery: Immigrants and the Prisoners They Keep. What’s nice is that FHC is giving me some practice early by making me a prisoner in my own apartment in NYC. I’ve been told FedEx is coming today with a package from what we suspect might be Ralph Lauren, but no one, not even FedEx, has any idea when today the package is actually arriving. They attempted delivery at 11.36 “PM” yesterday; the only delivery men I know who come by close to midnight are either prostitutes, drug dealers, or from Grand Sichuan. I can’t even leave to get a coffee. First FHC pretended he had no idea what the package was coming or who it was from – “So, LL, what do you think your parents sent in that package? Another cashmere sweater?” I told him they’d sent their gift regular mail. FHC then had to switch stories, and tried to be accommodating, telling me “You shouldn’t wait it’s probably just nothing and besides, you have a lot of studying to do.” Finally, FHC suggested I sign for the package in advance and let FedEx just leave it on the street. As far as I’m concerned, the only thing that guarantees is me coming home to an opened, empty box and several days later seeing a random hoodlum on the subway wearing a bright pink polo monogrammed “FHC.”

The truth is I couldn't be more excited for my package and feel like a little boy on Christmas.  Besides, I really need a break.  In any case, I’m also glad FHC has set the ground rules for this summer before I arrive. After all, as he explained, our relationship has thrived from NOT seeing each other, so who knows what will happen when FHC is forced to live with my untidiness for three months.  I'm not even sure he remembers what I look like.  Ok, that’s all I have for today – I’m off to continue waiting for this package.

This is just a test of the emergency blogging system or FHC, we hardly knew ye

FHC's plane landed right on schedule at 7.04pm.  While some of us were studying away and updating the Air France arrival website to make sure he landed safely, we might have forgotten that today is a Saturday, which means it actually is my job to blog. 

I have a question for the readers about karma.  Because I have exams coming up in the next few weeks, I've been actively trying to make sure I behave nicely and don't screw anyone over, or, pretty much I've been trying to avoid any sort of stain on my karma whatsoever.  But I've also actively sought out situations to improve my karma.  Yesterday I offered my cell phone to someone standed in the subway trying to make a call from a pay phone but having no success.  This morning I put all my change from my coffee order in the "tip jar."  So here's the question - if I'm doing these things selfishly hoping to gain "good karma" points, do they count?  Or, even worse, do they count negatively because there's very little selflessness inv olved?

In other news, it was really amazing to hear FHC's voice on his way home from the airport after 10 days of phone silence.  I'd almost forgot what his broken-English accent sounded like.   I missed my little FHC and I'm glad to have him back, or at least 200 miles away instead of 2000.

Breaking News: FHC's receives Pulitzer for commentary; Nicholas Kristof genocides self out of disappointment. Developing . . .

Today is Monday.  And by Monday I mean NOT my day of the week to blog.  But since no one wants to see FHC's end up like this, I've decided to post every now and again while the real FHC becomes even more orange than in the photo on the upper left corner of your screen.

During Crim today my friends and I were emailing about ways to tell if someone is straight or gay by what they're wearing.  And we're not talking about just having good taste or dressing well - if NYC and Europeans prove anything, it's that having fashionable sensibilities and being delicate do not a queer make.  Here were some of the suggestions.  Please discuss and add any of your own in the comments section:

1)  Gays don't wear white undershirts.  This doesn't mean that we all like revealing our chests beneath our button-downs - but when we do wear undershirts, they're charcoal, or even black, but never white.

2)  Gays don't wear white socks.  Even with gym shoes.  Unless they're jogging, working out or in gay porn.

3)  Gays are very attentive to the way their jeans hit their trendy sneakers.  You'll never see a gay with his cuff tucked into the heel of his shoe, and you'll never see unnecessary clumping.  Gay men make sure their jeans break *just right* over their shoes, and they're constantly readjusting throughout the day to get the desired effect.

4)  Gays LOVE to wear long-sleeve shirts underneath their polos.  Sometimes they color-coordinate, but they don't have to.

In bloggorhea, apparently the new Real World cast has two homosexuals, one have whom got a job as a bar back at JRs (no, not that JRs). 

Editor's Note:  While we don't like to draw attention to the aging process, Pedro and Maria have asked that we all extend a happy birthday to a very special person, who may or may not be accelerating the wrinkling process on what may or may not be the mediterranean sea.

The Passion of the Blog

Easter represents a special time for us at FHC's.  The life of the blog tracks closely the life of our L&S J.C.:

1)  The Blog was conceived one night in Tunis when FHC became high on chemical fumes and believed, only momentarily, that God was fucking him.  From that fresh seed, the blog was born.

2)  The Blog in its original form, already slowly dying from a mysterious disease, came under attack from a bunch of heathens, Jews, and lesbians and was put to rest by the Friendster gestapo, who had accused the Blog of harassment.  To the true believers, of course, the Blog was just spreading the gospel.

3)  The Blog rose again out of its cyber-tomb.  After suffering for the sins of homosexuals and Frenchmen all over the Duport Circle metro area, FHC's Blog asked that their sins be forgiven.

Actual Christians please note that any inaccuracies are based entirely on my complete ignorance - and utter lack of interest - in your faith.  Please don't attribute anything I say to FHC, devout as he is.

Meanwhile, Kevin D. is still gay , I'm still have to get back to studying for finals, and FHC has no internet, so this is all you're going to get for a while.

Also, can someone tell me how much caffeine is too much?  Today I've had two coffees, a diet coke and a diet pepsi.   

Lastly, in the past 24 hours there have been about 50 google searches for this picture of Ian S. on the blog.  I figured if I reposted we'd get even more hits.  If that makes me a blog slut, fine.

V for It's Raining Outside and I Hate School

     Since FHC spends his workweeks accusing me of being lazy and emphasizing the importance of his “professional activities” and my complete lack thereof, I decided to bring him to school today.  My first exam is May 1st, and it’s about time I start studying.      

Little did I know what “going to school to study together” really meant.  And if you’re secretly hoping that it meant performing oral sex in the library stacks, you’ll be disappointed.  What it actually meant was spending two hours trying to get FHC’s wireless internet to work and spending 30 minutes on the phone with “Shonda” from Lenovo trying to solve the problem – FHC confessed to me that he was worried that the tech support person wouldn't understand his broken English, unlike most tech support calls where the employee - "Frankie" - can barely form sentences in English.  As always, I had to deal with the impossible to fix problem.  Fortunately I just finished studying the section in property about what happens after divorce.  This information will be very useful in a few hours.

     In other news, we’re also having marital problems in movie selections.  Inside Man was sold out, and we went to V for Vendetta instead.  Even though the movie had initially been FHC’s suggestion, he thought it “sucked balls.”  I, on the other hand, really liked it.  Natalie P. was charming (even if I hate her guts for being my age and wildly successful) and the mask actually make Hugo W. far less freakish than in all his other roles – I couldn’t see his annoyingly small mouth or see the weird facial ticks he makes when he talks.  Also, there were a lot of (ok, a few) gay characters, and you can’t go wrong there.  FHC attacked it for having an even more obvious message than Crash, only with worse acting.  That’s exactly why I liked it so much more. 
     Finally, while making breakfast this morning (turkey bacon and eggs) without any contribution from FHC whatsoever, I destroyed the toaster oven and microwave in our hobbit hole when the stand I bought from Target completely collapsed.  There’s now a gaping hole in the microwave, but we’re using it in any event.  (Slash FHC and I might go to BBB tomorrow to see what our replacement options are).
     Tonight we are either going to another movie (Inside Man this time hopefully) or watch a movie at home (Loulous with Gerard Depardieu)  No joke.  We haven’t decided and I think it depends on how lazy the Lous are and whether the weather gets better.  Besides, FHC has offered to cook his famous curry, so at least we don’t have to go out to dinner.
   Love and kisses. 

FHC: Actually Crazy

After a long deliberation, FHC finally followed through on his childhood dream and adopted a puppy.  I guess driving Mike and Ari G-S. to Alexandria wasn’t enough for the day, and a computer and an iPod didn’t  keep him busy at all, natch.  Besides, after babysitting Loulboum and Loul Jr. a few weeks ago, FHC realized how nice it was to have a companion who gave you love 24 hours a day and doesn’t shovel its poop into a pile of sand like Oliver D. le chat. He found the puppy on ebay, obviously.  Unfortunately, there weren’t any French breeds (I guess no Bichon ever turns up homeless), so FHC had to settle for what we think it a bearded collie, though more than likely it’s some sort of mulatto.  I haven’t seen the animal myself yet, but I did get to hear it bark and FHC sent me pictures.

Walking won’t be a problem, since Kevin D. is an oboist who telecommutes, but there are a few obvious questions: who takes care of the dog next weekend when FHC visits LL in NYville?  Is LL goi ng to have any responsibility for the dumb animal when he’s living at the Chalet FHC over the summer?  What on gods green earth is Oliver going to do?  So far, he peed all over the carpet, tried to escape in the courtyard, and is momentarily locked up in Kevin D's room so doggie doesn't eat him. Most importantly, what will its name be?  I’ve suggested Hubert and Vaclav, both of which have been completely rejected.  FHC thinks he’ll either name it George. M., Alex S. or Cub.  Obviously you all know which one I voted for.  Please post suggestions below. We’ve also had a debate in the family whether the dog should be neutered.  I’d prefer not to have the thing ejaculating all over the furniture, but FHC wants to keep it like a “real man” – all of which foreshadows the huge argument we’re going to have when we ad opt a Tutsi baby from Africa and I ask to have it circumcised. 

In other news, I recommend everyone check out Google romance.  It’s like e-harmony meets Manhunt.com meets jdate.