Too busy grabbing grub at the noodle factory. In hindsight, though, it was a wise decision. Earth Day is every year. The noodle factory has sales only once a decade. Friendzo called me from the Clearwater sloop and told about all the great Earthy things he was doing. I told him to suck a bacon. Then I cried. Then I ate a ten-foot noodle. Then I came in my pants, a little. Then Friendzo sailed down the Hudson to meet me. Tearful reunion. I sneezed. No cats.
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Shit, I missed Earth Day
27 April 2009 ?
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Friendzo | Tagged: blog, blogging, blogs, clearwater, earth day, eco-terrorism, gay, important to blog everyday, pete seeger, the faces | 
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Posted by hornblower
Check, please
23 April 2009 ?I could drink a bag of wine tonight, and I wouldn’t notice. New low — I ate sand this morning. It felt real, somehow, but that didn’t help the taste.
I miss Friendzo. I’d call him, but he doesn’t have a phone — he has a lymph node.
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Posted by hornblower
Paranoia
9 April 2009 ?Friendzo on a rope swing calls to me
and I start.
I blink at him twice, eyelids heavy with morning’s weight
and I stare.
A split log below his feet, he jumps anyway, letting go and landing dangerous
and I don’t look away, yet.
He’s walking at me now, I know I’m breathing because I hear myself breathing
and I start to walk.
We’re here now, together, and he’s smaller than I’ve ever seen him
and I open my mouth.
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Posted by hornblower
Grog
9 April 2009 ?I punched Friendzo in the mouth yesterday because he was asking for it. Fucking Friendzo.
On a train, outside
9 April 2009 ?I ran with Friendzo
across the lake
frozen.
Head to toe in white he
dived and slid
head first at the bank –
buried himself
in a drift the height of
a woman.
I clapped for him,
muffled mitten-claps
that died
instantly.
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Posted by hornblower
Green and yellow are two different colors
2 April 2009 ?Friendzo called me last night with the most terrifying story. He told me how he dreamt of cats who spoke to him and coughed loudly during the ballet. And he couldn’t imagine how to avoid the embarrassment, so he had to leave the theatre.
Another day has gone by and Friendzo’s mother still has not come by to pick up her birthday present. I suspect she wishes me to bring it to her house; this, however, is impossible. I will notify her that she has seven days to pick it up, or else I shall be forced to open it myself, and enjoy what is inside. I suspect this notice will spur some action in her. I would be very pleased to share the contents of the gift, but Friendzo’s mother happens to be one of the more avid readers of this very Web log, and so I do not wish to spoil the surprise. Sorry to everyone who finds this news disappointing. Sorry also to Friendzo’s mother for perhaps giving her false hope.
I’ll count to thirty over and over again, if I have to. I’ll count until there is no more thirty.
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Posted by hornblower
Pulled out by your hair
29 March 2009 ?I walked to the drugstore today for some pop. Friendzo was there with his lady friend, Esmé, drinking a chocolate milkshake — one straw. They spotted me and waved me over. The pop fizzed like 4th of July sparklers –I’ve got news, Friendzo said, I’m moving out.
I’d heard that one before, god knows. Friendzo thinks a lot about moving out. He makes these plans to run away and start a summer camp for children with extra kidneys. But when Fall comes, what then? He never makes it that far.
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Posted by hornblower
Gerunds in the watermelon patch
24 March 2009 ?Friendzo and I have been in a different land for this past week, and I’m sorry to have kept you all in the dark about this matter. I know how painful it has been for everyone reading this now, but please know that this was a necessary vacation for Friendzo and me. We travelled to the underground kingdom of Guadalajara. My auntie has a time share there and she lent it to us to use at our discretion.
Friendzo got into a fight with some local cattle rustlers, and we had to cool it for a while. What happened was, he had sneezed in the saloon on No-Sneeze Tuesday, and then the lead cattle rustler, Jimbo Weathervane, challenged old Friendzo to a unicycle tomfoolery showdown — for the purpose of restoring honor to the saloon, obviously. But Jimbo didn’t know that Friendzo was raised in a somewhat peculiar situation: by wolves, and in a circus. He can sniff out and find a unicycle from twenty miles away, and then he can balance the damn thing on his nose (which same nose had done the sniffing!) for two hours, until he gets nervous and stabs himself with an EpiPen. He also plays the flute pretty well.
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Posted by hornblower
Count it!
8 March 2009 ?Friendzo and I are in a bind. He went to the bookie the other day and made a bet that the Second Coming would happen before this Tuesday, but we just got an inside tip that it’s not going to happen until Thursday. And the bookie’s not letting us change the bet, the giraffes are still in my basement, and Friendzo’s been eating Iam’s for a week and a half straight now. I’m worried about him. It’s not the money — he’s always got the trust fund to fall back on, lucky bastard — but I don’t know if his psyche can handle another loss. Ever since his Tom Clancy hunch fell through (he thought Clancy was going to get the Nobel the year Pinter won) Friendzo’s been erratic as hell, throwing his money around like a chimpanzee throws its shit. I just hope he calms down before Spring comes. Ah, Spring. Left and right, he calls me once and again and we bleed together, unified in days and nights and screens and tights.
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Posted by hornblower
Me and Friendzo at Fordham to see the U2!
6 March 2009 ?Careful around the wildebeest this time of year, they get rowdy as hell, dropping bodies and throwing crazy fits. I took a ride around the sand dunes in my dune buggy, it was something else, let me tell you! Friendzo and I raced a little bit … you know how Friendzo gets. He was speeding like a cauliflower circus, oh boy! We came inside for some hot chocolate (poor choice! yowza!) and then headed over to Fordham University to catch the U2 in concert. We got there and the security guards were talking a bunch of raspy jive about IDs, so we flashed our press credentials to the 1996 Republican National Convention, and it was smooth sailing after that. Freindzo’s friend Gina goes to Fordham, so we met up with her in the bell tower of the big old Gothic building, Keating Hall. Man, what a dump! Reminded me of the bell tower we used to have in the old house, before my family moved to Mastodontown.
U2 played songs, but they were mostly using their instruments as pretend swords, and fighting each other. This was mostly the Edge and Adam Clayton, since Bono just has a mic and drums are kind of oddly shaped for a pretend sword fight.
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Posted by hornblower
