Author Archives: Joel Derfner

I hope you’ll accept my apologies for not blogging for the last few days. This sitting in the sun by the pool with sunglasses on is really hard work, let me tell you.

I’ll try and do better from now on, but I can’t promise anything. This sitting in the sun by the pool with sunglasses on is really hard work, let me tell you.

Tomorrow I am going to Los Angeles for two weeks with a collaborator on a writers’ retreat.

When I tell people this, I generally get a reaction of disdain mixed with pity. “Oh, Los Angeles,” they say. “I hate Los Angeles.”

The thing is, the writers’ retreat is my aunt’s 6,000-square-foot house in Beverly Hills, with a grand piano, a kidney-shaped swimming pool, and a TV bigger than me.

Go ahead and hate Los Angeles. I’ll send you a photo of me in the pool and you can pity me if you dare.

Last week I had my first experience with BDSM (for those of you unfamiliar with the seedier side of the sexual underworld but too lazy to click on the link, this stands for bondage & discipline/sadomasochism). Since, as I’ve mentioned many times, I enjoy being told what to do in bed, it made sense to follow that preference to the logical extreme.

When the relevant part of the encounter—which I quite enjoyed, though I don’t think I’ll be pursuing this as a lifestyle choice—was over, my partner removed my blindfold and I saw that the room I was in was filled almost to overflowing with Star Wars paraphernalia.

There was a poster on the door saying “Welcome to Coruscant!”

All I could think was, I wonder whether he spent more on the leather with which he tied me up or on the Star Wars figures.

Except of course I knew the answer.

There is a God.

I found out today he is a bottom.

The anaerobic physicist, that is. Not God. God may or may not be a bottom, but I’m not so interested in him.

I want to sing and dance around with joy, but I’m too exhausted from the relief of it all. Because of course if he’s a bottom then it never would have worked anyway, and I can just forget about the whole thing and move on.

I’m sorry not to be more amusing about the whole thing. I’m just so damned thankful that I can’t think clearly.

I posted twice yesterday.

That’s all I have the emotional energy to say at the moment.

N.B.: This is, unexpectedly, today’s second post.

He e-mailed me.

Poison it is.

Last night I did the bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I asked the anaerobic physicist out on a date.

I left the following message on his cell phone:

“Hey, N., it’s Faustus, from your Friday step class. I’m calling because I heard from M.O. that you’re not seeing anybody at the moment, and I wanted to seize the opportunity to ask you out on a date this weekend. And I’m a fabulous date, so you should say yes. Call me at 917.xxx.xxxx and let me know, and either way I’ll see you in class on Friday.”

This might have been a little braver if I hadn’t written the message ahead of time and checked his web site to make sure he was teaching when I called and therefore unable to answer his phone.

It also would have been a little braver if I hadn’t called him earlier in the day from the phone at work, hung up when he answered, and answered his call back (damn caller ID) by pitching my voice higher, putting on a Southern accent, and telling him I’d called the wrong number.

Baby steps, Faustus. Baby steps.

Stay tuned, in any case, for an invitation either to a wedding or to a game of Drink Poison, Drink Poison, Explode With Joy.

I’ll be the one drinking poison.

Every Malaysian man I’ve ever known has been talented, witty, and incredibly hot; by now, my knees start to go weak as soon as a guy tells me he’s from Kuala Lumpur.

However, this recent news item combined with this one makes me wonder if I shouldn’t reconsider my stance on this issue.

Edit, 5/21/06: Both of these links seem to have died. Unfortunately by now I have absolutely no recollection of what they might have been referring to. I guess we’re all out of luck.

Positive response
To the gay dating haiku:
The pressure’s awful—

Pressure to go on
In a similar format—

Oh, crap, a man can only do so much.

I seem somehow to have survived the Blogathon. If you’re impressed enough by the haiku to want to make a pledge, and haven’t done so already, you can still sign up here until 9:00 a.m. EST tomorrow morning.

By which point I may have recovered enough from the weekend to have something to say again.