Author Archives: Joel Derfner
November 27, 2006
On Thanksgiving it transpired that I had unwittingly bought myself an item E.S. had intended to give me as a Christmas gift. Last night we had the following conversation:
E.S.: So what should I give you for Christmas now that you ruined my idea?
FAUSTUS: I don’t know.
E.S.: I’ll give you a dozen roses.
FAUSTUS: Will they be made of gold?
E.S.: Roses aren’t made of gold.
FAUSTUS: These ones better be, if they’re what you’re giving me for Christmas.
E.S.: Why are you so materialistic?
FAUSTUS: Because things are wonderful.
E.S.: What about our love?
FAUSTUS: Well, that’s nice too.
E.S.: Isn’t that enough?
FAUSTUS: It’s enough for love. But I want love and things.
E.S.: That’s it. I’m getting you something from the lump of coal catalogue.
November 23, 2006
I realize that there are many things in the world for which I might want to give thanks. The recent defeat of the Republicans in the Congressional elections, the time I’ll spend with my family when they come here later today for what I hope will be a delectable feast, the love of E.S. and my dog A.
But really all I can think about is how thankful I am for Melrose on Top Model.
November 15, 2006
Last night, E.S. and I had the following conversation:
FAUSTUS (after E.S. has impugned his cleaning skills): You’re an asshole.
E.S.: You’re an asshole.
FAUSTUS: I am not.
E.S.: I am not.
FAUSTUS: Hmph.
E.S.: Hmph.
FAUSTUS: Stop copying me.
E.S.: Stop copying me.
FAUSTUS: Faustus is a gorgeous, brilliant genius.
E.S.: Faustus is a poopyhead.
(Pause.)
FAUSTUS: You’re an asshole.
Then we had sex.
November 10, 2006
Yesterday, in east midtown, I actually heard one man say to his companion, “Whoa, get a load of the tits on that chick.”
I have done what I can to ensure that I lead a life sheltered from heterosexuality, but obviously I need to redouble my efforts.
November 8, 2006
Actually, no, Oedipus the Movie is even funnier. It’s Oedipus, in eight minutes, performed by vegetables. You need the sound on, especially as the score is pretty terrific.
In other news, is it really possible that we are taking the reins of government back from the evil usurping overlords?
November 4, 2006
“We couldn’t keep our dog’s addiction a secret any longer,” Laura Mirsch says. “The neighbors all knew that Lady was a drug addict, and soon the other dogs weren’t allowed to play with her.”
Go here to read and listen to the funniest thing I have come across in a long, long time.
October 30, 2006
Okay, I am just now catching up on this season’s episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, and I have one thing to say:
If Chris O’Donnell and Patrick Dempsey both wanted to spend their time having sex with me, I know exactly what I’d do.
E.S. would be free to join the three of us if he wanted to, but really I wouldn’t care one way or the other.
October 27, 2006
Swish: My Quest to Become the Gayest Person Ever and What Ended Up Happening Instead — Available Now!
Click here to read reviews of Swish.
A few years ago I wrote a book called Gay Haiku. Writing a book had never been a particular goal of mine, except for two weeks during the eighth grade, after I read Truman Capote’s Other Voices, Other Rooms; my resulting desire to be an author lasted until I finished Breakfast at Tiffany’s, at which point I realized it would be much more interesting to be a prostitute. But in 2003, as part of a fund-raiser for a theater company some friends of mine and I were starting, I wrote 49 haiku about all the bad dates I’d been going on and all the bad sex I’d been having since my boyfriend and I broke up. The haiku turned out well, so I wrote 20 more and sent the collection to an agent as a manuscript called 69 Gay Haiku. She liked it and sent it to a publisher; he also liked it, but he said 69 haiku wasn’t enough and 110 seemed like a more appropriate number. I was upset, not because the prospect of writing more haiku was so horrible, but because 69 Gay Haiku was the only decent title I had ever come up with for anything and I was loath to discard it. I suggested the title 69 Gay Haiku Plus 41 More but the reception with which this idea met was singularly unenthusiastic.
When the book appeared on shelves, however, I stopped being upset about the title because all of a sudden I got to tell people things like, “Monday’s no good for me, I’m having lunch with my publicist.” (The only thing I’ve ever said more glamorous than this was, “Yes, I can meet you at your apartment for anonymous sex tomorrow morning, unless I have to go to Prague.”) The fact that my publicist and I spent the entire lunch in question gushing about how vigorously we wanted to rip Chris Meloni’s clothing off didn’t matter in the least; what was important was that I could use her in a sentence. This was by far the best thing about becoming a published author.
The worst thing about becoming a published author was that, inexplicably, it did not make all my problems go away. Walking into Barnes & Noble and seeing my name on a book jacket was exciting, of course, but when I left the store the thought filling my head was not Gee, now my life is perfect but Why didn’t the cute cashier fall in love with me as I purchased my own book? Am I fat? Or could he just see that I’m a bad person?
October 24, 2006
If I were a pessimist, I would insist that these images from the Times online edition (yesterday and today, respectively) indicate that our society really is beyond redemption.
However, I am an optimist, and I am choosing to believe that the two different misspellings of à la, along with the lack of italics, are the result of nothing more than gremlins in somebody’s computer somewhere, and that the print edition gets it right.
Note that I have no intention of checking the print edition to find out whether my belief is correct or not. I’m an optimist, not an idiot.
October 23, 2006
The other night, after E.S. and I had sex, I dropped my head onto the pillow and shut my eyes.
“What are you doing?” he said.
I did not open my eyes. “I’m going to sleep.”
“No,” he said. “We have to stay up and talk about our emotions.”
I really should have pushed him in front of the N train when I had the chance.
