Last week my grandfather set off the fire alarm in his Florida apartment complex at 11 PM. That very same night, in New York City, I had a shamanic vision. It was all sparks, licking flames, haze, and then oblivion.

Maybe you think I’m speaking metaphorically about an orgasm. If so, you’ve obviously never had sex with me. I’m talking about death. I think I now know how I am going to die. Strike the tragically fated hot air balloon chase scene from the script! [ . . . ] Continue »

When I become very tan, a lot of white people think I look Black. This is puzzling to me because when I see really tan white people, I don’t think they look Latino.

I’m back from a blissful week of tropical sun, which has apparently left me looking like a “relaxed,” “happy” cast member of UPN’s Girlfriends. Before my island getaway, I was the color of congealed oatmeal and suffering from vitamin-D deficiency induced depression. After an intensive sun-swimming-SPF 70 intervention, my complexion has deepened to a cinnamon or burnt sienna hue.

This is a Toni Morrison way of saying, I’m really tan. [ . . . ] Continue »

I wonder what I look like to a stranger. More specifically, I wonder what I look like from a birds-eye view, seven stories up. Apparently from this vantage point, there is something distinctive and remarkably distasteful about me. Otherwise, why would someone choose to throw a full, glass handle of vodka down at me from a rooftop?

The weekend before last I was nearly killed dead—yes, “killed dead”—when a stranger threw a full gigantic bottle of booze down at me from a rooftop. [ . . . ] Continue »

Unless I step into the voting booth on November 4th, close that weird spring-tension curtain, flick down all the little switches, pull the space-shuttle emergency brake lever, cast my votes, and am then sexually gratified by a stars-and-stripes sex toy to the point of experiencing the longest, hardest orgasm of my life—I don’t think I’m going to be satisfied by the results of Election 2008.

As most voting stations around the country cannot be relied upon to properly perform their one and only function—to accurately record and report the number of votes cast for each respective candidate—I suppose I won’t stand around on November 4th with my dress up around my waist, waiting for a full body flush and sweet release. [ . . . ] Continue »

We realized that something was very wrong when, following Sarah Palin’s keynote speech Wednesday night, I stood in our kitchen screaming and sobbing while repeatedly beating the oven door with a dish towel. Holy media-induced mental break, Batman!

About a half an hour into this preposterous, wholly unproductive behavior, my tongue felt thick, my head swirled, and a knot of sadness and shame settled into the pit of my stomach. [ . . . ] Continue »