When I was in Jr. high back in Fargo, I was all excited when I heard the high school we’d be going to the following year had a pool. I thought all pools had water slides and fake rock waterfalls. I WAS WRONG. Worse, having a pool, a non-fun kind used for doing laps and stuff, meant swimming would be a required part of gym class and that got a big OHELLNO from me and the others in my loser/fag/nerd group.

We knew while we were swimming someone would either steal our clothes, throw our clothes out in the snow, or throw out clothes in the pool. I’d already begun planning an emergency back-up change of clothes to store in my regular locker should this or other garment-related attacks happen. But then I heard we could take gym as a summer school class, which sounded way more fun anyway, so I did, and as luck would have it my summer school gym teacher wasn’t a certified lifeguard so we were the one class that didn’t have to do swimming.

But anyway, so we’re halfway through 10th grade, in the middle of winter, when all the other kids start the swimming part of gym class, and sure enough one of the spazzy class-clown kids gets his clothes thrown in the pool. He manages to save his red sweater that only got half-soaked. BUT there was so much chlorine in that pool it bleached the bottom half of his sweater and one sleeve white. He sat there in class next to me as the color literally dripped from the sweater.

Can I tell you about the bitch fit I would have thrown if that happened to my oversized purple Claiborne sweater! Actually I wouldn’t have thrown a fit. It would have quietly pushed me deeper into my suicidal circle of despair orbiting around a festering pressure cooker of hatred for all humanity just waiting for a reason to explode. But anyway, this shirt reminded me of that because it looks exactly the way that kid’s sweater did.

Oh and the next year we moved to Minneapolis where their much more progressive attitude towards education didn’t require gym in the curriculum so I never had to endure the high school locker room or dodgeball game again.

Sidenote: That same winter as the sweater dunking incident, a gay friend and I were using a pool (for fun swimming - not laps) at a local college on their family night because his parents worked there. One night we got there late and were changing in the usually empty locker-room. This wasn’t scary to me because I thought these guys were older and not like immature high school students. That night, a couple college guys were in there changing too and the one says to his friend, “Dude, why do you always come so late?”

“To avoid the fags”

“You ever seen any?”

“Yeah. One time in Minneapolis.”

“Really? What’d you do. You beat ‘em up.”

“No - they were, fuckin bigger than me.”

If you’re stumped for wall decoration maps are a safe stand by. They give a smart vibe without being turn-off smart like displaying the periodic table. That is, if used correctly, as in framed. When a map is crookedly pinned to the wall it says, “I’m lost. And I need to be reminded where I am. Every day.”

If u didn’t know: Obscene Interiors is my collection of real online male personal ad photos. I gray out the men to allow an undistracted view of the setting so we may better study the candid reality of modern home decor.

Obscene Interiors: Hardcore Amateur Decor is also a fun little gift book you can order direct from me - and I’ll sign it, or get it from Amazon.com or any cool bookstore.

I’m a big fan of putting silly things on people’s heads. Always a winner.

I would like to replace my bedding with 5 of these soft warm things.

I’d sent this pic to a blogging friend as part of a giant smut dump for his site but said friend DID NOT THINK THIS GUY WAS A HUMPY SEX PILLOW and didn’t post the pic. “Gross” was the word he used I think.

Anywho, my friend’s blog is House of Vader but I WARN U NOW it is nothing but hardcore steroid penetration porn and extreme high fashion fetish inspiration (with no pictures of my fantasy humpy sex pillow). Don’t bitch to me if you can’t handle the floursecent spandex or hairy holes contained within HouseOfVader.com

As you can see here, the 106-foot Christmas tree at the Americana (or more appropriate, Armeniacana) in Glendale is yes, a living tree. But like many things brought here after being discovered, the tree got a makeover including the coniferous version of hair plugs and a spray-on tan done with green paint.

I snapped these iphone pics while watching the guy on the cherry-picker drill holes in the trunk then hammer in pre-doweled branches -  from other trees stripped of their limbs I presume.

When it opened in the middle of the French countryside in 1990 it looked like this:

It contained a theater, a restaurant, and lots of displays of what would become Disneyland Paris.

The Robert A. M. Stern monograph Buildings says, “…when the building was new it literally stopped traffic. Once the theme park was opened, the facade was painted over and the [prefabricated buildings] were used for other purposes.”

Ah yes. I’d say so. Here it is in 2008:

More pictures of its abandoned state here.

And how the interior looked in 1990.

Being I adore abandoned sites, Disney parks, and graffiti - finding this was like early Christmas for me. Thanks to Le Parc-o-rama blog for the tip.

There’s also an unfinished/abandoned Disney resort in Florida. There’s great video of it here.

I’m ignoring that thing where heterosexually afflicted Californians said I can’t have the same rights as them and instead focussing on the Obama win. And this is the song for the occasion.