when i remember, i remember everything i love about you: your hair, your smile, your laugh.

are you the same person every time i remember you?

who knows? even i don’t know.

what i do know is that is that you’ll last longer than all of my ephemeral fuck buddies. all of my alleged boyfriends.

because you’ll be eternally mine.

1 recently i’ve been bending my black cocktail straws in curlicues (tres louis vuitton fall 08).

2 starting a new fashion/writing/fabulous blog thing (it’s going to be big and exciting!)

3 finally began studying differential equations

4 instead of buying a phone, i spent my last paycheck on marc jacobs and shipley & halmos (damn you barney saleee)

5 i took my grandfather out to lunch today. afterwards, we visited his sister and she regaled us with the story of how a former four-year old student was caught selling crack for 25 cents in order  to get ice cream money

6 gunning for a job at the ritz carleton as a waiter

7 i’ve lost all contact with james lewis and have been thinking about him recently. sometimes, i pretend that one day he’ll leave his sexless relationship of six years for me. sometimes, i really believe it.

8 over discussion with mali, i realized i’d be a fantastic escort.

9 i’m in the middle of reading cloud atlas (strongly recommended)

10 i love la loba la loba la loba be mine 4ev shakira!

after playing the flirt to a series of unsure masculine types in muted t-shirts and girls with eye-catching handbags, i strolled down hall street. i smoked pot at the bus stop on cole. the rest of my walk was pleasant. the partly cloudy weather was conducive to my banal grey, black, and white outfit appearing much more rakish than had i originally thought having left for work this morning. the descrying sun made for more vivid visuals; the geometric phosphenes to which i’m accustomed to see after getting high were intensified.

that’s what i love about mathematics: it’s everywhere. tangibly and intangibly. topology, orthogonal groups, klein four groups, mendelbrot sets, snowflakes – i love it.

the boys were nice today: at j.r.’s, my first drink, a manhattan, was picked up by one of the barbacks (who graces me with a friendly peck every time we have the pleasure of seeing each other), and my second, an old-fashioned, was only two dollars. with my old-fashioned, i had a tuna roll, a surprisingly tasty pairing with whiskey and orange — must have been the ginger.

at alexandre’s, i was surprised to find that tyler, the sub bartender, had bought both of my scotches. that a bartender from alexandre’s had picked up my drink(s) is not so unexpected so much it was tyler himself.

we have rarely talked. and perhaps it is because i am so in awe of his inexorable beauty that i can hardly find anything to talk to him about (a characteristic of his that i should learn to overlook and a characteristic of mine that i should really learn to hone), but perhaps it is also that we seem to have so little in common when we both talk; our humors and topics of conversation are so disparate.

** whatevs, i’m sure it’s me just being sloshed on scotch and considering everything so myopically.

afterwards, i went back to JRs and met stephen, a suitor who, after declining several advances, i agreed to go to dinner. we went to the vietnamese place around the corner. what we talked about was probably best described as “drunk shit”: the quotidian parts of our day, the overly-assiduous barback waiting for our water glasses to fall to three-quarters full, how to hold chop sticks.

it was nice. i got his phone number. he looks like scarby (remarkably so), sans the curly hair, goofy laugh, and the flannel — and i guess in better shape.

on my way back to the west village, i got someone else’s number too.

it must just be one of those lucky weeks.

sincerely,

marcus

25%: sleep

10%: studying my reflection in the mirror

15%: talking to my homo friends about being gay and neighboring hot men

15%: “i’m on leave from MIT, yes. how many shots in your cappuccino would you like?”

7%: masturbation

6%: studying for/attending analysis and algebra

10%: reading 10 men, vogue, the new yorker, GRE prep books, the times crossword, making anagrams of random words and products of two-digit numbers i see on public transport

i would imagine the other eighth of my time is me staring into space, or standing in a secluded corner to pull underwear out of my butt or pick my nose.

my life is good, but the move back to boston will be fivefold more entertaining; i miss having conversations with groups of friends who are not all gay.

party after party after party…it’s quite the life.

the first i attended was in the middle of june: gary foster’s at the W hotel in the entertainment district. the party started at seven. having arrived at eight o’clock, i was surprised to find myself in the company of only a dozen men. an hour later, this number multiplied fivefold and by ten, the room was swarming with cliques of gay men exchanging catty glances and friendly assgrabs.

upon arrival i met the bartender, a pale woman in her mid-thirties who followed the question of where i attended school with “so what’s your IQ?”. she stood next to a fellow named marc anthony, with whom i spent between eight and nine smoking the last bit of pot i had in my wallet with two knives over the stove in his town house. for the remainder of the night, he spent clearing his throat and i spent thinking how it was that he had named his dog morroco and how when talking to gary about an upcoming trip that evening, marc did not know the locations of fez or marrakesh.

i ducked away for a while and while enjoying a gin & tonic (amazing, i can drink them again after countless nights of 21-ounce bombay mashes in towers, no?), a group of guys my age gave me the look and the tallest and most attractive one bearing a striking resemblance to gabriel cira complimented me on my polka-dot shirt. “i got it at barney’s.” his eyes grew even fuller and he smirked approvingly. we ran into each other again at john’s fourth-of-july party and again yesterday at chris’s big birthday bash yesterday.

while the pool area and above deck were rented, nobody stood in shorts (save for two very drunk men making out in the pool four hours into the party).  by eleven, i was in line for the bathroom facetiously playing a sycophant to a tweezed and tanned adonis named shelton in an attempt to win over a laugh. shortly thereafter i ended up in a car with two of his friends. we were headed for the bars. while driving from the entertainment district to homoville, booze-fueled railings were tossed around in a slapdash and characteristically gay fashion.

moments later, the driver was punched in the side of the head by the meathead in the passenger’s seat. the car stopped immediately and in turning to the side to demand that everyone leave the car, blood started to drip from his brow. we got out. shelton and i caught a cab home.

and since then i’ve been known as the guy in the marc jacobs shirt who goes to MIT and ended up in that car with those three musclequeens.

in other news, i started special orthogonal groups in the 18.701/2 book.

the game ends and we win with nine bags. 

the sun shines brightly just like our pairing smiles.

and everyone is giggling boisterously.