All the Best Cats Love Sweet Tooth

I'm pretty sure Stella is giving it two paws up.  

The 21 Stages of an Insulin Attack: A Diabetic Adventure in GIFs

Do you know a type-1 diabetic? The kind that has to jab themselves all day, every day, forever, with needles? Then you need to be able to recognize when this person--be it your dealer, your mother-in-law, your office crush, or your Craigslist hookup--is having an insulin reaction. Because things can get real, and you need to be armed with the facts. One moment you might be chatting about wanting to get your hands on a Michael Sam sex tape (there's gotta be one!), the other you're wondering why the person you're speaking to is having trouble forming words or is laughing maniacally and sweating like a honey baked ham for no reason. 

Your friend (dealer, mother-in-law, etc.) is in trouble, you see. Because, though he's an insulin-dependent diabetic, sometimes he may have taken too much insulin, or not eaten enough to cover the insulin he took, or exercised too much, or has been really stressed out lately. Maybe you're hanging out playing Scrabble, maybe you're in your office's supply closet, maybe he's asleep and you're there for some reason--the point is, at these times of what is called "hypoglycemia," his blood sugar will plummet to depths no human should be prepared to accept, and his body will do its best to let you know that you need to FEED HIM SUGAR NOW OMG. He won't go through all of these stages, but that all depends on you and how fast your reflexes are. (Also, how many Snickers bars you have on you.) You can learn more about the hilarious/irritating/dangerous world of low blood sugar attacks in my book Sweet Tooth, a memoir of my life as a type-1 diabetic teenager who thinks he likes dudes but knows he loves Froot Loops.

So, herewith, are the various stages of an insulin attack:

The part when he starts twitching

The part when he starts sweating

The part when he seems like he's a million miles away

The part when he becomes kind of confused

The part when he sweats some more

The part when you realize he's probably having an "episode" so you try to feed him some Nutella and he's not having it

The part when you try to get him to just open his mouth for one freaking second so you can squeeze some cake icing up in there and he's all...

The part when you get him to his feet and assume he can still walk to the kitchen by himself

The part when you realize, oh shit, this is getting real

The part when he starts to lose control of his motor skills

The part when you sit him back down and he gets weirdly emotional

The part when the sweating is kind of becoming a problem

The part when you try to feed him a Little Debbie snack cake and he rebels

The part when he falls on the floor and does some weird kind of land-based doggie paddle

The part when he reminds you of an old horror movie you once saw

The part when he starts laughing like he's seen the other side and it's hilarious

The part when the sweating is getting kind of ridiculous

The part when you manage to get some dulce de leche down his throat

The part when he realizes that delicious sweet things taste good and make things better

The part when he's really sorry for being so much trouble

The part when the amount of adrenaline in his system is way too much for him to remain upright

My book Sweet Tooth: A Memoir is out now from Lake Union Publishing. Buy it for all of your best frenemies. 

My Copies of Sweet Tooth Have Arrived and Stella's Bogarting All of Them

Guys, I got my copies of my new book Sweet Tooth, which chronicles my adolescence as a poor gay boy who loves sweets, and my cat Stella has already staked her claim on all of them. Jimmy said she's spent all day stacking them in different formulations. The one below is particularly poignant, as it really gets to the heart of the experience of a diabetic who loves Nutella and sometimes has low-blood-sugar episodes. 

That there is a vat of God's own chocolate hazelnut spread, plus some chalky glucose tablets in case your blood sugar is low and you have absolutely nothing else around to combat it, plus a glucagon injection kit, which is as delightful as it sounds--if a poor diabetic has passed out or is unresponsive to whatever sugar you're shoving in his face, you may need to take out the glucagon and jab him with it, for freedom (and so he doesn't slip into a coma).

After doing her art project, Stella whipped out a copy and turned directly to the part about her, because she's narcissistic, like most cats.

Here's Something Fun: The Book Jacket for the Thai Version of Tune in Tokyo

You guys, I know you're tired of me talking about myself incessantly, but seriously, this is fun stuff. For some reason, the island nation of Japan, in which I lived for two years (a long time ago, but still) has exhibited no interest whatsoever in translating my book about Japan, Tune in Tokyo, into Japanese, which is just rude and dismissive, no? You know who hasn't been rude and dismissive? Thailand, that's who. Yep, Thailand, that wondrous nation formerly known as Siam, snatched the rights to this book up like a Thai kid in an American candy store or something I don't know whatever.

The bottom line is, I'm thrilled that anyone wants me, and I'm double thrilled that it's Thailand, because I love Thailand--in the original draft of TiT, in fact, there was a chapter about a visit I took to T-land, but I ended up dropping it because it wasn't really on point, but I plan to include that story in a future book, so heads up, Thailand LOVE ME AND ASK ME OUT!

I'm triple thrilled with the design job on this here book jacket. They nailed me! Especially the narrow waist, the large biceps, and the platinum blonde hair. It's like I'm looking into a mirror. What's more, the Thai publisher, Matichon, has included Tune in Tokyo in a "Travelogue Series" of theirs. You wanna see an ad for it? Okay, if you insist.

In conclusion, I don't care that Japan is completely indifferent to my book's existence, because I'll always have Bangkok.

Introducing... Sweet Tooth: the Gay, Diabetic Memoir You've Been Waiting For!

Folks, I have great news, so sit down, shut up, and pour yourself a drink. Or wait, maybe pour yourself a drink, then sit down, then shut up. (Maybe you should shut up first?) Oh, whatever, just shut up and listen: my next book, Sweet Tooth, the follow-up to my generation-defining juggernaut Tune in Tokyo, has a publication date, hooray! You can get your grubby little hands on it on March 11, 2014. Like, this 2014! The year after this one! Do you know how soon that is?

Head on over to Ye Olde Amazon page to pre-order. You might also think about getting copies for your cat wrangler, your food tester, and your doppleganger, because you know you never get them nice things.

Did You Guys Know That Madonna Had Her Picture Taken a Few Times in the 80s?

It's true! More amazing, in fact: one guy, Richard Corman, actually photographed Madonna early in her career, even before she had an album out, or even owned her own upside-down crucifixes. And this fellow is being celebrated at Milk Gallery in NYC with a small but fun exhibit that contains many great shots of our lady hanging in the East Village, and a few shocking photographs of her apparently having lost her mind, braided her hair, and auditioned for Run-DMC?



Anyway, all the gays were there, you guys. All the gays. Here are two of them:



Big fans of Vision Quest, I'm thinking. And here's Madonna at her stove, leaning up against it like she owns it, when obviously she's just renting, at that point.

That up there's my friend Rachel Roth, who made my wedding cake and takes lots of pictures and gets pissed at you if you don't look at them on Instagram, so hurry up and go look at them before she yells at you.

Speaking of Roth's Instagram, I totally stole the next two from it, cause I've just realized I didn't take many pictures. And when you don't have what you need, children, you just take it from someone else. Remember that. Above is Roth with one of the captions. (Roth, where are all your others? I need to steal them.)

Had that same boom box, except bigger and pinker.

I just... I just couldn't... I just couldn't even... it's... what's happening?

Roth would totally have been one of these blurry East Village kids if she hadn't been two years old and living in Raleigh.

And one more with Danise.

Best one of the bunch, IMHO: full cast shot of classic 80s morality tale Desperately Seeking Susan.

Aw, yeah, this is what you came here for. A pic of yours truly in between two Madonna noses. Drink it in, children.

And there are more photos inside but you get the idea, so here's a great one of Danise looking hot in the freezing cold.

A Bikeride Into Gomorrah: NYC Pride 2013

Usually I only end up at a parade by accident--say, because I forgot it was happening and wanted to simply make my way home from work or make my way to the Y for a swim or make my way to H and M to return the latest thing I bought that was the wrong size because everything at H and M is apparently tagged with whatever label is closest at hand in the Indonesian sweatshop. But that's a different blog post.

The point is, I never really plan on going to a parade, but on Sunday I had to go into work for a few hours and, because my office building is at 5th and 37th, I got sucked into the best type of parade to stumble upon--a gay one. Sure, all parades are gay, but they don't all advertise themselves as such. So let's take a stroll through these pics and have a gander at all the folks dressed in their underwear/kimonos/flamingo-feathered tank tops in broad daylight, shall we? (You can, of course, click the clicky to enlarge the images. Sorry for any glitches, this new Blogger freaking sux.)

I immediately felt underdressed when I saw this lovely shemale bringing the rainbow realness to 37th Street between 5th and 6th.

I wanted to talk to the dude in the shades about his music box but I don't think he could hear me over the music box.

This geisha pirate doesn't have time for this bullish*t.

Ate some great opium brownies with these young ladies.

Just a normal, every day scene out in front of my office.

Don't pretend like you've never been out in public and needed help with your loincloth.

Hello, sonnies.

That's the same bridal skirt I wore to my confirmation.

Some sort of Shakespearean gay cosplay type thing? Sure.

Those Russians sure know how to ride in a pickup.

That's the same American flag banana hammock I wore to my Nanna's 90th birthday party.

So, the inventor of Chipotle is apparently a gayboy, which explains this (as much as this can be explained).

Yes, this is what I came here for: girls and ladyboys in purple and gray who are ready to bring it, whatever it is. Maybe some flashdancing?

Still ready to bring it. Bringing it any moment now.

Okay, move a little closer, sure. Yep, just walk on past. I didn't want to see any flashdancing yet anyway.

Flashdance commencing. The view from behind.

Guess a video would have been better, huh. Anyway, next...

Not sure what's happening here, but the important thing is that it's confusing.

Ah, and here comes the Berlin float, with some Berliners on it.

We are all Berliners now. Speaking of Berliners, I'm pretty sure you're ready to see a few more pictures of the smoking hot dude with the shaved head and sunglasses in the picture up top, right?

His name is Dieter and he's the new star of all of my sex dreams that take place at Brandenburg Gate.

Oh, hi again, Dieter. I'm worried that your pants are too high. Maybe shove them down a little?

Wait, these boys aren't Dieter. Nehmen Sie mich zuruck zu Dieter!

That's more like it. A few more of Dieter before he floats away maybe?

Phew, that was exhausting. Now, where can I go to get some gay coffee?