You know, when you think about Illinois you probably think about some cornfiled state that happens to house the fabulous city of Chicago. And, for the most part, you’d be right. Aside from the gem that is Chicago, there isn’t much in Illinois except corn. Lots and lots of corn. But for a state known for its midwestern quaintness, there really is a lot of diversity here. Look at me! I’m mexican, I’m also gay. My best friend? She’s black. My person, he’s Thai and Mexican. My coworkers in the residence hall are actually not overwhelmingly white. BossLady? She’s Asian. Her boss? Is a lesbian. Her boss? Is Gay. Isn’t it wonderful! Some of my readers will immedietley point out the fact that I work in Residential Life, probably the most diverse and accepting sector of higher education EVAR. To them I offer this; I also work in the College of Education on my campus. I work in the tech department which means I work with and for pretty much everyone. The head of one department is black ,the head of another is a gay hispanic. One assistant dean is a black woman, another is a lesbian. Our dean is also a woman. Anyway, my point is that even I somtimes fall into the sterotypical notion that there’s no diversity here in Illinois, and I’m always suprised when I come across unique individuals like the person I just met in my psych class.

Yesterday, I shuffled into Industrial/Orginizational Psychology, a class I was originally really excited to take, but now that I realize the class consists of some poor grad assistant reading slides prepared by some unseen professor, I want to gnaw my ears off with my own teeth. I have to go because participation counts (is this high school? ugh) but I can’t take one more minute of being read to like a Kindergartener. Seriously, the man offers absolutely no input of his own. If it isn’t on the PowerPoint, he won’t say it. Anyway, I turned to the young man seated next to me and asked if he had a pen, mine went dry from trying to stab myself with it so many times, and I was shocked when he took off his coat to look for a pen and revealed that he had a pair of breasts. He answered with a voice too high for a boy, but too low for a female. “Thank you,” I said, taking the pen he (she?) offered. Anyway, I glanced over at her (his?) notebook and it was labeled “Alex” something or other. Damn! Alex goes both ways. So, me being well me, straight up asked. After class, I returned the pen and very politely said, “Can I ask you a question?.” Alex turned to me and said, I’m pre-op, but hopefully by the end of the year, that won’t be the case.” And we left it at that. I had a billion questions, “When? How? Why? What’d your parents say? OMG YOU GET TO WEAR MARC JACOBS!” But I refrained.

And I was a little amazed. Because for all the sterotypes that this state gets, here was an extraodinarily brave human being here in my midst. I don’t know, maybe I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, but it’s not often the “T” is represented in GLBT; It just filled me with this weird sense of pride to meet Alex.

As part of my course of study, I’m required to take some sort of statistics course; I settled on the not-too-difficult-sounding STAT 100. Everyone I polled (with the notable exception of the Mistress) told me that I  absolutely must take it with a certain professor. “Oh, she’s the best” I was told, time after time. I would learn so much, and would walk away with the easiest A I’d ever earned. Well, that all sounded really good; I checked out her profile on RateMyProfessors and it was hard to ignore her absolutely glowing reviews. So, I enrolled in STAT 100, certain that I’d joined one of this beloved lecturer’s sections. I entered class with a certain amount of optimism, it’s hard not to, the way this woman is spoken of.

I can tell you, dear reader, this woman is certifiably batshit crazy. I can immediately understand her appeal to students: she’s attractive for her age, and teaches in such a way that is almost indirect to the point of nonsense. Meaning, she contrives these super complex scenarios, trying to explain some statistical concept, only to lose herself somewhere down the winding path that she’s created. It’s comical, almost, endearing really, to watch this revered professor stumble to find her way back to reality. Before enrolling, it might have done me service to take into consideration the fact that it was overwhelmingly males who recommended her class to me. I’ve realized this was not an accident. She has a way of holding herself that lets you know that she’s aware of her underlying attractiveness. When she giggles, which is often, she throws her head back, and kind of protrudes her chest. It’s interesting, because I almost think she does it on purpose. She’ll lean over a desk, a tad provocatively, and wears outfits, that, while not revealing, leave little doubt in your mind.

I’ve only had one class with the woman, so it might be unfair of me to make these assumptions on one fifty minute encounter. But I don’t think so. It’ll be interesting to see how this class plays out. I’m not going to lie, I was kind of excited to be in a math class again (cue the Mistress: Oh, it’s not math) and I hope this woman’s childish giggling doesn’t get in the way of you know … learning.

The word resolutions doesn’t sit well with me. It’s like you can resolve to take action in your life at anytime, why wait for the new year? I prefer the word promise. In all honestly, 2009 doesn’t look very promising for Mykal Bloom. My hours were cut at work, which translates into less cash. I can’t blame them, though. I wasn’t exactly reliable this past semester, the lack of sleep in my life greatly contributed to that. In addition to that, I’m taking more classes, which means more books which means more money to spend. Not to mention the increase in coursework. The Dragon Lady and I still aren’t on the best terms. the Ex hates me. the Boy … exists, therefore depressing my existence. My third job at home is pretty much gone, due to the Dragon Lady’s request I not come home. Which, yet again, means less money. Less money means more adjustments I have to make, less I can save for Japan, fewer opportunities I have in front of me. It just sucks.

But all is not lost. I firmly believe life is what you make of it. Growing up, I wasn’t given much, my family lived on a working class salary. Still does. That doesn’t mean I had a shitty childhood. Au contraire, mon fraire. I traveled, Houston, Dallas, New York City, Orlando, Mexico City, Isla Navidad. I’ve been to Washington DC. I’ve seen the world’s largest roll of yarn! Meaning, I don’t need truckloads of money to experience life. And I won’t stop my partial loss of it, stop 2009 from being amazing. So here are a few promises I’ve made to myself. Presented in absolutely no order.

See Jackie Beat live.

Drag has always been this weird fascination of mine. I’ve only seen a handful of shows, but I have been in drag –only once, for a midnight showing of “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” And Jackie Beat is someone that I’ve always wanted to see, but I’ve never had the opportunity. She was previously based in NYC, and the last time I was there I was 8. Not exactly drag show age. You know? Now she’s in LA for the most part, but surprise! she’s coming to Chicago in May. I absolutely must see her.

Save at least $2,000 for Japan.

This is probably a lot easier said than done, but I would like to save at least half of my projected cost of the trip by the end of the year. It’s a substantial chunk of what I make in a year — I am only a college student, after all. But I think if I lay off the Jimmy John’s, I should be okay. At least here’s to hoping.

Be a better boyfriend.

I’ve yet to have a relationship end on anything resembling a good note. Things just always seem to fall apart at the end, in a manner that leaves both me and the other person with nothing but terrible memories. Hard to remember the good times, when you’re screaming at each other in the mall. So, I promise, that I’ll work on myself in 2009. Very rarely are people willing to admit that they aren’t perfect. I can’t count how many times I’ve heard, “I’m not changing for any man!” Well, I agree. No one man should have so much power over you. but this isn’t about that. This is about me, making a positive change for myself. I recognize that at times I can be incredibly petty, diva-like, and above all selfish. I like when things go my way, and I’m apt to pout when they don’t. That’s a childish behaviour about myself I would like to change. For me, and for the one’s close to me.

Reconcile friendships I’ve ended.

I used to have a friend, we’ll call her the Whore, because that was her actual nickname. the Whore and I were very much like Will & Grace, before Will or Grace was very popular. She knew I was gay before I did. It was an interesting relationship. Because, in one moment we could tear each other down with such abject cruelty, but in the next we could talk how much we needed that other person. She and I were very similar. Working class families, too smart for their own good, too fed up with petty high school drama, despite the fact that we were regularly pulled into it. We were the very best of friends until college. We came to the same school, and lived in the same building. A mere flight apart. And one day something happened that I never thought would: the Whore got a boyfriend. See, that was the joke. She was so innocent and so prudish almost, that no one would ever mistake her for a whore. So when she got a boyfriend and started acting like an actual whore, it was a cause for alarm. I didn’t know how to process that –having to share her with anyone else. I was jealous. Over a girl. Ew. And when she started to blow me off for her boyfriend, I couldn’t take it. And when she needed me, I wasn’t there. I blew her off like she had done to me. Except, instead of teaching her a lesson like some ill-planned 80′s movie, she stopped talking to me. That was over a year ago, and we still haven’t talked. That’s just one of a handful of friends I’ve lost over the years. I want to fix that. I realize that I’ve lost some truly incredible people, and I miss them.

Get into the Advertising Program.

As of this posting, I am a Psychology major. When I came into this university, I was positive that’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to get my Bachelors, Masters, and Doctorate all in Psychology. I was going to counsel at a high school where I would be needed. Where students needed an outlet.

Then I got here.

And I realized how much I hated Psychology, despite my knack for it. Yes, I understood the theory upon theory upon theory, but it all seemed so useless. And when faced with ten more years of the same theories and theories, I suddenly lost passion for my education. My motivation all but dried up, and I found it hard to muster the effort to get up for class. On a whim, I took a class called, “Introduction to the Media” and it changed my life. While others were struggling with the concepts of the class, I was flying through it. Nielsen ratings, box office returns, adclicks, standards and practices, these were all things I’d already read about and followed daily. And I knew, in that moment, that the Media was where my passion was. I knew it. I’d always known it, it had just never dawned on me that I could study it. How Alicia Silverstone of me. So I applied to change my major to Advertising. I was swiftly denied. I have one more opportunity this semester, and to this I promise you dear reader. I will make it in. I even have a fantastic way to celebrate, courtesy of the Mistress.

Take charge of my health.

They’ll be more on this later. Suffice it to say, I will no longer worry about being a headless fat person on the news.

See Mariah.

It’s been over two years since I’ve last my love Mariah Carey. I haven’t written much about her on this version of the blog, but know that I love Mariah. I live for Mariah. In my eyes, she can do no wrong. She is, simply put, amazing. I can’t even begin to iterate how much I adore Mariah Carey. Which is why it saddens me that it’s been so long since I’ve seen her. Whether it’s on tour, or at an event, or anything. This year, I will see her.

Go to at least three concerts.

I love concerts. I love big, loud, elaborate concerts. With the lights, dancers, lasers, fireworks. I love it. LOVE IT! Mariah shoots butterfly confetti out of cannons at the end of her shows. It’s ridiculous, yet why I love concerts. I know I’ll be seeing Britney in April, but other than that, I have nothing else planned for this year. It would be amazing to see the Ting Tings. I love them so much. And would you look at that? They’ll be here in April. One more slot open.

Become a better Resident Advisor.

If you didn’t know, I’m a Resident Advisor here in a residence hall on campus. I really enjoy it, mostly for the people I meet and work with. While I do a fair job, and my job evaluation reflected that, I know I can do better. I know I can work harder to make a real community on my floor.

Blog more.

Yeah! I really like having this outlet to express myself. It’s just I tend to forget about it. My goal for the year is to post at least twice a day, in addition to the Daily Doodle, which is making a comeback I swear.

Scary only because I had to make sure that I hadn’t sent it in myself. Often I’m afraid to get excited about things (like my trip to Japan, for instance) because I fear they won’t really happen. And that it will be because I didn’t get it together. Le sigh.

I’ve taken an extended break from updating on well, myself, instead focusing my random fascinations/interests/hates. I did that partly because every time I throw a post up, the situation changes within hours. It’s almost impossible to keep this page current. That being said, I’ve made one change that I hope is fairly stable. That is, I’ve added the title “boyfriend” to my ever-expanding business card. I don’t like the word “boyfriend” but I’m loathe to refer to myself as anyone’s partner when speaking romantically, so on boyfriend I must settle. And believe it or not you know him! If you’re reading this, then, hell, you may be him. I’m dating a man I once referred to as “the Evil One.” I don’t regret that. I wrote unfavorably of him at a time when he and I didn’t get along, to phrase it kindly. I don’t wish to hide that, or to alter it. Our precarious journey up until this point has shaped how we function in our relationship, and I believe we’re better for it. Hopefully, he’ll agree with me. I suppose I could insert a witty analogy here, but honestly, I’m too tired. Hopefully you can follow me here, dear reader.

When we last left off, I’d slept with the Evil One near Thanksgiving, and hadn’t spoke to him since. (I’d also lost a dear friend, and to an extent, my mother. More on them later, perhaps) Well, in an act of desperation, you might say, though it may have fear, fear of being alone, fear of rejection, fear of something, I reached out to him. He welcomed me with undeserved kindness. I realized this was I man I had, for all intents and purposes, used; Yet here he was, eager as ever to overlook our oft-inharmonious past, and help out a friend. He took me to see the Macy’s window display, and joined me in wickedly (and loudly might I add) mocking the glaring lack of effort put forth into their assembly. He fed me, and took a nap with me, a certain way to my heart if there ever was one. But most importantly, he made me feel worthy. That’s an odd word, I know, but I chose it with much consideration. Probably unknowingly, he made me feel like I deserved the warmth and kindness he was sharing with me. Berate me for my seeming lack of self-esteem if you must, but I don’t always feel wanted. Especially when I spend a fair amount of time dreaming about a breeder. (See definition 2) And even though I spent time hating him, and he spent time hating me, it was, almost serendipitously, that we happened upon each other in this state, each ready to commit. And from that day, things evolved rather quickly into what one may call a relationship. Eek.

Cursory glances at my love file would indicate I’m not the best at relationships. At all. I’m either too clingy or too distant. Too wrapped up in other things (or people). I don’t know how to just be. But I’m trying. And my latest attempt is to improve my culinary skills.

I really love to bake. There’s something almost sensual about the entire experience (I’m weird, no need to tell me) I find absolute pleasure in assembling these random ingredients into something delicious. And baking, as opposed to cooking, is all about the assembly, I can put my concoction in the oven, and for the most part leave it. No stirring, simmering, sauteing, none of those shenanigans. I really love that about baking, which I why I devote my time to the oven instead of the stove. I enjoy what I bake, and that’s really all that matters. I truly couldn’t care less if someone doesn’t enjoy my cake, I bake for me. That’s all really besides the point. Point is, I bake, don’t cook.

Except now, I have this crazy envy-raged desire to cook. Evil One’s previous partner was apparently this fabulous chef. Chef by name only, not by trade. So while EO assures me that I need not cook for him, I can’t help but feel inferior when he speaks ad nauseum about the “gourmet” meals his previous tenant prepared for him. Duck with mango glaze whatever. I can make Pastel de Tres Leches so suck it, Trebek. Ugh. I’m mad at myself for playing these teenage games with … myself, really. And I’m mad that I actually have to learn how to cook, despite what anyone may tell me. So, wish me luck, dear reader. If you here of any dorms burning in Urbana, well, you’ll know why.
I was also gently reminded that if I’m dating him, perhaps he should have a name other than the Evil One. So, from here on in, his new name is “Loverboy thy Name is Evil.” :]

I’ve never been Ellen Degeneres’ biggest fan. She’s funny(ish) and yeah, she dances, and I’m sure you feel cool, watching a lesbian’s talk show, but she just doesn’t do it for me. Well, she got about eleventy times cooler last Wednesday night, when accepting her People’s Choice Award for Best Talk Show Host, she thanked her wife Portia … you know what? Just watch for yourself after the jump. Read the rest of this entry…

We have already spoken about hate, however it’s time to revisit the subject because it’s January, and you know what that means: AMERICAN IDOL. The bane of my fucking existence. It’s baffling to me, but I hate it with such intensity and passion and I will root until the die I day for it and its competitors failure. I want for these people to fail. I’m sure there’s a special skybox in hell with my name on it, but I can’t sit here and pretend like I haven’t daydreamed about Simon Cowell (and his furry bitchtits) declaring super-bankruptcy and only finding work hawking Snuggies on BBC. I know it will never happen. Sad face.

I can’t place my hate in any one aspect of the show. Is it Simon Cowell’s faux-”Tell-it-like-it-is” attitude? His just-bubbling-underneath homophobia? Randy’s use of the word, “dawg?” Paula’s –fuck that, Paula is the only likeable thing on that show. I guess I can’t wrap my head around 35 million people tuning in each week to watch karaoke. It makes no sense to me. A show that should have lasted no longer that one season, has somehow ingrained itself so deeply into the pop culture minutia that people everywhere -moms, bloggers, office workers- are expected to know and be able to converse about who’s going to Hollywood, etc etc. It all seems so . . .  forced and cliche.  But maybe that kind of familiarity is precisely the reason the show is such a success. Which is really quite sad.

Alright I’ll admit, part of my desire to travel to Japan, is because I was once told that I’ll take the best pictures of my life there. “There’s like fairy dust in the air.” I have a pretty fantabulous camera, but lately is is showing it’s age, especially in comparison to these newer DSLRs that keep upping the quality whilst dropping the price. I’ve looked at, what I think may be literally, hundreds of DSLRs. Canon, Sony, Olympus, Nikon. And of the multitudes of cameras I’ve pored over, only one has caught my wallet’s attention: the Nikon D90.

It’s not the newest camera on the block, and for the most part, it’s features aren’t the most distinguished, but it’s an incredible value and includes a movie mode –the first for a DSLR. I’m totes geeked about it, and I’m just waiting to cover some other costs (read: textbooks) before making the purchase. I’m a tad nervous, the complexity and breadth of configurations in DSLRs makes me think I may be in over my head. But, lucky you, you get to learn with me.

PS. I just spent the last two hours trying to rip/convert/upload this clip, only to find it on hulu and slap it up here in under 30 seconds. Fuck my life.

I truly do not care for Roland Burris. Like a Catholic priest, he just rubs me the wrong way; I can’t really explain it. I salute the man for his many years of public service, for that I suppose I am grateful. But he strikes me as a thirsty son of a bitch. He campaigned for the position, even though he claimed he didn’t,  even though he wasn’t one of the 5 senators originally considered in the running. I know, legally, he meets all the qualifications that are required of a senate-designate. But he’s such an asshole. His ego grows ad infinitum, despite the fact that Illinois voters have repeatedly rejected him. This is a man that has said one day he hopes Illinois will be known as the “Land of Burris” opposed to the “Land of Lincoln.” This is a man that often speaks in the third person. I can’t say it any other way: The. Man. Is. Thirsty. To him a seat in the Senate is nothing more than a notch in his bedpost. Except literally. His tombstone, embossed with the word “Trailblazer,” is just waiting for “US Senator” to be added.

And I don’t fault the man for wanting good things for himself. I do. We all do. But we have rejected him. He has thrice run for governor, each with declining success.  Twenty years ago he attempted to run for Senate, but couldn’t even garner his party’s nomination. Oh, and in 1993, he helped organize Chicago’s first Gun-Turn-in-Day. Sounds great, right? Except he didn’t even turn in his own gun. Wait…what? He was a Comptroller from 1979-1991, but got bored, so in 1994 he ran for Governor. And again failed to win his party’s nomination. Desperate, he ran for mayor of Chicago and, as you may have guessed, lost. He was also Attorney General from 1991-1995. A position he wasn’t suited for (much like this senate seat…) Quoth:

In 1985  19-year old Rolando Cruz was tried, convicted, and sentenced to death along with a co-defendant in a DuPage county Circuit Court, for the kidnapping, rape, and murder of a 10-year old child. In 1992, Assistant Attorney General Mary Brigid Kenney, whom Burris had assigned to fight Cruz’s appeal, sent Burris a memo identifying numerous errors in the investigation and trial in Cruz’s initial conviction, and refused to participate in upholding what she considered to be a wrongful conviction. Burris ignored Kenney’s warnings, and she resigned in protest, writing to Burris, “I was being asked to help execute an innocent man… Unfortunately, you have seen fit to ignore the evidence in this case”. In September 1995, DNA showed that neither Cruz nor his co-defendant were the contributors of the semen found at the crime scene, thus exonerating them. Cruz was fully pardoned by Governor George Ryan in 2002, leading Ryan to declare a moratorium on the death penalty in Illinois, asserting that the system was “fraught with error”.

And this man thinks he’s a “trailblazer?”

After an abysmal four year period as Attorney General, Burris again sought (and failed to receive) the Democratic nomination for Governor in 1998 and 2002 . In 1998, Burris, no doubt throwing a hissy fit over his blaring unpopularity, called his Democratic primary opponents — Jim Burns, Glenn Poshard (who eventually won the nomination) and John Schmidt —  “non-qualified white boys”.

This is a man that does not deserve to be a Senator. This is a man that, as Illinois citizens, we do not want as our Senator. But go ahead, Roland, emblazon your tombstone with “US SENATOR” just make sure to include the asterisk. Not elected by the people of the State of Illinois.