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Hello all, it's been over a year since I posted, and I'm not sure if I'll post again. In case you haven't been following me elsewhere, most notably on Twitter as @HunterFelt or on Facebook. Um, here's some quick updates: I am now writing about U.S. sports for the Guardian (yes THAT Guardian): http://www.guardian.co.uk/profile/hunter-felt (I will be liveblogging Red Sox/Yankees Sunday probably) and am still tweeting as former Red Sox manager Terry Francona as @NotCoachTito.

I haven't had anything to drink in months and plan to keep it that way.

Oh and I sorta kinda met the love of my life. Her name is Ash and... There are no words.

Things are good. I love you all.
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I Will Admit

I will admit that my concept of a "good looking guy" has its roots in the rock music I loved growing up. I remember loving early Queen videos featuring a long-haired Freddie Mercury, and despairing as his bands' songs suffered as his hair got shorter and as he grew facial hair (as he grew more masculine, in other words, or "uglier and less interesting" in my mind). Then I realized how much better looking John Lennon got as he grew out his hair (not to mention the fact that he'd make as good of a looking girl as Yoko Ono would've made a good looking guy, I've always been into androgyny). Then I realized how great a shirtless long-haired Jim Morrison looked. And then a "Madcap Laughs" era Syd Barrett, and then Marc Bolan..! And we haven't even reached when I reached fifteen...!
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For good or ill, things are getting dicey enough here to force me into action. I wish I could be more self-motivated and not need to paint myself into corners. But that's not me, as Brian Wilson would sing.
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My Type

There's a point in Peter Bagge's comic book series "Hate" where protagonist Buddy Bradley realizes his girlfriend Lisa is getting off on hearing intimate details about his friend Jay. Buddy reacts by saying "I didn't know Jay was your type". Lisa responds with "I don't have a 'type' - No wait: Guys with penises, THAT'S my type!".

Now? Now, I'm starting to appreciate Lisa's take on the opposite sex.

Now, I obviously have personal preferences, who doesn't, but they don't go much beyond "I find you attractive" and "I feel like you have an independent streak". Heck, I'm not even hung up much on the whole genitals issue (and neither was Lisa, who had a lesbian fling during the course of the comic).

I don't know. I guess I'm so in love and so in awe of the entire spectrum of femininity that I just can't bring myself to limit myself to just one kind of girl.
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I've got a new Blackberry so I may be updating a tad bit more, I hope everyone's having a wonderful holiday season. The weather here in Boston is beyond beautiful.
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I know so many other intellectual people worry about dementia or Alzheimer's. I'm not too hung up honestly. If nothing else, having had plenty of experience with psychedelics has made me comfortable keeping even-keel during periods of ego death. It's not like I'd freak out if my intellect were just shut down, I've got a backup plan ready. It's like Grant Morrison's "Batman Without Bruce Wayne" backup personality.
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I've given a lot of thought about this and I'm starting to realize that I don't have a "type". I pretty much like all kinds of girls. I'm very very not picky.

I feel like a member of L'Trimm.

(For the record I love public transport and hate the Cars That Go Boom.)
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The Best Thing I've Ever Read

"So had her grandson Hunter painted her,

Standing in a loose, simple dress

In a thousand-flower print in green and yellow,

Viewed as through dust,

Dust of another remembered country

Observed late in the day,

Risen by way of wind or horses
From a lane beyond a walled garden...

In the background of a half-timbered house,

Steep gabling of many angles,

Running back into lizard imbrication of grey slate-work

Shining, as with rain...

Wilds of rooftops, unexplored reaches, stretching as to sunset"

Thomas Pynchon - "Against The Day" p. 127
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"Grant Morrison: Talking With Gods" was great. I heard all the stories before, but it was nice to hear it from Grant and his colleagues, and have it attached to the story of his life.

I'm less convinced that I'm one of his alter egos (or vice-versa) although there was a neat picture from his crossdressing days and I cried when he described his cat dying (as seen in "The Filth").

The best stories came from Jill Thompson, about their mushroom trips together (but Jill's just all kinds of awesome for many different reasons).

When you hear him talk about magick and Gods and hyperspace, well, he makes it sound reasonable.
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I just realized that at one point during New College, there must have been a moment where Robert Schober, Sam Grindstaff, Brian Hughes, Tall Hunter, John DeMartino, and myself at my most manic were in the same room together.

Wow.

I thank God we all have people skills now, I can't even imagine going back to that.