Should I shave my beard or no? And there is no “leave a mustache” or “leave a goatee” option. It’s one or another. By the way that booger in my left nostril has since left the premises.

In the haze of my ego trip, these are the people who also celebrated a birthday yesterday:

• Mariah Carey
• Fergie of the Black Eyed Peas
• SF Giants catcher Buster Posey
• Quentin Tarantino
• Sarah Vaughn
• Gloria Swanson
• Maria Rasputin, daughter of the famous Rasputin

This explains a whole lot about me.

BTW, the spot in between my legs is not a cum stain you pervy fucks. It’s a cigarette burn. I can’t believe it’s been damn near two years since I quit smoking.

Everyone is excited across the country. Today the Supreme Court is hearing arguments for and against California’s Proposition 8 that defined marriage as being only between a man and a woman. People up and down Facebook are showing their support with the Human Rights Commission’s yellow equal sign logo sitting on a red background instead of its usual blue.

It’s a civil rights issue say those against Prop 8. It’s a sanctity of marriage issue say those for Prop 8. Or it’s a state’s rights issue say pro Prop 8-ers. Or it’s biological.

I think everyone’s missing the point. The thing that should be on trial is marriage itself.

I have made it perfectly clear I am 100% against marriage. If you want to be married in a church for religious reasons, fine. But the state should get out of the marriage business.

So what should couples do for all the sharing of benefits, hospital visitation and other legal issues involved in mortal cohabitation? They should do what gay people do already: sign up for a civil union.

Think about it. Divorces are messy enough as it is, so if you make entering a union a legal process in and of itself wouldn’t that make divorces a tad bit cleaner? Sure it takes the romance out of marriage, but if you marry out of love then you’re fucking stupid.

For years heterosexuals have fucked up and made a mockery of this so-called sacred institution of marriage. Why the hell do I want it?

But, you see, this is not a viewpoint heteronormative groups like the HRC or GLAAD want people to hear. They just want to sell the civil liberties aspect of this (half price with a product of equal or lesser value!) The fact that some gay people like myself have no desire to look like straight people, be happy like straight people, have sex like straight people, be monogamous like straight people is just too taboo. It makes gay people look too dangerous.

I am not and don’t want to be a heterosexual. I like having sex. I like not having a significant other. I like having the option of having multiple partners at one time, at being pissed on, at pissing on other guys, of being a sweaty mess in a room of guys while our climatic emissions crusts over on our bodies, down our throats.

Today sportswriter Buzz Bissinger wrote a personal on essay on GQ documenting his shopping addiction. In page five of the piece Bissinger adds about his sudden sexual identity crisis.

I feel sorry for him, even though he was one of those guys who denounced sports bloggers like me at any opportunity. He’s 58 years old, and he probably never had a chance to explore the fluidity of his sexuality when he was younger. Despite it being the sexy 1970s, sexual repression was still more pervasive than it is now.

My formative years was in the chaos that was the 1990s which was great for being a bit open about things. You like being fisted? Great! You like having weights tied to your scrotum while you have your nipples clamped? Congratulations.

Okay. Some of these things might still be taboo in the heterosexual community, but thank heavens I’m not in that community. The problem is with all of these uptight HRC-esque assimilationist pricks running around the gay community, these things are slowly becoming more and more taboo in the gay community also.

There is one thing I do agree about all of this nonsense: I believe gay people should have the same rights as straight people. When I’m at the supermarket, I want to be seen as just another American.

But I refuse to mainstream myself to assimilate into what white men want Americans to look like. And that is why I’m not jumping up and down in a tittle today.

It’s been a busy couple of weeks with the Kings playing 500 games over the span. But they’re on the road to give me a little reprieve as I get ready to celebrate my 34th birthday. But just as that happens, well it’s TIME FOR DODGER BASEBALL. Friday they play a preseason game at the Ravine against the Angels, play one at Angel Stadium, take Sunday off and the season opens on Monday against the reigning World Series champs San Francisco Giants.

And I’ll totally admit it. I have no idea what’s going on with either the Dodgers or the Angels. Good thing I have a week to do a crash course before it all begins.

So anyhow, the above picture is that of the Staples Center crew putting in the Clippers court and seats after the Kings finished playing. They can finish the transition and clean all of the seats in the arena in about two hours.

So in Orange County, it looks like the police are allowed to shoot non white people in the back. In one of two shootings in Anaheim last summer that sparked protests and outrage from the community, the officer who shot the 25-year old Manuel Diaz in the back as he was fleeing will not have charges filed against him. The OC District Attorney said Nick Bennallack was justified in shooting Diaz in the back.

Bennallack said that he saw Diaz reaching for a gun. No gun was ever found.

It makes me wonder, during a protest a month before the second invasion of Iraq in 2003 I did turn my back and walk away from the police. I was leaving the rally at Sunset/La Brea and making the one-mile trek back to my car. I inadvertently walked into a side-protest by an anarchist collective. I wanted no part of it since it was 4 p.m. and I hadn’t eaten at all, so I just walked away.

It was at that point I heard an officer yell, “Hey you in the red shirt! Get back here.” I was really hungry, mind you, so I kept walking away. No one came after me, I haven’t been detained or anything. But now I wonder if I were in OC if that cop would have shot me in the back. Okay, it’s a stretch.

But anyhow. Fuck Orange County and fuck the police.

Fuck Wall Street, the World Bank, and all of the greedy criminal bankers and speculators out there while we’re at it. The tiny island nation of Cyprus has come on hard times much like the rest of the world and needed a bailout from the European Union. The EU were willing to loan the county 10 billion Euro. But, as with most things, there were some conditions.

One of the conditions: tax people’s saving accounts. Basically the EU wants to steal money directly from the people to pay these rich fucks.

I say let’s send to prison all of the greedy runaway-capitalism fucks who are responsible for all of these meltdowns and let all of the banks fail. Let’s just purge all of this and start over.

Can you be homesick for a place you don’t live in? I know I don’t live in Louisiana and haven’t since I was eight-years old. I know I said I was done talking about the road trip. But when I woke up this morning I had the hankering of traveling down to Grand Isle.

This started a whole line of questions. If my mom didn’t leave my dad and move us out to Los Angeles, would I know how to fish, hunt and do all of those outdoor activities? I know it wouldn’t be my dad to teach me these things, but I did have my best friend down the way who I have come to find out hosts a reality show on Outdoor Channel and is the voice of PBR, the Professional Bull Riders circuit.

Then again, would I be more miserable as a gay man? Would I be as much of a pinko liberal as I am now?

But look at the road above. Water water everywhere on the way down to Grand Isle. You could pull off the side of the road and fish. I know I’m being stupid, but…

When one thinks of a beach city, one thinks of a flat strip of land that ends with a strip of sand and water. A nice ocean breeze cools everything, and everyone is laid back and happy.

San Pedro is a strange place. It’s very hilly and ends in cliffs on the south side and the harbor on the east side. As you see in the picture to the left, it’s foggy. This is at White Point Nature Preserve right where Paseo Del Mar fell into the Pacific Ocean over a year ago. As you can see crews are working on trying to rebuild Paseo Del Mar it seems.

I live a mere 4 miles away, yet I don’t get any fog. As the fog comes in from the west, I’m blocked out thanks to San Pedro Hill aka Palos Verdes. To the south there are several hills between me and the ocean. Instant, presto, no fog! Also when it gets warm in Southern California, thanks to all the shielding we get temperatures similar to the Valley.

There is a good side to this. Being so close to a tsunami evacuation zone, on the ever so slight chance one comes around our way, being about 300 feet in elevation means not having to worry about being flooded. Then again, it also means living on an island for a bit. Hmph. Maybe I haven’t thought this out as thoroughly as I need to.

After not being able to walk at Christmas that left parts of my left leg and left foot numb, after a two-week roadie where I ate a lot of fried foods and after getting hit with a slight chest cold, I decided today was the day to get out into nature and take a hike at one of my favorite hiking places: Portuguese Bend Nature Preserve.

I don’t know why I like it so much. Perhaps it’s because it’s an active landslide area. But there’s no doubt it has some gorgeous vistas. I mean look at the picture above, the little mountains of Catalina Island peeking over the fog bank.

I’ve done the hike here two different ways. The way I did it today was parking at the top of the hill right where Crenshaw Blvd. ends and started the descent. Since I really haven’t done anything too strenuous in months and I’ve turned into a Fatty Fat McFat Fatty, I decided to do this easier route. Of course the big downfall is you end the hike going up.

I was a little too eager and went down a little too far, so coming back up what with my partially numb left foot and pounds of fat it was a bit of a strain to make it back to my car.

The other way I’ve done it is park at the adjacent Forrestal Reserve off of Palos Verdes Drive South and hiked into the Portuguese Bend Reserve. It’s a bit more strenuous, but it’s tons of fun.

With the mercury breaking the 80-degree mark, a lot of people decided to make it out there. There was a group of six shirtless dudes who brought out their own club mix for all to enjoy. I couldn’t tell whether they were European, gay or both.

Then there was this hulk of a guy in his 20s who was hiking down as I was walking back up near the trail head. Let’s name him Brock.

Brock has the build of either an outside linebacker or an offensive left guard. He was wearing black runner’s shorts and a backpack. As he walked by I got a whiff of him, and damned if I didn’t want to get on my knees right there and eat out his asshole as I moaned his name, “Brock,” deep into the crevasse of his ass.

Did I ever mention that day hikes get me horny?

Okay, I admit it. I do like going up to people when I pick out a nice pear to eat and go, “Look! An Oh Pear!” It makes me giggle to no end.

It’s almost like another joke I love to tell. What is the sound of a water truck colliding with a vinegar truck? DOUCHE! Well, you have to see me tell it.

When I was little I read this joke from a stupid joke book: an American, a Brit and a Russian are on a plane that’s on fire. There are no parachutes. In a moment of desperation the American decides to jump out of the plane. He screams out, “God save me,” jumps out and lands on a haystack. The Brit sees this and decides to the same thing. He too lands on a haystack.

The Russian is giddy with excitement knowing he will also be saved. Unfortunately there was the matter of his accent. He screamed out, “God shave me!” The Russian landed on a barber’s chair.

See? Stupid. But it tickles me to no end.