Monday, July 31, 2006
1. How does the world see you?
“Glamorous Glue,” Morrissey (Glamorous is always a good thing…something made of hooves, not so much.)
2. Will I have a happy life?
“He’s Got Something,” Dusty Springfield (He’s got somethin’, I don’t know what, but he’s grand. You can keep Aretha and Dionne. Any soul singer who finds me grand is a soul singer I will love forever.)
3. What do my friends really think of me?
“Pull Up To the Bumper,” Grace Jones (I’ve always interpreted this song as Grace’s invitation to a well-endowed black man. I seriously doubt my friends think I am a black man, but then again, many of them are rather delusional.)
4. Do people secretly lust after me?
“I’ve Never Been To Me,” Charlene (The subject of this song is a tramp regretting her ways. Never mind the inherent sexism of it all, I’m far sadder that people think I’m a rather pathetic slut, the implication being that while they once lusted after me, they do so no longer.)
5. How can I make myself happy?
“Desire (Come and Get It),” Gene Loves Jezebel (I get called a slut, and yet the iPod is encouraging me to be a slut again…and to wear really smeary matte lipstick no less!)
6. What should I do with my life?
“Crazy For You,” Madonna (I don’t get it…am I supposed to be making the most of the dark with a stranger?)
7. Will I ever have children?
"Strong Enough,” Cher (I’m strong enough to live without you. I’m taking “you” to mean children as I’m not certain I’m strong enough to spend my hard-earned money on children instead of shoes.)
8. What is some good advice for me?
“The Circus,” Erasure (Huh? Now you’re really testing my interpretive ability, iPod. This is one of my least favorite Erasure songs, but the lyrics would seem to be warning me not to be so loyal to corporations that will happily leave me behind if cheaper technology can replace me. I think perhaps this song is telling me to stay away from Republican businessmen…good advice!)
9. How will I be remembered?
"Rock Your Body,” Justin Timberlake (For the record, I've only ever exposed a bosom on purpose, and I hope you'll all remember that.)
10. What is my signature dancing song?
“Dear God,” XTC (Evidently I’m an atheist who is so happy about it that it makes me dance to songs with very little beat. All the cheesy damn disco on my iPod and this is what it gives me?)
11. What do I think my current theme song is?
“Mambo Italiano,” Rosemary Clooney (At least I’m a classic.)
12. What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
“Waiting for Tonight (Hex’s Momentous Video Remix),” Jennifer Lopez (But my friends think I’m merely great pop fluff with a ginormous ass.)
13. What song will play at my funeral?
“(She Was A) Hotel Detective,” They Might Be Giants (I would have thought my life was worth more than a novelty song.)
14. What type of men do I like?
“Sexual (La Da Di),” Amber (So I’m not picky? This iPod is quite judgmental about my past.)
15. What is my day going to be like?
“Under Attack,” Music from the Broadway soundtrack “Mamma Mia!” (Yeah, I’m screwed.)
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Former boyband star Lance Bass came out of the closet today on the cover of People Magazine. I for one applaud Lance for having the courage to let his blind and headless fans in on this huge secret. You go girl! Now you can feel free to queen it up with Kathy Griffin and all her gay friends on national television with your expertly plucked eyebrows blazing...again. Really, I'm quite happy for him, though I am concerned that his boyfriend Reichen is a golddigger who spent all his own reality show money and is now after some of that N'Sync cash. I don't trust that guy...no one's teeth should be that white.
Meanwhile, the headline writers over at People Mag have learned that if they simply state the obvious, they have the entire rest of the week free to do pilates and get treatment for those funny bugs Paris Hilton left at their bathroom. With that in mind, one of them submitted this rough draft for consideration for next week's issue:
Great, now I'm wondering if I can afford to dip into my student loan money for a vacation to London. Damn you Naomi and your compelling ad copy! As if it wasn't enough that I'm having boatloads of surgery in the hopes that someday I'll also be pretty enough to get away with beating down my enemies with only my bejeweled phone.
In a marginally related story, Gawker freelance graphic artist Lola Rubenstein was found bludgeoned to death outside the Starbucks on the corner of Broadway and Reade.
Thank goodness! I lost the receipt to the hat I bought for the wedding, and that store has a strict return policy!
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Cottaging is a gay slang term for having sex in a public lavatory (a cottage) or for cruising for sex or picking-up sexual partners in public lavatories with the intention of having sex elsewhere. The term may have its roots in the English cant language of polari, or in the fact that many self-contained English toilet blocks have in the past resembled small cottages in their appearance.
'Kite Flying' is now a common place euphemism for cottaging e.g. "I'm going to the common kite flying"
The term 'cottage' used in this sense is predominantly British (a cottage in the general sense being a small, cosy, countryside home), though the term is occasionally used in context of the same sexual behaviour in other parts of the world. In America lavatories used for this purpose are sometimes called 'tea rooms'.
Wow, I guess you really do learn something new every day. Thanks George!
Wow, Grandma Elton looks REALLY different without his wig!
Saturday, July 22, 2006
So, a certain someone in my household who will remain nameless clogged our toilet Thursday evening. I don't want to give away his identity, but I will note that his name is not Christopher, Truman, or Sly. In fairness, it has been running strangely for a couple of weeks now, and I actually suspect the problem is because while caulking the tub, I wiped my fingers off every so often on paper towels that I later flushed. So there, it probably was my fault, but he's the one who dealt the final clog, and I'm not taking any blame.
Anyhoo, plunging did not work. Overflowing ensued. It was ugly. The next day, I bought industrial-strength professional toilet unclogging chemicals containing sulfuric acid, guaranteed to dissolve any organic matter. All manufacturer's instructions were followed TWICE, but again, overflowing and ruined towels ensued.
Today, I made a trip to Keith's, my neighborhood funky hardware store, and bought myself a plumber's snake. I stepped up to the offending piece of plumbing, thinking out loud in my best Dolph Lundgren voice, "I must break you." Well, I forgot that in the end of that movie, Dolph got his perfect booty kicked to the curb, and so did I. Round 3 to the toilet.
At this point, I'm a desperate man. I have a crush on my plumber, but he charges $75 an hour, and at the moment I can't even pay attention, so calling him isn't an option since he won't charge me in smooches. I logged onto E-How, and did a search on toilet clogs. Their advice wasn't anything other than what I had already been doing, however, the users of the site had posted 41 additional hints, virtually all of which were singing the praises of adding two tablespoons of dishwashing detergent to your toilet, waiting a few minutes, then plunging. Yes, I realize how incredibly stupid that sounds, and it is not for nothing that my middle name is Thomas because I am one doubtful boy. But again, I was more desperate than Charlie Sheen in a whorehouse, so I gave it a try.
IT TOTALLY WORKED!!! Ten minutes after giving three good squirts of dish soap, I plunged hard for about 30 seconds and the whole thing miraculously drained. And it is working better than it has worked since we bought the house! I'm telling y'all, start keeping a bottle of dishsoap in your bathroom...you're going to thank me for this someday.
On another note, what does it say about me that I am this excited over plumbing? I used to get this excited over boys, clubbing, new cha-cha heels, etc. Does this mean I'm a grown-up? Really, as the clog cleared, Craiggers came home from filming as a featured zombie in a local movie. He was giddy because he may have gotten some close-ups eating the intestines of a victim, but I have to tell you, I was way more excited about the clog. I can't imagine digested intestines will be particularly good for my plumbing either.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Bobby & Whitney
The New York Daily News reports that during a performance in L.A., my son-in-law Bobby Brown announced that he and Whitney are over, and that he’s looking for a new “tenderoni”. This begs three questions. 1) Did they finally manage to smoke all the money? If so, please pay attention Britney, because this is your future. 2) Who the hell hired him to perform somewhere?! 3) WTF is a tenderoni?
Daniel Baldwin crashed into two parked cars while driving 80 m.p.h. on a suspended license. Concerned celebrity-watchers everywhere ask, “Which one is he, and why would Alex buy him a car?”
Wedding Hell Blues
Eddie Murphy and Scary Spice announce their wedding plans. There’s nothing I enjoy more than being right, and Eddie’s choice proves it…I just knew she is a man!
America's got talent (but it isn't you)
Also in the New York Daily News, the mole on Britney Spears' ass Kevin Federline is reportedly obsessed with the career of Justin Timberlake, and is convinced he is far more talented. I don’t do drugs anymore, but I sure would like to have some of what he is smoking. Not only is K-Fed no Justin Timberlake, but J.C. Chasez looks like Ice-T next to this tool. Here’s hoping he talks some smack about Lil’ Bow Wow next and gets a cap popped in his ass.
Project So Gay
The greatest show on television, Project Runway, is back, and we’ve already got some controversy. Pretty Boy Keith is a big cheater. Evidently the portfolio he submitted for his audition contained rip-offs of several other lines. It’s a good thing Michael Kors really wants to blow him, or else he would already be gone. Speaking of Michael Kors, where was Mugatu this evening? Vera Wang subbed for him, and the show just wasn’t the same without his catty commentary (“She looks like a goddamn wack-a-doo stewardess!”). However, the shocker of the evening was the elimination of Malan and his fake accent. I expected him to be this season’s Wendy Pepper, but he’s gone by the second episode. Goodbye Malan…at least you can start using your Milwaukee accent again without feeling self-conscious.
Whew! Thank goodness for these folks! Today was my first day back at work after being off for the surgery, and I needed a little bit of psycho fabulousness to make it all better. I don't know what I'd do without my K-Fed, bless his talentless heart.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Chandler is talking about making a run for governor next year with our venerable Mayor-For-Life in The Ville, the beloved Jerry Abramson. And while we're definitely in a red state, the Dems still need the queers to win, the example being 2004's U.S. Senate race where Dr. Dan Mongiardo almost pulled off the upset of the year against senile Sen. Jim Bunning. Bunning pulled it out in the end by barely one percent. Mongiardo was the sponsor in Kentucky of our statewide marriage amendment. I don't know a single gay who voted for him. Co-incidence? Possibly not.
Anyhoo, taking a break from our normal frivolity, here is my letter to the editor of the Louisville Courier-Journal.
To the Editor:
I’d like to take a moment to let Rep. Ben Chandler know that while I was excited about the possibility of him making another run for governor, at this point if he runs as the Democratic nominee, I will be abstaining in that race. I can’t in good conscience vote for a person who would vote for a meaningless marriage amendment (H.J. Res. 88) just to show Kentuckians how much he doesn’t approve of my family.
My partner and I pay taxes in Kentucky, support businesses in Kentucky, and purchased a home in Kentucky. We are good people who just want to live our lives in peace with the same rights as anyone else. I thought that Rep. Chandler was the kind of person who would stand for all Kentuckians. Sadly, he fell for the Republican attack machine and supported writing into our U.S. Constitution that we are second-class citizens. His vote today is an embarrassment to fair-minded Kentuckians, and is yet another move by the Democrat-In-Name-Only state leaders leading me to reconsider my registration.
Congratulations, Rep. Chandler, you just lost yourself a large block of the party faithful. Perhaps you should ask Dr. Dan Mongiardo how well that worked out for him.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
And I mean no place, child!
Another day in my strange neighborhood, where half the houses are getting gentrified, and the other half are about to fall down. So, kooky-and-seemingly-stoned-but-harmless lady next door (girlfriend of psycho man who was so much trouble for us...I think she's dumped him) likes to sit out on her stoop and take visitors. But of course, it is hot hot hot outside these days, and she has no shade, so she has found a new outdoor socializing solution as I discovered today when peeking out my front window while painting the living room. She has taken to pulling a raggedy old plastic lawn chair under the branches of Neighbor Bryan's big-ass tree (next door neighbor on the other side...often referred to as The Good Neighbor) and relaxing in the shade with her girlfriend who usually has some nutty kerchief tied around her hairdo. Note that Neighbor Bryan's tree is right on our property line...basically, they've pulled up in my lawn to take their company. Yes, I have "227" in my yard, only without the sassy Marla Gibbs or even future Hollywood Square Jackee'.
Now, it isn't like they're hurting anything, but I just think it is bizarre that you would set lawn chairs in someone else's yard, someone you aren't even friends with, and take company there. Isn't that just freaky? Is this crossing some sort of personal space boundaries, or am I just really uptight? There were five ladies out in my yard right this afternoon, just having themselves a big ole chat, and I couldn't tell you the first name of nary a one (though I do refer to the one from the bad rental house across the street as The Lady Who Says Fuck In Front of Her Grandchildren, so really she doesn't need a name).
I had thought about having a yard sale sometime in the near future, but now I'm thinking I might just set it up in their yard since they have a bit more elevation. Clearly this is all shared space here in my neighborhood.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
For those of you who aren't aware, the Ohio River is all that separates Indiana from the fair city of Louisville. Many a Louisvillian has been lost to the siren call of larger homes for less money across the river, but not I. I'll take a smaller house and pay for it just so I don't have to spend an hour of my life every day sitting on that damn bridge with 20,000 other cheapskates (sorry Ed!). This story shows just one more reason Indiana should be avoided at all costs. I like to know that if I go on a mad crime spree, I'll have access to my porn after I'm caught.
And while I paint and hack up drywall dust, I have iTunes set to shuffle all my purchases from them. I've purchased somewhere in the neighborhood of 400 songs from iTunes in the past year. Some people drunk dial, I blitzed buy...throw back a few cocktails and then whip out the credit card. Let's see if Apple Overlord Steve Jobs is sending me any subliminal messages through the random shuffle order of my music, shall we?
Hmmm, Steve is sending us a few very clear messages today. 1) You like the 80s. 2) You're really really really queer. Seriously, I live near San Francisco, and even I think you're full of faggotry. 3) Thank you for contributing to my enormous wealth with your silly purchases. 4) You've really got nothing to write about today, do you?
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
I have no idea what any of this means to how I'm going to look when this is all done. I can say that my eyelid still droops, so that is something I will have to get fixed in the future. I also know there is a small piece of the VM in there still, even though it might dissolve. It's all just a crapshoot right now, and I have no idea how everything is going to turn out a month from now. I just hope I can smile because right now, that hurts like a MF. FYI, reading Gawker.com's story about how Joan Rivers is putting together a gay version of "The View" with Al Reynolds taking the Star Jones spot...not a good idea when it is agony to laugh.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Those wacky Log Cabin Republicans. They want so badly to be loved and accepted by the party that raises millions of dollars through rousing fear of gays. So it just makes sense that they would invite as a speaker a man who got into the White House under a phony identity writing diatribes against gay folks while poking men in the backdoor for money. You know Bob Dole is just jumping to be the follow up speaker here. The topic here is what gets me, whether gay conservatives can get a fair hearing in the left-leaning gay press. I'm not sure about the answer to that one, but I'd guess you would have a better shot if you weren't literally a lying whore.
I tell you, those gay Republican boys are an awful lot like Patty Hearst after she started robbing banks with the people who kidnapped her.
Monday, July 10, 2006
I don't deal well with suspense, so I surfed the web and found lots of celebrity foolishness to distract me. First up, Jared Leto. Remember when he used to be hot? Well, now he's a big woman. Cityrag posted this lovely picture of his glam-rock makeover from a recent performance of his "band".
We here at Trading Faces wish him luck on his transition to becoming not just a woman, but fabulous 80s songstress Alison Moyet, even more so than the last time we made this joke.
I've never been a big fan of radio and television host Adam Carolla. I just can't take a grown man who refers to breasts as "juggies" seriously. And while I consider Ann Coulter the pee sprinkles on the toilet rim of America, I can't say that I take her particularly seriously either (hey, I may be a lousy writer, but at least I write my own material). But when Adam Carolla gives Ann exactly the treatment she has coming, well, that's the kind of behavior that makes the next Edward R. Murrow. From Crooks & Thieves...
Adam Carolla hangs up on Ann Coulter!
And finally, just as quickly as the comic book movie trend heats up the summer, it is killed by someone calling herself Everywoman.
I don't know if it is all in you, Chaka, but clearly it is all on you.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
It wouldn't be one of my surgeries without some setbacks. I lost a couple of my dissolving stitches Tuesday (actually bit through it), and while I didn't think anything of it at the time since they're supposed to come out on their own anyway, but now I am thinking I let some stuff loose. There's all sorts of bits flapping about inside my mouth, and I'm not sure that is supposed to be happening. What's more, this mutha is hurting! I was fine at the beginning of the week, but by yesterday, I was in pain, and still am off and on. Also, the way the swelling is going down, there is currently an air pocket of sorts in my cheek that is causing a bit of a speech impediment...I sound like Carol Channing. Hello Dolly, indeed.
Anyhoo, I'm waiting to hear back from my doc's office on Monday since it isn't like anyone can do anything about this stuff on a weekend and since I'm not bleeding or anything. I do have a bad feeling I'm going to require some re-stitching, and just hope I can get it done right without dropping a few thou to get back to NYC (remember, this is also some of the stitching that is supposed to even out my mouth!). Craiggers is pestering me to stay off the phone, so if I send you to voicemail, please leave a pleasant message, and I'll get back with you when I can talk without hurting or sounding like aged Broadway stars.
Friday, July 07, 2006
Diana Ross was so impressed by the fact that I sat through "Double Platinum" yesterday that she slapped some kiwi on her eyes, made herself really puffy, and was generally fugly in public in my honor of my surgical recovery. I'm expecting her to come over to my place shortly to throw back some tequila shooters and go on a road trip together. They don't make superstars like they used to, I tell ya.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
I caught the live broadcast of the Emmy nominations this morning, and something about it has been bothering me all day. I couldn't quite put my finger on my issue until I had a Skinny Bitch (vanilla voddy & Diet Coke) this evening.
Of all the lead acting nominees, Larry David is the most ethnic? What the fuck?!
That's right, for best lead actor and actress in a drama and comedy, 20 total nominees, and not one of them were brown, black, or yella. Expand it to the supporting categories, and we get the brilliant Alfre Woodard and Sandra Oh. Expand it to include miniseries and made-for-television movies, and you get...well, Alfre Woodard again, but if you have to schlep to the folks for special event programming, it doesn't count.
I grew up in rural Eastern Kentucky. In my hometown, there was one black family, the Gross family who ran the veterinary clinic. The only reason many locals weren't openly evil to them is because they took care of the cows. And yet in this hell-hole of closed-minds, my favorite shows as a child included "The Jeffersons" and "What's Happenin'?". My grandparents had one of the early satellite dishes, one of those gigantic NASA jobs you had to turn by a crank, and I used to drive my papaw nuts by parking myself in front of it on Saturdays watching "Soul Train" on WGN.
My point in this is that there was a time in this country when a show had to be good in order to get an audience. Back in the 70s and 80s, we were supposed to be less open to diversity, yet everyone watched "The Cosby Show", "Amen", "227", "Chico & the Man", and "Benson". Kids of all races thought that J.J. Walker was dy-no-mite! And you know that Marla Gibbs got paid a helluva lot more than Mr. Belvedere.
Now the major networks all seem to be going for the most bang for their buck by hitting the largest audience, white folks, while leaving racial minorities to flounder with low-budget messes on the UPN. But again, they miss the point Norman Lear hit on so well in the 70s...if it is funny, folks will watch it, and most of them don't give a damn that the stars don't look like them. There weren't a huge number of shows in those years starring minorities, but there seemed to be a lot more than there are now.
I'm not trying to deny racism here, as if everyone will automatically turn on a show starring a family of Latinos. But funny is funny, and I've seen bigots from my hometown laugh their mullets off at Eddie Murphy back in the day. When was the last major sitcom hit churned out? "Three and a Half Men"? Maybe if the majors tried going for funny instead of demographic, we could do a little better than Charlie Sheen AND have an awards show that looks like the rest of the country.
Why have you left us, Weezie? We need you now more than ever!
I spent the rest of my morning looking for the number for Child Protective Services in NYC, because if the three Today Show clowns are worse than Britney, you know those kids are in trouble.
Do it now. I know where you live, and I am not above sending the Scientologists after you.
- My reading comp score on the ACT was perfect.
- My math score on the ACT was so bad that I had to take remedial math my freshman year of college.
- I’m thinking my area of focus in law school is going to be intellectual property.
- My laptop is chock full of bootleg porn, but in my defense, very little of it is particularly intellectual.
- During my lost years, approximately 1997-2000, virtually the only illegal drugs I did not try were heroin and ketamine. I am exceedingly lucky I did not end up dead. No judgment on anyone else who uses various drugs, but for me, they were a sick substitute for what I wasn’t getting out of my life.
- My favorite color is tangerine orange.
- I have been hospitalized 12 times for surgery on my face, starting at the age of 18 months. I’ve never been hospitalized for anything else.
- The first record I ever bought was Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”. I conned one of my grandmothers into taking me to the store on the pretense that I could buy it myself, and she bought it for me when I didn’t have enough money. She also bought me the soundtrack to “Flashdance."
- I don’t believe in watching movies that feature Kevin Costner.
- I haven’t eaten meat in 12 years.
- My favorite cocktail is Stoli vanilla vodka and Diet Coke, also known as a Skinny Bitch.
- Dijonnaise is my favorite condiment.
- If I still had them and if they fit, I would totally still wear my Spiderman Underoos.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
1) Download random songs from iTunes that, taken as a whole, reveal you to be ever-so-slightly schizophrenic. May I suggest a Concrete Blond, Heather Smalls, Ani DiFranco, and Rebbie Jackson combo?
2) Discover that "Golden Girls" airs 9 times per day on Lifetime. Also discover that Lifetime isn't really Television for Women so much as it is Television for Women Who Can No Longer Get Jobs on Other Television Networks.
3) Spend an hour picking out paint at Homo Depot with a hat pulled down over your bruised-up mug. Spend three hours recovering from picking out paint that you rushed to go get because the sale ended today even though you totally weren't ready for the trip yet.
4) Eat Indian food.
5) Eat ice cream.
6) Eat everything.
So I officially arrived back in The Ville Monday night to a house that is completely covered in drywall dust. And even with that, I'm happy to be home to snuggle with Craiggers, even if the steroids I'm on have me being a wee bit short with him. I tell you, I don't know how these celebrities have the time needed to recover from cosmetic surgery. Even though my stuff is reconstructive, it is all the same basic principles, and it takes a good couple of months for the bad swelling to go away...that's an eon in Hollywood. Still, I'm thinking that if at the end of this mess I still don't look the way I want to look, I'm going to finish school and then spend buckets of money to make myself look fabulously abnormal. Because you know, what the world really needs is a male version of Jocelyn Wildenstein.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
I'm looking a bit less swollen today, and yet feeling a wee bit more peaked. So, I am laying around while Mom is out exploring Times Square, surfing the web, and admiring the artwork of my Fiestaware friend Ces at her online gallery. I love Ces's painting style, but this painting of some of her Fiesta pieces is my favorite. Even better, knowing that it will be hanging in my dining room soon makes me feel fantastic! I told Ces how much this piece moved me, and she rather impulsively offered it to me as a gift. Ces seems to give away most of her work even though she certainly has the talent to sell it. I can't think of a gift any of her friends would rather receive.
Sigh. If only Anderson Cooper were so generous when I said how much his delicious visage moves me.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
In the meantime, I have discovered that the combination of Vicodin, pineapple coconut Haagen-Dazs, and Milano cookies is perhaps the greatest painkiller ever devised by man, woman, or in this case, my mother.
Damn you, Pepperidge Farm, ruining my figure as I go through hell for a pretty face!
Vicodin does not make one funny.