Hell to the Ho!

This woman used to be called Superhead by the hip hop stars who passed her around. I call her a super homewrecker. Why? Because now that my daughter Whitney Houston has FINALLY kicked Bobby Brown to the curb, Superhead is keeping him company in L.A. if Rush & Malloy from the New York Daily News are to be believed. And you know I hope they are!

I believe in everybody owning their sexuality. We're adults, we should do what we want as long as it is consensual, and in my opinion, it doesn't make anyone a ho. Except for this lady. She's a ho. Definitely a ho. I know, because I paid her to get that freeloader out of my daughter's life so she can get back to work and make us some money. That's love, y'all. That's black love.

This one time at Camp Jubilee Jumbles...

...I stuck rosettes on my ass and got sent home.
















If you aren't a fan of "Project Runway" who watched some snooty French woman send the always irritating Angela packing, you totally won't get that joke. But that's okay, because if you don't watch "Project Runway," you probably aren't very cool anyway.

Realistic gold medal not included

I thought I wouldn't have to take out any loans for school, but our line of blow-up Olympic figure skater sex dolls hasn't sold nearly as well as one might have hoped.

*photo shamelessly stolen from far better blog, The Gilded Moose

The Weekly Cheese

Liza Minnelli is a wack-a-doo, but she seems like she'd probably be good people. Does anyone remember, though, when she was hot? I don't mean hot as in with a hot career, I mean hot as in a bit of a sex kitten? There was a period in the 80s when she stepped out of her trademark Liza mold and let pop maestros Pet Shop Boys tart her up, give her a funky asymmetrical haircut and put her Broadway butt to a disco beat. I love this song, y'all, and I love this Liza! This week's cheese is...

Liza Minnelli, "Losing My Mind"

Since I've been so nice lately...

I was going to make a comment about sending her doctor a fruit basket, or speculate on what exactly she could have, ahem, swallowed to do such damage to her throat. Then her publicist went and said it all.

Really, who am I to argue with a celebrity publicist?

Senseless Violence

Sly, whatever you do, do NOT try to take Truman's remote.

Seriously, Sly, he is bad and he will pop a cap in your ass if you mess with that remote!

Noooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sly, why didn't you listen to me?!

There is nothing more tragic than cat-on-cat violence. Right Truman?

Strong Black Woman

Sister Mary Cliff sent me the message below today to declare me an honorary strong black woman, an honor I deeply appreciate. I do have a bit of an affinity for the black women. When I get down about homophobia or someone asking me something about my cheek that is so none of their business because they're just some stupid shop girl who doesn't even know my name (breathe, just breathe, don't slap anyone), I think of the garbage women put up with and then with the racism on top of it...I really don't have it so bad.

If my girls can hold their well-coiffed heads up against hate, then there is no reason I can't hold mine up too. Keep on keepin' on, y'all! Except for Condaleeza Rice...she and her heinous Lucy Van Pelt hair can suck it.

The message from Sister Mary Cliff, a beautiful black woman if there ever was one:


Pretty is as Pretty does...but beautiful is just plain beautiful!

TODAY IS BEAUTIFUL SISTERS DAY
TAG, YOU'RE IT!









I'm supposed to send this to BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMEN, and you are one of them!!!


If you share this with other women, you will boost another woman's self esteem, and she will know that you care about her.
















Thanks for all you do.

Birfday

I don't like kids. I mean, if I see your kid and it is cute, I'll say so, but I probably won't want to spend more than a few minutes with the little tyke unless it is an exceptional child who happens to know some dirty jokes and can make a good apple martini.

The exceptions to this are my own brilliant nephews and niece, who are in fact exceptional. Caleb is exceptionally caring and sweet, Haley is the exceptional princess/evil genius who will one day rule the world, and Coby is exceptionally charming. The newest of my brood celebrated his first birthday last week along with his big sister who celebrated her 4th (and how my sister got The Princess to share her party I will never know...I can only assume that some jewelry changed hands). Conner, as you can see, is exceptionally photogenic and yet completely unselfconscious-conscious. He could kick quite a lot of tail on "America's Next Top Model," and I'd bet he wouldn't take any of Tyra's big bag of bullshit either.

"Cake? Why certainly, I'd love some! How kind of you!"

"I know we're out of forks, but I've never been one to stand on formalities."

"I'm sorry Mother, did you want some cake too?"

"Well, you can't accuse me of not offering to share."

Meanwhile, Princess Haley, realizing that she is above all of this foolishness, takes her place on her throne just as her favorite uncle taught her, and accepts festively-wrapped tribute from her loyal subjects.

My baby sister Karrie deserves much props for producing two brilliant kids (seriously, Haley is going to be the smartest one in the family without a doubt) and being a fantastic mom. The spoiling bit...well, that's kind of my fault. In my defense, I've only purchased two of the three tiaras Haley owns, and I'm sure she would be referring to herself in the third person even if I'd never been around!

Clockwise from the top (and in order of age): Caleb (5), Princess Haley (4), Coby (3), and Conner (1).

And now back to our regularly scheduled sarcasm and bitterness, already in progress.

Silky smooth cocoa butter skin

Uh-oh, looks like Wheat Puff hasn't been following the industry boycott of Cristal!



I just peed a little.

Dirty Monkey

Yesterday morning, I took my first shower in two days. Why in the world would I be so nasty, you ask? Well, our water kinda sorta got cut off. But it really isn’t my fault! You see, The Ville Water Company has yet to come into the 90s with online payments. It is the only bill I have that I can’t pay online, and as a result, I often forget to pay it as I did this week. On Friday, I had to use water from a Brita pitcher to brush my teeth. Then I slapped on extra deodorant, and wiped my face down with astringent. I dressed in layers as I tend to do with my recent bit of weight gain, and had on my baggiest jeans (again, weight gain) and a baseball cap. Later that day when I returned from campus, Craiggers saw me and commented on my ensemble, “Aren’t you afraid that since they know your age, this looks like a pathetic attempt to look like you’re in your 20s?”

In lieu of flowers, Craiggers’ family asks that you make a donation in memory of the deceased to American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Husbands.

photo from Crazy Photos

Yet another complaint

I normally dislike most of the general public, but driving really brings out the worst in me. The above poorly-executed illustration is of the very busy intersection of Bardstown Road and Grinstead Drive, a route I take on a fairly regular basis. If I could avoid it, I would because I almost always end up with a significant rise in blood pressure after passing through.

Picture it...I am the silver car coming up the street toward the Bardstown Road intersection. The light is red, and there is a red car sitting at the light. If the red car had on a turn signal, I would switch lanes so I could go around because as you can see, the orange, green, and blue cars are going to prevent red car from turning any time soon. As the red car does not have on a turn signal, however, I stay in my current lane because otherwise, once the light turns green I will come up too fast on the parked black cars and get blocked in by red car. Do you follow me so far? Very good.

Now, like I said, since red car does not have on a turn signal, I stay in my lane. However, red car is driven by an inconsiderate clod sent to this planet just to drive me insane. The light turns green, and rather than going forward, red car TURNS ON HIS F*&KING SIGNAL!!!!! As cars are whipping by me on my right, I can't get around red car, so I sit there and wait for red car to be able to turn against oncoming traffic, which he finally does just before the light turns red.

DAMN YOU, RED CAR! You should be thankful I no longer allow my daughter Whitney to carry a gun because I assure you she would have no problem popping a cap in your ass! As it is, she has a message for you.




All of this is really just proof that I should be chauffered. I think we'd all be a bit safer, and I wouldn't have Whitney getting into drive-by cursing matches.

It's true! I will!

Today I was finally called on in class. It was the moment I've been dreading, hearing "Mr. _____, tell me about blah blah blah lawyer crap." And of course, it had to be the Annhilation Prof. But you know what? I knew the answer and sounded reasonably intelligent! SNAP! We also went over the case of International Shoe v. Washington, the thrilling tale of the evolution of in personam jurisdiction, and everything she discussed, I had in the case brief I wrote, which means I totally got the case. Wanna hear about it? No? Fine, be that way! I know this video is old, but it is exactly how I'm feeling at the moment.



Well, except for the disco ball smash at the end...I'm sure I won't feel that way until my next class.

The Weekly Cheese

I was relying a bit too much on posting fun videos for your amusement rather than working for it with my own words. So, I'm not going to do that anymore, at least not on a daily basis. However, a little cheese in one's diet never hurt anyone. I know this one brought a much-needed smile to my face this evening.

This week's daily cheese is brought to us by the Queen of Hip Hop R&B in the 80s...the Dutch Queen of Hip Hop R&B in the 80s, that is. At least, I think she's Dutch. She grew up in Britain, her dad is part Native American, and she lives in the Netherlands. She's basically a human Bennetton commercial. Anyhoo, this is her biggest and cheesiest hit. Subsequent songs and albums were critically acclaimed across the globe, but here in the States we never accepted her for much of anything else but the sassy rapper girl with this song that made little sense. Gigolo sucka, it's...

Neneh Cherry, "Buffalo Stance"

The work we done was hard, at night we'd sleep 'cause we was tired.

Any of you who get that reference are meant to be my friend forever.

Today I had the pleasure of:

1) Getting up at the asscrack of dawn to read for class.
2) Taking Ming Vauze, Honda of Destiny, in to have $200 worth of unplanned exhaust work done.
3) Reading civil procedures cases that are making my brain bleed.
4) Getting outed at school as the elderly gay guy (that's a story I'll tell some other time...basically, someone thought I was around their age, and could hardly contain their horror that I'm 33!).

Yeah, I'm in a mood.

Saving All My Love For Who?!

Is the world's #1 terrorist really in love with my daughter? According to his former sex slave, Sudanese writer Kola Boof, he is. Here's the scoop from The New York Post:

Boof says bin Laden couldn't stop talking about his favorite singer and had lofty plans for her. "He said he wanted to give [her] a mansion that he owned in a suburb of Khartoum. He explained to me that to possess Whitney, he would be willing to break his color rule and make her one of his wives."

But bin Laden's murderous side also emerged in his fantasies about the pop superstar. "[He would say] how beautiful she is," Boof claims, "what a nice smile she has, how truly Islamic she is but is just brainwashed by American culture and by her husband - Bobby Brown, whom Osama talked about having killed, as if it were normal to have womens' husbands killed.

"In his briefcase, I would come across photographs of the Star [magazine], as well as copies of Playboy. It would soon come to the point where I was sick of hearing Whitney Houston's name," Boof writes.

You know, there are days when I'm sick of hearing Whitney's name too, but that is the price of being a parent, I suppose. Trading Faces pal Sister Mary Cliff asked me how I could allow all this to happen, but I want to assure everyone that Whitney is not dating this evil man. She was grounded at the time of his obsession, and I took away her Blackberry so he'd stop texting her. Suffice it to say, there will be no radical Islamic terrorist leaders having Sunday dinner at my house any time soon. I am sad to report, however, that she IS still dating this evil man:


Damn you, Osama bin Laden! You're Satan's hemorrhoid, but all that talk about putting a hit out on Bobby got me thinking happy thoughts about you for a moment!




Photo from Defamer

Makes Jessica Simpson look like Joni Mitchell

I tried to give it a chance, really I did, just so I could snipe about it fairly. I listened to previews of every song on iTunes (the things I do for you people!). And I honestly have to say that while I'd have to check to be certain, I'm fairly sure playing this CD to prisoners would be a violation of the Geneva Convention. Yoko Ono would take Paris down on "Star Search". Seriously, I have two Spice Girls CDs in my collection, so I have pretty low standards for useless fluff. That 20-times layered wannabe Gwen Stefani baby voice is like a rake across a chalkboard. Please save your money, she really doesn't need it anyway.

This CD review is a public service of Trading Faces. And remember, please help control the pet population, have your talent-free hotel heiress spayed or neutered.

K-Fed...just as bad as you thought he'd be

At last Britney Spears's gold digging husband has his moment to show us what he can do. So what can he do? As his performance at Nickelodeon's Teen Choice Awards shows us, not much.



This guy must be incredible in bed. That has to be the only reason she is allowing him to spend all her money when this is the kind of talent he has. She's dickmatized!

Trading Faces in 3-D

I may be one of the most uncool people in The Ville, and surprisingly enough it has little to do with my bag. Craiggers FINALLY got me to go see "Superman Returns" this evening. A movie described as PG-rated gay porn and I haven't been?! It's true. What he did not tell me until he had purchased our tickets online (I need to inject here how much fun it is that my husband is paying for our evening out now that I'm a student again!) is that we were going to see the movie in 3-D. Christ on a cracker, why me? Aren't my facial issues enough without my nerdy husband wanting to slap some cardboard glasses on me?

As it turns out, they no longer use cardboard glasses for 3-D movies, something I can be forgiven for not knowing considering that I also wasn't aware that anyone made 3-D movies any longer in the first place. Instead, they station someone at the door with a selection of fashionable big sunglasses that even fit over your regular specs (assuming you are visually challenged as I am).















They're actually rather fetching, don't you think? I wouldn't advise playing your guitar in the theater, though...it turns out that some patrons frown on it. The movie itself was fairly good, though not as good as the "Spiderman" or "X-Men" series. Also, I think Kevin Spacey played the role of Lex Luthor far too serious, probably in an effort to keep from queening out. The 3-D thing was more annoying than exciting. If you're one of the the three or four people who haven't seen "Superman Returns," I would recommend the regular version.

In other news...
I survived my first week in law school. In general, I'm loving my classes, but at times it sure has tested my already sketchy self-esteem. I go into class thinking I am intelligent and well-prepared, only to discover that I'm a few tacos short of a combo platter. I have determined that I shouldn't blog about specifics regarding professors and fellow students in case this blog falls into the wrong hands when I'm job hunting. However, I will say I have one professor in particular who seems to enjoy annihilating students, causing me to develop the Defensive Socratic Method. If I am fortunate enough not to be called upon, I muster up a semi-intelligent question on the subject, raise my hand, and hope that having participated in the discussion is enough to keep me from being further interrogated.




















Did I not mention that I still have the beard I grew after my last surgery? Yeah, I'm keeping it until the swelling finishes going away (probably another month or so). Anyhoo...

I keep trying to tell myself that most everyone else is feeling the same way (particularly the four students who looked like big fools in the above-mentioned class Thursday). I am also relying on three other sources for some strength:

1) Diva blogger Angry Black Bitch is giving me and everyone else love with her Bitchfirmations. I highly recommend them...they'll make you a better person, not to mention a sassier one.

2) I have constructed a new iPod Morning Self-Esteem playlist. This is what I'll be listening to on my way to class every day this week.















When I'm questioning my decision to go back to school, thanks to this playlist I will remember to ask myself, "Is it worth it? Then let me work it! Put my thang down, flip it, and reverse it!"

3) Craiggers has sent me major vibes this past week. He's so adorable...when I tell him I've had a bad day, he just has this totally sincere look on his face like, "Well, tell me how you're going to fix it," as though he just automatically assumes I'm going to be able to fix whatever the mess is and be successful because I'm a super genius. There's no doubt there at all. I have no idea what I've ever done to inspire this level of confidence, but I need to remember to be grateful for it.

Now, back to reading...anyone want me to tell them all about adverse possession property cases? No one at all? Well, y'all are no fun at all on a Saturday night!

I pity the fool who wears Gloria Vanderbilt!

God must have sensed I was feeling a bit down, and She sent me this as a pick-me-up. Some things are so funny that no jokes are necessary, though I can't help but wonder how many takes the director went through waiting for Mr. T to correctly pronounce "ensemble"?




Look at him shaking his little Mr. T booty! That's priceless!

The Daily Cheese Fab 5 Countdown: #1

Anyone who knows me had to see this choice coming.

Today's Daily Cheese feature isn't just the Greatest Dance Song Ever, it is also my all-time favorite song bar none. It has everything I love: an insanly catchy tune, glamour, campiness, kitsch, a fantastic beat, and a slight darkness (listen to the lyrics...it sounds like he's a total stalker!). I also love that the video is so incredibly cheap and gay. You will never ever hear this song in my presence and not see me dance. My tens of loyal readers, the Greatest Dance Song Ever Because I Said So is...

Dead or Alive, "You Spin Me Round (Like A Record)"!



I have to confess, there was a time in the 80s that I would have given anything to look like that, sans the kimono of course. As for now...



No, I still love him, but I don't really need to have the look anymore.

I give in

I went through high school with really bizarre hair and some exceedingly questionable fashion choices on a purposeful mission to be different. In college, you could find me in such ensembles as knee-length cut-off shorts over black leggings, paired with a t-shirt and an oversized thrift store blazer. Once when I was 24, I had a fuscia buzz-cut. My only excuse for any of this is that I took a LOT of drugs back then.

These days, I am far more sedate, not because I'm older and boring, but because I like to think I have refined my style and I'm comfortable in my own skin. When I can actually get into all my clothes (i.e. when I'm not eating like a pig post-surgery), I think I have a good cross between sassy and professional. That said, the rolling computer bag has to go!

I'm getting looks, y'all. Seriously, I'm the ONLY person in the l. school with one of these things. Oh wait, the blind lady and a couple of faculty women have them...yeah, that makes me feel better! I don't mind standing out a bit, but I am at the point now that I feel very uncomfortable in my geekiness. Plus it doesn't fit in my locker, so I have to take it everywhere, even to lunch, I have to carry it on stairs to the study area, and when bad weather hits, I'll be dragging it through puddles and snow. It just isn't practical unless I'm travelling.

So, you all have a mission. I need a cool bag (not a backpack...I'm not 19, and I am going to be a professional again someday!) for a 17" laptop (yeah, I bought the big one because my vision is bad...do you have a problem with that?!) at a reasonable price. Post the link to your bag of choice on my comments section. Really. I mean it. I'm open to suggestions here, people! I'll post a pic of how stupid I really look with this thing if that is what it takes to get you to take pity on me!

Please help me...she might be funny, but no one wants to invite Dorothy Zbornak to be in their study group!

UPDATE:
With a huge laptop, my only real choices was to go either 1) really tech-y with something very utilitarian, 2) really expensive to get something very professional-looking, or 3) something that isn't a laptop bag at all but will hold a laptop. So, I chose something a little sporty but not too teen-ish by taking JonBoySF's suggestion. I bought a slightly hipster-ish large messenger bag that matches my laptop by Timbuk2 on Evilbay, and will be wrapping Uhura (that's the laptop) in a padded sleeve for transport. I can't wait for it to arrive so I can feel young again since I can't afford the Botox yet! Thanks again for your suggestions everyone!

The Daily Cheese Fab 5 Countdown: #2

I hesitated to choose this one because part of the criteria for the Daily Cheese is a high kitsch factor. However, you can't deny this as a great dance song. I was spending the summer as a Governor's Scholar on the campus of Western Kentucky University before my senior year in high school when this song was everywhere. I remember queening out on the dancefloor at our weekly dances, then coming home and being really embarassed at my papaw seeing the video with me.

This is not the original video, but rather the legendary MTV Video Music Award performance of the song. How much do we all miss this woman from back when she was a big slut? I give you the queen (on her birthday no less)...

Madonna, "Vogue"

The Daily Cheese Fab 5 Countdown: #3

For those of you who are waiting for disco to pop up on this countdown of the greatest dance songs ever, don't hold your breath. Disco gave birth to modern cheeseball dance music, but I consider it a category all its own. I'll post the Blondie/ABBA/Donna stuff some other time.

Anyhoo, today's track is brought to us by a band that rose from the ashes of Joy Division, one of the most innovative and depressing hot messes ever sent to us by the Brits (so depressing in fact that the lead singer hung himself the night before their first American tour). How could something so ebullient come out of that? I have no idea, but this is their greatest track. A word of advice: turn the sound up, and go find something else to occupy yourself because the video itself is REALLY boring. Feel free to dance about the room for...

New Order, "Bizarre Love Triangle"

Cher is still prettier than you!

Don't be skeered, y'all, it is just our benevolent Lord, Cher, stepping out to a day spa. Now tell me, would any other phony Hollywood ho have the nerve to step out of her carefully controlled PR bubble and not give a damn what anyone thinks of her facial mask? This is the prime example of why I love her so much...despite any surgery, Cher keeps it real.

W is for War Criminal

A brief political break: Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative reporter Seymour Hersh is making some outrageous charges in his work for The New Yorker. He claims that the Bush administration is planning at some point to make a strike against Iran (you know, since the Iraq thing is working out so well). Now, we can't really do that right now since to do so would immediately provoke the use of missles by terrorist group Hezbollah. So Hersh is alleging that Dubya cut a deal with Isreal that they could bomb the bejeezus out of Lebanon in order to knock out Hezbollah missles, and they wouldn't step in as peacemakers until a few weeks into the conflict, letting hundreds of innocent Lebonese and Israelis die in the process. That has to be crazytalk! There no way our president would do something that outrageous! Here's Hersh on CNN Sunday night (thanks to Joe.My.God. for turning me and the rest of the world onto this video!)



Yeah, he isn't believable at all. After all, he's just the guy who broke the Abu Ghraib prison abuse story. These motherf*ckers need to be arrested IMMEDIATELY! If Dubya, Vice President Dickhead, and Secretary of State Lucy Van Pelt aren't war criminals by now, I can't imagine who is.

And now we return to our regularly scheduled foolishness.

A Modest Complaint

I'm actually quite enjoying school so far. After making it through two days of classes and even opening my mouth in class twice without inserting my foot either time, I can say this is pretty stimulating and exactly what I needed in my life. That said, I have some issues. After all, I wouldn't want to bore you all with a non-bitter Christopher.

1. There are no Coke vending machines on campus. Diet Pepsi tastes like malted battery acid, but I got desperate and had one since the coffee vending machine stole my change today and gave me lukewarm dirty water in return.
2. The men’s room in the basement student lounge where I like to study (because it is ice cold, and is so creepy that others seem to avoid it) usually smells like urine. Today I used it shortly after it was cleaned. The good news is, it didn’t smell of urine. It did, however, smell of vomit.
3. My locker is too small to hold the roll-y bag I use for my laptop and such. I feel like a stewardess for an imaginary airline when I'm in the halls.
   
4. I’m old enough and have a bad enough back to need a roll-y bag for my laptop while all the cool kids are using padded backpacks. Suffice it to say that the first person here who “sir”s me is gonna get slapped.
5. I got up at 5a.m. this morning to brief two cases for my class in contracts because evidently I do not have good time management skills.

Please note, however, that the two people beside me in contracts asked if I understood the cases because they didn't have a clue. I said that I had trouble with them, but the truth is, I totally got what the prof wanted...score for the old dude!

The Daily Cheese Fab 5 Countdown: #4

Lights! Models! Guestlist! This cheese is exactly what I need when I get up at the crack of dawn to do more work for today's class in contracts. The #4 greatest dance song of The Daily Cheese comes to us from one of the most respected British bands of all time (at least everywhere except probably the U.S., who hasn't really gotten them since the 80s). Oddly, this is probably their most throwaway song ever, and features none of the fantastic lyrics of their lead singer. Instead, the band teamed up with the stars of The Funniest British TV Show Ever, "Absolutely Fabulous," to create this melange of urgent beats and silly dialogue from the show to raise money for the Comic Relief charity. I love this song, plus it lets me pretend I am Patsy Stone on the dancefloor, sweetie. The #4 greatest dance song of all time is...

Pet Shop Boys, "Absolutely Fabulous"

The Daily Cheese Fab 5 Countdown: #5

This week on The Daily Cheese, we are counting down the top 5 dance songs of all time. What makes a song hit the top 5 on the Daily Cheese? Because I said so, that's why dammit! Dance music is the cornerstone of the Daily Cheese because it is disposable yet ingrains itself into your memory, so we're giving it its due lack of respect all week. Plus, I've been studying things like trespass torts and the federal appellate process all day, so frankly, I need some fun I don't have to think about too much.

Kicking off our Daily Cheese Fab Five Dance Hits is a video that is repugnant and beautiful all at once. It couldn't possibly make less sense, and I have never not moved my butt just a little when I've heard it. #5 is...

Army of Lovers, "Crucified"

I have the power?

Today's guest blogger is Craiggers, official husband of Trading Faces:

Just thought I’d let everyone know that I sent little Christopher off for his first day of school without a hitch; I packed up his PB & J sandwich in his She-Ra Princess of Power lunchbox, then walked him to the bus stop. When the school bus arrived I got on and made sure the bus driver knew where to take him, and told all the other children to leave him alone, because you know he is a sensitive child.

The Popiate of the masses

I can't express how very much I adore this picture of Pope Benedict in his red Prada loafers. I mean, they totally don't go with his gown, but still, you have to love a pope in Prada. His election as pope was even more fascinating than his justification for kicking out gay priests while demonstrating that some day they too could trot around the Vatican in designer shoes. That was some Pope Fever! I haven’t been so entranced by a man in a dress on television since Culture Club debuted on MTV. I have to tell you, though, it was so disappointing to learn that I had been overlooked in the pope election…I actually won the swimsuit competition, but blew the onstage interview question.

I would have done well as pope if John Paul’s reign were any indication. We had a lot in common. Last year, he went off on Jennifer Aniston for wearing crucifix jewelry as objects of fashion rather than faith. Who knew the Holy Father was such a fan of Must See TV? It is like we were separated at birth!

Still, it is probably a good thing I wasn’t elected. How do you top a pope as popular as J.P.? I was concerned about how conservative Pope Weiner Schnitzel might be when my Catholic co-worker pointed out that he is a Rebound Pope, the sort of pope you get after a pope you really like. No reason to get concerned about a ‘Tweener.

Catholics as a general rule are pretty okay with me. What’s not to love about a religion that celebrates Lent for several weeks each year with a weekly big ass fish fry, and you don’t even have to go to listen to a sermon in order to eat? There are few things more fantastic in life than a cheap fish dinner, beer, and a cakewalk. That doesn’t mean that I will sacrifice reproductive rights for some cole slaw, but at least they don’t usually try to take over the government or annoy anyone other than the occasional alter boy.

I’ll take some catfish with a side of pedophilia any day in lieu of some of these “Earth-based” religions. I’m speaking of some of my dearest friends when I say many of those folks are just plain nuts. Lexington drag legend Natalie Gaye once attended a Wicca lesbian funeral in Mt. Sterling, and reported to me that the widow got naked at the grave site and danced around it while people beat on drums. Being the sensible person that she is, Natalie and her sidekick quietly tried to slip away and go antiquing. I was relieved she got away before the patchouli smell soaked in too deeply.

Now Jehovah’s Witnesses, those are some annoying people. For those of you who don't know, Craiggers was raised a JW, and even though he’s been away from it for many years, I still feel the urge at times to slam a door in his face. JWs are the mimes of the spiritual realm, an entire religion based on the concept of its members making a public nuisance of themselves.

Their redeeming quality is that while they don’t mind waking you up from a hangover to push their beliefs on you, they do believe in steering clear of forcing those beliefs on government. No, JWs and Wicca’s don’t go after government. That seems to be the province of the churches of my raising, the sort of churches that involve rolling in the pews, red-faced preacher men with too much Bryl-cream, and a whole lot of warnings not to do anything fun.

I suppose the hot mess in the Middle East is making my thoughts turn to religion, particularly religions that want to make their particular religion part of the rule of law. I'm not talking so much about the Muslim extremists, though they are quite terrible. It is our own government that scares me. When I hear Dubya talking his fundamentalist bullshit, all I can think is, "This stupid motherf'er really thinks he is an instrument of God to bring about the second coming!" He does seem to believe every word of the Book of Revelations, and some days I wonder if he's not stirring things up hoping to cause armageddon in the place his people believe it will happen.

If Dubya wore a dress and some red Prada loafers, I know I would sleep better at night.

The Daily Cheese

I've been posting a lot of stuff from the 80s, so how about some cheese that is a bit less aged? All I have to say about this is that it rarely gets better than druid priestesses, Zulu dancers, and the First Lady of Country Music wearing a big ol' crown. Prepare yourself for...

The KLF featuring Tammy Wynette, "Justified & Ancient"

The Daily Cheese

The star of today's Daily Cheese has not yet convinced me that she was not once a man. There's just something quite butch about her, much in the same way that there isn't about me. Plus a few years ago, she was playing the lounges at the Indian casinos out in Albuquerque, so you know she has fallen far (I couldn't bear to go see her like that either). Anyhoo, back when people recognized her talent, she had about half a dozen fantastic hits in the late 80s with her AMAZING voice. Her song "Send Me a Lover" was one of the only torch songs that Tina Camaro ever did. Today, though, we're showing her when she had no money and had to put together a video look on a $50 styling budget. The thick mascara that you know came out of a pink and green tube, the standard late 80s leather jacket-tights-tutu look, and most of all, the fabulously makes-no-damn-sense nutty crimped bangs...she was hot! And the song is just soooooooo good!!! Today's Daily Cheese is...

Taylor Dayne's "Tell It To My Heart"

Trading Faces ruins career before it begins

Today we had two different professors tell us that prospective employers at law firms will Google our names and search for us on MySpace, and that if we have a MySpace site or a blog, we may want to consider the potential consequences to our career. And now you know why I don't post my e-mail address or last name. Still, I wondered how easy it would be to track me down online. I changed my e-mail address on MySpace to a dummy address so I couldn't be looked up in that way, and when I Googled my full name, I got:

1. The dedication page of Dr. Chad's dissertation.
2. Articles by the editor of some newspaper in Eastern Kentucky (how odd is it that there are two journalists with the same not-so-common name in virtually the same place?).
3. The winner of a gay boy beauty pageant in the UK. In his undies. Yeah, I lingered here for a minute, so what of it?
4. A really bad photo of me from a column I had published in a local free rag.
5. An article I wrote on the Oscars for the university newspaper about a million years ago.
6. A silly photo of me with Dirty Debbey and some other chick. I have platinum blond hair and am wearing overalls...enough said.
7. A testimonial from five years ago I gave to my yoga instructor.
8. A website I built two years ago to feature some of my columns, the topics of which would likely tick off potential employers.

I disabled the site with my columns since I haven't updated it in ages anyway. This site didn't show up in any form or fashion, but I think I know how it could potentially be sleuthed out. So, now I have to decide at some point whether I'm going to censor myself, take down my blog altogether, or just live with the consequences of potential employers getting confirmation that I'm a big gay wack-a-doo. Mother always said my mouth was gonna get me in trouble one of these days.

The Daily Cheese

See what Reagan's cold war hysteria brought us? Paranoia about gay disco songs getting banned by the KGB! Anyway, I so don't get this video, but if you don't shake your tail in your chair at least a tiny bit when you hear the song, I just don't get how you could possibly have a pulse. Today's Daily Cheese...

The Communards, "Don't Leave Me This Way"

First Day of School

Price of campus parking for the Honda of Power, Miss Ming Vauze:

















$92. FYI, this is not actually Ming, but rather one of her sister girls from the same model year in the same color...she's shy.

Price of one semester's worth of law books, even after finding used copies of torts and contract law books at another store and walking through the rain to return the new copies you bought an hour earlier at Barnes & Noble Campus Bookstore Bastards:























$700.59. Seriously, this is really $700 worth of books. I asked the clerk if anyone had ever cried at the register, and she had the nerve to giggle.

Price of feeling like this...














as opposed to your classmates who all look like this:























Not priceless, but it is going to cost you at least three Stoli Vanil and Diet Cokes. See, the thing is, my friends have been almost exclusively older than I am at almost any time in my life (Dr. Chad and Rhoda being the exceptions to that rule). As would be expected of someone who acted 40 when he was 12, I don't typically relate even to many people my own age, much less hang with a bunch of 21-year-olds. I have no earthly idea what to talk about with these children other than school, and no one wants to talk that mess all the time. I'm afraid I'm already becoming the nutty old guy in the corner.

Between that and the fact that I already have a boatload of homework even though classes don't start until Monday, I'm freaking out just a wee bit this evening. Poor Craiggers...he should be happy that I drink.

The Daily Cheese

I'm bringing headbands back. You know you want to wear one just like you did back in the day when you saw this low-budget bit of fun fluff. Today's Daily Cheese, the feature that I'm not at all embarassed to say I love, is brought to you by...

Lisa Lisa & Cult Jam, "I Wonder If I Take You Home"

Fear

So I'm blogging a lot of silly stuff this week because I'm absolutely petrified. Today was my final day as a full-time employee at work. I supervise the workforce management team at a local utility sort of company, at least I did until this afternoon when I stepped down to attend law school full-time. This is probably the biggest risk I have taken in my life. I'm 33 and just ever-so-barely employed for the first time in many years. I haven't studied in 10 years, and I'll be competing with a bunch of 22-year-olds. Whether Craiggers and I can survive financially through this journey is still up in the air, but I know one thing...when those kids challenge me in class, I can look at them with my shoulder pads held high and tell them

"Nobody said life was fair. I'm bigger, I'm faster, and I will ALWAYS beat you!"
















Mommie and I have fought worse monsters than those law school kids for years in Hollywood. We know how to win the hard way.

The jelly shoes of the 2000s

From the Crocs website: closed top protects the foot and ribbed ventilation ports channel fluids away. looks good at the office, on a boat or peeking out from the bottom of your scrubs.



I went searching for these atrocities online because there is a fool at my office who has them in 5 different colors, and no one has seen fit to point and laugh until he cries and promises never to wear them again. After reading the catalog description for these tacky-assed plastic pieces of crap, now I'm thinking that tears aren't enough. I'm going to need some biblical justice here. These don't look good at an office unless that office is located in a garden and the wearer is spreading manure. If you wear these, I implore you, stop it before someone (me) throws a rock at you to knock you down, then beats you to death with these offensive landfill clogging clogs.

"Hello, operator?"

"Yes, I'd like to be connected to Child Protective Services in Malibu. I suspect a poor sweet little boy is being abused by his hillbilly parents who only feed him massive amounts of Cheetos and Red Bull, and force him to listen to unreasonably bad white guy rap music. It's just wrong, and I won't stand for it any more!"

The Daily Cheese

In honor of my daughter's birthday, please enjoy the Whitney Houston edition of The Daily Cheese. At the time of this video, Whitney was considered as far from hip as hip could be. Then my girl busted out the leather gown, slapped on her good wig, hooked up with some fantastic up-and-coming producers, and dropped this bomb that shook the clubs across the world. Even thought it is considered played out now, I consider this gem Whitney's finest moment before that loser Bobby dragged her down in the muck. Enjoy a little bit of...


"It's Not Right But It's Okay (Thunderpuss Remix)"

Happy birthday, Nippy!

I've been told that on birthdays, a parent reflects on the journey he has taken with his child, and that is certainly the case with my daughter Whitney Houston. Since adopting her, I have tried my best to give her love and a stable home. I ran a comb through her nappy wig, I fired warning shots over Bobby's head, and I even plucked Bobbi Kristina's monobrow. More than anything, though, I have tried to teach her the value of humility. You can imagine how proud I was to see her response when we tried to make a fuss over her 43rd birthday today.



















That's my baby! She's done been brought up right!

The Crawford Party

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
August 8, 2006
Contact: Christopher ______, National Chairman of The Crawford Party

In recent times of political upheaval, we have seen numerous unsuccessful attempts at building a viable national third party, an alternative to the Bill of Rights burning Republicans and spineless Democrats alike. The Reform Party imploded because it was supported solely on the large and entertaining ego of a tiny man. Conversely, the Green Party learned that it may be easier being green than getting votes for the terminally dull and poorly dressed.

But, from the ashes of these sad attempts at raging against the political machine, we bring you a party with a purpose, a party with the will to win at all costs, and most importantly, a party with style: The Crawford Party.

The name of the party is derived from obsessive-compulsive film legend Joan Crawford, and is based on her principle of, “If you can’t do something right, don’t do it at all!” We (and by we, I mean I) chose Ms. Crawford as our party mascot because a) we needed someone intimidating, b) large eyebrows and shoulder pads are still more attractive than circus animals, and c) because Joan wouldn’t have tolerated the electoral incompetence of the state of Florida.

While the Crawford Party has many goals in its platform (taxpayer-supported stylists for certain public figures, for example), the major plank of our party platform is the Fire Florida movement. We in the Crawford party have come to the conclusion that Florida has proven after two presidential elections with significant irregularities that it cannot handle the responsibility of being a state. They have put a multi-million vote election on a wire hanger, and the Crawford Party is demanding that they get out of that bed and get the beating they deserve.

To that end, the Crawford Party is beginning a large-scale publicity tour of the United States to campaign for the expulsion of Florida from the Union. The people of Florida may wish to remain a protectorate of the United States in the fashion of Puerto Rico, to become a separate nation with Epcot Center as the capital, or whatever. Frankly, we don’t care if they make Gloria Estefan their queen (not a bad idea considering that no elections are required, and she might even supply her own tiara) so long as they never screw up another election day for the United States again.

We propose that in order to maintain that rigid symmetry on the American flag, the District of Columbia will become our 50^th state. Hasn’t the time come to give them their big break? After all, any place whose citizens are tough enough to fight off street rats the size of a dachshund can surely produce a straightforward election. If you can count a high body count, can you not count votes? We (and by we, I mean I) say yes!

In a mere two years, our great nation will face the most important election of its long and distinguished history. As it currently stands, we are being given the choice between stupidity and timidity, with one state holding the power to tip the scales in either disastrous direction.

Our third party alternative offers brains, brawn, and timeless beauty with the guarantee that if things aren’t done right the first time, there will be Hell to pay. We will clean up that mess, and we’ll do it with style.

The Crawford Party: Don’t fuck with us, Florida...this ain’t our first time at the rodeo.

The Daily Cheese

Today's installment of The Daily Cheese, stuff I should be embarassed to love but am not, is brought to you by one of the style inspirations of my alter-ego, Miss Tina Camaro. For a brief moment in the early 90s, New York club kids ruled the world with technicolor psychadelia, and I was all-too-happy to dance along, coveting Lady Miss Kier's platform shoes all the way. I worked that flame red flip for at least two years, y'all! Introducing...

Deee-Lite's "Groove Is In The Heart"!

Because strong bones need calcium

Get your recommended daily allowance of cheese in our new frequent feature of Stuff I Should Be Embarassed to Love But I'm Totally Not. Today's we're showcasing the black leggings with tutus and Doc Martens, the ill-advised dance routines, the cakey matte lipstick, and the absolute brilliance that is...

Bananarama's "I Heard A Rumor"!

This one time at band camp...

...Cate Blanchett tried out to be a majorette. Amazingly, the costume still fits, and now I'm thinking I made a real mistake telling my stylist that I wouldn't wear my tall fuzzy hat, white shoes, and saxophone to my most recent red carpet event.

Project Runway Exclusive: Bjork endorses Angela to win

While vacationing at Camp Jubilee Jumbles, the Icelandic pop star says, "Bubble skirts are the new swan."




















In fairness, brilliant Advocate commentator Dave White was the first to notice the style synergy between Bjork and the dreaded Angela. However, I spent 20 minutes going through bad fashion photos trying to prove it. The things I do for you people!

I'll have what she's having

Remind me never to ask Ed what he does for fun in London.

Hundreds Expected to Come to Masturbate-a-Thon

Hundreds of Britons are being urged to attend what is being branded as Europe's first "Masturbate-a-thon", a leading reproductive healthcare charity said on Friday.

Marie Stopes International, which is hosting the event with HIV/AIDS charity the Terrence Higgins Trust, said it expected up to 200 people to attend the sponsored masturbation session in Clerkenwell, central London, on Saturday.

"It is a bit of a publicity stunt but we hope it will raise awareness," a Marie Stopes spokeswoman told Reuters.

"We want to get people talking about safer sex, masturbation and to lift taboos."

Participants, who have to be over 18, can bring any aids they need and can take part in four different rooms -- a comfort area, a mixed area, along with men and women only areas.

However, the rules on the event's Web site states there can be no touching of other participants nor are people allowed to fake orgasms.

"The amount you raise will be determined by how many minutes you masturbate and/or how many orgasms you achieve," the Web site said.

The Marie Stopes spokeswoman said local religious groups had been initially outraged, but after people had heard what the event was about, most had approved it.

Police had also given it their approval.

It's good to have a goal

One of my favorite people, The Angry Black Bitch, was doing a spot of complaining today about unruly children in the store, and is afraid she may be becoming her grandmother. No worries, ABB, that is a good thing to become. Personally, it has long been the ultimate goal in my life to become the infamous cranky old man you'll find in every neighborhood. I envision my golden years being spent in my bathrobe and support socks, yelling at the local rotten children to get the hell off my lawn. I can just hear it now: "Stay away from that house! That's where crazy Old Man ______ lives with 2 cats and 59 place-settings of Fiestaware! He'll throw rocks at you!"


















When I dream, I believe in dreaming big!

Big Hair, Big Guns

Despite having half their pre-Katrina population, New Orleans has exceeded the previous year's murder rate according to a story on this evening's "All Things Considered." Now I'm no sociologist, but I think I can explain why. The story told about a video the state uses in the mandatory class for concealed weapon permit applicants. The video is a wee bit old, old enough in fact for it to have been a big deal that the producers (the, ick, NRA) snagged two 80s nighttime soap opera second bananas as the hosts.

















Would you trust Ray and Donna Krebbs to protect your home? Only if Donna is wielding some hairspray and a wicked set of shoulder pads.

The Project

I am oh so thrilled that the greatest reality show ever, "Project Runway," is back, but I have refrained from blogging about it at this point because I do know that these things tend to get the best of me. So, I won't be commenting on the fact that Laura and Michael totally won the challenge for that wack-a-doo in her bubble skirts, the talent-free Angela. Nor will I comment on Cheater Keith and the many ways he cheated while maintaining flawless skin. I'm not even going to say a word about the fact that the show bans pattern-making books, but as Bradley showed once again, they don't ban pot. However, my resolve to resist making commentary dissipated when I saw what Heidi chose to wear while standing in judgment of others. If I had been boring sportswear girl, I would have gotten up in her Teutonic mug and been all, "Miss thing, I know you don't think you're gonna come up in my grill in your polyester pantaloons and talk smack about my clothes! I will beat a ho down!" Or that's what I would have said were I a strong black woman.

Oh, and I soooooo wanted Daniel Vosovic from last season to pop up when they started stealing each other's models to do a big gay inhale and shout, "IT'S A MOTHERFUCKING WALK-OFF!!!!!" I need that as my ringtone, because my life is a walk-off, y'all!

Beep beep got the keys to my Jeep

I was on my way back from what must be my 148th trip to Homo Depot/Target/Lowes this month pondering vehicles. My inspiration? Ming Vauze, my sassy silver 2000 Honda Civic, is experiencing her first potentially major mechanical problem just one week before I become virtually unemployed. Of course the problem is like her owner, she has decided to blow air that is exclusively hot during this heat wave that is working it like Omarosa with her last 30 seconds of fame.

Of course this isn't nearly enough to make me quit loving Ming. Rather I simply gleefully continue to refuse to let Ass-U-Vs over in traffic since it is their owners who are causing the global warming anyway, and calculate my gas savings while the wind whips through my hair (though since it is the last hair I have, I might want to protect it better than that).

It's actually turning into a lovely evening, cooling down a bit here in The Ville, and there were a few folks out watering the flora and walking their fauna now that it isn't quite so oppressive. My thoughts turned to the icy vodka & cran-grape I was planning to savor while plopping under the newly installed (by me!) ceiling fan and watching "Project Runway" when I spotted one of those damned Human Rights Campaign I-don't-want-anyone-but-other-homos-to-know-I'm-gay equal sign stickers on the back of a Jeep. Back to pondering vehicles and the people who drive them.

I could tell by the well-groomed facial hair of the driver that the passengers were boys because lesbians rarely groom their hair that well. Let me just tell you that gay boys in Jeeps annoy the bejeezus out of me. They're just trying so damn hard to be sporty frat boys, and failing so miserably.

You know these guys. Bless them, they're so terrified of being identified as gay that they drive their Jeeps, take their style queues from the mannequins from A&F, and tend to hang in male-only company. When I say male-only company, that almost always means non-girly males are excluded. Now I'm sure some of these boys really are as "straight-acting" as their Manhunt profiles claim. Good for them for being themselves (though proclaiming it as though it is a virtue is getting a bit old). But as for most of them, these guys aren't fooling anyone any more than I am. How can I make such a statement about the boys in their Jeeps?



















Fix ya brows, girl! Not even Joan Rivers looks that surprised!

Girls who wear glasses

I've worn glasses since I was 13, and don't get around particularly well without them. So I thought prior to starting law school and losing my health insurance, it might be a good idea to get an exam and some new specs. Seeing as how I like to try new things, I also went to a new doctor. He is kinda hot and quite nice, though he dilated my pupils without warning me he was about to do so, and my vision was a wee bit blurry when I picked out my new frames.





















I think I look great here, but Craig thinks I'll reconsider them when my vision finally clears up. I think he's just jealous of my fancy Transitions lenses and my new hat.

Notes on camp

In the midst of a heatwave that is even making my balding patch frizzy, I've been seeing camper vans all over town. That and a severe case of writer's block have led me to post an old piece I had published in Nougat Magazine. Why? Because even when it isn't ten degrees hotter than hell outside, those people are f'in insane! Thus, I give you...

Camping: Imitation of Past Life

Party planning is an activity that requires the planning and precision one would expect to find few places outside of strategic military strikes, and in this activity, I am a general. Thus, I recently found myself playing e-mail tag with various and sundry friends, attempting to pin down a date for the first big barbeque in my new rental house.

The preferred date was ruled out due to my friend Dirty Debbey’s annual camping trip. Each August, she rounds up a large group of folks who are more than willing to leave behind their air conditioners in favor of bunking down with mosquitoes in the “Great Outdoors”. Each July, she invites me on this trip, and each July I give the same answer: I would rather listen to Yoko Ono sing, accompanied by a rake being dragged across a chalkboard while being served broken glass hors d’oerves.

The fact is, I have tried camping. I tried it against my will as a child, and I can safely say that as a hobby, it ranks somewhere up there with an invigorating series of rabies vaccinations.

I sincerely wish that someone would explain to me the appeal of camping. Why would I voluntarily put myself in the situation of a homeless person and call it a hobby? This is supposed to be fun?

The line about how great it is to get back to a simpler way of life, or “back to nature,” is particularly good. As if there is something so great about nature. I mean, I’m an environmentalist. I recycle. If some corporation wants to build condos in a swamp, I’ll write a letter to my congressman. Just don’t ask me to go sit in that swamp for fun, and call it getting back to nature.

It could be argued that the entire point of the industrial revolution was to keep us as far from nature as is humanly possible. If getting back to nature is so great, then why did God give us central air, whirlpool bathtubs, and Internet porn? You just know these jackasses who think it is such a good idea to have a weekend free of technology are most certainly the same people who call their cable company the following Monday and scream at a person making $9 an hour because the channel showing reruns of "The Match Game" is snowy.

It seems to me that camping as a desirable activity is largely limited to heterosexuals and lesbians. Not to stereotype, but I don't know a great many gay men who participate in such foolishness. I'm not saying that we're smarter than everyone else, but I can't think of many gay men who pine away for the time before indoor plumbing. Does a queen shit in the woods? I think not.

Debra, god bless her, does not give in easily. For the past three years, she has cajoled me with the sort of reasoning that if acted upon, is most always something I live to regret. Her usual line, “But you haven’t been with us. How can you not like something you haven’t tried? It’s fun!” is the same sort of excuse my mother used to get me to try out for junior high basketball. It is also the same sort of thing that will ultimately someday result in my mother being put in a nursing home not unlike the institution in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”.

My favorite campers are the ones who put a house on wheels, one that gets about the same gas mileage as the space shuttle, and drive to some “campground” to spend a few days of valuable vacation time living in what could only be known as the outdoors if you’ve spent your entire life inside a big plastic bubble.

These are the same people who, when faced with the argument that my idea of roughing it is staying in a hotel without an indoor pool, say that they have all the conveniences of home with them. I don’t know, maybe it is just me, but I can’t remember the last time I had the urge to pack up everything in my house, move it a couple of hundred miles away, set it all up, then move it back a couple of days later.

I’ve got news for these folks. They aren’t camping; they’ve just temporarily relocated to a trailer park. You’d have thought the unreliable utilities and plywood lawn sculpture of an old woman bending over would have tipped them off to that great mystery.

Camping is quite possibly the world’s most stupid hobby. After all, I pay rent on a house I like very much, even if it is small and modest. If I’m going on vacation, I’d like to stay somewhere nicer than my house. And while I’m not sure what the real homes of most of these campers look like, I sincerely hope they are nicer than a moldy nylon sack in the dirt.