June 2005 Archives

Hey, kids!

Hope this finds ya doing well!

I was on TV last night, apparently. Some story about gay drama in St. Louis. I dunno - I was out chasing some tail. I'd rather live my gay drama than watch it play out on a screen.

You see, I've decided to adopt the same strategy for this blog that I've implemented in my psychological and sexual lives, and that’s the practice of restraint.

Or should that be - with restraints?

Kidding!

Kinda.

Maybe.

No.

The reality is that it's PrideFest Week here in St. Louis and things are INSANE at work right now. That's pretty much all I can say about it. Blogging from work is one thing - blogging about work is quite another. People get fired for that shit and I do enjoy my job. Free tickets to quality parties and occasional televised appearances make me downright giddy and happy to be...frankly...me.

But it’s not all rainbows and ruby slippers. How I wish! I sometimes wonder if I made a huge mistake when I wed my life to this blog two years ago. I’ve been considering a divorce. A trial separation? I feel beholden to this damn thing and it’s getting a little too Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? lately.

Oh, who am I kidding? I just need a break -- some time to dry out and shape up.

I’m such a fucking drama queen and I'll be back sometime in July after Independence Day.

To give you an idea of what I’m doing in the interim, here goes:
There's bikes to ride.
There’s books to read .
There’s Dorothys Parker/Gail/Zbornak gatherings to plot.
There’s farms to visit.
There’s freelance projects to design.
There’s glad-handing gays all weekend.
There’s gossiping with Mom.
There’s ice cold watermelon to eat.
There’s men to kiss.
There’s musicals to write. YES! I’ve been asked to write some zippy dialogue and back-story!
There's rooms to decorate.
There’s sparklers to light.
There’s time to spend with people I love.
There's slumber parties to attend.

There’s things to do besides blog, basically.

It’s called living.

And I am not good at multi-tasking.

And this blog is a distraction, and while I’m prone to grandiose detraction – I always post a quick retraction. See...rhymes, again. I’m not well, kids...not well at all.

Lines from Wicked keep floating through my noggin, because as a drama queen, there’s always music in my head when I write this shit. Blame it on Carrie **bleeping** Bradshaw and a fondness for show tunes.

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by
The rules of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes
And leap...
I'm through accepting limits
Cuz someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try I'll never know
Too long I've been afraid of
Losing love I guess I've lost
Well if that's love
It comes at much too high a cost
I'd sooner buy defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye, I'm defying gravity
And you can't pull me down!

Halfway through writing these kind of posts, I always consult my horoscope to see if what I’m feeling is what’s predicted – and once again it’s decidedly accurate.

There's an old saying that insanity is repeating the same action and expecting a different result every time. Is there anything in your life that continually doesn't come up the way it should, and yet you keep going through the same motions? It's nice to live in hope, but at this point you may need to examine some of the deeper motivations behind your actions. In that way, you can change them.

Sink or swim.

Fly or fall.

I dunno.

I’m sure to write about it and if you want to read it, you’ll have to buy the book.

I’ll be sure to keep you updated.

Happy Pride.

Happy Fourth of July.

Happy Life!

--Rob Thurman

Leave it to the gays I know to resort to decoupage and Chambord in a relentless effort of one-up-manship.

Good evening. Or is it still afternoon, today being all extra sunshiney?

There's so much to report today, but I'm content to just wish regular readers of this blog (and you know who you are) Salutations on this Solstice of Shameless Summers.

I will share this, though. One part of today's horoscope came true already. The other, I've left to wishful thinking.

If you were a cereal, you'd definitely be Lucky Charms, that's how expansive your good fortune is right now. Put it this way: if you tripped on a curb, you'd fall onto a twenty dollar bill -- or into the arms of someone totally devastating. That doesn't mean you should look for patches of the sidewalk to fall over, however. Just proceed with your normal plans. Leave the lucky twists up to the cosmos.

You might want to turn on PBS tomorrow night (while you still can) and check out a pretty extraordinary documentary called "The Education of Shelby Knox."

You see, there's this young gal in Lubbock, Texas named Shelby Knox and she's speaking up about how poorly the educational system in Texas deals with sex education. She's pissed, actually - and she's doing something about it, too...

There's also some interesting little tid-bits in the piece, like the fact that despite adopting an abstinence-only approach to sex education, Lubbock County, Texas has some of the highest birth rates in the state.

Just say no, as we all know, was such a great success...

I trekked off to the grocery store to consider what I would like to eat today, because I allow myself food Mondays, Wednesdays and every other Sunday. My diet of generic diet soda, over-priced coffee drinks, Sudafed and cigarettes has, I must confess, grown a little tiresome.

And while I consider eating to be like dating (it's better when it's other people -- and not me) doing it, there is at least a benefit for occasionally eating - and that's occasionally pooping.

I strolled around the store, confronted by Combos Cheese Inspired Snacks and muffalettas and all sorts of things that my taste buds would like, but these size-smaller pants would not. Health bodies...healthy minds kept ringing in my mind.

I picked up tasty rye bread, fresh mozzarella, some homegrown tomatoes, a garlic-infused balsamic vinaigrette dressing, just-made-hummus, Greek Yogurt and strawberries. Yummy...yum...yum...

After I prepared my meal, I sat here looking at this food, thinking there was no way I could eat all that. Well...I'm not very good at telling myself anything, if you've been around here long enough.

So...here I sit - fuller than a tick.

Engorged with freshness.

But I do confess that I just gulped down my second Tab soda. While my stomach may be full of food, my veins run cold with the sweet saccharine of artificiality.

A healthier body - maybe, some day. A healthier mind - oh, give me a break!

Fashion and Quality at the best price?

H&M Opens First St. Louis Store For Men & Women This Fall

Founded in Sweden in 1947, H&M is synonymous around the world with affordable as well as up-to-date and high quality fashion. H&M has a wide product range that is divided into a number of different concepts for women, men, teenagers, children and cosmetics. The company's clothing collections are created by its own designers, pattern makers and buyers.

H&M has around 1,100 stores in 21 countries. The new, nearly 15,000-square-foot store will be located on the upper level.

Seven Days in Seven Lines

Barbeques and fierce tattoos
Sidekicks with a hairdo new
Fare the wells
And spicy crocks
All we did was talk of cock
And then he put it in his mouth
He choked and laughed and spat it out......

Given that everything is being remade these days, perhaps I should have titled this post - I just blogged to say I'm sorry?

Anyway, if you've been here any length of time, you're probably aware that Spring 2005 will forever be known as my Bitter Blog Breakdown resulting from a failed experiment in internet dating.

And all of that may have been fine if I'd just blogged my thoughts and feelings without hyperlinks and sentimental photographs...but that's not the way I did it.

Nope - no names were changed to protect the innocent. And I don't include myself in that category. I was guilty of making my dating life a public stage without considering that in doing so I was harming the other person involved.

So...I spun a tale and it spun out of control - ending with me behaving badly and bitchy because I didn't get my way.

Well, I've learned my lesson and I've spent a few hours today editing and removing any incriminating or illuminating details of my failed romance. All the overwrought blog entries are still there - but I felt I owed someone else the courtesy of anonymity as I sally forth on my way to obscurity.

Spring, indeed has sprung and I'm looking forward to the Summer of No Shame, as it has been dubbed by many of my cohorts.

I just wanted to start off the summer actually unashamed of my past.

Not that I, of course, was ever put on academic probation.....

More than 100 students who failed their classes at the University of Kansas last semester found out who shared their misfortune. The school's Office of Student Financial Aid sent an e-mail to 119 students Monday notifying them that they were in jeopardy of having their aid revoked.

But the names of the students were included on the e-mail address list - meaning everyone who got the e-mail could see the names of all the other recipients.

The Whole Sordid Mess

I think and write
and click and post,
and worry,
"Does this suck
the most?"

Do fewer words,
but more detail,
bog down a blog
-- to no avail?

Hope is a Runner

Far below
a city’s sky
towers rise
and so do I.

I set about
my merry way,
to do my job
and do it gay.

With papers
lined up in a row
and roses vased,
the way I know.

The crowd will soon
begin to swell.
I’ve done my job
and done it well.

I look around
for things to do.
I see concrete
– it’s painted blue
with pastel paint
and symmetry.

Look!

Stainless steel Modernity!

Geometry
I do admire,
but nature creeps.

Does it conspire?

I saw the color.
I saw the shapes.
I trek off
to the starting gate.
The Arch it frames
a noble scene.
A man in bronze.
He’s turning green.

Perhaps it’s brown,
I stop to think.
The water, though
….no doubt is pink.

I cannot help
but look around.
And see
the thronging
of the crowd.
Some shake
their fists
towards the heavens.
I am worn out.
Is it eleven?

Their stories start
to bombard me.
I see some Hope
tied to a tree.
And perched
upon a runner’s back -
a name I know…
My soul runs black.

The sounding
of the starting bell.

The hateful splitting
of a cell.

The race then starts,
as do the crowds,
to run and walk
or roll around.
The wheelchairs
start to upset me -
confronted by infirmity.

But ladies
with their sparkly bobs
alleviate
impending sobs.
I then seek out
more levity.
Monsieur Kool-Aid
… ici …with me.

The race ends
by a structure new.
And one --
the demolition crew
will soon implode
and that’s a wrap!
I think that’s
just a load of crap.

But then I see
the pink balloons.
I feel much less
a big, fat goon
when roses handed
to survivors
are touched
and smelt
and so admired.

Back to the booth
at last I go.
The roses gone
by now I know.

The race it was
a big success.
I could not even
doubt it less,
that back next year,
I sure will be.

Unless, indeed,
a remedy
for all the ills
and ails of time
could end as easily
as a rhyme.

Lest I end the week the same way I began it -- by being a snarky bitch -- I'm taking this moment to call upon you, dear reader, to do something good. I, myself, will willingly oblige the one request although I am unable to do the other.

Don't breathe a sigh of relief just yet. I haven't grown a heart of gold.

No.

I am still on my proverbial broomstick, conjuring and conspiring. But I have landed for the evening and am in my bed right now -- blogging before bedtime. You see, I have to be up at 5 A.M. to zip downtown for the Komen Race For The Cure.

It's an early wake up call, for sure. The crack of dawn usually finds me just strolling home, but tomorrow I'm strolling out to do my part to salute the women who have survived breast cancer and honor those we've lost.

If you'd like to sleep in, you can still donate here.

My last request is that even if you're too broke to take a flight, pay for gas or make the call, 1-800-COLLECT will let you reach out and give a shout out to your Big-Daddy-Papa on Sunday.

This is always a hard holiday weekend for me, but I delight in knowing that if your dad's still around, he'll be happy to hear your voice and you'll be just a little better off telling him you love him.

Sweet dreams. Bed Bugs. Goodnight.

This guy responds to those two.

This isn't peace, honey. This is war.

At the Guerilla: The Taking of Patty Hearst Website you can read the transcript from this remarkable documentary and I urge you to watch it the next time it airs.

To be honest, there's probably not a week that goes by that I don't think about Patty. Heiresses with semi-automatics get me all hot and bothered. And today's media frenzy triggered a thought: Katie Holmes looks like Patty Hearst!

While some folks are mounting a Free Katie campaign, I'm drawn to draw parallels and make things up. That's just what I do.

Here's a series of real(and imagined) phone calls...

DAY 9
Patty has been abducted - Katie is being Oprahed

Mom, Dad. I'm OK. I'm with a combat unit that's armed with automatic weapons. And these people aren't just a bunch of nuts. They've been really honest with me but they're perfectly willing to die for what they're doing.

Mom. Dad. I'm OK. I'm with Tom and his security team is armed with automatic weapons. And these Scientologists aren't just a bunch of nuts. No, they're evolved clams. They've been really honest with me but they're perfectly willing to let Brooke Shields die for what they're doing.

Day 13
Patty is getting pissed - Katie's getting dissed

I am being held as a Prisoner of War and not as anything else. I mean I am being treated in accordance with international codes of war. Also, since I am an example, and it's really important that everybody understand that, you know, I am an example and a warning. And so people should stop acting like I'm dead. Mom should get out of her black dress, that doesn't help at all.

I think all of this Scientology stuff is really neat. Of course I accepted his proposal. My agent tells me that as far as the world knows, I'm still a virgin and Tom doesn't seem to press that issue that much. He even presses my clothes and his and his bodyguard's, who sleeps in the same room with him to keep him safe. And people shouldn't be putting me on their clothes, especially you, Mom. They won't let me see you until you take that tee shirt off. I'd like to see you again mom. *almost inaudible whisper* Help!

DAY 59
Patty Becomes Tania - Katie Becomes Mrs. Cruise

Mom, Dad. Tell the poor and oppressed people of this nation what the corporate state is about to do. Warn Black and poor people that they are about to be murdered down to the last man, woman and child. Tell the people, Dad, that the removal of expendable excess, the removal of unneeded people, has already started. I have been given the choice of one: being released in a safe area, or two: joining the forces of the Symbionese Liberation Army and fighting for my freedom and the freedom of all oppressed people. I have chosen to stay and fight. I have been given the name Tania after a comrade who fought alongside Che in Bolivia. It is in the spirit of Tania that I say, 'Patria o Muerte, Venceremos.'

Mom, Dad. I am happy. Stop talking to Access Hollywood. Or else. Tell the people what Tom and his agent (who is also now my agent, spiritual advisor and doctor) want them to hear. I am happy and he's a much beloved international superstar that isn't gay. I am happy. I am happy. I am happy. I have been given the choice of one: joining the forces of Scientology. I have been given the name of Mrs. Tom Cruise after we wrapped up his promotional tour in Bolivia. I am happy. It is in the spirit of Tom that I say, 'Other people are the problem....' I am happy.

I swear to God - this shit is just writing itself today.

Below you will find an e-mail sent to me from those advocates of art & culture: The Scientologists. I had that encounter with them last year and since then, they will not leave me alone. They keep telling me other people are the problem and I'm all duh-I-know. They keeping asking me for money,too....and I've been telling those Dianetics ladies on the phone that I'm spending my cash on a tried-and-true people avoiding practice: pornography.

I'm totally joking about the porn. Kinda.

Anyway, if you'd like to shell out $126.30 (which would, by the way, buy a lot of porn) - you, too, can begin reprogramming your mind with this "application." Speaking of shells, it's neat and stuff to follow the freakish cult-like practices teachings of a man who believed humans evolved from clams.

Here it is mostly unedited, and uncut, much like Tom Cruise himself (who should have clammed up a long time ago and is not gay). Well...he may or may not be uncut...but we'd have to ask Katie.

Yeah.

Like she knows.

$35.83 to be exact

- - - - - - -

$4.79 Groom & Clean
For hair on my head

$7.99 Gillette Mach 3 Razors
For hair on my face

$9.99 Wal-itin
For hair in my runny nose

$5.99 Wal-phed
For breakfast, lunch and dinner

$3.59 Mitchum Deodorant
For hair under my arms

$0.99 Diet Cola
For obvious reasons

$2.45 Sales Tax
For...um...roads and schools?

Hey, kids!

Updates from the exciting world of Independent Film!

It's Like Love, the film that will not feature my melodramatic ass overacting -- made it through the first round of cuts for the 48 Hour Film Project.

Awards will be handed out tonight! Fingers crossed and action!

It's Like Love
Friday, June 17th 2005
7:30 pm
The Pageant
6161 Delmar Blvd
314) 726-6161

Tickets are $10

This morning, I wake up to the ding-a-lings on the Today Show spouting, and this is a direct quote, "Earth Shattering News!!!!"

I suppose I take things too literally. I assumed they were talking about yet another earthquake in California.

Wow...I think, scratching the sleep and goo out of my eyes. I sit up in bed and like I do each morning, I light a cigarette for breakfast.

But it turns out, the actual "Earth Shattering News" is that Tom Cruise is asserting his heterosexuality yet again.

And while I imagine the earth is indeed not shattered by Cruise (who is not gay) getting married, it has been shat upon by a story that is not news, and more likely, fiction.

FYI: This site, maintained by the U.S. Geological Survey shows 881 quakes (as of this post) in California and Nevada since last week.

When I delivered my college's commencement speech for the School of Art, I was a sour yet essentially optimistic 22 year old about to head off to New York City. I chose the Wizard of Oz as the springboard for a heartfelt thank you to my friends and teachers.

It wasn't very hard, the material was all there: young kid from the farm, new friends, new threats, new shoes, new challenges, etc. I chose my words with diligence and delivered the words with ease. I was a much better actor and public speaker back then. I made some folks cry, which made me both happy and sad.

A dozen years later, I’m reminded of that speech as I sit here thinking about a design project I’m working on for a special event centered around the Oz-inspired musical-prequel, Wicked. It’s gonna be in town in late November and I’m downright giddy to be working on the task.

And though I am giddy, in many ways I’m still that sour, yet optimistic man – who is not very original but is occasionally effective. Or maybe just affected?

Nevertheless, I am still afraid of monkeys, but that’s another post for another day.

It’s odd though, how the challenges of a graphic design project can mirror the challenges of day to day life.

I have so much to say and at the moment when I try to begin, I find myself unable.

So, I take to the air. After all, this is my blog and my imagination and I can defy gravity in addition to creating magical force fields. I fly around on my broomstick, surveying the mental landscape, making notes about the things I observe.

I go from North to South from East to West…thinking about where I am, where I’ve been and where I’m going. You were there....and you were there....and...oh....I think I'm going to miss you most of all.

Click, Dorothy, click!!!!!

After a while, my mind starts reeling from the way subjects overlap in all areas of my life, from personal to professional...profound to precautionary....punitive to pleasurable:

Bears.
Beers.
Bicycles.
Black...White
Booze.
Brains.
Color.
Courage.
Death.
Diplomas.
Dorothy.
East.
Elphaba.
Evil.
Family.
Farms.
Flames.
Glinda.
Good intentions.
Him...hmmmmmm.
Horses.
Kansas.
Kentucky.
Judy. Judy. Judy.
Life.
Loss.
Love.
Make up.
Midgets.
Monkeys.
Munchkins.
My pretty.
My precious. Oops. Wrong story.
Pets.
Pig tails.
Pills.
Poppers.
Poppies. Poppies is what I meant.
Psychics.
Redemption.
Revenge.
Rob, grow up!
Rubies.
Rubbish.
Shoes.
Soles.
Souls.
Toto.
Water.
West.
Whiskey.
Witches.
and of course,
Yellow brick roads.

And the only solution that I see at the moment is one: Surrender.

And I say that with the slightest clue what that word means. It just sounded poignant and somewhat noble and new agey....and if you've been around long enough, you probably realize that while Xen Master may sound all nice and stuff, I'm more likely to embrace Ass Master. Alright....Master of Own Domain.

Simply put, there’s just a cyclone spinning around up in my head.

And all I wanna do is go home.

Selective memory comes in very handy when something I've done leaves a sour taste in my mouth, or for that matter, someone else's. There's a joke there somewhere.....

Anyway, imagine my surprise, then, when I got an e-mail from the Robthurman Support Team with a lovely little computer virus attached to it.

I have a support team? Where the hell are they, then? I need cigarettes and would love an espresso right about now.

And has it gotten so bad that I'm sending myself virus laden e-mails? I need some stronger pills if I'm engaging in hysterical online mutilation that I cannot remember.

This takes computer virus bullshit spam to a whole new level.

Dear user gadfly,

You have successfully updated the password of your Robthurman account.

If you did not authorize this change or if you need assistance with your account, please contact Robthurman customer service at: support@robthurman.com

Thank you for using Robthurman!
The Robthurman Support Team
*attachment*

The info below is from the e-mail I supposedly sent to myself. I assume that means someone in Texas must not like me.

Surprise!

(dialup-4.230.180.166.Dial1.Houston1.Level3.net
[4.230.180.166])by mail74.megamailservers.com (8.13.1/8.13.1)
with ESMTP id j5FLFwfm012722

If independent film isn't your thing, consider strolling down to Off Broadway tonight to see gay rockabilly superstar Eric Himan.

Himan skillfully blends eclectic musical elements from pop and rock to folk and country, with moments of funk. He works them all to his advantage for a brutal yet poetic album that struggles with love, loss and lousy relationships."

Fans of independent film will be pleased to know that my 48 Hour Film Project footage is on the cutting room floor and will not be presented at tonight's screening.

I am quite relieved, actually. I was horrible. And while overacting while fretting over relationship issues and what to wear is fertile fodder for this blog, it doesn't make for interesting film.

I'm not sure that it makes for an interesting blog, either...but at least I don't charge admission.

Here's some info from director Ed Reggi, who was kind enough to let me act out my scene and smart enough to choose substance over sociopath.

Paper Slip Theatre was assigned ROMANCE and I think we did the genre justice with a short film that shows the evolution of love throughout our lives: "puppy love; love on the rocks; and love rediscovered." The film features several well known actors around the region including Kate Durbin, Matt Kahler and Rabbi James Stone Goodman as our narrarator.

The movie will screen around 10 pm so come out and bring your friends to support "It's Like Love."

--Details Here.

And blog it every day, honey....

Yesterday, I was sitting on my bed pondering my life when the phone rang.

It's my downstairs neighbor Celene.

Celene: Hi, honey.

Me: Helllooo....

Celene: What's going on?

Me: Not a damn thing. I'm broke and bitter.

Celene: Wanna go see a KISS cover band? They're midgets.

Me: What time do I need to be ready?

We arrive at the Tap Room and notice that a considerable crowd is already there.

This is my version of heaven: fancy ladies in heels with Bettie Page haircuts and foxy inked fellas with mutton chops.

The music swells, the crowd roars.

Since the band is only about waist high, it's very hard to see above the heads in the crowd.

Suck in the gut and slip and slide through....

Closer...

I am in heaven. And I wake up from this dream, Patrick Fucking Duffy better be in my shower.

Rock and Roll for everyone.

Rock and Roll forever.

Beth.

Lick It Up.

The money shot.

Yup! That's Chris Noth with a group of...well...much smaller men.

Yup! MiniKISS is in town, and God willing, I'm gonna rock-n-roll all night!

Hey, kids!

We're wrapping up today by asking you to help out some folks that are getting the shaft. And not the good kind, either. Nope, they're just getting screwed by the ding-a-lings in charge of our Government.

Not that that's really surprising, but maybe your Representative will stand up and try to fight the good fight. It helps, though, if you say something.....

The Domestic Partnership Benefits and Obligations Act(DPBO)
will be reintroduced this week in the House. Send a message to your Representative urging him/her to become an original co-sponsor of this important legislation that would allow federal employees to cover their domestic partner under their health insurance.
--More Info Here

The Uniting American Families Act (UAFA, formerly the Permanent Partners Immigration Act (PPIA))
will be reintroduced next week. Urge your Representative to become an original co-sponsor of this bill that would allow U.S. citizens to sponsor their same-sex partner for U.S. residency.
--More Info Here

So...I'm running a mid-month report about who's visiting my site, trying to understand all the numbers and such and I come across this post from Italy, entitled the Badness Makes You Beautiful.

It seems that these two crazy kids have fabricated characters named Mad Ashton and Hell Sharpe and write little stories about them.

They've gooched a photo of me in drag and turned it into some sort of parable. I, of course, love this, since that takes the mundane irrelevancy of this blog to Transatlantic proportions.

I tried a web-translatey program and this is what pops out, if you can be of any assistance, please holla!

Hell Introduces the Drag Queen, Velena, to the Father…

HELL's DAD: And your name is...
VELENA: I am the Drag Queen, plus the Queen of Karalis City by Night!!!
HELL: This we have understood it, beloved. Hour, digli your name.
VELENA: My name is Velena. I do not have last name, baby. And yours, beautiful maschione?
HELL: The stage name does not make more tendency.
HELL's DAD: Hell, please.

Here's the original text:

Hell presenta la Drag Queen, Velena, al padre…
PAPA’ HELL: E il tuo nome è...
VELENA: Io sono la Drag Queen, più la Queen di Karalis City by Night!!!
HELL: Questo l'abbiamo capito, cara. Ora, digli il tuo nome.
VELENA: Il mio nome è Velena. Non ho cognome, baby. Ed il tuo, bel maschione?
HELL: Il nome d'arte non fa più tendenza.
PAPA’ HELL: Hell, per favore

Honestly, I'm feeling rather petty and small for being so bitchy yesterday.

I'm trying to redeem myself by being especially silly with today's entries over at my Pretend Internet Boyfriend's website, which features images of Burt Reynolds, Elizabeth Berkley and Jackee Harry. There's also a shout out to Marla Gibbs (it's her birthday), a reference to Sophocles and a joke about steel erections.

Frankly, I am exhausted and it's not even two o'clock.

Add to that, I biked 25 miles last night, played Homo Bingo, got my freak on and have "Eye of the Tiger" playing in the back of my mind.

If anyone knows of some sort of Karmic Colonic, please let me know.

This emotional binge and purge shit is getting tiresome.

This story, which clearly shows that many Americans are not only stupid, but they are grotesquely misinformed about the role of media in their lives.

Kathleen Hall Jamieson, director of the Annenberg Public Policy Center, said the poll results suggest the public defines the word "journalist" far differently than those in the press define it.

As if it weren't bad enough that Conservtive Christians are calling for gays to be branded "labeled," Texas Governor Rick Perry suggests that we 'mos (especially those who've been fighting a bogus war) find somewhere else to live.

During a news conference held in a Fort Worth church, Perry was asked what he would tell Texas gay and lesbian war veterans returning home from war about the law. Governor Perry responded, according to the Fort Worth Star Telegram, by saying that “Texans made a decision about marriage and if there's a state that has more lenient views than Texas, then maybe that’s a better place for them to live.”

As tempted as I am to re-write history and delete certain photographs, I think that before I go today, I'll revisit a photo from my then-seemingly-fun and now-obviously-disasterous trip to California.

Who knew that today would be the same day that Jacko got off and I wish I hadn't.

After having a most enjoyable weekend that involved a trip to the circus, over-acting a scene in the 48 Hour Film Project, making out with a cute boy and a chance trip to a daytime baseball game (with thousands of shirtless, sports-loving fellas), I awoke this morning giddy from fun times and thinking about what I was going to write on my Pretend Internet Boyfriend’s site that I’m co-editing for the next two weeks.

I woke up early, washed some dishes and checked my e-mail. Oh, look! My pal Ryan had invited me to be a friend on Friendster. With a few keystrokes, I’d approved his request...and that should have been the end of it.

But no.

I had to be all Sabrina Duncan and snoop around the list of folks that were linked to me on there.

And if you live anywhere near the Shaw Neighborhood, the momentary eclipse of the sun and dark clouds surrounding my Bohemian getaway can be best explained when I stumbled across the message below on the profile of a fella that I once flew across the country to meet:

In a relationship?

Who? When? How? What?

Oh, kids...how the mind can race through thousands of questions when accidentally stumbling across information that would have been better delivered in person. But of course, that’s not the case.

After my tragic emotional breakdown and heartfelt confessions, I’ve been on perpetual ignore. No news. No e-mails. No Instant Messages. I suspect that even once when I called, the phone clicked on and then off. Yes – a brush off via hang up.

I sat at my desk, cigarette dangling from my mouth...thinking…plotting...swirling with the rage induced by the internet version of a Post-It-Note get lost and get over it.

I see.

How nice.

How very, very nice.

I sat there, thinking that being open and honest and sincere and affectionate and giving had been a big ole waste of my time and money. I sat there, feelings welling up...bitter bile dripping from my mouth and fingertips.

And then I realized that I could write this really bitchy post and I felt all better.

That is, after I deleted him from my list of Friendsters.

I want a different assignment, Bosley.

This case is closed.

Before I call it quits...I must share this site.

Far left - look for Selected Features and the MTV2 Beautiful Ugly clips.

If it's gonna be a rough one for ya, honey...at least do it with a splash.

Oooohhh....the foreboding warning of the message below reminds me that as much as I love to stir the pot...I think I'll be better off just smoking it this weekend.

If I did.

Which I don't.

Because that's illegal and wrong.

God Bless America and have a good weekend, y'all.

Aquarius
With certain friends and loved ones, even casual conversation can become a big messy game of Telephone -- where you really whispered 'Meet me in St. Louis' suddenly becomes, 'Your casserole tastes like hooey.'

If you can head off this situation at the pass, all the better -- it'll save everyone a whole passel of trouble. Sometimes in order to win at this game of Telephone, all you have to do is keep your trap shut in the first place.

Leave it to a certain Angry Black Bitch to rush to the defense of a teen-biting-man-eater featured in my previous snarky and sharky post.

And I can assure you, since she sits 4 feet from me at work, and she stays a block from my modest Bohemian abode, her bite is worse than her bark.

Tell it...

Today, the once venerable news program, featured their version of an in-depth report about paparazzi this morning.

Following the footsteps of the goons who stalk celebrities at airports, they painted a picture of ordinary millionaire superstars looking like shit and being stalked by land-shark photographers.

Poor Drew Barrymore.

Poor Keanu.

The segment ended and Katie and Matt making their usual and proverbial idiotic commentary:

Maybe there should be a law or something...Next up: meet the surfer dude bitten by a different type of shark, altogether. One that lives in the ocean and bites young, helpless teens. It’s a Today show exclusive, no less! Back in a moment...

So the segment starts with Matt, surfer dude and his mom and when the camera pans back, there’s something on the bottom of surfer dude’s mangled, bandaged foot.

It’s a Today Show sticker.

Stuck on the bottom of a mangled shark-bitten foot. Talk about exclusive!

So must I ask Katie and Matt which is worst: following celebrities who engage publicists to promote their crappy movies and then insist that their privacy is a contractual condition and that shameless self promotion is left to heavily contrived interviews and controlled press junkets?

Or is it worse to market your crappy show with shameless product placement on a virtually severed limb?

Dude.

Next up, Back Street Boys...only on Today.

I find it strange that the folks in New York and Los Angeles keep getting skinner while Americans keep getting fatter. I used to assume that the coasts were the social barometer of our culture, but perhaps I’m wrong. Or maybe it’s just that they’re truly years ahead of the rest of the country and the new lack-of-food look is a precursor to the impending crash of our economy and culture. I hate to be all Gloomy Gus about it because if the future means hard times, at least I’ll be thin.

Today’s news out of New York that an ad campaign targeted for Times Square has been rejected for being akin to pornography, strikes me as odd since the ad is not nearly as pornographic as it is anorexic.

In general, Times Square's ongoing clean-up has meant a closer look at ads by the Times Square Business Improvement District and New York State and corporations such as Morgan Stanley and Conde Nast Publications that have moved into the area, Mr. Turner said. “They welcome innovation, but they don’t welcome a return to pornography ... and when a lady appears to be grabbing a young man’s crotch, that’s a little out there.”

What does she have to grab hold of?

Please!

If that scrawny little thing put her arm around his shoulder – he would just topple over. You can tell that it’s taking everything he has just to hold her up. He’s not posed like that to look good – he’s posed like that because he’s about to snap in half. I swear to God – my left leg weighs more than those two combined.

And since when did Jennifer Love Hewitt get inked?

While I suppose this story: Could your child's baby teeth be a life saver? might well end the stem cell debate, I have my suspicions.

In this brand new research, about to be released later today by the NIH and the National Institute of Dental and Craniofacial Research, it looks like there's another place to find stem cells that can give rise to bone and neural cells — inside the pulp of baby teeth when they are lost by a child — and that this non-controversial source of stem cells could be banked for future health needs.

I think not.

Let's look at the bigger picture.

See pouty, little Kathy to the left?

Does she look happy to you?

Do you think that little red headed girl's other teeth are safe when Little Miss Kathy has no neural cells in her "bank?"

And it's bigger than evil, little Kathy. I can just see the Dateline special now: children being yanked out of school yards and having their teeth extracted for black market stem cells.

It's a Lifetime, Television For Women feature film of the week starring Meredith Baxter Birney Baxter Whatever: Not Without My Molars.

Can't we just keep tricking children with stories about Tooth Fairies and leave them a Sacagawea coin under their pillow and just be done with it?

Must we advance the cause of science at the expense of children's safety?

Wait for some wacko to start pulling teeth.

It'll happen.

And there will be a very special Law & Order about it, too. One of those double-edged sword stories during sweeps. Dreamy Chris Meloni's daughter's teeth get jacked while he's investigating the death of a stem cell researcher. He's opposed to stem cell research and is conflicted all show long for "moral reasons." Then his kid turns up needing dentures and he'll utter something semi-profound.

It'll really make you think, especially if there's a scene with him without his shirt on.

And that's my telepathetic pop culture insight for the week.

Dude, have you see Carson Daly lately?

He is freakishly thin and he looks like he's shrunk, too! Well, except his head. It is strangely all bobble-heady on this itty-bitty body.

I'd be worried for him and all, but I'm just curious about what he's on and how much does it cost?

This weekend, Improv Impresario Ed Reggi is pulling together a rag-tag team of actors, bon vivants, scene stealers and potential superstars for the 48 Hour Film Festival!

The way I look at it, it's:
One Part The Factory
Three Parts So...You Wanna Be In Pictures?
and a Big Ole Toke of Hey, Kids, Let's Put on a Show!

Ed describes it this way:
Think of Soap Opera mixed with Waiting for Guffman.

I just wet myself a little.

If you wanna get involved, get on screen, or just do something that's a guaranteed blog entry please contact Ed Reggi at 314-265-4756 or e-mail him here.

I'm gonna help out Saturday. I'm going to Circus Flora Friday -- and maybe I'll be inspired to do some circus tricks for my on screen debut. It's gonna be guaranteed fun! Here's all the details:

It’s time to celebrate National Headache Awareness Week!

You should also try to avoid foods containing a natural headache-promoting substance known as tyramine. These include red wine and other types of alcohol, aged cheeses, peanuts, pickled foods, overly ripe avocados, and chocolate.

Anyway, I am in the midst of my own self-created headache: a total home makeover. It’s going...ummm...it’s going. I am 31% completed. But it’s a challenge when you have a tiny little un-air-conditioned bohemian hideaway and you live in St. Louis, which is not exactly well known for being hospitable in the summer. I’d say it was like Hell. But Hell is probably nicer and not so humid.

To combat the heat, I installed a window A.C. and I started rearranging everything I own so that my bed and desk could be in one room. That way, I could sleep and watch online porn in the comfort of 72 degrees. For most folks, moving two things around would not result in The China Syndrome – but I got pissed at how everything was arranged in my apartment and...well...meltdown. I went from The China Syndrome to The Burning Bed to The War of the Roses within the space of 4 hours.

The result was 34 years of crap being amassed in big piles and every single stick of furniture, every book, EVERYTHING I own is now being assessed and evaluated for its relevancy in my life to its position in my living space. In the back of my mind, I keep hearing, "Surfaces.....surfaces...."

This is Decorating Spaces: Uncut and Hardcore. Or an Oprah show, if that Nate fella was a neurotic, overweight former club kid with a passion for Wonder Woman collectibles with nary a dime to spend at Centro Ikea Target Goodwill.

So, anyway... the volume of crap that I own is slowly being reorganized and grouped and then regrouped and moved hither and yon after being re-regrouped. I’ve even started dusting, which is generally something I do once a decade. Last night, for instance, I stood in my bathroom washing 20 plastic stacking crates (that sounds fancier than milk crates….but that’s what they were). It was quite a sight: me in the shower with some milk crates and a loofah. But they’re sparkly and dust free!

In order to explain why this is such a challenge for me, please review this post on my housekeeping skills. Then consider that I will not throw away a book. In addition to that obsession with the written word, I consider every magazine bearing the image of Linda Evangelista, Madonna and Kristen McMenamy a sacred testament to the powers of beauty, clever photo angles and pickle eating. These magazines must be revered with a just-so placement on the bookshelf.

Add to that, I have to contend with a book collection that spans from Today’s Mobile Homes: Decorating Your Trailer with Style to Susan Dey’s Secrets on Boys, Beauty and Popularity to Suzanne Somers’ 365 Ways to Change Your Life. Mix in my collection of hardcore porn on VHS (just in case the internets fail) and 1960’s decorative plates (featuring almost every state in the grand ole U. S. of A ) – and you’ve not even touched 10% of the knick-knack clutter that I call mines. Actually there is so much crap that it boggles the mind -- but it’s my crap and I love it, even though I doubt I’d earn more than a hundred seventy-eight dollars and 22 cent if I tried to sell it all on e-Bay.

So… it’s moving along slowly and it’s hours of work every night before I eventually trudge off to my 72 degree bedroom. It certainly would be nice for that Ty Pennington character to be up in my bed when I collapse every night, but his home skills would be wasted at this moment. I am, however, planning to build a sofa-love-seat-thing with built in bookshelves and storage – so I’m leaving open the option for any variety of handy men to be around once I get a hold of a table saw and vintage upholstery. I can stack and move shit – but power tools with sharp blades with my crappy eyesight and klutzy behavior and you’re talking a trip to the emergency room.

And while, right now, this is a headache that’s been 34 years in the making – I’m honestly just tickled with how things are turning out.

More updates tomorrow!

Hey, kids!

I'm in the midst of a major redecorating project so I'm taking off a few days to get my house in order. Candles have been lit at the makeshift altar to Kali and Todd Oldham and I will report back, hopefully, by Wednesday.

Kali ("the black one") is the Hindu mother goddess, symbol of dissolution and destruction. She destroys ignorance, maintains the world order, and blesses and frees those who strive for the knowledge of God. In her upper left hand she wields a bloody sword and in her lower left hand she holds the severed head of a demon. With her upper right hand she makes the gesture of fearlessness, while the lower right hand confers benefits. Draped around her is a chain of severed human heads and she wears a belt made of dismembered arms.

Sweeping. Mopping. Dusting. Painting. Moving. Building. Hauling.

It's gonna be cute...well...after I get all those severed heads swept up.

As regret, sorrow and anger slowly turn into acceptance and understanding, I have an epilogue for the past two-and-then-some-months that's been a long time coming. It's couched in pop culture references, of course. Did you really expect anything more or less?

In Episode 99 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy is… well… a mess. She’s catatonic and unresponsive to the dire needs of the Scooby Gang. Willow gets all Vulcan mind-meldy and realizes that the Slayer is stuck in a mental loop.

This episode, entitled, “Weight of the World” reveals that Buffy, after so many trials and tribulations, is simply tired of fighting. She’s tired of the ongoing drama that is her life. And she’s trapped in a moment where she allowed herself to feel the way she wanted to feel and she’s riddled with guilt for feeling that way. She’s stuck playing the same scene over and over again as a consequence.

A much wiser man than myself might call that a shame spiral.

I’ve been stuck in a similar sort of whirling dervish since I got back from my trip to California weeks and weeks ago. Two moments from my trip kept playing themselves out in my mind and I simply couldn’t break loose of the emotional stranglehold of those memories and those feelings.

It wasn’t a memory about seeing movie stars or wistful walks on the beach or rockin’ my style on Melrose. No…it was much more insidious than that. It was a big ole fruit loop of gay sentimentality.

One evening, while I was holding him in my arms -- I saw colors. Circular waves of orange, hues of warm bronze, gold and yellow. Bright warm loops of color. My eyes were closed, my head resting on the back of his, and every breath he took created this cascading color effect in my mind’s eye. Considering the time I spend in my own head, and considering there is so little there so often -- it was unnerving. Actually it was really trippy – and I haven’t touched ‘shrooms since 1994.

The other moment was one morning when I was standing at the foot of his bed, looking at him while he was sleeping, thinking, “This is what I want.”

I wanted to be somebody’s boyfriend, a desperate housewife, a Pottery Barn/Ikea/Crate & Barrel queer, a significant other with pretty insignificant demands.

I wanted the enviable pair of Weimaraners and the walks in the park with a cute man: envy me, my dogs and my cute boyfriend, you bitches!

I wanted dinner time together and real closeness and the familiarity and safety of intimacy. I wanted to not be so alone and thought, for just a moment, that maybe I didn’t have to be.

Since I got back, I have been trying to disavow myself of that moment of quiet contentment, that moment of gorgeous silence, that moment when I was so very, very happy and so very, very still.

Usually my happiness involves extreme thrills, new hats, raucous laughs, Pringles...but this was gentle and quiet and calm. And something I hadn’t felt for such a long time. And it fucked me up.

No.

That’s wrong. So very wrong.

My trip to California and falling for this man tapped into that side of me that I’d locked up, hidden and almost forgotten.

Listen, I can be cavalier up on this blog and talk about sex in slings and three ways – and that doesn’t necessarily mean that I am happy with the decisions that I’ve made. It’s just the truth. And the truth isn’t always pretty. Like me, all blue and passed out in a sling.

And I know it hasn’t been pretty around here as I’ve imploded, exploded, unraveled and fallen apart and not had the sense to do it all in private.

The past few (and seemingly endless weeks) have been really trying for me. I’ve been trying to break that mental loop and trying to figure out what the hell I was feeling …..and I’ve been left with only more questions.

What did I do wrong?
Why didn’t he like me?
What’s wrong with me?
What’s wrong with him?
Why come he thinks there’s something wrong with me?
Where’s my whiskey?
Where’s your bong?
Where the hell did I leave my car?

But the biggest one, is the one that’s always plagued me: what kind of man am I?

I don’t see that many gay male role models to emulate. I see fussy queens who bitch and moan about so-and-so not inviting them to this-or-that cocktail party. I see tweaked out party boys spiraling towards oblivion. I see the seemingly perfect couple, but experience and observation have taught me that even the most perfect duos are fraught with infidelity, scheming and unnecessary bullshit.

It seems to me that gay culture forces you to choose sides. To conform to some sort of preconceived notion of “togetherness” and I just don’t know where I fit into all of that.

Does the love of a new hat somehow mean I am incapable of finding a fella that can fix a flat tire and still bust a move?

Is it okay to have two enviable Weimaraners and a bitchy cat and still have a wild night out with some tranny hookers? I’m not talking about hiring them for chrissakes...but they’re a lotta fun up at the club. And so what if I wanted to hire them for the night, I got enough eggs in my fridge and I sure as shit know how to make omelets for all four of us the next morning.

And my oracle won’t answer my question...it just tells me to do what I know I need to do.

Don't wait for life to happen to you. Make the life you want happen. Joseph Campbell called it following your bliss. Goethe said that once a definitive commitment was made, mighty forces would come to aid you. So what are you waiting for? There's a whole life out there waiting for you -- the life that you've always wanted. All you have to do is make that first, definitive movement toward it.

Isn't life too short to waste?

I suppose that it is and while the fruit loop has been broken, there are times when I feel that I’m still spinning my wheels. But the ground feels firmer than ever before. Especially after the past few days.

Sooner or later, I'm gonna get some traction and I’m gonna fly. And I hope it'll be a fun ride, instead of a crash and burn. It's a funny thing, to realize that you're in the driver's seat. All you have to do is choose a direction.

Keep biking and have a good weekend, y’all!

To be frank, I am loving my life today.

I wake up this morning, only to hear from the Dutch fashion designer whose pants I gooched for last night’s post referencing the Sound of Music. And I was just talking about Dutch gals the other day, too...

damn just my luck you are gay
i mean how many gay people actually have kids
how am i ever gonna be rich and famous now?

anyway, saw your blog and the entry about the maria-pants
too bad you don’t live closer by because i’d invite you into my studio and let you pick out a swell Barones-outfit

Groetjes & Best Regards,
Sjakkelien

Honey, you don’t know what efforts I’d take for a swell Eleanor Parker style costume. That Baroness Schraeder was such a bitch. I adore her, especially with quotes like this, “Darling, haven't you ever heard of a delightful little thing called boarding school?”

Amy Elz

And then, a comment from a person who profile features a photo of my favorite drunk Texan: Sue Ellen Shepard Ewing Lockwood.

The Leaky Cauldron

I am in a catatonic tail spin of joy.

Letters from the land of dykes...missives from a star I like...drunks who always look a fright.

I’ve simply been thrown for a loop.

And my horoscope says this:

As someone in Wonderland said to Alice, it's best to try to believe at least three impossible things before breakfast. The funny thing is once you let yourself believe them, they don't seem all that impossible to begin with. The first step is to let yourself believe that such benevolence is in store for you. So go ahead -- what are three wonderful, lovely and no-way-that-could-happen-to-me things that you want in your life?

In the past 2.5 hours I have:
--Gotten our telephone directory out the door to the printer -- as proofread as I have ever proofread anything in my life.

I've also:
--Smoked a cigarette (or four)
--Consumed a pot of French Roast coffee
--Flirted with a boy (or two)
--Fixed a printer
--Paid a bill
--Planned my weekend
and
--Written a diatribe against Wal-Mart

It's that latter to which I must extend my apologies to you. I posted when I meant to save it as a draft - and the original item was a mess.

It has been corrected.

And all is well with the world, thanks in large part to a certain Angry Black Bitch, for being a treasure and a joy to work with daily.

Since folks who work at Wal-Mart don't make a decent enough wage to actually send their kids to college, Wal-Mart has responded the way everyone's responding to complex socio-political issues these days: they're sponsoring a college scholarship reality TV show.

How altruistic you might think, but lets not forget that back in November, Miss Elizabeth Paige Laurie (a Wal-Mart heiress) had her Always Low Priced name besmirched for cheating her way through college. She was paying other people to do her schoolwork. Let's also not forget that her parents rescinded the naming rights for the sports arena they bought at the University of Missouri last year. It was going to be named after Miss Cheater von Cheatenstein, as well.

I can just hear the marketing mavens in Bentonville, giggling about how this is going to rejuvenate the Wal-Mart brand, which I suppose is possible, if the American public can't see through a cheap stunt. Because the $300,000 they're throwing at these kids, considering they made $300 billion last year, smacks of smarmy, greedy manipulation -- and I work in sales and marketing, honey.

For the first time, Wal-Mart Stores is becoming a major sponsor of a reality television show, by signing a branded-entertainment agreement with ABC for "The Scholar," a summer series that begins a six-week run on Monday night. Wal-Mart will be woven into the plots of episodes of the show, which is centered on a competition among 10 high school seniors from across the country for a grand prize of a full college scholarship, valued at $250,000, covering tuition and expenses.

Always Low Expectations. Always.

New York Times: Wal-Mart's New Realm: Reality TV

CNN's coverage here.

A dear friend of mine called me out on some shit the other day.

*grumble*

*grumble*

I confessed that he was right: I have been a passive-aggressive peckerwood, lately -- so I decided that I need to try to do right by some folks to whom I've either been hateful, inconsiderate or disrespectful.

I decided to practice by being appreciative. In my attempt to share the blog love the other day, I totally forgot to give a shout out to:

WestEndMark
Cynical Stylings from the Central Corridor

So....if I have been grumpy to you, nasty to you, disrespectful, or passive aggressive, I am truly sorry. That doesn't include you, Mark. That was just me being sloppy, honey.

I am trying to achieve a deeper level of consciousness and understanding, dammit! I've been running around hilltops like that Maria bitch but I think I'm a lot more Baroness than Mother Superior.

Please bear with me.

Rachel "Rocky" McCalla and Chris O'Connell will be pushing drinks, D.J. Ben West will be pushing beats and Total Look Spa will be pushing cuticles over at the Royale tomorrow night!

Start your weekend out right by soaking your fingers, your liver and/or your sorrows.

Well, I guess this is better than the spawing he could be doing with Sheryl Crow.

More here -- Every Day is a Winding Road to Product Placement.

Hours of psychoanalysis be damned! Here's the real reason why I am slightly perpetually unhinged:

South Beach Diet Crunchy Snack Ideas

Do you miss the sensation of biting into a crunchy snack? Are reduced-fat cheese sticks and nonfat or low-fat yogurt not getting the job done? Good news: Nuts are not your only crunchy snack option. Here are a few more healthy choices to fulfill your need for a crispy crunch.

Phase 1:

Veggie sticks, including celery, green peppers, cauliflower buds, broccoli florets, and asparagus spears (unlimited)

Dill pickles, no-sugar added (unlimited — unless you're watching your sodium intake)

Edamame (1 serving = 1/4 cup)

Roasted chickpeas (1 serving = 1/3 to 1/2 cup)

Sunflower seeds (1 serving = 3 tablespoons or 1 ounce

Phase 2:

Carrot sticks

Whole-wheat crackers (Wasa or reduced-fat Triscuits — refer to label for serving size)

Maybe I need to join some self-help food group? Hi, my name is Rob and I'm a crunchy snacker.

One second thought, who needs twelve steps?

I just need one - and it's a step up the curb at the Quik-Trip for some real [bleep]ing snacks.

Since blogging is so much like high school (I'm outside smoking with the Dutch foreign exchange student trying out some new black eyeliner techniques) you can only imagine my total delight in reading that my Pretend Internet Boyfriend was totally referenced by Defamer yesterday.

Oh, my God....oh my, GOD....OH MY GOD!!!!!!

Since Defamer is a member of the coolest girl gang to rule West Beverly and is the really bitchy one that you secretly wish you could be (even though you totally hate them all) - this is fantastic news for Mr. PIB.

Congratulations, doll!

Trouble is, Mr. PIB is so going on vaca in a couple of weeks and he's asked me to guest edit his blog along with a friend of his. Dammit! This means I'll have to scour the vacuous wasteland of American pop culture and surmise clever little witticisms several times a day.

So, it looks like I'm going to be blogging about blogging-for-someone else's-blog with the hopes that my guest-blog is as sharp as his usual-blog and if my stand-in-blog is not blog-worthy, I'm totally going to be a blog laughing-stock. I could ruin his blog's chances of being hyperlinked again by Defamer.....FOREVER!

Oh, the pressure!

Where did that bitch from Holland go, anyway?

I need something stronger than this unfiltered Pall-Mall right now.

And if I say blog one more time today....bonk me on the head, please!

Hey, kids!

Looks like our friends at Fox are getting ready to start bombarding us with more fair and balanced news coverage.

While I was skeptical way back in December and anxious at the end of April, the following story is such foreshadowing to Fox's ambitious drive to take over our airwaves. Look! A former VP over at Fox News Television is now spearheading the expansion of FOX News Radio.

Yay!

Fox News' Radio Service Expands

With a newly constructed Manhattan studio and expanded news offerings, the fledgling Fox News Radio is marking a key step in its growth plans.

The service started two years ago and has offered one-minute newscasts to affiliate stations. On Wednesday morning, Fox News is announcing that it's offering the longer newscasts that many talk-oriented stations demand.

"It's important if we're in this business that we're in it in the visible ways that the old-line guys are in it," said Kevin Magee, senior vice president of Fox News Radio.

Fox's earlier agreement with Clear Channel, the nation's largest radio ownership group, will take effect this summer and, by August, the news service's outlets will reach about 500 nationwide, Magee said. There are more than 10,000 commercial radio stations in the country.

Many talk stations spend hours criticizing major media outlets as liberal, then turn to market leaders ABC and CBS for newscasts at the top of the hour, he said. Fox will offer a newscast with many of the same personalities and tone as seen on Fox News Channel, he said. Laurie Dhue was scheduled to anchor the first five-minute newscast.

"It's not opinionated," he said. "It's straight news, but it's news fair and balanced, where we believe both sides should get a fair hearing."

More food for thought:

Magee, who will maintain his title as VP/News Programming, has also been named Chairman of the Fox News Programming Council, which is being launched to create and coordinate programming between radio and television.

Yay for integration....I mean coordination!

And what's up with all this red and black imagery? A certain Angry Black Bitch pointed out the similarities between Fox and Soviet propaganda.