I’m busy designing crap for some crappy crap. Why don’t you listen to my sister’s latest mix instead? She’s way more interesting–today and every day….

Crazy Girl at BrooklynRadio.net: download • stream • tracklist

HEY FAITH!!!!!!!

Thank you SO much for letting me borrow your car last week! Mine gets out of the shop today!! Who’d have thought that a homeless guy could cause so much damage to an engine?!? What woulda happened if I’d hit his grocery cart, too?!? OMG! Can you imagine??!! HAHAHA!!

Anyway, my new boyfriend, Lenny, is coming over in a minute to drive me to the garage. You’d love him–he’s got TONS of tattoos, and he’s TOTALLY mysterious and stuff!! HOTTT! I’m gonna leave your car key on the front porch under the ficus, and I’ll put your house key under the cactus-lookin’ thing. (Whatever it is, it sure is cute!!) I don’t know your code, so I guess I’ll have to leave the burglar alarm off, but you’re a big star!!! I’m sure it’ll be fine!!!

Thanks again, Faith! Tell Tim I said HEY! See you soon!!!!!!

XXOO BFF (I MEAN IT!!)
TRIXIE

Okay, so maybe I got one picture I liked:

Grand Time: Thanks to Ray “Undisclosed Location” Nagin’s stellar inability to get things done, New Orleans’ Municipal Auditorium remains out of commission, so we held this year’s Mystic Krewe of Satyricon bal masque in a warehouse space that no one in the krewe was very excited about. And wouldn’t you know, it was fan-freaking-tastic. Maybe the best ever. The Boyfriend got some beautiful pics. Me, not so much.

Grand Guignol: On behalf of crackers everywhere, I would like to apologize to anyone born south of the Rio Grande for the allegedly journalistic, allegedly comic writings of irrelevant lunkhead Angus Lind–in particular, today’s “guide to all things Mardi Gras”, intended for New Orleans’ “new Hispanic neighbors”. Although Lind tries to play up the quirks of Carnival à la Nouvelle Orléans, in the end he sounds like a fatass gringo in some Tijuana cantina who’s had one too many shots of tequila and is now dancing an atrocious hat dance around a novelty sombrero.

I mean, Lind could’ve addressed the article to anyone residing outside the levee system and it would’ve been fine–hell, there are still oodles of things New Orleanians themselves don’t understand about our city’s version of Carnival. There’s a cultural barrier there that’s tailor-made for comedy. (And one that’s been milked to death, but whatevs.) Lind, however, goes one step further and adds a language barrier to the mix, and…well, you know how it is when you’ve got on the perfect dress or suit or costume, and you add that one brooch too many, and suddenly you look like an idiot? That’s what happened.

And to my lesbian friends and other politically correct types, let me be perfectly clear: I don’t care whether or not Lind is being culturally or racially insensitive. I care only about the fact that the Times-Picayune hasn’t yet put the man out to pasture.

Grand Gaffe: Does anyone find it slightly ironic that a Grammy™ winner–a Grammy™ winner receiving an award for a song called “”Jesus, Take the Wheel”, no less–would blurt out “This is unbelievable. I owe everything to Simon Fuller” during her acceptance speech?

Oh, Anna. In the immortal words of Joan Jett, I hate myself for loving…well, not you per se, but your boundless spirit of fucked-uppedness, your joi de vivre (or perhaps, joi d’ivre), your willingness to grab a stereotype by the triple-Ds and run with it all the way to the bank. Case in point:

You may be dead, but your spirit, your breasts, your nose, and portions of your lips will remain with us always.

Snarky is the new Aqua, which was the new Orange, which was the new Brown, and so on and so on, down to the color of the house that Jack built, which was itself the new Flagstone.

Now, it’s no secret that writers who report on trendy events and commodities tend to get a little catty. When your goal is to stay one step ahead of the game, cattiness gives you a well-shod leg up. As in, “Ooh, girl! Look at Miss Thing over there, with her handbag pulled straight from the Fall 2006 time capsule!” Suddenly you’re at the vanguard, and Miss Thing is trapped waist-deep in the bargain bin.

Recently, though, cattiness gave way to something more insidious: snarkiness. I know it’s a thin line–thinner than [insert celebutante joke here]–but there’s a difference. Catty is all in good fun. Catty is over the top. Catty is drag queens who dish it out, then share a bag of coke in the men’s room. By contrast, snarky is mean, underhanded, and underplayed. Holier-than-thou with a jigger of envy thrown in for good measure.

Recently, I’ve noticed an uptick in the nation’s snark level. Maybe it’s just because, as an avid homosexual, I’ve been reading the news from Fashion Week–which, by its very nature, veers toward unprecedented levels of snarkification. But even in that milieu, voices like those of New York magazine’s Fug Girls have been mitigated by tamer voices like Cathy Horyn, Eric Wilson, and even Guy Trebay at the New York Times, who prefer to give readers some historical context for their thoughtful critiques.

Well, unless you’ve been living under a heterosexual male rock for the past couple of weeks, you know that Cathy Horyn has started a blog. And she’s calling Thom Browne’s collection “Hobbitville” and wondering if she should buy a wig. Oh, Cathy….

Who is responsible for this? Some would point to the Michael Musto-Liz Smith cabal of gossip mongers, who’ve been doing this kind of thing for years. Others would cite that cave drawing from Lascaux where a tribesmen is snubbed after wearing the same loincloth for both hunting and gathering. But whether such shenanigans have been going on for decades or millenia, they’ve never made it to the mainstream. Now, suddenly, we’ve got pundits on every streetcorner–the equally hideous, equally ashen Nancy Grace and Glenn Beck come to mind–and they’re all sporting the same arched-eyebrow sneer. What the hell happened?

Personally, I blame Gawker. (Or credit them. The jury’s still out.) They single-handedly made snarky both fashionable and readily available. And they’re funny. Let’s face it: snark sells. But alas, not everyone can pull it off–which is why you may find me getting catty now and then, but I’ll take the long way around Snarkville, ’cause baby, I know when I’m beat.

An Experment in OMG

Last week I had a problem with an Amazon order, and today I wanted to resolve it. So I went to the Help section of the website, and on the right-hand side of the page, I noticed that I could contact Amazon not only by email, but also by phone. “Provide your phone number and customer service will call you right away,” it said. So I clicked through and entered my phone number, expecting a callback sometime later in the afternoon, but…well, try it.

Ultimately, it’s no different than dialing a customer service center [in Bangladesh] yourself. Yeah, technically they’re calling you, but you still get put on hold ’till a rep becomes available–same experience in the end. Still, by framing it as a “call back” and by making that “call back” happen immediately, they make it seem like Amazon is really on top of its game. Pretty sneaky, sis….

One of four ministers who oversaw three weeks of intensive counseling for the Rev. Ted Haggard said the disgraced minister emerged convinced that he is ”completely heterosexual.”

Haggard also said his sexual contact with men was limited to the former male prostitute who came forward with sexual allegations, the Rev. Tim Ralph of Larkspur told The Denver Post for a story in Tuesday’s edition.

”He is completely heterosexual,” Ralph said. ”That is something he discovered. It was the acting-out situations where things took place. It wasn’t a constant thing.”

—New York Times

During his prolonged period of self-examination, Haggard also discovered a talent for scrapbooking, a passion for fine sea salt, and a chest of pirate booty hidden beneath a rock in the meditation garden. “I think I’m the luckiest boy in the whole world!” exclaimed a visibly excited Haggard, surrounded by seamen who came to see his booty.

Ralph went on to say that occasional cockgobbling is acceptable evangelical behavior, as long as it’s not a constant thing. “By our reckoning, anyone is completely heterosexual if they’re straight 51% of the time.”

The other three ministers, however, insist that Haggard is a disco dancin’, Oscar Wilde readin’, Streisand-ticket-holdin’ friend of Dorothy.