I can play both sides of the fence when it comes to being appalled.

Oops, just as I was posting this, I stumbled across another. Looks like she did, too:

You know what? Just search for “drum woman”. There’s a lot going on there. “Drum man” isn’t nearly as much fun.

I’m not entirely sure this counts as stock photography. I mean, I don’t know anyone who’s ever started a design project by thinking to himself, “Hey, I should build this piece around a beefy, curiously lit, third-naked drummer that no one’s ever heard of.”

Then again, I wouldn’t mind meeting him. Or the drummer.

I don’t often get spam (thank you, Gmail), but when I do, it’s usually pretty interesting.

Case in point: this bit of dummy text, which comes from a 1931 sci-fi novel by Raymond “Ray” Cummings called Brigands of the Moon. The book itself seems fairly run-of-the-mill (with “brigands” in the title, it could’ve gone either way), but this excerpt had just enough military tension to make me skim a few pages. I know, I know: I’m such a homo.

Mr. Cummings died in 1957, but if his estate is reading this run-of-the-mill blog: your patriarch’s work is still being read. And dumped in the trash.

Subject line:

An pressures at depths of four thousand fathoms.

Body:

“Commander’s orders. No gambling gold-leafers tolerated here.”

“Play the game, Wilks.” Grantline said quietly. “We all know it’s infernal — this doing nothing.”

“He’s been struck by Earth-light,” another man laughed. “Commander, I told you not to let that guy Wilks out at night.”

A rough but good-natured lot of men. Jolly and raucous by nature in their leisure hours. But there was too much leisure here now. Their mirth had a hollow sound. In older times, explorers of the frozen polar zones had to cope with inactivity, loneliness and despair. But at least they were on their native world. The grimness of the Moon was eating into the courage of Grantline’s men.

Many people say that beauty pageants are old-fashioned and/or sexist and/or degrading and/or a terrific bore. Many people see those transgressions as reason enough to shut down the American pageant circuit this very minute.

Those people are lazy.

If they dug a little deeper, they would understand that the real reason pageants are bad is because the contestants are liars, thieves, and murderers. As proof, cast your gaze and whatever the aural equivalent of “gaze” is on Miss Arkansas 1994’s performance of “And I Am Telling You, I’m Not Going”:

FRAUDS. That is not “And I Am Telling You”. That is the imposter fragrance of “And I Am Telling You”, who is filling in at a dinner party and trying to remember to stay in character, while the corpse of the real “And I Am Telling You” is being wrapped in a poly-blend area rug and hurled into the Mississippi River.

If Regis Philbin will not stand up for American musical theatre, I ask: WHO WILL?

[via Hit-or-Miss]

Say what you will (and I know that you will), but Will Schwartz is kind of adorable.

Almost as good? The Donkey Punch, as explained on Fox “News”:

Avert your gays (and lesbians):

After filming six seasons of MTV’s The Hills, [hardcore plastic surgery enthusiast] Heidi Montag is ready to say goodbye to the show that shot her to reality fame.

“I’m so excited The Hills is finally over and I can now become a full time motion picture actress,” Montag tells PEOPLE exclusively of the news that the show will come to an end. “There is no better training [for an actor] than being in front of the cameras 24-7.”

[via People (no, I don’t read it)]

I don’t know how I managed to forget about posting this until now, but better late, etc.

Anyway, if you’re in New Orleans, please join us tonight and/or tomorrow for HOW I LEARNED ABOUT SEX, featuring readings and performances by seven local authors and one stray Yankee. My friend, Blaise (aka the Yankee), has organized it, and based on the pieces I’ve read, it is going to be positively high-larious:

Writers & performers from New Orleans & New York explain
HOW I LEARNED ABOUT SEX
March 26 & 27, 2010 at 8pm • Le Chat Noir, 715 St. Charles

Seven New Orleans authors and performers join New York writer Blaise Allysen Kearsley for a hilarious, outrageous, touching evening of literature and music called HOW I LEARNED ABOUT SEX. From childhood stories of curiosity to adult tales of lovemaking gone very, very awry, audiences will reel through eight tales told from eight very different perspectives — male, female, straight, gay, young, and…less young. It’s blue enough to please the prurient, but silly enough for the straightlaced, too. Featured among the group: our own Dorian Rush and Jack Long!

HOW I LEARNED ABOUT SEX runs for two nights only: Friday and Saturday, March 26 and 27, 2010 at 8pm at Le Chat Noir, 715 St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans.

• Friday night’s performance will be a fundraiser for the Mystic Krewe of Satyricon. For tickets to Friday’s show only, please call 504 525 4498 or visit www.MysticKreweOfSatyricon.com.

• For tickets to Saturday night’s show, please call Le Chat Noir at 504 581 5812, or visit www.CabaretLeChatNoir.com. Tickets are $21.

Want more info? Right this way…

Judging from my other posts today, spring has clearly sprung:

Two sex toys thought to be more than 200 years old fetched £3,600 at a sale.

The wooden phalluses – one measuring 10 inches and the other 11 inches – were bought by an anonymous bidder at an auction in Brentwood, Essex.

Staff at Brentwood Antiques Auction described the sex toys as ”extraordinary and exceptionally rare” and said they were probably French and dated back to the late 1700s.

”You might laugh but it’s a good opportunity for investment,” auctioneer Wendy Wood told bidders. ”You won’t see another one in a long time.”

[emphasis totes mine; via TheTelegraph]

Ribald!

Unfortunately, it’s not quite what some of you are hoping for: