Could y’all please take a just minute out of your busy, busy day to skew a “scientific survey” being conducted by the American Family Association? Think of it as a little holiday present for me. One that you don’t have to pay for. And that I’ll never see… Wait a minute. Where’s the upside of that?
Author: Richard
I hatehatehate cold weather, but I lovelovelove this time of year. Let me tell you, sugarpie, there ain’t nothin’ better than getting home as the sun’s going down, taking a long, hot bath, donning your best peek-a-boo peignoir, slipping into some big Zsa Zsa-style fuzzy princess slippers, sauntering to the kitchen like a stone cold fox, and standing in the open door of the icebox, devouring meat from a perfectly seasoned chicken carcass with your bare hands (well, bare except for a tasteful assortment of cocktail rings). Then, you can slink to the sofa for a nice, full-bellied nap ’till it’s time for bed.
Or you can get up off your lazy ass and do something about Bill Frist and his army of flying monkeys.
Leftie Art Fag Speaks Out
To Whom It May Concern:
It’s impossible for me to believe that the editors of Budget Travel magazine
would label Bob Richer’s recent Letter to the Editor as bona fide travel
advice for New York City! Elsewhere, we’re encouraged to spend big bucks for Broadway/Disney schlock, but then
Mr. Richer (and presumably the editors who allowed his letter to be posted
to the Budget Travel website) asks us to short-change what is arguably the
most important museum in America–if not the world–by a measly $7?!? What
kind of crap is that?At $12, the Met is the best value in town, hands down. I mean, would you
rather spend $12 for a day’s worth of art and architecture amid the
beauty of Central Park or $60 for two hours trapped in Miss
Saigon‘s musty ol’ theatre waiting for a helicopter to crash through the freaking roof?
My boyfriend spends most of his day looking at run-of-the-mill pornography for fun and profit, but he finds lots of weird stuff along the way.
LINKS
- Um, hello? Miss Thing? Are you listening to me, honey? You can keep your hot apple pies and your supersize fries. All I want me is a milkshake.
- Oh, dear goddess, I’ve had a vision! My boyfriend has shown me the error of my ways! I must fall to my knees and beg forgiveness, ’cause the end is near and it ain’t gonna be pretty! [more Chick parodies here]
No one who’s met me could possibly think I’m a cat person. I’ve so clearly
got the dog personality: frisky, punchy, amped (at least while the sun’s
out). Except on rare occasions, I don’t enjoy lounging about doing nothing
or causing trouble just for the hell of it.
Furthermore, despite what some folks may say
about their wily ways and our foolish, misguided attempts to anthropomorphize
them, dogs seem pretty transparent to me: what you see is what you get. As
we all know, however, cats are just plain sneaky and aren’t to be
trusted–except, of course, for the one cat we all love, <a
href=”http://www.amy.hi-ho.ne.jp/~mono93/cat/english/index_e.html”
target=”m” title=”dude, what the hell is up with the ‘dance’ page?”>Maneki
Neko.
I fully expect those of you living in New Orleans–and those passing through during the holidays–to drop in and set a spell with all your favorite trailer park friends. And as an added bonus, if you come tonight or Friday the 19th, you’ll catch lil’ ol moi making a surprise appearance. Onstage, even. Guess who I’ll be playing….
* * *
On another note, has anyone else been wondering what Tama Janowitz was doing these days?
Some of these paintings use combinations of images from my dreams. But for the most part, I don’t know where they come from. I see a photograph of Barbie Benton, and I think to myself, “Well, she should have a rodent head.”
It’s a pretty simple fact: we tend to click with folks who complement our likes and dislikes.
I’m not normally prone to sit around and spout platitudes like that; it’s just something that struck me this afternoon as I was rummaging through the refrigerator and noticed the pattern with which J-no and I are polishing off the Thanksgiving leftovers:
- He tosses back the wine. I take on the beer.
- He tackles the cranberries and the mashed potatoes. I scarf down the pate and the glazed ham.
- He reheats a bowl of gumbo and a heap of cornbread stuffing. I construct a sandwich he’d never dream of touching: dark meat turkey with horseradish and turkey schmaltz on toasted rye bread.
…And between the both of them, they licked the platter clean.
It’s World AIDS Day, and like thousands, if not millions of my fellow webloggers, I should be writing about the ways in which the disease–or, more properly, the syndrome–has touched my life, the sorrow it’s brought, the special memories it’s fostered. I should tell stories about the first person I knew to be HIV-positive (the brother of the man who directed me in my first-ever play), the humbling and/or awkward encounters I’ve had with AIDS activists, patients, and caregivers (at a dance concert, being thanked profusely by a group of Belle Reve patients to whom I’d given a handful of tickets that I couldn’t have sold anyway), or the many people I know who are persevering and have been for a decade or more (including a New Orleans doctor who ranks as one of my favorite people in the world).
I should be doing all that, but I’m not. For seven years, December 1st has meant something quite different to me. I know it’s selfish and more than a little hokey, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
