No redesign after all. Just new colors…. Spring-y, no?

I’m lazy and refuse to remove my Blogvoices tags until the situation resolves itself completely.

<batting eyes> Unless, of course, that brainy little sexpot Steve wants to help me out with some php….</batting eyes>

My desk is piled high with work. My car is a wreck. I won’t even mention the living room, the bedroom, or *shudder* the kitchen.

So with all this crapola, this karmic schmutz, why am I considering a redesign? Me, Richard. The guy who’s been know to wear the same outfit for a week. The one who goes days without bathing. I mean, my dogs change their look more often than I do. A redesign should be at the bottom of my list.

I’m guessing it all stems from stress. It’s heavy grantwriting time at work, and I’ve got some serious marketing to do, and of course, Mardi Gras is coming up, and with it, many a costume to prepare for the balls and parades. And, and, and…. So, redesigning this website is a great way to focus my energies on a non-threatening, deadline-free task. Or, in common parlance, to waste time. Hey, what can I say? It’s a coping mechanism.

Today’s broadcast of Solo Psychotherapy for the Self-Absorbed has been brought to you by Campbell’s Soup for One, Big Daddy’s neighborhood bar, and the friendly folks at Falcon Video.

Okay, somebody found me by doing a search for the Ameritrade commercial song. Who on earth could possibly be that bored?

Of course, blogging it implies that I’m even more bored.

Well, boyfriend, as long as we’re on the subject of divas, let’s not forget the most fabulously terrifying one ever. (Um, except for old whatshername, that Visigoth queen who drank everyone’s blood. I guess she was pretty fab, too.)

C’mon. Seriously: what queen doesn’t need a little more drama in his life?

On that note, why hasn’t anyone ever done a good cover of Calling Occupants Of Interplanetary Craft (The Recognized Anthem Of World Contact Day)? Between you and me, that’s their unacknowledged master work.

And as for that movie, I think I know someone with a copy.

 

So…there’s this “crackhouse law” that’s used to punish folks who foster environments (e.g. crackhouses) condusive to drug use. Now, prosecutors in New Orleans are trying to use the law to nail the owners of the State Palace Theatre, who have promoted and hosted the city’s largest raves over the past 5 years or so. The argument goes, “the owners knew that all the little ravers would be taking drugs, so they did everything in their power to promote drug use and enhance the collective trip.”

I guess the case has some merit. I mean, it’d be different if the owners were just renting out the space to someone else, but they were active parties. They shared in promoting the event and the profits.

Still, I can’t help feeling there’s something excessive about all this hub bub–especially since these parties have been going on for so long. It’s not like the kids just suddenly discovered ecstasy or anything. Frankly, if anyone should be indicted, it should probably be Barbara Walters. You know how she’s always doing those insightful, tearful exposes? Well, that’s where America’s youth learn about illicit substances…. But then again, I’ve got a soft spot for recreational drug use.

The Times-Picayune applauds the lawsuit, but imply that the rationale of the prosecuting attorneys is seriously flawed. I agree: sue the pants off the owners–not because they promoted drug use among rebellious teenagers (which is like shooting fish in a barrel), but because they insisted on calling the damn things “raves.” I mean, maybe in 1987, but jeez, Louise…

Okay, so I’m swamped. Totally and completely swamped. But I’m getting good press….

If I can make it through this weekend, I should be okay.

(I say that every week.)

Just days after posting to classmates.com, I’ve already gotten emails from two of my high school friends. Funny, I kinda registered with the site out of boredom–nothing better to do on a Saturday morning than peck away at my keyboard, I figured. And there weren’t that many folks listed from my graduating class anyway. Bottom line: I didn’t really expect anything to come from signing up.

Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not as if I’m overwhelmed by the surprising (albeit meager) response to my post, or suddenly racing out the door to rent Pretty in Pink (although I’ve been meaning to pick up a copy of the kick-ass soundtrack for some time now). It’s just..I dunno, hearing from people I used to know reminds me that my adolescence actually happened.

Best/oddest of all, neither of the folks who wrote to me have been able to deduce the identity of the lesbian who made my life unnecessarily hellish for several very long years. I guess I was right: no one figured her out.