There are many awesome things about maintaining a blog for 12-plus years.

For starters, you get in the habit of writing on a regular basis. Not only does that hone your wordsmithing skills, it also fosters a degree of discipline. That comes in handy when you’re working on large projects that require you to crank out a lot of copy.

It’s also nice because periodically you look up, and you say to yourself, “Holy shit, look how much crap I’ve written!” It’s not all good, it’s not all important, but it’s a quantifiable achievement. It’s like saying, “Hey, I could’ve spend my leisure hours watching reading Wikipedia and eating doughnuts, but instead, I spent them writing terrible haiku and eating doughnuts. What a legacy!”

On the other hand, there are some not-so-awesome things about maintaining a blog for 12-plus years.

For instance, you write a lot of things that are terrible. You could erase them, of course, but that feels like a cop-out. Me, I prefer a warts-and-all approach to blogging. That can make scrolling through the archives a painful experience.

Also not so awesome: realizing that you can’t remember a lot of the things you’ve written. Yesterday, for example, the folks at Nightcharm asked if they could post my parody of/sequel to Brokeback Mountain. The email conversation went something like this:

ME: Are you sure that was me?

NC: Yup, it was definitely you.

ME: I don’t think so. I would’ve remembered that.

NC: I promise, you wrote it.

ME: No, I kinda hated Brokeback. Well, not hated, per se. But apart from Anne Hathaway and that nutty wig she wore toward the end, it didn’t leave much of an impression.

NC: I don’t know how else to say it, Richard, but it’s your work.

So, I did a quick search of this site, and lo and behold, there it was. I could tell it was mine because (a) I visited Roxy in the 1990s, and I remember what that shit was like; (b) I’m the only person on Planet Earth who regularly pays homage to Tatjana Patitz; and (c) I lifted huge chunks of the ending from Boys in the Band, which is standard operating procedure for me.

And so, I had to email the folks at Nightcharm back and say, “Sorry, you’re right. It’s my handiwork. Do with it as you see fit.”

And they have. If you’re someplace where it’s cool to browse NSFW content — you know, like a Starbucks or a day care center — sit back and relive the magic.

This pic could’ve easily been taken about seven years ago here in New Orleans, but in fact, it was taken yesterday in Long Beach, NY, in the wake of Hurricane Sandy.

If you’re able to contribute to relief efforts in the Northeast, there are several ways to do so. Remember, though: at this stage in the game, most organizations prefer cash gifts. While donations of canned goods and clothing are great, they’re not so useful during near-term rescue and recovery work. Consider giving to:

• The American Red Cross, which is operating nearly 200 emergency shelters along the East Coast and has a growing army of relief workers in the area. You can donate online, or you can text the word REDCROSS to 90999 to make a $10 gift. Or you could do it the old-fashioned way and call 800-RED-CROSS.

• The ASPCA, which is helping pets, livestock, wildlife, and other animals impacted by the storm. Donate online at ASPCA.org.

Growing up, I was a black sheep, the oddball in my family. My parents, my brothers, my aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins: none were drawn to the arts, none were interested in anything that bucked the status quo of church, deer hunting, and FM radio. And certainly, no one aside from me was gay.

Then I met my biological family — or half of it, anyway — and I felt as if I’d slipped into the Negaverse. In fact, my sister’s artistic drive is so pervasive, so ferocious, it makes my own work in theatre seem kindergartenish (yes, it’s a word) by comparison. And talk about your sense of drama. Oy.

She’s currently ramping up the press for her band/alter-ego, Grande Dame, and as part of those efforts, she’s dropped a free single for all of us to enjoy:

Dear Friends!

We have a month to go until Grande Dame’s live show! So to get yall in the mood, I thought I would offer a free download of our track CHICKEN MAN.

A few years back when I had my radio show, I used to sometimes play mixes of only songs with the word “chicken” in them. It’s a fact that 9 times out of 10, a song that references chickens is good. So to prove my theory, I thought I would write a song name checking that wondrous bird!

The Chicken Man was a real person named Prince Ke’eyama*. He was believed to be of Haitian origin, and was taught by his grandparents the art of Haitian witchcraft. In the 70s he moved to New Orleans and began to do magic shows, where he sacrificed chickens by biting their heads off and drinking their blood. He opened a voodoo shop in the French Quarter, telling fortunes & selling gris gris. He also began his own religion, The Cult of The Chicken Man, which built up a huge following of devotes. He became known as The Voodoo King of New Orleans.

He passed away in 1998, but his followers still remain. Legend has it that his ghost roams the Quarter at night. I used to see him all the time when I lived there in the 80s. I was always intrigued, but a little scared too! Anyhoo, it’s got a spooky vibe too, so perfect for Halloween! Enjoy!

oxoxo GD

Download the bass-heavy goodness here.

* I knew the Chicken Man, too, and she’s right: he was intriguing. I wouldn’t call him creepy, exactly, but the man had presence, that’s for sure.

The only way to lop off your hair is to lock yourself in the bathroom, close your eyes, and think of England.

[via Instagram]

I’ve never been particularly squeamish.

I mean, I’m not a sadist or a psychopath. I don’t like watching people or animals in pain. I’m a Nurse Jackie, not a Dr. O’Hara. But I’ve never been grossed out by gore.

In fact, when it comes to movies and documentaries, I usually force myself to watch operations, battle scenes, and other bloody stuff. (Though admittedly, I haven’t dealt with Antichrist yet.)

So it’s a little weird that I find myself looking away from screens these days. I’m not avoiding scars or lacerations: I’m avoiding political discourse.

During the first presidential debate, I tried. I sat on the sofa scanning through Flipboard. Occasionally, I’d work up the nerve to glance at the TV, but five seconds later, I’d amp up the volume on my headphones and jump to some light and fluffy distraction like the Fug Girls. (Seriously, those ladies have saved my life more than once.)

Last night was the same. I was eager to get out of the house so I wouldn’t get sucked into the vice presidential debate — and as fate would have it, Jonno and I had two parties to hit. But when we stopped to grab a bite to eat, there it was on the TV, hovering over the bar.

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Jonno and Jacques get home tomorrow. They’ve been away four months.

When Jonno first told me that he wanted to spend the summer in Provincetown and that he wanted to take Jacques with him, I thought, “Fine, no problem. If it’ll make you happy, go for it.”

Friends who heard about Jonno’s plan asked, “Isn’t that a long time to be apart?” This is what I told them:

• Jonno used to spend two- and three-month chunks of time in San Francisco, so what’s another month?
• I’m going up for a visit at the end of July, the halfway point in his stay. So it won’t really be like he’s gone for four months, it’ll be more like two two-month separations.
• We started out as a long-distance couple, with him in New York and me in New Orleans. We’re used to it.

But it was harder than I thought.

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Hurricanes are bad for many reasons. They destroy property. They interrupt the daily flow of life. And at a bare minimum, they leave you trapped indoors for hours on end, looking for entertainment.

Which is how I ended up on the Republican party website.

There’s a lot to take in at GOP.com — especially the newly approved Republican platform. For example, there’s the crazypants obsession with the Founding Fathers’ religious beliefs and the GOP’s simultaneous, unironic disregard for the Founders’ insistence on the strict separation of church and state.

The platform also rails against “activist judges” — who are only “activists” when they rule against Republican litigants.

And in a super-classy move, the party enshrines homophobia at the tip-top of its platform, in the second and third items. For two full paragraphs, the GOP bemoans marriage equality, even though the majority of the American people now support it in some form.

But perhaps the most obvious proof that the GOP is completely out of touch America in the 21st century is on its seriously bizarre Coalition Support page, which attempts to prove that black, Hispanic, and female Republicans exist in the real world. (In particular, the banner about “Black Republicans” makes such people sound like sideshow freaks — which, according to recent polls, they may be.)

Here’s a quick thought for any Republicans passing by: if you need to devote an entire section of your website to prove that you’re not just a party for old, white men, your party is probably just a bunch of old white men.

Also notable: there’s no mention of LGBT Americans on the Coalition Support page. Not that I really expected there to be, but given the hullaballoo that the Log Cabin Republicans and Young Conservatives made with their pitch for a marriage equality plank, I thought there was a slim chance.

I can’t envision a day that I’d vote Republican, but I sure will be glad when Meghan McCain and her equality-minded cohorts wrest control from the wingnuts and teabaggers in charge now.