And another thing...

I am just. so. over. the religious proselytizing. Most of the time, you see a piece of paper on the sidewalk, odds are it's yet another "you will BURN in the fires of HELL unless you REPENT your very EXISTENCE" pamphlets. Jehovah's Witnesses and Mormons, every other week it seems like, ringing my bell, not in a good way. Crazy-ass preacher yesterday in the middle of the greenmarket. ("The BIIIBLE says you must FEAR God above all else--" I said, "The Bible also says that you should pray in your closet instead of standing in the middle of the street making a spectacle of yourself." He thunders back, "I'm not praying, I'm PREACHING, sinner!--" I wandered off. The produce was a lot more interesting).

And in the subway, you know, it's Scientologists to the right of me, Falun Gong to the left, and here I am, stuck in the middle with way too many fucking huddled masses till the goddam train comes already...

And this is of course just here in NYC. This is just smalltime shit. Let's not even talk about Falwell and Dobson and the rest of that bunch, for now at least.

But anyway so now I'm pondering what would happen if the rest of us--heathens, pagans and infidels--decided to start a missionary program or two of our own. On the subway, drop leaflets that are xeroxed excerpts of "Sister Mary Ignatius Explain It All For You," or "Beyond Good and Evil," or even maybe just plain old sex-positive pamphlets, with helpful instructions and diagrams. maybe gay folk should start recruiting, or at least door-to-door educating. maybe PFLAG should start sending out sincere, nicely dressed boys and girls in twos and threes to ring bells in the heartland. maybe we should send ringers to hang around or even attend places like Oral Roberts College and Patrick Henry University, and target and try to stealth deprogram some of 'em. why the hell not? hey, maybe just because they're paranoid doesn't mean we shouldn't actually be out to get them.

One year later, or near enough

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

So, Scooter's been indicted.

While we wait to find out whether Skippy, Muffy, Binky, Tootles, and the rest of the gang follow hard upon, I will just take this opportunity to repeat one of my favorite quotes:

"I do not believe that I am a vindictive [person], but when the immortal gods take a hand in the matter it is pardonable to observe the result with complacency."

--Somerset Maugham

Phil Spector, not Arlen Specter

If you ever get them confused, like I do, just remember: Phil's the one with: THE HAIR.



It'd be bad enough if he actually had the face to go with a zany-type 'fro like that. That dour, pinchy little puss underneath just pushes the whole thing into utterly surreal territory. He looks like someone *forced* him to wear that giant tumbleweed of a 'do; like, he'd rather have a nice, sensible combover like all the guys, but nooo; he lost a bet with an evil fairy and now he has to carry that around on his head until the Firebird is reborn from it or something.

Oh, dear, ohdearohdearohdear.

Will someone please tell this nice young ex-homosexual radio talk show host that his Freudian slip is showing?


[My wife] looked stunning (as usual.) She is so prissy and elegant. This is my personal blog, so I can say what I please: I'm more in love today with my wife than yesterday! Our love grows stronger everyday!

...My daughter and her friend tried a piece of "free" Sushi an oriental woman was passing out in the food court. If I only had my camera! The faces they made were priceless - that is as they were running to the garbage can to spit out the raw fish in their mouths. (They have alot more guts than me - I would NEVER try Sushi!)


His loss.

When I was in grad school, one Halloween...

I figured it'd be sporting to wear a costume to the school-sanctioned bash (okay, it was more a halfhearted poke than a bash, but anyway), but I didn't have any good ideas, and it was getting late. Friend and I were poking around in a shop for ideas.

I can't remember which of us spotted the axe first. It was silver, it was cardboard, and it was cheap. And, it was very very big. I hefted it. Friend said, "Perfect. An angry lesbian with an axe."

So, I showed up in streetwear, carrying my axe. I stood in the corner and tried to glower with appropriate menace.

"Death to the patriarchal hegemony!," I thought at them all.

After about ten minutes it dawned on me that this was pretty much what I'd been doing in class all day anyway. So I took it out on the dance floor. (It's difficult to dance and glower at the same time, with or without a giant cardboard axe).

About twenty minutes after that, the party wound down and ground (ha ha) to a halt. For a drama school, we were kind of short on theatrical flair, collectively, I thought. A dour old coldbed of Calvinism is a funny place to host a drama school, really, or Halloween, for that matter. The trappings were there, more or less, but the magic had been frowned into submission. At any rate, at one-thirty in the morning, the bars were all shut, and the witching hour had come and gone.

So I finished my Rolling Rock and went home, dragging my axe behind me.