The Spell (ing) Has Been Broken...

A few months ago I bought an IPod. It's a big 30GB thing, capable of holding 7500 songs, or a mix of video and music. Slowly I have added music and now have about a third of the space taken up, still that's a lot of music. I listen to it every day when I take a shower and sometimes at night to go to sleep. While I have a playlist labeled "gym music" it hasn't taken too many trips to a fitness center. It's becoming my ritual to flip through the IPod every day (afternoon) deciding what I want to listen to during my shower. I take long showers, taking advantage of the steamy surroundings to shave (my face) and let the water relax my usually sore shoulders. I listen to various things, two days ago it was Prince (The Hits # 1) and yesterday it was Stephen Lynch. Today for variety I scrolled down to the end of the list and started playing TV theme songs. I love theme songs, growing up a latch key kid with cable, I adored television in general. Like most kids I ate a steady diet of TV, much of it produced by Aaron Spelling or Norman Lear.

Much has been said of Spelling since his death last Friday from complications of a stroke. Family feuds, his lavish home and his humble raising all have been dissected. He created some of my favorite television shows, from "Hart to Hart" to "Love Boat" to "Fantasy Island" (which usually scared the shit out of me)and the show that was supposed to spur my young boy fantasies, "Charlies Angels". I did love that show but don't remember ever being turned on by the jiggling breasts that were so prominently thrust into the main of that show. Fast forward to my adult life and my friends and I gathering on Monday nights to watch "90210" and "Melrose" (and the wonderful 'Ally McBeal')and the short lived "Models Inc." which featured a return to television of one of my 80's favorite stars, Linda Gray. While I type this, another Spelling show, Charmed, is on my television. While his shows were panned at times for being fluff TV, compare them to what airs today. Shows like King of Queens, everybody Loves Raymond, these do not compare to Spellings hits. In addition to his string of hit television shows he also produced such fun little movies as "The Boy in the Plastic Bubble" and a history of the beginning of the HIV/AIDS massacre "And the Band Played On". Somewhat unfortunately he also co-produced Tori Spelling, who has occasionally amused but usually annoyed audiences.

While Spelling was creating his shows, Norman Lear was creating sitcoms that pushed the envelope as well as entertained. Long before Roseanne broke molds with their depiction of low rent living, Lears "All in the Family" was making waves. Open discussions of race from a bigots point of view and other touchy subjects such as women's rights and even rape were all a part of the show. Lear was also the king of the spin off, directly spinning off "Archie Bunkers Place" and "Gloria". From that one show he created "The Jeffersons" (which had it's own short lived and forgettable spin-off called "Checking In" and the character Edith Bunkers cousin played by Bea Arthur had a hit with "Maude". This was another ground breaking show, culminated by Maudes decision at one point in the series to have an abortion. Maude had it's own spin off, "Good Times" featuring the ever annoying character, J.J. Evans. Another show of his that I liked and one of only two television shows to be set in my hometown of Indianapolis, "One Day at a Time" (the first season of 'Saved by the Bell' was the other set in Indy.) Moving into the late 70's and early 80's Lear gave us "The Facts of Life" and it's spin-off show "Different Strokes". Keeping with his teen theme he also created "Square Pegs" and "Silver Spoons." Lear continued his reign with the long running (and some say new low for television) "Married with Children." While it may have been a new low, it was old stomping ground to Lear, whose series have almost always created controversy. He attempted to re-create the success of All in the Family by creating "704 Hauser" in 1994. 704 Hauser was the address of the Bunker home and in this half hearted spin-off a black family moves into the home and re-addresses some of the issues put forth on the original show.

The one main difference between the two producers, other than Spellings penchant for drama and Lears predilection to comedy was one simple thing. The theme song. Most of Spellings shows had musical introductions, while Lears shows gave us some of the best TV theme songs ever made. This is the main thing I wanted to write about, how most shows created today are incomplete, they have no snappy theme song. There are exceptions like "Family Guy" and the long running "Cops" (Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do..)but most theme songs have gone the way of most television shows, whittled down to a sound bite and a formula. I guess I'll have to stick to my IPod and my showers can always be filled with the themes of lives long gone to re-run. Check out TV Land to hear some of the best theme songs ever made.

The War Continues...

Vindication is always nice when you feel strongly about something. One of my life's passions is my intense dislike of flip flops. Let me be clear here. I am not against the "shoes" themselves, but of the inappropriate places that people wear them. I have no problem with flip flops at the beach, or in public showers such as gyms or even around your own house if you must. Summertime brings out the worst of the flip flop offenders people are finally starting to notice.

Robin Givhan, staff writer for the Washington Post, recently wrote this article which covers not only the issue of wrong-time, wrong place flip wearing, but the general issue of people wearing things that make them a blight on society. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for everyone having self esteem, I just don't think it should be forced on me. If you have no problem being 30 pounds overweight, then I say go for it, but don't wear low riding jeans with your whale tail sticking out over your thong.

I digress.

After reading her article I wrote to Miss Givhan;

Hooray to you for your stance against inappropriate flip-flopping. I work in a bar on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Every night I see hordes of people wearing these disgusting slimy pieces of rubber, their blackened soles being slap-slap-slapped as they walk in the spilled beer and other debris. Once again it seems the world is dividing itself down into two categories; those who know that flip flops are only appropriate in a few places and the rest, dirty footed morons.

Keep up the good fight!

A day or two later I received a nice little note back from my new best friend;

Dear Lawrence,

Thanks for the nice note!

Robin

Regular reader John F. from Indianapolis sent me this yahoo news story today. Though I am not a big fan of corporate policies, I wouldn't mind seeing federal law banning flip flops from all inappropriate places.

Trannie Attack!

Special thanks to Dillon for sending this story. I had heard about this but had not see it in print. Read on...



Transvestite crime gangs pester Magazine Street owners


Robyn Lewis, owner of Dark Charm fashion and accessories for women,
represents the first line of defense for the Magazine Street shop owners.
She is the first to see them come strutting in their pumps down St. Andrew
Street, the bewigged pack of thieves who have plagued the Lower Garden
District since May. Like an SOS flare, Lewis grabs her emergency phone list and starts calling.

“They’re coming,” she warns Eric Ogle a salesman at Vegas, a block down
Magazine Street. Ogle, who was terrorized by the brazen crew two months
earlier, alerts neighboring Winky’s where manager Kendra Bonga braces for
the onslaught.

Soon every shop owner in the 2000 block of Magazine Street has been alerted.

Sarah Celino at Trashy Diva eyes the door, ready to flip the lock at the
first sight of the ringleader’s pink jumpsuit and fluorescent red wig.

Down at Turncoats, where the fashion-happy gang once made off with more than
$2,000 in merchandise, store manager Wes Davis stands ready.

Davis said it wasn’t supposed to be like this. They survived Hurricane
Katrina’s Category 3 winds and the ensuing looters. They reopened despite
the long odds of doing business in a devastated city. The last thing the
Magazine Street shop owners expected to threaten their survival was a crime
ring of transvestites.

“They’re fearless,” said Ogle. “Once they see something they like they won’t
stop until they have it. They don’t care, they’ll go to jail. It’s really
gotten bad. You know it’s ridiculous when everyone on the block knows who
they are.”


Expensive tastes

The transvestites first appeared in March when they raided Magazine Street
like a marauding army of kleptomaniacal showgirls, said Davis, using
clockwork precision and brute force to satisfy high-end boutique needs.

They first hit Vegas March 31 while Ogle was working.

“They come in groups of three or four. One tries to distract you while the
others get the stuff and run out the door. It’s very simple,” Ogle said.

Next door at Winky’s, Bonga heard people screaming inside Vegas, then saw a
blur of cheap wigs and masculine legs in designer shoes streak past her
door.

“All of a sudden our UPS guy dove out of the store and tried to tackle them
and there’s little Eric from next door on the sidewalk with a bunch of
stuff he managed to grab from one of the guys,” Bonga said. “The other two
guys took off down the street and jumped into a car driven by a real girl.”

Ogle gave police a description of the perpetrators — African-American males
ranging in height from 6 feet to 6-5. They all wore the same midriff shirts
and wigs with twisted, dreadnaught hair.

“They’re all very skinny and very flamboyant,” Ogle said.

Two hours after the police left, the transvestites returned to Magazine
Street to storm Turncoats just a block away from Vegas, and made off with
more than $2,000 in merchandise.

“They move like clockwork,” Davis said. “Two thousand dollars is a lot for
our store to lose, especially being in the slow summer season. It makes it
so I can’t even mark my stuff down as much as I want to because I’m trying
to make up for what I lost.”

In the ensuing weeks, the gang of transvestites continued their reign of
terror. Sometimes they come dressed as men, though Bonga said it is obvious
who they are based on their delicately plucked eyebrows. Sometimes they
bring 2-year-old children to add to the level of distraction. They once
returned to Vegas holding an “infant” that really was a Cabbage Patch doll
wrapped in a blanket.

“They’ll make themselves scarce for a few weeks and then one day you’ll be
busy with a customer and all of a sudden there’s a whole slew of them in
your store and there’s nothing you can do because you’re there by
yourself,” Lewis said.


Scarce evidence

The New Orleans Police Department investigated the Turncoats robbery but
unless police catch a shoplifter in the act or in possession of stolen
property there is little they can do besides take a report, said NOPD
spokeswoman Bambi Hall.

“If store security states that someone took something, and then by the time
we apprehend them they don’t have the property, then there’s really nothing
we can do because it’s their word against the (suspect),” Hall said.

Lewis said she understands the understaffed NOPD has bigger priorities than
to “catch a drag queen running down the street with an armful of clothing.”
So the store owners created their own watchdog system unofficially known as
the “Drag Queen Alert List,” a comprehensive phone roster of every business
on the block with stars next to those who carry guns.

When one shop owner spots a gang member, they immediately warn everyone on
the block and raise their defenses in unison.

When they enter Turncoats, Davis said he locks them inside the store, which
“freaks them out,” and they leave.

Celino said she doesn’t even wait for them to enter the store.

“A couple weeks ago, a group of them was outside and one looked like the guy
who came in here and ripped us off so I locked the door on them,” Celino
said. “I know maybe that’s rude, if they really were innocent people, but
there’s nothing else we can do. You look like the queens who ripped us off
so I’m sorry but I have to lock the door.”

Ogle and Bonga say they regret being forced to resort to such profiling but
they feel they have no other choice. The transvestites, Ogle said, appear
to be drug-addicted and fearless in their lust for designer shoes, jackets
and jewelry.

“The city’s not functioning the way it was and I’m sure a lot of them were
getting some kind of government aid, which they probably aren’t getting any
more so they’re incredibly desperate,” Ogle said.

And sometimes violent.

When Lewis co-owned Trashy Diva, they attacked one of her partners in the
French Quarter location, throwing her to the ground and tossing a heavy
mannequin on top of her.

“They’re kind of confused because they think they’re women so they don’t
mind hitting women, but they’re dudes. If you get hit by one it’s like
getting hit by a dude. ... Because the police are so poorly staffed, we’re
kind of on our own but the system we have seems to be working. I haven’t
seen them in at least a week but they’ll be back. They’re never gone for
long.”•

Golden Gaffe

It's been a while since I posted a Golden Gaffe. Here goes.

In one episode the girls are about to discuss some issue around the kitchen table when Rose says she is going to get the girls favorite treat, ice cream and chocolate syrup. What? Everyone knows their favorite treat is cheesecake.

Secondly, the episode where Stan shows up and wants Dorothy to sign some papers to sell a piece of swamp land that they purchased on their honeymoon. If you recall Dorothy and Stan were both in high school when they went on their first date and Dorothy got pregnant. Now it's not so much of a gaffe as it is an inconceivable idea. Two brooklyn kids from a poor neighborhood go on a date, have sex, she gets pregnant, they get married. How did they afford to go on a honeymoon to Miami and on top of it all, buy a piece of property, even if it is swampland?

Where are the editors?

Full Disclosure

The challenge was issued and I accepted. My co-worker J.D. and I were to bowl three games (and one practice game) to a best two out of three.

We headed to Kenner's All Star bowl last night about 10:30 and set upon our task, namely the shredding of J.D.

The practice game went fine, JD was getting his bearings, I was bowling haphazardly, not wearing myself out. I easily won the practice game and the first game, though both were bowled far below my average game. Then we were bombarded by the wait staff of Corky's Pig Pit BBQ. There must have been 12 or 13 or them. They were 18-21 year old kids, so one would expect them to be a bit loud or obnoxious which they were. The problem was that they had not one clue about bowling etiquette. If you are not familiar with the rules of bowling, they are pretty simple. When the person in the next lane is bowling, you wait. When you're done bowling your frame, you stay off the lane. These rules were lost on two of the girls who spent the majority of their bowling time either hurling their bowling balls down the aisle or running around on the bowling deck. It was maddening. The moment I would step up to bowl one of the two girls would grab a ball and streak past me screaming and carrying on like it was the end of the world. I wasn't able to concentrate in any way and I bowled like crap. J.D. said that he was enduring the same thing but I pointed out that he was much more used to this kind of behavior. Long story short (I know, too late) I lost the last two games.

I admit my loss in the same vein that Al Gore admitted defeat. A re-challenge has been issued by me to bowl somewhere without the massive distractions and possibly on a night when I haven't bowled three games the night before. At first I thought I was just being a sore loser but then there was a moment of vindication. The more obnoxious of the two girls hurled her ball down her lane and it bounced all the way into the next lane. Moments later the same girl bowled when the gate was down, a very big no-no.

So there you have it, full disclosure...

Update

I finished the bowling season and I think my team has secured 3rd place. I bowled a very sad 139 for my first game but came back for a 171 and a 169, both above my 156 average. My god, I am utter white trash. Seriously I drank two hi-life beers at the bowling alley.

A boy I work with at the pub, J.D. has issued a bowling challenge to me so we are going tonight. It's the only night we are both off this week. I think a couple of other friends are coming along as well. It's going to be a shame when I kick his ass and then am able to gloat about it all week long. I suppose he could win but I don't think he's got it in him...hee hee, got it in him...hee hee...whoops sorry.

Okay, for an update on smokin' hot boy that I mentioned on Saturday. On Sunday I asked where his boring friend was. He said he got rid of him and I said "well he doesn't even have sex" to which smokin' boy replied sheepishly, "He does as of this morning." Hot.

I wanted to thank everyone for all your fabulous comments about the Patsy Ramsey blog. It's good to know that all my friends are as sick and twisted as I am. Also I am glad that y'all check my blog even when I haven't been writing in a while. I'll try to keep up my blog whoring ways, but you know, I get busy.

Ciao!

Happy Anniversary to Me!

Saturday was the two year anniversary of my blog. Although my writing lately has been hit or miss, I do have a lot of back blogs that will eventually be published.

The weekend at the bar was a busy one. Friday night I was off and spent the day being uber-productive. Lately I have been stressed by the lack of storage space in my house. There are only three closets in our entire house and they are all in my bedroom, my very small bedroom. I decided I could free up some space in my bedroom by getting rid of my bookcase. Keep in mind, I am not the handiest person with tools, but I was going to give it a whirl. Most of my family are "handy" type people. Somehow my mother, sister and I missed this gene. My mother and I have a continuous joke, whenever we are trying (and failing) to do anything mechanical we joke that my now deceased grandfather is looming over our shoulders laughing at us. I went to Lowes and bought shelves and brackets and all the screws and even a stud finder (which didn't work that well on walls that contain both sheetrock and plaster.) It took a few hours for me to get everything lined up (with the help of my laser line level.) Things would probably have gone faster had I bothered to check if my cordless drill was completely charged. It wasn't so I was using it while plugged in, not it's most efficient usage. Most of the screws had to be screwed by hand, but at last I finished. It's been two days and they are still standing, we'll see how long my job holds. I'm happy with the results and was able to make my room look a little less cluttered.

Back at the bar...Saturday night was fun, lots of good people. It got a little annoying but mostly fun. A smokin' hot boy that I have known for several years came in and told me he was moving to Houston on Thursday. He had a cute little boy by his side who I tried to get him to have some fun, but he was just sitting there like a bump on a log. When slo-mo was in the bathroom I was talking to my hot friend. He complained that the boy is boring and that he only likes to make out and won't even take his pants off in bed. Having once made out with the hot boy I spoke from experience when I said "Well you're fun to make out with," to which he replied very slyly, "yeah but I'm more fun to fuck." I couldn't have said it better myself.

Sunday night was a nightmare. The first problem was that I had only slept about two hours. I can't sleep lately, I don't know why. By about 4 this morning I turned to my co-worker and said "Can I please go home now?" and he took pity on my drooping lids and let me go. I took a Lunesta and slept six SOLID hours, more continuous sleep without nightmares I have had in some time. The second reason work was so hellish was the unending number of idiots that were in the house. Not to beat a theme to death but I really think those make-a-wish people were pissed at my earlier comments about them and sent in the salvation army rehabiliation center to get me back. I have never seen so many people who were borderline retarded in my life. Coupled with that was the inevitable appearance by my least favorite customer. I have no idea what his name is, I just call him "the spick." Now before anyone jumps all over me for using a derogatory racial term, let me explain. This guy comes up to the bar and immediately has his hands all over any guy around him, regardless of what they look like, straight or gay, with someone or single, he has no standards. He and I had several run-ins and every single time I asked him to stop or told him to get away from my bar he PRETENDS that he can't speak english. That's why I call him a spick, a dirty little lying prick-spick. I hate him. Really, I know people who say hate is a strong word, but it's true, I HATE HIM. As my mother would say, I wouldn't walk across the street to piss in his mouth if he teeth were on fire. So anyway, the spick is there, along with another annoying Hispanic man who thinks he should be the first person waited on, regardless of who else is waiting. Three separate times the spick came up to my bar and I just looked at him and said "no." It took me a few minutes more to get rid of his rude cousin but finally I got rid of him too. It was just a strange night overall, people were somewhat rude, though I did see a lot of regulars and friends. The music was fun but nothing really new.

I actually feel so much better today having slept some and having the next two days off work. Tonight is the final night of this season of the gay bowling league. It's been fun and the summer session starts in just a few week's. I should have a new team by then including one of my old teammates.

Ciao for now!

Miss West Virginia R.I.P

Karmic justice is a slow business these days. Yesterday it was announced that Patsy Ramsey, mother of slain beauty queen Jon-Benet Ramsey, had succumbed to ovarian cancer. All joking aside, a battle with ovarian cancer is a very painful end and she had been dealing with this since 1993, she had a very tough battle. After her initial diagnosis she underwent a treatment program that was experimental and she is the longest survivor of that treatment.

True to her long time claim of innocence in her daughters death, Patsy took with her to the grave any new evidence that might have cleared or indicted her family. Between the bungled job done by the Colorado P.D. and the Ramseys own oft confusing and bewildering behavior the case has never been solved. There was a recent claim that DNA found on Jon-Benets body didn't match anyone in the household but it never went any further. The Ramseys wrote a book entitled "The death of innocence" about their experience and the accusations that had been made against both parents.

Although a federal judge ruled that the Ramseys were not responsible for their daughters death, and that an intruder was, many people continue to assume that the parents were somehow involved in the girls murder.

People like me.

I don't care what the Ramseys have said, an intrudor did not break into the house in the middle of the night, write a ransom note AT the house demanding 118,000 dollars (the exact amount of Johns bonus)and then take the girl to the basement, strangle and beat her and leave with nothing. As for what really happened, it's anybodies guess. I believe that no matter who killed the girl, mom, dad, little brother, whoever, John and Patsy knew what happened and tried to cover it up. Maybe Burke killed her accidentally, maybe John was beating the girl and she died, maybe Patsy flew into a rage over her daughters success. Maybe Jon-Benet was just an annoying little psycho bitch who was going to tell about daddies kisses and mommy treating her like a dress up whore.

By the way, Patsy was Miss West Virginia in 1977. I hear she's going to be named Miss St. James Cemetery 2006 as well.

Let me back up...

Since I haven't blogged in a while I suppose I have some backstories to tell.

The last few weeks have been busy. My friend Jason came to visit from Indianapolis and when he went home I went to Indy with him. When I came back I had a few days before Matt came to visit from San Diego. Whew. Jasons visit was mostly uneventful, we went out to dinner, played some video poker, drank and partied. On our way back to Indy the fun began. We had upgraded to business class so we were well into our second complimentary cocktail when they came on the intercom to announce that we had a special guest flying with us today. Little what's his name, flying home from his very special trip to meet his favorite wrestler as part of the make-a-wish foundation. It seems these people are everywhere I travel. Go to an amusement park, wait in line for a ride and inevitably will come a group of people (tards, make-a-wishers) who have the "right" to board before you. Try to find a parking place and because you're non-handicapped you have to park a million miles away. The worst however are the people in the power chairs. Now I'm not saying that people should be immobile or that people with disabilities should be shunned. I'm simply saying that having a disability doesn't give you special rights. Just because you are in a power chair doesn't give you the right to run over my fricking foot with your chair. The make-a-wish kid on my flight and his older, apparently non-troubled brother were whispering and pointing at me before their flight. Obviously a lack of white blood cells doesn't cure homophobia. The flight attendants took their pictures, called him brave and sent him back to coach.

Air tran managed to lose Jasons luggage and though we waited for a bit, they weren't able to assure us it would be in on the next flight. Our friend Jeff picked us up at the airport and took us to Jasons house. I realized in the car that I have known Jeff since he and my sister became best friends in the second grade, almost 30 years ago. Jason and I have known each other since middle school, somewhere around 1984. It was interesting to realize how much history I had in just these two people. We went back to Jasons and watched some tv, had some drinks and then I went to bed. The next few days were non-eventful, (I am intentionally leaving out Thursday night, I will explain why in a few minutes) taking my grandmother to the doctor, dinner with my mother, drinks with friends. Friday night I went to OP's for line dancing and saw a lot of old friends. Saturday morning I headed south with my sister to "The Ranch". Before I left Indy in January I was invited to go on this outing with all the kids who worked at MacNivens. Basically they close down the restaurant and take all their employees on a weekend outing as a reward. It's a working horse ranch on the edge of Brown County State Park. There is a main house with a huge sundeck (the site of the mega water balloon invasion on Sunday afternoon) and then down the hill is a huge barn, the downstairs of which is just that, a bar, with horse stalls and the such. Horses are outside during the day but at night they are housed elsewhere. Upstairs, accessible by stairs on either end of the building, there is a large common room with a dining area at either end. The rest of the building is broken down into dorm type rooms with large bunkbeds and each with a private bathroom. I shared a room with Marjan, my sister, Loren and uber-cute Matt. Most of the weekend was spent drinking cheap beer (go Hi-Life!) and playing cornhole, which is a game sort of similar to the old game toss across. It's quite popular among the staff, so much so that they had a whole tournament. I only got through one round before I was trounced. Sunday night was the frenzied close of the tournament and no-one was really calling the action so I took it over. Using my best Triumph the insult comic dog I did an hour or so of color commentary, needling contestants and begging for someone to end the pain of the super slow games. It got late and since my sister and I had to leave early the next morning we decided to leave that night and drive back to Indy. We packed up and left, both having had a lot of fun. My roommates and I had gone to Brown County Inn for breakfast and then into the little artist community. Some of you may recall this sign which I saw on another trip to Brown County with Matt. The same store still had it so I purchased the sign and had it mailed back to New Orleans. It's now hanging over my back door.

Monday we went to the horse races with our mothers family. It was fun but it takes so much time. I didn't win much but I didn't lose much either. Tuesday was fun, I met Jason at Ivy's and then we went to Metro where we hung out with a bunch of kids we had just met and avoided a really creepy guy named J.D. After that we went to Metro and though I'm sure I started it, suddenly shirts were coming off and pants were coming down and then boyfriends started breaking up...we left before things got really out of hand. The next day I headed back to New Orleans.

I had to work for several days in a row after I came back. Wednesday before last Mattie P. came to visit from San Diego. I had to work the first few nights but had Friday night off to hang out. This of course led to a trip to the corner pocket and a sideline through Le Round-Up. Matt's trip was fun but mostly uneventful. He got to see a lot of old friends and we got to spend time together. Monday night I went to bowling and managed to eek out a 198 and a 152 to offset my 132.

This week I've been to the movies twice, both with Justin. The first was Prairie Home Companion. Now I'm not a regular listener but I know the style of the show and the dry humor level. I really enjoyed the movie, the performances by Kiellor and Lily Tomlin and Meryll Streep were wonderful and even the little coke head herself Lindsay Lohan was amusing. Virginia Madsens role was an odd one but I just adore her anyway.

Last night I went to see "An Inconvenient Truth," the Al Gore film. It was absolutely amazing, and frightening and sad and angering. There is no disputing many of the findings which aren't so much his findings but a collection of information presented as a slide show. If it's playing where you are, you must go and see this movie. The only part of the show I didn't care for were these little asides about his son being hit by a car and his sister dying of lung cancer and his own election problems. I mean they were an interesting glimpse into the life of the former VP but it had little to do with what he was trying to tell people about global warming.

I'm off to work in a few but should send out some early birthday shout outs to Jim in San Francisco (Sunday) and my brother Michael (Tuesday) and to DJ Rev, the pubs own Blair Quintana (Wednesday I think.)

I'll write more soon including the left out Thursday night in Indy which has to do with a very attractive Chicago boy named Matthew. More on him at a later date...

Ciao!

I wish I had my own newspaper...

If I had my own newspaper I could spend time exploring some hard hitting issues. A hearty discussion would certainly come out of a recent dilemma of mine. There were two boys at the bar making out feverishly, one I know and the other a tourist. The tourist was "backin' that ass up" against the boy I know, I mean really grinding into him. Now I was told by someone else that the New Orleans boy was a jackrabbit pushy bottom, but he was certainly doing an impression of a top this night. The problem was this; should I tell the tourist, who was obviously looking to be topped, that he was going to be sadly disappointed when he took down this boys pants. Now I haven't seen the boy naked but I take it from a good source that he gives new meaning to the phrase "micro-cock." Now I am mostly kidding, I would never tell someone that they were about to go home with someone that was hung like a fifth grader, but the thought of it was amusing...

Now a serious issue. I think this one really does need to be investigated. Beyonce; pop diva or GPS tracking device for every tragic black tranny hooker in a twenty block radius? Seriously. Picture it, it's around 2AM and the VJ is trying to pick the crowd back up, he puts on a Beyonce song and suddenly the doorways fill with big hair and enough hormone created tits to fill up the superdome after a major hurricane. I know it must seem that I pick on tragic black tranny hookers a lot here on this page, but they really bug me. There are several girls who come in the bar who are beautiful, well mannered, good tippers, but they are by FAR the minority. The one thing I do wonder is how they don't have back problems. Most of the ones I see do this back arching bit. It's an old trick of strippers, "tits out, box in, sell! sell! sell!" Their tits (real or otherwise) are jutted out while they simultaneously push their ass out to make it look bigger. I would think your back would hurt from doing this but hell, shoving a size 12 foot into a size 6 sling-back probably doesn't feel good either.

I'm not going to write too much today, just getting back into the swing of things. Recently I have been seeing this commercial for Lysol. They say that other brands don't kill off virus that cause illness. One of those virus is the rotovirus which I kept mis-hearing and thinking they were saying rhodavirus. Rotovirus may cause diarrhea but the Rhodavirus is much worse. It's the sick feeling you get in your stomach when you realize that you will never be the Mary, you'll always be the Rhoda.