Tonight 9 p.m.

No problem. I'll remember.

On Tuesday this week, Gene Wilder was signing copies of his new book over at B&N. I didn't write it down on my calendar because I knew I'd remember it.

Well, I did. Today. Crap.

He's someone I'd really like to meet.

And so it goes.

Next Tuesday is WYSIWYG. TinMan and Ultrasparky are performing. I really want to be there.

Also next Tuesday, Charles Busch is going to be at a networking event at Planet Hollywood. I really want to be there.

And also next Tuesday, my office is hosting a seminar and needs someone to check people in, point them toward the john and make sure they don't get lost.

Guess which one of the three I will be at.

Phone Sex

I have a couple of Gold Memberships for Interactive Male, a phone chat line (see interactivemale.com for very little info about the thing). 1000 free minutes for each pass. Together they are a $400 value.

Anyone want them? Chat lines aren't my thing. Shoot me an e-mail and I'll send you the info.

Not much else going on right now. I took most of last week off work to use up some vacation time that was about to expire. Didn't do much except work around the house and buy about $1000 worth of furniture and stuff that I can't afford, but need. New bookshelf, tv stand, getting my stereo fixed, etc.

I haven't been motivated to blog of late. In truth, I haven't been motivated to do much of anything. I did hang out with Jase some, saw Bride and Prejudice, read The Trouble Boy - the new Tom Dolby novel (and don't get me started on that), Looking for It - the new Michael Thomas Ford (good, not great, but good), and Boulevard by Jim Grimsley.

Ah well, maybe I'll find more to blog about. Perhaps after I see the Larry Clark exhibit at ICP. Since I work near there, I'm going to stop by during lunch some time this week.

Buh-bye

No, I'm not giving up blogging like certain other bloggers in my links (I hear that collective sigh of relief), I'm just heading out of town for seminar.

Even though I'll be away from my computer for several days, I will at least get to hang out with a couple of bloggers. Stebbins, you ready to hit the bars?

Busy Bee

Been really busy lately. Awards ceremonies, a conference, not-for-profit stuff. Too much, but what can you do.

I did at least have a good time at the Gay Expo this weekend. We had lots of people stop by the booth and hopefully we will get some of them involved in sports. We'll see.

I had dinner on Saturday with Jase. Nice. Then we went to the Habibi party where we were joined by John (Ruggerjohnnyd), his bf and some other rugby guys. The party was a lot of fun. Good music, good venue, good people. And for the first time in ages, I danced. Normally, I'm entirely too self-conscious, but for some reason (probably Jase and his unabashedly joyful style of dancing) I was able to put that aside (a little bit) and just enjoy myself.

I still dance like and old white guy (well, not this old white guy or this one), but I did have fun (and at least I didn't dance like her). Plus, I got to dance to a song by this guy (SIMARIK, which was really big in Europe in the late '90s.) The song was remade by some American hip hop chick as Kiss Kiss; it was lousy, but got a lot of airplay for about a week.

The next day, I was sick (not hungover, mind you, just sick), so I stayed in bed most of the day.

Some cooking (Roasted Turkey Thighs with Wild Mushrooms), some laundry, some cleaning. Same old, same old.

Maybe the K stands for Konvert?

Headlines you won't see:

Christian Serial Killer Arrested

Boy Scout Leader Was Serial Killer

Heterosexual Arrested in BTK Murders

But you know if he'd been gay, every headline would have mentioned it and anti-gay mullahs everywhere ("Rev." James Dobson, Fred Phelps, etc.) would have been on it like flies on shit.

Anyway, it won't matter in the grand scheme of things, but I sent a letter to the Boy Scouts today suggesting that it might be time to put as much effort into keeping serial killers out of scouting as they've put into keeping gays out.

Think I should hold my breath until I get a response?

With apologies to . . .

Tommy Lee Jones (who clearly needed money or was blackmailed into starring in this movie) and the entire audience of Man of the House which includes everyone in the State of Texas (especially those who went to or currently go to UT) and special needs patients across the nation.


George: "Where's your happy fayyyce?"


Condi: "This is my happy fayyyce."

Mixin' and Minglin'

I want to go out Saturday night after the Gay Expo (visit me at the Out of Bounds booth and I will prattle endlessly about gay sports in New York). So if anyone wants to join me, I'll be going to:

HABIBI PARTY
Middle Eastern gay/str8/bi/mixed party...
Dance and chill with Rai, amr diab, alabina, ishtar, rachid taha, khaled, faudel...
DJ iz
featuring the amazing EDUARDO

Saturday February 26th, 10 p.m.
at
RARE
416 w. 14 street
Manhattan
$10

I'll admit to being curious as to what exactly makes EDUARDO amazing.

Anyway, here's what I'm wearing, so none of you other byotches better show up in the same thing.

Texas, It's Like a Whole Other Middle Eastern Country

I'm sure the fine minds at the Texas Tourism Department didn't really think too hard before coming up with their latest slogan, "Texas. It's Like a Whole Other Country". Or maybe it's just that their original choices "Texas. It's the 9th Circle of Hell." and "Texas. We hate queers." never really caught on.

So here is the latest news about some of the fine, upstanding citizens of the great Whole Other Country State of Texas.

Two Men Unhappy With Restaurant's Service Threaten To Blow Up Pentagon

"Texas. If our fries are soggy we'll blow up the Pentagon."

What Happens in Bratislava, Stays in Bratislava

"You had me at 'Hello'."

Another Food Entry

Fuji apples . . . mmmmmmmmmmm.

Food Glorious Food

This weekend was all about the cooking. I'm trying to dig myself out of this huge pile of debt and eating at home seems to help. Plus, I love to cook. And I'm a grumpy old man no one wants to hang out with, so my social life doesn't really interfere.

Point being, my apartment smells great and the fridge is stuffed with food.

I roasted turkey thighs one night with a lemon and capers. Then I mixed the pan drippings with sour cream to make the sauce. That was delicious.

I roasted a chicken stuffed with lemon, basil and garlic. I stuffed the breasts with basil and put sliced garlic, salt, pepper and olive oil on the skin, which crisped up very nicely.

I made a slightly different version of David's parsley salad. I chopped up four tomatoes and a bunch each of basil, cilantro and parsley. Mixed them together. Covered them in olive oil and lemon juice. Sprinkled with salt and pepper. It is fantastic, especially if you like strong, fresh flavors.

Then I made a bunch of baked chicken breasts. The first batch were meant to be baked in red wine, soy sauce and raspberry preserves, but I didn't have any red wine. So I used red wine vinegar. This would have been okay, but I used nearly a half cup of vinegar, so the chicken really tastes a little too tart. Next time, I need to halve the vinegar or just run to the store and buy some wine. (I just saw a recipe for Boysenberry Chicken, so I may try that soon, too.)

The second batch wasn't quite what I wanted either, but that is because Gristede's (the nearest grocery store) sucks donkey dick. Lousy produce, lousy selection. I wanted to get some mushrooms. Shiitake, oyster, whatever they had. All they had was portabella. They didn't even have white button mushrooms. Just a bunch of old withered portabellas. So I had to buy canned. Anyway, this wasn't a gourmet recipe to begin with (it uses condensed soup), so I shouldn't be too upset. But I still hate fuckin' Gristedes.

I baked these chicken breasts with Campbell's mushroom soup, canned mushrooms and a half cup of dry sherry. It still turned out tasty.

I have plenty of food for the rest of the week (half the roasted chicken, five chicken breasts, lots of salad), but I also have a bunch of stuff left to cook (tofu, squash, red chard, green cabbage, red cabbage). I have a recipe for braised red cabbage that I'd like to try (luckily, cabbage keeps for ages, so I'm in no hurry). I just wish I had more time to cook. All weekends should be three days.

In non-cooking related news, I went to the blogger meet up at XES Lounge last Thursday (fun stuff . . . you can read about it in other places, so I won't go into it too much). It was great meeting some of the guys who I only knew through their writing. Joe.My.God., EvilBuddha, Robocub. I also found out another of my rugby teammates is a blogger (and his blog got a great mention in Gawker). I need to update my links soon to include all of them.

Saturday night was MAK's birthday party at Therapy. I brough Stuff along. Fun night, but I wasn't in much of a mood to be festive. I spent most of the night just talking with Stuff, Wayne, Rich and Jase. Jere was there, but we didn't really hang out much (we were all in a long, narrow space, so it was hard to mingle), but I got to talk with him at the WYSIWYG show. I also saw MAK's boyfriend K., who I hadn't seen since before his show went to LA, so it was nice to see him.

I also keep meaning to mention that the previous weekend, some of the blogger boys (Jess, Marc, a non-blogger friend of theirs, Michael Vernon and I) went out on Saturday for dinner at a Ukrainian place and then drinks at XES Lounge. We were joined at XES by BoiFromTroy, who was in town on a spur of the moment trip. His being there introduced an unusual dynamic to the evening: having someone there who we know from his blog, but who we don't know well in person since he lives in LA. It led to us all being a lot more chatty than usual. It nice to be able to share stories with someone who hasn't already heard them a million times before. All in all, a very pleasant evening.

Speaking of meeting new bloggers, I forgot to mention that I met Gymrat and Hugo at WYSIWYG. They were sitting right behind my friend Dino and me at the show. Good blogger turnout at that event. Jere was there, Frank, TinMan . . . the usual suspects. Can't wait for the next ones. I know someone in each of the next three performances. Hopefully, I'll be able to make it to all of them.

So that's my life. How was your weekend?

Meme

Because I'm sworn to secrecy about last night's blogger event.

Choose a band/artist and answer only in song TITLES by that band: The Carpenters

Are you male or female: Johnny Angel
Describe yourself: It's Going to Take Some Time
How do some people feel about you: What's the Use
How do you feel about yourself: This Masquerade
Describe your ex girlfriend/boyfriend: Hurting Each Other
Describe your current girlfriend/boyfriend: Solitaire
Describe where you want to be: Close to You
Describe what you want to be: Let Me Be the One
Describe how you live: Hideaway
Describe how you love: I Just Fall in Love Again
Share a few words of wisdom: Touch Me When We're Dancing

Lenten Update

Crash - 1

Satan - 3

At least I haven't had any cokes. And really, that was what I was planning to give up for Lent anyway.

Mark Your Calendar

'Cause That's What Friends Do

See this link?

http://bluehouse.speedsurvey.com

Click it. Take the survey. Consider it a mitzveh.

WYSIWYG

Got your ticket to Spawn. Of. Worst. Sex. Ever? I do.

Because you know with MAK, Faustus and Chris, it's gonna be good. And what better way to get rid of the Valentine's Blues than by listening to people talk about their bad sexual experiences?

My Dating Philosophy

Happy Valentine's Day

Martoonis

Shaken, Not Stirred
Live Jazz and 2-for-1 Martinis
Marco New York
142 West 10th Street
between Greenwich & 7th Avenue South
Tonight: Thursday, Feb. 10, 9pm - 1am

Featuring live jazz music by
the Johannes Wallmann Quartet

Happy New Year Birthday Ash Wednesday

Gung Hay Fat Choy! Now run out there and grab a piece of this lovely lady's birthday cake. But don't eat it! It's Lent and eating sweets during Lent makes Jesus cry.

So Happy New Birth Ash Day!!

NB: It's tradition on Chinese New Year for married people to give red envelopes with money in them to their single friends and family members.

I'm single.

I'm just saying.

So for Lent this year, I'm giving up my usual. Sodas. Alcohol. Sweets. Sex. Sadly, the only thing I tend to miss during the forty days is the soda. I was tempted to give up TV, but then I realized that a truly merciful God wouldn't want me to give up Buffy reruns and cooking shows.

So any of you good and faithful people of Christ planning to give up some vices for Lent?

UPDATE: Well, I already broke one of my Lenten promises. And before you sickos ask if I rubbed one off in the men's room, it wasn't that. I had a donut.

This is still better than the Lent where I had given up soft drinks, but drank my morning Dr. Pepper without realizing that it was Ash Wednesday, not Mardi Gras.

Anyway, keeping three out of four Lenten promises is still pretty good.

Blogger

Well, it took so long to get into fucking Blogger that I've forgotten what I was going to write about.

So instead, here is a picture about how work is going for me.

Great Weekend

Awesome night at the Web.

Anyway, I've finally figured out the whole photo blog thing. Expect many more hot guys in the future.

Not Rugby Union, But Okay

Another One

Cute Rugger

How I Feel Today

Drinks

Tonight. The Web (40 E. 58th St.). 11 p.m.-ish.

I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am

I haven't had a drink in ages. I had five in about two hours tonight. I'm a wee bit drunk.

You know how, when you drink, you go through the James Bond phase? You're charming. You're clever. You're debonair. Then, eventually you sober up enough to realize you were really just Foster Brooks, only not as cute, with a nastier attitude? (Those of you who are young will need to look that up, if you care.)

Well, when trying to chat up those cute 19 year olds, I felt like James Bond. Now, I realize I was Foster Brooks.

Fuck me.

Anyway, at least Blackadder was on when I got home. And now it's Thin Blue Line. Who needs hot young guys when you have BBC-America?

Again, fuck me.

Ah, well. Some day my prince will come.

Kool-Aid

Who do I have to blow to get Kool-Aid in this fucking city?

I'm sick. Have been since late last week. I was out sick on Monday and Tuesday. Still feel like crap today, but deadlines are deadlines, and while I'm expected to cover for others when they're out, no one does my work when I'm out sick.

But that's a whole other bitchfest.

Anyhoo . . . when I'm sick I want a few things. One, grilled cheese sandwiches (this is assuming I'm not so sick that I can't eat). Two, Campbell's Cream of Tomato soup. And three, Kool-Aid.

Now, usually when I'm sick, the last thing I want to do is cook, so I've relegated the first two items to the happy days of youth when my mom would take care of me when I was sick. However, Kool-Aid is a piece of cake. Tear open packet, mix with water, and drink the artificially-flavored goodness.

The hard part, however, is finding some goddamn Kool-Aid.

My own fault, I suppose. I'm picky. I want sugar-free Kool-Aid. And it has to be in individual packets. I went to five stores last night to try to find some because I'd run out of my stash at home. Five stores. In the cold. When I was sick. And not one of the places had Kool-Aid.

So long story short, that is why I'm in a miserable mood today. That and having to be at work when I should be sleeping.

And here is a quick Product Review for the day:

New Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper - Revolting.

Tort a la mode

Stole Borrowed this from Sherry,





take the WHAT INTENTIONAL TORT ARE YOU test.


and go to mewing.net. because law school made laura do this.

A Time to Live, A Time To Die, A Time to Feast on the Blood of the Living

From tomorrow's Onion

Sagittarius: (Nov. 22—Dec. 21)Unfortunately for you, the Bible addresses the fact that there is a time to live and a time to die, but it's vague on the subject of zombies.

A little better

No dreams last night. Uninterrupted sleep.

Yea!

Last night, instead of working on all the stuff I brought home with me, I watched the Patrick Stewart/Glenn Close "The Lion in Winter". I really enjoyed it, though I still prefer the Peter O'Toole/Katharine Hepburn version. Especially the young Timothy Dalton. And hearing Hepburn talk about wearing jewelry on her nipples.

Oddly enough, though I generally enjoy his work, I wasn't impressed by Jonathan Rhys-Meyers in this version. This may have had something to do with the fact that he wore big baggy robes the entire time.

Could it be that I am so shallow as to only like actors when they are wearing tight clothing on their lithe, cat-like bodies? So be it.

Were it not that I have (really, really) bad dreams

I haven't gotten a good night's sleep in a while. When my life gets stressful, my dreams bear the brunt of it.

No zombies yet, but I did have a dream that incorporated the zombie-like people from 28 Days Later and combined them with the Borg from Star Trek. Viscious, raging people with wild eyes and bloodied skin fighting against their cybernetic parts which were the only things keeping them in line. And I was the only one not like them. Very disturbing.

Last night . . . well, I don't want to go into it, but I woke up sobbing. It was that bad.

I'm going to give it a few more days. If things don't get better, I don't know what I'm going to do.

Your Tax Dollars At Work

http://www.fema.gov/kids/games/tsunami/

That's in pretty bad taste, Under Secretary Brown.

I'm surprised there isn't a World Trade Center game on the site.

Arbeit Macht Frei, my ass

As many people found out in WWII, arbeit does not, in fact, macht frei. It does, however, macht unsinnig.

I have received close to a dozen new projects in the last week. I could stay in the office 24 hours a day for the next week and not come anywhere close to accomplishing them. Plus, I would be receiving more projects during that week.

Anybody need a cabana boy man curmudgeon?

Yeah, I'm still around

I just haven't really felt motivated to blog . . . or really anything else. Just a depression/funk sort of thing.

Hopefully it will blow over soon.

Have Yourself a Manic Little Christmas

Between work (argh), Christmas shopping (online), passing off my rugby obligations to other suckers teammates, working out and everything else that wants a little bit of my time for the next couple of weeks, expect my blogging to be light.

Anyway, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you.

!@#$%$#@!

I just had my evaluation at work.

I wasn't fired.

That was the only good thing about it.

I am so fucked.

Have Yourself a Creepy Little Christmas

Okay, this may have finally put me in the holiday spirit.

Other Than That Mrs. Lincoln . . .

For those of you who know what was planned for this weekend, it went okay. It was one of the worst things I've ever had to do, I used up all of my Valium, and I think I worked off a little of my time in Purgatory.

Other than that, the weekend was fine.

And that is the last I will mention on the subject.

My birthday was delightful, except that I had to work. Whenever possible, I avoid going to work on the big day. Mostly, because I don't want people to make a fuss. Also, there is a little of that 'one year older and I've done nothing with my life' funk.

I was taken out to lunch by some friends from work. One of them told the waiter that it was my birthday, so I got a very operatic version of the birthday song (it was an Italian restaurant). Not as horribly humiliating as I would have thought.

Dinner was great! I did my traditional steak dinner at Steak Frites. The group was a little smaller than intended, but not by much. The guys from Out of Bounds were there (my fellow board members) and some of the bloggers (Frank, Wayne and MzOuiser). It was a very good mix of people. Good food, good wine, good conversation, good friends. Who could ask for a better birthday?

Though, if any of the people who couldn't make it to the dinner want to take me out for drinks this weekend, I won't protest.

Gah!

Only a couple more weeks before I can put this year behind me.

Feliz Cumpleanos

Most of you are already in the know, but for those of you who aren't, today is Famous Author Rob Byrnes' birthday.

Now, no one is really sure how old FARB is. Some people claim that he is a young-looking 56 years old. Others claim that he's an old-looking 36. Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between. Personally, I'm pretty sure I saw him in one of Matthew Brady's photographs, handing a martini to Abe Lincoln.

Regardless, as long as he can feast on the blood of the young and innocent to keep decrepitude at bay, Famous Author Rob Byrnes will be around for many more years.

Of course, living in New York, finding youth and innocence might be kind of hard. Better buy him a drink while you can.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Byrnes.

It's also Brock Simpson's 36th birthday. I'm pretty sure Rob used to babysit for him.

Old Movies

Tonight I watched Willie Wonka which is still amazing after thirty some years. Then I watched You Can't Take It With You and Destry Rides Again (which was pretty much the basis for a lot of Mel Brooks' Blazing Saddles).

Great stuff.

Where You At?

Assuming that I can marshall the visiting blogger boys, we will be meeting tonight at Marie's Crisis on Grove St. about 6-ish.

This weekend has been a lot of fun. But I'm tired.

I'm Going to be a Star

I received the following announcement in an e-mail this afternoon. Since I don't fit the description of the character, but the e-mail was sent to me, I can only assume that the casting director was unable to find the right actor for the role and is offering it to me. I'm very flattered and really glad I've ridden a horse before.

WE ARE CURRENTLY CONDUCTING A SEARCH FOR A VERY SPECIAL 14-16 YEAR OLD GIRL FOR THE FEATURE FILM 'MY FRIEND FLICKA' A 20TH CENTURY FOX FILM, BASED THE ORIGINAL NOVEL BY MARY O'HARA. WE ARE LOOKING FOR THE FOLLOWING:

KATY MCLAUGHLIN - AN ATHLETIC 14-16 YEAR OLD GIRL, A DREAMER, WHO SHOWS SIGNS OF THE GREAT BEAUTY SHE WILL ONE DAY BECOME. LIKE HER FATHER, SHE IS STUBBORN TO A FAULT. THE ONE LOVE IN HER LIFE IS HORSES, AND ALL SHE LONGS FOR IS TO HAVE A COLT OF HER OWN. IT IS HER DRIVING PASSION TO ACHIEVE THIS GOAL THAT CAUSES HER TO COMPLETELY NEGLECT HER SCHOOLWORK AND THE DAILY CHORES OF RUNNING A RANCH.

EXPERIENCED HORSEBACK RIDERS ENCOURAGED.

I hope they don't think I'm shaving my beard for this.

Dracula is Coming to Town

David just posted his take on a famous Christmas tune. I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon myself. But I have bad depth perception, missed the bandwagon entirely and ended up skinning my knee. So I decided to just write some lyrics.

Ahem . . . Mi mi mi mi mi . . . .

You better watch out
You're going to die
And lose all your blood
I'm telling you why
Dracula is coming to town

He's got pointy teeth
He sharpened them twice
And since he's undead
His skin is like ice
Dracula is coming to town

He'll get you while you're sleeping
Or while you're wide awake
So keep that crucifix at hand
Don't forget your wooden stake

Oh, you better watch out
You're going to die
And lose all your blood
I'm telling you why
Dracula is coming to town

Here, gentle reader, is a question. Why is it that so many scary creatures seem to have trisyllabic names? Lucifer, Dracula, Frankenstein, Santa Claus, Ann Coulter, Madonna, Zell Miller . . . see what I mean?

Can you think of any others?

Crash Wrangling

Some notes to those of you stupid horny drunk desperate lonely blind psychotic discerning enough to try to hit on me at a social event:

1) Don't assume that I will understand that "Could you grab a drink for me" means anything other than you are thirsty and I'm already in line. I'm not very good with subtext. If you think I am datable/fuckable/too drunk to put up much of a fight, then just say so. But understand that if you say so, my instinct is to flee.

2) Strangers who smile and act friendly confuse me and make me nervous. My instinct is to flee.

3) I have some . . . um, self-esteem issues. Don't call me cute, hot, sexy or anything like that. When I look in a mirror, all I see is Jabba the Hutt's ugly older brother. Do I really look like that? No. But that's what body dysmorphia is all about. This is also the reason I hate looking in mirrors and being photographed. If you say I'm cute or whatever, my instinct is to flee.

So what have we learned?

Crash is kinda fucked up and he spends a lot of time fleeing.

The reason I bring this up is that someone hit on me last night at Blades Against AIDS. Of course, I didn't really grok* that he was doing this until half an hour later when he was leaving and asked for my phone number. Then I got all freaked out.

This is why I don't have a boyfriend.



*Actually, the fact that I use the word "grok" and expect people to catch the reference is why I don't have a boyfriend. Maybe I should go to more Sci-Fi conventions.

I'm Back

I'm back from my Thanksgiving vacation. All in all a nice time, but I wish I hadn't eaten so damn much.

I arrived at my apartment to discover a few birthday presents waiting for me. Very cool. I wish that happened every time I came back from a trip.

Not too much planned for this week, thank goodness. Tonight I'm going to Blades Against AIDS, a charity event that is part of World AIDS Day. While I probably won't actually strap on a pair of ice skates, I will avail myself of the open bar.

Open bar . . . mmmmmm.

Anyway, it should be a good time. The hockey boys are always fun to hang with.

This weekend is the invasion of the non-NYC bloggers. Hot Toddy, the Executive, the Traveling Spotlight, Tuna Girl . . . maybe others. Damn, I wish I had a better memory. Anyway, lots of fun to be had.

How I Paid For College

Okay, I've mentioned this book a few times (it's good . . . go buy it), but I just found this and it is amusing as hell.

And speaking of good books.

Cool Stuff

1) I went to a party last night celebrating the publication and success of Marc Acito's book. I got to meet him (and others in the Yum Yum Brotherhood . . . see Hot Toddy's site for an explanation of the Yum Yums), his family, friends, and a whole passel of others. Plus there was an open bar. Open bar . . . mmmmmm. Great time.

2) After the party I met up with my best friend from elementary/junior high/high school, his wife, their twin girls, her brother, his wife, the mother-in-law, and a couple of other kids that were probably related to someone. We hung out for a while, went to the huge Toys 'R' Us in Times Square, and took pictures of just about everything.

3) Today, I passed Kathleen Chalfant on the street. A truly amazing actress. I saw her in the B'way version of Angels in America.

4) I received my first official donation for the new playwriting organization I'm forming (Thanks, Palochi). It will be used to pay the guy who is doing my website. I've got my fingers crossed that everything will be ready for a January launch.

Quiz

What do these people have in common and why does it matter to me?

Ian Somerhalder
Dominic Monaghan
Sinead O'Connor
Teri Hatcher
Marty Feldman
Ann 'Chupacabras' Coulter
Kim Basinger
Bill Bryson
Gregg Allman
Jim Morrison
James Galway
David Carradine
Flip Wilson
Sammy Davis, Jr.
Floyd Tillman
Diego Rivera
James Thurber (one of my favorite writers)
Mary, Queen of Scots

Too fast, too slow

There is so much stressful stuff going on in my life right now. I really want this year to be over.

But there is so much to do on the not-for-profit that I want this year to slow down so I can get caught up.

Either way, I'm fucked.

Way Busy

Get up. Go to work. Come home. Fight with my computer while I try to get not-for-profit stuff done. Sleep.

Rinse. Repeat.

Tomorrow night I'm having drinks with the blogger boys. Just what I need to unwind a little.

Then it's back to the grind.

C'est la vie

Sadly, the Wet Underwear fundraiser was a bust. About half the contestants didn't show up (including all the guys from my rugby team who said they'd compete), the crowd was small (again, only a couple of guys from my team were there and very few from any of the other sports teams we assist) and in the end, we only broke even on what was to be our big fundraiser of the year.

But on a happy note, the contest itself went off without a hitch and everyone who was there seemed to have a good time. Frank DeCaro was hilarious, the Glamazons were amazing, and the underwear guys were hot. While several of the contestants were 'independents', three of them were from the sports teams; two from hockey, one from wrestling. One of the hockey guys won.

Now we'll need to do a post-mortem to figure out how we can make this work next time. And figure out where in the hell we're going to get our operating budget for next year.

Good times.

Woo hoo!!

Gotham did some ass-kicking at the East Coast Rugby Invitational today. Which is really good since 1) we were facing some really good teams and 2) we'll be facing the same teams in the next Bingham Cup in 2006.

Now, off to the Eagle for the drink up and several zulus.

Big deal

So I saw this headline on CNN: "Great-grandmother set to give birth to twins" or something along that line.

Pretty impressive until you realize that she's from rural Georgia, where the women hit great-grandmother status around 36.

Bored

I hate waiting for people. I'm expecting a shipment of boxes. I have to have them copied and delivered to our LA office. Problem is, the agency that's supposed to send them (and I have no contact or phone number) hasn't called. I've informed the LA office. They haven't called either.

So I have nothing to do but wait.

When I'm bored, I do weird things. For instance, taking an entire box of binder clips and fastening them, one by one, to my beard.

I seriously need this person to call be before I go nuts.

Anyway, the weekend. Saturday, come out to Randall's Island and watch five gay rugby teams (us, Atlanta, Philly, DC, Boston and Toronto) try to win the East Coast Rugby Invitational sponsored by . . . some champagne company, I forget the name. Then pay $20 to party with us at the Eagle (5 p.m.-ish). Food. Beer. Nudity. Champagne. (For little or no lots of information about the event visit our home page. Don't click on the 'current announcement' link, it's pretty useless. Read the info posted on the first page; it has everything you need to know.)

Sunday, well, see the previous post. We now have 10 guys competing in the Wet Underwear Contest. So if you want to enter, you have pretty decent odds of walking away with a cash prize. For lots of information about the event visit the Out of Bounds home page.

Come out. It will be fun.

Reminder

My only comment today: Having to listen to 'Summertime' from Showboat while ordering a cup of tea at Starbucks when it's only 30 degrees outside is ludicrous. Summertime, my ass.

Anyway, here is a reminder about the upcoming Wet Underwear Contest (now featuring three of my rugby teammates . . . and before you ask, no, I'm not stripping to my skivies and waving my fat ass around in public . . . at least not at this event).

Out of Bounds To Hold Second Annual Wet Underwear Contest

New York, NY – Out of Bounds NYC will hold its second annual Wet Underwear Contest on Sunday, November 14th from 1-5 p.m. at Splash Bar, 50 W. 17th St. The event will feature host Frank DeCaro from Sirius Satellite Radio and a special performance by the Glamazons. A $10 suggested donation will be accepted at the door.

The contest, sponsored by 64events.com, Universal Gear, SASi Public Relations, and Manhunt.net will feature some of New York City’s hottest gay athletes as they compete for a $500 grand prize. Second and third place winners will receive $250 and $100. Out of Bounds will also raffle prizes to the audience, including the chance to help wet down the contestants. Splash Bar will run two for one drink specials during the event.

Money raised at the event will assist Out of Bounds with its mission of increasing awareness of GLBT sports and recreation in the New York City region. For more information about the event, contact info@oobnyc.org. To enter as a contestant, contact will@oobnyc.org.

Good Gifts

Sometimes, when I ask the universe (or blogosphere) for something, it responds.

Thank you all for the kind words and offers of help for my youth playwriting charity. So far I've gotten a couple of people who are willing to be on the board of directors, offers of donations (which really help since this is wiping out my savings), introductions to several people at local theaters, offers of assistance with creating logos . . . any number of great things.

Man, it's good to have friends.

By the way, if any of you know any gay playwrights, let me know. One of the things I'd like to have on the website is a series of essays by gay playwrights on why we need gay theater.

Tempus Fugit

Things I have to do for my not-for-profit before January 1:

1) Recruit a board of directors.
2) File the corporate documents.
3) File for tax-exempt status.
4) Create a website.
5) Come up with the rules of the playwriting competition.
6) Contact as many GLBT youth organizations as possible to promote the competition.
7) Ask several gay and lesbian playwrights to write an essay on why gay theater matters for my website.
8) Open a corporate bank account.
9) Open a post office box.
10) Get someone with money to help me out even though we're not a 501(c)3 yet and hence the donation won't be tax-deductible.
11) Not go completely crazy.

Then I just need to figure out how to do all that, finish the play I'm working on, deal with some potentially horrible family drama that's going on, wrap up the stuff I've been doing for the rugby club so someone else can take it over, try to convince my boss to let me work 4 10-hour days instead of 5 8-hour ones, go to physical therapy, visit my mom, buy Christmas presents, deal with the stuff for the other not-for-profit I work with, and do all the other crap I have to deal with on a daily basis.

Breathe in, breathe out. Things will work out.

Dark Days

Well, so far Fall has been one kick to the crotch after another.

Now it's time to play 'Cheer Up, Crash!' Here are the rules. In the comment section, tell me a joke. One that always makes you laugh. Something that gives me some insight on your sense of humor and hopefully makes me smile.

Tonight I'm going home and watching Thoroughly Modern Millie and It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. I'm pretty sure I'll be in a better mood tomorrow.

Time Out

I'll be back next week. With any luck, my first post will be about President-elect Kerry.

Farewell

She was born during the war that was to end all wars. And depending on one's definition of war, she lived through at least five more of them. She had her first child while her husband was in World War II. Her second came along while they lived in occupied Germany. Her third not long before he went to Korea.

War changes men. It changed him. Though she was still devoted to him, the handsome young college boy with the broad grin was gone. What was left behind was a man who was angry, bitter and resentful.

But she endured.

She grew up in the Roaring Twenties, though the twenties didn't really roar in Oklahoma. She watched her baby brother die from an illness that could be treated with a shot today; she kept a picture of him in her room for her entire life and still got emotional when she talked about him. She made it through the Great Depression, though it changed her life forever. Like so many people of that generation, she couldn't bear to throw things out. Her house was always a hodgepodge of old things, broken things, things most people would think of as trash, but for which she could always find a use.

She lived through the deaths of her husband, parents, brother, sisters, most of the people she knew as family growing up. But she never had to endure the death of a child, something she hated to even imagine. She never feared death, and although she grieved for those she lost, she knew there was a purpose and that they had gone to a better place. In her mind, she knew what would come after death and had made her peace with it. She saw it as a time when all questions would be answered, all things would be known. For a woman with a voracious appetite for knowledge, it would be paradise.

She never made it through college; it wasn't expected. In her day, women went there to meet their future husbands. Once that was arranged, what need was there to continue? But she read. Oh, how she read. Philosophy, religion, poetry, all the things that interested her. When her husband failed at business, she went to work. Still expected to care for her family, she essentially had two jobs. When her husband drove their first child away, she was the one to suffer. But she was always able to find solace in her books and her writing.

She was a poet, but she didn't publish her work. Was she not encouraged by her parents, husband, others? Had she been rejected at some point? Or was she, like I, just so bound by the fear of having someone laugh at something that was part of her soul? I don't know, but I did understand. I still do.

I didn't know her in her prime; I wish I had. When I was little, she was the old lady with false teeth and witch's hair who brought me sourdough bread whenever she visited. She was the one who sent me $5 on my birthday and $10 at Christmas even when I was in my twenties. She was the storyteller who would tell me about her life and recite poetry to me. And in her infirmity, she was the woman who would ask me to come lie in bed with her to tell her about my life and to recite poetry to her.

She was my grandma and I'm going to miss her.

Chupacabras News

This absolutely made my day. It seems a couple of people threw custard pies at Ann Coulter. Republicans are up in arms about this because, of course, they see it as a conspiracy by Democrats to . . . well, they're not sure exactly, but it's a conspiracy.

I know the truth. It was a misguided attempt by PETA to get food to the emaciated Ms. Coulter, who is clearly being starved by her trainers.

I guess they forgot that chupacabras don't eat pies.

Gah!

I am having a . . . very . . . bad . . . day.

Most of it, I will not be blogging about because it's personal family shit.

This, however, was the cherry on the steaming pile that was my Thursday. In my everyday job, I work with crazy people. No, not attorneys, not the people who are at the ends of their ropes and really hoping that someone will help them, but genuine the-government-is-listening-to-my-thoughts-everyone-is-out-to-get-me-I'm-the-King-of-England-and-Elvis-is-my-cousin-bat-shit-crazy people.

I treat them politely. I try to figure out what their problems are (to the extent that they have actual problems that can be remedied) and refer them to the proper agencies. Above all, I try to treat them as I would want to be treated if I were having some sort of problem.

Today I received an e-mail from one of the women I tried to help last year. Strike that . . . I should have said I received a threatening, vulgarity-laced e-mail from one of them. I'm not going to go into details about her legal problem, but the fact that she was unable to get help from any of the legal service providers or law firms to which I referred her is apparently my fault. I'm sure it has nothing to do with her being obviously mentally disturbed.

This woman already managed to bluff her way past security at my building (hence our first meeting), so I'm a little concerned.

I wonder if Barnes & Noble is hiring.

Jeez, I need a drink.

Schadenfreude

And guys, if you exploit a girl, it will come back to get you. That's called 'karma.'
- Bill O'Reilly from "The O'Reilly Factor for Kids"

Just so you know

Consider this your official "heads up" (so to speak):

On Sunday, November 14th, the day after Gotham's East Coast Rugby Invitational, Out of Bounds NYC will be holding its annual fundraiser, the OOB Wet Underwear Contest and Silent Auction. The event will be at Splash Bar, 50 W. 17th St., between 5th and 6th Avenues, from 1-5 p.m. A $10 donation will be accepted at the door.

This event will feature a raffle and silent auction including dinners, theater tickets, and items donated by the local GLBT sports teams. There will be drink specials, underwear models and, of course, the Wet Underwear Contest. The contest is open to everyone. The first 20 people to sign up will get new underwear donated by Universal Gear; the rest of you better wear something clean. The winner of the contest gets $500, second place gets $300, third gets $100. The winner is chosen by the audience; whoever gets the most applause wins.

We already have one Gotham rugger signed up (and hopefully more will), so I hope you'll come cheer on our guy(s).

Who knows? If we play our cards right and have enough guys at and in the contest, the ruggers can walk away with all the prizes.

Out of Bounds NYC is a group that serves as an umbrella organization for all the local GLBT sports and recreation clubs. They publicize the teams' events, throw recruiting parties and generally help them to grow. Gotham has been working with them since their formation and has benefited greatly from their assistance.

I hope to see all you NYC folks there.

WYSIWYG

Any of you going to WYSIWYG tomorrow night?

M'kay

One of today's headlines was Bush faults Kerry for using 'scare tactics'.

This from a man whose campaign seems to center around "If you vote for Kerry, terrorists will rip the unborn children from your womb and make them marry homosexuals."

In other news, Bush calls kettle black.

Weekend

Good weekend, I guess. Quiet.

Saw the two plays, The Acharnians and Psycho Beach Party. Both of them very good, in completely different ways. I'll write about them later when I have the programs in front of me.

Rugby Saturday was okay. We didn't win, but at least we put some points on the board.

The changing seasons have left me a little uninspired. I'll write more this evening or tomorrow.

Freaks and Greeks

Tonight I'm off to another free theater event. I'm seeing Aristophanes' The Acharnians at Theater 3. I'm not always a huge Aristophanes fan; he used a lot of topical humor that doesn't translate well unless you have someone who's willing to adapt his plays, rather than just translate them.

It will be interesting to see what this production is like.

Sunday night, I'm straying from Greek theater and seeing a revival of Charles Busch's Psycho Beach Party. Can't freakin' wait.

Chi Nei Tsang

Every day I receive an e-mail newsletter called The Daily Om. Every morning I read it and have what I like to call my Zenchick Moment.

Today's newsletter was was about Chi Nei Tsang, a type of massage developed by Taoist monks. I was doing okay until I got to the part about it being Deep Organ Massage. But I had to quit reading when it talked about using the deep organ massage to open your 'wind gates'. It seems that opening your 'wind gates' will allow a fresh breeze to lift your spirits.

I don't know about the rest of you, but when my wind gates open, the breeze is most decidedly not fresh. And don't even get me started about using deep organs to open my wind gates.

If they keep writing stuff like this, I'll never become enlightened. But I will have a good chuckle.

Outraged!!

Dick and Lynne Cheney are outraged! Outraged, I tell you!!

Why, when that nasty, nasty Sen. Kerry mentioned their daughter's homosexuality in a national forum, they were seething. How dare he use their family? How dare he make it personal? They voiced their opposition loudly and immediately.

So what was their reaction when Republican bat-shit-crazy carpetbagger Alan Keyes called their daughter a selfish hedonist?

Quoth the Cheneys: " "

Hmmm.

What did Dick and Lynne have to say when 'Rev.' Falwell and his google-eyed lap dog Pat Robertson blamed the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11 on feminists, gays and lesbians?

Quoth the Cheneys: " "

When 'Rev.' Fred Phelps bravely takes on dead people and their grieving families by showing up with his hillbilly minions at their funerals and cursing them, what do Dick and Lynne say?

Quoth the Cheneys: " "

When Dick Santorum said that homosexuality was morally wrong, what was the Cheneys' response?

Quoth the Cheneys: " "

So I offer the following words of comfort and support to Dick and his lovely wife Lynne in this, their time of crisis:

" "

P.S. It seems Alan Keyes has a daughter who is a selfish hedonist. That's okay, Alan, the people of Maryland Illinois still support you as much as they ever did.

Flip Flop

October 13, 2004
Kerry: "Six months after he said Osama bin Laden must be caught dead or alive, this president was asked, 'Where's Osama bin Laden?' He said, 'I don't know. I don't really think about him very much. I'm not that concerned.' We need a president who stays deadly focused on the real war on terror."

Bush: "I don't think I ever said I'm not worried about Osama bin Laden. That's kind of one of those exaggerations."

March 13, 2002
Bush: "We haven't heard much from [bin Laden]. And I wouldn't necessarily say he's at the center of any command structure. And, again, I don't know where he is. I'll repeat what I said. I truly am not that concerned about him. I know he is on the run."

(Thanks Mark for posting this)

Also, did anyone notice that Bush's answer to the flu vaccine problem is to import more of the vaccine from Canada? This is the same country from which we're not supposed to import cheaper drugs because they might not be safe. Whatever.

Pain, Day Two

This morning was excruciating. The Tylenol has kicked in, so now I'm a little better.

I should have stayed home from work, but I'd have been in as much pain there as here, so might as well save the sick day. Especially since we'll probably all be sick with the flu in a month or two. Anyone else secretly worried that the flu vaccine "shortage" was actually engineered by a cabal of wealthy businessmen and politicians who are planning a pandemic which will wipe out a huge portion of the world's population, allowing them to assume world leadership? Or is that just me? I'm sure the recent recreation of the most deadly flu strain ever is just a coincidence.

Yes, I've read too many end of the world novels.

But that doesn't make me wrong.

Help

Threw out my back.

Thought the pain would go away after going to the physical therapist.

It didn't; it worsened.

I will perform sexual favors for anyone willing to come over to my apartment with Percocet.

Weekend wrap up

Well, this weekend was less frenzied than they've been of late.

Saturday was our game against Lansdowne. While the final score (50-0) was disappointing, especially to some of our team members who expected us to win, it still is 30 some-odd points lower than our last loss to them. So even in defeat, we are getting better.

Once again, Jess came to the game and took pictures. You can see them here. They are pretty amazing. There is even one of me that he was able to take without cracking his lens.

The drink-up was subdued, which was fine by me. I was tired and not really in the mood for anything too raucous. I hung out with Jess and Marc most of the time. After the drink up, we went out to dinner with their friend Matt, who also attended the game, Stuff, MAK, PatCH, Michael and Wayne (not this Wayne, but another one). It was a great time. A chance to catch up with old friends, make new ones, be silly, have fun.

After dinner, we headed over to Barracuda, where we lasted like 30 minutes or so. I think everyone was really tired by that time.

It was a great day.

Sunday was interesting. First, I had my writing date with Frank. I was in a creative funk, so I couldn't focus on my writing. Instead, I started making lists of the things I needed to research in order to write this current play. Then I started to briefly sketch out the scene directly before and after the scene I wrote last week. One thing led to another and by the end of our session, I'd sketched out the entire play. Now all I have to do is write it. Still, it's really nice to be working off a blueprint of sorts from here. This will keep me focused.

After the writing session (and catch up session, since Frank and I always wind up talking and visiting while we write), I met up with my friend Will to work on a fundraiser that's coming up for the other not-for-profit I work with. We were planning an event, so consider this an early warning.

Save the date: Out of Bounds will be having a wet underwear contest fundraiser at SBNY on Sunday, Nov. 14, from 1-5 p.m. There will be a $10 cover charge. Anyone can enter the contest (every contestant gets a free pair of underwear from one of the local undergear stores). The grand prize is (probably) $500. Winner is chosen by audience applause. In addition, there will be raffles, underwear models and all sorts of other good things. It should be a lot of fun and it's for a good cause.

After Will and I worked on the plans for a while, we hooked up with Stuff and went to the Gay Erotic Expo (something I've always been curious about, but never got up the nerve to attend). It was interesting to say the least. First, I ran into several former rugby teammates, a blogger, my bodybuilding next-door neighbors (a guy and his girlfriend . . . the guy was wearing a posing strap and letting people take his photo), and a guy from my office (d'oh!). One of the more amusing moments was when we'd just entered Webster Hall. There was an amateur erotic art class sponsored by the Leslie-Lohman Gay Art Foundation. One of the models, wearing nothing but a red jock, was the spitting image of one of my teammates. I said to Stuff and Will, 'Check it, that guy looks just like X.' I turned back around to see that Mr. Red Jock was trying to smile at us, discreetly since he wasn't supposed to move or alter his expression. Turns out Mr. Red Jock was indeed our teammate X. We chatted with him about it later. Some friends of his were participating and asked him to come along and model with them. Good times.

About the Expo. Pretty much what you would expect. Porn, leather, funny t-shirts, toys, 'working boys', Robin Byrd (who looks so much better in person), several Falcon 'actors', several Latino Fan Club 'actors', and lots of other things. There were also legit groups there (Leslie-Lohman, Gay Men's Chorus, several AIDS charities), but clearly that's not what this was about.

It was more of a goof than anything else, though there were some really intense people there. Ones who were way too serious as the watched the dancers onstage. Predatory. Creepy.

That's the bad part about events like this.

I got an autographed picture from one of the Falcon guys. His name was Maxx Diesel. Wow. That's all I can say. Wow. Tall (6'5"), shaved head, great body. Man. And he commented on my shirt (I was wearing one of my English rugby t-shirts). He actually knew about rugby and we chatted about it and soccer for a few minutes. Surprising.

Funny porn star aside. I've met a few of the Falcon models in the past. This is the first one I met who was taller than me. Most of them are a good five or six inches shorter. When I met Matthew Rush, I swear he was only as tall as my shoulder. And don't even get me started on Jeff Stryker. I think he's part Oompa Loompa.

Anyway, fun, odd, amusing time.

After the Expo, Will, Stuff and I went out for dinner at a great Thai place on Second Ave. Yum.

So that was the weekend. Now if only this day would end so I can go home. The office is empty. I took a few minutes to watch some of the parade; it was so lovely outside that I didn't want to come back.

Hecuba

A long post. Sorry.

So as I mentioned, last night I went to see the Friendly Fire Theatre's production of Hecuba by Euripides. As my dear friend Zenchick might say, "Oy."

Da Play
Hecuba tells the story of the Queen of Troy after the fall of the city. She and the other women are slaves. The Greeks want to head home, but the ghost of Achilles refuses to let them until the slave girl he chose to be his is put to death, providing him with a concubine in the afterlife (more or less). That slave girl is Polyxena, Hecuba's daughter. Much like Iphigenia, Polyxena's death will allow the Greeks to set sail.

Hecuba pleads for her daughter's life, but the daughter is killed. As a slave to the Greeks, she has to bear this horror.

Another part of the story is the death of Hecuba's son Polydorus. Her youngest son, he was sent to Thrace with a great deal of treasure in hopes that he would survive should Troy fall. Troy did, but the King of Thrace killed Polydorus, took the gold and threw the body into the sea where it was found (as luck would have it) by Hecuba's women. Despite her status of slave, she is allowed to take her revenge on the Thracian king, for he not only broke his vow of hospitality toward her son, but he desecrated the body and denied it proper burial (both of which are big things to the ancient Greeks).

The end of the play is a typical Euripidean blood fest where the women blind the Thracian king, Polymestor, and kill his sons. Not quite as gruesome as Pentheus' death in Bacchae, but along those lines.

Da Production
Minimal sets (black sheeting on the floor, a few flats and curtains to cover entrances and exits, partially translucent sheeting to give the impression of a tent). Fine, I'm cool with that. Theater isn't about spectacle, it's about the actors and the story (in my humble opinion). Okay lighting, though a little too much spillage into the audience for my tastes. Costumes, non-descript modern dress. Fine. Though putting the Greeks in modern American military uniforms was a little too on the nose. Come on, we can put two and two together without having it waved in our faces.

There were some really interesting theatrical moments. Polymestor's children, after being murdered, come out of the tent dragging long pieces of blood red fabric. The fabric is being held by Polymestor over his eyes. Using this simple prop, the director (Alex Lippard) was able to show the death of the sons, the blindness of Polymestor, and by having the children carrying the cloth that ends with him, connect their deaths to his actions. It was beautiful, simple and effective. And when the fabric was pulled away to reveal the actor's face, his eyes had been smudged with black makeup, reinforcing the idea of blindness, but allowing the actor to see as the scene progressed.

There was another moment when Polydorus appears as a ghost with another piece of fabric, this time white. By folding the fabric and handing it to one of the servants, he effectively transforms it from a piece of his costume or his prop, into his corpse which the servant then carries to Hecuba. Again, simple and effective.

That's why I was so disappointed by the way the director indicated that a person was dead; their costume had a big splotch of red paint (or something similar) on their abdomen. Okay, it made it obvious they were dead, but where was the art? Where was the symbolism? Why would someone who'd had their throat cut bleed from the belly? No answers, I'm afraid.

He did tie in the dead characters symbolically with the use of white. That was a stronger representation than the red splotch. Polydorus, who is only seen as a ghost, wears white. Polyxena wears white (both before and after her death, which I wouldn't have done). Once the children are killed, they go from wearing suits to wearing white undershirts and boxers. That worked for me. The splotches of blood didn't.

My major problem with the production, however, was unfortunately central to the director's vision (or so it would seem); the stylized use of voice. Hecuba was played by Kristin Linklater, an actress well-known and well-regarded for her work with theater voice and speech training. This woman can do things with her voice that are amazing.

And she did. Screams. Hisses. High, flute-like notes followed by deep, raspy ones. Monologues that started low and soared, only to return. Quiet sentences full of venom. Rages that shook the walls. It was technically brilliant.

But what happens when you spend an entire play completely aware of an actor's technique? You don't get absorbed into the action.

There were times when it faded into the proper dimensions. The technique was still there. The vocal 'tricks,' for want of a better word, were still there, but they were balanced with powerful acting and movement so that Hecuba became more than the sum of her parts. In those moments, the play was wonderful. But they were few.

Other things grated a little as well. The blocking seemed awkward. When the actors were still, the stage pictures they created lacked balance and focus. The Greek soldiers, during the painful times they made appearances, seemed not to know why they were onstage or what they should be doing; marking time until their next piece of business.

In direct opposition to the Greek soldiers were the chorus of Trojan women. Sure, some of their stage business seemed forced, but their their keening, crying, singing, etc., was subtle enough not to be overpowering. Their movements (when they were to be the focus of the action) were sinuous and strong. They looked a little lost when they were mere observers to the action, but I'll assume that they were merely trying to act like shocked captives.

All in all, I wish this had been a better production. It really should have been. So many of the elements were there, but they just never really meshed.

Da Epilogue
One final note to the cunt and her arselicking boyfriend who were sitting next to me. I don't care if you don't like the production or the acting or whatever. You do not sit on the front row of a black box theater, in full view of the actors, and read a fucking magazine. You do not giggle and chat while the performance is going. If you dislike it, sit there and deal until you can get up and discretely leave.

Regardless of what you think of the production, those actors are working their asses off and deserve our respect and attention while they do it.

People like those two shouldn't be allowed out in public.

Oops, I did it again

Not exactly sure how, but I seem to be flat broke again. Overdrawn, actually. Damn.

What better way to celebrate being busted than running out and buying three brand spanking new, signed first edition books?

Really, it's a sickness.

Tonight I'm going to see a production of Hecuba by Euripides at The Culture Project @ 45Bleecker. Same theater that's been hosting the Red Bull Theater productions.

If you've been unable to tell based on my recent entries, I am a big fan of classical theater.

Fortunately for me, tonight's show is free.

Great Weekend

This was an amazing weekend. First and foremost because our rugby club had its first Met NY Union win. We beat Suffolk RFC (the Bull Moose) 15-6. It was a great game played against strong opponents.

Even if we had lost, however, this would have been the best match of the season anyway. The Bull Moose are probably the coolest, most fun team in the Union. Partying with those guys always rocks. Lots of drinking, lots of singing, a smattering of nudity (never gratuitous, of course) and they generally seem not to give a fuck that we are a primarily gay team. Their girlfriends/wives are friendly (and even we can appreciate that they're hot). Some of their women's side hung out with us, too. If you've never partied with women ruggers, you've never partied.

The thing I like about partying with the Bull Moose is that they genuinely don't seem to want the party to end. Some clubs we play against are polite at the drink ups, but that's about it. They don't seem to mind when we leave (and they certainly don't stick around long when we're hosting, especially if the beer runs out). Suffolk parties long and hard. And again, they are fun motherfuckers. You can't not have a good time with them.

(Okay, in the name of full disclosure, a couple of their guys are dicks . . . but then so are a couple of our guys, so it all evens out)

The bus ride back to the city was a drunken free for all. Nudity? Check. 12 Cases of beer? Check. A couple of young ruggers who couldn't handle their liquor and wore their vomit-speckled t-shirts like a badge of honor? Check. An extremely obnoxious drunk who will remain nameless because he reads my blog, but he knows who he is? Check. (By the way, Stinkfinger, even though you were an obnoxious drunk, it was nice to see you so happy again. You should be that balls to the wall cheerful all the time.) All in all, a fun, though loud, trip back.

There was an after-after-party, but I'm old and curmudgeonly, so I skipped it. Plus, I had a writing date on Sunday and was afraid to sleep through it.

Another great thing about the game was that Jess and Marc showed up. I think they are the first of my blog friends (and only the second of my friends over all) to come to one of our games. They were a great addition to the sidelines.

Jess is a photography buff and took some photos of the team. He has a background in sports photography from college which is pretty obvious from his pictures. There are some really good action shots.

So that was my long and tiring Saturday.

Sunday was another great day. I got my laundry done very early (earlier in fact than I normally wake up on most Sundays). Yes, I know it's pretty pathetic to take such happiness from getting laundry done, but I have to take what I can get.

I hooked up with Frank in the afternoon for our Sunday writing date. I'll tell you, that is beginning to pay off. I'm not sure how much he got done (I think he said a couple of pages), but I completed the first scene of a new play. And the funny thing is, it turned out okay. Rough. Needs some polish, but I could see it in my head with no difficulty. That for me is the sign that I'm on the right track.

After our writing date, I went to visit Stuff. He's going out of town for a week (Alaska), so even though we only got to hang out for an hour or so, it was worth the trip up to his place (which was a bitch since the uptown 6 wasn't running . . . fucking MTA). Sometimes it's important to see your friends, even if you aren't going to be able to spend much time with them. I don't know, e-mail and stuff like that is fine, but it's important to see people in the flesh. It restores a sense of immediacy to the friendship. Does that make any sense?

We haven't been able to spend much time together since he got back from China; we've both been pretty busy. But on the up side, he'll be back this weekend and is going to try to come to Saturday's game.

After hanging out with Stuff, I went to the Red Bull Theater for the next play in it's Revelation Readings series. Last week it was 'The Knight of the Burning Pestle' by Beaumont and Fletcher. This week was 'Women Beware Women' by Thomas Middleton.

These readings are amazing. First, the actors are great. I'd love to know how much rehearsal goes into these productions. I would bet that there is not a lot, which makes their performences that much more impressive. I'd also love to talk to the director. This idea of doing readings of quality, though somewhat forgotten, plays for free is amazing. I wish more small theaters would do that. But maybe that's because I'm cheap.

Now, it's work time. I think I may go to Splash again tonight for the Musical Monday thingy. Then again, I might go to the gym (Painbringer, PT has started racheting up the workouts, so I need to get back in shape so I don't have a stroke one of these sessions). I also feel like working on my play a little more.

So many choices.

Pity, party of one . . . your table is now ready

[Deleted]

Whiny, self-indulgent post. Sorry about that. I'll try not to let that happen again.

Busy

I'm busy. But at least it's 'happy' busy, not 'kill people because I'm so stressed' busy.

Here's another quick recap. Sorry no scintillating prose today. Of course, one could argue that I've never really provided that. If one wanted to get bitch-slapped.

Last weekend.

Saturday - Our rugby game against Danbury. We lost 42-10. This is absolutely amazing given the point spread the last two times we played them. We will be having our first rugby union win some time this year. I hope it's this coming Saturday. Drink up at the Eagle. Fun.

Sunday - Errands, laundry, all the other fun stuff that I've put off for ages. Got together with Frank to write, but due to my tight schedule, all we did was chat. Very nice. Afterwards, I went to see (hear?) the Red Bull Theater's reading of The Knight of the Burning Pestle by Beaumont and Fletcher (a couple of Shakespeare's contemporaries). I studied this play back in grad school and was really psyched to see/hear it performed.

It was a brilliant production with remarkable cast. Go to their website for more information.

This is part of a weekly series of play readings. This Sunday's production will be Women Beware Women by Thomas Middleton. Can't wait for it. If anyone wants to go with me (I was all alone for Knight), let me know.

Monday - Painbringer, PT. Work. Home. Work on stuff for my not-for-profit. Work on stuff for the other not-for-profit. Musical Monday at Splash with a couple of rugby buddies. Sweet!

Tuesday - Not feeling up to snuff. Call in sick. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Get up. Go see Shaun of the Dead, despite my zombie issues. Hilarious and scary. Well worth seeing, especially in the theater. Come home. Cook dinner (Sweet Asian Chicken with rice). Cook ham (something for sandwiches this week). Sleep.

Wednesday - Painbringer, PT. Work. Invited to board meeting for the other not-for-profit. Get asked to join board, which is very, very cool. And hopefully won't be too stressful.

Today - Work. Work on my n-f-p (I think I have a name for it). Work on the other n-f-p. Now it's time to go home. Maybe go to the gym. Maybe not. We'll see.

Well, that's basically it. Tomorrow night, some of the ruggers and I will be heading to Marie's Crisis Cafe for a pre-game sing-along. Nothing really gets one psyched up for a game like showtunes, right?

Everyone is invited. We'll be there at 8 p.m. (which really means 8:30 or so).

Also, our game this weekend is against Suffolk RFC. If you're out on Long Island and would like to watch us play, info is on our website.

Marie's Crisis

Okay, I have lots to catch up on, but I'm going to ignore it for now.

From time to time, I've mentioned going to Marie's Crisis Cafe, a piano bar down in the Village. Sing-along showtunes. Fun stuff.

But I have been asked on more than one occasion, who was Marie and what was her crisis.

Well, here you go.

Back in 1809, Thomas Paine died in a house on the spot that now houses Marie's Crisis (the current building dates back to 1839). You remember Paine, right? Author of Common Sense, The Rights of Man, and the American Crisis papers ('These are the times that try men's souls'). His work was one of the main reasons America split from England.

Fast forward. Marie Dumont starts a bar in the basement of the building. She names it Marie's Crisis Cafe because it's in the building (or rather on the site of the original building) where Paine wrote much of the American Crisis papers.

This goes a long way toward explaining the mirror over the bar that features a decidedly revolutionary theme.

I wonder if Thomas Paine's spirit haunts the place, puzzling over the middle age theater queens who are drunkenly singing showtunes? And I wonder if his ectoplasmic heart swells with pride when they start belting out songs from 1776?

Catching Up

Okay, I just realized that I really haven't blogged this week. Between work, my new not-for-profit, rugby, working out, physical therapy and another not-for-profit for which I serve on the advisory board, I find myself with little time left.

So a quick recap of the last week.

Last Thursday, the Townhouse with the blogger boys.

Friday, Brian's birthday. I missed the party because I was working on stuff for the rugby game.

Saturday, rugby, rugby, rugby. Bus ride. Deluge. Thunderbolts and lightning. Margaritas. Game. Lost, but with marked improvements over the last time we played them. More margaritas. Game. Lost (see earlier comment). Bee attack. Post game drink up with the Montauk boys. Drinking on the bus. Home. Go home to change and go to the after party, fall asleep instead.

Sunday, write with Frank. Dinner with Steve at the all-you-can-eat mussel place. Celebrity sighting, Jason Alexander.

Monday, Painbringer, PT. Passed out during physical therapy. Very, very scary. Thought I was dying. I wasn't. Work. Home. Lots of work for my other not-for-profit group.

Tuesday, work. Lots of stuff from Amazon arrived, including season one of Dead Like Me. I watch pilot episode, fully intending to only watch that one. Instead, I watch five more episodes.

Wednesday, Painbringer, PT. Everyone very nice, afraid I'm going to pass out again. I didn't. Work. Cocktail party after work for Hispanic organization. Good time even though I didn't know anyone. Celebrity sighting, the Dude-You're-Getting-A-Dell guy at B'way and 52. Gym, one hour of cardio. Tried the NY Sports Club on 23rd and 8th. Scary. Muscle Marys, waaaaaay too much cruising in the locker, all the plastic steroid bodies made me feel really fat and ugly. Better living through science my ass. Made roasted eggplant for dinner.

Thursday, work. More work for the other n-f-p. More Dead Like Me.

And that takes us to today. Sure, the writing wasn't great, but I'm in 'fire bad, tree pretty' mode, so that's all you get.

Tomorrow is our first home rugby game. Field 17 on Randall's Island. Should be fun. If you're free around 1 p.m. you should come watch us.

Now We Know

Remember yesterday when I asked, Who Would Jesus Kill (WWJK)?

Well, it appears we have our answer.

WWJK?

Compassionate Conservative Quote of the Day
I'm trying to find the correct name for it … this utter absolute, asinine, idiotic stupidity of men marrying men. … I've never seen a man in my life I wanted to marry. And I'm gonna be blunt and plain; if one ever looks at me like that, I'm gonna kill him and tell God he died.
- Former Televangelist and Prostitute Hound Jimmy Swaggart

When the fundamentalists say "love the sinner, hate the sin," they're really imagining cattle cars and crematoria. After all, what better way to save the sinner than by making sure he can never sin again?

Slainte

An interesting little quiz.

Take the quiz: "Which Random Irish Gaelic Phrase Are You?"

Teastaioinn cineal uaim
Teastaioinn cineal uaim - 'I want sex.'Horny little bugger, aren't you? You enjoy porn and being naked. Hell, you're probably naked right now. Both hands on the keyboard, you pervert!

Rugby Party

Tomorrow is our first game of the fall season. It's being played in Montauk, which is, I'm told, part of Long Island despite being somewhere close to Nova Scotia. Needless to say, I won't be trying to guilt any of you into coming to watch the game. Next week, though . . .

Anyway after 1) the game, 2) the first round of drinking with the boys from Montauk, 3) the second round of drinking on the bus, and 4) the first round of puking, one of the players will be hosting a post-game party at his apartment. You are all invited. However, since I don't want everyone on God's green Earth to know where the party is, you have to e-mail me for the address.

I will leave you with the following:

1) If you come to the party, bring a bottle of something. Liquor, mix, whatever.

2) If you come to the party, you may have a celebrity sighting. A certain Mr. Norton from TV's Comedy Central has been showing up at several of our parties.

3) If you come to the party, don't pass out. I have photographs of the last person who passed out at a rugby party. He should be glad we were on our best behavior.

4) Regardless of whether you come to the party, stop by his site and wish him a happy birthday. He turns 34 today (even though he's telling people that he's turning 30 . . . that little imp).

Those silly politicians

George W. doesn't read my letters and Elliot Spitzer thinks I'm a Jew.

I'm not surprised by the first and am rather confused by the second.

A week or so ago, I sent a letter to the Monkey-in-Chief taking him to task over his refusal to do anything to preserve the assault weapon ban. I knew he wasn't going to do anything about it; if the NRA told a Republican to sodomize himself with a cactus, the only thing the Repub would say is 'how deep' and 'how much will you contribute to my campaign'.

But I digress.

Now I knew full well that W. wasn't going to read my letter. First, he's the President. Between taking vacations, campaigning and planning the invasions of various and sundry Middle Eastern countries, he doesn't have time for mail. And he went to Yale, so it's likely he's illiterate anyway. But I did expect that one of his minions would respond to the letter with a "we're sorry you disagree with the President on this issue, but" which would be followed by a well-written explanation of the President's reasons for opposing the assault weapon ban.

Instead I received a letter from the White House thanking me for supporting the President's "War on Terror".

WTF?

Now I'm sitting here trying to figure out how allowing the sale of assault weapons assists in the war on terror.

At least when I wrote Boss Hogg*, the responses were on point.

Ah well, what can you do? Other than voting for Kerry, that is.

As for Elliot Spitzer, I have no idea how he decided that I'm Jewish. I mean, my full name reads like a tour of the British Isles. All I need is a little Welsh and I've got it all covered. But for whatever reason, A.G. Spitzer has decided I'm Jewish. In a way it's nice. He sends me cards at Hanukkah. Every Rosh Hashanah he sends me a nice letter. I appreciate it, however there are several generations of dour, Scottish Presbyterians rolling in their graves every time I say something in Hebrew. On the up side, I hear their otherworldly moans of joy every time I save a nickel or drink some Balblair. What can you do?


*My presidential nicknames from the early '80s on: Bonzo, FauxTex, Boss Hogg, and Monkey-in-Chief (or mono malcriado, when I'm in a Spanish mood . . . I was told it means 'poorly-made monkey' which is what the people in Quito call the people from Guayaquil).

If Kerry wins, I'm going to call him Eeyore.

I've seen the future . . . and it's scary

It worries me that there will soon be more people who speak Klingon than Yiddish.

qaStaHvIS DIS chu'vam, bIQuchjaj!

Or as we say on Earth, Happy Rosh Hashana (okay, I'm a little early since it doesn't start until sundown).

In Other News

I mentioned a while ago that I wanted to start a not-for-profit organization that would sponsor a playwriting competition for gay and lesbian youth.

Well, I met with the attorneys last week. Soon, if the fates smile and I somehow come up with about $600, I will be the director of an as yet to be named playwriting competition. Thanks to the words of support from my friends (Rob, David, Faustus, et al), I am less freaked out and more excited than I have been about anything I've ever done.

I think that's a good sign.

Here are the steps I have to take. Name the bleeding thing. Come up with the various filing fees (thus wiping out my savings). File the documents. Get a bank account and post office box. File with the IRS. Start raising money like a fiend. Set up a web site. Open the competition.

Then the fun begins.

I know that several of you who read my site have backgrounds in theater. If any of you would like to make helpful suggestions, or better yet, get involved with this project, send me an e-mail and let me know. I'd love the feedback and extra help.

I imagine I'll be posting about this again soon.

Yum

You should smell my apartment today. Instead of the usual 'oh my God, doesn't he ever clean his bathroom' smell, the apartment is redolent with the fragrence of cloves and thyme.

Last night was a cooking night.

I tried out two new dishes. The first was Tyler Florence's recipe for Slow-Roasted Spanish Olives with Orange and Almonds. The second was a slow-cooker recipe for Chicken and Sausage Cassoulet.

The olives were absolutely amazing. The recipe called for Spanish olives, almonds, orange slices, sherry vinegar, thyme, bay leaves, a red chile and olive oil. This was then roasted in the oven for two hours. The results (not to mention the smell of the dish as it cooked) were amazing. The best part was the left over flavor-infused olive oil which I'll be using for dipping.

The cassoulet was basically a good recipe, but it may need a little work next time. It called for carrots, onion, tomato paste, red wine, cloves, thyme, garlic powder, white beans, chicken and sausage. Next time, I think I'm going to substitute shallots for the onions, use a merlot for the wine (all I had was cooking wine which was good, but a little too sweet), add a little fresh garlic and maybe just a touch of crumbled bacon. Considering this was a slow-cooker recipe, though, it was pretty good. Since I made this for the week and only had a taste last night, I have enough to make several meals.

For dessert, I had vanilla frozen yogurt topped with Cinnamon-Candied Zucchini. Okay, I know the Zucchini probably doesn't sound good, but they look, feel and taste like cinnamon-candied apples, so belive me when I say they are tasty.

Anyway, the house smells great. Especially after last night's dinner (Caponata, which was store bought) and this morning's sausage and spinach omelette, sprinkled with romano cheese.

I have a recipe for Black-eyed Peas with Stewed Tomatoes that I'm going to try later in the week, as well as one for a Three Bean and Sausage Casserole. Can't wait to try those out.

Man, I love to cook. Now if I could just get this excited about working out. Or finding a boyfriend.

A Rare Saturday Post

This is something I wrote a couple of years ago. Take a moment to remember those we lost.

September Morning

There were shoes everywhere
High-heels, clunky sandals, oxfords
Scattered among the briefcases, purses, gym bags
Anything that slowed us down

We ran in stocking feet
Through glass and metal, mud and ash
Not feeling the cuts
Not noticing the blood

How could we?

When all around was fire and smoke
Paper like rain, bodies like hail
The screams, the anguish, the chaos
What was our pain compared to that?

Only later, alone at home, safe
Could we look at our feet and guiltily wonder
How could something that tears open your soul
Leave such little marks?

Scary Carpetbagging Freak

So for shits and grins, I decided to peruse BSCRH* Alan Keyes websites (there are a few . . . Keyes for Senate, the Alan Keyes Blog, etc.).

Holy fuck, this guy is scary.

When President Bush says God wanted him to be president, I can forgive him. What with all the cocaine and booze that he ingested, I'm not at all surprised that he hears God talking to him every now and then. Brain damage has a way of doing that to you.

But when Alan Keyes says that it's God's will that he carpetbag his way to Illinois and run for Senate . . . well, that's not brain damage. That's just nuts.

Anyway, if you live in Illinois, vote Obama. God mentioned to me yesterday that he wants you to.

*Bat-shit crazy racist homophobe

Vote!

Okay, I've taken this from David. The guys who started Hot or Not are having a contest. If you win and you're registered to vote, you get $100,000.

So click here to sign up.

A Little Late

My uncle tells me that the folks in Georgia call Zell Miller Zig Zag Zell.

Me, I just call him that bat-shit crazy cracker.

Semantics.

Slowly I blog . . . step by step

Man, Blogger is taking its sweet time today. It took me nearly 10 minutes just to get to the create page.

Now I've forgotten what I was going to blog about.

Crash + Stuff + Booze =

Chaos.

Stuff, Hugh and I went out for cocktails last night at S. Diddy (a/k/a Splash, SBNY, Splash Bar, etc.). What started as a welcome back for Stuff quickly turned into a drunkarama.

Man.

I lost track of the number of drinks, but my wallet was empty when I went home, so it had to have been pretty high. Especially considering it was two for one.

Turns out that Monday nights is musical theater night at S. Diddy. So the place was stuffed to the rafters with current chorus boys, ex-chorus boys, ex-chorus ex-boys, you name it. At the table next to us were about half a dozen cute early twenty-somethings. Being bitchy old queens, we nicknamed several of them (okay, it was mostly me nicknaming them). There was the Nose (cause he had a big nose), Aqua Man (his shirt was blue green), Token (the girl), Dancing Queen, a couple of others not worth nicknaming, and finally, there was Stoic.

Stoic was good looking. He had auburn hair. He had a great build. Where his friends were loud, he was quiet. They were up dancing and screaming, he sat watching them. Not embarrassed or anything like that. Just enjoying their energy without joining in.

I was captivated.

Much later in the evening, as I was approaching what I've decided to call my FARB (Famous Author Rob Byrnes) threshold, Stoic started chatting with me.

I was gobstopped.

Now for the life of me, I have no recollection of why he was talking to me. Clearly, given my absolutely retarded social skills when it comes to speaking to guys I find attractive, I didn't talk to him first. So how did we start talking? I wish I could remember.

Anyway, it turns out Stoic is a dancer in "Movin' Out". Hence the great body. We had a nice little chat, most of it lost to me in the haze of ethanol fumes. I remember talking about meeting one of his castmates at Marie's Crisis some months ago. He gave me a little dish on the guy. And that was that. He went back to his friends and left a little while later.

I wish I had a better ending to this tale that I could share. Something about going back to my place and finding out how limber dancers are, etc., but that is sadly not my style. Still, it was nice having a good looking Broadway dancer chatting with me for a while, so I'm going to call it a good night.

Plus it was great hanging out with Stuff and Hugh.

I'm Back

Okay, I'm back. Mom is doing well, though I really wish I could stay for another week or two to help her out. But because of work, that can't happen.

Argh.

Anyway, glad to be back in my own bed. That futon at her house is a killer.

I don't much feel like blogging today, so I'll just post the song that is stuck in my head.

What'll I Do
Irving Berlin
© 1924 Irving Berlin Music (ASCAP)

Gone is the romance that was so divine
'Tis broken and cannot be mended
You must go your way and I must go mine
But now that our love dreams have ended

What'll I do
When you are far away
And I am blue
What'll I do

What'll I do
When I am wondering who
Is kissing you
What'll I do

What'll I do with just a photograph
To tell my troubles to

When I'm alone with only dreams of you
That won't come true
What'll I do

What'll I do with just a photograph
To tell my troubles to

When I'm alone with only dreams of you
That won't come true
What'll I do