Six Degrees of Separation From Not Even A Little Fame

Fall 2008 Ready-to-Wear
Marc by Marc Jacobs - Backstage

The yellow piece of fabric in the right corner of this photo is my sister.




Photo by Greg Kessler found here.

Rumors of my Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

Apparently, as someone recently said to me, I am to be congratulated for not being dead.

Last Thursday what began as a throat tickle became a SUPERFLU and a sinus infection and pneumonia by Sunday morning.

In the intervening period it was my roommate, EZ's birthday, and I had volunteered to cook a Mardi Gras themed menu on Saturday night. It was a hellagood menu if I do say so myself as we served the following (I have links to all of the recipes used)

1) Hurricanes - made of fresh juice, much of which Tiny squeezed herself, andnot from some shitty mix
2) Fried (sorta) Green Tomatoes with Ranch dressing - I added in some panko sushi flakes to the breadcrumb mixture in the recipe
3) Shrimp and Grits - just use instant grits, seriously. Also I used hot sauce and prosciutto in lieu of tasso.
4) King Cake, ordered from Gambino's in New Orleans
5) Cheesecake stuffed chocolate dipped strawberries - my own sort of hodge podge invention of chocolate covered strawberries + filling comprised of one package of creamcheese, 2 tablespoons of powdered sugar, teaspoon of vanilla, then dip the end in graham cracker crumbs

However, by Saturday I was feeling really icky. Fortunately Tiny assisted by Big N filled in on doing most of the prep work and making the strawberries, so that a few hours before the party I took some cold medicine and pulled myself together enough to get it together. Upon reflection it's pretty clear that I got really sick during the party - not so good since I made food for 25 people - and can't really remember most of the people I talked to that night. I don't remember much, but I know that I left the party early and then during the night my fever must have been really high because I had the chills, and logically took a hot shower or five to warm up and all was well except that I think I took about 14 advil oh and my throat swelled closed. I felt pretty crummy, but everyone went dancing and, you know, I thought I could tough it out.

On Sunday morning my Steven Segal persona gave in, and I text messaged EZ (didn't have the energy to knock on his door) to see if he was going to church because maybe perhaps I needed to go to the ER and I was hoping he could ask some friends which one would be best. Knowing I must be on death's door to have sent such a message, everyone began to appear in my room and Big N took one look at me and declared that I had pneumonia.

EZ was nice enough to take me to the hospital and I was in no position to argue, and fortunately the ER must not have been very busy as I was pretty much able to get right in. The triage nurse was a complete snippy bitch to me and said "well, I think you just have the flu but we have to treat it like you might have pneumonia." He started to rush me to x-ray and shot off down the corridor, but since I couldn't really breathe, I couldn't keep up and he had to double back for me and then he was considerably nicer and seem to realize I wasn't full of shit.

The X-rays revealed that I did in fact have pneumonia and the unusual location of it (top of the lungs) freaked the ER doctor out because that's where TB likes to linger. So because they thought I might have TB I was immediately put in my own isolation room in the ER. From that point on, everyone who came into my room had to put on this duckbilled face mask so that infection didn't spread. I was afraid that if I had TB, everyone at the party would also have TB, making me the Typhoid Mary of the gay party circuit.

Long story long, it's really fortunate that they thought I had TB as that meant I got private room in the ER and eventually in the hospital. Especially since there was a lady in a diaper wandering around the ER that scared me. The not so good part of thinking I had TB was that I had to cough up goo into a specimen container to be taken to the lab and I had to provide three viable samples that would all come back negative. Sadly, my throat was swollen, so this proved difficult.

Three days and many IVs of antibiotics later I was declared TB free and released and aside from a nasty cough I am doing much better. As I was taking a walk yesterday I was having a coughing fit and this guy leans out his window and yells to me "Baby, you need to get you some lemon tea." Can't argue with logic like that.

The moral of this story: if you think you're sick you should maybe not cook for people because you might have some weird infection eventually becoming a social pariah. Yeah, this really isn't a good story or a good lesson, I just thought I would catch everyone up on the reason why I haven't written in a while.

Also, you can make our same sweet recipes for your own party.

A Few Words To The Bitch Next to Me On The Elliptical Machine

Oh, hello there.

Since it's the early afternoon and there's about 17 empty machines here in a row, I'm bewildered why you've decided to work out on the machine right next to me. You realize that that's the equivalent of a man peeing next to another man when he could have put a urinal between them? No? Oh, you don't care. I see.

What's that? I see you looking at my mini-TV. And yes, yes I am watching Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. So what? Stop judging me. I'm a geek, ok? And I've already seen the episode of Project Runway that you're watching. Look, it's the afternoon, and I definitely can't work out to anything remotely intellectual. The History Channel sucks ass in the middle of the day. Working out with the CNN ticker on makes me practically apoplectic. Conversely, watching TRL on MTV makes me feel old. And VH1 is doing one of those shows on rich people that only makes me feel poor. It's not like you can hear my Star Trek. And hey, you wouldn't get infected with my geek vibes if you had worked out at a machine further away from me. You reap what you sow, gym-ho.

Also, I can't help but notice your scapula poking through your spandex. I can also count some ribs. In addition, your spindly legs are moving at lightening speed. Hey! Hey! Stop looking at the readout on my elliptical machine! You know what? I'm not as fast as you. I'm just starting. I'm asthmatic. I'm still recovering from sinus surgery. Is THIS why you're next to me?! Does it make you feel better?

Seriously gym-ho, you'd better watch yourself. You work out next to me again, I'll put a stick in your elliptical.

Subtle Indicators That Let You Know You Work Out at The Gay Gym

• there's a class called Dance Aerobic Funk - and boy do they get funky
• more than normal amount of spandex worn by gym goers
  
• Men's showers without dividers (knowledge courtesy of EZ)
• There is a tanning bed in your gym
• Guys drop by just to tan
• your gym has a juice bar
• your gym has a hair salon
• you see more than one guy with manorexia
  
• gay blogger Andrew Sullivan works out there (EZ spotted him in the locker room)
• everyone but you is gay

That's right, I joined a gym. Shock, horror. And funny enough, the closest one to me is indeed one of the gayest gyms in D.C. I am fine with this this because
a) I love gays and
b) it removes the heterosexual cruising element and cuts down on the number of anorexic chicks.
The ones that are there (anorexic girls that is) are clearly forced to go to this gym due to proximity to their homes - lack of caloric intake keeps them from straying too far.

Since I always played sports or biked rather than hit then gym, I also got a session with a personal trainer as I haven't a clue how to use weight machines. I have similarly avoided the treadmill because my inherent klutziness and ability to fall for no reason leaves me with a deep seated fear that I will face-plant onto it at full speed. At my session, the trainer realized I'm a rather hopeless case and basically said "wow, you really have no clue. An hour really isn't enough time for me to show you the ropes".

In related news, I've also decided to train for a 10k, or as I like to think of it, one half of one half of a marathon. This should provide hilarious tales as well because I have absolutely no idea how to go about this.

Your WikiReality Is Not My Wikireality: Beauty & The Beast (the TV series)

You know, Wikipedia is an amazing creation of the modern era. A true idea of progress, where computer geeks the world over have come together to create a resource as accurate as Encyclopedia Britannica. Truly, Wikipedia is something to be celebrated.

But the Wikisword is double edged. Because sometimes, sometimes, the entries are just a wee bit wikicrazy, smacking of someone's unnatural obsession. Take for example this entry on Beauty & the Beast (the TV Series).

Don't remember this show? Why it was a magical series that "centered around the relationship between Catherine (Linda Hamilton), an Assistant District Attorney who lived in New York City, and Vincent (Ron Perlman), a gentle, but lion-faced "beast" who belongs to a society of misfits and outcasts (see "mole people") dwelling in the tunnels beneath the city."(1)

Tell me more you say? Who is this Catherine? Catherine "was the daughter and only child of Charles Chandler, a partner in a large corporate law firm based in New York City. She was of less than average height, with honey-brown hair, grey-green eyes, and a ready smile. She usually dressed very fashionably, in accordance with her social and economic position, even in the less "formal" world of the Tunnels."(2)

Interesting that the "mole people" of the "tunnels" dress "informally". Personally, I am only familiar with fancy-dress, high-class "mole people". Additionally, I think it is quite plausible to think that the creator of this wikientry may
a) have been a writer for the show
b) write romance novels
c) own 3 or more cats.

And what of Vincent? "The true nature of Vincent (portrayed by Ron Perlman) is difficult to explain, and has been the source of conjecture in the fan community. Physically, he is a person of extremely large and powerful build; however, he differs from human norms in that he possesses the facial characteristics of a lion, complete with blonde "mane" and fangs. His fingers are tipped with claws that can leave deep wounds when he attacks. In contrast to this intimidating form, his voice, while gravelly, is quite soft. When angered, Vincent emits a deep, throaty, feline, growl and when fully roused has been known to emit loud roars, also similar to a lion's. Normally dressed in a welter of various patched garments and homespun, he often wears a large cloak about his shoulders, especially when walking the city streets so as to conceal his appearance from others Above. Only during Halloween night does he feel safe enough to venture outside openly. He has also been seen to wear (at more festive or formal occasions) a costume somewhat similar to an 18th Century gentleman's formal dress, with a ruffed stock tie (see definition 12) at his throat." (3)

There are so many choice selections from the entry, if I quote more, I may as well reproduce the entire thing. I suggest that you peruse it for yourself so that you will not miss any of the gems - like the stars, there are simply too many to count.

Of course, you may be wondering what has taken me to the Beauty & the Beast entry on Wikipedia in the first place. A fair question, I'll give you that. In truth, I was a huge fan of the show. I was also in the fourth grade. In retrospect the show was probably has a reading level somewhere between Dr. Seuss and USA today - just because you have working writers, doesn't guarantee the material won't suck.

At any rate, I only remember the first season of the show because I apparently got a life in fifth grade and was no longer home on Friday nights to see it. But my wee sister, being five years younger, was a true devotee such that she now has purchased the recently released first season on DVD.

It was she who discovered the wikientry, and has only helped to reignite her love of Vincent. To the left you'll see a picture of vintage (ca. 1981) Ron Perlman who played Vincent, and I'll have to agree that he looks a heck of a lot better in make-up as some sort of lion-man than he does au natural (ditto for him in Hellboy).

My sister, however, feels no shame in her love. In fact, Vincent seems to presently eclipse her affection for her usual love, Russel Crowe, such that she said to me last night "If only Russel Crowe looked like a lion, had a lair, and about 50 dogs then he would be my dream man."




It may be helpful to keep in mind that my sister's self-described interests are "hard liquor, good boots, smart dogs, bad men."

Cue the video:





This post is dedicated to my sis. She likes it when the stories are about her.
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(1) Crazy wikipedia entry on Beauty & The Beast (the TV Series)
(2) Id.
(3) Id.

Bloggers I Have An Imaginary Crush On

1) Grant Miller
I broke my blogging cherry with you GM, you were my first link, so you'll always have a soft spot in my heart. You had me at the story where you went out of the house looking like a child molester. Also, since you're married with kids, I know you can commit. Chicks dig commitment. Or so I'm told.



2) The Gancer aka Dr. Kenneth Noisewater
How do I love thee, let me count the ways. Is it the fact that you avatar is named after Paul Rudd's nuts in Anchorman? Your tales of pimpitude? Your good taste in music? (sigh). Also, apparently, you're willing to perm your hair to re-enact scenes from the Blue Lagoon. That works for me on so many levels. Ok, really just one...basic...level. Unfortunately, you're seeing someone presently who looks like Brooke Shields in her prime and you live in Chicago, so this seems like a no-go.

3) Pistols at Dawn
God knows I love a misanthrope. You know what we have in common? A hatred of feelings. If we ever went out what would we talk about? I'll tell you what - not feelings. Also, your marathon-like stamina towards posting leads me to believe that you have stamina in other arenas, which is always a plus. So to sum up, stamina + no feelings = yes. Then again, we're both lawyers, and that = no.


4) Idea of Progress
Ah those soulful eyes (not that everyone can see them anymore since you changed photos, but they're good trust me on this one people). Not to mention your liberalism and vegetarianism. I'm not a vegetarian myself, but I'm for educated consumerism and I've always wanted to date across culinary lines. My parents would disapprove (why doesn't that boy eat meat?), we could fight about cuisine, it would be hot! Plus any guy who makes a short film about Mormon police is A-OK in my book and your knowledge of wine is charming. Sadly, like K-Noise you are geographically unavailable.


5) Justin of Seven is Green
Yeah, you're gay, I know I know. It's not like it's the first time I've lusted in vain after a gay man. So sue me.





6) Katrocket
You amuse me with your penis cakes and I'd like to be equal opportunity in case I decide to go sapphic. Plus the guys totally want to see us make out.


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The Best Christmas Gift Ever

Behold in all its glory,
A present to rival gold, frankincense, and myrrh!
I present to you, dear reader, a Christmas gift apex:
Complete with enormous zipper
A poinsettia appliquéd sweater vest.














See how it glitters!
See how it shines!
Did ever a present more clearly say
"You are going to be an old maid?"
In this sweater I defy you to get laid!














Ah the zipper!
No space shall remain plain
a lone bloom dangles
arthritic hands and failing eyes to aid














Also note, dear reader,
its sack-like, sexless fit
but unlike those that found for OJ
this is an injury I cannot acquit

But there is one glimmer
one tiny spark of hope
my sister received a gift as well
so I am not alone.


No doubt, there is a burning question that remains: who could have given me such a spectacular gift? Ah, the person behind the gift is as entertaining as the gift itself. Let's just call my benefactress Lady M.

Lady M was my parent's landlord when they first moved to Texas. Lady M is still in the landlord business and every year regales us with tales of how her rent houses have been converted into drug labs and whore houses. She's on a first name basis with every judge in the area because she's evicted so many people.

Lady M. has also had more plastic surgery than Joan and Melissa Rivers combined, however she looks ghastly and is incredibly cheap which makes me think she gets her facelifts from hacienda de facelift in Mexico. Her face has a totally inhuman quality, and if you dropped a plum bob off the front of her face, I think her eyes are sunken in a good two inches from her forehead. Contributing to the overall scary effect is her cheap wig from 1960, lipstick the color of crayon that looks like it was applied while driving over rough terrain, and a wardrobe consisting entirely of decorated track suits.

Lady M also likes to play matchmaker and each year when I'm home for the holidays she offers sometimes offer to set me up. Last year she wanted me to date a newly divorced attorney (with two small kids), but this year she informed me he is sketchy as he throws his $2,000 rent under her doormat in cash in the middle of the night which somehow keeps his ex-wife out of his money. This year she wanted to set me up with her cousin, also an attorney, and my imagination runs wild with what he must be like. Sadly, none of these dates have come to pass - not sad in the sense that I would actually like to date any of these gents - but sad in the sense that I can only imagine the insane stories I would come away with.

If I ever do go on one of these dates, I will be sure to wear this sweater.

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