Friday, July 30, 2004


Most of Manhattan is laid out in a grid system. It is perhaps the easiest area to navigate in the world. North of 14th Street, there are very simple rules:
* as street numbers increase, you are going north;

* as avenue numbers increase, you are going west.;

* if you are east of Fifth Avenue, it's East 58th Street;

* if you are west of Fifth Avenue, it's West 58th Street.

And as for the handful of avenues that are named, not numbered, well... there are so few that it's easy to remember the order.

So why did it take me two cabs to go home last night?  I mean, I intended to travel familiar territory for the equivalent of 25 blocks, so why did I end up wandering all over the Upper East Side?

Okay, a partial explanation makes sense.  I jumped in a cab and apparently told the driver "81st and Lex" when I meant to tell him "81st and York," which is an honest mistake because, up until a year or so ago, I lived at 89th and Lexington for a few years.  The fact that I rode, paid the driver, stepped out of the cab, and watched it drive away before I realized that I wasn't where I wanted to be was, well... a less explainable mistake.

That was bad enough.  Then I did something really stupid.  York Avenue is east of Lexington... so I walked...


For two blocks.

Which meant that I walked across Park Avenue without noticing that I was going the wrong direction.  And Park Avenue is a tough avenue to cross without realizing it.

I finally came to my senses when I reached Madison Avenue, cursed myself out, and hailed another cab.  Because Rockefeller here is totally made of money, right?  Seven minutes later I was finally at the right intersection.  I paid, got out, watched the car drive away...

And that's when I realized that I had become separated from my keys.

Yeah, I know. Sometimes I even impress myself.

Thursday, July 29, 2004


"You successfully identified 5 out of 14 items.
You are not allowed to play with my dog."

Dog Toy or Marital Aid - You decide.
(Via Useless! Worthless! Insipid!)

Via Wonkette -- this week under the care and feeding of Guest Blogger BoiFromTroy -- I learned that Democratic National Convention delegates have each paid $120 for liability insurance. My friend BFT, who really is a nice guy, even though he's one of them, writes:
The cost of the insurance was likely boosted because of the overwhelming number of trial lawyers in the room. (Just like a whorehouse: when lawyers walk in, the prices go up.) For example, Fred Baron, the former Edwards fundraiser who is being sued for taking a $30 million payday from a SaMo environmental cleanup fund, is now Co-Chairing Kerry's Victory '04 Effort. He's not the only Edwards-backing-trial-lawyer in trouble with a Southern California city: Pierce O'Donnell, who is under investigation for bundling contributions to L.A. Hizzoner Jim Hahn gave the would-be-Veep over $44,000 last year.

Is the liability insurance issue here the result of Edwards and his friends? Gee... you'd think Tucker Carlson would have something to add. I dunno... maybe Tucker's just waiting for someone to point him in the direction of the Fleet Center Jacuzzi.

In any event, this story might be breaking prematurely. When BFT and the GOP come to New York City next month, they may very well find themselves forking over their own $120, because...

McCollum brands Martinez 'trial lawyer' like Edwards
Mel Martinez, From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
GOP's trial-lawyer bashing may cost Mel Martinez
Just like John Edwards, Senate hopeful Mel Martinez is a trial lawyer
McCollum Renews Attack Comparing Martinez To Edwards
Anti-gay Senate candidate has two gay advisers (Oops. How did that get in here?)


The flight is booked, the car is reserved, and I've even already figured out where I'm sleeping the first night. It's time for the Class of '71 to reunite.

Last year (back when you weren't reading this blog, and don't think I didn't notice) a few very industrious people -- using that newfangled Internet thingie -- began tracking down the 1971 sixth grade class of Theodore Roosevelt School #43 in Rochester, New York. Because I am Famous, they quickly found me. In fact, they quickly found almost every one of the 'kids.' (I suppose fame must run in the class.)

Anyway, a Yahoo group was set up, and we've spent the past year getting reacquainted, and reminiscing about those two years in which we were pulled out of the mainstream for a gifted and talented program, before being mainstreamed again in 7th Grade in an apparent effort by the Rochester City School District to make sure that all potential was beaten out of us. Some of us went through high school together, and I was still in touch with at least one classmate for a while after that, but most of us haven't seen each other in 33 years. Over 12,000 days. A long, long, looooooong time.

But on Saturday night, the Class of '71 will meet again, face-to-face. We're literally coming from all over the United States. Boston will be in the house, as will Bellingham, Washington. Tennesee. California. And, yes, Manhattan. Even our sixth grade teacher (tracked down in retirement outside Buffalo) will be present.

This should be fascinating. We generally know what to expect -- yes, many of them have read my books, and some of them even read this blog, so no making fun of our pre-pubescent fashion sense! -- but you never know what the mix will be like until you're actually in the same room together.

Since I'm way overdue to a family visit, I'll also take the opportunity to grab some quality time with Dad and wife, Mom, Sis, and neglected friends and co-workers.

Oh yeah: and drinking. You can do that there, too.

Wednesday, July 28, 2004


From: Michael Vernon
Sent: Wednesday, July 28, 2004 4:03 PM
To: Rob Byrnes (E-mail)
Subject: What are your thoughts on West Side Happy Hour?

From: Rob Byrnes
Sent: Wednesday, July 28, 2004 4:07 PM
To: Michael Vernon (E-mail)
Subject: What are your thoughts on West Side Happy Hour?

Up until about an hour ago I thought it was a terrible idea, and I thought I should have a quiet night at home.

Now, though, I think I’ll meet you in front of your building at 5:30.

And so a drinking life continues...


Hundreds wait overnight in rain as Ikea opens New England store

Stop the Presses! Drudge is about to break an exclusive!

Dueling Reagans: Michael Reagan slams brother Ron, says he's 'being used' by the Dem Party... /// Michael charges brother Ron did not attend USS Ronald Reagan homecoming because he is a 'liberal' who does not believe in it and because it is 'weapon of mass destruction', says Nancy approves of Ron's speech at the Dem convention because 'he's her favorite'... Developing...

Gee. Just when Patti finally calms down...

UPDATE (if you care): Reagan Vs. Reagan

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

I’m honored to be guest blogging today at TRL: The Rob Log, while Famous Author Rob Byrnes devotes his considerable energy to work, for a change. Why am I honored? Well, first of all, because Rob has been somewhat of a mentor to me, helping me polish my writing, which was admittedly pathetic until our blogging paths crossed.

But also, because I greatly admire him and respect his considerable success. I know that we joke around a lot, but he really doesn’t think of me as a rival. He reserves that for Alan Cumming. True, Alan Cumming and I have a lot in common: we are both actors, write poorly, claim to be bisexual, and have a crush on Lisa Kudrow (his in a movie; mine in real life). Still, I think our differences are greater than our similarities.

The main reason I’m honored to be blogging here, though, is because Famous Author Rob Byrnes never discusses drugs. I also don’t discuss drugs on my own blog (which you can find at Hot Toddy’s Toaster Oven, but you probably already knew that), but because it’s important to discuss the un-discussable, I think I’ll take advantage of Rob’s absence and write a little something about my first experience with cocaine.

Shortly after I escaped the cult, when I was living back in Texas, I had a crush on a bartender who I’ll call ‘Wayne Earl,’ because that’s his real name, and calling him simply ‘Wayne Earl’ is much less invasive of his privacy than if I called him ‘Wayne Earl Hunnicutt,’ which may or may not be his name. Wayne Earl tended bar at “The Circle Q,” which was probably the only gay bar within 50 miles, which meant that ‘The Q’ had a captive audience.

And I was one of the captives.

That was fine with me, though, as long as Wayne Earl was behind the bar. He was young, but rugged. And he wore a big Stetson, and you know what that means. Also, he was almost as freakishly tall as I am.

One night I was in The Q sipping my Brandy Alexander (this was before I discovered Maker’s Mark!) and listening to the jukebox play Vince Gill over and over and over again – and admiring Wayne Earl’s biceps; which, come to think of it, were an awful lot like The Rock’s – when he swaggered over to me and asked me, “Wanna party?”

Wayne Earl was inviting me to a party? All 6’9” of that rugged manhood was inviting Hot Toddy to a party? I was so enthusiastic that you just know what I blurted:

“Uh… Maybe.”

He nodded and grinned, either slyly or with a bit of contempt. I wasn’t really sure.

“Take this,” he said, pushing a tiny piece of crumpled foil into my hands.

I looked at the tiny piece of crumpled foil. That was a very small party invitation. Wayne Earl cocked his head and stared at me.

“You know what to do with it, right?”

I stared back, not saying a word.

“Shee-it,” he drawled, in a very stereotypically Texan sort of way. I can imagine President Bush or even Molly Ivins drawing out the word exactly the same way. Not Ann Richards, though. She prefers to draw out the word, “Fuuuck.”

Since I still wasn’t reacting appropriately, Wayne Earl decided to speak to me as if I was a child. “Take it to the bathroom, and put it up your nose.”

“The foil?” I asked.

“The foil.”

I excused myself and went to the bathroom. After locking the door, I stared at the crumpled piece of foil, and tried to remember Wayne Earl’s directions. Then, swallowing deeply, I did as directed, unlocked the door, and returned to my bar stool.

“So when’s the party?” I asked him when I took my seat and ordered another Brandy Alexander.

“Party? Shee-it, what are you talkin’ about? You had your party!” Then he stopped at stared intently at my face. “What’s in your nose?”

It turns out that you’re not supposed to inhale small pieces of crumpled foil up into your nose. According to Wayne Earl, that’s like trying to eat Spam through the tin. I wouldn’t know. I don’t eat meat. Or even Spam.

So, yes, my first attempt to do drugs was an embarrassing disaster. Much like all my first dates. But I learned, and later became so adept that my best friend JuJu and I used to shoot heroin between each others’ toes. Life is like that, though. You learn from your humiliations and move on.

Blogging as well as drugging.

Posted by Guest Blogger Hot Toddy on July 27, 2004

UPDATE: As we used to say when I ran with the Capone Gang, the jig is up. Hot Toddy quickly figured out that he did not write the above entry... nor did he guest blog for Chrisafer, Michael, BoBo, Jeff, Patrick or Crash. He is a clever, clever boy.

Now, the perpetrators -- and I'm not saying that TunaGirl organized this, but you can draw your own conclusions by her "non-involvement" and "innocence" and "ignorance that this ever occurred" -- are biding our time. Waiting for payback. Which, we hear, can be a bitch.

Monday, July 26, 2004

I am swamped -- swamped! -- at work right now, and I am feeling the stress. No, really; I am feeling the stress to the point where my shoulder muscles are bunched up and I'm in constant (albeit survivable) discomfort.

So don't mess with me. I mean it.

However, I've made arrangements to provide you with a special guest blogger,who will be filling in for me tomorrow here at TRL. Who is it? My lips are sealed.

Tune in tomorrow...

Friday, July 23, 2004


And on that note, boys and girls, it's time for Happy Hour!

(Tombstone Generator, via Treacher)

It all started so innocently. And then...

Oh, by the way:

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

Despite the fact of my Famous Authoriness, you'll be surprised to know that more people end up at TRL searching for Lindsay Lohan's thong, Lindsay Lohan's boobs, salad tossing, and, for unfathomable reasons, the ubiquitous Luigi Tandini, than as a result of searching for, say, "Famous Author Rob Byrnes."

Go figure.

But I'd really like to know what these searches were all about, and if the searchees ever found what they were looking for:

mrs. kutcher handbag (Ashton's mom, maybe? Demi?)

gay kokomo


Homosexuality and chins?


1. Satan

2. Juan-Carlos

3. Michael Vernon

4. Everlasting Bartender

Oh, and I hereby absolve myself of all responsibilities for my actions last night.

Thanks for stopping by. Care to join me for lunch? I'm having Tylenol and Swiss on a hard roll.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

The bad news:

(Church Sign Generator, via Daniel)

With all due respect to my friends of the more conservative persuasion, spending a week at sea with John Derbyshire, winner of the recent Honorariest Homo poll, sounds like the set-up for a horror movie.

A very bad horror movie.

"Don't talk to me about naval tradition. It's nothing but rum, sodomy and the lash."
--Sir Winston Churchill

I think Churchill hit the NR cruise dead-on.

Is it wrong to find this story uproariously funny?

Well, can I at least laugh at the mental image of Andres Diaz brandishing a straw dispenser? Thanks.

Monday, July 19, 2004

Bid early and often.

Dear Famous Author Rob Byrnes:

On Saturday, I met my friend Terrence over on the East Side
for dinner. He lives in Ohio now. He was asking about your
new book. Being the good friend that I am, I suggested that after dinner we walk over to Barnes and Noble so he could buy it.

We couldn't find it on the shelf so we asked at the info desk. The guy was familiar with the book and said that the store had been sent 5 copies. Three were sold and one was STOLEN, so there was one left somewhere in the store. He finally found the last copy on a top shelf, but stolen???

What kind of readers are you attracting?

Upset on the Upper West Side

Dear Upset:

Fear not, gentle reader.  That means only that Charlie finally got the book!

Always yours,

Famous Author Rob Byrnes


you are even better
by famous author rob byrnes
when i think about the way
                                                      you stroked my hair...
as moonbeams broke through window panes;
as moonbeams played across your face,
                                                                so soft
                                                                  so tender,
                                                        so sublime;
you smiled at me, your lips...
slowly;  parted gently, like the soft caress
                                              of gentle hands,
and gently lips,
and gentle sighs;                              
your gentle lies
were all forgiven on that night,
because i knew romance and
                            i knew reality;
and i knew balance,
and i knew life,
and i know you are good, and
i know you are rich...
                                                                       ...which makes you
...even better.
famous author rob byrnes's chapbook "things i've said to men to get breakfast out of them the next morning" is available for $32.95 from The Pretentious Press.

A few days away from the computer, and what do I find?  Well, for one, new Blogger toys.  Fun, yes, and geared to making life easier for the idiots out there.  Starting with me.
But these bells and whistles are just asking for abuse.  Allowing bloggers the option of changing their font sizes and colors is frightening.  Please, fellow bloggers: for the love of all that is sacred, resist the urge to be clever!  If God had meant for us to have huge magenta type, He would have invented it before Blogger did.
In other news:
  • I have now met the internationally-famous Chrisafer.  Delightful.  And as Chris notes on his own blog, our respective boyfriends will most likely be forming a Blog Widows club.  I think they'll need a group blog for Blog Widows.
  • I learned that the New York Times will run a short excerpt from Trust Fund Boys in an upcoming Sunday City section, which is very cool news.  No, I don't know what the excerpt will be.  We can all be surprised together.
  • Jeff at Gatsby's Ghost writes that the InsightOut book club envelope this month promises "New scorchers from Dave Benbow, Rob Byrnes..."  Bless their hearts.

By the way, the bullets are one of the new Blogger features.  But it's okay if I use them, as long as they aren't accompanied by huge magenta letters.  (I loves me my bullets.)

Thursday, July 15, 2004

All joking and things said in the midst of temper tantrums aside, the very thought of job-hunting is one of the few things that drive me to depression. Even now, secure in the job I think I might have until I die (which, c'mon, is only about four years away anyway), I can't casually pick up the Help Wanted section without waves of melancholy washing over me. Blame it on being underemployed for a large part of my adult life, or unemployed for the first six months I was in New York. Or maybe I'm just unadventurous. Whatever.

Anyway, that's why I'm cringing at JadedJu's misadventures as she looks for a job. Funny, yes, but... would one of you west coasters hire her, ferchrissakes?

Reason #3,456,789 that I'm Still Unemployed

And Again with the Reasons for Not Having a Job

The latter entry, by the way, strikes far too close to home. When I first moved to Manhattan, I got an interview for a position as Press Secretary to a Member of Congress. The interview went well, until the Representative stopped in to say hello... and ask one quick question -- 'Which political figure do you most admire?' -- after which I spent the longest 20 seconds of my life as every possible cliched answer flittered through my brain.

...Bobby Kennedy? Why in hell's name
would you say Bobby Kennedy? You
know nothing about him. Say -- no,
don't say Cuomo. That's stupid, and
you don't even like the man. Moynihan?

I bought a few additional seconds by smiling and asking her "If I say you, do I get the job?", but, in the end, it was a momentous moment of interview disaster. My eventual lame answer (I won't bore you with the details) was not enough to recover.

The moral: Members of Congress don't generally hire press secretaries who go deer-in-the-headlights when asked a question. Lesson learned.

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Via Michael ('cause I certainly don't have the time to read craigslist), the tawdry secrets of my sex life have been revealed.

Why did I act like such a cad? Was it her age? Her neediness?

No. It was her herness.

As Thelma Ritter's character said in All About Eve, "What a story! Everything but the bloodhounds snappin' at her rear end."
I am Barrister barrister Collins Ekwe, the lawyer to the widow of the Late Gen. Sanni Abacha, former Nigerian Military Head of State, who died mysteriously as a result of Cardiac Arrest.

Since after her husband's death, her family has been under restriction of movement and, that not withstanding, they are being molested, and their Bank Account both here and abroad are being frozen by the Nigerian Civilian Government.

Furthermore, her elder son is in detention by the Nigerian Government for more interrogation about her husband's assets and some vital documents, following the recent discovery of her husband's Bank Account by the Nigerian Government with Swiss Bank in which the huge sum of US$700 MILLION and DM 450 Million was logged.

I therefore decided to contact you in confidence that she was able to move out the sum of US$11 Million Dollars, which was secretly sealed in two Metal Boxes for security reasons. I therefore personally, appeal to you seriously and religiously for your urgent assistance to move this money into your country where I believe it will be safe, since she cannot leave the country due to the restriction of movement imposed on the members of her family by the Federal Government of Nigeria.

However, arrangements have been put in place to move this money out of the country in a secret vault through a diplomatic courier service with the help of a security company. As soon as you indicate your interest forward to me your telephone and fax numbers, your postal address so that I can send to you the Air-Way Bill of the Luggage and other related documents that can help you claim the Luggage. Conclusively, we have agreed to offer you 10% of the total sum while 90% is to be held on trust by you until we can decide on suitable business investment in your country subsequent to her free movement by the Nigerian Government.

Please reply urgently and treat with absolute confidentiality and sincerety.

Best Regards.
Barrister, Collins Ekwe

Molestation. Detention. Illicit fortunes. Secret vaults. What's not to love? I am so replying urgently to Barrister Collins Ekwe! My ship has come in!

Monday, July 12, 2004

Okay, we've had a few laughs at a certain writer's expense. I am forever grateful to all of you Virtual Friends who answered my call to mischief and impish manipualtion. I love you all.

But now it's time to ease up. I mean... well, look for yourselves.

Heh heh. That cracks me up. But since we've already surpassed any rational definition of 'overkill,' it's a good time to take a break.

Until the next obvious victim appears, that is.


I just realized that Friday will be TRL's first birthday. How time flies. Unfortunately, I'll be in DC on Friday, so you'll have to celebrate without me.

Remember when it all began? That was a busy week for you, what with meeting me, reading about my obsession with Michael Holland (swoon) and Karen Mack, learning about the extraordinary pressures in my life, getting helpful hints on how to budget, experiencing giddy joy and the darkest of nightmares, and, of course, living through the saga of the red, swollen, weepy eye.

It's been a wonderful year, and it's been my pleasure to let you into my life, especially since you haven't been too intrusive or helped yourself to the bar.

To many more. Cheers!

Friday, July 09, 2004

If this is what ex-gay looks like, I don't want anything to do with it.

(Note for the record that I don't want to have anything to do with it anyway. But this glassy-eyed robot makes it look even scarier than I'd imagined.)

LOS ANGELES - State Education Secretary Richard Riordan jokingly told a child her name, Isis, meant "stupid dirty girl," prompting widespread criticism and posing a quandary for the man who appointed him, Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger.

By the way, the only thing that makes Riordan look marginally better by comparison is the idiotic and hypocritical response by California Assemblyman Mervyn Dymally.

Thank God Isis and her mother have their heads screwed on straight. They are the only ones who don't come off as buffoons.


Candidate bares chest for gay voters
“I have realized, in my adult life, that I’m not an unattractive guy, and I knew there would be some favorable response to that,” Ford said.

Hopefully, this will not become a trend. Because...

Oh God, it's too horrible to contemplate. I may never sleep or eat again!

Thursday, July 08, 2004

I've said it before, but now I have proof:
You are an SEDF--Sober Emotional Destructive Follower. This makes you an evil genius. You are extremely focused and difficult to distract from your tasks. With luck, you have learned to channel your energies into improving your intellect, rather than destroying the weak and unsuspecting.

Your friends may find you remote and a hard nut to crack. Few of your peers know you very well--even those you have known a long time--because you have expert control of the face you put forth to the world. You prefer to observe, calculate, discern and decide. Your decisions are final, and your desire to be right is impenetrable.

You are not to be messed with. You may explode.

20 Questions to a Better Personality
(Via BoiFromTroy)


My japanese name is ?? Kuroda (black field) ?? Taiki (large radiance).
Take your real japanese name generator! today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

By the way, if you add the 'Famous Author' in...

My japanese name is ?? Akimoto (autumn book) ?? Masahiro (big hero).
Take your real japanese name generator! today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

Much better...

Wait a second. For some reason, the Japanese characters don't show up. Hmm... I suppose I could fix that, if I cared enough, which I don't. Use your imagination.
(Via Over Queersville)

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

Wouldn't you think a writer (or his fervently devoted fans, but... let's get real. Who besides me has fans that devoted?) would have a better thing to do than spam Amazon book pages shilling his book?

Yes, you would.

But pull up a chair, kiddies, and listen to the tale of Jameson Currier, prolific writer and, apparently, prolific self-promoter. It seems that Mr. Currier -- oh hell, we're all friends; let's just call him 'Jam' -- and/or his toadies have too much time on his/their hands.

Quite recently, while checking in on the Amazon page for Trust Fund Boys, I noticed that a reader had recommended Jam's book Desire, Lust, Passion, Sex in addition to my book. Interesting, I thought. But yesterday, when checking again, I found that five readers had made that recommendation.

Quite impressive. Or so I thought. Especially since my first novel -- which, of course, you know was The Night We Met -- has been on the shelves for almost two years without amassing such a strong recommendation for another book.

My first thought, of course, was that Jam and I shared a number of readers. Even though my Amazon sales rank is, as of this moment, 2,485, and his is 1,269,897. But I wanted to give him the benefit of a doubt: perhaps the five people who have bought his book also read my book.

Ah! But then Famous Detective Sherlock Byrnes noted a pattern. To wit:

Tom Dolby's The Trouble Boy: five people recommended Jam's book.

Dave Benbow's Male Model: five people recommended Jam's book.

C. Jay Cox's Latter Days: five people recommended Jam's book.

Aaron Krach's Half-Life: four people recommended Jam's book.

Tim Ashley's The Island of Melting Hearts:
five people recommended Jam's book.

As you can see, a pattern emerges.

Now, it's important for writers to publicize their work, 'cause -- let me tell you -- chances are good that their publishers won't do it. Spamming Amazon pages, though, well...

On the other hand, maybe I'm too self-righteous. Maybe Jam has a good and innovative idea. And maybe his five readers would benefit by being directed to Trust Fund Boys. So here's what I think we should do. (Yes, I'm speaking collectively. What's the sense of having all you fervently devoted toadies if I can't put you to work?)

This is the page where you can recommend books to Jam's five readers. In the box following "I recommend," just type the ISBN for Trust Fund Boys -- 0758205449 -- and click the 'submit' button. And then you're done.

Cross-marketing. It's a beautiful thing. I will always be grateful to Jam for the idea.

(I stole the heading for that blog entry 'cause you can't improve on perfection)
AMERICABlog has the news from Arizona.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

You know how sometimes you'll be reading a news article, which leads to a link, which leads to another link, which leads to another link, and the next thing you know, you've entered a strange and mysterious alternate reality?

Yeah? In that case, you won't ask how I found this.

Homo-obsessed Right Winger John Derbyshire -- winner of the recent Honorariest Homo Poll (not that there's anything wrong with that) -- is now analyzing presidential and vice presidential candidates to determine which is "the prettier one."

I think we've found Colin Powell's Indian Chief.

Gay Cannibal's Gristly Story To Become Film

Unless the eat-ee was all about the cartilage, this headline is wrong wrong wrong, and the Word Police are going to show up at the offices of to exact punishment!

We've been here before, remember? Don't make me keep repeating myself.

UPDATE: Situation corrected. I'm sure I had everything to do with that.

Monday, July 05, 2004

The paparazzi were busy last week at the Trust Fund Boys book party. I'll get around to putting up more photos later, but here are a few to get you started. (Click on any photo to go to the page of BIG pictures.)

The Scene of the Crime!


img src="" />
More bloggers! (And a Random Computer Geek!)

Famous Singer Karen Mack!

Real-Life Friends of Rob!

The Lesbians!


More later, as time allows.

Friday, July 02, 2004


Just remember, Colin: they can't ask and you aren't suppose to tell.


UPDATE: A top-secret correspondent passed on Powell's lyrics to TRL. Enjoy!
Dubya, there’re more places to shock
And awe; Dubya, when you’re done with Iraq.
I said, Dubya, put a smile on your face.
There’s no need to be unhappy.

Dubya, time to settle some scores.
I said, Dubya, just a few minor wars,
When they’re over, then our troops can pull back,
When Halliburton gets the contract.

It’s fun to rule in the U-S-of-A!
It’s fun to rule in the U-S-of-A!
We have everything, we don’t have to be nice,
We can scare them with Condi Rice!

It’s fun to rule in the U-S-of-A!
It’s fun to rule in the U-S-of-A!
You can clean up the world, and impose liberty,
You can take over Germany!

Dubya, are you listening to me?
I said, Dubya, don’t piss off Dick Cheney.
I said, Dubya, you can make real our dreams.
But you’ve got to know this one thing:

No man helped our troops over there,
Oh yeah – one man – but that was just Tony Blair.
Next we’ll roll on, and do our victory dance
On the streets of Paris, France!

It’s fun to rule in the U-S-of-A!
It’s fun to rule in the U-S-of-A!
We have everything, we don’t have to be nice,
We can scare them with Condi Rice!

It’s fun to rule in the U-S-of-A!
It’s fun to rule in the U-S-of-A!
You can clean up the world, and impose liberty,
You can take over Germany!


Brett Revere is up for the acting job of his life. Failed on Broadway (or, to be more accurate, Off-Off-Off-Broadway), and recently fired as a temp, he decides to take on the denizens of the Penthouse, a Mecca for rich older men, and find himself a sugar daddy who will solve his financial problems. Hoping to camouflage himself in the company of a wealthy young playboy, Brett discovers that his pal is working the same game, and the two devise "Operation Hamptons," mounting a campaign to stalk and capture their prey. Brett undergoes a meteoric rise as he finds his niche, then some serious sea changes involving a fling with partner Jamie; the dark eyes of Angel, a handsome bartender; and an encounter with a former temp employer. Just as he did in his first novel, The Night We Met, author Byrnes brews a sexy, slippery, highly entertaining romance.

First Missouri, now Minnesota. I can't wait for my review from Iowa.

Thursday, July 01, 2004


26. I was born in Rochester, NY, and grew up near Lake Ontario. I know snow.

27. I went to Union College in Schenectady, NY. I know snow.

28. After college, I went to work for the New York State Assembly, requiring me to spend half my time in Albany, NY. I know snow.

29. I was 38 when I moved to Manhattan, where there is considerably less snow.

30. I moved to Manhattan as the logical next step in a 7-1/2 year long distance relationship. Three years later, that relationship ended. I know ice.

31. I also moved to Manhattan without a job. After almost 6 months of unemployment, I finally found a $30,000 a year job (less than minimum wage for this city, really) requiring me to commute three to four hours each day. To Staten Island. But it was a job, and the first step to rebuilding my career. From scratch.

32. Not to be too smug, but I’m pleased at the way things worked out with my career. A little talent, a lot of effort, and a dash of serendipity landed me my dream job just 5 years after arriving in New York City. Robby is back, baby!

33. My first post-college job was as a security guard. I was quickly promoted to the rank of sergeant. Please – no need to salute. For almost a year, if you wanted to get into a certain Rochester Gas & Electric facility, you had to be nice to me.

34. That was the job in which I started smoking seriously, to combat the boredom of sitting in a booth raising gates up and down for eight-hour graveyard shifts.

35. Sometimes I wish I didn’t smoke, and I’m very aware of the long-term effects the habit will have on my health. But mostly I’m okay with it.

36. I’m also okay with my drinking, although some people might find it excessive. Excessive in consistency, if not in volume or resulting carnage. I try not to make an ass of myself in public, and I usually succeed. After all these decades, I know when it’s time to go home.

37. And I’ve never let the bottle intrude on my job. On the rare occasions when I feel a bit, er, fatigued in the morning, I buckle down and work through it. I have never called in sick because of the previous night’s escapades, and never will.

38. I’m not a druggie. I don’t care if you do it, but they aren’t for me. If you do drugs, though, you should be aware that I’ll give you a nickname like ‘Cocaine Charlie’ and viciously mock you behind your back. Nothing personal; it’s just what I do.

39. Speaking of drugs, it’s rare I even take over-the-counter medicine. I’m not a Christian Scientist, but you’d think I was, the way I avoid even Tylenol.

40. However, I use various topical steroid creams to try to control a moderate case of psoriasis. By the way, it’s virtually impossible to combat psoriasis. The only thing that works for me is a lot of sun. Fortunately, I loves me my sun.

41. Ah, the sun! I am the King of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I cry when Daylight Savings Time ends.

42. Actually, I cry fairly easily. But I still have that ‘real men don’t cry’ ‘upbringing drummed into my subconscious, so I usually hold it in until my head aches. Of course, once my head aches, I won’t take Tylenol. It’s a vicious cycle, my friends. A former co-worker said it’s the Irish in me that makes me a bit weepy and sentimental.

43. I’m a somewhat unknown blend of Irish and German heritage, with a dash of English and, I think I was once told, Dutch. For some reason – mostly disinterest, I suppose – my family can only trace its roots back a few generations. Every once in a while I feel curious about my ancestry, but then it seems like too much work, so I let the curiosity go away.

44. The Irish Curse? Shut up!! I do not discuss my appendages on this blog.

45. But while we’re on the subject of curses, I should acknowledge that NC-17 words have been known to emerge from my mouth on many occasions. Some people think the use of profanity demonstrates limited intelligence, but they can go fuck themselves.

46. I thought it was funny when Dick Cheney told Patrick Leahy to go fuck himself. I like it when public figures let their guard down and act like real people.

47. Of course, I won’t be voting for Cheney (and his ostensible boss.) Maybe he should take comfort in that. Until 2000, I had a perfect record in voting for the winning presidential candidate, but I may have lost my knack. However, my perfect record of NEVER voting for a winning candidate for New York State governor stands.

48. Interestingly enough, though, I have been a Republican, I am currently a Democrat, and for a decade I was even an official in New York’s tiny Conservative Party.

49. When I was a Conservative Party county vice chairman, I ran for office twice as a protest candidate. I ran for County Legislature in 1981 (receiving 4.7 percent of the vote) and Congress in 1986 (3.8%). That means roughly one out of every 20-25 people who went to the polls pulled the lever for me. Scary.

50. Or maybe I just know how to snow.

(I wasn't going to do one of those '100 Things' lists, but I caved. What can I say? I am a follower. Although in my case, you're going to get it in four installments, because I'm a follower who always has to be just a little bit different. Enjoy!)

1. I have a map fetish. I can stare at a map for hours.

2. When I was younger, I drew maps of imaginary places, but stopped when I realized that people would think that was strange.

3. I love playing SimCity, but usually turn off the ‘disaster’ option, because I don’t want to see my creation destroyed.

4. The only place I won’t stare at a map is on the subway. I don’t want people to think I’m a tourist.

5. I am not often a tourist. It takes a lot to get me to go away.

6. I have only been to a handful of other countries: a long weekend in London; a few trips to the Caribbean; and – because I grew up close to the border – numerous trips to Canada.

7. My dream vacation involves a B&B. That’s Beach and Blender. I’m not good with organized activities and tight schedules.

8. I probably have no business baring flesh on a beach, but I long ago accepted the fact that I am never going to have Brad Pitt’s body, and I’ve put most of my body-image issues behind me.

9. Still, I’m surprised when people actually like my body, or don’t think I’m fat. I mean, I do own mirrors, y’know?

10. I was a fat kid. Once, my father angrily called me ‘obese.’ I had to look the word up in the dictionary. I still hate that word.

11. I was their first child, so I’ve forgiven a lot of things and chalked them up to the fact that first-time parents have to learn somehow.

12. I wish I were closer to my family, but I’m not. We are friendly, and like each other, and otherwise accept what we don’t like about each other, but since I moved to Manhattan I haven’t been especially close to them.

13. One of the reasons why I haven’t been close is because I hate the telephone. Yes, I answer it when it rings… well, at the office, at least. But ever since I was a teenager, I’ve hated to use it. If I have to make a call, I will procrastinate forever.

14. Actually, it’s not just the telephone. I procrastinate a lot. On almost everything.

15. But I’m good working with deadlines. I’m not good at easing into them in a planned and orderly way, but I’m good at meeting them, and I try not to break a sweat in the process. Even when I feel stressed. Never let them see you sweat.

16. I sweat when I get nervous. Profusely. My voice is strong and clear, my hands are steady, but my forehead positively gushes.

17. Fortunately, I don’t get nervous very often. Although after my long-term relationship abruptly ended a few years ago, I had frequent panic attacks for more than a year, especially whenever I’d walk into a gay bar. Even if the bar was one of my regular stops. I hated this, because by looking nervous and sweaty in a gay bar, other patrons assumed I was just coming out of the closet. I didn’t want that attention.

18. I was 29 years old when I finally came out. The process was surprisingly swift and painless, given how long it took me to work up the nerve.

19. If my best friend hadn’t (unsurprisingly) come out to me, I might have remained in the closet. Rumor has it that I can play heterosexual convincingly.

20. It was only when I came out that I realized that I was considered attractive. Well… by some people, that is. I had not really considered that possibility, although I see it when I look at photographs from way back then. Up until that point, I thought of myself as plain. And fat, although not obese, no matter what other people said.

21. I lost almost 25 pounds in the six months or so after I came out. I have no idea how that happened, although I can do some quick self-analysis and speculate that, as a gay man hiding in the closet, I was hiding behind that extra weight.

22. The worst part of coming out was hurting a very nice girl I was dating at the time. I have hurt a lot of other people in the years since then, almost always unintentionally, but I still feel guilty about that.

23. Before I came out, I was a lousy boyfriend, ‘cause I just didn’t care all that much about the relationships. I’m better these days.

24. I am drawn to relationships. True, I have taken full advantage of the Gay Male Prerogative when I’ve been single, but I’m happier when I’m nesting.

25. My parents were married 20 years to each other, and now have been married 20 and 25 years, respectively, to their second spouses. In 2004, I think that demonstrates remarkable stability. On the map of life, we’re following different routes, but heading toward the same destination. Which is not Canada.