STEPPING BACK TO 2002
A few years ago, when I was living in the guest room of a high-power lipstick lesbian lawyer, we decided one night that our lives were frighteningly reminiscent of a situation comedy. In fact, we even titled daily life "The Lynette and Rob Show." (She got top billing 'cause she owned the co-op.)

And so a high concept was born.

But it's not worth having a high concept if you aren't going to beat the hell out of it, right? So, following the paths of many popular TV hits before us, we issued a calendar for 2002, recalling our classic episodes and fun facts about the 'show.'

It was a great collector's item, if I say so myself. It also contained some of my best writing, if I also say so myself. True, you do have to know our friends to appreciate it in its entirety, but it's accessible enough to be enjoyed by strangers.

Which you're about to learn, because for the next few days, I'll be posting excerpts. (I'm having trouble getting a decent scan of the actual calendar pages, but I'll keep working on it.)

For today, click on the calendar cover to see the first two entries. More will follow. And if an in-joke (or what you perceive as an in-joke) is confusing, ask me!

Are you ready to revisit 2002? Then click away!

ANOTHER GOLDEN OLDIE
Here's another quiz I took eons ago. I probably shouldn't be quite this frank with you, but I would have thought my 'paranoia' score would be higher. ('Cause I know that Michele, Jeff, the Boi, and Toddy are IMing each other about me...)

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	Low
Schizoid:	Low
Schizotypal:	Moderate
Antisocial:	Low
Borderline:	Low
Histrionic:	High
Narcissistic:	High
Avoidant:	Moderate
Dependent:	Low
Obsessive-Compulsive:	Moderate
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

Okay. Fun's over. Back to work.

LET'S MEET UP FOR COCKTAILS ON LEVEL SIX
I remember taking this test in my pre-blog days, but I stumbled upon it again. Will any of you be joining me on Level Six?

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Moderate
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	Very High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Very High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Moderate

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test
(via NRO's The Corner, which features quite a few bloggers from levels Five and Eight...)

GANG WARFARE IN THE RED STATES
In New York, the kids will shoot you. In LA, they'll knife you. But in Indiana, apparently they'll kill you with attitude:

Merrillville schools ban pink clothes
"Officials have banned pink clothing for the remainder of the school year out of concerns that the color has become associated with gang activity."
(Via Fark)

Okay, okay, okay. I know this is a serious matter. Pink Crips are still Crips, right? And I'll bet the pink girl-gangs are especially tough:


So if you happen to be in Indiana and run into this guy

don't be complacent. Your safety -- in fact, your very life -- may depend on your vigilance.

Of course, gangs were a lot tougher when I was young...

ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS
Sure, Wonkette speculated (as Wonkette does), but Betty Bowers has the goods.

Is President Bush A Homo?

(Via Wonkette, natch)

NOT EXACTLY A PLACE I WANT TO RETURN TO, THANKYOUVERYMUCH

My inner child is sixteen years old!

Life's not fair! It's never been fair, but while
adults might just accept that, I know
something's gotta change. And it's gonna
change, just as soon as I become an adult and
get some power of my own.


How Old is Your Inner Child?
brought to you by Quizilla
(Via Crash)

ACTUALLY, SEE THE PREVIOUS POST: I DO LOOK LIKE HER IN THE MORNING


Which Famous Homosexual are you?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey
(Via BoiFromTroy)

SUCH A PRETTY, PRETTY BOY
Bradykins got himself a new cell phone. One of them new-fangled ones with a camera. One of them kinds of phones an old guy like me could never learn to work.

So he was playing around with it Saturday morning and he captured me in all my bespectacled, bed-headed, puffy-faced, under-caffeinated glory.

The photo is here. Click on it if you must, but be forewarned: it is not pretty. It is the picture of a man you'd wake up next to in the morning, then check yourself into Betty Ford. It is the picture of a man you'd avoid the next time you ran into him. Or deny knowing. If you had to, you would gnaw your arm off to slip away while he was sleeping. He is a triple-bagger. You would change your phone number if he tried to call... your state of residence if he tried to visit...

And I get to see him in the mirror every morning. Don't you wish you were me?

LEFTIES
Over the past few weeks, I have become a huge, huge, huge fan of Hot Toddy at Toaster Oven. I'll just link to his most recent entry, then you can bookmark his site and read it daily on your own.

By the way, today's paragraph that made me laugh out loud hardest is:
"If left-handed people are allowed to marry, what is next? They will want to marry horses and bicycles. If a left-handed person married a bicycle, can you imagine the burden that places on a child? Imagine a woman who has been raised by a left-handed mother and a bicycle father. On her wedding day, she will have to wheel a bicycle down the aisle instead of having a normal father escort her to her groom."

THEY WOULDN'T. WOULD THEY?
According to Wonkette, rumor has it that the Bush Administration might try to paint Richard Clarke lavender in an effort to discredit him.

Far be it from me to tell them what to do, but... are they out of their fucking minds?

I hope this rumor is nothing but the idlest of idle speculation. Really. Not because I'm any fan of Bush, but because I'd like to think that, even when I disagree with them, our nation's leaders aren't totally evil and venal.

(Ann Coulter, yes, but she doesn't really count.)

"Tom. You're gay."
D-Nasty gets to the heart of a certain Cruise-Cruz misadventure in an exclusive scoop!

ALL BLOG ENTRY IDEAS HAVE NOW APPARENTLY BEEN USED UP
"Doormat
A brand new doormat appeared at the front door of our apartment building a short time ago. In the winter, the stairs get extremely dirty due to snow/rain and the super's negligence in mopping them, so the mat was a welcome addition. But now the mat has been there so long that it too is extremely dirty; it's gone from being a solution to a problem to part of the problem itself."
----Kottke waxes eloquent about his doormat, and comes frighteningly close to this.

Not to worry, though, dear readers. TRL will not be left behind the curve! Here goes:

Colander
I bought a new plastic colander a few month ago. My roommate likes to cook pasta. He uses a colander to drain the pasta. That is more efficient and less painful than using your fingers. But now the colander has small pieces of dried pasta stuck in the little holes, and I can't get them out. Actually, I probably could get them out if I tried harder, but it's not really worth it for a $2.89 colander. Perhaps I will buy a new colander at the supermarket, if I remember. I hope the new colander does not get small pieces of dried pasta stuck in the little holes, but if that happens I suppose I could always buy another one at the supermarket, if I remember.

That was so cool. I feel like an A-Lister now!

YOU'RE FIRED IN DETENTION!

Last night's drunken revelation: Carolyn Kepcher-- Trumpian Ice Princess of The Apprentice -- is a cross between my sixth grade teacher and Princess Di.

What's not to love?

BATTLING BLOGGERS
Well... not really. It's all in good fun. But it's Friday, so go see why Mark is threatening to kick your ass and Crash is gonna cut you:

When You're in the South

When You're in New York

E-MAIL EXCHANGE SPARKS 'BURNING BED'-TYPE INCIDENT. DETAILS AT ELEVEN....
My roommate is originally from Northport, Long Island, so when I saw this news item, I immediately sent him the link, which led to the following exchange:
________________________________

ROOMMATE:
oh i fell and went " boom " there many times

FAMOUS AUTHOR ROB BYRNES:
Just like in Hannah's.
Or Posh.
Or Dorothy.
Or Siberia.
Or the Hangar.
Or the Townhouse.
Or the Monster.
Or Stella's.
Or Cleo's.
Or Chase.
Or our living room.

ROOMMATE:
i'm setting you on fire this eve
_______________________________

POTENTIAL FOR VIOLENCE TONIGHT: High.

So I'd better go out and drink before I go home. Dull the pain, and all that...

ENRIQUE INGLESIAS AND THE IRISH CURSE
"Shocking" celebrity news from Contactmusic.com!
(Via Gawker)

I PROBABLY COULD HAVE TOLD YOU THIS

You are -1% geek

Boy, you really broke through the bottom on this one. You are SO not geek. I recommend staying away from conventions, computer stores, colleges, universities, or anywhere else people might display the slightest interest in something other than what's on TV at the present moment. Your mere presence among geeks of any degree is incredibly dangerous to the continued existence of the known universe. Here, I'll say it slow so you can understand: Anti-geek + Geek = Big Boom. Now go read a book, for god's sake.

Take the Polygeek Quiz at Thudfactor.com

(Via Crash)

I AM NOW OFFICIALLY ENTHUSED ABOUT THE 2004 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION
A candidate I can believe in: bakiwop in '04!
(Via JadedJu)

IT SEEMS THE GIRL GETS AROUND...
Heh. I just got around to checking my referrers for the first time in several days. There were a lot of routine searches that led folks to TRL, but the one that made me laugh was this:

"jen chung" fuck

I don't know what's funnier: the fact that that search actually brought someone to my site, or the fact that my site was the 30th result.

Jen Chung, what have you been up to?!

For comparison, I decided that "Rob Byrnes" fuck should be searched. Far fewer results, and almost all of them due to my occasional potty-mouth (which is also a sign that I grew out of most of my evil ways before people posted every damn thing on the Internet, but that's another story.)

Like I keep telling you people, I'm an angel. Comparatively.

IF YOU WAIT LONG ENOUGH, THE EXPLANATION USUALLY BECOMES APPARENT
For decades -- well, okay, maybe only one decade or so, but still -- I have wondered why The Advocate , supposedly THE national gay and lesbian magazine, is generally lame. I mean, it's like People for the same-sex crowd. If they aren't putting heterosexual Dennis Quaid or heterosexual Hal Sparks on the cover, they're giving us the 957th cover story on Melissa Etheridge. It makes Us Weekly look cutting edge. It --- Well, yes, as a matter of fact I do subscribe, but let's not talk about that right now.

Right now we're going to discuss my enlightenment. So that you, too, may be enlightened.

I have come to realize that the reason the magazine is wimpy is because its editors are self-admitted wimps. Witness two recent published articles:

* This associate news editor was nervous about discussing same-sex marriage with his friends and family.

* This news features editor didn't come out to his father until he got his job with the magazine.

Now, I can be as big a wimp as anyone, and I'm actually bored by people who are all gay/all the time. But I'm also not putting out a major gay publishing resource twice a month. I don't think that the Advocate staff has to be especially militant, but the hesitancy they demonstrate in their personal lives is very clearly reflected on the printed page.

So buck it up, kids at The Advocate. Oh -- one more thing. No more Melissa Etheridge, okay? I'm sure that if you look around, you can find another lesbian somewhere.

THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST: THE CARNAGE CONTINUES
Mel Gibson's movie has now brought three people home to the Lord.

And yet, strangely, 'Agent Cody Banks 2: Destination London' has no blood on its hands. Is that right?

FUN WITH LIZA AND MIKE
As a Famous Author, you no doubt suspect that I make the rounds of New York society on a regular basis, signing autographs, getting photographed, and generally showering the bleakly untalented with the shimmering radiance of my celebrity.

And you would be correct.

However -- and I know this will shock you -- Famous Author-ing only accounts for approximately 8% of my before-tax income (which I manage to push to 10% of my post-tax income, if ya know what I mean.) And that means that I have to have a Day Job to keep me in the style to which I have grown accustomed.

Fortunately, by day I am a Famous Not-For-Profit Executive. True, that title does not roll off the tongue as easily as 'Famous Author,' but the size of the checks are nice.

The reason I'm mentioning this is because when one is a Famous Not-For-Profit Executive, one often finds oneself hobnobbing with the rich, popular, and powerful. In that, it is much like being a Famous Author. Except that you don't get an editor or have an agent snagging 15% of your earnings (although she also gets me into Page Six, so I'm not complaining.)

Which is my long way of setting up the situation I found myself in last night, when I unexpectedly ended up hanging out with Multimillionaire Actress-Singer Liza Minnelli and Billionaire Mayor Michael Bloomberg.

The event was the ribbon-cutting ceremony for a drug and alcohol outpatient counseling center for adolescents. When I walked in with my trusted sidekick (let's call him 'Bobby I', which is not his real name, but is his real nickname... oh, and that's the letter 'I', not a Roman numeral 'one'. He is not royalty.)

Er... where was I? Oh yes: Bobby I and I -- ("I and I"? That just gave me a headache. Hold on... let me start again.)

So we walked into the building and flashbulbs started to pop. I'm used to the treatment, but Bobby I used to be a cop, so he immediately reached for his ankle.

"Chill," I said. "It's probably just Patrick McMullan. Again."

I calmed him down, then turned to meet the press.

"Remember to spell it with a 'Y', boys," I said.

"Liza with a 'Y'?" asked a reporter.

"No. B-Y-R--"

"Who the hell are you?"

It was then I realized that the cameras and reporters weren't there for me. They were there for... other celebrities. Real celebrities. People who don't just declare themselves famous because they've written two books and learned to post messages on Blogger.

Shattered? You don't know the half of it.

What's worse: because this was a drug and alcohol rehab center, the reception was dry! Oh, there was Pellegrino and Diet Coke, but no real liquids. (And don't these people read? Don't they know how addictive Coke is?)

So I stood off to the side while photographers elbowed me trying to get a better angle of the former Mrs. Gest as she made her way into the packed room. Now, you and I might question the wisdom of bringing in the Queen of Relapse as a celebrity spokesmodel, but I guess it works for them. Anyway, shortly after Liza made her entrance, His Honor appeared to snip the ceremonial ribbon, and once again I was squished [ed. - that's a technical term of art] against a wall.

There I was -- not only a Famous Not-For-Profit Executive, but also a Famous Author... a two-fer, dammit -- and I was being ignored in favor of a Woman On The Verge and some random billionaire who also happens to be mayor of the capitol of the world. The indignity. The shame.

And to make matters worse, on his way out of the reception, Bloomberg brushed past me, but gladhanded Bobby I! I just wanted to cry.

For some reason, I can't find any news stories about this event in today's papers. But it happened. It really happened. I was snubbed in favor of Liza Minnelli and Michael Bloomberg last night, and life may never again be the same.

Because last night, I... I... I was Not Famous.

POSTSCRIPT: But you know what? Wait long enough, and everything comes around. After an hour or so, I left the party, wandering down East 58th Street to the nearest gay bar for a desperately-needed cocktail. As I pushed my way through the front door, I thought I heard a familiar voice... and I did. It was Liza, standing next to the piano and belting out "New York, New York," a half-empty tumbler of scotch sloshing in her jittery hand.

"Boo-boo!" she shouted, when she saw me. "Buy Mama another drink!"

I shook my head. "You're pathetic, Liza."

"You're mad because I'm drunk," she slurred, taking a wobbly step in my direction. "You don't know the pressure I'm under!"

"Sorry, Liza. I got you into rehab once, but you're no longer my responsibility." I turned my back to her and started to walk away.

"Don't call Liz Smith!!" she screamed. "Please!!"

My back still to her, I quietly said, "No promises."

Outside, the cold air was refreshing. I pulled a pack of Marlboro Lights from my pocket and lit up. A shadowy figure called to me from the dark recess of a brownstone stoop.

"Got a light, buddy?"

"Sure," I said, handing him the lighter. The flame flickered, illuminating his face, and I gasped. "Mister Mayor?"

Fitzgerald wrote that the rich were different than me, and especially you, and he was right. A few brief minutes on East 58th Street destroyed all my illusions, as the 'celebrities' showed their true faces. More importantly, lessons were learned. I may indeed be doubly-Famous, but by learning from the examples of others, I can avoid their fates.

And it may be awkward, but you, too, will soon get used to uttering the phrase, 'Famous-and-Beyond-Reproach Author Rob Byrnes.'

I'M ALIVE. REALLY.
I'm just very very very very busy. And, you know, much as I love you all, the day job is what puts wine in the refrigerator. I hope to get past this in a few days. (The same goes for e-mail: Toddy, Jeff, Levi... I know I owe, and have for weeks in some cases. But I haven't forgotten you.)

By the way, how come no one told me I had misspelled 'ciao' in the March 12 title? Do I have to double-check all my work on my own? Sheesh!

CIAO, BABIES
I am out of New York shortly (hopefully, within the half hour) to travel to Washington, DC, where -- on Sunday -- I will be celebrating my One Year Anniversary with Bradykins. One year. Wow. And they said it wouldn't last. Next we're gonna have to adopt us a couple of babies and get one of those New Paltz weddings.

In my absence, please try not to break anything or send obscene e-mail to Michael Vernon. (Okay, okay... go ahead and send him obscene e-mail.)

FROM THE 'SENT MESSAGES' FILE; ' TO: BRADYKINS' EDITION
Rob Byrnes wrote:
Wrap me in a cocoon of your love…
...
...
...
(Oh God, did I really write ‘wrap me in a cocoon of your love’? Ick!)

And that, folks, is why I made thousands and thousands of dollars as a writer last year and you didn't.

The end.

THE SCREAM
Or, INSERT MY HEAD HERE:


My e-mail is totally screwed up today. I am so in hate with the Internet right now.

On a positive note, I went to a great book launch party last night for Tom Dolby's The Trouble Boy. Open bar? Paparazzi? Not forcing your guests to buy books? I do not understand. Must be nice to be rich.

In any event, Tom seems like a nice guy, and the word on the street is that The Trouble Boy is a great read, so hurry out and buy a copy or six. By the way, you can meet both of us at a reading on April 21 here in Manhattan. I posted the details last week, but don't worry: I'll be posted them again.

JUXTAPOSED AGAINST THE PREVIOUS ENTRY, APPARENTLY I USED TO BE SNOW WHITE, BUT I DRIFTED

My life is rated NC-17.
What is your life rated?
(Via Oh Manchester...)

SEE? IT'S LIKE I'VE BEEN TELLING YOU...

You are one of the few out there whose wings are
truly ANGELIC. Selfless, powerful, and
divine, you are one blessed with a certain
cosmic grace. You are unequalled in
peacefulness, love, and beauty. As a Being of
Light your wings are massive and a soft white
or silver. Countless feathers grace them and
radiate the light within you for all the world
to see. You are a defender, protector, and
caretaker. Comforter of the weak and forgiver
of the wrong, chances are you are taken
advantage of once in awhile, maybe quite often.
But your innocence and wisdom sees the good in
everyone and so this mistreatment does not make
you colder. Merciful to the extreme, you will
try to help misguided souls find themselves and
peace. However not all Angelics allow
themselves to be gotten the better of - the
Seraphim for example will be driven to fighting
for the sake of Justice and protection of those
less powerful. Congratulations - and don't ever
change - the world needs more people like you.


*~*~*Claim Your Wings - Pics and Long Answers*~*~*
brought to you by Quizilla
(Via Crash)

JAY LENO: THE THIEF OF BLOGS
Sigh. I am so disappointed in Jay Leno. On his show last night, what was his big Martha Stewart joke? Sheets tied together.

Of course, you read it here first. And don't even try telling me that approximately 3.8 million people came up with the same joke at the same time. I ain't listening.

MEMO
FROM: MARTHA STEWART
TO: K-MART

Effective immediately, sheets with striped patterns are to be discontinued and taken out of stock. In addition, please note that Martha Stewart sheets will now incorporate a new design feature, making them easier to tie together. MSO has determined that there is a sudden consumer demand for this feature.

UPDATE: Leave it to Michele to go all Drudge on the story. I love it.

MORE WRONGNESS
(Can't this week end already?)

You Make Me Feel Like `Gancing'
(Via Fark, again.)

WHEN DEADLY PHYSICAL FORCE IS JUSTIFIED
Somebody stop these people! Now!
(Via Fark)

FRIDAY FAST FOOD FACTOIDS
1. Fast food movie being released

2. New salad ingredients announced

3. Drive-thrus can be fun!

COCKTAILS WITH THE BISHOP
Does anyone know which New York City gay bar is frequented by Episcopal Bishop Gene Robinson? I'm fairly certain it's not Posh, but after that, it's anyone's guess. (It couldn't be... no. Oh, please, no.)

I'd just like to know before 60 Minutes airs on Sunday. I hate surprises. I hate being captured in the background of a TV interview drunkenly swilling wine straight from the bottle, too.

DEAR IOWA: PLEASE STOP CALLING
Tonight, I have received cell phone calls from both the 515 and 712 area codes. (No, I didn't answer. Do I look blog stupid?) (Um... don't answer that question.)

Anyway, detailed detective work on my part shows that those are Iowa area codes.

Hmm.

Okay, I know what's going on here. And, yes, there is a great demand for an economically conservative, socially moderate candidate with strong gay rights cred who runs a significant business-oriented not-for-profit corporation and who is also a famous author. And, yes, I would not have only kicked Kerry's ass, but would have made Dean actually cry.

But weren't the Iowa caucuses months ago?

In any event, I am not available to become President of the United States until 2012, at the earliest. I do appreciate the interest, but my focus right now is in doing good things at the Day Job and, hopefully, paying off those pesky back taxes, which I swear I don't really owe, but... well... maybe a little.

Thanks for your interest, though, Iowa. Kisses to you all! 2012, okay?

IN CASE YOU'RE WONDERING WHERE I'VE BEEN TODAY:
Busy. Tired. Want to cry.

Happy Hour? Hmmm...

JOHN DERBYSHIRE WRITES (NEED I SAY MORE?)
Admittedly, one should not go to National Review's The Corner for enlightened discussion about homosexuality. But the resident homophobe di tutti homophobe of The Corner -- the odious John Derbyshire -- has crossed a new line:

MAYOR IN JAIL [John Derbyshire]
"Both sides of the polarizing issue have been waiting for Spitzer's opinion since last Friday when the mayor of New Paltz, a small college town 75 miles north of Manhattan, married 25 same-sex couples without licenses. Village Mayor Jason West now faces 19 criminal counts and could face jail time."

I suppose it is "mean-spirited" of me, but I can't help wondering whether this Mayor would feel differently after spending time behind bars, knowing what we know about prison culture.

So, to Derbyshire, we see that loving same-sex intimacy is no different than prison rape. Thanks for that information, Derb!

Oh, by the way, yes that is "mean-spirited."

One more thing: go fuck yourself.

NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!
I let this pass a few weeks ago when I saw the same mistake in amNew York -- the newspaperette for New York commuters; USA Today for the ADD crowd; the... ah, you get the picture -- but I figured that amNew York was so insignificant that it wasn't worth my time.

The Associated Press, on the other hand...

"Man arrested in grizzly killing of Bronx girlfriend who rejected him"

No! Let's do this all together, kids. First, let's define 'grizzly':

Webster's 1913 Dictionary
Definition: \Griz"zly\, a.
1. Somewhat gray; grizzled.
2. {Grizzly bear} (Zo["o]l.), a large and ferocious bear ({Ursus
horribilis}) of Western North America and the Rocky
Mountains. It is remarkable for the great length of its
claws.

Now let's define 'grisly':

Webster's 1913 Dictionary
Definition: \Gris"ly\, a. Frightful; horrible; dreadful; harsh; as, grisly locks; a
grisly specter.

There is a difference. A huge difference. And a reporter should know that. Unless that poor woman was killed a la Timothy Treadwell, this is inexcusable.

Okay. Your English lesson is over for the day.

WHAT COLOR IS YOUR BLOG?
Actually, that should probably read, "What color should this blog be?" But why start being accurate now?

The reason I ask is this: Michele doesn't like my purple. ::sniff::

Hey, I was happy I could actually go into the template and tweak the details without breaking anything, but I'm willing to listen to suggestions about changing the color scheme. I'm the first one to admit that TRL has a totally Blogging 101 look to it.

(In any event, this will be a temporary change, since I'll be moving forward in the Spring to fully integrate all the random components of my virtual life under one well-designed site. Still, if purple don't work, purple don't work. I am not Prince; I can be flexible.)

THE LOG CABIN JUDICIARY?
I promised myself that, after my blogathon yesterday, I would take a day off and knock a lot of work out of the way. And I will. But I couldn't resist posting this one little item...

You know those "activist judges" who the right wing are hammering for their radical rulings to advance gay rights, therefore tearing the fabric of our nation apart, destroying families, leading pets to lesbianism, and melting the polar ice caps?

Well, it turns out that a lot of them are Republicans.

(I imagine that the BoiFromTroy will be running with this one.)

JUST WHAT WE NEED: ANOTHER BILLIONAIRE ACTOR/POLITICIAN
Would someone alert Jen Chung at Gothamist that Mayor Bloomberg is going to guest star on Law & Order? I'd drop her an e-mail but I'm afraid of being trampled in her rush to post the news. It could be worse: Law & Order could have a subplot involving pandas.

I do, however, have the inside scoop on the story line. I can't reveal too much, though... so let's just say 'dead smokers' and leave it at that for now.

A MATTER OF EDUCATIONAL GRAVITY...
I'm not quite sure how this factors into a discussion of evolution, unless the Darwin Awards are part of the Miami Beach High School curriculum.

Ya gotta love Florida.

A COUPLE O'QUIZZES FOR YOU
(And yes, as a matter of fact I am ahead of schedule at work!)

You're Lolita!

by Vladimir Nabokov

Considered by most to be depraved and immoral, you are obsessed with
sex. What really tantalizes you is that which deviates from societal standards in every
way, though you admit that this probably isn't the best and you're not sure what causes
this desire. Nonetheless, you've done some pretty nefarious things in your life, and
probably gotten caught for them. The names have been changed, but the problems are real.
Please stay away from children.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

You're Thailand!

Calmer and more staunchly independent than almost all those around you,
you have a long history of rising above adversity.  Recent adversity has led to questions
about your sexual promiscuity and the threat of disease, but you still manage to attract a
number of tourists and admirers.  And despite any setbacks, you can really cook a good
meal whenever it's called for.  Good enough to make people cry.
face="Times New Roman">Take the Country
Quiz at the Blue Pyramid

(Seen at several sites, but most recently via Thomas Inskeep at Oh, Manchester, So Much to Answer For, who I've been meaning to link to forever but now that I've remembered I'll do right now.)

MARK YOUR CALENDARS
Date: Wednesday, April 21, 2004
Time: TBD (either 7:00 PM or 8:00 PM... we're not sure)
Place: Ding Dong Lounge (yes, really!); 929 Columbus Avenue, Manhattan

A few writers from the Kensington stable -- namely, Bart Yates, Tom Dolby, Roz Bailey, and Famous Author Rob Byrnes -- will be reading from their respective masterpieces. My fifteen minutes will be devoted to an excerpt from "Trust Fund Boys," which will be especially exciting for the audience because it will be an exclusive world premiere!

Plus, the Ding Dong Lounge web site indicates that adult beverages will be available.

And since you have your calendars out, make a note to yourselves not to schedule anything for the first week or so of June. I'll be setting a date for the "Trust Fund Boys" Manhattan launch party, and you won't want to miss it. (For those of you who will have to miss it, I'm also setting something up for the Washington, DC area, so watch this space.)

IRONIC LINK TO AN ARTICLE ON BLOGS, WHICH WILL BE LINKED SO MUCH TODAY THAT ALL IRONY WILL DIE BY NOON
Blogging Off
Your blog's great—nice dirt on Graydon Carter!—but can it buy me a beer?

TELL THEM, BROTHER TREY!
Trey Givens on gay marriage and freedom:

I don’t want to marry my sister. I don’t want to marry a straight guy. I don’t want to marry a cow. I don’t want to marry a gaggle of Mormons. Hell, at this very moment in my life, I don’t want to marry anyone.

What I want is freedom.

Applause. Now go read the whole thing.

SENOJ-ATEZ ENIREHTAC
This guy took lying about his age in an entirely new direction.

GOD HATES SHRIMP
Perfect!
(Via Sullivan)

HUH?
Steve Dunleavy, the New York Post's resident drunkard, always manages to mystify me, but he's managed to outdo himself today:

"What if same-sex marriages become officially recognized. Same-sex divorce, too. In most severances of heterosexual marriages, the man, usually the breadwinner, is the payer of alimony, and the woman is the payee - although there are, of course, exceptions.

"But in same-sex marriages, who is the breadwinner? Who is the man? Who is the woman? Who is the dominant partner? That is something I would not like to see argued in a court."

This whiskey-soaked bozo is kidding, right?

Memo to Dunleavy: get off your bar stool at Langan's and come join the rest of us in 2004.

THEY COME, THEY GO
Bradykins came to visit this weekend. Yay.

Bradykins left this morning to return to DC. Boo.

Bradykins caught the 6:05 AM train, which meant that we had to be up at 4:30 AM after not getting to bed sleep until 12:30 AM. Super-boo.

I am dragging today, folks. Dragging. And not in a high-heels-and-cheap-wig-and-big-attitude sort of way.

Speaking of coming and going (nice segue, eh?), it's time to dip into my template and clean up some links.

First, bid The Kicker goodbye.
[UPDATE: Whoa! Apparently everyone jumped to the same conclusion, and decided that, in light of New York mag's regime change, a technical difficulty was actually a permanent disconnection. The Kicker is, in fact, alive and well, and working out its glitches. I'd say that I regret the error, but Elizabeth Spiers has no knowledge that this site even exists, so I'll just sit back and watch her beat up Gawker for the false report. Heh.]

Next, go see Mark and Mumblesalot at their new homes.

Finally, welcome Hot Toddy of Toaster Oven and Richard Evans Lee's Edifying Spectacle to TRL's Recommended Reads.

(There. That doesn't really qualify as work, but it feels like it.)

DISSIN' THE DEAD
They just do not get Dead Person Etiquette in Rochester, New York.

As you may remember (and, if not, as I'll remind you), last week I noted that a recently-deceased Rochester radio personality was unflatteringly described as 'Nathan Lane-esque.' I suppose some people -- Nathan Lane, maybe -- would not object to that description, but it strikes me as not-so-subtle code for 'big flamboyant gay stereotype.'

Still, it's one thing to be eulogized as one-half of the duo from 'The Birdcage' (perhaps the most offensive movie ever made, by the way, but I'll save that discussion for another day). It's quite another to be memorialized as an edible bust.

Oh, hell, Rochester, what next? Are you going to take turns dragging him around like he's Bernie?