FINGER-LICKIN' GOOD.
What the fuck was this guy thinking? Great, now I'm gagging at my desk.

Better yet, the AP story links to this scrumptious site. I stopped reading at: "Most Americans don't realize that they are eating a pound or two of insects each year." Honey, you know why we don't know that? Because we don't want to know. Now shut up!

[Note: in fairness, I must point out that the following disclaimer is, in fact, present: "The University of Maryland and the Cicadamaniacs do not advocate eating cicadas without first consulting your doctor." The doctor in question, of course, would have earned a very specialized degree.]

This parade of grossness reminds me of something I read last week, but forgot to link to: New York magazine' article on "Extreme Eating." Fortunately (for you), the photos on-line are much smaller -- and therefore less graphic -- than the photos the jump out at you when you casual open the magazine in the privacy of your own living room.

I'm about to be put off food forever. As for you... bon apetit!

CODE RED
Due to a series of strange and possibly lethal coincidences, New York City will be hosting several out-of-town bloggers this weekend, including Mark and BoiFromTroy. In turn, a ton of New York bloggers will be welcoming them to the Center of the Universe. Expect to see people like Crash, Aaron, Michael, and, of course, me, as well as dozens of bloggers I don't read regularly but probably should, carrying our visiting brethren aloft through the streets to greet the cheering throngs drinking with them.

With so many gay bloggers gathered together in one place, though, there are national security issues. Therefore, I'm taking the liberty to designate the Portland bloggers to assume leadership of the blogosphere in the event of unspeakable blog tragedy (blagedy?)

This, of course, means that the Portland boys cannot drink while on call, but I'm sure they are up to that challenge. Fear not: New York City bloggers will return to international dominance by mid-morning Monday. Portland, you can be blind drunk by 4:00 Monday afternoon. Just like usual.

TO YOU, THIS MIGHT SEEM STRANGE, BUT TO ME...
Odd Google search ideas sometimes pop into my head, but 'Zimbabwean Porno Star' had not been one of them. Thanks to some random searcher, however, I now know that not only does Google turn up more than 200 hits on that topic, but that TRL is the top search result.

I am very proud, of course, but that probably goes without saying.

MY WEEKEND, AND WELCOME TO IT
Assignment: show two of Bradykins's friends around New York, and make it a meaningful experience.

Difficulty level: two days only.

Additional difficulty factor: both are from Colorado, and had never been to New York before; in addition, the possibility exists that they will never return. Therefore, the 'meaningful experience' factor.

Ready. Set. Go.

Friday:
* Posh.
* Vynl.
* Embassy Suites.

Saturday:
* The Winter Garden at the World Financial Center.
* World Trade Center Site.
* Lower Broadway.
* 6 Train.
* Grand Central Terminal.
* The Waldorf-Astoria.
* My office (to get a phone number I'd forgotten... and maybe to show off just a bit.)
* East Midtown.
* Lunch.
* Future Bloomberg Building.
* Bloomingdale's.
* Park Avenue.
* Madison Avenue.
* Central Park. (Note: disappointment that there were no pre-op trannies hanging from the trees. Must schedule better next time.)
* Tavern on the Green.
* Central Park West.
* Columbus Circle.
* 1 Train.
* TriBeCa.
* Embassy Suites; freshen up.
* Cab from WTC area to East Village. ("Look! There's the Brooklyn Bridge!")
* Gashole!
* Times Square. (Note: visit interrupted by massive thunderstorm. Guide protects visitors from rain; gets soaked; doesn't like getting soaked; proves his Manhattan street cred by being able to snag cab in torrential rain.)
* Embassy Suites.

Sunday:
* Battery Park Esplanade.
* Battery Park.
* Staten Island Ferry. (Note: this effectively gets New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, the Brooklyn waterfront, Governor's Island, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, the Lower Manhattan skyline, and, uh, Staten Island out of the way. Very time-efficient. And free. We like free.)
* Lunch in Staten Island.
* Return Ferry trip.
* 1 Train to Midtown to meet a friend at the Sheraton, where Brady and I first... you know.
* Ed Sullivan Theater.
* Friend cancels.
* Walk down Seventh Avenue to see Times Square when dry.
* Spontaneous stop at TKTS booth.
* Posh.
* Walk down Tenth Avenue in order to avoid Ninth Avenue street fair to reach 'The New 42nd Street.'
Dinner.
* Forbidden Broadway.
* Embassy Suites.

Monday
* 4:30 AM alarm.
* Get Brady to Penn Station and the girls in a cab to LaGuardia.
* Work.

I've seen enough of New York for now. If Mark wants to see anything next weekend, I'm sure a number of other bloggers will be happy to give him a guided tour. I'll meet them at the bar later...

READ IT HERE BEFORE YOU READ IT IN METROPOLITAN DIARY
Because I've been so wrapped up in odds and ends of joyless work drama this week, I totally forgot to share with you a deeply embarrassing story. And since the only thing I hate worse than being laughed at is being ignored, I'll happily share it with you.

First, you need a little background. I'm not the sort of person who likes the phone. In fact, I actively dislike the phone. Always have, always will.

And I hate people who yammer on their phones. Especially on, say, a New York City bus.

And I drink a bit. But you already knew that. When I do, though, a lot of my hard-and-fast rules go out the window.

So Tuesday night I had seven a few drinks and two shots with Michael after work, but -- since we hit the bar early -- it was still light out when I jumped on the M31 to go home. As the bus turned north on York Avenue, I remembered that I owed an old friend a call. [Sidenote: this old friend may or may not have been the model for 'Jamie Brock' in Trust Fund Boys, for those of you who have or will read it, by which I mean all of you.]

So I called. And we talked for the next ten minutes about, oh, gay bars and gay restaurants and gay couples and gay marriage and gay pets and gay gay gay gay gay. And then we said we'd talk again soon, and I hung up, as the bus pulled to the curb a few blocks from my stop.

Three young women stood to get off the bus and, smiling, looked toward the back of the bus, where I was propping myself up near the rear door. And then... they burst into applause.

I looked around, confused, sure I missed something. It was only when an older woman, seated near me and also smiling, glanced at me that I realized that the applause was for me.

"Me?" I asked. The older woman nodded.

Drunken bus-riding as performance art. I make commuting in New York City just that special.

I figure that in a month or so the other passengers will no longer recognize me. I think I can avoid the M31 until then.

LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL
I am now almost to the end of the work week... perhaps the longest work week of my life. I have spent the past five days either buried in work, excruciatingly tense, or both. Mostly both.

But now I see that light at the end of the tunnel, welcoming me through the dark passage.

"Come to Happy Hour," it says. "It's Friday, your boyfriend is in town, and it's GDW."

Of course I don't answer it. Who talks to patch of light? I mean, even if you hear the light speaking first, that would be sort of weird, right?

But still, in a half-hour or so, I will turn off my computer, lock up the office, and depart for a place where I can hang out on a tiny porch with 93 other homosexuals and drink and smoke to my heart's content. Yay.

Oh yeah: and Bradykins is in town, too. Yay.

And I'll spend a blissful Friday night, Saturday and Sunday putting the darkness of this past week behind me.

Just in time to enter the next tunnel on Monday morning.

THE THINGS YOU COME ACROSS...
I have a new favorite Worst Blog Ever. I am laughing so hard I have tears streaming down my face. It's just that bad.

But I'm a nice guy, and therefore won't tell you how to find it. You'll just have to trust me.

But Christ, it's bad! I have to go back now and read some more...

MORE REPUBLICAN SAME-SEX MARRIAGE
The BoiFromTroy is not alone! There seems to be a lot more interest in same-sex pairing up in the GOP than I had realized... and I'm not just talking about John Derbyshire.

A few weeks ago, we learned of the carnality in the relationship between New York's governor, George Pataki, and State Senate Majority Leader Joe Bruno. Now, Republicans in my home turf are fessing up about their same-sex marriages!

Added Slattery: “Every family has disagreements. We had a disagreement and like every good marriage we worked it out.”

Sweet. And it's important that Rick Santorum has a support group when he's ready to take the plunge. Don't you agree?

WHERE'S ROB?
Here's a fun game: click on over to celebrity photographer Patrick McMullan's website and find the famous author hidden in a photograph. It's hours of fun for the entire family!

For more photographs from my glamourous life, click here. I'm not in any of the photos, but I was at many of these parties last Thursday night, and I know a lot of the people. Not the ubiquitous Luigi Tadini, who seems to be in every third picture, but many of the others.

A NEW LOOK
No, it's not your imagination. I've been meaning to move the furniture around and repaint the blog walls, and today was the day. (I sort of felt compelled, since so many visitors have been stopping by looking for entries related to tossing the salad and the definition of 'riding the short bus.')

I still need to tweak here and there, but I'm happy enough with the new look. As for you, well... you'll get used to it.

TEN THINGS THAT ARE ON MY MIND RIGHT NOW
1. Why was the word 'defenestrate' created? Who thought we needed a specific word to describe throwing something out a window? Realistically, more objects probably get thrown out doors, but we don't have a special word for that act, do we? Hmmm... maybe I'll make one up. When I have a few spare minutes.

2. I see that Kinja is still no longer including TRL in its gay digest. It used to. Have I become less gay than I was last week? Am I post-gay?

3. In my short blogging experience I've been linked to by A Small Victory, Buzz Machine, TMFTML, Queer Day, Gothamist, Lance Arthur, Wonkette, and the late, great Let Me Get This Straight. Each time one of the Popular Kids links to me, the number of visitors to TRL goes through the roof. My question is: is it wrong for me to get off on that?

4. It would be appropriate for IKEA to sell Swedish Fish.

5. I wish my first name was Christopher. Christopher Ryan Byrnes. Yes, that would be a good name. I also wish that I was a few inches shorter. I also can't begin to tell you why I wish either of those things.

6. I know it makes me sound really old when I tell people I started working for the New York State Assembly when Hugh Carey was still governor, but I can't help myself.

7. I'm loving the new and improved Blogger.

8. Right about now members of my Board of Directors are meeting with Captain Queeg my Chairman to determine my fate. Huh.

9. If I remember correctly, in the song "Welcome to the Theater" from the musical Applause, one lyric is:

You'll be a bitch,
But they'll know your name
From New York to Kokomo.

Kokomo is barely one-third of the way across the nation from New York, so what's the big deal? That's not fame. Fame is being known at least as far away as Provo, Utah, I would think.

10. I wish I was on a beach.

ON CINCO DE MAYO I MERELY GOT DRUNK AND CHATTY WITH A COUPLE OF OLDER WOMEN. NEXT YEAR, I'LL HAVE TO SET MY SIGHTS HIGHER
I'm glad I didn't have any liquids in my mouth when I came across this.

Poor Dan. He should've just gone to Union Square!

FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF 'I THINK I WOULD HAVE PHRASED IT DIFFERENTLY'
The Union Square Partnership is out to class up the neighborhood:



Rejected themes:
Cum to Union Square.
Union Square: Manhattan's Money Shot.
We'll Respect You in the Morning at Union Square.

ABOUT LAST NIGHT...
I'm not quite sure when this happened, but apparently someone replaced my blood with used motor oil and emptied a few ashtrays in my sinus cavity.

I don't even think bacon-egg-and-cheese-on-a-roll-side-of-hash-browns can help me now. I am doomed.

KINJA HATES ME
I'm very, very sad. Kinja robots no longer seem to be sweeping through, bringing the wit and wisdom of TRL to new audiences. The six referrals I got from Kinja will be missed.

I think I know what this is about, though. Nick Denton must have finally found out about RobBot-dot-com. (Scroll to the April 6 entry. You need the exercise.)

WHEN BRETT MET JOEY
A new excerpt from Trust Fund Boys has been posted. Knock yourselves out.

Miss the first one? It's here. And excerpts will also be available on the sidebar for the foreseeable future.

'Cause I treat you so very well.

DRESSING ON THE SIDE
Apparently, while I was off getting drunk in commemoration of Cinco de Mayo (preceding the days in which I'll get drunk to commemorate the links between fashion and art on Madison Avenue, Friday Happy Hour, and whatever other excuse I can come up with for Saturday night afternoon) every blogger picked up The Smoking Gun's report on the now-famous Oprah Salad-Tossing incident. I'm only in the 'D's on my blogroll and already I've come across it at Chrisafer's site and Defamer, and who knows how many other sites are yet to come.

This lemming-like behavior by bloggers can't be tolerated. It demonstrates an absence of imagination and---

Oh, who am I kidding? I am so pissed off that I'm late to the salad-tossing party. Damn damn damn!

Putting aside my envy over being scooped on the salad-tossing (which sounds sort of obscene, in and of itself), in reading through the complaint letters on TSG, it appears that Oprah may also be guilty of manslaughter:

"The Oprah show described with graphic detail a sexual term known as 'tossing salad.' It was so offensive that my child's head literally exploded."
[Given that correspondent's recent tragedy, I think his or her letter was notably sober and professional.]

Not surprisingly, even though it's 9:30 in the morning here in Manhattan and I should be eating something greasy to soak up last night's remaining traces of tequila, I've already decided on what I want for lunch. Go figure.

"YOU KNOW,' HE SAID, LEANING TO WHISPER IN MY EAR, 'FAMOUS AUTHOR ROB BYRNES TALKS ABOUT HIMSELF A LOT"
Heh. I just wanted to let you know that I'm self-aware enough to know that. Oh, and I don't care. Don't like it? Read some other crappy blog. There's a lot of them out there. Trust.

Now that that's out of the way, I have a treat for you. Since the publication of Trust Fund Boys is mere weeks away, I thought I'd give you a few excerpts each week. That way, you'll either become excited beyond belief, or realize that you have better uses for $23... ah, who am I kidding? You'll buy the book.

The first excerpt is self-explanatory (I hope) and is taken from the first six pages of the manuscript. (Yes, I know there's probably a typo or two; hopefully, we caught them in the editing process. Hopefully.)

Read Excerpt #1

BRIGHT LIGHTS, MR. BIG CITY
Jay McInerney just can't help himself:
"You have a full-time housekeeper. You spend $50,000 a year on cigars. You lunch at The Four Seasons. You also fly first-class, sometimes Concorde, and you stay at the Four Seasons in Milan. Your friend Luca di Montezemolo, the president of Ferrari, sends a Falcon 10 to pick you up in Paris and flies you to Bologna, where a helicopter is waiting to drop you at the Ferrari test track in Marinello, where you get to test-drive the latest road rockets."

(Or did I just give away my age. It's all about the second person singular, people. That and the Bolivian Marching Powder. Got it?)

WARNING: BEING THE MAYOR OF SAN FRANCISCO CAN BE HAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH
Okay, I confess: I half-watched the atrocious made-for-TV move 10.5. But only for the special effects. Really.

I had to crack up during Sunday night's episode, though, when San Francisco City Hall collapsed as major politicians scrambled for their lives. The dialogue went something like this:

San Francisco Mayor: Governor!! Governor!!
California Governor: Mr. Mayor!! Mr. Mayor!!
San Francisco City Hall: Groan!! Creak!!
San Francisco Mayor: Gover-- AH!!!
San Francisco City Hall: CRASH!!

Admittedly, I wasn't building my nights around this movie, but did they even bother giving the mayor a name?

In any event, the stilted dialogue was so godawful that I had to laugh. I was trying to imagine their real-life counterparts in the same situation, and couldn't quite see them the same way the (alleged) screenwriters saw them.

San Francisco Mayor: Arnold!! Arnold!!
California Governor: Gavin! Don't worry!
San Francisco City Hall: Groan!! Creak!!
San Francisco Mayor: I've got same-sex weddings to perform here!
Same-Sex Couples: Eeek! Will anyone save us?
California Governor: I will hold up the City Hall Dome until you finish the ceremonies, Gavin.
Lesbian Couple: We'll help!
San Francisco Mayor: Thanks, Arnold!
San Francisco City Hall: Drat! Thwarted again!

As far as I could tell, the (probably unnamed) mayor in 10.5 was, er, removed from office in the collapse. The Governor fared better, merely getting trapped in the rubble for a while, which she probably preferred to being reunited with her ex-husband, one of those Duke Boys... 'Daisy,' I think.

But the whole mayor-buried-in-rubble thing got me thinking. Big-city mayors may often be reviled, but -- unlike Presidents or Latin American dictators -- they are seldom the victims of real violence or the destructive fantasies of writers.

Think about it. The roster of colorful mayors -- think Marion Barry or Richard Daley (both of them) or, well, pretty much any mayor of New York City -- is long, but no one seems to be aiming head shots at them. Don't get me wrong -- that's definitely a good thing -- but, with that track record, why are the mayors of peaceful, beatnik-y San Francisco in such danger?

In real life, of course, Mayor George Moscone was gunned down in 1978. Unless I've developed a big hole in my memory, Moscone is the only big-city mayor to be killed in the last few decades. But San Francisco mayors have also been killed off in films like The Towering Inferno and, now, 10.5, while their fictional counterparts in New York, LA, Washington, Chicago, and Boise are free to collect bribes, plot against political rivals, and rig elections without the specter of Death hovering over them.

I don't want to get all religious here, but perhaps there is something about the very position of Mayor of San Francisco that is almost Christ-like. That city's mayor is martyred to wash away the sins of... well, all other mayors. I mean, 'mayor' and 'martyr' even share four of the same six letters! Coincidence? I think not!

Clearly, the fictional, nameless Mayor of San Francisco is only the latest character to be killed off so that all other fictional American mayors can go about their business. That may not be right, but it fits the pattern.

However, I'd recommend that future fictional mayors stick a bit closer to the Governor when things start shaking and burning. Especially if Arnold has the role.

SITUATION: UNCHANGED
It will be a light blogging week. Somehow, I don't think that will impact on your life too much. However, I had a fairly relaxing weekend, so maybe I'm rested enough to tough it out through the upcoming week.

I must note for the record, though, that last Friday was the worst. The. Worst. Not only was work a ten-hour hellhole of soul-killing hate, but I then had to stand on Amtrak halfway to Washington, only to have Bradykins arrive at Union Station almost a half-hour late. (And baby... you know I love you, but -- if you're reading this -- don't ever do that again. Not even on days in which I'm in a good mood.) And then... well, let's just say that by Saturday morning, peace of mind had returned. And all that matters was that Friday was over.

Oh, by the way, bloggers are everywhere! The first person I saw in JR's on Friday night was Aaron Bailey. Small world, right?

THURSDAY IS AN OFFICIAL 'NO FUN' DAY
Nice way to start the day when the Chairman of your Board of Directors phones to say that he's convening a meeting of the Executive Committee to discuss issues, and you know that you're the issue because you're not invited to the meeting. Right? That's the sort of thing that really makes you treasure the 60 hours a week or so you spend at the office.

Not to worry, kiddies. I'm very, very busy and pissed that I have to contend with this distraction, but I'm not planning on going anywhere. I'm confident that this is a one-man jihad, not a serious performance problem.

Still, the organ-grinder wants some dancing, so I'll dance. Dance and have revenge fantasies... but dance.

Therefore, it's doubtful you'll be hearing from me for a few days. If you miss me terribly, send e-mail. If not, don't.

PS: I'm planning on unwinding this evening, 'cause (a.) I'm annoyed and (b.) it's GDW. Er... that's 'Good Drinking Weather' for you, the uninitiated. If you'd care to join me in the 6:00 range, I'll be at Posh.

Later!

AND WHILE WE'RE AT IT, WHAT ARE ALL THESE WOMENFOLK DOING AT THE POLLS?
Miller: Legislatures Should Pick Senators
(Via Drudge)

NATURAL SCIENCES 101:
In this course students will explore such topics as how trees
pollute the earth's atmosphere, and the role of ketchup and
other vegetables in the food chain. No previous coursework
required.
This headline just writes its own jokes, doesn't it?

Supporters Plan Ronald Reagan University

THE 'SMOKERS AGAINST SMOKING' RECRUITMENT DRIVE HAS APPARENTLY COMMENCED
So I'm standing outside work a while ago, taking a smoking break, when a thirtysomething woman approaches and asks me for a cigarette. Even though I'm thinking, 'Are you kidding? These things are, like, a dollar each in New York,' I offer her a Marlboro Light because I was raised to be a gentleman, and a gentleman always holds the door open for a woman, precedes her through the revolving door, and -- when asked -- offers her an oral carcinogen that will result in a lingering, painful, suffocating death.

She looks at the pack in my hands.

"What's that? Is there a stamp?"

"These are legal," I say. "Just like you'd buy at the newsstand."

She looks again, and says, "Can I see them?"

I hand her the pack warily, ready to stop her if she tries to pull a cig-snatching. But she merely looks at the tax stamp and says, "I don't know. This tax stamp is from Virginia."

"Yes, well, I was there last weekend and bought a carton." Because it makes a lot more sense to buy cigarettes in a state where they practically give them away with each Happy Meal, instead of in Manhattan (motto: "The Healthiest Little Big City in the World!")

"I don't know." She slowly hands me back the pack.

"If you don't want one--"

"It's just that I don't know if it's okay. Sometimes these stamps..." She trails off, and I have no idea where she's going with this.

I smile, trying to mask my annoyance. "It's legal. It's just from Virginia."

She shakes her head. I begin to slide the pack back into my pocket, but stop when she says, "Maybe..." Then she trails off again.

"Do you want one or not?" I'm no longer trying to hide my annoyance.

"I want one." I begin to bring the pack out of my pocket. "But I shouldn't."

I sigh.

"And anyway," she says, flashing a sunny smile as she turns from me, "smoking is bad for you."

I want to tell her that, yes, smoking is bad. But it's better than getting your head bashed with an ashtray by someone you've thoroughly pissed off.

But then she was gone and the opportunity for either of those actions vanished. Dammit.

REALITYLAND, POPULATION 138 MILLION
(or however many damn people live in this city)
Okay, so I confessed my bland white picket fence fantasy. Now it's time to remember one of the reasons why I love this city: theater.

There is, of course, spontaneous theater-on-the-street, which is always interesting. But in this particular instance, I'm referring to good old fashioned theater-on-the-stage. I don't see nearly enough (and right now I'm over-the-top envious that my former roommate saw Assassins the other night, and I'll probably miss it), but I do get to see a preview of Bombay Dreams tonight, so I'll get my fix.

The question is: how satisfying will that fix be? I have a natural aversion to Andrew Lloyd Webber, but since I'm on a benefit committee for the local office of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children and we're building a fundraiser around this show, I sort of have an obligation to go. After reading a few articles about Bombay Dreams, it sounds like something I could get into... and, if not, well... I've seen worse theater.

* I had a beet stuffed in my mouth at one show. I hate beets. I really hated the show.

* An entire row of my friends walked out of Dream. I think we were polite enough to wait for intermission, but I can't be sure.

* Even if we did leave during intermission, it could not have been ruder than the time a friend of mine went to see Lesley Gore starring in Smoky Joe's Cafe and got the giggles. For all two hours of the show. So bad that I was crying, and my ribs hurt from laughing. But listen: that was not my fault. Well, okay... maybe I was the person who first suggested that Lesley looked and danced frighteningly like Linda Hunt, but if my friend hadn't started to laugh so infectiously, there probably wouldn't have been such a serious problem.

* And then there was the guy who dressed in drag. And portrayed his own grandmother. And the grandmother ran an adult bookstore. (Come to think of it, I got the giggles during that, too.)

So I'm pretty well prepared for whatever happens tonight. Unless I start giggling.

Maybe I should double-check to make sure Lesley Gore isn't in this play...

FANTASYLAND, POPULATION ONE
I love living in Manhattan. Love, love, love it. Total, unconditional love.

So why is it that I've had recurring fantasies for the past month or so about living in a small house on a quiet suburban cul-de-sac with Bradykins? Cooking on the grill out on the patio, lounging by the pool, listening to the screams of the neighborhood kids as they play kick-the-can by twilight...

Maybe I just need a vacation. Maybe too much of a good thing is still too much. Yeah, that's got to be it...

SO CLOSE, AND YET SO FAR
Hmm. Moments ago I received a brand new type of spam. (I hope this means that the Nigerian millionaires haven't given up on me. I'll miss them.) "Leonardo" writes:

"LADY READ MY LETTER PLEASE"
Oops. I think Leonardo is under a misunderstanding. Maybe 'Rob' is a girl's name in Italy.

"hi I'M AN ITALIAN GUY,I LIVE IN ITALY AND MY NAME IS LEONARDO. I'm writing to you because maybe you can help me. HERE IN ITALY I DON'T HAVE A GOOD FUTURE BECAUSE THERE IS THE RECESSION-THE DOWN SWING CAUSATED BY OUR NEW MONEY-THE EURO AND ALSO CAUSATED BY OUR GOVERNMENT THAT IS NOT ABLE TO GIVE A HIGHER SALARY TO THE PEOPLE,NOW OUR SALARIES VALUE THE HALF AND THE PRICES OF THE THINGS ARE ALMOST THE DOUBLE."
I know, Leonardo, I know. That 'salaries value the half and the prices of the things are almost the double' thing is very Manhattan, too.

"I'M HERE BECAUSE I'M LOOKING FOR A SUGARMAMMA IN USA AND LATER I COULD ALSO FIND SOMETHING TO DO . I HAVE ALWAYS HAD THE DREAM TO FIND A WEALTHY LADY WHO LIVES IN SOUTH EAST FLORIDA,RIGHT IN THE PALM BEACH COUNTY.....I LIKE ESPECIALLY DELRAY BEACH BUT ALSO I FEEL ATTRACTED BY BOCA RATON..POMPANO BEACH ,JUPITER OR STUART."
Again with the mistaken sexual identity? Not to worry, Leonardo; I can throw on a caftan or something, and play 'sugarmamma' for you. The good news here is that my father and stepmother are snowbirds in... in... well, somewhere in Florida, so we'll have a place to stay. Except for the reproductive equipment and the money, we're just about there in fulfilling your dream.

"CONSIDERING THAT I LIKE THE MATURE WOMEN AND CONSIDERING I KNOW THAT THERE ARE MANY WEALTHY WOMEN IN PALM BEACH COUNTY AND MANY OF THESE WOMEN FEEL LONELY OR DOWN TOO....I'D LOVE TO FIND AN OLDER WOMAN TO COME BACK TO LIVE IN SOUTH FLORIDA.I'M ALSO OPEN TO KNEW PLACES,THEN ALSO NORTH EAST FLORIDA. I SEEK A GENTLE LADY WHO LIVES IN A POOL HOUSE NEAR THE SEA,AGE 40/55 YO,WITHOUT YOUNG OR OLD CHILDREN,A NO SMOKER LADY WHO COULD BE WIDOWED,SEPARATED,SINGLE OR DIVORCED AND COULD TAKE CARE OF ME.I THINK THAT SHE COULD BE OUT THERE AND I COULD ALSO FIND SOMETHING TO DO IN FLORIDA MAYBE LATER."
Good news and bad news, Leo: I fit your age specifications, and I have no children, and I'm not legally married (although, yes, I have been separated and divorced more times than I care to think about.) But I do smoke, and I can see that this might present a problem in our budding relationship. Would it be okay if I only smoked in the garage or something?

"WITH THIS I 'M NOT SAYING THAT I WANT A MILLIONAIRES,IF THERE'S ONE THAT'S OK BUT I JUST SEEK AN AVERAGE RICH WOMAN AND I THINK THAT SHE WOULD BE HAPPY AND I WOULD BE HAPPY STAYING WITH HER TOO..I'D LIKE AN AMERICAN LADY OR ALSO A LATIN LADY. I'D LIKE A WOMAN THAT FIGURES OUT OF THE YEARS ,LOOKS YOUNG OR LOOKS GOOD AND FEELS YOUNG ,SHE COULD BE A SEX BOMB OR NOT, IT'S NOT A PROBLEM IF SHE IS A LITTLE BIT OVERWEIGHT...OR BUSTY...OR IF SHE IS NOT BEAUTIFUL ,SHE SHOULD BE BEAUTIFUL INSIDE.I JUST WOULD LIKE A WOMAN WHO FEELS SEXY AND MOST OF ALL..SHE SHOULD DESIRE A YOUNGER SOULMATE."
Ah! Now we're back on track (except for that whole 'woman' thing.) You'll be happy to know that people tell me I look younger than my age, and I know I'm beautiful on the inside, except for maybe my heart, lungs, and liver. And I do feel sexy, and desire younger soulmates. Like you, Leonardo, I consider myself to be young at heart, while it lasts. One other thing you should know: I would be considered 'average rich' in many places in the world, like Bangladesh and Mali. Think about it!

"Being openminded i could accept a lady even if she is bisexual. I HAVE LONG BROWN HAIR, BROWN EYES,MY WEIGHT IS 65 KILOS/143 LBS AND MY HEIGHT IS 1.80 METRES/5.11...I'M NO SMOKER/DRINKER AND I'M VERY GOOD LOOKING . IF YOU THINK YOU COULD BE THE KINDA WOMAN I'M LOOKING FOR WRITE ME SOON PLEASE"
You sound sort of on the skinny side, but... Wait. You don't drink, either? Hmm. Can I drink wine in the garage while I'm smoking? This could be a deal-breaker.

"MEN,GAY,TRANSEX OR JOKES
DON'T BOTHER ME
--LEONARDO"
Oh shoot. I guess we're not to be, Leo, since I am three of those things (that'd be men, gay, and joke.) Too bad. We would have made such a cute Florida couple... you in your speedo by the pool, me in my caftan, sitting in the garage drinking and smoking. Sigh.

I'll never forget you, Leonardo! Never! Ciao!

BONUS: IF YOU GO, I THINK YOU'LL SEE ME THERE:
Crash talked Michael and I into attending this the other night, and -- surprisingly -- it's still on our calendars. This, despite the promised presence of my arch-enemy, Cumming. Anyway, try to stop by, 'kay? Sunday afternoon cocktails = good.

SUNDAY, APRIL 25th, AT 1 P.M., GOTHAM KNIGHTS' SECOND ANNUAL BACHELOR AUCTION AT SPLASH BAR, 50 W. 17TH ST., NEW YORK CITY Suggested donation: $10. Join hosts Alan Cumming and Flotilla DeBarge as they put 40 Gotham Knights rugby players on the auction block; each with unique date packages that are sure to tempt every bidder. The doors open at 1p.m. with a chance to meet the bachelors. The live auction begins at 2 p.m. A portion of the proceeds from this event will go to benefit Live Out Loud dedicated to empowering, energizing, and enabling lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered youth to live the life of their dreams. For more info, go to www.gothamrfc.org or contact Brian at brian@646guy.com . To see the bachelors, go to http://gothamrfc.org/bach/auction04.htm

I AM MY OWN RITA?
So wrong. So wrong. Crying here...

THE RITES OF SPRING
Ah, Manhattan in springtime. Sunny skies, warm weather, and naked homosexuals having sex in trees.

PARK SEX DUO GETS COPS UP TREE
(Money quote: "We thought it was an ecological statement for Earth Day, but it's just transvestites." Heh heh.)

Like most gay people, I didn't exactly get a parade from my family when I came out. But it wouldn't have occurred to me to take things that far. I guess I'm just lacking in creativity.

The good news is that the weather is supposed to be very nice tomorrow. Anyone want to meet me in Central Park? Noon-ish?

THE EVER-EXPANDING BLOGROLL OF FAME
I don't know why, exactly, this is, but over the past few weeks I've added a number of new blogs to the sidebar. Compulsive need to be loved? Maybe. Impulsive whimsy? Maybe. Repulsive work ethic leading me to waste time adding blogs to the sidebar instead of actually working? Almost certainly.

In any event, check them out, and enjoy. Or not. (I'm feeling very wishy-washy today.)

APB
When last sighted, Crash was in the company of a fellow blogger and my ex, drinking heavily in a Morningside Heights gay bar. If you spot him, contact 911 immediately. Do not -- repeat, do not -- attempt to apprehend him by yourself.

In other news, the reading went well last night. And the binge drinking went better.

NOT TO STEAL WONKETTE'S THUNDER, BUT...
State Senate Majority Leader Joseph Bruno said Wednesday that when it comes to working with his fellow Republican, Gov. George Pataki, the two "make love" _ most of the time...

"I don't mind making love to you, just don't ask me to marry you," the governor said.
Newsday: Bruno proclaims love _ most of the time _ for Pataki

YOU WEREN'T DOING ANYTHING IMPORTANT TONIGHT ANYWAY
Remember: this evening is my First Reading Ever. Naturally, you'll want to be there:
Wednesday, April 21
7:00 PM
at the
Ding-Dong Lounge
929 Columbus Avenue (105-106)
Manhattan
Hear excerpts from
Famous Author Rob Byrnes ("Trust Fund Boys")
Bart Yates ("Leave Myself Behind)
Tom Dolby ("The Trouble Boy")

Side benefits: cocktails, meeting some my friends, cocktails, potential appearances by Special Guest Bloggers, cocktails, not getting gossiped about behind your back, cocktails.

See you in a few hours!

SOMEONE'S VERY SPECIAL DAY...
You have an assignment for today. It's Bradykins's 34th Birthday, and -- whether you know him or not -- you're going to e-mail him to wish him a Happy Birthday.

Happy Birthday, Bradykins!

There. Didn't that feel good? Don't worry... I'll take care of the rest of the birthday present.

BLOGS THAT MAKE YOU GO HMMMM
Have you ever stumbled across someone's web log and couldn't stop reading? No, not because it was witty and clever and insightful; because it was this big ol' trainwreck of a site full of raw emotion, mad ramblings, and -- best of all -- a complete lack of discretion.

Sort of like if Anne Heche had a blog. And if she was a gay man. When it wasn't necessarily convenient. And for an extended period of time.

No? Well if you do, feel free to tell me about it. As for me, I'm keeping my own counsel on this matter.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE G. W.?

GOD STILL HATES SHRIMP, SINNERS!
Remember this? Only Connect took it a step further a while ago, and visited a Christian chat room to spread the word. Hilarity ensued.
(Via Sixth Borough)

IT'S ALMOST LIKE A REAL BOOK!
How cool. A few minutes ago, someone from Kensington popped into my office with a copy of Trust Fund Boys. Hot off the presses... final... no changes allowed... this is what the world will see on the shelves in just a few short weeks...

Yay!

On a related note, remember that I'm reading at the Ding Dong Lounge Wednesday night with authors Bart Yates and Tom Dolby, who have written two of the most well-received pieces of gay fiction in recent years. Details are in the sidebar. If you can make it, say hi. (And, no, I still haven't decided what I'm going to read. Stop pressuring me!!)

MEANWHILE, IN OUR NATION'S CAPITOL, THE INTELLECTUAL CONVERSATION CONTINUED TO FLOW LIKE OAKY CHARDONNAY THIS PAST WEEKEND...
Bradykins: Straight Friend from Wyoming #1, SFfW #2, this is my boyfriend, Rob.
SFfW #2: Nice to meet you, Rob. Maybe you can answer a question Bradykins won't answer for us.
Rob: Which is...?
Bradykins and SFfW #1: (Oh dear...)
SFfW #2: Which one of you is the pitcher, and which one is the catcher?
Rob: ...
...
...
SFfW #2: You aren't sure?
Rob: No, I'm sure. Let's just say that we're both shortstops, and leave it at that.