IDLE THOUGHT OF THE MOMENT
I really wish strangers would e-mail me to tell me about low mortgage rates or special deals on Cialis. That would be cool.

HOW DID A 4-5-6 GUY LIKE ME END UP ON A SUBWAY LINE LIKE THIS?

You are the heart of the city, yet you never take
the glory for yourself. You work overtime to
get the job done fast and efficiently. You take
pride in knowing the city just wouldnt work if
you were out of service.


Which New York City subway line are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

BEST. HEADLINE. EVER.
Because I closely follow the directive that 'those who can't, criticize,' I take a lot of (deserved) potshots at reporters, editors, and, especially, headline-writers.

Credit where credit is due, though. This New York Post headline is so wrong, but I so wish I had written it.

*****

And how was your Memorial Day weekend? I think mine was fun, but I'll give you more details once I've had the chance to review the police report reports.

BOOK REVIEWING MADE EASY
Let me make one thing crystal clear: I am a huge admirer of Gay Haiku creator Joel Derfner. Who, by the way, has never been in the same room with Faustus. The following has nothing to do with Joel or his book.

It does, however, have to do with 365gay.com and its Book Editor, Robb Michaels. Michaels's review of Gay Haiku reads as follows:

For hundreds of years, the Japanese haiku has been equated with peaceful contemplation and spiritual enlightenment. A delicate balance of rhythm and line, the haiku has provided countless readers with an appreciation of the changing of the seasons and the miracles of nature.

Now, in Gay Haiku, readers can finally appreciate more important things—like the changing of boyfriends and the miracles of shopping.

Irresistible and irreverent, this collection of one hundred and ten witty and wicked short poems captures the many dating disasters of first-time author Joel Derfner.

Derfner graduated from Harvard with a degree in linguistics. His work for the musical theater has been produced in London, and New York. In an attempt to be the gayest person ever, he took up knitting and got a job as a step aerobics instructor.

In a wonderfully fresh and original voice, Derfner shamelessly mines his personal life to send up such broad-ranging topics as gay pop culture, politics, family, sex, and, of course, home decorating.

Readers will delight in Derfner's dry sense of humor and unmistakable charm as he tackles the big questions of life. For example:

How can we fix us?
The fights, the silence.... I know!
Let’s get a puppy!

Or, how about this one:

My seventh birthday;
I weep at Barbie’s Dream House.
How could you not know?

Impossible to resist, this hilariously sassy and sweet collection of haiku turns the perilous sport of gay dating into pure poetry.

Sound familiar? It should. Via Barnes & Noble.com comes this:

SYNOPSIS
For hundreds of years, the Japanese haiku has been equated with peaceful contemplation and spiritual enlightenment. A delicate balance of rhythm and line, the haiku has provided countless readers with an appreciation of the miracles of nature and the changing of the seasons. Now, in Gay Haiku, readers can finally appreciate more important things—like the changing of boyfriends and the miracles of shopping.

Irresistible and irreverent, this collection of one hundred and ten witty and wicked short poems captures the many dating disasters of first-time author Joel Derfner. In a wonderfully fresh and original voice, Derfner shamelessly mines his personal life to send up such broad-ranging topics as gay pop culture, politics, family, sex, and of course, home decorating.

Gay, straight, or undecided, readers will delight in Derfner’s dry sense of humor and unmistakable charm as he tackles the big questions of life:

How can we fix us?
The fights, the silence.... I know!
Let’s get a puppy!

My seventh birthday;
I weep at Barbie’s Dream House.
How could you not know?

From the sexy to the sublime, Gay Haiku captures contemporary gay life in one hilarious, gotta-have-it-right-now package.

Author Bio:
JOEL DERFNER graduated from Harvard with a degree in linguistics. His work for the musical theater has been produced in London, New York, and various cities in between. In an attempt to be the gayest person ever, he took up knitting and got a job as a step aerobics instructor.

In other words, what Michaels tries to pass off as a review is nothing more than a verbatim recitation of the book jacket. That's beyond sad.

The strange thing is that, at the bottom of the Michael's review, there's a copyright notice. That's not sad, it's ironic.

Maybe someone should tell him what it means.

COULD'VE BEEN WORSE
Originally, they were going to call her 'negress.'

"Yearbook error insults high school student"

And -- completely unrelated, but I've got the Blogger screen open, so what the hell -- I think there was some drinking going on overnight at 1010WINS while they wrote their news headlines. How else to explain:

"Bear-zilla Terrorizing Jersey Neighborhood"
"Bridezillas Rejoice, Kleinfeld Gets New Store"
"Cops On Heels Of Foot Fetish Freak"
"Man Crashes Car At Cemetery And Dies"
"Hello Sailor! NYC Fleet Week Begins"

Those might be 'sober' (insert wink here) for the New York Post, but not 1010WINS.

Oh, one last thing, while I'm thinking of sailors. I know I haven't been following Lost as closely as I should be, and maybe I was a bit tipsy due to partying at 1010WINS, but what the fuck was going on at the end of the season finale? Did I really see the little boy, Walt (or "Black Boy," as he's known in Waxahachie, Texas) get kidnapped by pirates? Or was that my imagination? Maybe I should do an Internet search to see if either Robert Louis Stevenson or Michael Jackson has been hired as Head Writer.

Okay, I'm done. Get back to work, dammit!

BELOVED
Despite my Famousness and general fabulosity, I am often surprised to learn just how impressed people are when the encounter me electronically. Well, yes, in real life, too, but I've grown use to that shock and awe. On the Internets, though, where anyone can communicate with major A-list celebrities like, oh, Dan Renzi and Paul Mercurio (who, by the way, is not homosexual, no matter what you thought when he had a career) and Horshack and President George W. Bush, it surprises and humbles me to come across appreciative fans.

Take, for example, Karen Roberts, who hates everything except me (and, perhaps, Faustus. The jury is still out.) She really seemed surprised that I popped in on her blog today. Doesn't she know that A-list celebrities use Technorati, too? Well, in any event, I will be linking to Karen's site in the hope that some day she comes to hate me, too.

And then there is MAK. Now, I have known MAK on-line and in person for a year or so, but -- until today -- I never really knew how much I meant to him. Here is a man who quit his job and now wants to be my Personal Assistant, even going so far as to encourage the public to vote. While I appreciate the American Idolesque gesture, and -- of course -- I am leading in the poll, I can't afford to take him on at this time. Granted, 'Personal Assistant to the Famous Author' is a cool title, but MAK will have to earn a living elsewhere. I know he'll forgive me.

These are the burdens of my life, friends. I know that all you see is glamour, but always remember that it's not as easy as it appears to live up to the admiration and, yes, love.

SOME THOUGHTS ARE BETTER KEPT OFF PAPER
As a Famous Author, I am often asked for advice. For example, a conversation with an aspiring writer might go like this:

Aspiring Writer: In 1991 I murdered a family of six and got away with it. I think that would make for a fascinating chapter in my memoirs. What do you think, Famous Author Rob Byrnes?

Famous Author Rob Byrnes: Well, Alan Cumming -- I mean, Aspiring Writer -- as you know, I only write fiction. I only live fiction, for that matter. So I might not be the right person to give you advice. However, I would think that you would be ill-advised to confess such a heinous crime on paper.

Aspiring Writer: I think it's pronounced hee-ni-ous.

Famous Author Rob Byrnes: No, it's hay-nous, you stupid bisexual Scottish Tim Curry-wannabe twit.

Had he asked, I would have given the author of the following passage the same advice:

"Over the years, I have converted many single-family dwellings into rooming houses without it being legal... The profit you can squeeze out of this type of house, until you are caught, is enormous.

"I used the surplus revenue ... to buy a new Cadillac Eldorado annually".

But, alas, he didn't ask. And now he's going to jail.

The moral of the story? Always seek out and follow my advice. Also, remember to pronounce 'heinous' correctly.

Related: The Care & Feeding of Tenants on Amazon. Mercifully, my books are still slightly outselling his books. For now.

WELCOME TO MY LIFE
You know how it feels when you're pushing a piano up a steep flight of stairs, but the weight of the piano is too much for the stairs to hold and it breaks through, and for a brief moment you think everything will be all right because you'll land on top of the piano, but when you hit the basement floor -- the concrete basement floor -- you realize that the piano is coming down right on top of you, and then the force of the crashing piano makes the foundation buckle, and the basement walls start to collapse, and you think that's about as bad as it's gonna get, because you're trapped with a broken pelvis under a piano with everything collapsing around you, and then you realize things can get worse, because the collapsing basement wall has ruptured the gas pipes, and then a passerby flicks his lit cigarette butt into the rubble...

...oh -- and everyone says it's all your fault?

Yeah. That pretty much sums up the first 6 hours of my Tuesday.

MONDAY MORNING AFTERNOON QUARTERBACKING THE 'DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES' SEASON FINALE
Best of all: if you didn't see the finale, there are no spoilers here! The things I do for you...

1. He's not really dead.
2. See? It's true what they say about crack babies.
3. Did Paul Young have to walk all the way home?
4. That scene where they found out that 'Dana' was really Zack Young's twin brother who had been raised in Bermuda by Mrs. Huber before running off to be a gay child prostitute in New York was some weird shit, wasn't it?
5. Characters I'm Officially SO Tired Of: Susan Mayer and Mike Delfino.
6. Characters I'm Not Officially SO Tired Of: Edie Britt and Gabrielle Solis. And John the Lawnboy, of course, but that goes without saying.
7. And I thought I grew up in a fucked-up neighborhood!
8. That scene where Marlee Matlin returns to Wisteria Lane and bitch-slaps Bob Newhart? Golden!
9. I never would have believed that George the Pharmacist was Mike Delfino's long-lost brother if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.
10. I can't remember: did the gay kid get punished for running over the meddlesome old Mexican lady, or just for having a bad attitude?

Not that any of it matters. It's just television.

Or is it?

CONFESSIONS OF A FORMER POP-DRINKER
I remember seeing an early version of this once upon a time, but this county-by-county map detailing which generic term Americans call their soft drinks is fascinating. I'm particularly struck by the sharp dividing line between the 'pop' drinkers in Western New York (where I grew up) and the 'soda' drinkers in the rest of the state (where I live now.) I guess I-81 is the line of demarcation.

For what it's worth, the map also vaguely mirrors the 'red state/blue state' presidential election maps. So... what we call our soft drinks is yet another aspect of the great cultural divide? Probably not. But be wary of dating a ginger ale-flavored 'coke' drinker.

(Via Not That)

WHEN YOU HAVE A QUESTION, GO STRAIGHT TO THE SOURCE
I have just discovered that this blog is the Number One search engine result for "hot grandmas fucking."

My life's goal has been achieved. I can retire from blogging now.

MARYLAND GOP NEEDS INTERNETS LESSONS
So a few months ago, an aide to Maryland Governor Robert Ehrlich got busted for spreading apparently false rumors about the monogamy status of a potential Ehrlich opponent on the Internets. Specifically, if memory serves, he was doing this over at Free Republic, which makes sense, because everyone knows that Freepers have the most credibility.

And now, William Duvall, an Ehrlich commission appointee -- and blogger -- has been busted for calling Mexicans 'wetbacks.' In fairness to Duvall, he didn't know that 'wetback' is consider by some overly-sensitive sorts to be an ethnic slur, and that's understandable, because Duvall is only a fucking retired lawyer.

I dunno. Maryland is south of the Mason-Dixon line, so maybe they have different standards. Maybe Duvall can have one of his slaves do a little research on ethnic slurs, so he can be up to date when he blogs. Then he won't have to continually apologize like this:

MAY 17, 2005

APOLOGY

I emphatically apologize to any and all who may have been personally offended by my posts of May 5, 6 and 17. WGD post @ 5:53 p.m.

I guess he was off-line on those other days.

Anyway, here's the thing: I really, truly believe that Governor Ehrlich should issue an Executive Order barring his fellow Republicans from the Internet until they learn how to use it. It seems to me that it would be in his best interests to do so.

Oh, also: he shouldn't keep hiring and appointing vile morons.

THE GREAT AMERICAN LIST
When I think of Great Americans, I don't think of John Adams, Ernest Hemingway, Ralph Bunche, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Polk, Marlon Brando, Eli Whitney, Lou Gehrig, Henry Clay, Thurgood Marshall, Oliver Wendall Holmes, Daniel Webster, Edward Albee, Tennessee Williams, John Marshall, or James Cagney.

No, I think of Madonna, Ellen Degeneres, Tom Cruise, Laura Bush, Dr. Phil, and Richard Nixon. You know, the people who have made America great!

I am so proud to be mainstream.

There was, of course, one notable ommission on that list. *cough* Don't make me be immodest.

I'M NOT QUITE SURE IF I SHOULD BE OFFENDED BY THIS

Since Trust Fund Boys is, ostensibly, about keeping up appearances, let’s start with the book’s packaging. It’s a gay summer read, so there should be a half-naked guy on the cover. Check. But a closer look reveals that this isn’t the usual Howard Roffman pretty boy, but more your average gym-body sporting a pair of sunglasses, perhaps to look cool, but more likely to hide the crinkles of age.

Now let’s flip to the back to the author photo. Rob Byrnes isn’t the guy on the cover, but he looks like he could well stand in for him.

Nah... I'm not offended. And anyway, nobody makes fun of the crinkes that go along with my advanced age better than me.

Still, I'll beat that Jay Laird with my walker. I will. Damn whippersnapper...

ON THE OTHER HAND, BRUCE TOOK SIX HOURS...

"Ashton's Too Quick for Demi"

YOU WANT STORIES? I HAVE STORIES
Today promises to be very busy at work, but remind me to tell you later about how I spent last night drinking and shopping with Kim Cattrall and Mario Cantone, and how Kim ended up holding up my underwear for the paparazzi.

It's a cute story. Really. And damn, I'm glamorous!

PLAYING CATCH-UP -- GB:NY2 IN REVIEW
If you've been following accounts on several hundred other blogs, you would think I was the only New York blogger who did not attend last weekend's GB:NY2 get-together.

But I was there. Really.

I was there at the beginning. Wayne even has photographic proof. Click over to his photos -- yes, you have to click on the butt to get to the photos -- and you'll find me in photo BG28. Green shirt, leather jacket... yeah, that's me. And in case you wondered, which you didn't, the guy in the backgrund is Greg, of I'm Nailed Right In.

Right after Wayne snapped the photo, I had to run. And then -- long story -- I had to run some more. At one point, all that running brought me back to GB:NY2, where I yelled a quick hello to some folks and was out the door again in less than a minute. However, once again photographic evidence exists proving that I returned. If you go to The Gideonse Bible and look at picture #4, you can see me -- well, you can see my ear, neck, green shirt and leather jacket -- in the background.

So, to summarize, I only saw a few people I knew, met no new people, and spent only a few minutes at GB:NY2. But I was there, dammit. The cameras don't lie.

If you went to GB:NY2 for the sole purpose of meeting me, please accept my apologies. Also, you're a liar, but we can deal with that at a later time.

TEN HOT NEWS ITEMS
[Because it's easier to toss up a bunch of links than put some thought in your entries. Heh... like you come here for 'thought.']

Item #1: Jim Stelling is a good Republican. In fact, apparently he believes in a large number of family values.

Item #2: RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!! I'm not sure, but it appears Kentucky Governor Ernie Fletcher has paid another visit to Washington, DC. (Ummm... those of you with faulty short-term memory will want to click here.)

Item #3: Thank you, Governor Gregoire. According to the Associated Press, Christine Gregoire -- Governor of the State of Washington -- is clearly a reader of this blog. Thank you, Governor. Your TRL tote bag is in the mail!

Item #4: Just because the Spring Breakers fall off balconies doesn't mean that you should fall off a balcony. What next? Grandmas Gone Wild videos?

Item #5: If you were a fucking idiot, would you want the world to know? Misty Turner, Rhonda Trantham, and a bunch of other mouth-breathers in Waynesville, North Carolina would. Cue up the Theme from Deliverance, gals! Oh, and... Chan Chandler? What kind of name is that? Chan, I realize that you have deeply rooted anger at your parents for double-naming you, but you shouldn't be taking it out on anyone who disagrees with you. I mean, it's not as if your name is Faith or Hope!

Item #6: Mister Softee is coming and he's pissed! So a 44-year-old ice cream man (bad sign number one) crosses paths with a foul-mouthed, obnoxious fat boy (bad sign number two) in Pittsburgh (bad sign number three.) Nothing could possible go wrong, right?

Item #7: The Amazing Race 7 is over. If Meredith and Gretchen couldn't win -- and, well, they couldn't -- I'm glad that Uchenna and Joyce won. What would have made victory all the sweeter is if Rob and Amber were both violently raped -- anally raped... without lube -- by crazed Mister Softee truck drivers in the slums of San Juan. Ah well... maybe next season.

Item #8: Very, very cool! Mark Hamill has Friday night plans for the first time in eleven years.

Item #9. From the Department of Icky Mental Imagery.
Choose one of the following and envision. Then -- to compound the trauma -- write fan-fiction about what your imagination came up with.
A. Michael Jackson. Macauley Culkin. Nakedness. Maybe Macauley doing that face-slapping thing from Home Alone.
B. The Rolling Stones, circa 2005. Nakedness. Maybe some drunken clowning around on the ninth-floor balcony...
C. Paula Abdul. Corey Clark. Nakedness. Not gross enough? Well, don't forget to think of 'distinguishing characteristic few have seen, only those who have been intimate with her.' There. That should keep you awake for a few days.

Item #10. Think you're cool? Well, BoiFromTroy is cooler. He drinks with Wink Martindale, and it doesn't get any better than that.

PRESENTED WITHOUT COMMENT
Except... me? On a unicycle? I think not.


You are 'juggling'. Jugglers, tumblers, and other
street performers were a very popular sort of
entertainment once, before movies and talkies
and online quizzes supplanted them.

You like to put on a show for people, and they like
to watch. You are friendly and well-liked,
particularly for your sense of humor, although
you sometimes play with people's heads. You
are frequently the center of attention, and you
like it that way. However, you have to realize
that the world does not revolve around you.
Furthermore, you have to learn that your
light-hearted antics are not appropriate to all
situations. Your problem is that juggling has
been obsolete for a long time.


What obsolete skill are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

(Via MzOuiser)

TRL READER SURVEY
I think some people are getting the impression through this blog that I'm an obnoxious, smug, self-involved asshole with a big attitude problem.

Hmmm. If you think that, you may be right. But still...

This is your opportunity to tell me what you think. In the comments, give me your feedback based on the following scale:

10: You suck, this blog sucks, you suck again, and you're not even really Famous!

9: You are a complete dick and the only reason people read your blog is to make fun of your typos, Loser!

8. Anger management much lately? Apparently not.

7. Just the right blend of rants, mockery, glimpses into your life, links to funny news stories, and stupid-yet-amusing quizzes. Too bad you have to go ruin everything by being such a prick.

6. Hi, Bobby, it's your mother. Did you forget me on Mothers Day? I mean, not even a single flower! What's up with that?

5. Bobby, it's mom again. I forgot to mention that your blog Jumped the Shark at some point last August.

4. I'm sorry. I don't belong here. I must have clicked on the wrong link.

3. I appreciate the tongue-in-cheek irony, wry observations, and subtle humor. Of course, you're the last person I'd ever want to meet in person, but I thought you should hear some good news among the many '10' and '9' ratings you're sure to get.

2. I enjoy TRL because I try to find the good in everything, and I love a challenge.

1. I read TRL if I'm having a hard time falling asleep. Could you maybe add an mp3 of Perry Como? That would be excellent.

Thanks for your help!

AUTHOR HAIKU

A book is published;
It will outsell my two books.
Die, motherfucker!

I AM MY OWN BEST IDIOT
This has nothing to do with FTD.com -- lucky you -- but a few moments ago it occurred to me that I should read the words I type a bit more carefully.

For instance, one week ago I wrote:

You know how it goes: the definition
of insanity is doing the same thing
over and over in the same way and
expecting different results.

By those standards, I'm insane. Because when an old pattern recurred in the past few days, I gamely expected different results. Now I'm beginning to think I got the same old, and yet I'm strangely surprised.

Famous Author Rob Byrnes, your padded room is ready.

UPDATE: CONSUMER ALERT
This morning, I thought FTD.com merely sucked. Now, a few hours later, I realize that they are the suckiest suckhole of suck to ever exist. And that includes Extreme Tracking, my site tracker, which Extremely sucks so much that it has recorded an entire 16 visits to this blog today, and none since 7:00 AM. To out-suck Extreme Tracking, FTD.com had to reinvent suckiness. Clever yet incompetent people that they are, they succeeded.

This morning, I was a bit annoyed that the flowers I had ordered for Mothers Day had not yet arrived. So I e-mailed Customer Service and, hours later, received the following reply:

Dear Robert:

Thank you for your recent purchase from FTD.COM for Mother Figure Byrnes. Unfortunately, due to holiday volumes we are unable to deliver your gift until Monday, May 9th or Tuesday, May 10th. We have posted a refund of your service fee to your credit card and sincerely apologize for the disappointment we have caused you.
It is our intent to provide you the best service possible and feel very badly that we let you down this Mother's Day. We hope that you will give us the chance at a later date to earn back your trust.

If you would like to cancel the order and receive a full refund, simply click on this link http://custserv.ftd.com, or dial 1-800-SEND-FTD (1-800-736-3383). We are here to assist you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Thank you for choosing FTD.COM.

Sincerely,
Linda A.

Well, 'Linda A.,' let me tell you something: if Mothers Day flowers arrive two days after Mothers Day, they're useless to me. Cancel my fucking order and stick those roses somewhere the thorns will inflict the greatest amount of pain and suffering.

How incompetent is a flower order-and-delivery company that is unprepared for Mothers Day? Did your associated florists not see it coming this year? Did they think it had been cancelled?

I am really pissed right now. I'm especially pissed that I get to top off this fiasco by calling my mother and stepmother and lamely trying to explain that I had ordered flowers well in advance of Mothers Day, but the idiots somewhere along the daisy-chain of command at FTD.com screwed everything up. Why don't I think they'll believe me?

Hopefully, after I endure this humiliation, I'll still have a full head of steam. Because I also want a piece of those morons at Extreme Tracking before the end of the day.

FTD SUCKS, AND MAKES MY MOTHERS CRY

Dear FTD.com:

I know you have bigger customers -- Oprah and Ben Affleck, for instance -- but between Mothers Day, my mother's birthday, my stepmother's birthday, and various other occasions requiring flowers, I still manage to spend roughly $500 per year with you, so I feel I have the right to complain.

Five hundred dollars. In a barter system, that would be 80 bottles of wine... or even 40 bottles of drinkable wine, if I bought that brand. It's the equivalent of 67 packs of cigarettes, or 200 packs of cigarettes purchased in Virginia. Forty-two cab rides home from Posh. One hundred drinks -- plus one hundred generous tips -- at Happy Hour. Six months' worth of MetroCards. One-quarter of one month's obscene Manhattan rent...

Just so we're clear where I'm coming from.

So why haven't the Mothers Day flowers I ordered on Thursday been delivered yet?

Even though you are allegedly tracking them for me, I know the flowers weren't delivered as of yesterday, which was sort of the point of ordering Mothers Day flowers. I know this because I had conversations with my mother and stepmother that went something like this:

Me: Happy Mothers Day!

Mother Figure: Thanks for remembering and taking the time to call.

Me: So... um... did you get any special Mothers Day gifts?

Mother Figure: All the good children and stepchildren sent me very expensive gifts/chocolates/a new car.

Me: Um... anything else?

Mother Figure: No, honey. Thanks for calling, but I want to get off the phone. The good children and stepchildren are taking me to dinner at the world's only 6-star restaurant, and I don't want to be late arriving... arriving behind the wheel of my new car, that is.

Me: Okay. Well, again, Happy M--

Mother Figure: *click*

*dial tone*

Now, if I was hoping for delivery in some out-of-the-way place -- Scottsville, Kentucky, for example -- this might be understandable. But there are two missing orders of roses -- with accompanying vases, at that -- that have gone missing somewhere in New York State's third-largest city... ironically known as 'The Flower City.'

At this point, no matter what you do, my reputation as the world's worst son has been sealed. Mother and Stepmother will never believe that I did, in fact, order the flowers before Mothers Day. However, if you could make these deliveries this morning, maybe I'll get to stay in the wills. As you can see, I am setting my expectations appropriately low.

Sincerely,
--Famous Author Rob Byrnes

ALL IN THE ALLITERATION
The AP, via the Social Security Administration, brings us the most popular name-pairings for twin babies in 2004. And all I can say is that there are going to be some confused, fucked-up kids in a decade or so.

1. Jacob, Joshua

2. Taylor, Tyler
[ed.: kidding, right? Please?]

3. Matthew, Michael

4. Daniel, David

5. Faith, Hope
[ed.: poor babies. I hope they're at least girls]

6. Madison, Morgan

7. Ethan, Evan
[ed.: "Ethan, Evan; I'd like you to meet Taylor and Tyler."]

8. MacKenzie, Madison
[ed.: if triplets, that's MacKenzie, Madison and Morgan]

9. Alexander, Andrew

10. Nathan, Nicholas

Nice. The only paired names that aren't nauseatingly alliterative are the ones from a Kelly Ripa sitcom. If these twins don't start killing their too-cutesy-for-words parents when they hit their teens, I'll be very surprised.

OH NO HE DIDN'T!
"The boys in the brownstone: Author Kevin Scott fictionalizes a certain east side watering hole"

Let me get my hat and my knife...

"I'M NOT GAY. I JUST LIKE THE TASTE."
Fascinating. What was once a bar-joke between me and my friends is now apparently a real political stance:

In a wide-ranging interview Wednesday night, West acknowledged he’d recently begun to seek out young men on the Internet and said he couldn’t explain why. “I don’t want to go into the whole issue, but I wouldn’t characterize me as ‘gay,’.” West said.

Um... okay.

Read the full story on Spokane's not-gay mayor here: "West's public policy conflicts with private life"

(Via BoiFromTroy)

NOTHING AFFIRMS IDIOCY LIKE REPETITION
Good God! Would somebody buy the folks at 365gay.com a dictionary, please? Eight months after I had to beat the crap out of them for incorrectly using the word 'turf,' they've done it again:

"Gay Marriage Town Turfs Conservative Politician"

Fucking idiots.

THEY MISSED
It could have been any one of several individuals or shadowy organizations.

Was it Cumming, D-Nasty, or Faustus, jealous of my writing success and Fame? Was it the AP, the Advocate, 365gay.com, or any number of other media angry that I mock their carelessness? Did Young Karen, Spike, or MAK lash out because I tagged them for a meme? Maggie Gyllenhaal? Mitch Albom? Ann Coulter? The ghost of Irene Ryan?

(And I've only scratched the surface. Maybe I am a mean bitch.)

In any event, you missed me, suckers! Nice try, but once again you were tripped up by your own incompetence.

I work in the building next door! Hahahahaha!! Try again, if you think you can get it right the next time!

UPDATE: Gothamist has a picture. Some of you lucky devils who know where I work can even see my office windows. Yeah... that's me, waving.

IF I MUST...
...I must.

Joel has tagged me, and I'm 'it.' The Official Rules of the Caesar's Bath Meme, as he explains them:

Said meme takes its name from Mel Brooks' A History of the World (Part I), and, upon receiving it, one is supposed to list five things that one's circle of friends or peer group is wild about, but that one can’t really understand the fuss over. Quoth Caesar, "Nice. Nice. Not thrilling . . . but nice."

My List of Five:

1. Vodka. Everyone I know drinks vodka. Lots of it. I'm often the odd man out, since I never -- well, almost never -- touch the stuff. If I do, I have flashbacks to that very bad night 29 years ago involving the infused watermelon, and we really don't want to go there.

2. Cher. If my boyfriend reads this, I am so divorced, but... I don't get it. I find Cher moderately diverting, but I wouldn't go out of my way. It's great that she's still working at 83 years of age, but what's the big deal?

3. Shopping. Shopping is something one does out of necessity. It is not recreation... not even close. Here's the way it should work: go to a store, get in, and get out. Oh -- and that cute little thing that you bought so you could keep telling everyone it's Prada? That cute thing isn't cute on you.

4. Convertibles. You can't carry on a conversation without yelling and your hair gets messed up. Need I say more?

5. Dance clubs. You can't carry on a conversation without yelling and people keep trying to force you to dance. People wearing Prada.

Since Joel passed the meme to three people, I guess that's what I'm supposed to do. So let's see what the following people think:

* Karen, because I owe her revenge for an earlier meme;

* Spike, because that 'schizophrenic Jekyll & Hyde personality' should provide for some interesting answers; and

* Young Matthew. Just because.

PROMOTION, FOR PEOPLE WHO DON'T NEED IT
Okay, first things first: I'm taking the M31 to work this morning and browsing Page Six to see if I'm mentioned -- which, today, I'm not -- and I see that Dana Vachon, better known in these parts as D-Nasty, who I've been telling you to read for a year and a half, has sold a few books at auction. (No link to the Post, 'cause it now requires registration, which is all screwed up. Go figure.) And then I check Gawker, 'cause I know they'll have the scoop, and... $650-fucking-thousand dollars!!!!! That's as if I had sold 92.86 books! Damn.

I mean, damn!! Somewhere in my archived e-mail I have a message from him saying he enjoyed this blog. I'm going to have to print it out and frame it.

Damn!

Okay... Envy, jealousy, covetousness, and all other synonyms aside, I'm happy for him.

But damn!

While we're on the subject of Bloggers Writing Books, this is as good a time as any to remind you that Faustus -- now outed by necessity as Joel Derfner -- is about to hit the shelves with his book, Gay Haiku. I had lunch with him last week, and can assure you he's as delightful in person as on his blog. As opposed to me.

For a few samples of what's in store for you, click here.

And I might as well also remind you that it's always a good idea to buy books written by Famous Author Rob Byrnes. Now that Trust Fund Boys is in paperback, you can even save a few bucks. Cheap bastards.

$650,000... damn...

MMMMM... BREAKFAST
Okay, I really didn't need to read this first thing in the morning. (Via Fark)

Speaking of morning, mine started at 3:30 AM. Yesterday, I awoke at 4:00 AM.

Am I finally turning into one of those old men who gets up in the middle of the night to pee and can't get back to sleep? Am I weeks away from the Early Bird Special? Dentures?

Damn. I thought I could hold off at least until I turned 50.

ESL AT AP
Yeah, I knows. Its eazy to just sits back and crit, ain't it? Still, here"s you're Associated Press Headline of the Day:

Ex-GOP Officials Critices U.S. Security

Maybe their excuse is that the story was uploaded at 2:10 AM. And the coffee machine was broken. And the building was on fire.

Maybe.

RELATED: Another thing I love is when the headline has absolutely fucking nothing to do with the story. I guess it's not my morning to read the news on-line.

UPDATE: The AP has fixed their headline, no doubt after discovering my mockery during one of their hourly checks of this blog for newsworthy stories. You'll just have to trust me that the incorrect verb tense and the misspelling existed at one time. And you trust me, don't you? Of course you do...

THE GLOVES ARE ALMOST OFF...
I hate it when young bloggers goad me. The next time I'm in DC I'm gonna find him and whack him with my cane. Unless I'm too busy doing Famous things, that is.

(Of course it's about me. It's always about me, dammit!)

Hmm... speaking of DC, I'm going to put away my spreadsheets and budgets and game of Solitaire meeting agendas and all that for a few minutes and tell you the Irene Ryan story. It's really not all that interesting -- then again, what here is? -- but I've been promising for months, so it's time to share.

As you know, my Friday Happy Hour is sacrosanct. Even in my rush to drink myself into an early grave, I will occasionally pass up nights out on other days of the week. But not on Friday.

So you can only imagine my distress a few weeks ago when I found myself in a suit and tie and SOBER in Washington, DC on a Friday night. So totally not found in nature. And all because of Irene Ryan.

Some background: my boyfriend was a college theater major, and maintains ties with the college theater community, also known as People We Make Fun Of. Years ago, after escaping from one of those mountainous square states, he landed a job at the Kennedy Center, home of the American College Theater Festival, also known as The Festival for People We Make Fun Of. And part of this fesitval is the Irene Ryan competition, which also serves as an annual reunion for my boyfriend and his square-state, mountain-dwelling friends. You could almost say that the Irene Ryans serve as his equivalent to my sacrosanct Friday Happy Hours, except with 1/52 the frequency.

Now, I do believe that relationships require compromise, and so I am willing to give as well as take, take and take. So I gamely joined went to the Kennedy Center, and sat through 75 college theater majors and their 75 acting partners doing 6,321 scenes as they competed for the coveted Granny Award, or whatever it was called. And then, while the judges drank behind stage and voted for the students they thought were hottest carefully deliberated, I sat while a few dozen minor awards were announced.

No drinking... no smoking... no standing... as hour after hour, the clock ticked and time crawled on, until, at some point Sunday morning, the winner was announced. And finally, one lucky student was crowned Miss Irene Ryan, 2005. I have no idea who that student was, of course, because I was shaking from the DTs and couldn't concentrate.

Now, I realize that I have shared far more interesting stories with you on this blog. I realize that the Irene Ryan story had no car chases, knife-wielding maniacs, parachute jumps, or Irish car bombs. But I am offering it to you for two reasons.

First, because I wanted you to know that I am a giving, caring person... a man who is willing to put the needs of others ahead of his own addictions desires.

And second, because now you won't ask me about it anymore.

The End.

THE DEFINITION OF INSANITY
You know how it goes: the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over in the same way and expecting different results.

So is there any doubt the person who mistakenly landed on this blog searching for "pretty Puerto Rican chick" at 2:32 AM this morning, then returned 17 minutes later searching for "pretty Puerto Rican chick pictures", is insane?

Not accusing; just asking.

RARE SUNDAY CONTENT...
...only to let you know that it's a beautiful day in Manhattan, but I'm at work. Boo-hoo for me, right?

Oh, and Happy May Day.

Next week, I hope to finally tell you how Irene Ryan screwed up my Friday Happy Hour (the one nine days ago; not the one two days ago.) But only because Becky keeps insisting. And -- as Timothy can tell you -- Becky must be obeyed.