Tuesday, September 27, 2005

(As the applause fades, Famous Author Rob Byrnes steps up to the microphone and, to quiet the crowd, raises his hands. For a moment, the applause grows louder as they see their idol, but then the room quickly quiets to the claps of a few die-hards. Finally, he speaks:)

First of all, I would like to thank 365gay.com for their gift on this special occasion... my One Thousandth Blog Entry. I consider it eminently blog-worthy:
Gay sex is never gay if your Republican
I would have just died if I hadn't been able to post that. I've had to look away from so many juicy items over the past five days as I built up to the Thousandth Entry, but that one would have killed me.

[UPDATE: 365gay.com has fixed their error. You'll have to trust me that I cut-and-pasted that mistake from their site this very morning. Based on their track record, I know you believe me.]

Secondly, I would like to thank my readers for all the love you've given me over the past 26 months. You are the only reason I get up in the morning and log onto Blogger. No, really...


This is, of course, a notably occasion... it's like I've hit my 700th home run, except, you know, it's my thousandth!

(laughter; random whoops turning into cheers and applause)

But friends, I'd like to get serious for a moment. Because, for me, blogging is not a narcissistic ego-stroke. No, it's about the people I have come to know along this journey.

People like Becky, in hurricane-ravaged Houston, who took time from bailing out her flooded attic to write:
Dear Famous Author Rob Byrnes:

I have tormented myself trying to think of an appropriate way to show you what you mean to me. I thought of writing a poem about you, but it's hard to find words that rhyme with FARB. Garb, barb, rhubarb, and carb aren't much to work with, especially in something as literary as is your due.

Since hurricanes have been on my mind so much, I googled "Hurricane Robert" and "Hurricane Rob" and found a lot of articles about Robert Kennedy, Jr. and some other stuff that diverted me for a few hours. Then I remembered there was a deadline for paying tribute to you.

I hate deadlines.

I already photoshopped your own SALAD TOSSING FOR DUMMIES book cover; how can I top that?

I could offer you a date with Almost as Famous as Rob Byrnes Author Timothy J. Lambert, but you have a boyfriend, and Teej will get a restraining order against me if I don't stop trying to pimp him out.

Maybe I'll pitch that idea of the "Men of Kensington" calendar to John after all. Which month do you want?

Congratulations on achieving Post 1K. I look forward to a thousand more; you're an inspiration.

I would like May, Becky. Thanks.

Speaking of Teej, he took time from watching Becky bail to also write:
On the days that FARB doesn't post I can often be found huddled in a corner, clutching a beer in one hand and wiping the tears from my eyes with the other as snot runs down my face.

It's not pretty. But neither is Alan Cumming.

Happy thousandth post, Rob!

much love,

timothy j. lambert

p.s., I'm not too worried about sending this late, because when have you ever met a deadline?
To which I say: I always meet my deadlines, bitch.

(laughter, applause)

You know, speaking of Cumming --

(boos, catcalls)

Now, now... settle down, please. Many of you have asked recently about the rivalry between Cumming and I -- most recently Pua -- and since this is a very special occasion, I'd like to use this opportunity to explain.

As you will recall, not too long ago I was not yet a Famous Author. But then, in September 2002, The Night We Met was published to universal acclaim (except for that fucktard, 'a reader.') I was poised to become a major American literary figure.

But, at the same time, Cumming had a book published. Unfortunately, because he was already quasi-famous for being a bisexual Scottish cross-dressing Tim Curry-wannabe, guess who got all the attention? Guess who got the book review in the New York Times? Guess who got ink in all the gay rags?

Guess who didn't.

Okay, no more dwelling the past. I am a bigger man than that, and this is a celebration.

(applause, cheers, spontaneous 'ROB ROB ROB' chant)

One of the things I'm proud of is how young readers have been inspired by this blog. People like JR, from hurricane-ravaged Toronto, who writes of his attraction to TRL and its creator:

Is he seriously guzzling champagne in that picture? Did he take fashion
pictures of himself smoking? Is that an Italian flip in his hair? A writer?
Mocks 365gay.com? Wait, he also has a self-concept that borders on
grandiosity and arrogance. Check. That's my kind of blog.
It is hard to be humble when I read those words. But I'll try. Or maybe not.

Other readers, like Hikaru, come here not only for the general fabulousness, but also to see what brings other people here and makes TRL unique:
I'd say best of referrals. You certainly attract the oddest ones--and I mean that with in a very sweet, pink polka-dot heart shaped way.
Indeed. Salad-tossers everywhere, eat your... um... heart out. You Halloween costumers, too. Not to mention... heh heh...

(laughter; spontaneous FELDON FELDON FELDON chant)

But beyond the relative newcomers, even some of the old-timers of blogging keep coming back. People like Patrick, who reminisces:
I think I remember a story about a certain FARB that may have fallen down drunk on a bus after ingesting a very large shot of Rumplemintz. Of course, I was drunk enough that I don't really remember.
What can I say? People lie... even TRL readers.

Now, I have to admit that I'm disappointed that a few people chose not to participate in today's festivities--

(booing; loud, loud booing)

--but I'm pleased that I have heard from two people I'm close to, who spend many nights -- seven a week, by most counts -- holding court with me at Posh. First, The Scottish Guy (like MacB--- er, 'The Scottish Play' it's considered bad luck to say his name aloud) writes:
You have a dame good blog. I'm never sure if it's a live blog or a dead one, but I can always count on it to cover the whole kitten kaboodle of what's on the Internets.
That was sweet. And, finally, Greg writes:
I only wish I could have a smart, funny blog like The Rob Log. Unfortunately, I am a cretinous douche-nozzle who has so little imagination that, quite often, I cannot think of anything to post for two-month long stretches. Also, I am a dumbass moron and have erotic dreams about Alan Cumming, except in my dreams he's dressed as a woman. I am deeply ashamed of myself.
(stunned silence)

I agree, audience. I couldn't have said it any better myself. But thanks for reading, and please stick around for the next thousand entries.

Salad-tossing will ensue...

(applause; days and days of applause)