OH, ONE MORE THING...
Behold, Famous Author Rob Byrnes, the All-Powerful! (FARBTAP? Nah, now we're getting ridiculous.)

Just wanted to let you know I cured cancer the other day. I don't know why it's taken scientists so long, because I just decided that one of my characters no longer had cancer and -- poof! -- not a mutant cell to be found.

Gotta go now. I'm gonna try to tackle heart disease before Happy Hour. Ta-ta!

T MINUS FOUR... T MINUS THREE... T MINUS TWO...
Hi! Remember me? Sorry I haven't been updating you like I promised, but you'll be happy to know that's because I've been doing some serious kick-ass writing.

The long and short of it is this: it's flowing, but -- with 9 or 10 sections still to write -- some stuff is going to have to be cut back. That's not necessarily a bad thing, because some if it could also prove to be repetitious. Let's see how it goes.

I apologize for not offering you any insights, but, well... wait a minute. Yes, I am offering you an insight: the process is never pretty, but the last few days are a nightmare in which every word looks wrong and every punctuation mark seems misplaced. (Do you even want to know how many times I've read and rewritten the first half of the book alone?) And if you don't believe me, ask Becky, who's just gone through the same thing.

So for those of you who want to be a writer, think about that very carefully. It can be incredibly rewarding, but it's not nearly as easy (or lucrative) as it looks from the outside.

Now that I've made the process seem like the bitch and a half it truly is, let me add that I've been getting some pretty positive feedback. If I live through Friday, I think When the Stars Come Out will be worth it.

I'll give another update the next time I come up for air.

BREAKING NEWS: NEW LITERARY SCANDAL
First JT Leroy, then James Frey, then JT Leroy again, and now... Marley.

The story is more than a recounting of Marley's antics that include chewing through doors, expulsion from obedience school, clawing paint off concrete walls, devouring furniture, swallowing valuable jewelry and swooning over soiled diapers.

The excitable, good-natured lab also knows how to protect the family's tiny children and consoles the couple when they grieve over a miscarriage.

Sources tell me that the Marley story is about to break wide open. And you get to read all about it here first!

The case against Marley? I thought you'd never ask:

1. Marley never chewed through a door, let alone multiple 'doors.' In fact, my sources tell me that Marley only once ran through a screen door after spotting a squirrel in the yard. This is a gross exaggeration!

2. Marley was never expelled from obedience school. Yes, he failed English and Trig, but he made up the credits in summer school. Once again, gross exaggerations are being made to portray him as a 'bad dog.'

3. Swallowing valuable jewelry? Don't believe it. Mrs. Grogan lost it in Vegas, and pointed the blame at Marley when Mr. Grogan asked her what happened to her engagement ring.

4. Swooning over bad diapers? Well, uh... yeah, that happened.

Here is the kicker, though: the 'Marley' on the cover isn't even the real Marley. Grogan and his publisher used a dog-body-double! What's more, my sources tell me that Marley wasn't even a dog! Marley was a cat, but John Grogan thought that a 'dog' book would sell better. And he basically admits this in the Reuters article:

"It's really not just a dog book," Grogan said in an interview with Reuters.

Am I wrong? No, of course not. It's just another sham memoir... another illness in the epidemic.

I just hope this gets exposed before Oprah embarrasses herself again. Oprah, if you're reading this -- and I know you are, because I'm Famous, too -- stop the booking before it's too late!

I HOPE WE'RE AT LEAST ENNIS
Or is that too topcentric of me?

Oh yeah: go here for what I think is the strangest geopolitical metaphor ever. Or maybe I haven't had enough coffee yet...

T MINUS FIVE
Outside of exchanging a few e-mails with Special Guest Editors, I have to admit that I did very little yesterday on the writing front. Too much day-job stress, I guess.

But I did jot some notes last night over wine and Jurassic Park, and I think I've worked out an important motivational point that will help define Bart, a major character whom I've had a tough time wrapping my head around. He needs to be in the book -- even though he's largely undefined, his presence is an important plot device on at least two levels -- but I just haven't been able to find his voice. Last night's breakthrough, though, makes him much more 'alive' in my head. Now I just have to translate that to the page.

Characters are like that sometimes. The most minor character can leap off the page if he or she is alive in your head. As a for-instance, one character my readers have strongly related to is the mystery writer Margaret Campbell (based in part on a real person, and using her real name) who played a secondary role in The Night We Met but had only a cameo in Trust Fund Boys. There is something about that character -- hard-edged, hard-drinking, unapologetically demanding and bossy -- that many readers seem to love. Margaret isn't a very nuanced character, but she's a distinct character. (So of course she's coming back in When the Stars Come Out for another small, but memorable, appearance.)

The dilemma of defining Bart's character is a tough one... largely because he's the white-bread All-American Boy prototype in a book full of characters with much more clearly-defined characteristics. For instance, the cast includes:

* Quinn Scott, the curmudgeonly and forcibly retired actor who is about to come out of the closet at age 72;

* Kitty Randolph, his actress ex-wife, who has morphed into a power-tripping Dragon Lady since their divorce;

* Noah Abraham, the slightly arrogant son of privilege (and borderline dilettante) who has to overcome cynicism in order to have faith in himself and others; and

* Jimmy Beloit, Quinn's perpetually sunny (and more than a little bit flamboyant) partner for more than 30 years, who reveals a steely determination in defense of Quinn and their relationship.

In those brief descriptions, you've probably already formed an image in your head of those characters. My job is to make them more than the stereotypes in your head.

But this is why turning loyal, good-looking, just-plain-decent Bart into a living, breathing person -- rather than a plot device -- is tough. If a stereotype pops into your head, it, too, is probably ill-defined... and certainly devoid of an interesting personality.

But, as I wrote earlier, I think I've found the key to Bart in his back-story. Because in a Rob Byrnes novel -- much as in a Rob Byrnes life -- blandness is not an option.

WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO?
What have I done? I've been updating every day, and with real content! But my readership has dropped by roughly 30% this week.

I'm beginning to think you only love me when I'm being snarky and mean. Well, fear not... the old Famous Author Rob Byrnes will be back late next week.

(Or sooner, if I hear you repeat the phrase 'the old Famous Author Rob Byrnes.)

T MINUS SIX
The bad news: not much progress yesterday on the word count.

The good news: I spent a lot of time last night straightening out the messy first quarter of the book, and -- once everything was put in the right order -- found that only 200 words or so had to be cut, rather than the 5,000+ I expected.

But at the end of the day, this is not all about word-count. It's about content. Whether I write another 3,000 or 15,000 words in the next five or six days is irrelevent. The goal must be the make those words meaningful, propel the plot, and close the holes in the narrative.

Now that the beginning of the book is roughly in the proper order, I have a better sense of how to clarify the motivations of some characters and jazz up the opening chapters, both of which have been troublesome to me over recent weeks. And that's a very good thing.

And so it continues...

T MINUS SEVEN
And the progress continues. And even though I'm going to keep numbering these posts sequentially, an overnight e-mail exchange now gives me the impression that my editor is looking for the manuscript on February 28, not March 1.

That's okay. I still feel good about it. We're on target. And here are the developments since yesterday's entry:

* I don't know Los Angeles, where part of the story is set. Fortunately, two folks have stepped up to the plate to give me some local color from the 1960s and today. Gotta love the bloggers, right?

* I spent a good part of yesterday evening sorting out the first quarter of the manuscript -- the part I affectionately call 'the unmitigated disaster' -- and there's good news. I don't think I'll have to cut as much as I feared, and it's shaping up quite nicely. A lot of passages need to be reordered (thank you, MS Word, for allowing me to tag different sections with different font colors to keep things straight) but that pivotal part of the book is starting to come alive.

* I had a few drinks with my friend D. last night, and -- as we hashed out some details -- he recommended incorporating a few film-making techniques into the narrative. I'm writing about the entertainment industry, after all. And I think I can make this work.

* And, finally, I decided firmly that the sex scenes will not be graphic. There will be some detailed undressing, and you'll get your description of lip-locks and tight torsos and whatever else drives the kids wild these days, but then...

"Shit,” he said, looking around the room and hoping an inspiration would occur to him. “No lube.”

“You didn’t bring any with you?”

“No. It never occurred to me that I’d be having sex. You?”

Bart shrugged. “Same with me.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Never mind. Come here.”

Noah climbed back onto the bed, entwining himself with Bart.

They kissed, and Noah closed his eyes in deep satisfaction.

“You know,” said Bart, “if this were a movie, it would be the perfect moment to fade to black.”

Taking his cue, Noah reached over and turned off the lamp on the nightstand, and the room went dark.

So much for that. And now, on to today's writing fun.

SPEAKING OF WRITING...
Do yourselves a favor and run over to Becky's blog. Now!

And please don't bathe in Onion Oil. That's just wrong.

T MINUS EIGHT
Yesterday, Sherri asked how I deal with comments and criticism from my editor and the people that are reading the draft in advance of my submission. That's a good jumping-off point for today's update.

Last night I received my first feedback. Yes, non-blogger Wayne managed to get through the 350 occasionally confusing pages in record time, so we met for drinks (you expected something else?) to discuss his thoughts.

He actually seemed wary about telling me where he saw problems, for fear of offending me. I reassured him that I wanted the feedback so we grabbed some fortification of the liquid variety (hey -- I didn't know what was coming either! Plus, that is what I do!) and settled into the rear section of Posh for a short talk.

I won't repeat everything he said, but I found almost all his points valid. Some of them were already on my punch-list, others were new thoughts. He noted some inconsistencies, as well as a major character who could stand to be much more developed, and caught some typing my fingers did when my brain wasn't paying attention. (Chiffon? When and why the hell did I type that?) Oh, and speaking of 'chiffon,' he also helped me dress some of the characters. Valentino and Donna Karan, kids.

Here's the thing, Sherri. Someone out there is going to say that you have an ugly baby, and I'd rather hear that from friends when I have a chance to fix things than from, oh, Publishers Weekly when the book is in print and it's out of my hands.

And trust me: this, I know. In 2002, when The Night We Met was released, I was pleased with the response, but there was something in me that felt the book wasn't all mine. Over the course of several years, it had been read and edited to death by a dozen friends -- including a New York Times best-selling author -- and that was before my editor took a whack at it. By the time it was published, I didn't feel like the author. I felt more like Chairman of the Author Committee. Yes, the story was mine, and yes, I did all the actual writing, but it didn't feel like a creation wholly of my own.

So the next time out -- that would be Trust Fund Boys, of course -- I had my story to tell and I wrote and edited alone. Even my editor kept his hands pretty much off the manuscript. And the result was... different.

Don't get me wrong: I like Trust Fund Boys, and it has a lot of fans. And I think a lot of the criticism has more to do with the general unlikeability of most of the characters -- which was done on purpose, by the way -- than the craftsmanship. But maybe it would have benefited from having a few more eyes on it. Maybe someone would have, oh, commented that it was overly driven by dialogue, or suggested a plot device to make the narrator a bit more likeable. Or maybe everyone would have said that it was perfect and PW would have still ripped me a new asshole.

Who knows? All I know is that you're going to get criticism one way or another -- which is only fair, since I spend a lot of my blogging time criticizing others -- so, if you can, you might as well aim for the constructive variety and use it to improve your manuscript, rather than take the hits from strangers.

And remember that not all comments are good comments. If you don't like a suggestion, you're always free to ignore it.

Which brings me to my question of the day. Wayne had a suggestion I could go either way on. In this book (as in The Night We Met, but not Trust Fund Boys), I have written a few graphic sex scenes. Now, despite my inclusion in the Strange Bedfellows anthology, I hate writing sex scenes (and it probably shows in the draft manuscript, since the scenes were hastily written and I still haven't gone back to, er, 'fluff them up.') He suggested scrapping them, making them 'fade to black' instead of getting into the whole body-fluidicious write-up. I'm inclined to follow this advice -- my mother and stepmother read these books, after all -- but I want to throw the question out to my readers.

Sex scenes: fade-to-black or show us the skin? Discuss.

WHAT IS SAM CHAMPION NOT TELLING US?
Okay, by now I think we know that all male meteorologists are gay, right? Oh, they may not tell us they are, but you just know. Except Al Roker, because I don't want him to be.

But are all male meteorologists also heroin addicts?!!! That appears to be the case. Well, in Roanoke, at least. But you know the old saying: as Roanoke goes, so goes Newport News. And the next thing you know, your son is playin' for money in a pinch-back suit, and list'nin to some big out-a-town Jasper... Ummm... Wait. That's not where I meant to be going with this. This is where I meant to go: is Roanoke an isolated case? Or is it the tip of the iceberg?

I mean, Mike Woods seems pretty damn perky at 5:30 AM. Not that I'm saying he's gay and on heroin or anything. *cough*

By the way, if you think it's cruel for me to make mockery of someone's addiction, you don't know cruel. Do you know what would be really cruel? Clicking on this link and inviting one of the Heroin Twins to visit a school, as long as he promises to bring enough smack for the entire class. Now that would be cruel.

And, yes, I'm tempted...

T MINUS NINE
Art isn't easy. Neither, for that matter, is the crap light fiction I write.

Once upon a time (don't ask when; I'm too tired to search the archives) I promised to share some information on what it's like to be a writer. (Greg, Teej, Becks, and The Other Rob do this much better and more consistently, but you aren't reading their blogs right now, so there you go.) It occurs to me that I'm at the perfect point: nine days until my editor is expecting a publishable manuscript.

From now through March 1, I'll be updating you on the sprint to the finish line. In the process, I'll not only share my personal observations, but I'll be happy to take any questions. And I know my three daily readers are a curious bunch!

First, here are some things you should know, to keep things in perspective:

1. This book was originally supposed to be delivered on January 15, so this process should have concluded seven weeks ago. But since my editor offered me the extra weeks, I took them.

2. You can assume from Point Number 1 that I tend to procrastinate. Deadlines are my friends... in fact, they're probably the only reason I ever finish anything. Note, though, that March 1 is not a squishy deadline. It is an 'I'd better see a manuscript by that date and it better not suck' deadline.

3. My contract calls for a novel of approximately 100,000 words. I now stand at around 92,000 words, but I'm probably going to have to cut 5,000-6,000 from the draft manuscript because there are a few passages that just don't fit anymore. So figure I've got to knock off 15,000 more words -- good words -- before March 1. That's the bad news. The good news: I am not panicked by that. Anyone who's ever seen me type knows that it's not pretty -- consider me QWERTY-challenged -- but when I'm on a roll, I can pop out 10,000 words in a day. Good ones, at that.

4. I still feel a bit burned by some negative reactions to Trust Fund Boys, but -- at a certain point -- a guy's got to suck it up and assume he deserves it. And anyway, most of the reaction was positive. Still, to protect my thin skin and delicate sensibilities, I am taking advantage of a half-dozen friends who are reading the manuscript -- well... what exists of it, so far -- and looking for everything from plot holes and continuity problems to spelling and grammar errors (me can be dumb sumtimes) and whatever they can offer in terms of verisimilitude.

5. Speaking of continuity, I spent part of the weekend putting together a punch-list of things I want to integrate into the story or watch for consistency when I apply the final polish.

6. And speaking of holes, with nine short days to go I still have several long sections of the manuscript where nothing exists except 'and then they do this, and transition to next scene.' As I warned my special guest readers, the process isn't necessarily pretty. But it is what it is.

So sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride for the next nine days. Oh, and let's hope I don't fuck this up too badly, okay? Because you know what I'm capable of...

WE HAVE A WINNER!
I'm Number One!! Woo-hoo!!

Take that, Faggoty-Ass Faggot! You are a mere pretender to the throne.

HEY, HOOKER...
More fun from Texas.

But... hmmm. I have to admit that I was expecting worse. Tom, if you ever happen to drive that pink Cadillac to Manhattan, you know where I blog.

BUT I'M SO LOVABLE!
I don't know why people are so mean to me, but they are. First there was Stan-O-Rama... then MAK the Percocet Addict... and now I'm getting grief from The Traveling Spotlight.

I swear to God, if Chrisafer starts taking potshots, I'm out of here.

Maybe.

PUTTING THE BEST FACE ON 'GAY'
Okay, I know that we're not supposed to take Queerty too seriously, but still:

The report doesn’t reveal if bulging biceps and an ass of steel are also important physical health benefits. But we can't think of much else that would help any queer land a man and, in turn, a walk down the aisle.

Oh, I can think of something else! How about a personality that's less vapid than the average Queerty item!

Christ, that place makes Jessica Simpson look like a philosopher.

Earlier

FROM THE DEPT. OF BOO-FUCKIN'-HOO
What he fails to mention is that he also got all his PR from the same people he says failed to defend him. And without that PR, he would have just created a Friday night show that no one would have ever heard of before it went off the air.

Whiner.

TOM CRUISE GETS PERSONAL?
Okay, we don't actually know if it's him or not, but -- over at Boing Boing -- there's speculation that the definitely non-homosexual male half of TomKat has taken issue with a Fark link.

Small penis's? I definitely need that wife-beater.

UPDATE: And speaking of Fark, how drunk was this Farker when he or she sent in this item? Dare I speculate that the Farker in question works for 365gay.com? (Cheap shot taken because that's what I do.)

UPDATE TO THE UPDATE: The misspelling of Cheney (as 'Chaney') has been corrected, but the comments live on, as does the misspelling of 'victim.' Once again, I intend to take credit for this, whether I deserve it or not.

QUESTION OF THE DAY
Strangely enough, this question -- from my referrers -- has kept me sleepless for the past several nights.

That, and wondering which brand of bottled water Dick Cheney might have been guzzling before he started shooting people in the face.

There are great mysteries in the universe, my friends. Great mysteries...

A MOMENT OF SELF-REFLECTION
Famous Author... blogger... business leader... lover... friend... drinker...

Is there anything I can't do well?

Oh. Right.

THE BLIZZARD NOR'EASTER OF AUGHT-SIX
We got snow in New York over the weekend. Did you hear?

Let me tell you something: this was the most horrendous storm I've ever had to endure. It didn't just result in extreme hardship... I thought I was going to die!

Yes, die!

It took me almost an hour to get from my apartment to the bar last night! Oh, God, why do you hate me?!!

BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE
Once? Regrettable, but unfortunate accidents happen.

Twice? Ummm... did you not receive the memo? Don't do that shit.

Three times? Okay, now you people have fuckin' got to be doing this on purpose...

UPDATE: The link to the news story has changed. So click here instead.

EVERY TIME I TRY TO PULL MYSELF OUT...
I know that the current blog-feud is distracting and upsetting to my many thousands of readers, who come to TRL: The Rob Log hourly for insightful commentary and thoughtful political analysis. To you, I apologize.

But I really have to say that MAK has gone too far this time. I mean, that's just lying. MAK is a liar-liar-pants-on-fire. For reals!

Part of me wants to set the record straight and reprint our e-mail exchange as it really played out. The other part of me -- the better part, probably -- wants to drop the blog-feud altogether. Of course, things will never be the same between us, but it's not as if I don't already have more than enough friends. And I'm only fooling myself if I think that a liar-liar-pants lederhosen-on-fire was ever truly a friend.

Let me have a few drinks and think about this. More tomorrow.

AWWW... POOR BABY
As you know, for the past week or so I have been engaged in an intense blog-feud with MAK. And by 'intense,' I mean even more personal and vicious than the dust-up I had months ago with Sid-O-Rama.

I think that's because as jealous as Sid is about my attractiveness, winning personality, and Fame, Young Matthew is even more jealous. Probably because he knows me personally, whereas Sid has never had the privilege of the Famous Author Rob Byrnes Experience because he lives in Arizona or Mexico or one of those other places I'm never going to visit.

Anyway, back to MAK: the poor thing has apparently ODed on pain-killers again, which really sucks for him because, in a blog-feud, timing is everything. So while he's getting his stomach pumped, let me take this opportunity to note a few things.

1. Last week, before he cowardly took away my access to his blog's publishing platform and removed all my improvements, I made a slight change that he missed. Heh. You will note that there is a difference in the appearance of his blog between today and his archived pages from May 2003 through December 2005. But don't tell him. It's our little secret.

2. Matthew may deny wearing lederhosen and yodeling, but don't believe him. Not only did he clearly write this entry (even though he claims it was me... he must have been tripping on percs again), but now -- thanks to a traitorous friend anonymous source (thanks, John!), I have photographic evidence:

Don't believe that's him? Compare and contrast:

Yup. I rest my case.

Anyway, I hope the poor boy recovers from rehab his *cough* illness *cough* soon, because I know we're all looking forward to his response.

And Sid-O-Rama? Don't think you're in the clear just because MAK is taking all the flak these days. Just saying...

AND THEN THEY RENAMED THE OLD LOGGING ROAD 'EIGHTH AVENUE'
Not original content, but nevertheless good enough to repeat:

Weekly Grocery List for Ennis Del Mar and Jack Twist
Summer, 1962

WEEK ONE
Beans
Bacon
Coffee
Whiskey

WEEK TWO
Beans
Ham
Coffee
Whiskey

WEEK THREE
Beans
Bacon
Coffee
Whiskey
K-Y

WEEK FOUR
Beans
Pancetta
Coffee (espresso grind)
Whiskey
2 tubes K-Y

WEEK FIVE
Fresh Fava beans
Jasmine rice
Prosciutto, approx. 8 ounces, thinly sliced
Medallions of veal
Porcini mushrooms
1/2 pint of heavy whipping cream
1 Cub Scout uniform, size 42 long
5-6 bottles good Chardonnay
1 large bottle Astro-glide

WEEK SIX
Yukon Gold potatoes
Heavy whipping cream
Asparagus (very thin)
Eggs
Lemons
Gruyere cheese (well aged)
Walnuts
Arugula
Butter
Olive oil
Balsamic vinegar
6 yards white silk organdy
6 yards pale ivory taffeta
Case of Chardonnay
Large tin Crisco

CURRENT AFFAIRS
Just linking. Not commenting. So keep it to yourselves, health nazis.

SOME DAYS YOU JUST CAN'T WIN
Honestly! What does society want from us?

In this increasingly technological age, where innovation follows innovation, each generation more sophisticated than the next, only the creative can truly flourish. The old rules no longer apply. These days, in order to succeed one's goals must not be the status quo or incremental improvement, but a race headlong toward heightened knowledge and perfection.

And wouldn't you know it? Even when you aim for creativity and perfection, someone will be out there criticizing you.

It's enough to make a guy flush his Clorox down the toilet and go back to bed.

"FOLLOW THE GUIDELINES, STUPID"
Being a Famous Author and all that, I'm often asked for tips and guidance by aspiring writers. Of course, I know next to nothing, but that doesn't stop people from asking. Nor does it stop me from answering. I am all about sharing the ignorance, people.

But if you want to know how to make nice with an editor -- Steps #1 through #10, really, in the publishing process, providing you have a tiny bit of talent -- Famous Gay Porn Writer Greg Herren® has the scoop for you. Although this web site is geared toward writers of erotic lit, the truths are universal. Obey!

THE MEME OF FOURS
Greg, newly re-emerged at Life in the Coastal Empire (not Sixth Borough, as I always think of it... better change that in my links one of these days), tagged me for a meme I had managed to successfully avoid. Damn him!

And away we go...

Four Jobs You've Had
1) Famous Author (of course)
2) Piano Mover and Key Refinisher
3) Retail Sales Clerk
4) Security Guard

Four Movies You Can Watch Over and Over
1) Pennies from Heaven
2) All About Eve
3) The Maltese Falcon
4) My Favorite Year

Four Places You've Lived
Well, since I've only lived in four cities, here they come, chronologically:
1) Rochester, NY (1958-1996)
2) Schenectady, NY (1977-1981)
3) Albany, NY (1983-1996)
4) New York, NY (1997-2006)

Four TV Shows You Like to Watch
1) Desperate Housewives
2) The Amazing Race
3) The Apprentice
4) The Simpsons

Four Websites I Visit Daily
1) Rochester Democrat & Chronicle
2) Newsday AP Wire
3) Fark
4) Drudge

Four Places I'd Rather Be
Assuming 'in bed' isn't what you're looking for...
1) Washington, DC (you know why)
2) San Juan, PR
3) Bermuda
4) Houston... drinking and trading writer-type gossip with Becks and Teej

I am not going to tag anyone for this meme... mostly because a lot of you have already done it. However, if you're so inclined, I'm always often sometimes interested to learn more about my fellow bloggers, so have at it.

HUMILIATION
Two items:

1. MAK has regained control of his blog, blocked me from the Movable Type Publishing Platform, and is claiming I wear pink lacy panties.

2. I just found a photo of my lover and myself in a passionate clinch on this site.

Related or coincidence? And, if related, do the pink lace panties at least make me a lipstick lesbian?

Discuss, while I slink off into the weekend.

NOT TO GET ALL TOWLEROAD ON YOU, BUT...
Via Fark comes Brokeback to the Future

My ex, who had an extreme crush on Michael J. Fox (thereby making it obvious why he'd end up with me for ten years, right?), will appreciate this when I send him the link.

THE OPPOSITE OF EXAGGERATION
The official Associated Press headline:

Dozens Dead After Egyptian Ship Disaster
The official first paragraph:

CAIRO, Egypt -- An Egyptian passenger ferry carrying around 1,300 people, mostly Egyptian workers returning from Saudi Arabia, sank in the Red Sea overnight. Coast Guard vessels pulled dozens of bodies from the water Friday and rescued 100 survivors from lifeboats, officials said.

Dozens? Well, I suppose so, if you think of it as one hundred dozen.


UPDATE: Behold the power of The Rob Log. Shortly after calling the AP out for mockery, they changed the header to a slightly less inaccurate "Dozens of Bodies, Survivors in Red Sea." It's still a case of minimalism at work, but I applaud their responsiveness to this blog.

TRL: THE EMPIRE BEGINS
A quick follow-up to yesterday's follow-up on how I caved in to temptation.

I subscribe to the concept that if it's worth doing, it's worth doing right. Therefore, I went back into MAK's template and re-redecorated his blog.

I have achieved perfection, and now I can die.

If any of my readers who have blogs would like to tempt me, please send me the URL for your template, along with the log-in information, and I will do my best not to permanently delete the whole damn blog.

IT WAS A VERY GOOD MONTH
To note Groundhog Day, I wanted to repost a haiku I stole last year from Michelle. And here it is:

Look! It's Phil's shadow!
How will I ever warm up?
Mmmm....mmmm....groundhog stew!

Now, to find this gem I had to poke around my February, 2005 archives, and I have to tell you that I was in my blogging prime that month. So click on over and roll around in it for a while.

Hard to believe I only have about seven readers, isn't it? That's a crime.

'AND THEN I BLASTED HER INTO A MILLION LITTLE PIECES...'
I will admit that I'm behind in my reading, but -- in any of his excruciatingly honest memoirs -- does James Frey mention that there is a little Jimmy Jr. running around West Warwick, RI?

(Via Fark)

MY DILEMMA
Which pull quote to use from this article?

How about:

"You've got to remember that common sense is not factored into the intelligence quotient," said Deputy Greg Gabriel...

Or maybe:

The students didn't have flashlights, warm clothes or other important supplies, Gabriel said. But the deputy said they were equipped with "distinctive headgear -- hats with antennas and horns, that kind of stuff."

I keep telling you people that it's not easy being me! If only I were as quick with a line as Deputy Greg Gabriel.

TEMPTATION 1; BYRNES 0
Well, that didn't take very long.

Call me MAK Daddy.

WHENEVER I THINK THAT MY LIFE SUCKS...
You know that stereotypical guy who lives in his parents' basement and recites the dialogue along with Star Trek, which is on his tiny television with the dying picture tube 24/7? And he's never had sex, and never will, and no longer even considers it a life option? And his only friend is a huge dork, and even the huge dork thinks he's a loser? And he wears socks with sandals? And he's 43 years old and still puts together Godzilla models when he isn't watching Star Trek?

Well, now that guy has someone he can feel superior to. Because at least the Sterotypical Guy has indoor plumbing.

AH, LOVE!
With Valentines Day just weeks away, it's not a moment to soon to start thinking about romance. Champagne and roses... Kate and Spencer... chocolates and diamonds... Bogie and Bacall... soft carresses and tender kisses... Jake and Heath...

In the tradition of that very special day in this very special month, today on TRL I am proud to present a very special love story: Frank and Radmila.

I love you, too.

THE FARB DIET
Don't laugh; it's true! The Famous Author Rob Byrnes Diet will help you lose weight! I see from my referrers that my secret is getting out, so it's time for me to share it with you.

Don't believe me? Just Ask Jeeves.