FILEBOY

For a very electronically-oriented office, we sure do generate a lot of paperwork. Of course, it probably wouldn't feel so burdensome if I'd bother to file more than once every four years.

Eh. Back to the routine...

BRAD, MARIO, AND THE CLOONZ HAD BETTER WATCH OUT

How did I miss this? The Hill named Vito Fossella one of the "50 Most Beautiful People on Capitol Hill?" Seriously?

Way to go, Vito! That should be worth another three or four mistresses! High five!

GO. HERE. NOW!

Back for free for one day only, it's Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, starring Neil Patrick Harris and Nathan Fillion.

Now go!

NEW DAY/SAME DAY

You know how Marc Acito is trying to do something new every day? Which, coincidentally, gives him a great angle to help promote his new novel, although I Am Sure That is Quite Coincidental, in a coincidental sort of way.

I think I should do something similar. Especially since my new novel -- Straight Lies, published by Kensington -- will coincidentally be coming out next April.

Except I don't want to be derivative, so here's my idea. Instead of doing something new and different every day, I'm going to do the exact same thing! Every day, I will:

wake up at 5:30 AM
play around on the Internet until I'm running late
shower, shave, and dress
go to work, arriving around 8:30 AM
work until around 5:30 PM
get to Happy Hour by 6:00 PM
go home around 8:00 PM
heat up some Hot Pockets
go to bed at 10:30 PM

This is an excellent plan. I only hope I can carry it off as consistently as I have for the past 27 years.

Wish me luck.

GOD'S RETRIBUTION FOR PROPOSITION 8 OPPOSITION BEGINS

1. Shake up Southern California = CHECK

2. Smite sodomites



I am, obviously, kidding. But if this isn't Cal Thomas's column tomorrow, I'll be shocked.

PROJECT NEXT

I think I'll write a memoir.

You'd buy it, right?

THE BFT GOES TO BATTLE

Scott Schmidt -- better known as the Boi From Troy -- popped into Manhattan last Friday to celebrate his birthday my blogging anniversary and take bad pictures of me. Over many, many, many drinks, we also discussed his efforts to mobilize some Republican opposition in California to Proposition 8.

The cynical part of me thinks, Good luck with that. But although I know the Boi's got his work cut out for him, I am also not one of those people who has a knee-jerk hatred of all things Republican, so instead I'll say 'Good luck with that' without tongue planted firmly in cheek. After all, the Republican mayor of San Diego and the Republican-led Laguna city council are already on record in opposition to Prop 8, and more will certainly follow. In my opinion, any opposition to bigotry is good opposition; any support for marriage rights is good support,

By the way, this reporter called the Boi for his comments on Friday. Despite what looks like slightly garbled sentence structure, I want to ensure my readers that Scott took the reporter's call before the drinking began.

JUST FIGURED IT OUT

I was having a very hard time figuring out why Stan-O-Rama was closing down his blog. I mean, a lot of us you only upload an uninteresting post every now and then, so he could easiily have kept doing what he was doing without anyone noticing.

But then I came across something -- let me show my sweet side by crediting Queerty -- and everything became clear.

Scott-O-Roni: leaving the blog to focus his attention elsewhere.

Chris Crocker: leaving YouTube to focus his attention elsewhere.

Me: [lightbulb goes off over head]

We're never seen a picture of Sid-O-Rama. Correct? Correct.

We You don't know his last name. Correct? Correct.

Ladies and gentlemen and the other 86% of you, I have to admit that he had me fooled. Never in a thousand years would I have believed that Scott-O-Rama is Chris Crocker! And yet there it is! The incontrovertible evidence! Obviously, O-Rama/Crocker is leaving his blog and YouTube to launch some new, nefarious project.

We must remain vigilant. Please send me tips when you suspect this many-headed Hydra of the Internet is about to re-emerge. This time we won't be caught by surprise.

I REMEMBER IT WELL...

... usually. But sometimes not so much.

Anyway, I threw a few more old photos up on Facebook, in case you're so inclined. Go here.



Also, are we Facebook friends yet? Because I am heartbreakingly close to having 100 friends, at which point I think you get Green Stamps, so I'm begging you!

FINDING ENTERTAINMENT IN THE SPAM FOLDER

Okay, we all know that spam is annoying and potentially dangerous. Still, I have to give props to the spammers who are clearly working overtime to bring us entertaining subject lines.

A few entries that appeared in my spam folder over the weekend:

McCain Diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer
Batman is Gay
China Bans Black Athletes from Olympics
Angelina Jolie Pregnancy: It Was All a Hoax
McCain Will Promote the Takeover of America
Both Obama And Mccain Claim That They Will Deport Elton John

and my personal favorite:

Angelina Set to Destroy Own Vagina

Too bad they go through all the work just to get mass-deleted... although I do kind of want to know how Angelina was going to destroy her own vagina.

And if Elton John was somehow involved, because, yeah, that would be a deportation.

EVERYTHING OLD IS NEW AGAIN

Isn't it nice when you can recycle a newspaper headline from the early 19th century?

SHOCK AND AWE

Patrick just spent something like 12 hours waiting in line for tickets to Shakespeare in the Park, and in the process struck up a conversation with the man next to him. That man was Christopher Bram.

He told Patrick he's read all three of my novels.

I feel like a giddy schoolgirl right now, slightly tempered by the knowledge that (a) he could have lied; and (b) 'reading' them is not the same as 'liking' them.

Still, I'll take what I can get.

VANQUISHED SEEMS TO BE THE WORD OF THE WEEK

This is a hollow victory.

Another arch-rival bites the dust, and yet I take no satisfaction in it. Maybe if I had been the one to destroy Salm-O-Nella's blog... but, no, it was not to be.

But memories? Oh yeah, we have memories. (Related: how it all began.)

Godspeed, Mr. O-Rama. You were a worthy adversary.

(Also, a good friend, but I'm not supposed to admit that.)

SO CLOSE

Where was I last night? At the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and thanks for asking.

You know who else was there?

And people wonder why I don't get out much anymore.

THE NEXT GREAT LITERARY FEUD

A brief history of my literary rivals:

• Cumming wrote a book, and never wrote another. Vanquished.


• The Gay American wrote a book, and never wrote another. Vanquished.

So now who's on deck? Who dares to next challenge my literary supremacy?

Don't even think of it, Screech. Or you, too, shall be vanquished.

By the way, the fourth Famous Author Rob Byrnes novel -- Straight Lies -- is definitely scheduled for an April, 2009 release. If Screech is smart, he will stay far away from my publication date.

Or else this is going to get very, very ugly.

DID YOU HEAR?

Christian Bale was beating up John Edwards's mistress when she stumbled into the path of Robert Novak's car!

That, or maybe I just skimmed Drudge too quickly today.

SPUN

Once, in the 1920s, Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald amused themselves (and certainly no one else) by spinning around in the revolving door at the Plaza Hotel for a half-hour. They did this while drunk and, probably, mentally unbalanced.

I offer my readers this factoid because I would really like to know how the drunk and unbalanced Fitzgeralds could successfully complete this task for a half-hour while increasing numbers of New Yorkers can't seem to make one revolution. Seriously.

The building which headquarters Famous Author Rob Byrnes, Inc. has six revolving doors, one pair at each of the three entrances. This has given me several unique vantage points over the past few weeks to witness (a) people look at the doors with puzzlement; and (b) people attempt to push the doors in the wrong direction.

According to Wikipedia, these doors have been patented for almost 130 years, meaning that not only are they not a new concept to you, they weren't a new concept to your great-grandparents. And yet I've witnessed a half-dozen of you who have been positively dumbfounded by this radical new concept in recent weeks. I can only imagine what you make of that newfangled thing they call the elevator.

Oh, and those of you who do manage to properly walk into the revolving door but expect everyone else to do the pushing? Yeah, you know who you are. I want to be the guy who doesn't push, then waves everyone else away while you stand there trapped in your little glass compartment.

Okay, I'm done.

WHAT 'DUMBED-DOWN' LOOKS LIKE WHEN IT'S DUMBED DOWN

(Via Towleroad)

NAME THAT PROM SONG

What theme song would play at the Charlotte High School Class of 1977 Senior Prom?

A. Torn Between Two Lovers
B. (You're) Having My Baby
C. Colour My World

Hint: the following people went to the prom.



Answer: despite my fervent advocacy for (B), we danced to boring old "Colour My World."

Also, I needed a haircut, didn't I?

BIG TIMES

I had to grab a screen cap oif this, because I've never seen it before and we all know we won't see it again.



(Click to make it readable.)

Told you I was Famous.

RED-HOT MAMA

Yesterday I was going through a bunch of old photos and came across two images of my mother from the early 1950s. Let's just say that teenage Barbara Fisher was a hottie, which I can do without needing therapy, because I'm gay.





Okay, maybe I do need therapy. Whatevs.

Anyway, I scanned a few dozen photographs yesterday, so if there's a groundswell of interest, maybe I'll show you what I looked like en route to my senior prom in 1977.

Or maybe not.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NATALIE

Had Christopher Walken not killed her*, today would have been Natalie Wood's 70th birthday. In her honor:



And while we're suddenly on the subject of "Gypsy," you know what they say: If you're in pubeerty, you'll love the kids at Queerty. (That rhyme sucked; damn them for grabbing an unrhymable name!!!!)

Anyway, my point was... ya gotta have a gimmick:



And at the risk of overkill, here's a more recent and, regrettably, polished version... regrettable because these strippers are supposed to be on the lowest wrung. Still, it works as theater.



So Happy Natalie Wood Birthday, everyone!


Oh, and the asterisk?

* -- Dear Christopher Walken and Christopher Walken's lawyers: that was a JOKE!!!!

BOOK CLOUD!

Meet Wordle (via Gawker).

Now meet my next book, Straight Lies, via Wordle:



Okay, it's really just from the outline I sent my editor last summer, but it's a fun new toy. Because the Internet is a massive failure when it comes to wasting time.

HOW WILL YOU BE DRESSED FOR THE BIG ONE?

From the man who brought you a gay and straight pair of conjoined twins comes Survival Style, your guide to looking your best for the worst:

DISSED AGAIN

Wow, this is becoming an epidemic! First I wasn't on the ballot for the Hottest Male Blogger contest... then I was passed over for Cityfile... and now this indignity has come to my attention!

And let's face it, people, I belong on that list, because I am certainly messier than Robert Downey Jr. (these days) and a hell of a lot more famous Famous than Justin Chambers. (And who the fuck is Justin Chambers, anyway? No, seriously.)

And so, once again, I have to say it: "You know what to do..."

UH... YEAH, OKAY.

Sure. No doubt in my mind, and very, very newsworthy.

And before I forget to mention it, yesterday I got e-mail from someone known only as 'Bill' who told me his ex-boyfriend told him that in 1987 he picked up Newt Gingrich in a gay bar in Boise and they made sweet, sweet love, until Newt's secret lover Bill O'Reilly broke down the hotel room door and there was a violent fistfight. And later, when Bill's ex-boyfriend and Newt went to the Rite Aid to get bandages, the management kicked them out because they were obviously gay, but before leaving Bill's ex-boyfriend and Newt noticed that the manager, Tom Marquez, was wearing nothing but a leather harness and high heels. Also, Rush Limbaugh was there, and Bill's ex-boyfriend thought he was organizing a fishing party until Rush corrected him and said it was a fisting party, so Bill's ex-boyfriend decided not to go but he saw Antonin Scalia's name on the guest list.

I can't believe that almost slipped my mind. I think I'll start a Facebook group about it.

COME FOR THE STORY, STAY FOR THE COMMENTS

The Gothamist news item? Meh.

The Gothamist news item's comments? Yeah, that's more like it.

DEAR READERS, ONCE AGAIN YOU HAVE LET ME DOWN

How can I express my deep disappointment? Words fail me.

Fortunately, you can still make this up to me and get me added to Cityfile by registering here. Because Cityfile without Famous Author Rob Byrnes is as useful as Wikipedia without Famous Author Rob Byrnes. Meaning, not useful.

Let me give you a little help. I think the following categories are in order:

Novelist
Gay
Irish-American
Kidnap Victim
MacArthur "Genius"
Puppy Killer
4 or More Marriages

But I don't want to dictate the process, so feel free to use your own judgment and 'insider knowledge' when you help Cityfile correct its glaring oversight.

Hmmm. You might also want to have them add a page for 'Modest.'

DAY 1827

Tomorrow, the FARBlog celebrates its fifth anniversary.

Feel free to tell me how much you love me and my blog -- or share a favorite memory of me and my blog -- in the comments.

Note: this invitation does not extend to Scrot-O-Rama, Young Matthew, Cumming, or The Gay American, who are all haters.



ALSO: Remember the last big milestone? Good times.

GAY MOBSTERS? NAH...

Interesting article. Some writer should use this as the premise for a gay comic romantic novel.

Oh, wait.


(Via Joe My God)

AHEM

Click and go. You know how to write in a vote, correct?


(via Gawker)

YOU GET THE RESPECT YOU DESERVE

Un. Be. Lievable.

Early in the week, Queerty reported that an employee of a Rite Aid in the West Village had posted an anti-gay sign in its window. That story was picked up by a few other prominent gay blogs.

If this was alleged to have happened in rural Kansas, maybe I would have accepted it at face value. But at Sixth Avenue and West 13th Street in Manhattan? Possible, but unlikely. Besides the location, there seemed to be enough cause for skepticism to at least look into the story a bit more before rushing it into the blogosphere. But rushed it was, and -- in the process -- the story of the homophobic Rite Aid manager became an Internet truth.

The story was, of course, bogus. And -- credit where it's due -- Queerty, Good As You, and Joe My God were among the blogs correcting the initial story, and doing so quickly. (Let me add that not every blogger was as principled, but... whatever.) And for what it's worth, I resisted my initial impuse to blog about the craziness when it was happening because I was too busy being obnoxious about it in the comments of various other blogs. Sometimes I have a hard time letting go.

Anyway, the reasons I mention this now are twofold. First, because it serves as a cautionary tale about a rush to judgment based on debatable 'evidence.' I am not particularly worried about a corporation like Rite Aid -- which tends to be crappy and expensive and deserving of scorn without adding homophobia to the mix -- but someone could quite easily sabotage a mom-and-pop store using the same tactic with the willing participation of people who blog first and ask questions later, if ever.

Second, I mention this because the fucking meme won't die! Over 1800 members? Seriously? Days after it was exposed as a hoax? Their hearts might be in the right place, but I worry about their heads.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Except, did you hear about the sign taped to the outside of the JPMorganChase branch on Third Avenue announcing that the bank doesn't want your gay tranny pervert butt-sexing money? Yeah, I'd better go start a Facebook group...

THE STATE OF ME, FRIDAY MORNING EDITION

Head hurts. Body aches. People are annoying me. Need the week to end.

SHORT STORY SHORT; or MEANWHILE, BACK IN THE 1960s, WHEN EVERYTHING WAS PURE AND INNOCENT...

Hard as it is to believe. I was once a pure and innocent child without a drinking problem.

And in those formative years, what would become a love/hate relationship with reading and writing (note: pretty much everything in my life is love/hate) was formed when my grandparents (not the crazy ones; the other ones) got me a subscription to Reader's Digest Condensed Books for Children Best Loved Books for Young Readers.

(Uh... yeah, I was hoping for better than that link, but I guess those books disappeared before the InterWebs were invented. My old. Also, UPDATE: I misremembered the name of the series -- again, my old -- but in taking another trip through the Internet this morning found this essay by Terry Teachout that summarizes a lot of my thoughts and nostalgia.)

Anyway...

Those compilations are long gone -- did I throw them out? did they get lost in my parents' divorce? -- but, lately, I've been thinking about those books. The Call of the Wild... Treasure Island... Tom Sawyer... and dozens of other books -- er, condensed books -- I read thirty or f--f--f--- thirty years ago, and not since. Great, great memories. I wanted to get lost that way again.

And given the mind-numbing number of contemporary gay books I've been reading lately, I needed a change. It seemed to me that going back to the roots would be a nice change of pace.

So, a few weeks ago, I bought a volume of short stories. It was published 15 years ago and is all but out of print, except for the copy I grabbed from the remainder bin at B&N. Almost 1,000 pages... dozens of authors... Washington Irving through Saul Bellow. This will be my 'reading on the side' book for the summer.

The other night I cracked it open and read for a while. Washington Irving made me laugh out loud. Who knew?

AND IF YOU THINK I'M MEAN TO OBAMA SUPPORTERS...

...some of you Hillary Clinton supporters have to get a grip and grow up.

Don't e-mail me anymore thinking I'm your anti-Obama advocate. You are misreading my message. I am PRO-Obama. I just want his more idealistic supporters to take a chill pill and get over the 'purity' idea, because politicians can only be 100% pure if they're aiming for, oh, .006% of the vote.

I wrote months ago that I like the idea that Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton -- and John McCain, for that matter -- can work with politicians across the aisle. That is, by definition, the sign of a statesman (person? whatever.) That is what this country needs right now.

Politics is a tough, tough game. And it's not the Special Olympics, so you can't all win. Hillary lost; be sad. Then get up and do the right thing.

As a white male. maybe I'm not the one to be saying this. Especially as a white male who, for whatever reason, eschewed the white male candidates and supported (1) a latino; then (2) a woman; then (3) a black (yeah -- mixed-race, but we all know that anyone who's less than 100% white is the minority in this race-obsessed culture). But I'll say it anyway.

Are you so mad at Barack Obama you'd vote for McCain? Say hello to Samuel Alito contolling your uterus.

Are you so mad at misogyny you'd vote for McCain? Say hello to Clarence Thomas controlling your right to privacy.

Are you so mad at those disqualified Florida delegates you'd vote for McCain? Say hello to Antonin Scalia controlling your right to free assembly.

Are you so mad at those disqualified Michigan voters you'd vote for McCain? Say hello to John Roberts controlling your election results.



Former Hillary Clinton supporters, I do not want to paint (nor do I think of) John McCain as a devil. But he is not your friend, politically, and you have got to get over yourselves. The 2008 election will not be 'The Perfect Choice' (none of them has been), but it will be a clear choice. Do the right thing.

Also? The e-mails about 'getting those Obama people'? Again, you misread. Please read again, then re-read this post.

THE WALL

Lately, it happens every workday at 3:30 PM without fail. Three-thirty comes and I hit a wall. A full mind/body collapse.

And I think we all know what that means. Yeah, I've got to start quitting for the day at 3:00.

I TOLD YOU SO

See those words up there? 'I told you so'? Yeah, I'm one of those people who has no problem saying them with prefacing it with, 'I hate to say this, but...'

Me, nine weeks ago:

The fact is that Barack Obama is a politician, and people who fail to see or acknowledge that are fooling themselves. Sorry to be blunt, Obama fans, but it's true. You don't become a United States senator and, possibly, president without being an adept politician. You probably can't even get elected to the town board without being an adept politician.

Let me add that 'politician' is not necessarily a bad word. It was, at onetime, my career of choice. A good politician knows how to mesh his or her principles with effective persuasion. A good politician knows how to prioritize, and that at times when has to lose a battle in order to win a war. And above all else, a good politician knows that his or her agenda doesn't play out in a vacuum...

Welcome to the way things are, kids. Barack Obama already knows it; his supporters should, too.

For some unfathomable reason, I caught some grief for my comments. How dare I call Barack Obama a politician?!!!!

A few reports from the trenches over the past couple of weeks:

Realpolitiking Continues: Obama Drifts Right On Abortion (7/8/08)
the bloom is off the rose (7/4/08)
Obama In Another Flip-Flop Flap (7/4/08)
Obama Runs to the Middle (7/3/08)
Backlash On Obama's FISA Flip-Flop (7/2/08)
Obama Backs Expanded Government-Funded Faith Organizations (7/1/08)
Obama: Dems need to court the fundies (6/28/07)
Why yesterday's sellout was not like any other sellout (6/20/08)
Barack Obama, politician (6/19/08)
Barack Obama Slams Broken Public Financing System, Opts Out (6/19/08)


Now, let me note here that none of this bothers me. Barack Obama has to do what he has to do if he wants to win this election, and most certainly has done the same thing in past elections. It's just the way it goes.

But am I enjoying the pain of the True Believers? Does a smile creep across my face as their bubbles of naivete pop?

Uh... yeah, sorry. My bad. But I'll make sure I get the smirk off my face before I drive over to meet them in the Real World Welcome Wagon.

Barack Obama may very well be a 'different' sort of politician, but he's still enough of a politician to know that your goals and dreams and hopes mean absolutely nothing if you don't get to sit in the Big Comfy Chair.

THE SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET

Over the past seven or eight months I've been engaged in on-again/off-again research on my ancestry. To date I've gathered a lot of raw information, and maybe 90% of it is even accurate. The other 10% either needs further evaluation or is bad information I stumbled across on the Internet when I was starting my quest and didn't know any better. Turns out there's a lot of unscholarly research out there, although why someone would want to claim a relationship where none exists is beyond me; unless, you know, we're referring to my relationships with Mario Lopez and Brad Pitt.

Oddly enough, I thought the Byrnes branch of the family tree would be the toughest one to uncover. A splintered family, not particularly close, and a century after emigrating from Canada... I figured it would be hopeless. Ironically, I've not only been able to trace the Byrneses back to 18th Century Ireland, but I've also discovered that my great-grandfather was the lone Byrnes to move to western New York; the others settled in Michigan, where many live to this day, including two fourth cousins with whom I've recently corresponded.

So the Byrnes side of my heritage is starting to take shape, although if any of you are Irish and from Wicklow or Wexford, let's talk. Also to you Weissenborns, Becketts, and Fishers: you know where to find me.

Researching ancestral names and dates and how they fit into a chart is one thing. It's quite another to know your own family. And that's a subject I was reluctant to broach with my father, the last surviving member of his generation.

Until Saturday night.

In a sense, my father is in the midst of a similar quest. Since the 1950s, his family had slowly dissolved to the point where no one was in contact. Then, one by one, parents and siblings began dying off, until he -- the youngest of four Byrnes children -- was alone, with no connection to his handful of nieces and nephews. Credit where credit is due, though: a few years ago he decided enough was enough, and brought the family members back into the same orbit. That's how, in my late forties, I finally met some first cousins I knew existed, but had never seen... even though they lived just miles away.

Still, I knew this reunion was not without pain. The Byrnes family was dysfunctional, to say the least. Last Saturday night, as we sat on my father's back patio, I learned that it was more dysfunctional than I had thought.

And yet, for once, I pressed the issue, because -- for better or worse -- I am part of this, and needed to know. Now I do.

I now know about the grandmother who had to be institutionalized, the aunt who committed suicide, the major family rift over deceit and money that ended his relationship with another of his sisters, the loneliness, the alcoholism, the jealousies, the head games. I also now know some things I didn't know: for instance, that the grandfather I'd always assumed was an irresponsible drunk was, in fact, a decent, soft-spoken, hard-working, and put-upon man. And that the father I've butted heads with more than a few times over the years maybe has some reasons for being hard-nosed and attempting to stay in control of every situation.

It took me a long time to work up the nerve to ask the hard questions; maybe it took him as long to give me frank answers. But I have a new appreciation for my roots that I'd never be able to get from a flowchart, so it was worth it.

SCIENTIFIC PROOF THAT BLOGGING IS OVER

According to my site statistics, I now have half the readership I had a year ago. If that hemorrhaging of readers is happening to this blog -- a constantly updated, timely, challenging, laugh-out-loud, cutting-edge chronicle of the thoughts and life of a Famous Author -- it can only mean one thing.

The blog, as we know it, is dead.

But do not mourn, dear friends. Like the 8-Track, Betamax, and MySpace before them, blogs will live on in our hearts and mi--...

What?

It's just me?

Oh.

DEFRIENDED

When I went to bed last night I had 61 Facebook friends. This morning I had 60. So I have to ask: which one of you bitches defriended me?

Anonymous tips will be confidential. The perpetrator of this heinous action will never know you ratted him or her out.

And for those of you who have yet to become my Facebook friend, it's never too late. Right now I am marginally more popular than a dog, so your friendship is encouraged.

A WHOLE LOT OF WRONG
You'll have to click on the image below to truly understand why I don't think I'll be letting CitySearch select future Happy Hour venues.