IS THIS WRONG?

Discussing the twists and turns of the presidential campaign via e-mail with my friend W*:

W: She has a newborn with down syndrome. Totes getting the sympathy votes.

FARB: (POW + Down Syndrome Mom) vs. (Black + Dead Wife & Child). Someone needs to get cancer now.

W: You're forgetting about Cindy McCain's hand injury. Super tragic.

FARB: Stay tuned. McCain and Biden are both due to throw out their backs.

W: I heard Obama got a paper cut.

FARB: Will the Clintons stop at nothing?!!!


* = No, not that W.

SPRING PREVIEWS: BOOK JACKET AND ARCH-NEMESIS EDITION

Okay, folks, I think I've made you wait long enough. It's time for you to get your first look at next spring's Must-Have book.

(Uh... that would be my new book, Straight Lies, of course. But you knew that, right?)

So here, stolen from the Kensington Publishing catalog, is the first image. (Go to page 55 of the catalog for slightly better quality.)



The catalog copy, which I assume mirrors the book jacket, reads:

Grant and Chase are a fun-loving pair of small-time hustlers with no money, little patience, and lots of get-rich-quick schemes. Romeo Romero is the world’s hottest openly gay celebrity. He’s got the face, the abs -— and the sex video that could destroy his career by revealing a surprising fact: He’s straight.

When Grant and Chase hear about the video, they decide to steal the tape, blackmail the star, and collect the cash. But when they stupidly leave the video in a New York cab, the would-be crooks have to wheel and deal with a sleazy tabloid editor, a lesbian real estate agent, a kinky Internet stalker, and an alluring boy toy to finally get to the truth... behind not-so-straight lies.

Well... mostly that's what's in my book. My fault, though: that's what happens when they start designing your book jacket before you've turned in your manuscript. In any event, the only thing that doesn't quite work is the description of Romeo Romero. He could possibly have the face and the abs, but they are in a 60 year old package.

Whatever. Caveat emptor, and all that.

Okay, so that's that. Start saving up that $15, because the book will be on sale before you know it, and by 'before you know it' I mean in seven months, give or take a few days.

Now, onto our next order of business: my new arch-nemesis. (By the way, arch-nemeses are not the same as Celebrity Feuders... unless Musto intends to publish a book next April.)

As many of you all of you know, I have been the victim of a six-year conspiracy aimed at hurting my book sales. First, bisexual Tim Curry-wannabe Cumming was recruited to stop me, but I easily rolled over him and his little book. By the way, if you're interested in reading his novel, all you have to do is save up your pennies. Literally.

Then, a few years ago, The Gay American stepped up to the plate. And where is he now? Totally out of the news!

I had wondered where my next arch-nemesis would come from -- would it be Screech? -- but, thanks to the Kensington catalog, my question has been answered. Hard as it to believe that my own publisher would offer up the next arch-nemesis, the proof is right there on page 48.

Coming in April, 2009... Cloris, an autobiography by Cloris Leachman.

Cloris Fucking Leachman!



Okay, Phyllis, you think you're man enough to take me on? You'd better be smarter and faster and sneakier, Blucher, because I'm ready. By the end of April, I will have pulled the warm, still-beating heart from your withered chest cavity with my bare hands and forced Corky Ballas to watch as I drink your blood! Yes, I take this insult Just! That! Seriously!

Let the games... begin.

RUBY'S BIRTHDAY

If she hadn't died 15 years ago, today would have been Ruby Keeler's 99th birthday. (And that, ladies and gentlemen, was about as close to a Queertyesque sentence as I have ever written, except the math is correct. But I digress...)

At the special request of my friend Steven, the FARBlog commemorates Mrs. Jolson's birthday with the following video clips. Enjoy!





Aside: whenever I finish my 1920s novel, Ruby will be making an appearance. I knew you'd want to know.

WEEKEND UPDATE

My boyfriend won a gold medal at the Olympics. Isn't that cool?

I am now going to have a lot of naked gay sex with my boyfriend, the Olympian. I'll even let him wear his gold medal. As for you... eh, back to whatever you were doing.

NEW CELEBRITY FEUD HOTNESS

Okay, it is one thing for me to write that I wouldn't sleep with Michael Musto. Because I am sort of generically mean, and write things like that without provocation or, really, putting much thought into it.

It is quite another thing for Michael Musto -- or someone claiming to be Michael Musto, which is mostly the same thing -- to leave a comment stating that he wouldn't sleep with me. That's just... just... rude. One does not do that, unless one is me.

So now I guess I'm going to have to have a Celebrity Feud with Michael Musto/Fake Michael Musto. No good can come from it -- remember, I vanquish people -- but a blogger has to do what a blogger has to do.

Hopefully, this madness will stop before after Page Six runs numerous items about it, because it promises to be the kind of Epic Battle that divides celebrities into opposing camps. I am not concerned. Michael Musto/Fake Michael Musto might have a lot of celebrity friends, but I have... uh... Horshack. Oh -- and I've had a drink with Ron Corning, too! So my back is covered. Not only that, but it's covered by people with a lot of free time on their hands.

Fortunately, now that Dott-O-Rama has slinked (slunk?) away, I have some free time on my hands, too. So bring it on, Michael Musto/Fake Michael Musto. Bring it on.

I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING, BUT YOU'RE WRONG

Items number 7 and 18 are definitely not me. So please stop e-mailing me to ask.

I can see why you'd think of me, especially with Item 7, but... no. I am not an 'oddity.'

Also, I wouldn't sleep with Michael Musto. Unless it sold books. And there were a lot of mind-altering substances available.

BLOGSERVATION

Gawker commenters only seem cool. Maybe that's just in comparison to commenters on other blogs.

But the proof is in the visuals.

Snarky nerds? What a world... what a world...

DEAR SANTA

Jesus!



Mario who?


(via Towleroad)

FUTURE BOOKS TO WATCH OUT FOR

Somebody is going to make a lot of money writing a book about this.

I know I'll be buying it the day it's released.

SUNDAY NIGHT YouTube OVERDOSE

And... I'm even going to make it pertain to writers! All artists, really. Yay for me!

You've probably heard the story, but it bears repeating. The analysis of Fred Astaire's first screen test: "Can't act. Can't sing. Balding. Can dance a little."

He got past that critique to give us (among so many things, including The Towering Inferno -- shut up!!) the following film clip. Click for the bestest eight minutes ever:



For another five minutes out of your life, watch Steven Martin and Bernadette Peters (who I loooooove) interpret the scene from Pennies From Heaven:



Speaking of Pennies From Heaven and Christopher Walken (what? we weren't talkin' 'bout Walken?), this clip will show you that Hairspray did him a disservice:



And you've all seen the sort of ultimate Walken dance performance (sorry, unembedable), but... what the hell.


Okay, so I wasted 20 minutes of your time. But wasn't it the Best. Wasting. Ever?!

You know it was.


UPDATE: Am I alone in hearting Pennies From Heaven? Well, if so, you all suck. Here's My Bernadette in her signature number. Maybe that will change your mind.




UPDATE McUPDATE: Forgot something:


(signature number writ bizarre,
but that's how I roll)

YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE A LOT TO READ IN 2009

Breaking news! (Well, breaking news two days ago. For me, this is timely.)

Coming in February, 2009 from Cleis Press:



One of the editors -- some guy named Teej -- has a rundown of the featured authors and their stories. I think you'll recognize some names.

And, of course, April is the release date for my fourth novel, Straight Lies. Which you will buy.

That reminds me: I think I've already selected my next arch-rival. Details to follow.

CURLY FRY HEAVEN

This is the kind of news that makes a strong man weep tears of joy. Or even me.

Port Imperial, please. Thank you.

DON'T WRITE ANY MORE, BRO!

I don't know what makes me hate more: that this was written; or that someone, somewhere, will make a movie out of it and reap a few million dollars of Frat Boy Money.

I need to take a shower.

BROTHERLY LOVE

I don't want to give you the impression that I am pro-anthrax terrorism -- as a rule, I am not, mostly -- but here are some choice quotes from alleged anthrax terrorist Dr. Bruce Ivin's beloved brother, who hadn't spoken to him in 23 years:

The workaholic Ivins' psychological seeds were sown in a strict, religious household dominated by a smothering mother, his brother told The Post... "He was a mamma's boy," said his oldest brother, Tom. Their mother turned Ivins and other brother Charles into "wussies."

[snip]

Growing up, household rules were strict. Tom remembered how he once borrowed his parents' car and failed to come home one night. His mother never let him use a car again, he said.

Family ties were strained among the children as well, and the differences between Tom and his younger brothers were stark. Tom lettered as an athlete in high school, but the younger boys, who were much closer to their mother, were forbidden from playing sports.

"When my brother went into high school, he was sheltered," Tom said.

Indeed, Bruce, a slight-framed, gawky teenager, sported dark-rimmed glasses and hit the books rather than the gridiron. He racked up academic achievements as a member of the National Honor Society and was a member in many extracurricular clubs, according to reports.

[snip]

"He had a master's degree and a Ph.D. - he thought he was a big deal," Tom Ivins said. "He had the feeling that he was lord and God and everything."

Ivins remained devoted to his mother even after he moved away to work for the Army. He fed and nursed her as she was dying of cancer in 1979, caring more for her than his own father, according to his brother.

"He was completely dedicated to her," Tom said.

He was surprised when Ivins married.

"He was a wussy, not a woman's man. He wasn't sociable. He wasn't attracted to the opposite sex. I don't know how he married that woman," he said.

Rage much, Tom? I mean, I know your parents were mean and wouldn't let you do whatever you wanted to do, but someone needs to get over himself.

You know, if Bruce Ivins had sent boorish brother Tom one of his little presents, I'm not sure anyone would have cared much.


UPDATE: It would probably help if I gave you the link to the story, right? (See pages 2 and 3.)

MEANWHILE IN WASHINGTON...

The scary thing is that this could almost be real.