SEE? IT'S NOT JUST ME

I just came across this quote from Tennessee Williams, and you need to read it:

[Eugene] O'Neill had a terrible problem with alcohol. Most writers do. American writers nearly all have problems with alcohol because there's a great deal of tension involved in writing, you know that. And it's all right up to a certain stage, and then you begin to need a little nervous support that you get from drinking. Now my drinking has to be moderate. Just look at the liver spots I've got on me!

No liver spots here, so I'm still good to go. Happy Hour?

Just keep me away from bottle caps.

ON DAVID PATERSON

Seriously, after admitting to hookers affairs and blow, I have a hard time believing he can have more skeletons in his closet. Unless there's a "gay midget tranny"and/or "I am Trig's father" incident coming, I'm calling bullshit.

Back to work, everyone.

ONLY IN CINDY ADAMS, KIDS! ONLY IN CINDY ADAMS...

In her column today, drooling-old-lady-with-a-press pass-and-dementia Cindy Adams appears to have caught a case of Giuliani Syndrome:

And thanks to Obama, you now have to schlep little four-ounce containers of everything. The mouthwash, hairspray, deodorant, skin freshener. Assorted thimbles of water. My carry-on looks like a medicine man's sample case.

Because the 9/11 attacks happened on Obama's watch. I read that on the Internet, so it must be true.

Also? Not to be mean or anything, but even without the TSA rules, I think Cindy's carry-on would have to look like a medicine man's sample case. Just sayin'.

POOR BABIES!

You've no doubt already heard about this.

Well, obviously Nathan Dunn and John Stemberger are not to blame! Look! Nathan explains right here how it's clearly an innocent mistake, and they weren't indulging in an ugly "fake photo" smear! They were just on deadline!

And I just found a photo of Nathan and John to prove that is true:



Nathan Dunn, left, and John Stemberger: American Patriots!

Not pretty. Unfortunately, their souls are uglier.

Like all brave conservatives, their blog does not accept comments. Fortunately, you can befriend them on Twitter and ask them what their problem is:

Follow John Stemberger

Follow Nathan Dunn

They like to think they're men, so maybe if enough people challenge them they'll finally man up. In the meantime, know Nathan Dunn and John Stemberger as the cowardly cocksuckers* they have been.


* -- "cocksuckers" in the pejorative way, or course. Not in the good way!

IN WHICH I OFFER HELP TO CARLY FIORINA

By now you've no doubt seen the ad Carly Fiorina is torturing Californians with running as part of her not-yet-failed U. S. Senate campaign.

No? Okay, take a look:



I think we all know that people are hyper-critical, which is the only reason this ad is consistently described as "bizarre," "amateur," "hilarious," "jaw-droppingly embarrassing," and "OMG-what-were-they-thinking?"

Not that I would say those things. Oh no, not me, because I never have anything bad to say about anything. Truth!

However, I do think Carly made a crucial error. And I don't mean with her very realistic looking wolf. (Uh, that was supposed to be a wolf, right?)

Her mistake was the sheep. Seriously? Sheep? No offense to our ovine friends, but sheep are the wrong animal for an ad like this.

Carly, it's not too late to recover. Remake that commercial and do the right thing!

Go Goat!

QUESTION OF THE DAY

Given his ongoing and obvious problems with race, do you think that young girl Glenn Beck might have raped and murdered in 1990 was black?

Discuss.

I CAN'T DO IT ALONE

Okay, when the closest large city to my home ranks #82, the city with which I most identify ranks #93, and the city where I was born and spent my first 36 years ranks #98, there is something terribly wrong.

I blame you. I know I am doing my share.

So please, people, get out there and show Fresno, Reno, and Billings that we mean business. I cannot do this all by myself, no matter how hard I've been trying!

2/3/10: STARTING AGAIN

Over the past few years, I've fallen into a rut. Not a horrible rut; still, a rut.

I enjoy my social life, enjoy my friends, enjoy the new friends I've made... but there is a void. I'm living a pretty normal life... but not a "writing life." Not a life in which I'm improving myself or my craft.

I never thought I'd settle for "I'm settling," but that's what started to happen.

Oh, things aren't desperate! We've already committed a lot of money to the theater, and that's a nice change. In fact, I'll be seeing so many Sondheim 80th Birthday Tributes this spring that I'll probably feel 80 before it's over. But that's not enough.

Here's where I need you to help: call out my bullshit. Three (well, two and a half) things:

1. I have to write again. And I have to get to work on the '20s novel I've been talking about -- but not writing -- for years. By March 1, call me out on that. I need to write Chapter One by the end of February. Demand the chapter, if necessary. Because without pressure, I'll probably ride another year on talk without action.

2. This is less easy for you to validate, but pressure me to get my ass to the gym. My huge, exponentially growing ass that almost has its own zip code, that is.

3. Something else I can't remember. When I do, I'll share. (That's the half.)

So leap in and help a brother out. I need the peer pressure. Living in the lap of luxury and indulging in other cliches has been divine, but I need to get back to work.

DORA MACY, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!

My bad.

(From the March 30, 1931 Albany Evening News.)