YOU LIKE ME! YOU REALLY LIKE ME!
So prove it.

Like most of you, I care a great deal about each one of the 9,467 annual blog awards. These are quantitative and meaningful ways in which we can validate the accuracy, importance, intelligence, maturity, and historical significance of past nominees and winners, such as Queerty and Brat Boy.

If not for these awards, who would validate the existence of the same six blogs? This may be controversial, but I'm going to put it right out there: we need blog awards like we need blogs. Without them, those of us with blogs would have to get friends. Life as we know it would be destroyed.

I know that my readers tend to have this image of me as a popular, cool kid, but -- while that is true -- I am also a blogger, and need validation. Therefore, I am begging you to click here and nominate me in an appropriate category. Off the top of my head, here are some suggestions:

Best African or Middle Eastern Weblog
Best Craft Weblog
Best Computers or Technology Weblog
Best Teen Weblog
Best Group Weblog
Best Use of Manilow in a Blog
Lifetime Achievement

However, please feel free to use your own judgment. Only you -- my dear, dear readers -- know what keeps you coming back to The Rob Log.

I really want you to do this. I need one of these awards. Otherwise, my life will not be complete, and I will wither and die.

Vote early. Vote Often. Vote Byrnes.

Thank you.

HOW I SURVIVED COLORADO, BEAT VEGAS, HAD A GREAT NEW YEARS EVE, AND OTHER FICTIONS
Wow. I've been gone for almost two weeks. This is my longest break from blogging since last year's mysterious hiatus, give or take a few dry periods where I was too drunk over-stressed to post.

I guess I owe you some stories. So sit back and enjoy the travelogue.

BUT FIRST... (See? I almost forgot.) It was quite nice to return to New York and find e-mail and/or Amazon reviews and/or comments from folks like Jess, David, and Bob who had nice things to say about When the Stars Come Out. For some unfathomable reason, I am getting very little feedback on Stars (although what I'm getting is good) so, if any of my readers are so inclined, I would be appreciative if you could spread the word. Tell your friends... send a review to Amazon or B&N.com or InsightOut... walk into Lambda Rising or Oscar Wilde or A Different Light... get all loud and obnoxious when you see the book at Borders or Hastings and jump up and down yelling, 'Oh My God! This is the best book EVER!' You get the drift...

So where were we? Oh yes...

THE WEEKS THAT WERE...

One thing I have to say: Bradykins and I had great travel karma... up until the end. Airline tickets were purchased well in advance of any weather reports, and it was pure luck that we left snowless, warm New York City and landed in Denver mere hours before (and blissfully ignorant of) the impending blizzard, allowing us plenty of time to travel safely to the Bradykins homeland in The Middle of Nowhere, Northeast Colorado.

The next day, we woke up to a foot or two of snow. Now, as a native of the snow belt, this is not an unfamiliar experience. Still... did I mention that New York City was snowless and warm? Did I mention that we don't own snowblowers?

Uh... guess what. Neither does Papa Bradykins. The next day, we were... shoveling!

I tend to romanticize some things in my head... remembrances of a simpler life. Snow shoveling... lawn mowing... weeding the gardening... I am now effectively striking snow shoveling off that list. More people die shoveling snow than on the elliptical, and I understand why.

Oh, and -- besides the fact that City Boy here was out in the cold performing physical activity, here is another hardship fact you will find amazing:

Two. Days. Without. Alcohol.

(I am going to inset a gap to let you think about that for a moment...)






Two. Days.

Oh, they did have alcohol in the house. But it was white zinfandel. And given the choice between death by starvation and death by drinking the hemlock, I will choose starvation.

Okay... on to Day Three.

Once we were dug out, we went to visit relatives that had been delayed by the storm. Bradykins has a handful of cousins on his mother's side, and -- let me tell you -- there are strong gay genes in that family. On that side of the family, three of the five cousins are gay/lesbian. We had a brief meeting, but it was fun, and I look forward to seeing my... uh... cousins-in-law(?) again.

In the meantime, I had a minor revelation. We were in small-town Colorado, with all these gay men and lesbians, and the mothers and fathers were all talking about how glad they were that their children are finding same-sex partners who make them happy. I have more thoughts about this for a longer and more socially-significant entry, but -- for now -- let me just note that this gives me hope for the future, and makes it even more clear that, as we each come out, we collectively make enormous progress in ways bigger than one person's individual journey.


Anyway, after the DTs passed, we traveled to Loveland (where everybody lives to love... and now that I've repeated this joke twice, when will one of you Sondheim Fags give me a shout out?!!) This is home to Brother Bradykins and his wife -- and let me note that, as much as I love the entire Bradykins Family, his sister-in-law is my soulmate -- and the kids/grandkids/nephews (you following?), which is why Loveland is Where Christmas Happens.

Lots of gifts were given, mostly to the kids/grandkids/nephews. I got a wine bottle opener and a Homer Simpson Chia head. My in-laws know me, don't they?

The kids, by the way, are not that young. Ten-going-on-11 and 8. And while I will let them play that believing-in-Santa-in-the-gray-area game, because we all love the magic of believing (which is why we play the Lottery, isn't it?), there is no fucking way in hell that kids that age should be getting up at 6 AM to shout that Santa came! [Aside: I know where you want to go with that last sentence. Don't.]

So we did Christmas, and then it was Mama Bradykins's 60th birthday, so it was time to...


Viva Las Vegas. Bradykins and I told ourselves we could each afford to lose $X (our business... not yours.) And so we did what people do in Vegas, and hit a variety of slot machines and gaming tables. But you know the Official Motto: the money you bring to Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Our final Vegas night was filled with highlights (there were only two, so there wasn't much competition). First, we saw Barry Manilow. Stop laughing; I'm serious. We caught his show at the Hilton and loved it, right down to the complimentary Manilow glowstick, which sorta kinda almost made up for the $12,835 tickets.


Then, thanks to a sweet nickel slot game on our last night (I had already lost $X+100, so I was playing cautious) that paid me lots and lots and lots of nickels -- oh, and rang for 20 minutes, by the way -- we came out a bit ahead. 'Nuff said. If you happened to be in the Treasure Island casino at 2:30 AM and saw a red-eyed chain-smoker at the blackjack table not particularly caring if the occasional $5 chip fell to the floor because -- hey! -- he just won Big Nickels, that would have been me.

Oh yeah... Treasure Island. It was... okay, I guess. It would have been a hell of a lot better if they had tried to drown Shatner during the pirate show, but -- once again -- my hopes were dashed. Stupid fiction.

Our Vegas trip concluded, it was time to fly back to Denver. And once again, the weather was on our side. In fact, we caught the last Frontier flight from Las Vegas to Denver before the cancellations began in anticipation of the Storm of the Week.




Back in Colorado, we fought our way through blinding snow north on I-25 to Loveland (where everybody... ah, screw it.) And in the morning, we awoke to another foot of snow.

Fortunately, this time I didn't have to do anything but look at it. Still, it made for some impressive piles at the King Soopers:

Okay, you get it: snow, snow, more snow, Manilow, and gambling. I guess it's time to wrap this up now. I'm even starting to bore myself.

We awoke at some ungodly hour on New Year's Eve, got to the airport on time, hopped on our 7:20 flight to Dallas-Fort Worth, ran to our connecting flight to LaGuardia, and made it back to New York at 3:09 PM on the last day of 2006.

Two of our three pieces of checked baggage arrived on the flight an hour later; the third decided to take an overnight flight. American Airlines totally sucks.

Anyway, despite being exhausted from the cross-country travel, it was New Year's Eve, so we had some partying to do. And, yes, by midnight we were done. In fact, I can honestly say that if we had stayed any later, I probably would have died on New Year's Day. Altitude change + Travel + Lots of Alcohol - Food = "Please God, may I exchange positions with Saddam Hussein?" Not good.

But life goes on, no matter how painful at times. So today I am getting back behind my desk and rejoining responsible, productive, adult society. And no one who sees me will ever know that, in my head, a slot machine is chiming its payout while Barry is singing about Lola, Tony and Rico. It's our little secret...

THE WEEKEND IN REVIEW
Happy Monday. You haven't missed a thing. Billy Hufsey is still 48, people are still not reviewing my books on Amazon, and I still owe Chase Platinum Visa tons o'money plus, I think, Mary Cheney's first-born child.

Oh wait. No, now that I think of it, you did miss a few things. This had slipped my mind, but Friday was not only Billy Hufsey's birthday! Turns out it was also Crash's birthday. Oh, and mine.

I usually don't celebrate -- beyond drinks with friends, that is, which sort of makes every day my birthday -- and this year was going to be no exception. In fact, Bradykins was dragging me to someone else's party... he even showed me a printed invitation.

Imagine my surprise -- true surprise -- when we walked into the party and there stood 45 or so of my friends, ranging from people I see every day to famous authors Greg Herren and Andy Zeffer. And -- oh yeah -- a batch of bloggers. (Meaning that yes, Becky, there will eventually be pictures.)

Bradykins really knocked himself out with this one -- with notable assistance from Patrick, my brother Tim, my sister Marje, and dozens of people who were able to drink with me for weeks and still keep a secret (what?). And if the evening could be said to have a single highlight, it was that they were clever enough to find and decorate the room with archival FARB photographs, like this one:



So thanks to all of you who sent e-mail or left comments, or were able to swing by on Friday night. It was touching and surprising and wonderful, and Billy Hufsey's got nothing on me.

PS: MAK wasn't there. Just sayin'.

GOTCHA
Did you see the controversy over at Gawker about the 'Confessions of a Bareback Top' guy?

I am here to tell you that it is all bullshit. The crap is almost certainly not true, and 'Bareback Top' is certainly not gay.

He cannot be gay. No gay man would put an apostrophe in 'Barneys.' That's not in our genetic makeup.

I rest my case.

BEYOND WASTING TIME
I know I've mentioned this before, but how is it possible that Towleroad can generate such an frightening volume of incredibly banal comments? Don't these people work for a living?

(And yes, I'm aware that it's almost as pathetic that I'm blogging about someone else's comments. But that's what you've came to expect from me.)

READING IS HOT! AND HELPS YOU HEAL!
Taking the 'Reading Is Hot!' campaign to its logical next step, we see here that David has discovered that Great Literature also speeds the healing process:

Good man, David. Good man.

MY LIFE ON THE C-LIST
Who knew? I would have bet money I was on the E-minus List.



(via Daniel)

BELATEDLY GIVING THANKS
It is Sunday, and I am home. What a bitch of a trip. But let's not dwell on the getting-to-Rochester details, ugly as they were. Let's look at the positive.

Now, more than on Thursday, is the perfect time to give thanks. This year, I am thankful for:

* Another year in which New York City had relative peace.

* The good fortune of having been born in the United States of America, which -- for all its faults -- is my love and my home, and has the added benefit of a governmental structure that allows us to throw the bums out on Election Day when we get out of our smug lethargy... which we largely did this year.

* A great job, which I sometimes forget to be thankful for among the petty quotidian headaches. Reminder to self: many people have jobs that kill their souls; be thankful you have one that only sporadically annoys you, while offering you innumerable opportunities to improve the city you love.

* A family that makes me crazy sometimes, but is still there for me, even though I'm the most neglectful son/brother/uncle ever. Spending time with all them, in various permutations and combinations over the weekend, was a delight.

* Good friends. The old -- Mike (fka Mboto) & Beautiful Bob, Mark & Matthew, Brian (& Wayne), Chris & Mark, Lynette & Kim; the new -- my Stooges and the Stooge Boyfriends; and the bloggers, who know who they are.

* The good fortune to have a third book published, and the editor and agent who have been willing to patiently nurture my talent... or, well, whatever it is I have. And I'm also thankful that, in the past two years, I started to be accepted as a writer by my peers in the writing community, after years in which I felt like an outsider. Or maybe I've just gotten less shy. In any event, thanks to Becky Cochrane; Timothy J. Lambert; Greg Herren; Michael Connor at InsightOut; Randy Ham at Hastings Books; Mary Kay, Heidi, and Deacon at Lambda Rising; Kim, Cecilia, and Jeffrey at Oscar Wilde Bookstore; Andy Zeffer; Stewart Lewis; all the booksellers at Borders, B&N, etc.; and everyone else... especially the people I've forgotten.

* People like Byrne, Wayne, Jeff, Greg, Patrick, and Doug, who stepped up to the plate and helped me get When the Stars Came Out into shape before I submitted my final manuscript in early March. I can only imagine what they thought when I gave them that train-wreck three weeks before it had to be finished, but they accepted my assurances that it would come together and it did... thanks in no small part to of their feedback. I love you guys!

* Penultimately, thanks to JetBlue for finally getting me to Rochester on Friday (two days after I tried to leave via US Airways), and even more thanks to JetBlue for getting me out of there this morning.

* The final thing I'm thankful for? I still not only have Bradykins in my life, but -- since May -- he's been living with me in New York. Six months down, six hundred or so to go. And no one has ever been more thankful.


So happy belated Thanksgiving, bitches! Now STFU and GBTW!

READING WAS HOT
Last night's reading at New York's LGBT Center was a lot of fun. Good crowd, hot men, wine... what was not to love? Special thanks to the Blogger Kids who turned out for the event: Patrick, Crash, and David (who I finally had the chance to meet in person after all this time. And speaking of David, I caught him last weekend in A Little Night Music. If you get the opportunity, do yourself a favor and see the show!)

I was admittedly at a bit of a disadvantage. Andy Zeller acts, Stewart Lewis acts and sings, Casper Andreas acts and makes films, and Jamie Morris acts, and Rob Byrnes, well... he sits behind his computer most of the day. Also, the other authors/performers are uniformly young and cute, while I am reluctantly middle-aged and rapidly falling apart. But I don't think I bored anyone, and -- since that was my goal -- I'd have to call the evening a success.

Let me add that doing a group event like this was a lot of fun, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. So if any other authors are out there and want to organize something, you know where to find me.

TOWLEROAD COMMENTS MAKE MY HEAD HURT
Thought of the day week month: 96% of the people who comment at Towleroad need to put away the keyboard and get a hobby.

Discuss.

BOOK ENDS (AND ODDS)
1. To answer Steven's question from yesterday's comments, yes, I still get giddy when I see my book on the shelves... especially when it's a brand new release. I also get inexplicably nervous, although that reaction is slowly getting better.

2. To answer David's question from the comments, if anyone is in New York on a day when I am in New York (which is most days) and you want to get a book signed, just drop me an e-mail and we can meet up. Otherwise, e-mail me and I'll give you a mailing address.

3. By the way, there's an extra-special treat hidden in the back of the book. My acknowledgments read like the closing credits for a movie; look closely and you'll find the names of the following bloggers: Patrick, Crash, Jeff, the Boi from Troy, Becks, and Teej. They were among the many people who helped me whip the manuscript into shape, and I can't thank them enough. The verisimilitude is theirs; any errors are mine.

4. And again, remember to mark your calendars for the book party on September 14. Among the expected guests are the aforementioned Boi, winging in from the Worst Coast; noted author Greg Herren, up from New Orleans; a bevy of bloggers and publishing industry sorts, including some who aren't even with my house (probably trying to cherry-pick me... but my heart remains with Kensington); and Horshack.



Okay, the housekeeping is out of the way. Now it is time for us to weep over this tragic news...