Wednesday, February 28, 2007


I’ve been wondering lately if the rumors are true: Al Gore is about to toss his hat into the presidential ring.

You know, I think the former vice-president has a good chance to take the prize. I mean, he did win the popular vote in 2000, and more importantly, he has an Oscar.

Does anyone really think Hillary has a chance? Hell, no. I mean, an ice cube in hell has a better chance of survival. It’s not that she is a woman, but a Clinton. I don’t know what it is, but so many people hate her. I mean, really hate her.

Barack Obama? I think he has an amazing future, but 2008 is just not his year. Not yet, but soon.

In my opinion, the winning ticket is Gore/Obama. Let’s see if I’m right.

Thursday, February 22, 2007


Does anyone remember Rupert Everett?

He had an A-list moment about 10 years back when he played fag to Julia Robert’s hag in “My Best Friend’s Wedding.” He committed career suicide a year later when he appeared with Madonna in the disastrous “The Next Best Thing”, which is arguably the worst film of all time. I mean, the movie is even worse than Madge’s beach epic “Swept Away” – and that’s bad!

Well, now that the big parts have evaporated, Mr. Everett has written a saucy little memoir about his 15 minutes of fame. Titled “Red Carpets And Other Banana Skins”, Mr. Everett’s prose, although not exactly Proust, is witty. His tales of life on the A-list with J-lo, Gwyneth, Donatella, and Miss Madge are quite insightful as well as interesting. But he left one person out: Me.

I met Rupert a few years back. Well, I wouldn’t exactly say met, but we kinda rubbed… shoulders. Yeah, shoulders.

Let me explain:

It was one of those mischievous nights at Manhattan’s sleaziest gay bar the Cock. After one too many black bitches (that’s a vodka/coke - the drink of choice for me and Debbie Harry) I wandered into the “anything goes with anyone” backroom. I saw Mr. Everett standing in a dark corner. I mean, at 6’4” with a head of thick black hair, he wasn’t exactly hard to miss. Star fuck that I am, I batted my Max Factored lashes his way and soon we were groping and kissing like two wild schoolgirls After several minutes, he backed away and dropped to his knees in front of a thuggish looking black man. I took a swig of my cocktail and watched his lips imitate a Hoover vacuum.

Ok, maybe he left me out of the book for good reason, but it’s still one of those amazing moments that can only happen in Manhattan.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007


I hate when you call the phone company, the cable company or the credit card company and they make you punch in all those damn account numbers, names and blood types only to be asked the exact same questions when an operator finally picks up.

I ask you: What's the point of punching all those numbers?

Monday, February 19, 2007


I'm on my soapbox tonight.

In our culture, gays are the only minority group that can be publicly demonized and hated without consequence. If you doubt me, tune into any Christian television station or radio program to witness a preacher spewing out anti-gay venom, thus encouraging anti-gay violence as well as self-hatred among gay youth . Further up the ladder, the president of the United States is attempting to write discrimination into the constitution. And in everyday life, the gay slurs and jokes that take place in workplaces, locker rooms and street corners – not to mention hate crimes and gay bashing – are too many to mention.

So excuse me, if I get upset when a moron like Tim Hardaway pisses me off and threatens my existence.

Yes, I’m not taking it anymore. No apologies. And I’m not ready to make nice.

Sunday, February 18, 2007


You know what pissed me off this weekend? Former NBA star Tim Hardaway's moronic comments about gay players….”I don’t like being around homosexuals” and “I hate gay people.”

Well, as a gay man, I don’t like being around dumb n____rs.

I wonder what would happen if I made such a statement in a public forum such as a televison or radio program? I'm sure I would receive a much harsher reprimand than Tim Hardaway's slap on the wrists.


This has to be the final nail in Britney's career coffin.

Friday, February 16, 2007


You know, I think it's true what people say about me - I am mean.

Since it's been so cold and snowy in Manhattan, I've been forced to ride the subway. And you know what makes me smile?
Watching the subway doors close as people run frantically down the stairs to catch the train. I laugh outloud as the train pulls out and they are left on the platform.

Yes, I'm mean.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007


Is it just me, or am I the only one who despises Valentine’s Day?

February 14th is without a doubt the co-dependant holiday of the year. I mean, if you don’t have a Valentine’s Day date, you are made to feel like a big loser. Even when I had a valentine, there was so much stress to have a “romantic evening” it always turned out to be a bust.

This year I’m buying myself a big box of Whitman Samplers and taking my single self to the movies - and holding my head high amongst the heart shaped couples.

Monday, February 12, 2007


The New York Post ran a picture of the contents of Anna Nicole Smith's hotel refrigerator. I mean, you have to love a woman who survived on SlimFast shakes and Methadone.

Sunday, February 11, 2007


I thought it was fabulous that the Dixie Chicks swept every major award at the Grammy's last night.

It was sweet vindication after the chicks' lives were threatened and sales plummeted when Maines criticized President Bush on the eve of the Iraq war in 2003. Almost overnight, one of the most successful groups of any genre was boycotted by Nashville and disappeared from country radio.

I particularly loved it when the Chicks took Country Artist of the year. I mean, watching Reba's redneck expression when they won was priceless.

Thursday, February 08, 2007


As cynical and bitter as I am, my heart goes out to Anna Nicole Smith. I mean, she was an easy target with all her crazy shenanigans, but I’m aiming my arrows elsewhere. In our land of politically correctness, I admire someone who wore her bleached blonde ambition on her sleeve for the entire world to see.

I also can’t imagine the horror of giving birth to one child and then losing another all within days. She didn’t have an easy ride, but at least she will forever be remembered as young and blonde.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007


I'm in love with Courtney Cox’s new FX series Dirt. I mean, this has to be the filthiest show on television.

The plot so far involves a football player who takes it up the ass via a strap-on adorned girl, a rapper who keeps the head of a murdered rival in a jar, and Miss Cox herself searching for an orgasm each week with her trusty vibrator. Oh, and Melrose Place's Grant Show plays an A-list (now that's humorous in itself) closeted action hero who calls his various male sex partners bitches. And finally, rumor has it that Friend’s alumni Jennifer Aniston will appear in the season finale as a lesbian rival editor who gives Miss Cox some tongue.

I swear, I’m not making this up.

I keep asking myself why zillionaire Miss Cox would do this. I mean, it’s not like it’s a Martin Scorsese film. Whatever the reason, it’s my new guilty pleasure.

Monday, February 05, 2007


It’s fashion week in NYC, and amongst the glamour and glitz, the fashionistas are up in arms about the negative press surrounding super skinny models. Of course, no one will come right out and endorse anorexia, but prada dressed and obsessed editors know full well that fashion would not be fashion without bone thin teenaged girls tottering down the runway.

Fashion has always been an artful illusion made possible with lights and circus mirrors, so what’s wrong with a little skin and bones? I mean, I like to think of the models as starving artists.

Of course, in a grand gesture, the fashion police have placed tables of healthy food backstage, but who’s kidding whom? If your job is to be a size 0, you’re not going to touch the nosh no matter how good it is. The New York Post has reported that while some models are eating, the janitors are smelling mucho vomit in the bathrooms. I say, bravo girls.

As I sat in my chair applauding the designers, who by the way are showing oodles of short skirts, I also put my hands together for the starving artists who bring the clothes to life.

Saturday, February 03, 2007


I ran across this picture of Miss it just me, or does she look like a hagged-out 40 year-old woman?

Friday, February 02, 2007


You know what really bugs me? Snobby people who claim they never watch reality television. I mean, I want to scream when I hear these elitist assholes brag with bravado....Oh, I read books or spend time with my family or watch historical documentaries on PBS and blah, blah, blah.

I just want to shout...fuck you!

Give me some VH1 Celebreality any night of week. I mean, who could live without "I Love New York" or "Fit Club" or even "The Surreal Life" ?

Oh, and have you noticed that these television avoiding snobs always look they should be on Extreme Makeover?