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Today, I am surrounded by:
1:36 PM
I have loads of friends who celebrate birthdays in March and April--far more than any other time of year. Maybe that disparity is due to some kinda Leo/Aries connection vibe. Or maybe couples just love having sex in June--presumably while they're on their honeymoons, or while they're at Walt Disney World, or while they're on their honeymoons at Walt Disney World. (Please don't let me know if you fall into that third category. So. Not. Kidding.) Of all these friends, though, one of the most important is celebrating her birthday today. That would be my sister, of course. Drop on by and give her a big howdy-do, why don'cha? Also: for those concerned about our insistent visitor, we found another photo of Tyra (sadly, not hard to do) and placed it in kitchen window. Birdbrain has relented for the moment, but we're hoping he'll pull himself together for one last winner-take-all battle with Miss Banks. Pray that my camera is nearby when it happens.
2:15 PM
LIBERAL-MINDED FASHION TYCOON TOM FORD FINDS HUMAN BODY "BEAUTIFUL", CAN'T BRING HIMSELF TO SAY "PUSSY"
Novel sentiments, indeed. I don't think I've ever heard anyone in the art or fashion worlds describe the human body as a gift or a temple or anything. Perhaps Mr. Ford will start using half-naked models in his campaigns now. I wonder if they'll be fat. P.S. Mr. Ford, someone beat you to the punch on that fragrance idea [NSFW]. (Vulva link courtesy of Michael--a phrase I doubt I'll ever type again.)
8:21 AM
Likely:
Less likely:
Hopefully:
7:28 AM
I love pets, but I've never owned a bird. Frankly, I've never understood the allure. Maybe I get parrots and their ilk--birds that can climb on your shoulders and show a little affection--but canaries in a cage? That just seems cruel. Plus, I don't care what kind of bird you own, you can't snuggle up with it when the weather's chilly. And then there's all that Tippi Hedren stuff to worry about. (Not that dogs don't have their evil counterparts.) For the past five months, however, I've been given another reason to dislike birds: They're, uh, kinda dumb. This one in particular. Since late fall, this cardinal has been hurling himself against the windows on the west side of our house, presumably in an effort to oust his reflection from the territory. Jonno taped some photos of Tyra Banks to the window in the bedroom, so he kinda avoids that one now, but he shows no sign of giving up on the others. The fun starts around 7:30am and goes 'till about 11am, which is probably when the sun gets high enough in the sky to change the bird's reflection in the window. You'd think he might get the picture by now, but no dice. Any suggestions? We've run out of Tyra photos and patience.
9:43 AM
 I'm not a fan of Easter. If you ask me, the very premise seems flimsy. So, what--Jeebus celebrates his birthday on the same day every year, but the date of his death is a little fuzzy? Not convincing, even to a ten year old. Then there's the church service--which I no longer attend, but as a kid, it was pure torture: a long sermon endured in very dressy clothes, followed by an awkward formal dinner. My brothers and I were allegedly compensated for this discomfort by an abundance of candy treats, but since I don't have much of a sweet tooth, and I care even less for chocolate, I always felt pretty cheated. Then, a couple of weeks ago, Jonno and I met Sunday, who told us about Papas and the impossibly delectable chocolate Easter eggs they make. When she returned home, she sent a care package, sure that I would see things her way. Even if I continued to loathe Easter, I could enjoy the metaphorical fruits of the holiday. Well, she was right. The eggs are very good. However, let's check the photo and do some math:
And on top of everything, one of the six eggs contains something called "Opera Cream". Hello, I'm gay? How can I not eat that? How can I not lust for such evil, tasty, goopy goodness? And most importantly, how can I fit into a one-piece in just a few weeks? That said, you gotta admit the bunny mascot's totally hot.
6:19 AM
In case you missed it (because I sure did): Garfield Minus Garfield...
12:50 PM
Dear Unnamed Suicidal Person: As an environmentally conscious citizen, I appreciate your desire to reduce the world's population. Clearly, overcrowding is an area of eco-concern in which one person really can make a difference. However, in reviewing your case, I think I have identified several issues you ought to resolve before taking one for the Gipper again. Trust me: I'm a consultant. I know what I'm talking about. 1. Choose a different time of day: The sun is a cruel and mercurial mistress. In California, she provides solar power for homes, but in Florida she causes skin cancer. Here in Louisiana, she provides light to see, but in doing so, she also encourages complete strangers to get all up in your business--and by "strangers" I mean pesky Causeway maintenance workers. I'd recommend carrying out your plan at 2am. Just to be on the safe side, do it on a night with no moon. April 5 and 6 look great, fyi. 2. Choose a higher jumping-off point: I mean, let's face it: 15 or 20 feet is basically the high dive at most swimming pools. Increasing the distance between you and the water will increase your chances for success--and as an added bonus, you'll have a far more scenic view of the world you're leaving behind. Consider using the Crescent City Connection, or the Huey P. Long, or even the Luling bridge in St. Charles Parish. South Louisiana has a longstanding love affair with bridges and is chock-full of possibilities! However, if those options seem daunting, you could also just look around your house for items to lift you higher off the Causeway deck. That 12-foot ladder gathering dust in the garage will nearly double your odds! 3. Lose your ability to swim: That way, even if you survive the drop, you're still in good shape. It may seem difficult, but people unlearn how to swim all the time. Try watching another person drown; in the movies, that always causes some kind of mental block that does the trick. At the very least you should stop being such a strong swimmer. Swimming 300 feet in a two-foot chop kinda puts you in Aquaman territory. Ease up on that. 4. Consider other options: If you're unable to carry out my first three suggestions but remain committed to the idea of jumping, try landing on your stomach; a good, hard belly-flop always stunned us when we were kids. Or eat a very large meal before jumping--possibly an anvil, or several pounds of cement. And although you're clearly attracted to the water, don't overlook the appeal of office towers and the sidewalks below them. Believe it or not, they have a far better track record of population reduction than bridges and water. Anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this food for thought. I wish you all the best for the future. And if your first attempt was just a vain cry for help, and if it effects some kind of longed-for reconciliation between you and your teenage bride, don't worry: you can always come back to this project later, after she runs off with the bouncer at the strip club she's working. It's never too late! Warmly,
6:35 AM
7:35 AM
Wait, wait, wait: New York's hot new governor has been in office for less than a day, and he's already admitting to extramarital affairs? And his wife is, too? And they're both, like, "Whatever, bitches, get the hell out of our bedroom!"? All I have to say is...hell, yes. Props to David and Michelle for keeping it real. Maybe others will follow their example and drop the ridiculous "Elected officials are perfect" front. Are you getting nervous, Ken Starr? Probably not, but it's a nice thought.
2:25 PM
7:11 PM
It's official: my sister is now a professional director, and to celebrate, she's released a kickin' new video. Unlike her other stuff, this one isn't really a music video, but more of an historical piece. There's a story and a moral and everything. Think of it as Schoolhouse Rock, updated for today's aggro teens. To quote from Tiff:
Which is of course to say that I am descended from the Black Fairy, too. (Hold the wisecracks, smartass.) This adoption story gets weirder and weirder, n'est-ce pas? In other news: yes, that's a redesign you see. Apparently I have too much time on my hands.
6:21 AM
37 Things I Am Not a mind reader your mother one of your fans, mother your slave your personal chauffeur your one-man tech support staff your therapist Woman The Way curious yellow an island chopped liver an animal a crook an alcoholic ein Berliner the cheese legend Sam a doctor someone who plays a doctor on TV a model a graduate of the Barbizon School thin and gorgeous too rich or too thin a door a window well-rested Superman Ed McMahon a drama queen a drama magnet someone who spends time around drama queen magnets the center of the universe the boss of you
7:53 AM
9:06 AM
We hope you like your new job, whatever it is! why would you rent a hooker? You lost my number?
1:54 PM
Relish these minutes of fame. Really, no one cares. You can marry your cousin, but please don't kiss her. coming out of the closet-- but not in that way working the deli counter eats the store's profits. tells me he's got the munchies-- but not for apples. forgets to give me my change. Lose the bong, hippie!
7:11 AM
8:00 AM
 Full disclosure: I can't stand Anne Rice. I mean, yes, on the handful of occasions I met her, she was a lovely and charming woman, but her writing...well, lovely and charming it ain't. Even back in college, when I spent many a night dancing gloomily to Front 242 at the Blue Crystal--even then I thought she was a sloppy, slovenly hack. Her popularity completely mystified me. But today I figured it out.* Today, in an interview in the Picayune, Ann Rice has inadvertently explained everything and made clear (at least to me) her intent to follow the American zeitgeist all the way to the bank--no matter the pit stops it may make along the way:
Did you catch the reference? Do you see where this is going?
Yeah, baby. Work the angle.
Bingo. Having ridden the Gothic wave until it finally petered out at the threshold of a Claire's Boutique somewhere in Missouri, Anne is now totally hot for Christian schlock and George W's ballyhooed Base. She's bid adieu to the slim-hipped young men, attracted by her daring views on homosexuality. She's bid adieu to the plus-sized women, clad in crushed velvet, who often accompanied the slim-hipped men at book signings. She's bid adieu to everyone drawn into her parallel universes of inverted but somehow totally right-on morality, and she's gunning for Wal-Mart employees and the Songs of Praise demographic. Which is not to say that vampire novels and biographies of Jesus Christ don't bear similarities to one another: they're both intriguing myths chock-full of blood-guzzling. In fact, if I were so inclined, I could give Ms. Rice the benefit of the doubt and presume she's trying to modernize Christian ideology by working from the inside out. Sadly, I am not so inclined. Nor is it to say that a person can't appreciate these two divergent styles of Ms. Rice's work (three, if you count the A. N. Roquelaure erotica). Such a person may well exist, but I wouldn't wanna be his therapist. Anyway, given Ms. Rice's stated and unstated intentions, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess at her immediate goals:
* Her son's popularity, however, continues to boggle my wee mind.
6:17 AM
Thursday and Friday were hellacious. Today will be hellacious. Tomorrow, Monday, and Tuesday will all be--quel surprise--hellacious. Long days full of grant deadlines and meetings and producing shows and generally doing the whole "serving others" thing that I do so well. My body aches and I need a stiff drink, but it's not even 7:00am, and even on Fat Tuesday that's a little early for me, so this will have to suffice:  I'd rather not analyze it. All I know is that it made me smile a little, which was a nice way to begin an otherwise daunting 18-hour day.
6:55 AM
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