"Like large, round melons...."

I love Mark Sanford. He is a hero and role model to tall, skinny homely guys everywhere. Not terribly cute or smart and yet scoring the hot love action! I say yes!

Still, I would recommend to him that during these press conferences expressing contrition over said hot love action, he refrain from gestures such as the one above. Unless of course he's actually describing voluptuous South American buttocks, in which case, I'd like the audio included.

"Mexican Breakfast", Helpfully Explained

Wesley Darling (and whatever happened to HIM, anyway?) posted this on his blog ages ago, but you need it now, believe me.

High Finance, Low Scruples

R man and I are re-financing our mortgage. No big thrill, but at least it gave me something to make conversation about with my father when I spoke to him on Sunday. As soon as I mentioned what we were doing, he offered to loan us $100,000 at a ridiculously loan rate. I think it’s to my great credit that I refused. I do not want to take advantage of my father’s generosity. According to my father, that is not a trait I share with my brothers, which in turn, makes me even less eager to join in at the trough.

Never the less, he pressed me to accept because, as it turns out, he has $100k in an “investment” which has lost money three of the last four years. I know the last year has been rough, but prior to that, one would have had to work aggressively to lose money. And that would appear to be exactly what my father did. Some guy cold called him and talked him into this great money making opportunity. I think there were more details, but I didn’t hear them; I had put the phone down so that I could more effectively bash my head on the kitchen counter in frustration.

Say you are an elderly man sitting around watching old guy movies. The phone rings and a stranger says “mrpeenee’s father, I would like to talk to you about your portfolio. “ Do you reply, “My sons have repeatedly told me not to talk to gypsies”? Nope. You say, “Where do I send the check?”

When you’re a little boy, you think your daddy knows everything, that he’s Superman. Then, as you grow into a smartass punk teenager, you decide he’s a brainless idiot who knows nothing. Later, having matured, you come to see that you’ve been too harsh, that he’s a perfectly sensible adult, just like you. And then, at 54 years old, you realize you were right when you were a sullen 15 year old: he is an idiot who is a menace to himself.

So now, I can either join in with my brothers, be no better than they are, and take the money (although I would pay it back, just like a regular mortgage. That would be good just for the novelty’s sake,) or not take it and wait for yet another scam artist. Oh, what the hell, who am I fooling? Make that check out to mrpeenee and get it in the mail. It would seem I have more in common with my dear brothers than I thought.

Puh-ride. Puh-leeze

Oh. Right. Gay Pride Weekend. It is, of course, impossible to overlook in San Francisco, but It fails to stir me. Sorry. A huge parade of every possible sub-group known to queerkind. S&M lesbian-supporting vegan gay members of a co-opertive bike repair store will probably have their own float tomorrow. And I say yay, right on, etc., but I plan on skipping it once again.

The first year we lived year, I got involved in the Pride Committee, editing their magazine/program and was so thoroughly appalled by their petty, small mindedness, I fled, never to return. The old saw about "the smaller the stakes, the more vicious the politics" applies to these warped queens with a vengeance. I got to be one of the flag bearers at the front of the parade, (in front of the Dykes in Bikes, bitch) but even that was not enough to change my mind. I don't need a parade to be proud, I live a life that would need a tattoo that read "FAG" on my forehead to be any more out.

Instead, I'm staying home listening to music and playing solitaire. Even my music is gay. Here's a partial rundown of what I've heard tonight:

"Homosapien" by Pansy Division
"But Not for Me" by Judy Garland
"Dirty Back Road" by the B-52s
"The Crying Game" by Boy George
"Dancing with Tears in My Eyes" by Ultravox
"This Time Baby" the classic disco hit by Jackie Moore as re-interpreted by Lulu
"Dancing Queen" by the San Francisco Gay Men's Chorus
and, of course, numerous tunes by the Pet Shop Boys.

As Lucullis Trajen (below) remarked when he brought in a tray of petit fours, "It doesn't get any gayer."

R Man-less

R man took off this morning for a conference in Washington and to visit his family in Annapolis. I hate this. Except for work we spend very little time apart and it makes me uneasy, as if I have to keep an eye on him. He's very much smarter than I am, but he's not good at navigating airports and dealing with hotels and things like that. I can't bring myself to pin a note to his collar, just in case, but don't think I haven't considered it.

A lot of this comes from feeling like I don't deserve to be as happy as I am, that I'm not worthy of the very contented life we lead. I need to stop worrying.

And Recipes, Too!

A flurry of emails between the divine Diane von Austinberg and me throughout the day (which I barely was able to squeeze in while working like a dog, slaving away, hardly able to look up from the grindstone, etc. etc. etc...) included the following from Diane:

speaking of food (as we so often do) here's my new favorite summer salad: corn, toasted walnuts, feta, olive oil, lime juice, with a little black pepper.

Doesn't that sound fabulous?

So now I've gone from Brazilian porn stars to Barbie dolls to recipes. To paraphrase Neil Patrick Harris:

This blog could not be gayer

if Liza was the mayor

and Elton John took flight.

Barbarama

The messy Muscato continues torturing me with updates of his touring about Paris. Bitch. Not only is the tramp gadding about in my most favorite city (WITHOUT ME) he had the gaul (get it? Gaul, not gall? Oh never mind) to hit the Barbie doll exhibit there. Also WITHOUT ME. Go here for details, if you can bear to.

When I finished grinding my teeth, I was reminded of my girlyboy youth when my favorite pastime was playing with my friend Stephanie’s vast collection of Barbies. My favorite was a classic, with that early Barbie slutty-eyed face and three wigs. A cursory search on Google reveals she was “Fashion Queen Barbie,” a name that just makes it all even better. Then the Google search pointed me towards an E-bay auction where for only 50 bucks you can snag this:

All that and a grass skirt, too. A BARBIE DOLL GRASS SKIRT! Could life be any sweeter?