While taking a bedazzler to Vegas may seem redundant, you have got to watch Josh Johnson on this season of HGTV's Design Star.
Friends of the blog are familiar with one of my closest friends and hometown hottie Keith Hinkle. Keith's best friend in Nashville is Josh Johnson (here's a photo of the two of them together from my Steeplechase 2004 flickr set). I've met Josh dozens of times and while the rate at which he goes from zero to too much cannot yet be measured by modern technology, he couldn't be a nicer, kinder guy and is always a lot of fun.
Of course, you should also be afraid of anyone that I consider to be too much. I mean, please.
I got the heads up from Keith and tuned into the "making the cut" episode of the new season of HGTV's Design Star.
Josh has cornered the market on Southern and Queen (that girl from Georgia will have no idea what to do with him-- and she's going down!).
Josh's style is BIG and OVERDONE-- like lots of sparkles and drapes and stuff. I wouldn't want him to do my home, but his over-the-top designs are fantastic for events or anything Disney. It's all on a grand scale. In the clip from his audition tape, he had a little advice set to rhyme. I don't remember it all, but it closed with "add a crystal, and make it a palace!" And he brought the judges a giant novelty diamond/crystal at the audition. Priceless.
When he got the news over the phone that he made the cut, he asked, "Is faux chinchilla too much for the first episode?"
Josh is going to make good great television. And his style is perfect for Vegas.
This morning, the lovely Keith sent me a link to the photoset of Josh's Design Star party. Say what you will, but the guy is photogenic. And his online HGTV profile is hilarious. And he has been getting a lot of good press.
You may have noticed that Amy Day is the princess of pink. Shilpa and I joined the Amys for the opening night of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. During the scene of the evil and psycopathically pink Delores Umbridge and her crazy pinked out office with the wall of cat plates, Shilpa and I burst out laughing and I leaned over and said, "That is so Amy Day's office!"
Amy felt a little offended being compared to the villainous Delores Umbridge, but she could not deny the partiality to pink.
Last week, Shilpa and I sneaked into her office while she was on vacation...
...and replaced anything that wasn't pink with something that was--scissors, notepads, file folders, office supplies, recopying the papers on her wall onto pink paper, etc. We covered the cube wall and wrapped some of her cabinets. Not only we were we disturbed with how much pink we added, we were disturbed with how much pink stuff she already had on her desk. Her folders, calendar, notepad, and desktop toys were already pink.
Shilpa and I went a little nuts at Target but felt the pink fur lava lamp was totally worth it. (And I won't even get into what we didn't buy!)
However, I think the cat plates Shilpa made are total genius and add that "serial killer" touch.
As does the Hello Kitty "desk set."
Also note the framed photo of Delores Umbridge, whom we are now calling "Amy's Auntie Dee."
Here's a little tour:
Amy loves her new nest.
And, of course, us.
Shilpa's favorite item is the pink glittered cell phone calculator. I am just amazed that the pink ice cream cone was a bit of pink obsession which was already on her desk.
Notice that Shilpa and I both wore pink for the unveiling.
After this month's going-outness and drinking all my money, I need to spend a night in and get some sleep and save some dough. That, and I finally made it back to the gym last night after two years of injuries and laziness and, Man!, am I sore.
While it is not good blog material, Baby needs to stay home, bake, clean, do laundry, and be a good little homemaker.
But still, a Justin Bond Trannyshack will be awesome.
And this week's Midnight Mass is Flash Gordon, which sounds very promising (with a pre-show radio drama starring Peaches as "Miss Thing the Merciless"). But I do not have the time or the energy to properly costume. And this showing just begs for a costume.
Summer camp has changed a lot since my day. (Wow, that sentence makes me feel old.)
We went to summer camp in the mountains of North Carolina--boys to Falling Creek and girls to Greystone. I have many memories of Falling Creek, but I do not dwell there much as it also raises a lot of old anxieties. I didn't fully realize how isolated I was from so many things because I knew I was a gay child, although clearly that was not something I could articulate at the time.
But that is another story, perhaps a novel. I just want to take a moment to talk about summer camp.
We lived in cabins and drank bug juice and canoed and hiked and had riflery and archery and days on the lake and nights with bedtime stories.
Terrence sent me this photo of one of his sons at summer camp.
Clearly, summer camp is very different in California.
Just the other day I got an e-mail photo of the Adorable Ellen, which is much more in line with my idea of a summer camp (she's actually back from camp but was visiting a friend at a ranch in SoCal).
The horse's name is TicTac.
Yesterday I received a copy of an old photo from the lovelyandtalented Ginger—a photo of Ginger, her best friend/my cousin/friend of the blog Barry, Charlie (I think), Roe, Patrick (Ginger's brother), and me taken on the front porch of Falling Creek Camp in the summer of 1982.
This was my camp.
Looking at this photo last night, and finding the campgrounds on Google's satellite maps, prompted so many memories-- some memories long buried, and some so purposely buried deep. While sorting through the nostalgia and happy memories and wrestling with anxieties that had been such a constant companion throughout my youth, I realized that I had done myself a disservice to lock away so much of my past. I had shut that door and locked it. And in doing so locked the monster inside too. Opening the door again last night I was startled to find the monster again, but this time I was so much bigger and no longer overpowered. Fear was a conditioned response, but easily dismissed as I was able to recognize the beast for what it was and shoo it away like a raccoon at the door, leaving me alone with the scraps of memories left behind.
I rummaged through what the creature had not devoured, and found that for the first time I missed those summers, and felt a pang of regret for not knowing then what I know now. Self-knowledge, confidence, and experience would have served me better than a bowie knife.
But like I said, these musings are another story, perhaps a novel.
For now, let's just take a moment for those socks.
Finished Half-Blood Prince last night, and am a couple of hundred pages into Deathly Hallows. PeeDee came over and we did laundry and sat around reading our Potters.
I couldn't tell if we were being mature or immature.
While I was disheartened to see that Midnight Mass: Sing Along Xanadu/Drag Queen Roller Derby was sold out online, I was excited to hear that Javits went down to the theater in person and managed to score the last set of tickets.
Kevin, usually up for the adventure but not terribly excited as he hates the movie, did a 180 and texted me that he did in fact want a ticket as he was now "in the mood for a costume."
I freaking love my friends.
And I, of course, did not disappoint him.
Being the sort of guy who can dress in costume out of the items in his closet, we had our choices of main characters, Xanadu dancers, or a franchise glitz dealer.
Give the boy a little sparkly and he's higher than a Lohan.
We wore our costumes to dinner. Here he is with the famous and talented faux queen Bea Dazzler:
I was worried that she was participating in the Drag Queen Roller Derby as the final event is the "Wig Snatch" and that wig looked like a competitive liability.
I went as Sonny Malone, the tragic Michael Beck character ("tragic" here referring to the actor, not the character). To make the costume more detailed, I should have shaved and found a near-mullet wig, but that was way too much trouble. And it was crazy hot as it was.
I did, however, stop at Walgreen's to get some silly putty to approximate Michael Beck's serious schnoz. Unfortunately, all they carry now are the neon colors. I thought it might be a good thing though as a fake nose in bright orange would be funnier.
However, the effect in this photo is a little "Bert."
Even though Midnight Mass has gone a little too mainstream, we were not the only ones in costume. One of my favorite was the non-costume on this cutie. I asked to take his pic and he pointed out that it doesn't really spell "Xanadu," but I thought it was close enough for clever and showed some effort.
Those in sparkles tended to gravitate to one another:
But I had to wonder if he stole this from his mother's closet. Cracked me up.
There were several fabulous "Kira"s for my "Sonny."
Some clearly prettier than others.
The pre-show was awesome. I was able to take some 20/30 second clips with my camera.
Peaches, of course, was HI-larious. But the Main Event of the evening was the Drag Queen Roller Derby.
Now, Kevin and I were at the original event at the Midnight Mass screening of The Apple back in 2004. That was off the hook.
This year, everyone, not just the participants, had to sign a libaility waiver to enter the theater for drag queen roller derby-related injuries. I am not making this up.
The two teams this year were the RollerTards...
...and the Skinny White Bitches.
The final event is the most violent: The Wig Snatch, in which the team who rips the most wigs off the other team wins. This is a timed event.
Our commentary was, of course, painfully funny and insightful. Although I will say I never noticed the homoerotic sub-text of the Danny Maguine/Sonny Malone relationship (to which the audience would chant "NAMBLA" whenever they touched).
Our new best friends (other than the Irish hottie sitting next to me that I let leave without giving my number) are Lesie and Terrence. They were sitting one row in front of us and about six seats over. But she loved our commentary so much she started rewarding the best lines with Whoppers. These two totally "get" Midnight Mass. There were not in Xanadu-themed attire, but rather in their pajamas. It is a midnight show after all (we didn't leave until around 3:30 A.M.).
And of course, one last shot of me with our hostess, Peaches Christ:
A million lights are dancing and then there you are, a shooting star.
Tuesday with Kiki & Herb, Wednesday with Amy Day, Thursday party at the MoMa, Friday Happy Hour/Sundance/Harry Potter, Saturday Midnight Mass, and Sunday recovery, before starting it all over again with more Sundance/Badlands revelry.
A special thanks to Tom at the MOMA for making Thursday night possible.
Wilson, Alert Reader Paul Day, and New Friend Tom (photo taken by the lovely Shilpa)
And you can tell just where the rents are hottest using this mashup of Google maps and Ethan Garner's research and programming talents which takes current and historical data from housing posts on Craigslist and creates a heat map of San Francisco with the highest rents registering as the hottest areas in the City. There is also an option of seeing a heat map based on turnover/frequency of postings to a location.
I did leave Friday night's Sundance Saloon to go to the Books, Inc. (independent bookseller at Noe and Market, in the Castro) Harry Potter release party. It was packed. Some kids, lots of adults feeling like kids, and some really wonderful costumes. The young ones were so adorable.
The one thing I like about this being such a global frenzy is that it feels like a bazillion person book club: we're all reading the same book at the same time.
I bought the newest one (was only the third person in line and did not have to wait with the hundreds of others because I did not pre-order) and a paperback version of the previous installment (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince). I read the penultimate book when I was traveling in Europe and ditched it because it was so big. I want to reread it and get a running start to the final volume. And I have to do so quick lest I hear what happens. Someone has already ruined it for Paul Day, which really sucks for him.
Everywhere I went this weekend, restaurants, muni, cafes, people were reading the new Harry Potter, or commented to me, recognizing I was reading the previous one, that they just had just done the same thing to prepare for the new one. I paid full price ($35) for the new hardback. Mom told me that she almost ordered me one (it was only $15 to $20 via Amazon) but was sure I'd get my own. She reported that her copy arrived first thing Saturday morning, looking as if an owl had dropped it on her doorstep. It even came with address labeling to "Muggles." That was a really cute touch.
I sort of wasted my Saturday devouring the Half Blood Prince again and am almost ready for the new one. I must hurry lest it be spoiled!
...although I am not sure if the joke is that the kid's fantasy IS the Harry Potter series, or maybe he has just finished all the Harry Potter books and needs a new series to devour.
Remember all those (okay, two) crappy budget ads Jack finally got cast in on Will & Grace?
What if an over-the-top flaming Mary struggling actor-wanna-be did get a job as the role of a husband in a local cable ad.
Could someone such as Jack pull off the straight-acting?
Exhibit Gay indicates no.
I wonder what this "husband" is like in real life? Is he the indomitable lovable Jack? (okay, "indomitable" may be the wrong word, if you get my drift.)
The title of this video on YouTube is "My wife? My ass."
The SF government/Mayor and others have been talking about free city-wide WiFi for years now, and Earthlink and other interested parties have seriously complicated the matter.
There is a for-profit yet community-based model that is moving forward without the politicians and doing it on its own. If you are an San Franciscan, or just someone interested in community-based free internet WiFi, I recommend reading this post over at Metroblogging San Francisco.
If you've been around the Inner Mission over the last few days, you've probably noticed these posters. Wi fi for everybody? Isn't the city still arguing about how it's going to make that happen?
This isn't the municipal wi-fi effort, but an end-around by a private company, Meraki. By putting up wireless antennas around a neighborhood, then selling small "repeater" antennas to individuals, they aim to create a "wireless mesh network" across selected neighborhoods of the city.
Curious about the plan, I spoke on Wednesday to Sean Gaddis, Meraki's head of marketing.
An earthquake occurred at 4:42:22 AM (PDT) on Friday, July 20, 2007. The magnitude ? (not yet determined) event occurred 4 km (2 miles) ENE of Oakland, CA. The hypocentral depth is 5 km ( 3 miles).
In reference to an old acquaintance who has become persona non grata.
Me:........"I just can't stand him any more. I can't even pretend. .................We're not even 'frenemies'." Shilpa. .."Yeah, there's no F-R in that." Me:........"But there is F-U."
Every now and then, when I see certain names appear on the caller ID, I'll answer the phone as if I am my own voicemail. And sometimes with the unexpected message.
"Hello. And welcome to Wilson's Love Line. For hot, sexy talk: please press one. [pause]. There are no other options."
Often the caller will press one immediately, and before I can continue. Almost always, they do not realize I am not a recording.
For added verisimilitude, I may end the bit with "Por español, prima numero dos."
Which I now think would be a great latina drag name: "Prima Numerados."
I did not buy the Midnight Mass Xanadu tickets last night as I wanted to get a head count first.
It is now sold out.
All of this new press (Peaches and Midnight Mass were on the cover of the Guardian last week) is ruining the edge/fringe appeal of Midnight Mass. Who would have thought that Peaches would go too mainstream? Clearly, this is not underground any more.
The Dore Alley street fair is next weekend. Although I think now that it has outgrown the alley it has been renamed just the "Up Your Alley" street fair (it's a spin-off of Folsom).
The SF Chapter of the Golden State Gay Rodeo Association is hosting a fundraising dance Saturday night prior. I'll be volunteering before the dancing. And working the beer booth at the fair. Treat Williams may be in town and hopefully I'll get to see him. it turns out he is a member of the L.A. chapter.
I meant to post something yesterday but I never had the time. Kiki and Herb was AMAZING. Run to the show. I loved it and want to see it again.
However, an intermission would have been nice. I spent the last hour of the show holding it in pain, and fearful to get up lest I miss something else hilarious.
After the show we hit my favorite speakeasy Bourbon & Branch. The interior and atmosphere are even more lush than their bourbons. The B&B does always reminds me of Ian though, and made me wish here were here.
Even later, past 12:30, we made it to Trannyshack and their Sisters night for Gladys' Trannyshack debut. Awesome.
On tap for the rest of the week? Too much.
Tonight: Happy hour cocktails/spa time with Shilpa, followed by MoMa party with Paul Day.
Friday: Happy hour at Badlands, followed by Sundancing, followed by Harry Potter release party at Midnight at Books Inc., followed by more cavorting.
Saturday: Frantic costume-fashioning during the day. It's Sing-Along-Xanadu at Midnight Mass! Preceded by the always awesome and often violent Drag Queen Roller Derby.
Sunday: Housewarming for 700 Vermont new home to Lance & Beth, MetroGreg, and Sati. And it's Paul Day's birthday. And Dad's.
The publishing company spent $20 million on security for the carefully controlled release of the final Harry Potter book, and several days early it has already hit the internet.
Not as an e-book, or even a scan, but someone got their hands on a copy and took digital photos of each and every page and posted them online. Web sites reporting this (such as BoingBoing) are even posting the spoilers of who lives and who dies. I won't even link here as I think it's a dick move to spoil everyone's fun like that. I had to quickly close the window for fear of spoiling my reading experience. I may have to go on a media blackout to avoid learning the ending before I get around to reading it.
I think exposing the secrets is really bad work. Do these people think they are "cooler" for knowing the ending before other people do? That's like a petty gossip. Posting the story early or exposing the ending doesn't make you cool. It makes you a loser.
On the bright side, they also reported on the new Web show "Welcome Back, Potter" in which Harry returns as a pudgy, middled-aged teacher assigned to an inner-city magic school. Now that's cool.
For those of you who know me, you know my speech tends to be peppered with many (perhaps too many) references--popular or otherwise. Not that I go all Dennis Miller with the esoterica, but I do feel free to voice whatever line or reference seems to be situationally appropriate and happens to be synaptically collocated in this overstuffed attic I call my brain.
This habit may have developed very early. Among my familiars growing up, those best of best friends Carrington Nelson (now Carrington Fox)and Jonathan Harwell, we were so intensely connected that often entire conversations or emotional states were conveyed by shorthand quotes from an earlier experiences, from our own lives or from the screen.
These days it may be that the unexpected reference has become one of my conversational hallmarks. It's no wonder I love MST3K. And the rare clever shout at Midnight Mass.
So I really dig these guys. At first I just thought it was cute, cleaver, and fag funny. Then I realized how much hard work must have gone into making this: remembering/picking the lines, finding them, sampling them, editing them into a dialog, and then the rehearsing and the shooting and the editing.
I can't imagine pantomiming this in public with a straight face. Or investing that much time. I may have mastered the random quip, but these fags are dedicated.
I just wonder what they could do if they expanded the repetoire beyond the five or so movies they sampled.
Tonight we have tickets to the Kiki & Herb show at A.C.T. Freshly back from NYC, this show is aptly titled: Alive from Broadway.
If you haven't heard of Kiki & Herb, they are an over-the-top lounge/cabaret act. This year is called "The Magical Drinking Tour," and Kiki's dream line is "Dare to suck, and let the magic happen!"
From the NY Times review:
That’s one gorgeous set of teardrops that the immortal Kiki DuRane is wearing for her mind-popping Broadway debut. Kiki, a molting songbird for all seasons, and Herb, her happily suffering shadow and accompanist, opened last night at the Helen Hayes Theater in “Kiki & Herb: Alive on Broadway,” a hyper-magnified cabaret concert that has the heat and dazzle of great balls of fire.
Justin Bond as Kiki croons her whiskey way through smoky ballads. Actually, since this transcendental lounge act is fond of biblical imagery, make that great swords of fire — or, if you prefer, a burning bush.
But about those teardrops. Whenever Kiki tilts her face upward, toward her key light — and like any self-adoring goddess, she does that a lot — her eyes brim with the most brilliant pools of brine you have ever seen. Well, not to spoil the illusion, but those ain’t tears: they’re rhinestones (or something like), strategically glued just beneath her lower lashes.
It is a tribute to the perverse showbiz genius of Kiki and Herb that once you twig on to this shameless trompe l’oeil, you don’t feel merely amused. Nor do you think that the singer has been trading only in paper-moon emotions, or making fun of those who do, as she croons her whiskey-pickled way through bathetic ballads and angry anthems. [Ben Brantley]
I am so freaking stoked.
See also the short but rave review at Playbill, which refers to them as "a song-and-booze cabaret duo."
If ever there were a show for me and Kevin/Statler and Waldorf, this is it.
Joining Statler and Waldorf are Kelly, RMJ, Shawn, and James.
I am not making this up. Even my freak flag doesn't fly that high. And it's on percocet.
From the Web site:
A domestic discipline marriage is one in which one partner in the marriage is given authority over the other and has the means to back the authority, usually by spanking. A Christian Domestic Discipline marriage is one that is set up according to Biblical standards; that is, the husband is the authority in the household. The wife is submissive to her husband as is fit in the Lord and her husband loves her as himself. He has the ultimate authority in his household, but it is tempered with the knowledge that he must answer to God for his actions and decisions. He has the authority to spank his wife for punishment, but in real CDD marriages this is taken very seriously and usually happens only rarely. CDD is so much more than just spanking. It is the husband loving the wife enough to guide and teach her, and the wife loving the husband enough to follow his leadership. A Christian marriage embodies true romance and a Christian man a true hero.
And they have an online store selling "Christian Domestic Discipline" erotic fiction, some things called "herbal expressions," and I am still not making this up, "heirloom intimates"-- muslin pantaloons with an open backside for easy-access Christian spanking.
Those Swedes know their ticks better than a guy with Tourette's.
This is actually pretty ingenious and very, well, handy for someone who hikes or has outdoor pets.
This would have been a lot easier than the tweezers and kerosene my parents had to use on my privates to remove 98 baby-ticks after I stepped in a nest on a hike with my dad. I was six. Very scary. I hate ticks more than that chair.
Okay, maybe I am just slow to the urban/street music scene, but I have never heard of beatboxing as a term.
However, this guy (Greg Pattillo) seems really talented beatboxing on the flute. Shout out to Rick415 in NYC: you've got to find this guy on the streets.
When I was very young, under four or five years old, I had a recurring nightmare that a chair in the den would strangle me with one of its legs. I couldn't breathe or call for help. One of the scariest aspects of the dream was that I could barely whisper, and so could not get the attention of my mother, just in the next room, to come and rescue me. The suffocation was very, very real.
We moved to a new house when I was four and took the chair with us. It is still in my parents house, and I still hate that chair.
I had other recurring drowning/suffocating dreams growing up, which I can now attribute to my terrible sleep apnea. While sleeping I was in fact suffocating, and incorporated that experience into the dreams.
But for all of my odd recurring dreams, or dreams with recurring themes, I never had a Sesame Street nightmare that I can recall.
Last week BoingBoing posted an oddity about S.A.M. the Sesame Street robot from the 1970s. This sparked a great deal of reader comment regarding the early Sesame Street content that terrorized and traumatized a generation of kids.
I vaguely remember the Carmen-singing orange, and the Ernie mummy, but neither freaked me out much. I do remember being a little disturbed when muppets would remove too much of their faces. Playing with Bert's nose was one thing, but completely removing the mouth and nose (and eyes) rather bothered me, but probably because of my experience of/fear of asphyxiation.
Particularly noted in this BoingBoing Sesame Street Fears roundup are the "yip yip" aliens. I never thought those guys were scary. I freaking loved those guys. In pre-first grade, Chet Frist and I would "yep yep yep"/"nope nope nope" all the time and think it was hilarious. I still pester him from time to time with a Sesame Street aliens YouTube clip.
The male lead is being played by Cheyenne Jackson as last-minute and temporary substitute for James Carpinelloas he was, and I assume they are not making this up, "injured in a skating accident and will return to the role when he heals."
Yes, Xanadu is painful to many, and to some it seems quite physically.
With apologies to Mr. Coleridge, Mr. Isherwood praises the stage play, and bemoans the original with the line: "In Xanadu did Newton-John a blooming film career destroy."
WH: I shouldn't go out tonight and drink more money. I just got my Visa bill and I can't believe how much I spent last month, what with the new tech, car insurance, and all that stuff.
And Alert Reader Paul Day and Shilpa are losing their shit for it. Amy Day (no relation) is bringing her sister (relation), so it will be Shilpa and four Days. She is not sure she can handle that.
I however want to two-step and go to bed at reasonable time to be responsible for my early-morning meetings tomorrow. Shilpa complained that I am consider my 10:00 A.M. meeting as "early." But I am NOT a morning person. I need to GSD and caffeinate beforehand. But still, I may be convinced to she-bop after boot-scootin'.
Paul Day is working downtown this evening . Shilpa plans to shop downtown and offered to meet up to share a cab. Paul thought that was a good idea.
If you know Paul and Shilpa, you know that I am paraphrasing. Big time.
The e-mail chain is as follows:
PD: [Subj: Is your hair teased yet?]
I am so like super excited about tonight.. Like yeah!
SP: [Subj: My leg warmers are ready to go. What a feelin'!]
You are like, so TOTALLY my #1 boyfriend, like ohmigawd!
Gag me with a spoon already.
It is indeed the big night. I feel like it's prom or something.
Since the Bar was too full of crazies, and I got to the Cat too late last time, I feel like this is the big 80s make-up. I'm going to be there as early as I can. I'm going to be in downtown shopping so I can meet you and we can cab together if you want -- to save on dinero...lemme know your thoughts.
PD: [Subj: RE Legwarmers...]
OMG! That like totally works for me! Like where are you going shoppin'? I hear the Chess King is having this totally tubular sale today. Half off all rayon!!
Yes, gentle readers, these... these are my people.
PAD (again, not PeeDee/Alert Reader Paul Day) was giving a deposition the other day. Now PAD is an English-speaking non-American who does not have cable or watch much tv. And clearly has not watched the fourteen bajillion hours of Law & Order that the rest of us (i.e. me) has.
He came back from his third day of being deposed and reported with titillation, "I heard something new! During the questioning they were getting all in my face about something and my lawyer objected with 'witness badgering'. I've been badgered! That's fantastic!"
As far as PAD knew, a badger was just some form of woodland rodent. To him the expression sounded rather salacious. Perhaps if a woman has a "beaver" then men must have some sort of "badger." He wondered if perhaps "badger" was some form of slang verb. Could one badger a beaver? If straight men are all about a woman's beaver, are gay guys into other guys badgers? If hot slim guys with chest fur are otters, what are gay badgers?
Dunno.
But stay the hell away from my wombat.
And don't get so wombattive.
Or does "wombat" sound more like looking for a misplaced uterus?... "Where your womb-at?"
You should know by now that I am all about the "unique sentence." There are only so many ways one can rearrange the words in the English language, so you should appreciate it when someone expresses a string you've never heard before. (I credit Jonathan Harwell for this appreciation.)
Considering this, it should come as no surprise that this sentence caught my eye:
She loves Charles in Charge. And I must confess that I enabled her purchase of the DVD box set of the series during Tower's going-out-of-business sale.
I fear the only reason she did not apply for this reality show is that she never heard of it.
And yes, Shilpa, I know you are reading this right now.
Tag line: Hollywood hunk Scott Baio is at a crossroads: Should he keep hooking up or is it time to settle down?
Would we still (ever) call him a "hunk"? "Teen heartthrob," maybe. And judging by the online photos, time has made Baio his bitch. Although a Google image search does reveal some pretty sexy skin back in the day.
Scary Synopsis:
Over the past 25 years, Scott Baio has lived a life that all red-blooded American males' would sell their big screen TV, car and soul for, boasting a jaw-dropping roster of erotic ex's that would even make Warren Beatty blush. This extensive line-up of Hollywood honeys include: Heather Locklear, Pam Anderson, Denise Richards and Nicolette Sheridan.
But now, staring down the barrel of middle age, Scott has come to the end of his philandering rope. At 45, he finds himself at a mid-life crisis of mythic proportions, wondering why he's still single, alone and still unable to settle down and commit to a substantial, meaningful relationship.
With nowhere else to turn, Scott has decided to fully surrender the next eight weeks of his life to a highly-regarded life-coach. This person will guide him on a grueling, soul-searching mission; forcing him to confront a laundry list of old flames in order to hopefully get to the heart of his lonely heart condition.
Each episode, he will have to confront another chapter from his semi-sordid past, by actually reconnecting with some of his most substantial and combustible flames in order to get the bottom of his bad-boy behavior.
With the help of his long-time pals, Scott will be able to successfully sift through the wreckage of his past, and endure an assortment of life-altering activities, (including abstinence), in order to finally earn the chance at actually maintaining a meaningful, stable, healthy relationship.
In a fit of sinfully indulgent consumerism, I spent a few, long moments fantasizing about living in this house (and being able to afford its upkeep).
From teh BBC: "The former home of US newspaper tycoon William Randolph Hearst has 29 bedrooms, three swimming pools, tennis courts, its own cinema and a nightclub."
.jpg)
