I'm frontin', and I don't care if you know

I'm having a cocktail now, a mixture of my own creation (well, my own naming, at least). It's The Beast, and it is raspberry vodka (it's Vox tonight, but whatever you have will do), cranberry juice and grapefruit juice. It is a delight. Try one today!

The VH1 countdown is currently on my TV — because I was going to watch "Play It as It Lays" but thought better of that before a night out, and VH1 Classic (the go-to choice) isn't playing videos right now — and Rihanna was just on, with "Unfaithful" and whoa, that song is dramatic. It's not that big a deal, lady.

Also, I just do not get the appeal of that Nelly Furtado song, yet I cannot deny the awful Pussycat Dolls when it comes to "Buttons." That song just has something. Could be that I'm a sucker for a track about fronting.

Today I just cannot get out of my mind that Sloan party Microsoft thing in Minneapolis last year. I wish I was at it right now. Instead I go see the Walkmen play down the street. That'll do.

just when I thought that we were winning

Today really sucked. I almost cried. I have once at work, just once, and it was because I hate Michael Jackson. Today I just had had it. I came in early, at 5:30, because I thought there may be some extra news this morning. There wasn't really, but there's always so much to do. There was lots to do at 5:30 and 6:30 and every :30 until 4:30, at which point I left.

Then I came home and there was a bug. A bug. I do not like bugs. When I saw the bug, I was playing my answering machine. On it, some dude who did not even say who he was or where he was calling from said it was important that I return his call "on an immediate basis." Seriously? Clearly, I told him (or, his voice on the answering machine) that he could blow me on an immediate basis. So yeah, back to the bug. I killed it, but then he had like 4 friends. It was not OK. I work and work and come home and curse out weird people on my answering machine and all I want is to drink iced tea in peace, but no. Then I have to deal with bugs. F-ing bugs.

I got an email from myself today, one of those reminder dealies, and it reminded me that Belle & Sebastian's cover of Rod Stewart's "Baby Jane" came out today, which I love because of the Jane and because it is great. The real song, I mean. I hadn't heard the cover. And good luck hearing it, because iTunes is hating on my Americanness. Haters. I found it on some strange German site or something. They had a preview. That was enough. I liked it, but I wanted to hear the real one and sing along. Loud. I did. I live.

now it's your turn to cry

I'm finally watching that Britney Spears special (um, it's my job) and I don't think I'm having the right reaction. First of all, I'm totally angry that they -- who are "they"? I don't know, but they're getting paid a fortune! -- let her go on TV looking like that. Her weave is a mess, she's got false eyelashes melting off and a see-through shirt on. Plus the gum. This would be acceptable and expected if she weren't a billionaire who is paying people a ton of money to manage her career. And then I'm feeling sad for her. Can't they just leave her in peace with her family, happy or miserable or whatever? Oh, I'm such a sap.

it'd take all day to explain it

The shift key on my keyboard stopped working. Just the left-side one, but that's the only one I use. This is so annoying.

If you're wondering how the Don McKellar fixation is going, it's just fine, thanks. "Childstar" is currently on the Sundance Channel's playlist if you're so inclined. I do not like that chin patch thing, but it does fit the role.

The sad tragedy (well, not really all that) of this Don McKellar problem is that back when I first got Don McKellar/Callum Keith Rennie mania (after I saw "Last Night"), I ordered all the movies that were out on video in Canada. On VHS. I have a VCR near my TV, but I don't think it is even hooked up. Bleh. It would be easier to just re-buy them on DVD, I think. I am lazy.

Speaking of lazy, this using the right-side shift key is killing me. Also, it is only 8 a.m. I'm going back to bed.

second verse, out of breath

This is a week of butt.

First Kevin Aviance gets gay bashed. In the East Village. By a group of punk-ass bitches who apparently didn't get the memo that "Bloods" and "Crips" (please, Bloods and Crips in NY is so ridiculous anyway) aren't supposed to hang out together (um, hi) ganging up on lone men.

And then Dan Abrams becomes the GM of MSNBC (what does that even mean -- also dig the hate in The Washington Post article. Dude.) and doesn't have a show anymore.

Dear World, You Suck. Love, Jane

writing to reach you

Dollie's suggested letter for me to send to Don McKellar:

Dear Don McKellar,
I have, in the past, overlooked the severe lazy eye of Chris Murphy (after he won a Juno), and it enables me to overlook your similar shortcoming. I was going to approach you back at the "Childstar" premiere at BAM, but you were not nearly accomplished enough to attract me. Now that you've added a Tony and a Drama Desk Award to your mantle, I am now ready to consummate my newfound attraction.

Gold, baby. Gold.

can I go nowhere with you?

While waiting for the bus today (Oh God, I hate doing this. This is why I walk the 70 miles from the train. But I forgot an umbrella today, so bus it was), I had an incredibly vivid fantasy featuring a boy that I like (Who I really have to give up liking. I haven't even seen him in 30 forevers now). It was totally hot. He drove by and stopped and drove me home. And that was it. I have very sexy fantasies.

I was watching that Springsteen at London something concert (it is very famous) on channel 21 (though I have the DVD) and I'm pretty sure that "Backstreets" is my all time favorite song. Over "Against All Odds"? Yes. Topping even "Backstabbin'" -- oh no, I can't even finish that joke. Yes. "Backstreets" is #1. It has an alluring (ooh!) intro, a big finale, yelling and also that repeating part. Everything I like. Fantastic.

Speaking of fantastic, I present the Gay Pimp podcast. You have to listen. All day, every day. Listen and tell me I am wrong. You can't. I wish it were more than once a week. This week they talk about having a whole station. I would listen. I would give up sleeping to listen. I would quit my job to listen. I can't get enough.

What is up with that "Jane Fonda" song? I kind of love it. Maybe it is very old, I only know it from looking up "jane fonda" on YouTube.com (don't ask) and it made me laugh.

Dan Abrams just said, "It does make me feel yuck." I live.

my white diamonds always bring me luck

I shouldn't be writing inane stories. I should be cleaning. But I don't want to clean, so I will tell my inane stories.

Friday was 10 years since I met Dollo, so Dollo took me to 21 for steak and creme brulee and something they call a Bee's Knees which is a cocktail made of rum and cardamom-infused honey and something else, who knows, it was fantastic. Then it took us two hours to get home thanks to the rain, which cut off service on the East side. Also, some "debris on the tracks" issue cut out the downtown yellow trains as well. Please. So we took a bus down to 14th St and then a cab home. Because I got it like that.

Saturday I did my laundry. I walked into the laundromat and walked right out and a lady came after me. "Some of these machines are done. I'm gonna take the clothes out of them. People leave their clothes, I take them out." Well alright. She didn't have to because some other girl happened to be pulling her clothes out. So I put in my clothes, walked outside, got on the phone with El Fano to tell him that wherever we'd end up spending the night, it has to be at a bar "that isn't full of white people. I hate white people" which didn't even get hardly a shrug from the people standing out front of my non-white laundromat. See, they know. When it came time to dry the clothes, I was out of luck and had to drag my wet bag home. It was drizzling, so I couldn't even use the line. So I had to drape things over things throughout the house. There. Were. Clothes. Everywhere. Later on, Dollo put my jeans in the oven so I could wear them out.

But before that we went to the movies. I had to see "The Break-Up" obviously. It was like a dream, really. Well, not really. It was mostly really funny for like an hour and then got weirdly half serious like a TV movie. And the crowd was odd because they laughed a lot at many things, but no one found the old "You might get arrested." "For what, being awesome?" line as truly fantastic as it truly is. Whatever.

Then we went to Unos. Because I love chain restaurants and their cheesy drinks, f- all y'all. And it was lovely.

Then I was too early for my haircut so I went to the friendly neighborhood gay bar for more cocktails.

Then came the haircut at my very delightful, very rock and roll haircut place, where I got a magnificent haircut. It's a little big today, but that is because I left the house with it soaking wet. When I got home I put in some product, and now it is like a dream. Really.

But back to Saturday. After the haircut it was time to meet up with folks to celebrate this 10th anniversary of meeting Dollo and Lola and Seana. Seana is busy being a mom/rock star in Texas, so she couldn't come. Other people were stuck doing other things like falling down the stairs and fighting with their husbands (this was not the same person, so don't worry), but Dollo, El Fano, Lola, LMD and LMD's lovely friend from work brought it hard. We went to one nice place with a very nice bartender of fun, but there was nowhere to dance. So we left.

Then we went to Eastern Bloc, which had a pretty pretty DJ who played pretty pretty dancy pop songs and all was well. Then some indie rock snore came in to play indie rock snore tracks, the lamest ever go-go boy neither went nor went and we got some from-afar attitude from a little group of Howard Beach-looking 20-something queens and their ugly hags. Please. I had to announce that I could smell the New Park Pizza coming off them and they were fooling no one, also that I couldn't believe I was getting shade from the Lollipop Guild. It was time to go.

So we moved on to the Pyramid, where a desperate-seeming promoter was frankly stunned that we agreed to come in. The place was empty, but the cave was begging for a dance. So we danced. And more people arrived. And when the DJ (who was contractually obligated to play our requests, so said the promoter) wasn't playing our requests, we started growing cranky. I decided it would be super funny to junior prom slow dance to the frenetic sounds of "The Metro" by Berlin, but it is nearly impossible to do this without laughing, which set off El Fano (we were junior prom slow dancing after all, he could feel me laughing), so then I came up with this great '80s cocaine jitters dance, but nobody really appreciated how great it was.

This is all my long way of saying it was just like old times, of me drinking too much and trying to get in a fight and dancing and being a jerk. I loved it.