Boys? Anywhere?

I volunteer at a writing center staffed almost exclusively by charmingly scruffy literate types, who wear Oxford shirts and have progressive views on partnership.

My second home on Brockton boasts a male model and his good-looking friend, who hang out on the couch and like to hug.

I live in a city with the largest population of hot straight men ANYWHERE, and...

I am in like with no one.

I thought I kind of liked a few guys.

Not really.

I was just making myself feel better.

The only guy I really like is Michael Scofield, and he's on TV. And if I met him in real life I wouldn't like him, because he'd be an escaped convict with a staring problem.

Compatible boys. WHERE ARE YOU.

Call me.

A Poem For Nick Lachey, On This First Thanksgiving Alone

My dearest puppy Nick,
My favorite Newlywed,
Who waited until marriage
For Jessica to bed---

And on that fateful night,
When her belt you did unsee,
Was it her creepy father
Who handed you the key?

"Have fun while it can last you,"
The sheisty pastor warned,
"For when Soul-O releases,
By the critics you'll be gored."

"Taste my daughter's lips!
Feast on her Dessert!
Her 102-pound frame
Will soon with Johnny Knoxville flirt."

"You've been a right good sport
Maintaining the big sham
Standing up to Bonnie Fuller
And Janice Min out on the lam."

"It is time, my son, to let you fly!
Transcend 98 Degrees.
Stark hooking up with Ashlee
Bring Us Weekly to its knees!"

A Happy Turkey Day?

Celebrities have it in for us.

This is the only explanation for the actual, certain, for-real-this-time announcement of Nick and Jessica's separation to break on our November day of thanks.

Kim Wanna Be On Top...

Tyra, what's going on?

Last week, you eliminate Lisa, I suspect because she had stopped doing crazy shit like urinating in adult diapers for kicks and drunk-talking to the Cousin It plant, and I actually almost forgot dressing up like a crack whore and offering the models cookies. Every commercial break this week I would turn to C. and sigh, "I miss Lisa!"

I do, Lisa. I do. Come back to me, Lisa. Come back to Top Model Mountain.

But then THIS week, just when I think you've grown a BRAIN, Tyra, you DO NOT ELIMINATE THE VILE, VILE BRE.

I know you and the judges keep saying she looks kind of like you, Tyra, but she doesn't. She is no rib-eating, bootylicious Angel if you know what I mean, and even if she were, the chick is... you know... simple.

Ok, fine, I think she's a retard.

And whatever. You want keep the saucer-eared lapsed Jehovah's Witness Jayla who does not sleep with a night light, fine. You want the mannish Nik, go ahead.

But to cut Kim?

Why Kim?



Kim, the androgynous Wesleyan student who's into chicks, was my personal favorite top model, and tonight you cut her free.

Tyra.

You kept VILE, SIMPLE BRE. Even after she stole all of Nicole's energy drinks.

I don't know what to do with you.

Martha Mode

Yes, Martha's Apprentice is assy, and her daytime show isn't much better (whatever happened to Martha Stewart Living? With the notecards and the edible glue, and her delightfully icy, perfectionist demeanor that simultaneously inspired and deadened the frosty detail-oriented Susie Homemaker in all of us?).

Yet I cannot really mock Martha TV, as I think most people would need to take a great deal of drugs to experience what is simply Martha's day to day existence. Sometimes I get into Martha modes myself. I like them.

As of today, I'm staying in CA for Thanksgiving and so invited myself to Dennis and Kristy's for their formerly 9-guest, now 16-person dinner. They'll let me in, but Kristy says I am to bring stuffing.

Stuffing. Stuffing's not hard. You can buy stuffing mix at Whole Foods that's really good, actually.

But...

Would Martha buy stuffing mix?

No. No no no. I woke up this morning ready to channel my inner Martha, and Whole Foods bag o' stuffing wasn't really in the plan. I launched a company and sewed my own duvet covers before you finished your morning shower, sold some insider stocks on E-Trade, and got out the KitchenAid. An olive oil boule and garlic-onion loaf have since materialized on my counter. I have Rachael Ray on in the background, and I and my oversized Polo buttondown laugh in her face. Would Martha say "Yum-o" or run around in too-tight jeans? I think not.

There's an almond cake in the oven now.

After that I'll take the teeth from live kittens and make necklaces for Satan.

After that, a quick canter 'round the ranch, and time for bed!

King Tut... (imagine Steve Martin singing on SNL)... King Tut...

If the many statues of the Boy King from LACMA's now-departed Treasures of King Tut and the Golden Age of the Pharaohs exhibit is to be believed:

King Tut wore flip-flops.

Also, had man boobs.

DK Party Aftermath Update Continued

Euge walked home last night, blind drunk, from West Hollywood to West LA. It was apparently very tiring, because at one point he laid down next to the road and took a nap.

DK Birthday Aftermath: UPDATE

Currently at the DK/KK abode. Just finished a Starbucks the size of my head. Feel much better. Went through DK PartyCam pics and several embarrassing situations for several people who are not me are now digitally documented! Happiness! Am very glad I was out of DK PartyCam's reach at end of night.

"So what did I miss?"
"Sean's smelly hands this morning."

Ewwwwwwwwwwwww.

DK Birthday: The Aftermath

Blacked out on my way home. Was fortunately in the reliable K.'s car, although my roommate tells me K. was less than pleased with my useless, useless state. Had been POSITIVE I'd end up at Dennis's and left my keys and toothbrush there. The keys may have been technically more important last night, but I'm really mourning the toothbrush this morning.

My head hurts.

Mom, no e-mails about how you think I'm an alcoholic. Special occasion.

The DK Birthday

We are all very excited for DK's birthday extravaganza later tonight. The planned pregaming and cabbing and Abbey-ing are a mere preamble to the massive dance blowout we will attend, and if it happens to not be there, start, at The Factory. There will be gays! And Asians! And pop music! Also, a deep selection from Dennis's breadth of friends across LA to make merry and binge drink.

Then DK will take pictures of me with a weird face at an unflattering angle and post them online.

A Love Story

Today was our first Storytelling & Bookmaking field trip at 826. We're the destination--a class comes in, writes most of a story together, and it's printed and bound while they each write their own ending. They're writing for this invisible publisher, Mr. (or when I do it next week, Mrs.) Barnacle, a cantankerous old person living in the basement who yells at them over a loudspeaker and fires staff at will. Somehow, I have made this sound simple. It is not.

Anyway, today's class wrote an action-packed saga about Ooblah the space pirate (perhaps their parents watched Firefly. I don't know). They were nearing the climax of The Adventures of Ooblah and Googoo when the story facilitator asked what happens next.

"Ooblah thinks it's the end!" Marlon shouts from the back. "So he turns and tells Googoo that he loves her!"

And despite the fact that this is seriously the most cliched thing that could happen in a story, and that these are 8-to-9-year-olds who should eschew this "love" stuff, the entire room, staff, volunteers, and kiddies alike, shrieked and went "Awwwwwwwww!"



It stayed in. Mr. Barnacle liked it, too.



Also, my East Coast friends: today, 76 and sunny. Eat it.

Check It Out!

The NY Times has gotten over its potty-training thing and moved on: today's paper had a couple of interesting articles about abortion and OTC contraception. For instance, the congressional General Accounting Office found today that the FDA didn't follow its usual protocol when it decided to reject Plan B, which its own nonprescription drug department considered safe.

My congressman has called it a "subversion" of science. Yay Congressman!

Oh, except that talking doesn't change anything.

In the same edition, some drudged up documents that freakin' Samuel A. Alito wrote in 1985 saying that the Constitution does not protect abortion and how he is a committed conservative, deeply influenced by... wait for it...

Barry Goldwater.

Alito once voted in a case to force a woman to notify her husband before having an abortion. Should she get his permission before an appendectomy, too? Or if she has to pee?

Also, Jump, Little Children is breaking up, my cat has worms, and my friends are pissing me off. I am cranky.

BALLS.

Yummy

Kitty took a poop while I was changing her litter.

Bits of it were waving at me.

We're going to the vet.

Also, I'm really excited for the new Harry Potter movie.

Still reading my blog?

Today In Spam

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What Possibly Went Through Fiona Apple's Head Before Her Transcendent Set At Largo Last Night

Okay, okay... they're doing readings first. Okay, that's cool. I hope that they don't care I'm leaving my hair up in this bun-thing. It looks kind of slovenly. Oh God. It is slovenly, I am slovenly, I want to go home...

Okay they're laughing at the readings. Okay, that's cool. Even if I like accidentally kick something or burp on myself they'll just think it's part of the act. Jesus, what's that guy reading? Hm. Kind of funny, actually. Okay. Okay okay okay okay okay okay okay okay okay...

Okay this is not cool. Why am I here. This is such bullshit. The world is such bullshit! Man, I thought I'd stopped saying that. Are they going to realize this is a new band and we've practiced for like a day? Maybe I should tell them. I need to have a talk with the band. I mean, this is a benefit show. These have to be nice people. They'll understand? Maybe? I should go talk to the band...

Whatever, they don't have to act all scared of me, it's not like I yelled. Okay, last opener. Oh, Zach is funny. Check it out, he's drinking from that lady's glass. Fuck he's finishing up. Fuck. Fuck. Okay I'm just going to go up there and stand next to him and maybe no one will recognize me. Yeah, that's what I'll do. Okay, I'm standing here, Zach old buddy, want to tell them who I am?

Now I will act extremely awkward, eschew audience banter, drive my self into a miniature depression, and perform my little fucking heart out.

The Great Outdoors, as in That John Candy Movie, rather than Actual Nature

Yaf is here!

MB: Let us go experience The Great Outdoors!
Y: Let's!
MB: To the Santa Monica Mountains! Despite the $7 parking fee, we shall for a few hours retreat from the civilized world, attune our spirits, and align our souls!
Y: Ok!
MB: This hike is great!
Y: Very refreshing.
MB: What is that yonder? I daresay a piece of litter!
Y: Let us pack it out.
MB: I shall get it. What do you think it is?

(pause: careful examination).

Y: My friend, I believe it is a poo-rag.

Love, Hate

Went to the Abbey last night.

Love the Abbey.

Going to the Farmer's Market in a minute.

Love the Farmer's Market.

Just finished reading the paper and am convinced, once again, that there is a conspiracy to drag America into some kind of 1950s redux-world.

Hate Republicans.

And evangelicals. Will start hating Jesus soon if his creepier followers don't sit down and shut up. Like, you're the son of God, man. Get some better friends.

Indoor Voices

I've been volunteering at 826LA for a little over a month now--first on the weekends, but now tutoring during the week. It's my way of assuaging that liberal guilt over making my rent money by tutoring perfectly smart Brentwood School/Harvard-Westlake/Crossroads kids in their charmingly oversized homes. I go from being part of the solution in the afternoon to part of the problem in the evenings, but I've got to eat, okay?

So anyway. Most of the 826 tutors are vaguely employed writers or work on some kind of unpredictable freelance basis, a creative and interesting bunch. Indeed, part of 826's initial draw was the abundance of attractive, presumbaly artsy males on its website. Last night the center had a reading of tutors' work. Some of it was very bad: the snoozer of an opening story, the poetry comparing the Thai sex trade to freedom and excitement, rather than the far more accurate global shame and oppression. Some of it was very good: a handsome bearded man, laced with tattoos, read a chapter from his new novel. He interrupted himself near the beginning:

"Anyone here from Texas? 'Cause I mean, it's set there, but I just made this shit up."

That was pretty good. And this other guy read a bit about furniture arrangement and poetic feet, which was quite hilarious, if crowd-specific. I mean, can you make jokes about trochees to crowds that don't include out-of-work writers? Likely not, but an underemployed writer I am, and laugh I did.

Then it got really good. Theresa Soto read from her poetry, and it was fucking awesome. I even stole a copy of one of them. Experimental form, Filipino references, ding-sounds--whatever, it was totally sweet. Theresa Soto, people. Write it down.

I went home, suitably headfucked, and sent a cover letter/resume to the Huffington Post. I spotted several typos the next morning, and was told by my contact there that they did not go unnoticed. Go Blue Devils.

Mr. Saddle Ranch: Part Two

Dear reader, you may or may not remember my dear friend K. meeting some middle-aged porker at Saddle Ranch who professed his love immediately and invited her to party with Hef and his Haunted Honies on Halloween. You do? Because you most likely live outside LA and therefore there are not such abnormal freakazoids waiting to pick you up whereever you go out, so this might actually stick out in your memory? Right. Well, it's gotten even better!

So, he kept calling. K. eventually picked up and they talked a little, and it turns out Mr. "Isn't My Car Sweet?" is retired from his former career. Taking into account the yellow flash car, the regularity at Saddle Ranch, the familiarity with the Playboy Mansion, and drawing from the four types of people who have and do such things, was he a:

a) producer
b) producer
c) opener of Spearmint Rhino Gentlemen's Clubs
d) producer

You answered C? I know, not that hard. Producers don't really hang out at Saddle Ranch.

Mr. Rhino has continued calling. Mr. Rhino has purchased and sent Katie a gift. Shannen Doherty is on The View? Sorry, got distracted. But isn't her career supposed to be over? Anyway. Mr. Rhino called yesterday while K. and some of us were playing Scattergories, and we got to listen in!

"You are really phenomenal."
"I don't want you to think I'm just some guy laying a line on you."
"I'll buy you a Corvette if I have to!"

K. claims she cannot accept a Corvette.

And seriously, she's right. A Corvette? If we're talking sports cars and sugar daddies we should really go Benz.