Category: Uncategorized

It’s my Palm Tree!!!

His and hers…

I’m forward looking, tail wagging, on the Outbound Express to Joy and Happiness, New Adventures and New Shopping Opportunities, clear-headed, a monkey with his banana, ooh-ooh, hee-hee, aaah-aaah, my model with the perfect mouth called today, new pieces in the works to be unveiled next month, I am free and alive, it’s alive I tell you, alive!, did someone call Doctor Feelgood, yipee-i-o-ki-ay, I am feeling good today.

Well, Glen came by this evening, and we decided to show a whimsical piece for the LAB show, Whoopee!, a Busby Berkeley-inspired study of Big Chrissy’s legs. We thought it would compliment a piece that DiDi Dunphy’s creating for the show, also a cinematic gesture. Of sorts. Sorry Victor and Tim, you’ll have to wait a bit for your debut, although the two pieces that I made of you looked stunning together, the sea and the sky.

Dean Smith came over again and we worked on his video for his Christopher Grimes show. While it looks spectacular, iDVD has let us down yet again, the dvd working on the computer but not on the Sony dvd player, the opposite of what happened last time. We ditched the dvd project and ended up drinking martinis and watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, not sure how to deal with being let down by Apple like this. A first for us.

Tomorrow I’ll be fluffing M’s garden, my fabulous client with the penthouse overlooking Macondray Lane. The interior of her place is all teal with purple furniture, and she has this big black conch-do with a wild white streak running through the middle. I want to be her for Halloween. No, I just want to be her. Or her maid Lilly.

So resveratrol, a substance found in red wines, seems to trigger the same response in the human body as a low-calorie diet, its regular consumption potentially extending the human life span by as much as 50%, so reports today’s New York Times.

Woo hoo! I’m going to be 120! With testicles down to my ankles and a bearcub under each arm.

If you have those little hanger epaulets in your drip dry fine washable shirt, which you should have dried on a flat surface, but hung from a hanger anyway, wet the shoulder where the bulge is and put the shirt on as you’re rushing out the door already 1/2 an hour late for work. It’ll dry to form, fit your shoulder musculature. Voila, no shoulder horns.

I wanna be one of the Fab 5.

Tim, that was me waving and screaming at you from the blue Honda as I sped past you on the corner of Market and Diamond this morning, cell phone in ear and wet shoulders.

The headlines of today’s New York Times declares “Homosexuality Issue Threatens to Break Anglicanism in Two.” …We’re the new Ann Boleyn!

…I closed my E*Trade account today. My 600 remaining shares of a certain at one time sure-fire entertainment stock, which at one point did triple my investment, now worth $.0001 per share, were sold to pay the $.06 due on the account maintenance fee.

Well, it wasn’t a gun-toting guy after all, but a meat-cleaver wielding guy, who thrilled our neighborhood on Sunday. And there was no boyfriend being threatened, no one else in the house, actually.

“It’s a great sacrifice to do what I’m doing,” said Italy’s Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, Italy’s richest man, “I’m not having fun at all… I have a sailboat, but in two years, I’ve only been on it one day… and I haven’t been to my house in Bermuda for two of three years. And the same goes for my house in Portofino… Do you understand? My life has changed? The quality has become terrible. What a brutal job… How much longer do I have to live this life of sacrifices?”

Mr. Berlusconi said he was confident that his government would last a full-five year term. “It’s never happened before,” he said, referring to postwar Italy, “but it will happen to me.”

Well, it looks like I’m a 180 pound person. I’ve weighed 165 pounds since high school. My excess weight corresponds directly to my post-twinkie pre-midlife crisis of 2000-2002. I’ve always felt unattractively thin, and given my preference for the full-figured, never particularly understood how men found me attractive, the ones who did, that is, but now it’s sort of thrilling to see jiggling in my own mirror. And is there more hair, too? I remember when Steve turned 50 and said that he was becoming the man he loved. There’s much more urgency in my work-outs now. I have to maintain the musculature trapped but slightly visible beneath the layer of cushioning fat, and battle the pre-destined eastern European/Italian pear. And gravity seems realer. After playing the twinkie card for 20 years, I’ve entered the ‘tween years, no longer a boy and not ready to be called anybody’s daddy. The arbiters of gay taste passed up this little category when handing out objective monikers. Twink, daddy, bear, cub, and me. I’m happy with my extra 15 pounds of love.