Open Letter To The TV People

Dear TV People,

OK, we all appreciate your efforts to pander to liberals and homosexuals and the easily titillated mainstream by bringing us such fare as Boy Meets Boy, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, It's All Relative, and older shows like Will & Grace, Normal, Ohio, Six Feet Under, and Oz. But enough with the fags, already. Where are the lesbians? Hmm? Sure, you tossed us Ellen, the Sapphic moms on Friends, and the precious relationship turned ham-handed character assassination that was Willow on Buffy, but I think we could do more to give the girls some equal time.

What? You say that you're simply developing television shows that happen to have gays in them? That the increase in the number of sympathetic homosexual male characters is art imitating life? OK, then bring on the dykes. Maybe they don't make as good television as the same old tired jokes about interior decorating and disco music, but I'm sure that a little lipstick lesbian action would boost your young male viewership. Look at the success All My Children has had with making Erica Kane's youngest daughter a gorgeous girl-kisser, dating a dark and mysterious foreign bisexual! That's good TV, people!

So, please, add more lesbians to the TV lineup. It's only fair.

Sincerely,

An Annoyed Viewer

Beyond Self-Publishing

Check out ecoops.org for my article on amateur singing in NYC. See, other people like my writing, too!

Arrrr!

Alert Reader Dave G. just let me know about an all important upcoming holiday, Talk Like A Pirate Day. Basically, on September 19, you talk like a pirate. I plan to refer to myself as Captain Jack Sparrow all day, if I remember.

Please note that on the "how to" page, there is a reference to a Singapore Sling. I would like point this out because most of the dumbass bartenders in New York look at me like I have three heads and they never passed kindergarten when I order one. The Singapore Sling is not an archaic drink, nor is it difficult to make. Get your heads out of your asses, New York bartenders! I'm not tipping you a dollar a drink just because you figured out how to mix a gin and tonic all by yourself.

You Say You Want A Revolution

You're sick and tired of reading about my exciting new life. You want to hear my thoughts on politics and the world at large. Well, I would write about those things, but I can't seem to give a fig about the California recall. Madonna French-kissing two bimbos on cable? Just the latest sign that she's over. Just like the other two.

Teenagers are doing just slightly more drugs. Of course, this article doesn't mention that those numbers have been down recently, rendering any increase a wash. Also, I would like to respond to the survey's author that I am perfectly comfortable with 1 in 4 teenagers using drugs. I would be less comfortable with a large number of airplane pilots, nuclear plant engineers or Presidents of the United States using drugs.

(OK, why am I smelling potatoes? There are no potatoes in here!)

I can't bring myself to care about Iraqi occupation, further al-Qaeda threats, Israel and Palestine peace trains or anything taking place in the Middle East. I am burnt out on world politics. No one seems to care what rational people think, and my roommate's cat is driving me batty. He just keeps meowing for no reason, and when I try to pet him he backs away, then he chases me around the apartment with his back arched and his fur standing up. What do you want, cat from hell?

Sorry.

But this is what I can think about. Gray's Papaya (a hot dog shop) on 6th Avenue and 8th Street has a huge sign (in fact, two of them) in their window praising Al Franken. If I recall correctly, it says "We Love Al Franken. We think you are 'FARE 'N VALANCE.' Can you believe those liars are from New York? Jesus Christ!" And something else I can't remember. That's all well and good. I think Fox News is ridiculous for suing Franken. But this is the same store that had similar huge signs in 1998 or 1999 that read "We Love Mayor Giuliani! We Are NICE New Yorkers!" I guess they're bipartisan . Very, very strange.

I can also say that I don't think it's funny that I had to wear a coat and long pants today. I knew I should have moved to Hawaii.

If I think of anything else that's bugging me, I'll be sure to let you know. Now I'm going to take a nap. I've been up since 6:30 am because of an audition. Like I could be a singing nun!

Helter Skelter

Sorry I'm not blogging so much, but I've been hella busy. What with all the singing and the boyfriending and the other socializing, I barely have time to cash my unemployment check, much less think of meaningful things to write for you people. Ingrates that you are anyway. You could try writing to me once in a while (not you, Jeff Z.).

So, I'm going to write an article about sing along places in New York after I take a nap and learn 8 million new songs and buy some necessary paper products and print out lyrics and blog.

Here's where I'll be. Oh yeah, I got my own show!

Mondays
Stonewall Inn
Christopher Street between 6th and 7th Avenues
8 pm & 9 pm
No cover

Sundays
Super Size Sundays @ The Slide
Bowery and Great Jones, downstairs
Random appearances!
No cover

Thursday, September 4
Cattle Call @ Therapy
52nd Street between 8th and 9th Avenues
11 pm
No cover, talent competition with cool prizes!

Sunday, September 14
Grove Stock @ Cherry's
Cherry Grove, Fire Island
3-9 pm
$20

Wednesday, September 24 and October 29
Piano Bar Hell @ Pieces Back Room
Christopher Street between 6th and 7th Avenues
8 pm & 10 pm
$5, two drink minimum

Wednesday, October 15
My Own Cabaret Show! @ Pieces Back Room
Christopher Street between 6th and 7th Avenues
8 pm & 10 pm
$5, two drink minimum

A Very Special Blossom

I'm such a wuss. I just cried because of an episode of Moesha. What can I say? I'm easily moved by very special episodes of black sitcoms. Like that one episode of The Fresh Price of Bel Air when Carlton accidentally takes some speed Will had in his locker and has to go to the hospital and Phil is angry with Will and Will cries because he didn't mean to hurt Carlton; that gets me every time. Of course, it could have something to do with the bloody mary I was inspired to make this morning, but I doubt it.

(Stoli vodka, tomato juice, Worcestershire, Tabasco, horseradish, lemon juice, celery seed, fresh ground pepper, lots of ice, three green olives, and a lime wedge. Stir and sip.)

Obviously, I ditched the sick diet. You know, a bad diet is like a bad boyfriend. While you're with it, your friends are supportive and complimentary, but as soon as you get rid of it, they can't tell you what a bad idea it was fast enough. Anyway, my blood sugar got so low that I would start crying for no reason and my mood was zinging all over the place. Not worth it. I'd rather be happy than skinny any day.

I'll be at Cattle Call at Therapy (52nd between 8th and 9th) on September 4. I want to win, so come and clap for me! Also, this Sunday is the big roundup at The Slide on Bowery, which I would also like to win. If you want more info, just e-mail me at the "reach out" link above.

The Call of the Wild

Sometimes the Kavorka is a great burden. Even gay men can't keep their hands off me. Maybe I should start wearing garlic around my neck. Hey, I like the attention, but it's getting ridiculous. Whistles, cat calls, and unintelligible compliments in foreign languages are one thing, but when a big homo is sticking his tongue down your throat, you have to wonder. I guess I'm muy caliente. Or it could be the booze.

No, it's me. I'm a hottie. Oh, the burden!

Seriously. Only hot people understand how hard it is to have people pawing and leering and drooling all over you. But, I must persevere. No baggy clothing and bad hair for me. I must maintain the standard of hotness that I have previously displayed, or let down my hot sisters and brothers.

No, I'm not drunk. What are you talking about?

Where was I? Oh yes. All I'm saying is, for God's sake people, it's not cool to kiss the straight girl in the gay bar! Sheesh! How am I ever going to live that down?

What's Up?

What the hell's been going on? Well, I saw some of the HOWL! festival in the East Village yesterday, including Wigstock's glorious return to Tompkin's Square Park. That was a blast, even though I didn't get to see all of the show. A few local divas did a Laugh-In style party scene, including All-Beef Patty and Ginger from Lips, and Mirkala Cristal from Stonewall. I couldn't see it, but it was hilarious. Sample joke: "Hey Patty, what's the difference between Lady Bunny and a bucket of pig shit?" "I don't know, what?" "The bucket!" Who knew you could be that filthy that early in the day? Hooray for the East Village!

I just started doing the Induction phase of the Atkin's diet. I need to trick my body into thinking it's starving so I can jump start a little weight loss. I know it sounds bizarre, but I'm interested to see if it will work. I'm pretty good at controlling my eating habits when I want to; much better than I am at getting around to some exercise. I'm just going to do it for two weeks (I'm on day three). If nothing changes by then, I'm back on carbo-loading. I'll keep you informed.

Still not smoking. It's great. Seriously.

Great audition on Friday, and I got a new gig at a straight bar in Murray Hill. Heh. If you can tell me why that's funny, you win a low-carb cookie.

I haven't seen the news much lately, but I just realized I haven't blogged since right before the blackout. It was dark. That's pretty much it. I walked across the bridge from Brooklyn to Queens, was in a bitchy mood, and got utterly obliterated on Friday night. My freezer is so cold, we still had ice when the power came back on. I did hear Mayor Bloomberg talking out of his ass about supposed Canadian power-stealing. What a dill-hole.

Well, that's the news from Lake Wobegone via Greenpoint. If you want to see me, I'll be at The Slide tonight on Bowery and Great Jones, Stonewall tomorrow night at 8, and God knows where else the rest of the week. Kisses!

Ask A Stupid Question...

I'm all for provoking sensationalist dialogue, but RNN's poll question today is just terribly worded:

Could Iraq Become Another Watergate?

Well, let's see. Iraq is a country, the Watergate is a hotel. So, I'm saying, no. Probably not.

Or do they mean could the Iraq situation become another Watergate scandal? Again, situation in Iraq; war. Watergate scandal; political crime. So, I'm still not seeing the connection.

Could the situation in Iraq have the same consequences as the Watergate scandal? Considering that Bush's approval rating remains quite high in spite of the snafu that is the war in Iraq, I doubt he'll be pressured to resign. Or have I missed something in the past day or so? One of New York's tabloids featured a big picture of Bush cuddling his terrier today, so I doubt it.

This question sucks, but it is good for mocking.

I've Paid Enough

TheCounter.com has started charging to report my hits, and I refuse to pay for that kind of information. So, I need you, Constant Reader, to e-mail me once in a while to let me know that there's someone out there. Just drop me a line, let me know you're reading, tell me what you like about the blog, that kind of stuff. And remember, I love you.

Alexia Says

My friend Larue says that I should have a TV show called "Alexia Says." My response was that I already have my blog! Remember, everything in this blog is right, because I say so. Alexia says!

Damn Hippies

For the first time ever (and I pray the last), I agree with Ann Coulter. We should just give California back to Mexico.

Schwarzenegger? He's a pro-choice Republican married to a Kennedy who, despite his many years in America, still speaks with an often unintelligible Austrian accent. Arianna Huffington? Sure, she's smart and funny, but her anti-SUV campaign shows a radical nature poorly suited for governorship. Then there's Gary Coleman, Gallagher, and Larry Flynt, not to mention 190+ other nut-job candidates on the ballot. The recall is a stupid idea in the first place. It undermines the democratic process and just makes the country look even more out of control. Thanks California!

I Am My Own Personal Science Experiment

Since I quit smoking, I've had quite a bit of phlegm, mucus and whatnot choking me day and night. This is especially fun when I'm rehearsing. I knew that you cough a lot after you quit, but I wasn't clear on exactly why until my clever boyfriend told me. Smoking coats the cilia in your lungs with tar, which paralyzes them, slowing their rapid beating, which normally clears the lungs of debris. This is why you cough when you inhale smoke (if you're not a smoker). Since the cilia can't do their job, all sorts of crap -- like dirt and dust and pollutants -- stays in your lungs. When you stop smoking, the cilia slowly come back to life. In fact, you even grow new cilia. Those suckers start beating away again, and before you know it, your lungs are sweeping out the dirt. Thus, hacking like a consumptive whore.

Here's the thing: I'm very intrigued by this. I've been smoking for 16 years, and pretty heavily in the last 10. I know that over time the lungs can clear themselves little by little, but still, there has got to be a lot of junk in my lungs. Every day, I know they're cleaning themselves, and I can't wait to see how this all turns out. Will I be able to climb a flight of stairs without gasping for breath? Will I be able to sing better? Will it feel different? I feel like I'm my very own specimen in a science experiment. There's no way in hell I would compromise the project by having even one cigarette. Besides, I don't even want them anymore. I think my twisted relationship with cigarettes is finally over. It's too bad my mom couldn't be here to see this. Check me out: singing, not smoking, great boyfriend, terribly well-adjusted. Way to go, Alexia! Next thing you know, I'll keep up an exercise regimen and drop that extra 10 pounds I've been lugging around for the past 3 years!

Losing Their Religion

What does RNN want to know today?

Episcopal Church Elects Gay Bishop: Do You Agree With the Decision?

Well, since I'm not Episcopalian, it doesn't really matter if I agree, now, does it? Also, without knowing all the ins and outs of their religion, how on earth could I make an informed decision about the validity of the election? I will say that I'm glad the decision-makers overlooked the eleventh hour attempt to discredit the Bishop with a glaringly homophobic and -- at the very least -- exaggerated missive to the church. Way to be reasonable, Episcopal Church!

Catching Up With Alexia

Hola amigos, I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya...

Nah, just kidding. But it has been a while since I've gotten personal. Some things I just had to blog about.

Today, I'm quitting smoking. Yes, I've done it before, but they say practice makes perfect, and I've had a lot of practice at quitting. Look, I'm going to be 30 years old in two months. I'm on the Pill. I have a huge cancer history in my family. I can't smoke in bars anymore anyway. This is just it. I still support other people's right to smoke, I just have to stop.

According to the lady who felt me up this morning, my breasts and my ovaries are just fine. Isn't that nice to hear?

In other good news, I'm finally getting my security deposit back from my old apartment. I was starting to get a little worried that I would end up on Judge Judy or The People's Court, trying to squeeze $900 out of two old Italian people. But I can breathe easier, knowing "the check is in the mail." Good thing, since I had to pay $200 for being groped today and $100 to get my headshots developed. Oy, does it add up!

Still blissfully happy with my boyfriend (what do you expect; it's only been 4 months!). We saw Motorhead, Dio and Iron Maiden from the New York Times skybox at MSG for his 30th birthday. METAL! It was super cool. The free booze and food didn't hurt either.

I've been out every single night since Wednesday, and it's not going to end any time soon. So very tired. Thankfully, I have plenty of time today to take a nice nap.

And that's life in Alexia's world right now!

Reiteration of the Truth

I already expounded on this subject the other day, but RNN wants to know:

Can Any of the Democratic Candidates Defeat Bush in 2004?

I'm leaning towards "no," unfortunately, but to list all the reasons why would take some serious time, taking into consideration the long list of Democratic candidates. Actually, that's a good part of the reason right there. Too many candidates, no solid Democratic platform, and no one with enough charisma to beat Mr. Weasel-Eyes. No amount of gay daughters is going to help the Dems now.

Today's Fashion Peeve

It's true that I have a general dislike for today's women's footwear. I can hardly ever find a pair of shoes that I would buy or be caught dead wearing. Ugly toes, whether too pointy or too elfin; heels that are too short or strangely shaped or make one's calf and ankle one entity; colors and fabrics that assure that you will never find anything to wear with them; mixtures of dress and athletic styles; and cheap construction that causes the balls of your feet to start burning like you're walking on hot coals after about two blocks of foot travel.

But one of the worst things about women's shoes is the trend. When a style of shoes becomes popular (or Sarah Jessica Parker wears them on Sex and the City), you can't swing a dead cat without hitting some poor fashion victim sporting the latest hideous trend. Currently, I hate those mesh chinese slippers with the sequined embroidery. First of all, if you want to wear house shoes, stay in the house. Secondly, I really don't want to see your whole toe covered by pink mesh. It nauseates me. Third, when you and your friend are wearing the same shoes, the same style skirt, and the same stupid top with your bra straps showing, it's time to get a personal sense of style. It's strange that a pair of shoes could so infuriate me, but I'm easily irritated by ubiquity.

Next thing you know, people will be wearing white shoes after Labor Day. Look, white shoes are hardly ever a good thing, but in the fall, they're just tacky. I don't care what anyone says about fashion changing, some things are just right. And stop wearing sheer black stockings in the daytime, stockings with sandals, and knee highs with skirts. You look stupid.

So says Alexia.

Hooray for Self-Imposed Segregation!

RNN's E News Rundown poll question for today:

Gay High School: Good Idea or Waste of Money?

Now, everyone knows I'm a fan of all things gay, but I can't support gay high school. Just like women's and black colleges, learning institutions that manufacture a false society don't do anyone any favors. All adolescents struggle with sexual identity, and it's important to see differences in one's everyday life. Segregation, even that which is self-imposed, breeds a sense of superiority and/or intolerance of the "different" that flies in the face of any civil rights movement.

Besides, if all the gay boys are in their own high school, what will all the fag hags do?

Bushfire

What exactly is wrong with George W. Bush? How does he have the nerve to ignore established black groups like the NAACP? Sure, he's giving a speech to the Urban League, but he's still not sitting down with them. He may be the president, but he needs to climb down off his high horse once in a while. He's obviously afraid of having his policies confronted or challenged. And now, making a speech before the Urban League, just to draw support for his 2004 campaign; that's just appalling.

The real kicker is, that the Democratic candidate with the most support is Jewish, and I have strong doubts about the US electing a Jew to the highest office, even in 2004. If Hillary threw her hat into the ring, she'd have more support, but she's already said she's not up for it. Gephardt may have a gay daughter, but this is really his last chance to get non-Missourians to know who the hell he is, and he hasn't been very successful so far. So, it looks like, barring some unforseen campaign acrobatics on the part of the Dems, that we'll be stuck with Hayseed W. Moron until 2008. Wow, I can't wait to see what happens in the unstable Middle East region during that time! I'm on the edge of my seat!

Happy Birthday, You Freak

Tom Robbins celebrates his birthday today. He may or may not be 67. Tom Robbins is one of my all-time favorite authors. I'm really looking forward to his new book, Villa Incognito. Look at this, when I write about Tom, I come off like a moron. Check out this brief excerpt:

It has been reported that Tanuki fell from the sky using his scrotum as a parachute.

That is not so ridiculous when we take into account the unusual size of Tanuki's scrotum.

Happy birthday, Tom. You rock and roll and take no prisoners.

Oh, Fox, You Devil

I saw the funniest show on Sunday night. It's called Banzai, and it's a parody of Japanese game shows. At first I thought it was offensive, because the announcers have very thick accents, but you know what? It's just funny. It's very fast paced, and you don't even think about changing the channel. This show would be a lot of fun to watch with a group, because you bet on what the outcome will be, like, who can fetch a stick in the water faster, Todd Bridges or a dog? Or, how long will Bill Murray let a reporter shake his hand on a red carpet? It's awesome.

Another Fox show I caught last week was American Juniors. I didn't catch the whole thing, but I saw enough to know that each of the contestants is more talented than most of the contestants on American Idol. Plus, Gladys Knight and Debbie Gibson are judges! Unfortunately, Ryan Seacrest is on it, (and looking more gay than ever) but what can you do?

Age Ain't Nothin' But A Number

I just realized that Kobe Bryant is only 24 years old. His wife, Vanessa, whom people are calling a poised and elegant woman, is only 20. Who are these kids? Who gives a 24 year old a salary that allows him to buy a $4 million ring? I can't begin to imagine that kind of life. When I was 24, I was living in a crap apartment in Corona, Queens, making $22 K a year, up to my eyeballs in credit card debt. When I was 20, I was in college. I was a child! Yet Vanessa is married to a millionaire basketball player who has admitted to cheating on her and is being charged with rape. It's just too strange.

Communication Breakdown

I was out shopping yesterday when I heard about the shooting at City Hall. When I got to the bar around 4:30, they had it on TV. The story I was hearing was that someone let off 20 rounds, the guy who did it got away, and that it was considered to be random. How the hell does that story jibe with the actual story? If the whole thing went down at ten after two, how could they not know by 4:30 what had actually happened? Way to go, local news. And if this was a story fed to them by City Hall, what was the point? Were they embarrassed that Councilman Davis signed his own death warrant by skirting metal detectors with some apparent weirdo he'd just met two weeks ago? Did they want to wait to reveal that a police officer had done his job because theycan never be sure if NYPD officers are playing with a full deck?

A New Low For Broadcast News

So there I am, watching TV, and all day it's nothing but "special reports." Breaking news! Saddams's sons might be dead! Also, Pfc. Jessica Lynch is coming home! Also, Celia Cruz's funeral procession is going down the street! Hey, Saddam's sons are dead! Wow! Good thing you told me now. I sure couldn't have waited for the evening news or tomorrow's paper for this important news. There's no way I would have wanted to go about my day without this vital information. And what would I do without the new, flashy graphic on ABC, "Sons of Saddam"? How would I know what the story was about? The worst was when CBS, ABC, NBC, FOX and ABC had all finished their "special reports" on the confirmation of the deaths of Saddam's sons, UPN comes on with "breaking news"! Huh? This ain't news anymore, fools. How dare you interrupt Family Feud for a minutes-old story?

Old People Get All The Breaks, If Not The Brakes

What the hell is up with this old man, plowing into dozens of people, killing nine of them, and getting off scot-free? That really disturbs me. Sure, he's old, but it's still some kind of vehicular homicide. There has to be some penalty, even if the car malfunctioned. Someone has to send a message to the old people of the world to stay off the road and get a bus pass. Where are the ice floes when you need them, eh?

The Onion Tells My Future

The sad part was, I started nodding when I hit the part about buying stamps.

Things The Government Doesn't Want You To Know About

You may not know this, but New York City has brought back curbside recycling for plastic, and glass will be back in April of next year. Haven't seen anything about this on the news? No posters in your building's vestibule? Of course not! The city says it can't afford a similar publicity campaign to the one they used to stop plastic and glass recycling, just one short year ago. Oh, really? It wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Mayor Bloomberg is embarrassed that the action he pushed for, under the auspices of saving the city money and finding better ways to recycle, has been recinded? Sure, they say it's due to a "better recycling program," but if the mayor had really created such a program, why is there no fanfare? He desperately needs some good press, and this would be it. What's the deal?

Speaking of our less than illustrous billionaire mayor, one of his least popular policies will be challenged on Thursday, July 24. There will be a rally in front of City Hall at 1 pm to protest the smoking ban. Now that it has been in effect for a few months, the city has seen its ill effects, and I predict there will be a bigger turnout than at previous protests. Bar owners who did not speak out before are becoming increasingly concerned with this bogus law. Even non-smoking patrons have seen the negative effects of this radical "solution" to secondhand smoke. Residents have been subjected to crowds of smokers on the sidewalk, and they can't be happy. What are the problems? First, the aforementioned crowds on the sidewalk. Some bars try to keep them under control, put out ashtrays and have bouncers shush the patrons, but that's not only annoying, it's not widespread. Second, when someone wants to go out for a smoke, but they still have a drink, there are a few things that can happen. You leave your drink on the bar and the bartender watches it or puts a napkin over it, you either lose your seat or piss off incoming patrons who stare at your empty stoll for ten minutes, wondering if you'll ever come back, and finally, take that chance that someone might slip something in your drink. This is no good. Not to mention, bars are having problems with people falsely claiming that their drinks were bussed while they were smoking, scamming free drinks; underage kids are sneaking in with the smokers, and people are just skipping out on their tabs with the old, "just going outside for a puff" line.

I've said it once, and I'll say it again: "No more fucking ABBA." Oh, wait, I mean: tax breaks for bars that voluntarily go non-smoking, and for bars that install better ventilation systems. This way, there's a choice for bartenders, making the workplace non-discriminatory. Ta-da! Alexia for mayor!

By the way, since the smoking ban, I smoke just as much and have less fun. Woo-hoo, way to go, Mike.

What Makes You Happy Isn't Always Good For You

Balance is hard. I had the most amazing weekend with my sweetheart, but I forgot to go to my unemployment insurance meeting, and I overslept this morning because I was freaking out about it. I need to balance. I need to get the things on my list done.

But I did have a fantastic time on Sunday. We went to Coney Island and did a little bit of everything. We lay out on the beach for three hours, has a couple of beers at Ruby's, ate hot dogs an corn on the cob, rode the Wonder Wheel and the Cyclone, played Skee-ball, and saw two guys ride motorcycles inside a spherical metal cage with a lady standing in the middle. Then we had dinner at a nice Indian restaurant in Manhattan. It was lovely. I haven't been this happy in a long time, and I don't want to let a little bit of stress get in the way of it. So I'll just get what I need to do done, and enjoy the rest.

Getting To Know You

My friend David sent me one of those chain e-mails where you tell your friends things they may not know about you. I've done a bunch of these, and don't remember which of my friends I've sent them to, but I don't want to disappoint David. So, I'm sending him my responses and posting them here. If you want to pick up the chain, my e-mail address is alexia@narcissa.com. In the meantime, here's some boring personal information about me.

{Okay, here's what you're supposed to do ... and try not to be LAME and spoil
the fun! Just give in. Copy (not forward) this entire e-mail and paste it
into a new e-mail that you can send. Change all of the answers so that they
apply to you. Then, send this to a whole bunch of people you know INCLUDING
the person who sent it to you. The theory is that you will learn a lot of
little known facts about your friends. It is fun and easy.}

1. WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME?

Alexia Christine Henke

2. WHAT COLOR PANTS ARE YOU WEARING?

Blue, light blue, gree, light green, red, orange and white striped (horizontal)

3. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?

Saved By the Bell coming from the TV

4. WHAT ARE THE LAST 4 DIGITS OF YOUR PHONE NUMBER?

9272, which I think is fun to play with. You know, 7 plus 2 is 9, and there are two 2s, etc... It gets weirder with the other numbers.

5. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?

a slice of key lime pie

6. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?

Magenta

7. HOW IS THE WEATHER RIGHT NOW?

72 degrees and sunny, according to AOL. I haven't been outside today.

8. LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?

my boyfriend, two nights ago

9. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT THE OPPOSITE (OR SAME) SEX?

body language

10. HOW MUCH DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT YOU THIS?

thiiiiiiiis much! although we don't see each other very often.

11. HOW ARE YOU TODAY?

post-weekend morose

12. FAVORITE DRINK?

Dr. Pepper

13. FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK?

Tanqueray and Tonic

14. FAVORITE SPORTS?

none, because everyone says rhythmic gymnastics isn't a sport

15. EYE COLOR?

green hazel

16. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?

occasionally

17. SIBLINGS AND THEIR AGES:

sister 37, sister 36, stepsister 31, stepsister 28, brother 27

18. FAVORITE MONTHS?

October and July

19. FAVORITE FOOD?

beef, in almost any way, but especially filet mignon

20. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?

Pirates of the Carribean

21. FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR?

my birthday

22. ARE YOU TOO SHY TO ASK SOMEONE OUT?

Almost, it takes a lot of preparation

23. SCARY MOVIE OR HAPPY ENDINGS BETTER?

scary movie

24. SUMMER OR WINTER?

Definitely summer

25. HUGS OR KISSES?

can't I have both?

26. RELATIONSHIPS OR ONE NIGHT STANDS?

relationship, please, I'm too old for all that funny business

27. CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA?

twist, and throw in some strawberry

28. DO YOU WANT YOUR FRIENDS TO WRITE BACK?

Sure!

31. LIVING ARRANGEMENTS?

Roommate, no doors, and a cat

32. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING?

Ugh, none at the moment

33. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?

Oriental rug design

34. FAVORITE BOARD GAME?

Trivial Pursuit, Original

35. WHAT DID YOU DO LAST NIGHT?

had Indian food with my boyfriend, took the train home and watched "Fakin' It" on TLC with my roommate until 11 pm

36. FAVORITE SMELLS?

Stargazer lilies, Coppertone, chimney smoke, barbecue grills, and frying chicken

37. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE UP IN THE MORNING?

Who am I? Where am I? What time is it?

38. WHAT WAS YOUR ALL-TIME FAVORITE CONCERT?

The Artist, 1997, Jones Beach
followed by Pink Floyd, 1993, Vanderbilt Stadium

39. IF YOU COULD ONLY LISTEN TO ONE MUSIC CD FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, WHAT
WOULD IT BE?

Prince, Hits and B-sides

The Right Opinion

I just read a review of Pirates of the Carribean that was very negative. I really enjoyed the movie. Could I be wrong?

Maybe it's an anti-Disney thing. To wit, the reviewer describes the movie as an "F/X-rattling Disney feature based on the Disney theme-park attraction and founded on the Disney notion that American character is best strengthened by exposing children to the horrors of computerized skeletal buccaneers." That just seems biased to me.

I didn't go into the movie expecting more than a fun flick about pirates, and that's what I got. I don't know what the reviewer was expecting, but "A boom-blast-blare score by ''Gladiator'' cocomposer Klaus Badelt proves that if suspense takes place without drums and horns to announce it, it don't mean a thing" sounds like the writing of someone who doesn't like action films or pirate films at all. I also didn't feel cheated or ignored the way the reviewer did: "There may be nothing more fun for actors than experimental exaggeration, especially when filming on a Caribbean island. But there's nothing that makes an audience feel less welcome than not being in on the joke." Huh? You're talking about Johnny Depp, here. And Bruckheimer and Disney. I saw a film about pirates that used pirate movie conventions, some slightly anachronistic jokes (but thank goodness, nothing outright out of place) and actors who acted like you want pirates to act. Sure, Jack Sparrow is eccentric, but the characters openly note that in the film, so where's the sly wink?

My biggest beef was that the girl never got sweaty or dirty (one forehead smudge doesn't count) and her manicure was perfect.

I recommend the film, for fun. See it in the theater, because it's loud and flashy and exciting. Plus, Johnny Depp looks so much better on the big screen.

Crazy Dreams

OK, these were weird. I dreamed I was trapped inside a store full of non-human humanoid creatures that were not very smart, but could communicate. It reminded me of Day of the Dead. It so happened that it was a toy store, and everyone was dressed up in costumes and playing with toys and fooling the creatures into following them around. The idea was to draw them out and distract them for some reason. I was wearing a big dress and hat with a feather in it (I saw Pirates of the Carribean last night, but I was supposed to be Cinderella, there was a whole lot of dialogue here that I don't really remember, except that it had to do with fooling the creatures and names), and a teddy bear back pack with a little boom box in it. I also had a horse head with a stick in it (you, know, the plush toy?) and I was riding the horse around the store. Finally, I saw my chance and I dashed out the door and ran down the street.

Then the street was full of people who seemed to be in pain from my presence. One woman was kneeling on the ground, clutching her head and making warding off gestures toward me, so I threw my horse at her, and it came apart. I was sad, because I liked the horse. Other people with toys were throwing them away, and I realized that for some reason, toys were hurting people. I ducked into an electronics store with a toy store in the basement, and they were identifying and collecting toys. I ditched the hat and the dress (I was wearing my white tennis dress underneath), but the store guy said I could keep the backpack because it was functional and wouldn't hurt people.

In my next dream, I was Jasmine Guy in the 50s. I was also a convicted murderer who had survived hanging and been set free. However, I couldn't deal with life on the outside world because I was crazy. So I killed someone else so I could get the death sentence again. The judge and the doctors all loved me, because even though I was crazy and a killer, I was beautiful and sad and sympathetic. Before they hanged me the second time, I gave all my jewlery (my fire opal ring, charm bracelet and watch) to some young girl who was a friend. The noose came down and I held it around my neck and then there was just white and the sound of my own thoughts saying that I just wanted to die, please let me die, and then there were people saying "Hold on, Stop!" We've got her back!" and I was alive and very unhappy about the fact. The judge said that since I had such a tendency to survive or come back from hanging, that they were going to try this new fangled injection. All my jewelry and personal effects were on his desk. Then I was in the doctor's office, and he was explaining the procedure to me and my family. For some reason, I was sitting on a ledge above him and I had my foot on his leg. I was terribly despondent. The next thing, I was back on the street and realizing that I had somehow survived the injection and escaped from the morgue, but this time the auhorities didn't know. I ran into a pretty blond woman in a black dress and high heels and I told her my story. She suggested I not tell the police and start all over. I was upset that I wouldn't have my ID and personal effects. Then I realized that she was a dominatrix from something she said, and we went to a strange bar.

Later, there was a gay pride march coming out of my friends' house, glass tables, sex wih my boyfriend, my brother with weird flavored jelly beans and me going back to jail with the 20 pounds of jelly beans.

Beat that for weird!

I Know You Are, But What Am I?

If you have ever been called a geek, or consider yourself a geek, do yourself a favor and take this test. It's hilarious. I am 25.24655% geek, otherwise known as a Total Geek. I'm so proud!

Ego TV

Spike Lee has seen the light. Of course, you must have heard that in an effort to remain in the public's immediate consciousness, Spike Lee attempted to block the renaming of TNN to "Spike TV." Well, it seems that Spike has settled his case, probably due to the fact that several other Spikes had come forward to join the case in a class-action suit, damaging his credibility. director Spike Jonez, the late Spike Jones' estate, Spike the dog from "Tom & Jerry," and James Marsters & Joss Whedon (for the Buffy character "Spike") have all laid claim to sole use of the name. OK, that's not true. But wouldn't that be cool?

I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!

Is this the summer of celebrity death or what? Since June 11, the following celebrities have kicked the bucket: Gregory Peck, David Brinkley, Katharine Hepburn, Buddy Hackett, Barry White, Buddy Ebsen, Hume Cronyn, and Leon Uris (author of Mila 18, which forced Joseph Heller to change the title of his book from Catch-18 to Catch-22; just a bit o' trivia for ya). Also, universally reviled Senator Strom Thurmond finally did something nice and shuffled off his mortal coil. More celebrities died this June than in any other month this year! It's just a little weird.

I'm not holding out much, ugh, hope, for Bob Hope to make it past August. And Regan's just hanging on there by a thread as well. It's time to join your local celebrity dead pool, people. It's not morbid, it's just life.

More Surprising News

Adult conjoined twins who decided to be separated died on the operating table. Wow, who could have predicted that? Just another reminder that just because they'll do the operation in Singapore, it doesn't mean it's a good idea.

A Star Is Born

Okay, so maybe that's an overstatement, but I had the most amazing show last night. I'm singing on Monday nights at Stonewall Bar in Greenwich Village, and last night was my first official solo show. At 8 pm, I was ready to go, but as I got on stage, the microphone failed, and we had to stop the show. I had a feeling there was just a knob that needed to be turned, but we had to have the sound guy come, all the way from Queens, to find which knob it was. Finally, around 9:15, the sound was fixed, and I went on.

I was doing several new songs, some of which I had just finished learning that afternoon. I was very pleased that I remembered most of the lyrics, and everytime I forgot them, I feel like I covered very well. The feeling of being up there, in the light, with everyone looking at me, was very powerful. I always get that vibe when I'm on stage, but I haven't been on stage for that long, by myself, before. I loved it! Everyone was so supportive and complimentary, I wasn't able to self-deprecate, which is a nice change of pace.

If anyone is in the area, please come on down Monday nights at 8 pm. No cover, 2-for-1 happy hour, and smoking! Stonewall is located on Christopher Street, between 6th and 7th Avenues, on the same side of the street as The Duplex.

Set List

Set 1
"Boy From New York City"
"Que Sera, Sera"
"Downtown"
"Leader of the Pack"
"Everything's Coming Up Roses"

Set 2
"Frank Mills"
"Fever"
"Harper Valley P.T.A."
"Walkin' After Midnight"
"Stand By Your Man"

Criminy

So I don't check my e-mail for three weeks, and I'm greeted by 1705 new e-mail messages, 99% of which is spam. Hooray. I heard recently that even Bill Gates is tormented by spam. Now you know it's a problem.

Can't stay on long, but the big news is that I have a weekly gig at Stonewall, Mondays at 8pm and 9 pm. Singing, that is. More musings after I get my DSL line set up at home. Then no one will be safe from my ranting, mwahahahahahahaha!

Passings

I a moment of poor judgement, I let my TV stay on Jimmy Kimmel's grotesque excuse for a talk show for a few minutes last night, and I learned that Gregory Peck had died. Before I had a chance to reflect on what a fine actor he was, Kimmel was mocking him by showing film of him on Michael Jackson's carousel and joking about it. What a pig. That didn't get a lot of laughs, but I was disappointed in the lack of boos. What an ass. Gregory Peck was a true Hollywood star, the likes of which we rarely see anymore.

Also, David Brinkley passed away on Wednesday night. ABC News did a very nice tribute to him. He was 82 years old. Maybe Rather and Jennings could learn a few things from his old tapes.

A Tentative Hooray for Friendster

I was reunited with an old friend, but the bugs still haven't been worked out. More as the situation develops.

My Life Is A Musical Theatre Cliche

I woke up this morning at 2:53 am after having a really bad, scary dream. I was reading a Stephen King book and as I was reading it, it was coming true. I even read it three times to see if it would change, but it didn't. It was post-apocalyptic, but it involved people running through the woods trying to escape from monsters who were eating them. Very stressful and scary. I mean, these big Sasquatch-type things were eating people! Anyway, I was happy to wake up, but I was very tired. Everytime I almost fell asleep, I would fall back into the dream, and I didn't want to! I couldn't call anyone to talk me down, and I was too tired to get up and watch TV. So -- and don't laugh, at least not to my face -- I started singing "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music so I would fall alseep to happy thoughts. I had to sing that thing (in my head) four or five time before I nodded off. Thankfully, no more nightmares. I guess I really am soothed by the thought of cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels. Who knew?

Friends... How Many Of Us Have Them?

My friend Abby invited me to join Friendster.com, just a couple of short days after I read about it in Next, NYC's second best homo weekly. According to Next, it's a great way to meet guys through your friends rather than chatting up some hustler in Yahoo!'s "Uncut Pinga" room. They did concede that the creators of Friendster say that there are plenty of straight folks in the database, too, but you only see people to whom you are connected by a friend, so the guys at Next only saw... well, you get the picture. It's cute. Lots of people, though. I'm connected to 7404 other folks! Talk about six degrees of separation. One caveat: it may be the connection here at the ever-more expensive internet brothel, but pages are taking a long time troload, and I keep getting bumped back to the sign-in page. Maybe it's insanely popular and more than the Friendster server can handle, but if that's not fixed soon, I won't be feeling too friendly.

I Want My Internet!

How happy are you right now to see that I've posted today? I know how you sick kids crave my contradictory and salacious ramblings, but I've been without internet access for a little while because of my employment situation and my lack of a land line. So here I am at easyinternetcafe, working on a cheap ass keyboard with a sticky space bar, trying to hurry up and do all my web-related activities in but one short hour, after standing in line for twenty minutes waiting for the ticket machine to become available. Blogging is hell, I tell you. How did I become so dependent on the Internet? Without e-mail, how did I know what parties to go to? How did I domy banking and pay my bills? And how, oh how, did I express my unsolicited opinions? Well, just because it's not easy, I'm not giving up. I need the Internet, and it needs me.

What else is going on? I still don't know where I'm going to be moving at the end of June, but I'm hopeful. Next weekend is the annual Mermaid Parade in Coney Island, and my little bro happens to be in town then. The weekend after is Gay Pride weekend, followed by the move. I've filed for unemployment benefits, which should keep me from freaking out until I can start temping.

But enough about me. (Well, personal subjects anyway.) A couple of weeks ago, I filled out a questionaire from The Advocate about assorted subjects of interest regarding gays. As a gift for filling out the card, I got a trial subscription. Because I am a dedicated Fruit Fly (TM), I thought that would be just fine. I got the first copy in the mailtoday,and it was wrapped in opaque plastic. I found that to be bizarre. I didn't know they did that sort of thing anymore. I'm certainly not worried about my mailman knowing that I'm reading The Advocate. Sure, some people may wish for some discretion, but I think it should be offered as an option, not a given!

Spam has been breaking my time bank here at the cafe,so if you want to write to me,and I may not recognize your name, please write "blog" somewhere in the subject line. Thanks!

Hmm, what else...

Go see The Play What I Wrote ASAP. I missed the Tonys, but if it didn't win anything (and even if it did) it may close soon. It's hilarious and I recommend it highly. My friend Dave described it as "Monty Python meets Carol Burnett." A Must See.

OK, next time I'll write down some musings beforei get here so I can blog with more efficiency. Until then, keep on reaching for the stars,or at least another gin and tonic.

The End of the Line

Wow! Am I in a good mood or what? After two weeks of waiting and stressing, it's finally over. I feel relaxed and calm, especially because I got my severance in one lump sum. You know what that means! Unemployment, bay-bee! Plus, no freaking about having the money to put down a deposit on a share.

So, I'm feeling fabulous. My skin is better than it's been in nearly a year, I'm all a-shimmer with Nivea reflecting skin cream, my hair is down, my cleavage is showing, and I'm wearing sandals and a skirt. It's going to be 80 degrees today. I even tied a tiger print scarf to my purse. It's an Elle Woods-thing. I have these fantastic sunglasses that are big and black and have sparkly rhinestones in the frames. Funny how a little personal grooming can make you forget your troubles.

But it's over. No more stuffy old people and their family trees. No more cheap board of trustees who don't think it's important to clean your drapes more than once every twelve years. No more brick walls. No more daily commute from hell. At least not this one. I'm so ready to go, right now.

But I'll stick around. They want to have a little get together to show me how much they'll miss me. There better be food or cash, that's all I'm saying.

Today's a day for deleting personal files, filling up floppy disks, trashing old magazines, changing passwords, deleting cookies, changing voice mail, scamming office supplies. Today's a day for tying up loose ends and taking twelve cigarette breaks. Today's a day for early happy hour and much rejoicing. (yay!)

Today rocks!

Close, But No Cigar

I was down with the idea of the all-boy version of The Bachelor, but then I read that some of the potentials will be straight! What the fuck? You can't have a "straightforward" gay dating show, there has to be some opportunity for humiliation? Because what else is it when you set a guy up, tell him all the guys he's choosing from are looking for the same thing he is, then flip the script and give a cash prize to the guy who can fool him? It's bogus, and I find it very self-hating on the part of the gay producer. But what do I know? I'm just a chick living the straight life. According to the creatprs, I should be eating this shit up with a spoon.

From Vegas Wedding to Online Divorce

If marriage was taken a little more seriously, I might not be so opposed to it.

You know You're In Trouble...

When rich people think your tax cut stinks. The other night I saw Warren Buffet, looking like any old retired guy in a cardigan and polo shirt, talking to Ted Koppel about Bush's tax cut. He mentioned that he could get back $3 million on his stock dividends with this cut, but what would that do for the economy? He said that he would just invest it, while you could give $1000 to 30,000 American families who would actually spend it, which is what helps the economy. He was all talkin' in the lay terms and being Joe Regular guy. He stressed that a true tax cut comes with a cut in spending, but laughed at the idea (not because it's impossible, but because no one would ever let it happen). I think I love him. Yes, ours is forbidden love, but he made me understand something about taxes and the economy and for that he will always be in my heart. Alexia + Warren 4 Eva!

I'll Have What He's Having!

Because it sounds like it's something really good...

Home of the Blue Jays and Deadly Viruses

Sure, 1,700 students have been quarantined, but Toronto is still a very safe place to visit. Come one, come all to Outbreak, Canada.

Look, I like Toronto. I know many people from Toronto. But I still wouldn't go there now if you paid me. That SARS is some resilient stuff. I don't want to get anywhere near it, nor any surfaces or people that have been near it. So, let me know if you've been to Toronto lately; we'll have a nice chat over e-mail.

Hello, You Have Reached the Offices of God...

So, the producers of Bruce Almighty are feigning innocence over using a real telephone number in their film. I'm sure they never gave a single thought to all the free publicity they would get by not using the standard 555 exchange. Universal Pictures would never do such a thing! It was an honest mistake. They had no idea people would call the number, making prank calls or true confessions to God. It was purely a coincidence that the number reached a radio network that is creating a contest around the whole debacle. Big, big coincidence! Silly movie studio! Next time, they promise to think ahead. They're new at this whole thing. Oops! Sorry!

Spooky!

Super 70s was about to play "The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia" by Vicki Lawrence, and choosing not to make myself sick, I switched to Classic Rock, which is playing "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" by the Charlie Daniels Band. Weird!

Losing It

I'm depressed and scared and confused. I'm worried that I'm doing the wrong thing and that I should be more responsible and just get a regular job so I can be safe. I'm scared to death. I'm more scared than excited. That makes me depressed. I wish I could talk to my mom about this. That also makes me depressed. I come to work and "So. Central Rain" by R.E.M. is on the radio, and I almost burst into tears. What saved me? Switching to Super 70s and hearing "Makin' It," sung by the erstwhile Dr. Pepper spokesman (spokeswhistler?) and American werewolf in London, David Naughton. Alert readers will recall my fondness for a certain little film called Midnight Madness (the mother of all scavenger hunt movies), which was Naughton's film debut. How could I not love this guy? So, thanks, David Naughton, for the brief reprieve.

New York Observations

Dr. Zizmor has a new subway ad. I had just been thinking about how I hadn't seen a "Dr. Z" ad lately, and there he is, Jonathan Zizmor, MD, "Board Certified Dermatologist" with his lovely, hatted wife, praising New Yorkers for their courage and offering new blemish treatments. You go, Dr. Z!

Park Avenue could really use some crosswalk lights. It's nerve-wracking!

There are a lot of blind people walking around midtown. I'm thinking that it's because the area is strictly on the grid and easy to get around. Whatever the reason, I've seen more blind people in the last 9 months I've worked in east midtown than I have in all my previous years combined.

Blah blah blah. Soon I'll be blogging a lot less.

I'll Be Your Golden Calf

So, American Idol is getting its own spin-off, American Juniors. OK, precocious kids singing their hearts out to age-inappropriate songs is cute for a couple of minutes on Showtime at the Apollo, but a whole show? Most kids, even very talented ones, have a hard time staying on pitch. They belt. They belt a lot. It could be painful. But I want equal time. How about American Fogeys, for those of us over the 25 year limit set by AI? It could be for singers 26-36, you know, really crusty old folk. Simon could say things like, "Two words: Poli-Grip." Or, "Call your visiting nurse service and ask for a refund." I just wonder if the American public could stand to see such horribly ancient contestants, or if they would just switch back to the WB for that sweet, sweet youth they crave.

Breakin' Up Is Hard To Do

Who would have thought that conjoined twins, separated by surgeons in an unnatural procedure that demonstrates man's hubris, would have suffered setbacks in their recoveries? I'm shocked, I really am. I figured that if Western medicine thought it was a good idea to deliver these freaks and then do risky, expensive surgery to give them "normal" lives, then it couldn't fail!

Oh, I know. You hate me. I'm evil and unfeeling. All I know is that when a cat delivers a kitten who isn't quite right, she smothers it with her body. But why not subvert nature? I know it's what all the cool kids are doing!

(I am aware of the irony that choosing to remain child-free is also a subversion of nature. But this is my blog, ya know.)

Please, Internet, Help me DO IT ALL NIGHT!

It's not that I don't appreciate the efforts of internet spammers to inform me about low-cost Viagra and help me increase the size of my penis, but enough is enough! That's all the spam is these days. Viagra and penis enlargement! Penis enlargement and Viagra! I. Don't. Care. Leave me alone, spammers! I have no penis! I don't need your Viagra! I am a healthy, 29 year old WOMAN. Go away! Aaaaaargh!

Free at Last!

Mercury is finally out of retrograde and it's time to get back to business.

Whoever wrote the copy for IBM's new ThinkPad subway ads needs to relearn grammar. "None of these posters have been stolen," is just wrong. Think of "none" as a contraction of "not one." You'll find that the correct form for this sentence is "None of these posters has been stolen." I know, I know, grammar isn't important in the digital age.

I've been so busy lately that my wall of calendars is still on March.

If anyone can shed some light on the deeper meaning of Freda Payne's "Band of Gold," I'm all ears.

I was actually impressed by the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series finale. It was almost as if whoever wrote, directed, and acted in the show had actually seen it before. I'll list my grievances, then praise. First, the Slayerettes don't get to make a choice, as Buffy says in the big speech. How could they? If one of them chose not to have the Slayer power, would they not do the spell? Then anyone who chose to have the power wouldn't get their choice. I think that wording was a way of throwing the viewer off the scent, to the conclusion I came to, that they were going to activate Slayers by killing and raising them. More complicated, but at least rooted in the show's mythology, unlike the vague spell to activate all potential Slayers that they just pulled out of their asses. (Reminds me of the troll hammer Buffy used to defeat Glory. Not originally the hammer of a Troll God, but just of a troll. When did Olaf become a God?) The spell thing is my second grievance. Third, why does Xander have to give the dead Anya such a backhanded compliment? "That's my girl, always doing the stupid thing." Sure, it's supposed to convey that Andrew's life was worthless and she shouldn't have protected him, but since when did Anya always do "the stupid thing?" Xander was never nice enough to her. Bad Xander. And the big one: There was no reason to wait until the very last moment to do the Slayer activation spell. If Willow could do it, why couldn't she just do it at the house, get them all used to their new powers, and give the scythe to Buffy before she goes into the Hellmouth? It makes absolutely no sense. There was no pressing time constraint. Saving it for the last minute was such an obvious contrivance to make the viewer anxious. It just annoyed me.

Now praise. Buffy was actually tolerable. I even liked her again. I was almost sad when I thought she was going to die. The scenes with Angel brought back her humanity, ironically. And those scenes also showed how much the character of Angel has changed since the spinoff. He has a sense of humour and he's less mopey. I like that they kept an opening for the "someday" of them both becoming who they need to become before they can see a future with each other. The demise of Spike was brilliant. He was never meant to be a vampire with a soul. Angel was right to be annoyed. Spike was able to do one truly good thing before he paid for all his misdeeds. The interaction between Willow, Xander, Giles and Buffy before the big fight was awesome, even if the sound was screwy. Willow and Xander were like Willow and Xander again. Andrew was really funny, giving a shout-out to Tucker... And the reference to homestarrunner.com (Trogdor the Burninator!) was inspired. The idea of Giles playing D&D with the dorks cracked me up. But a hoodie on Giles? A bit much. The conversation between Wood and Faith seemed natural and cool. Leaving Sunnydale as just a big crater was a great idea. Very reminiscent of blowing up the school at the end of Season Three (otherwise known as The Best Season Ever). The First Evil as Buffy talking to Buffy was very awesome.

Wait, how do they know they are free of the First? I mean, it's incorporeal and really evil. Like, the evillest. I guess that will just have to be filed with the question of why all the citizens of Sunnydale fled for apparently no reason.

Where was I? Oh, right, liking the finale. So, I was impressed. I would have liked a funny line at the end, but I guess we can't have everything. I am sad that Anya died and Dawn lived, because Anya was a lot better than Dawn. I am glad Spike died so we don't have to get him on Angel. All in all, much better than I thought it would be, and much better after the second commercial break. I forgive, you Joss, but you still have to stay in the cellar for a while before I can trust you again. I heard what happened on the season finale of Angel and I am not amused.

We Interrupt This Blog...

Sorry I haven't posted since Wednesday, but things have been kind of strange. I was let go by my job on Thursday, even though I am still working through the end of the month. I had to give up on the apartment. I can't stay in my current apartment. I need to get with a temp agency so I can get find someone to take me on as a roommate. It's all so very strange. I feel a little paralyzed, probably because I am still here in the office. But I don't want to give up that extra pay! So, if I'm not blogging much, it's because I just don't feel inspired to write about anything at all.

Oh, HELL No

The Maternal Girl must have paid Netscape a few bucks to create an all-Madonna channel in Radio@Netscape to promote her new album, American Life. Being an erstwhile Madonna fan, I decided to check it out. For every "Burning Up" or "Cherish," there are thre or four tracks from the new one. And boy, does it stink. I'd heard about "American Life," and was able to do some second-hand mocking, but having actually heard the song, it's almost too much. I just can't find the words to express how bad the song is. And the rapping! Madonna! Stop! You want Lourdes and Rocco to respect your work? Stop making records. At least stop writing the lyrics and letting third-rate djs mix them.

The rapping: "I've got a manager, three nannies and a private jet..." What the hell? Is it all about the Benjamins all of the sudden? The whole song is about where she is in "this American Life." I've got news for you Madonna, I don't care how hard you worked to get where you are and how much bling bling you've got on the baby's stroller. Anyone who has owned a TV in the last fifteen years already knows. You've told us over and over about your freaking hard knock life. Breaking News! Did you hear that Madonna's mother, who was also named Madonna, died when Madonna was just a child? Did you know that Madonna sucked off djs to have her records played at Danceteria? Yes? Of course you did, because everyone knows.

"I'd like to express my extreme point of view, I'm not a Christian, I'm not a Jew..." That's extreme, Madonna. Extremely STUPID. And what's with the repetition of "Unh... Fuck it!" Yes, very scholarly. Quite the commentary on American life. Bravo, Mrs. Ritchie.

>urp<

Sorry, I had to throw up a little bit. In conclusion, all post-Bedtime Stories Madonna might as well be trash bin material. That's my extreme point of view.

I'm Over It

Ever wonder why I don't criticize other people's writing (not counting TV writers) or have a comments option on this blog? Because I hate how interactivity on the Internet makes people rude and surly, and above all, filled with self-righteous indignation. See, I have plenty of my own self-righteous indignation to spread around this here blog. That's why the blog exists. It's a fabulous little exercise in onanism, where I scribble scrabble dabble about what I want to, without the fear of someone blasting me for it. I'm not getting paid. I only have a handful of readers, most of whom are my friends. I most definitely would not want to get into a pissing match with another blogger, not only because I don't have that much confidence in my writing skills, but the concept of flaming became passe for me around 1995. And let's face it, all this nastiness is just flaming in plastic nose and moustache.

What am I talking about? OK, here's a scenario. Blogger A is a fairly well-known web personality who lost her fame-making gig a few years ago. She noodles around on her blog, to kill time between real writing gigs, and ostensibly to hone her skillz. She starts writing for a well-known website and links to her blog at the end of her pieces. Blogger B takes some issue with an article A writes. He may or may not have read her work from her old job or in the blog. He writes an ill-informed post, harshly criticizing and unfairly labeling her. He has "comments." Blogger A links to this post in her blog. A's fanatical readership (mostly folks who have been reading her stuff since time immemorial) flames B on his own blog. Many of those don't seem to have checked out his archives, which is what they accuse B of doing to A. B snarks back a few times, arrogant and wrapped in Internet Asbestos. I was unimpressed by all of it.

Blogger B certainly has a right to criticize something he reads in a widely published forum. Usually, people write a letter to the editor for this purpose, but a blogger knows he will always be published. His criticism was pretty silly, and less about Blogger A's writing than about her personal life, about which he seems to know very little. Blogger A posting the critique was a bit over the top: she must have known what her minions would do. Finally, the scrummy little defenders of Blogger A just need to get a collective grip. If blog commenting is just flaming in a cheap disguise, flaming is just schoolyard taunting from a distance. Can we all please grow up a little? I'm not asking for much, just common courtesy. If you want to criticize, take issue with or attempt to humiliate an online writer, I strongly suggest writing well -- very well --, disabling "comments," and taking a deep breath before you type letter one. See, I'm not hurting Dubya's feeling when I criticize him here. He's not reading my blog, and even if he is, I doubt he cares what I think. I'm not registered with a party. But if I were to tear apart a fellow blogger's work and imply that he was a Communist or not very bright or that he wears bad clothes, it might get back to him, and regardless of the thick skin and snarky attitude he might show, it could hurt his feelings. And why? What would be the purpose served. To make myself look oh-so-clever? Bump that, I say.

There's too much nastiness going around. At least we can be nice to each other. Get over the flaming, already.

Great

This always happens. Whenever I'm broke, I feel like I have to eat and eat and eat. I don't physically feel hungry, but right now, I sure could eat another hamburger. Oy. Where are you, money tree?

Sometimes I Just Want to Cry

So there I am, fretting over my budget and all the upcoming expenses of moving, and I think, "Well, at least there are some box lunches left from yesterday's meeting." Looking forward to a free lunch followed by a free dinner at GMHC, I skip downstairs to the refrigerator, where I find, to my dismay, no lunches. I mean, there were twenty of them in there last night. They weren't thrown out. Someone scammed all but three of them, and the last were taken buy the folks to whom I so generously offered them this morning (when I still thought there were plenty). To say I lose my temper would be an understatement. Still, I get myself under control, grudgingly go to the bank to withdraw some cash from my overdraft account, and scoot on down to Wendy's to take advantage of their cheap fries. I order a single and medium fries. Placated by the $3.88 total but still slightly despondent, I trudge back to the office, smoking my second cigarette in fifteen minutes. Everything seems to be going okay until I take a bite out of my sandwich. The damn thing is just a burger on a bun. No mayonnaise. No lettuce. No tomato. Sure, I said "no cheese," but this is ridiculous. Did I do something to deserve this?

Couldn't Have Said It Better Myself

Salon has wooed me into the "Day Pass" with the title: "Why Spike Ruined 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer.'" Brief and to the point, this essay pinpoints the biggest problem with Season Seven, the thing I just couldn't quite put my finger on. Totally worth the 15-second commercial for "Mr. Personality."

Count Your Blessings

I am not obese, deformed or physically disabled. I don't have any life-threatening illnesses. I'm not psychotic and I don't need to take drugs to keep my brain balanced. I'm not indigent, homeless, or even unemployed. I'm not an orphan. I have all my limbs. I don't have asthma, diabetes or high blood pressure. None of my relatives are in jail or are insane. I'm not in jail, nor do I have a criminal record. I don't have a moustache or a port-wine birthmark or a cleft palate. I don't have psoriasis or super-acne. I'm not starving or thirsty or in need of basic shelter. I don't live in an area that is frequently hit by bombs or gunfire. (I said frequently.) I don't have children I can't support. I'm not addicted to drugs. I am not a street prostitute. I am not beaten. I have never been threatened with a weapon. I have never been raped or mugged or kidnapped. I'm not blind or deaf. I've got it pretty good.

I have an apartment, a job, a boyfriend, and friends and family who love me. I can sing, and I'm funny. I'm also smart and good-looking. Hell, I'm foxy. I can put together an outfit and make a great pot roast. I'm a great kisser, among other things. I can yo-yo and hula hoop. That's good stuff.

Who cares if my skin isn't perfect, if I have big thighs and a belly, if I walk with my toes pointed out, if I get cold sores, if my hands are sweaty, if I have one little STD... I mean, who cares, really? This is life. Life isn't perfect. I am so thankful that I'm not afflicted with anything from the first paragraph, that getting upset over a pimple would be stupid. This is life. This is the only one we get. Any time spent worrying over what we weren't born like or what could have been is a waste. My body is the way it is because of genetics and the life I've led. It's not so bad. Overall, it's pretty great. Plus, my body isn't all I've got. I'd be pretty unhappy in, say, Christopher Reeve's place, but if I could talk, and read, and listen to music, and watch films and plays, it certainly wouldn't be the end.

I think sometimes you just have to stop and think, hey, this is my life. Check it out. It's a weird sensation, when you stop thinking all that other stuff: What am I going to wear tomorrow? How can I get a raise at work? Should I buy new curtains? Where is my relationship going? How could they vote Christy off Survivor? You know, that stuff you think, constantly. Just stop and check it out. This is your life.

You Say Po-tay-to, I Say Po-tah-to

Is "state's propaganda machine" the correct term for China's media or national spokesmen? It sounds a little judgemental to me. Why don't we ever call the New York Post or FOX News or Ari Fleischer the US propaganda machine? Oh wait, I already do...

Something To Think About

Hooters is celebrating its 20th anniversary, which means it opened in 1983. (Thank you. No, I was not a math major.)

The deadline for ratification of the Equal Rights Amendment was in 1982.

An Open Letter

Dear Manufacturers and Marketers of Greeting Cards, Flowers, Jewelry, Candy and Those Goddamned Vermont Teddy Bears,

Thank you for bombarding me with advertising images, messages, and spam reminding me that I have no reason to celebrate Mother's Day. Not only did you torment me on Valentine's Day, reminding me of my pathetic loneliness, but now you have to rub it in my face that I don't have a Mommy anymore. Actually, I really appreciate your tough love therapy techniques. How else could I suck it up and get over it, if I weren't being constantly reminded of the joy of a mother's love and how she's always there for you, unconditionally, so buy her a fancy necklace and some Jean Nate'. One thing I would recommend, though: Make sure you print a disclaimer on the order form that states that the purchase of an expensive and thoughtful piece of Lenox jewelry will not have the power to prevent death, because that's where I got confused last time.

Again, thank you for your help in salting my psychic wounds. I couldn't do it without you!

Love,

Alexia

Bruised, But Not Broken

Kids, if you're like me, then you know how much fun it is to get really drunk and trade punches with your friends. I can only hope you're nothing like me. Anyway, I offered to take a punch from a guy on Saturday night and (even though I fooled him and deflected most of it) it left one doozy of a bruise on my upper arm. Let me preface this by saying that I bruise very easily. Often, I find little mystery bruises on my legs and arms that come from brushing against furniture or someone touching me. I even bruised the heel of my hand turning off my kitchen faucet the other day. This is why I keep a supply of arnica gel (homeopathic bruise remedy that totally works) on hand at all times. My bruises are legendary and my capacity for bruising well-known among my closest friends.

But this one is above par. I knew it was going to be good immediately. It had that feverish pink color about it, and the muscle hurt just to touch. In two hours it was purpling up nicely. If you make a fist and look at the punching knuckles, it's about that size and vaguely heart-shaped. It's fading quickly because of the arnica, but now it's greenish-purple with yellow in the center. The coolest part is that it's freckled with little dark purple dots, like flat goosebumps. I'm really proud of it, but no one has mentioned it, even though I'm wearing a sleeveless dress today. I'm planning on using the "karate mishap" excuse, which is technically true. Maybe everyone is afraid to ask because they think I'm a victim if domestic abuse. If that's true, then screw them for not trying to get me to a shelter!

This bruise won't trump the 1999 "rip in the space-time continuum" on my left calf, or the 1997 bruise that left an actual dent in my ass, but it's up there with the super knee bruise from last month, which is still healing, and the monster bruise I got from my friend biting me pit-bull style on the arm at Ace bar. Seriously, I'm a nice girl. I just bruise easily, am clumsy, and occasionally like to participate in strength/pain trials with my friends. Is that so wrong?

Big Surprise

Once again, Israel proves that it doesn't really want peace. What it really wants is complete segregation. It's sickening. I still hold by my "let the whole Mideast blow the hell out of itself" foreign policy.* Unless they have something important to disagree on, not simply race and religion, I'll never respect either side of the conflict.

*This is called sarcasm, FYI.

Vindicated!

My man Pete Townsend has been cleared of those child pornography charges. Wouldn't it make sense for the internet providers to ban access to sites deemed illegal by their government of origin? Then violating the law out of ignornace wouldn't even be a possibility. I'm just sayin'.

Yay for Pete! I am appalled that they have registered him in the sex offenders register for five years, though. What a load of crap.

Who Needs A Degree In Broadcast Journalism?

These days, they'll let anyone be a sports reporter. Personally, I think the continued success of this wannbe-black pipsqueak is a sign of the End of Days.

Get Up-ah! Get On Up!

James Brown turned 70, and he's playing somewhere locally. If I could only figure out what that damn "Backwards Oldie" is, maybe I could win tickets. This morning it was a song I'd never even heard before, which is very rare. Last Friday it was "Feels So Nice" by Chuck Mangione, and I totally knew it, but I didn't know the phone number to call. Figures. What I really want tickets to is Boston, though. That would be awesome. It's amazing how many old rock 'n' roll acts are playing this summer. Iron Maiden, Motorhead, Dio, KISS, Aerosmith, Peter Gabriel, Poison, Skid Row, Skynyrd, The Allman Brothers...

Ooh, The Fab Faux are playing at Irving Plaza this month! Now, that would be neat. I hear they're a great Beatles tribute band.

I Lost It At Inspiration Point

I've run out of ideas. Anyone have suggestions? Topics?

All I have is this: I want to rent La Cage Aux Folles (the musical version), and own Midnight Madness.

That's Doggone Silly

When it comes to veterinary medicine, there comes a point where you just have the animal put down. And that point is when the vet hands you a $30,000 bill for your dog's heart surgery. Yeesh.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy No More

I read about this girl in the Sunday Times this week. When I was reading about her condition, I couldn't believe she was still alive, and wondered how she would ever live a normal life. She was on a ventilator, with her eyes sewn shut because her eyelids had been burned off. Her hands were so badly burned that, had she lived, she would have had to use prosthetics. Her hair would never grow back. I found it very sad, mostly because her father had quit his job and her mother had cut back on her hours so that they could be by her side every day. Her mother thought that God had spared her for some reason, because she not only survived the fire, but also a fungal infection that threatened her life last month. Now she's gone, and what does the mother think now?

It's Like a Freaking Clown Car

Oh yes, please, let's have one more Democrat in the 2004 presidential race to confuse and splinter the voters. Especially one in his late sixties. Hooray for the inability of the Democratic party to recognize the strongest asset of the GOP: blind devotion to the party line. I'm no fan of the two-party system (or the any-party system), but for it to remain strong, there need to actually be two parties, not one cohesive unit and a scattered mass of people who kind of agree with each other.

Also Known As A Cliffhanger

In last year's Alias season finale, we though Vaughn had drowned after the destruction of the ginormous Rambaldi device and we found that "The Man" was none other than Sydney's presumed-dead KGB mama. That was intense, sure. But last night, Sydney wakes up in Hong Kong, with her last memory being shooting the Francie double after finding Will gutted in the bathtub. She's sent to the safe house, where Vaughn arrives to explain/find out what has happened. It seems that he no longer works for the CIA, is married, and thought Sydney was dead because she has been missing for two years. Two freaking years! What happened to "el dire"? What about Sloane and Derevko and Sark? Was Sydney drugged? Conditioned? What's that white scar on her belly? How come her hair is the same length as it was two years ago? Has she been a double agent, unknowingly? Did the prophecy come true? Now, that's a cliffhanger!

Speaking of things you watch, I saw Spellbound this weekend, which is a documentary about eight students preparing for and competing in the National Spelling Bee. It was awesome. The direction and editing really made for a suspenseful film. After the introductions of the students themselves, I had my favorites, and one I particularly did not want to win, because of my irrational class bias. I was surprised, however, that some people in the sold-out audience didn't seem to be there for the same reasons I was. It was almost as if they were treating it like a Christopher Guest mockumentary, laughing at the unfortunate speech impediment of one speller, and the obvious geekiness of others. What I related to, they found unusual and deridable. That was pretty weird, but in the end, I was able to spell the winning word, so I still felt superior, which is what really matters, right? Recommended, but don't be surprised if you find yourself spelling out loud along with the contestants.

Bite My Blog

OK, I'm not trying to bite the rabbit's style, but this one will start going around. If you have a blog or a website, you should try it. Some guy who wants to live in an open source universe has created a program that scans the content of a specified webpage and creates a "poem" from it. Sure, the poems lack meter and sense, and anything resembling poetry, but they offer a new and groovy perspective on your own writing.

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It's like dada. It's like when the androids go berserk. It's like Mr. Softy with both rainbow and chocolate jimmies.

More Shocking Headlines

What a waste of a story.

"Dixie Chicks fans cheer at U.S. Concert"

The story goes on that people who actually spent money on tickets to a Dixie Chicks concert were not only fans of the band, but also enjoyed the music and cheered for them. I'm shocked. How often does that sort of thing happen? Really, did they expect that people who held rallies to smash their CDs would pay good money to boo at them? I'm still pro-Dixie Chick, though. I love that song "Sin Wagon." I probably won't buy any of their CDS, but to be fair, I haven't bought a CD since I bought A Charlie Brown Christmas two years ago.

The Opposite Of Us

Not only is it fall there now, but they've got a brothel on the stock market in Australia! What a great idea. How can you go wrong with that kind of stock? It's like having stock in a funeral home. There will never be a drop in business. And you can bet that The Daily Planet (the brothel) takes care of its employees and consequently protects its clients. Now, that's the way prostitution should be done!

I Take It Back

I take back every nice thing I ever said about the state of Georgia. Except for the parts about Backstreet. That's one great gay bar. But everything else, I renounce. Any state that will allow their schools to remain virtually segregated in the year 2003 needs to do a little house-cleaning. It's bad enough they wanted to incorporate the Stars and Bars into their new state flag (forget the race issue; it's a symbol of betrayal of the country), now white kids can have their own prom? The school has both a black and a white junior class president? What's up, Jim Crow? Separate but equal doesn't fly anymore. This grosses me out more than Orrin Hatch.

If This Is True, I Wanna Be a UN Delegate

At the end of an article on Greenpeace's clever "Most Wanted" deck of playing cards, this vision of Utopia revealed itself:

Greenpeace is also considering a nuclear-themed version of the party game Twister, Peden said. "It'll have 13 steps. We'd like to get all the delegates playing it."

Oh, if only.

Bill Gates Would Be Proud

Conflict of interest? Monopoly? You be the judge:

"Clear Channel operates about 1,200 radio stations and 19 television stations in the United States, and has an ownership stake in 250 radio stations overseas. The company is also the world's largest producer of concerts and other live events, and has major interests in billboards." -- AP

Not Very Smart

Okay, this is just crap. Spending taxpayer money on matching grants for more useless efforts to fight kidnapping and child pornography? It's just not that big of a problem. And using Elizabeth Smart, the (most likely) willing runaway as a poster child is just stupid. Hey, let's bring that cute little Mormon girl (ahem, teenager) up to the White House and let Orrin Hatch fondle her. How disgusting. The sickness that makes people obssess over child pornography and molestation abductions has infected so much of our country. It's sad and perverse. Actually, I'm getting grossed out just having to read that sentence about Hatch hugging Little Miss Child Bride.

Can You Super-Size That, Please?

How small are the people in Thailand that a woman weighing 187 pounds enters the "Jumbo Queen" pageant? The other two women quoted in the article weigh 209 and 232 pounds. Still, I'm not thinking "jumbo." I'm thinking, "zaftig", "fat", or "Lane Bryant." You want jumbo? You want to talk about triple-chins? Then these ladies must either be 4 feet tall, or they've got some much bigger contestants they're not quoting. I would think 400 pounds connotes jumbo. But maybe it's an American thing. Maybe 400 pounds would be considered just too much in Thailand. Who knows? It's a country that has a "leading transvestite actress." RuPaul's not really a transvestite actress (doing most of his acting out of drag), and Divine is dead, so do we have anyone else? And don't you have to have at least three or four to have a "leading" one? This is all so very intriguing. I mean, I heard all about Bangkok in Chess, but I never knew about all this. Maybe I'll go on a tour. They don't have SARS, do they?

FYI

I love the song "Devil Woman" by Cliff Richard. In fact, I'm okay with Cliff Richard in general. It's so strange that I never knew who the hell he was until I watched The Young Ones in 1987, and then he became just a quotable, a la Monty Python lines, but I just realized this year that I even knew any of his songs. If that makes no sense, please forgive me. If, instead, you know exactly what I'm talking about, e-mail me, because I love you.

I Can't Stand It

It's too hard. How is anyone expected to live in this city? Transit fares go up, rents go up, my salary stays the same. I just don't think grown people should be forced to cohabit just to save money. I seriously feel like crying. Just to live happily, I have to...

You know what, fuck it. Of course we have to make sacrifices. No one is ever allowed to be happy with everything. You either hate your job or your house. If I wanted to do something that would make me less money, I guess I'd suck it up and get a roommate, now, wouldn't I? Ugh, I don't know, I'm just sick and tired of this constant push and pull. I'm tired of looking at my budget and feeling suicidal. Why does today have to suck so hard?

Just Say Moo

While I was sitting on the train today, I saw a man chewing his gum with a vigor that reminded me why I don't like to chew gum. I'll do it once in a while, but I hardly ever finish a pack of gum before it gets stale. My grandmother used to reprimand us for chewing gum with our mouths open, saying that we looked like cows chewing our cud. Not a pleasant image, if you've ever seen it. But chewing gum with your mouth closed is just weird. So, I just don't tend to chew gum. As I thought about this, I caught sight of the girl sitting across from me, also working her Juicy Fruit. I was mesmerized by the chomping action and the apparent lack of self-consciousness. I mean, this is gross stuff, watching people chew gum. Then, out of nowhere, the guy standing between the chewers grabbed his sack and adjusted himself, without the slightest tinge of self-awareness or shame. And this was quite grab. It was almost porn. The moral to this story, kids? Don't look at people on the subway. Ever.

Hypocrites "R" Us

Lookee what I found in today's BiZBash Event Style Alert:

"We also scuttled down to D.C. for Washington's biggest party night of the year, where we checked out the White House correspondents' dinner and Bloomberg L.P.'s big after-party, where the assembled politicos and celebs enjoyed fun touches. As New Yorkers prepare for full enforcement of Mayor Michael Bloomberg's smoking ban to go into effect tomorrow, they'll be interested to know that the company he founded provided tented smoking lounges—outlawed by his New York ban—at his party in Washington."

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

I haven't had a spontaneous crying fit at work in a long time. But when my landlord told me that he needs two fucking months to find a new tenant for my apartment, I lost it. It's not like I have an option, because I am the one breaking the lease. But I just didn't think they would need that much time. It's not like they can't stay up here and show the apartment rather than go back down to retirement heaven in Florida tomorrow. But what can I say? I want the reference, I want the security deposit. I want to hit something very hard with my fist.