Anna Nicole Smith

Up until a few days ago, I was in her corner. I figured she was just misunderstood, a product of bad publicity and unfavourable television editing. Actually, I thought she was just getting a bad rap, as fallen beauty queens always do.

And then I read THIS

At first, I couldn't imagine what kind of mental state she must be in - still in the hospital after giving birth to her daughter and her 20 year old son drops dead in her room next to her. The joy and misery combination must be unbearable, or so I thought. But while still in mourning, she strikes a tasteless and almost unbelievable business deal with In Touch magazine for $600,000 to publish the last photo taken of her now dead son, Daniel. Even though she said she couldn't remember him dying.

When she married the 89 year old oil tycoon, I just figured she saw it as her chance to get out of what sounded like a pretty desperate life. I might have done the same thing. So I quietly rooted for her, as I sometimes do for the underdog. She saw a chance and took it without really hurting anyone.

But to find out three days after her son's death that she struck a deal with a magazine to publish what should be the most private and treasured photograph of her life - well, it makes me sick. Rest in peace, Daniel.

One Last Ride

So Sunday I took what was to be my last ride on my bicycle - unbeknownst to me - because today some asshole has STOLEN MY BIKE, which was chained up outside of the Bryn Mawr "L" stop. AARRGGHH!! I was going to get a new bike in the spring anyway . . . but still! I bought this bike about two years ago right after another asshole had STOLEN MY BIKE which I bought a week after yet another asshole had STOLEN MY JEEP. This makes the fourth bike in 7 years that some asshole have stolen from me. Clearly, I have no luck with vehicles.

But I digress . . .

My bike ride on Sunday lasted several hours, most of which was riding the 47 miles of roadways through Rose Hill Cemetery in Chicago. One of the largest (if not the largest) cemeteries in Chicago, it boasts a few famous people (hot dog king Oscar Mayer being one of them) and more than a few odd monuments and tombstones.

This is the Pearce Monument (click on images to enlarge):


which houses a sculpture of Frances M. Pearce and Frances Pearce, a mother and child who died in childbirth. It was more than just a little creeptastic. I swear the woman looked like she was going to open her eyes at any minute.

And there were some other monuments that I thought were kinda interesting, like this one, that I have titled Not Anymore. Check out the name:


And this one I call The Death of Home Cooking:


And this one I call Adolescence in Hell:

Remember when you replaced all your cassettes with CD's? This is where they are buried:


And my personal favourite tombstone:

So now I am a pedestrian again and will have to wait until next Spring before I can once again ride through cemeteries and make fun of dead people. Until then, I will just have to spend more time with The BF who has STOLEN MY HEART - and that's a whole different kind of fun.

Trainspotting

On my train ride in to work every morning, I usually sit on the right side and look out the window as my train snakes down through Edgewater and Uptown. And every morning, just south of Wilson, I see two homeless people - a man and a woman - sleeping under a tree on a large piece of cardboard. And what strikes me in the heart is that every morning when I see them, the are spooning each other while they sleep.

They are either a husband and wife who fell on hard times, or perhaps two single people who met one another on the street or in a shelter. Either way, they found each other. And it must be some comfort to them, that even in the worst of time, it's better to have someone by your side to help you get through.

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner

Back in 1967, a movie was made that shook the fabric of society. It was a comedy about a very serious subject at the time - interracial marriages. The movie was Guess Who's Coming To Dinner. Spencer Tracy (in his last film) and Katharine Hepburn (in another Oscar-winning role) played a couple who's attitudes are challenged when their white daughter brings home her black fiance. It was groundbreaking for sure.

What's truly interesting is how similar yesterday's interracial marriages are to today's same-sex marriages. The same old prejudices arise. But at the end of the film, Spencer Tracy's character gives a speech that is just as relevant today as it was almost 40 years ago. And what a way to end a career.

Read the words below and remember when they were written. They are timeless. Credit goes to writer William Rose:

Because in the final analysis, it doesn't matter a damn what we think. The only thing that matters is what they feel...and how much they feel...for each other. And if it's half...of what we felt...that's everything.

There'll be a hundred million people right here in this country... who'll be shocked and offended...and appalled at the two of you. And the two of you will just have to ride that out. Maybe every day for the rest of your lives.

You can try to ignore those people...or you can feel sorry for them and for their prejudices...and their bigotry and their blind hatreds and stupid fears. But where necessary...you'll just have to cling tight to each other...and say screw all those people!

Anybody could make a hell of a good case against your getting married. The arguments are so obvious that nobody has to make them. But you're two wonderful people...who happened to fall in love...and happen to have a pigmentation problem.

And I think that now...no matter what kind of a case some bastard could make...against your getting married...there would be only one thing worse. And that would be if...knowing what you two are...knowing what you two have...and knowing what you two feel...you didn't get married.

How Big Are You?

The other day in the gym, I was unfortunately privy to a conversation two machines over involving two twinks who, together, could bench 100 pounds. This conversation was not about working out, however. Oh no. It was about sex. And by sex I mean dick size.

Both twinks were, apparently, bottoms. The conversation went something like this:

Twink A: I don't know who she thought she was kidding.
Twink B: Oh totes. Like she could even handle that.
Twink A: She's a mess.
Twink B: Well I need at least - AT LEAST - 9 inches or it's over.
Twink A: You're preaching to the choir, sister. Gimme 10, 11, hell 12 and make me feel it!
Twink B: For real.

And after I shook off the twinkie cooties, I thought to myself, Is that supposed to be a selling point? Is being able to take something that is 12+ inches long supposed to make you more appealing? If you need something the size of a road cone in order to feel sexually satisfied, doesn't that say something about YOU?

I think it should be changed. I think, instead of the bottom asking the top "how big are you", I think the top should now ask the bottom "how gaping are you". Are you kitchen drain size or closer to Holland Tunnel size? Are we talking paper towel holder or The Big Dig? How about this: If we put a potato chip up in there and you competed in a triathlon, would the chip break?

Personally, I don't want to be with anyone who can take me and my five best friends, all at the same time. Perhaps being able to do it is something to be proud of - in private - but I don't think putting it out there is a good thing. It makes you sound . . . well . . . slutty. I'd rather be with someone who could not handle it, as opposed to both of us not feeling anything.

It's All Greek. Or French.

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Congress Fights Hollywood - Again

Yesterday it was announced that Congressional Democrats are trying to get ABC-TV to pull a miniseries about the September 11th attacks that makes then-President Bill Clinton and his aides look inept. It will be interesting to see if the Democrats have as much pull with the networks as the Republicans.

Remember, if you will, just a mere three years ago that Nancy Reagan and the Republicans pressed CBS-TV to pull the miniseries, The Reagans, because it "distorted Ronald Reagan's legacy". Nancy and the boys were successful at having it taken off of basic cable television, but the movie aired on CBS affiliate Showtime instead. I, incidentally, bought the DVD. Not because of my love of Reagan (of which there is a sore lack thereof), but because I have always had an interest in the Presidents (current one excluded, of course).

I guess now we will see if sitting Democrats have as much pull in TV-Land as an ex-First Lady with concerns that a movie might tarnish her husband's reputation and contributions? Perhaps Hillary should be the one to give ABC-TV a call instead.

Censorship

It was a sad day, several months back, when my boss blurted out to me, "Oh yeah, I read your blog all the time."

"YOU read my blog???"

"Oh yeah, you’re a great writer."

And instead of coming back with something appropriate like ‘thank you’, all I could think was SHIT!!!! What had I written about work? Who had I cut down? What had I complained about? All these thoughts about what I could have written that might affect me negatively at my job came rushing into my head. I always thought you had to eat too much ice cream to get a brain freeze, but no – you just need to be caught doing something that isn’t illegal but could still get you into a heap of trouble.

So the casual stroll my outer self took back to my office belied the agitated state my inner self was wrapped in. "ShitShitShitShitShit!" I kept thinking to myself. So I sat down and pulled up my blog and proceeded to go through and delete every post I had written that concerned my job.

And then I was mad. I was mad that I was allowing myself to be censored – not because someone told me to stop doing something, but because I thought it would be best to not dig the ditch any deeper. See, I was trying hard to fit into my office; no one there looks like me. That is, in an office of 45 people that is 72% male, I am the only one who shaves his head, has any kind of facial hair, has my kind of build, and sports a tattoo. Everyone else looks like he just stepped out of a Brooks Brothers ad. So in an effort to "fit in", I didn’t want something personal like my blog to affect my professional career.

The sad thing is, there is a TON of stuff I could write about. It’s corporate America, for petesake: where they won’t spend money to hire a receptionist but thousands are spent each month keeping free sodas in the refrigerator. And I can’t write about this stuff.

Perhaps I will start another blog where I just complain about my job. And if I do, I will let you know where that is. You just have to keep my boss distracted long enough for me to do that.

A Close Shave

Back in college, I had a little trouble getting stoned. Not sure why, but I would sit with my friends and watch them all ascend to LaLaLand and I seemed to stay sober as a judge. “It never happens your first time,” I would hear. But after time number 8, we figured something was wrong. BF#2 said that I was perhaps thinking about it too much, whatever that means. But we decided that I perhaps needed a little more guidance on the subject. So BF#2 enlisted the aid of the biggest pothead we knew on campus. He said he would get me higher than a kite if I, in turn, taught him how to do one thing...

Shave.

Being as I was one of the few guys in school with a decent amount of facial hair, he figured that I was a pro at this and wanted me to impart my wisdom because he always seemed to be ripping his face apart when he attempted to shave. So I asked him what his procedure was and he told me that he basically just took a razor to his face. I found it interesting when he explained that he was raised by a single mother and no one ever showed him how to properly shave his beard. And I was struck by how many others like him there probably was – boys, raised by single women, who are either too proud or too embarrassed to ask their mothers how to begin being a man.

(Let me flash forward here for a second and say that The BF has got to be shaking his head at this. He thinks I shave too quickly and too dangerously. But I almost never knick or cut myself - its just years of practice and good technique.)

So that following Saturday afternoon, Chris – the stoner dude – called me in my dorm and asked me for a lesson. We were an odd pair as we ventured to the Piggly Wiggly (I went to a southern college) and bought a decent razor, shaving cream, exfoliant and after shave balm. Then we returned to his dorm and I walked him through the process:

1. Always shower first. The steam from the shower helps to soften the beard area. I personally shave in the shower.
2. Always exfoliate the area you are going to shave. It gets rid of dead skin cells and softens the face.
3. Invest in a good razor (don’t use those disposable Bic things) and be sure to use a clean blade. The life of a razor blade is dependent on the thickness of your hair growth. Personally, I change blades about once every other week.
4. Lather up the face and shave with the grain of your beard. Rinse the razor frequently with hot water.
5. Rinse your face in cold water to close your pores.
6. Apply a soothing gel or balm to the area to recondition the skin.

Later that evening at a house party, Chris approached me with a broad grin, a smooth face, and a beer. He thanked me for helping him out and not making such a big deal about it. He said he didn’t have a dad or a big brother to teach him how to do a lot of things. And he appreciated my help. Then he gave me the beer, put his arm around my shoulders and led me outside.

And that night, I got higher than the Empire State Building.

The Third Generation

I have some pretty terrific nieces and nephews; eight, in fact. Every time I go home, they are affectionate and friendly, which has surprised me because there have been times when months go by between visits. I have to give alot of credit to my parents and siblings for keeping me present in the kids' lives. It would be very easy for them to be a little distant from me when they don't really know me except for what they hear and the stories my family tells.

But with every trip home, I am greeted with shouts, warm hugs and homemade presents, be them crafts or just pictures torn from a colouring book: I have a small woven basket that serves as my change holder, a coffee mug with bugs drawn on it I use as a pencil holder, a flower refrigerator magnet, countless portraits, and thank you cards for every birthday card or present I have ever sent them.

I talk alot about my siblings alot, but I don't mention their children and how proud I am of them. It is harder to be away from my nephews and nieces now than it was when they were children. They email me now and tell me about new pet turtles, or homeruns, or good grades. Every time I travel home, one of them seems to have grown a foot taller.

Kim has two sons (John 22 and Seth 20), Matt has four sons (Shaene 25, Bjorn 15, Ethan 13, and Liam 9), and Mike has two daughters (ages Jordan 11 and Mikayla 6). Each child is very unique in much the same ways Kim, Matt, Mike and I were. They all have very different interests, so my parents - who used to have to attend games, plays and concerts for 4 kids - now have to do double time for 8 grandchildren.

And as cousins, they treat each other more like brothers and sisters because they are around each other so often. They fight, argue, debate, and laugh together. They all get along extremely well and they are kind to one another. One of the funny things, though, is that each of my siblings has a child that is his/her splitting image; so it's like watching them all grow up again. And as I will never have a child of my own, these are my children in a way. And I think I've done a pretty good job.

Mr Gisby's Celeb-A-Likes

A few months ago, I introduced some of you to Mr. Gisby's Totally Gay Pet Shop. Basically, this shit just makes me laugh. And I am still holding out for a tee shirt with my fave animal on it. Visit the site and become a fan, just like me.

Project Runway Recap

I am not one to do re-caps of shows, but the last few Project Runway's have been so stressful that I have a few things to share.

First of all, last night was Angela's long overdue good-bye (now she can go back to the farm in Ohio with her whiney, big baby of a mother and shoot squirrels with cousin Jack, the "redneck jetsetter" or whatever the hell cousin Phyllis calls him). That outfit she made last night looked ridiculous. Having no concept of what a jetsetter is means that Angela's future aspirations of designing clothes falls someplace between WalMart and Dollar General. I seriously think she should look into designing for children, because that outfit had "2-year old" all over it.

Kayne sorta had the right idea, but it got blown away in the windmills of his mind. I think the print on the shirt would have been just fine had it been in muted grays or black instead of white and fuschia - something to catch the light rather than something to make you go blind. Kayne can be a bit tacky and last night showed that. He seems to drop the ball when designing anything other than a pageant gown.

Laura's dress was a sliiiight departure from what she has done so far, but all of her clothes are constructed for high-waisted women with no tits - in short, for herself. I thought the champagne colour of her dress was awful and would not be flattering on most women, showing every bump and flaw. I do think that she will be in the top four though.

The others in the top four wil be Jeffrey (who's outfit last night might have been cool but I've seen it a thousand times already), Uli (it takes alot of talent to put patterns like that together and not look like a clown), and my fave Michael (who, I expect, P. Diddy or Jay-Z will be snagging up to work on their lines).

Now about last week --

Yes, Robert deserved to go but in his defense there is only so much you can do with a size 26 woman. I think if he had not been so boring in his last few challenges, he would have survived that round. I think the REAL challenge should have been for ALL of them to design for plus size models. The playing field, on the show, was not level at all.

And back to Angela's big baby of a mother ....

And now off of her again.

Uli should have won that challenge because Kayne's momma looked adorable. Vincent's dress for Uli's mother was HEINOUS. A collar that doesn't continue around the back of the neck? Uli's mother already has a ton of style - she would have looked good in one of those peanut sacks from the recycled challenge. But Vincent made a dress with no collar and no sleeves that was bunchy. Yet the judges loved it.

The judges lately have been very contradictory: Michael Kors told Kayne that "younger" is not a bad word, but Angela's dress for Laura's mother was not "age appropriate". Robert was told to not listen to his client and think like a designer, but Jeffrey was told to stop doing what he wanted and listen to his client. This was all in the same episode.

The BF says that eliminations 1-12 don't really matter, that the judges have long ago decided who the top three will be and its just a matter of getting rid of everyone else at some point throughout the competition. And I think he's probably right. That being said, I can't wait until next Wednesday. Carry on!

Hanes Some Other Way

Have you seen the commercial for Hanes underwear with Michael Jordan and Kevin Bacon? It shows them cavorting around, with Kevin trying, in different scenarios, to make a basket - whether its trying to throw something in a trashcan or maybe clothes in a hamper. With each attempt, his shot is blocked by MJ.

Cute, isn't it.

Until I saw the commercial for like, oh, the 50th time, and realized that the two actors are pieced together in one shot. They weren't even in the same studio at the same time!

Were these two guys that busy that they had to shoot their scenes on different days, in possibly different cities, in order to make an underwear commercial?? It's underwear, forpetesake. The whole spot lasts maybe 15 seconds. And Michael gives the same action in all his scenes - shaking his head in disbelief while flashing that "oh, you unathletic white boy you" smile of his - it could be the same shot over and over. Hell, it might not ever be Jordan's arm in the shot; it could just be a stand-in.

However whatever animosity I might feel over this commercial is quickly erased by the new Hanes commercial of the two guys playing a form of dodgeball in their skivvies. Holy Schnikes!

Does it make any sense? Nah. Do I care? Not a bit! But I wonder if MJ can now be included in the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon Game even though he really is not in the same room with him?

Gym Etiquette

Here are a few tips to you novice gym-go'ers to help make your workout - and MINE - more pleasant and enjoyable:

1. I know those Harlequinn Romance novels are hard to put down, but please refrain from reading a chapter between sets while you are sitting on a machine, a bench, or otherwise coveting prized gym equipment from others (namely, me). Your rest time between sets should be 30 seconds or so - not 10 minutes.

2. Have some gossip for your girlfriends? Who doesn't, right! But please save it for a phone call before or after your workout, not while you are on the treadmill next to someone (namely, me) who is trying really hard to workout. It's a gym - not a coffee shop.

3. Do you lift heavy weights? I do, too. Some are very heavy. But you won't hear serious lifters (namely, me) yelling our heads off trying to lift them. So I would rather not hear you grunt and moan while trying to curl a 25lb. dumbbell. Here's a tip - if it's that hard to lift, it's too heavy for you.

4. Grandstanding impresses nobody (namely, me). Slapping on two 45lb. plates on each side of a barbell to benchpress, and then raising every part of your body except your shoulders off the bench while you are pressing, only says one thing - you're a moron. Lighter weights, correct form, and more reps will give you better results. And it's the correct way to do it.

5. Gym memberships are outrageous sometimes, aren't they? So use it. There is more to the gym than the lockerroom, sauna, and shower. If you make your way to the weight floor once in a while, you might be surprised at the results. Sweating the weight off in steamrooms only works in cartoons.

6. If you are trying to build muscle, one set of anything yields nothing.

7. Likewise, 8 different chest exercises during one trip to the gym will do you no good. Muscles need to be teased, not overworked. If you overwater a plant, it will die. Muscles are the same way.

And here are a few more items you might want to brush up on before your next trip to the gym so you don't annoy anyone (namely, me). Thank you, and good luck.

45 Years

Tomorrow, August 26th, marks my parents' 45th wedding anniversary. I am super proud and tremendously grateful for the example they have shown me. I'm sure it has not always been an easy road, but 45 years later they are each other's best friend. Aren't they cute?

My mother was a painfully shy teenager, my dad was a bit of a hell raiser. They met on a blind date at "Teen Town", a weekly Friday night dance held in a large room above the fire station. They weren't there to meet each other - they each went with a friend who was meeting someone else. Dad says he took one look at her in her red sweater and fell instantly in love - he says he can still see her standing there. My mom, on the other hand, needed more convincing. Dad, it seemed, was a little too rough around the edges for her (apparently not ALL women love a bad boy). My dad had to really clean up his act before Mom would even grant him the first date. They dated for 4 years and got married in 1961.

Theirs is a fairy tale marriage of sorts - rarely spending a night apart except for an occasional hospital stay; doing wood crafts together in a workshop they created in the backyard; she bakes/he barbeques. They have 4 children whom they raised to be very independent, yet appreciate a strong sense of family. And they have 8 grandchildren that made my parents even more loving than they already were.

Mom retired about 5 years ago but Dad is still working at 65 (Mom won't let him retire because she said he will just sit around and do nothing and that's not good for him - besides, she adds, he will just get on her nerves). She spends her day tidying their house, working on projects she makes for herself, going to Curves 3 times a week, and doing a load of laundry every day (how two short people can create one load of laundry every day is beyond me). Dad is basically just a PR man at his job now - he knows everyone in the county and vice versa. He's been asked a hundred times to run for office, but he was always afraid it would cut into his time with his family.

My siblings and I gave them a party for their 25th anniversary, and then another on their 40th - just 6 weeks after Dad's quintuple bypass. Mom says she doesn't want a party for their 50th, but Dad says he does (I guess sometimes you just can't take the bad out of the boy). Of course we will have a party for them -- how could we not?

They have been wonderful role models for me on how to compromise, accept, argue, appreciate and love. I count the success and endurance of their marriage among my most treasured things.

Too Soon

Seriously, I think it's just too soon.

In 30, 20, perhaps even 10 years from now, a movie like this will be important - to remind us what happened, to tell the stories of those who lived through it, and to honor the memory of those who didn't.

However today, 5 years later, there are still people who cannot leave their homes because of it, who cannot work because of it, cannot get on a train, or go into an elevator, or hear a plane fly overhead without feeling fear and panic ... because of it. I think it's too soon for a reminder.

There are 5 year old children who have never met a parent, nor could they possibly understand why - even I don't completely understand why myself. And I think it is wrong of Oliver Stone to exploit it, just as I think its been wrong for "W" to shove this day down our throats, using fear to keep us in line.

The recent threat that occured in the UK at Heathrow is enough to instantly take all of us back to that day. Reports about bombs on planes immediately frighten and immobilize us. Of course, any threat to us on American soil shakes our very faith in man and his capabilities.

Personally, I will not pay money to sit in a theatre for that same feeling, and relive something that we already live over day after day after day.

PDA

Here is my take on the whole PDA thing (and by PDA I mean Public Display of Affection, not personal digitial assistant). I am totally for it. I think it's fine. I hate seeing it. Ok, the truth is, I am not sure where I stand on this issue: when I see it happening, it sometimes bothers me, but when I am doing it I am not even considering what those around me might be thinking.

I think there are levels of acceptable PDA. For example, I don't need to see two people going at it on the train. In the morning. Before I've eaten. And they are both ugly (that's right, I am talking to YOU TWO on the red line who get on at Sheridan at 7:13am). Actually, the only acceptable PDA on the train in the morning is a quick goodbye smooch from one person to another. That's it, folks. Save the rest for later. You don't need to be holding hands or sleeping on each other - we can all tell you are a couple.

Actually that used to be my stand on PDA. I figured it was more for the benefit of those standing around rather than the two people engaging in it - like marking your territory so that everyone can see that this is YOUR property and no one else can step foot on it. You may as well just whip it out and pee all over the other person to leave your scent (although I am quite sure that happens anyway).

But my attitude softened somewhat as I got older and less defensive. My saving grace is that I have an aversion to being touched by people I don't know well. That, coupled with just being so darn cuddly-looking, has created some tension for me in public places. I don't like being groped and grabbed by people, namely men. True, my arms are quite large, but believe me when I tell you that, believe it or not, they feel like arms (I am out for a night with my friends, not a science project for sensory development).

I am not the guy you would ever see making out with someone in a public place, be it a bar or even on the street. Hell, I cannot even remember the last time I left a bar with someone I wasn't dating (when single, I keep that stuff kinda private - I don't want the bar queens keeping track of who I am "leaving with" that night). The extent of my PDA is perhaps a quick kiss now and then, some hand-holding, and possibly some back-rubbing. And it's not about marking my territory as much as it is about the fact that The BF is just so damned cute I can't keep my hands off of him.

Tat Two

I've been thinking that it might be time for me to begin getting my second tattoo. My first one, which was a huge undertaking for a first time, is now two years old and I am still asked if it's new. The colour has held up very well. So now I think something smaller, this time a design with my name, placed between my shoulder blades. Nothing as detailed as before, however.

If you, like me, are thinking of getting another tattoo, but you're fresh out of inspiration check out legendary tat blog Needled who believe "One must be a work of art or wear a work of art."

I'll watch Miami Ink now and then because I am always fascinated as to why someone gets a tattoo. Some people will say that they want something that reminds them of an event or a time in their lives or maybe someone else - perhaps someone they lost or used to know. One guy wanted a tattoo to remind him of his son. But I thought if you need a tattoo to remind you of your child, you probably shouldn't be a father in the first place. Another woman wanted a tattoo to remind her of herself (I swear to God, that's what she said). Why did I chose mine? Cause it's pretty.

Tattoo trend site also worth a visit is Tattoo Now. They've got loads of the latest artwork to browse and if you live in the US, an artists classifieds.

Otherwise....just be a tattoo voyeur and browse the Flickr tag to see what the planet is up to.....or if your love E! here are all the celeb tattoos you can think of.

August 18

I have been keeping a journal since 1982. It was a project started in an English class in high school and I have managed to keep it going for over 20 years now. Every so often, I will look back on a particular day, just to see what I was doing, say 5, 10 even 20 years ago. I have done this before on October 20th, November 29th, January 12th, March 23rd, and June 1st.

Today being August 18th, I went back through the last 24 years to see where I was and what I was doing on this day many years back:

2005 - Spent the day traveling to Sacred Heart Hospital to prep for open heart surgery the following day to repair 4 blocked arteries. Surgery began at 12:30pm and ended at 6:30pm. Recovery followed.

2004 - Arrived in Provincetown just in time for the Carnival Parade down Commonwealth. Drunken revelry followed.

2003 - 9:30 appointment with Dr. Markowitz (dentist) for a routine cleaning.

2002 - Took the day off to recuperate from my friend Poodle's weekend visit from NYC.

2001 - Apartment shopped - looked at 1619 Swann at 4:00. Had dinner with friend Steve T. Went to JR's afterwards.

2000 - Went to Philly for the weekend and experienced my first (and only) time in a bathhouse with a British pilot I met at Woody's named Danny.

1999 - Worked until 8pm then went to JR's with friend "Bodybuilder Bill".

1997 - Fully recovered from a bout with pink eye. Went to Cobalt (the original one before the, um . . . "fire") with Ex#3.

1995 - Submitted resignation from my job so that I could move to DC to start my new job on September 15th.

1994 - Friend Ron M. calls from Israel. Go to Pittsburgh with friend Kathy V. to see her sister in a production of Noises Off. Prepare for 10-Year high school reunion the following day. Take Kathy as my date. Fool everyone. I think.

1993 - Mail deposit for phone service (had to do that back then). Watch Peter's Friends at friend Rick C.'s place. Call Ex#2 in NYC.

1992 - Rent car for drive to South Carolina to pick up Ex#2 and bring back to school for senior year.

1990 - Shopping at the mall and see Ghost with best friend Jeff.

1987 - Water rationing begins due to drought in western Maryland.

1986 - Attend a seminar in Shippensburg, PA for work at hotel.

1985 - Visit friends Pam and Chris to see their new baby.

1984 - Work 11-3 at McDonald's (yep, did that in high school).

1983 - Football practice. Chosen as Co-Captain for my senior year. Cookout at friend Dave's house.

1982 - Babysit for neighbor's kids 9am - 1pm, then go to library to cram summer reading before school starts back in one week.

Janice Dickinson

If she was my boss, I would hate her.

If she was my employee, I would hate her.

If she was my co-worker, I would hate her.

If she was my neighbor, I would hate her.

But as the star of The Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency - I love the shit out of her. She makes damn good television. She's a reviting, hypnotic, train wreck of a has-been who just refuses to go away. Her banal, screechy, rants are exhausting, tiresome, and entertaining all at once. She comes across as being fake yet genuine, callous yet loving, dishonest yet truthful. And as wild as she is, its easy to forget that in her hey-day, she was quite the beauitful young woman.

She is the first person to admit that she's a mess. She's not been shy about her journies with plastic surgeries, 3 divorces, countless sexcapades, and previous alcohol and drug abuse. Along the way, the self-proclaimed "first supermodel" (I actually think that title belongs to Lauren Hutton) has acquired tons of ego, but somehow taste has eluded her. But she is a survivor. Gay men dig her because she can be bawdy and brash while dripping in diamonds and couture (or maybe that's just why I dig her). But to bring it back to my original point - she is just damn good television.

Her show ended Tuesday night, but I am sure re-runs will be out there and I think another season is in the works. This is her third reality show, which is triumphant for a woman whose reality changes minute by minute, and is practically unsure what the word "real" means.

You. Go. Girl.