How to write on days like this...UPDATED

My friend Brian from down south sent this link for hurricane footage:
Hurricane Galleries

Okay, now back to the original blog.


Hey Everyone,

It's super tough to write about anything when you keep hearing about the tragedies going on in New Orleans and elsewhere in the US. While taping On Q Live yesterday everything was going exceptionally well. I met the hosts who are all extremely funny and charming, I didn't have to actually strip on the show as I'd worried I'd have to next to all of the no-body fat strippers who were way hot, and then I began my segment. Everything went well-- um, except that none of the questions I'd been prepped for were actually asked so I had to fake the whole thing-- but in the end it was fine. Then we sat there while the live news segment went on and because we'd all been working and cut off we'd missed a lot of the aftermath that was hitting this part of the US.

We sat there stunned. I mean, here I am freaking out about a house and trying to get movers in, and worrying that I wasn't funny because I had to improv my bits, and there are people dying because of this storm. I have a home. Just because I don't have my faggoty hard word floors right now doesn't matter. Millions have no place to live and they don't have the family, friends, jobs or resources that many of us are blessed with. It reminds me of why we should all dust off our cynical caps and pray every now and then. For them and for us, to be thankful, and to realize how precious life is and how precarious our place is within the universe. It's stunning.

Here are some links:
The Red Cross has already set up a disaster relief fund. 1-800-help-now if you want to call. They did an excellent job during 9/11.

My friendMike has a blog where he connects with friends in the area. Here's some stuff he said to me this morning: i am close contact with friends from there, but it is so hard to get any real info. even my friends in baton rouge do not have elec and are relying on sat. The looting and lawlessness continues. Unfortunately, the Louisiana National Guard is deployed in IRAQ so no troops are not as available for this disaster. The Governor is asking for help from other states to help seal and protect the city of New Orleans and MP's have been pulled temporarily for this purpose. The President must issue a special order allowing US troops to help in this devastation (due to there being no National Guard). The President is still on vacation and has not authorized those troops.

That's the word on this end. If you hear more or know of other good blogs, send the links here or e-mail me. I'll be keeping this updated throughout the week.

Rick on TV again!

Hey Kids,

If you're one of the lucky few who gets the Q Television Network, I'm going to be on On Q Live on Tuesday. And if it's live, God only knows what I might end up doing. I'm supposed to talk about Mondo Homo, teach the hosts how to go-go dance, and comment about what type of gay man orders what type of cocktails. Hopefully I'll get drunk on air.

If you can see it, drop me a line and let me know what you think.

Last night's party and other curious topics...

My friend Scotty and I hit i-Candy last night in West Hollywood to celebrate the premiere of Tyler Robuck's new reality show on LOGO. Open bar, a super fun time, and it was really crowded though the celeb factor wasn't huge... Well, okay, it was deader than my dad. I was the 3rd most famous person there and I came with the 2nd since Scotty is world-famous DJ Scotty K. Never heard of him? Yeah, well, whatever. He’s been on TV, in print, and gets us into clubs for free but I've loved him even before all that. Here are some highlights from last night, with pictures taken with my cheap spy camera that loves to emphasize my non-white teeth.


HEY RICK! Where you going with that zit? Pimp Town? Here I am sharing a drink (alright, a couple drinks) with Out Traveler editor and close personal friend, Darren Frei.



LOOK! It's the most famous person at the party. One of the stylist guys from the Bravo show Blowout. Woo!





Yesterday was the third time I've been asked by a reporter if I have done porn. They're all writing about my book reading in Oregon September 12 & 13. Just in case you're curious, I have never done porn. But if I had, this would be the cover of my latest (full) release. I have written about porn, and been on a set when I worked for Playboy TV. (I was credited as writing more girl-on-girl scenes than the other writers.) But thank you all for wondering...




My friend Rodney Alexander Griffis sent me this: STORK REPORT. Wanna feel really, really old? This should do the trick: Punky Brewster is a mom. That's right, Soleil Moon Frye gave birth to daughter Poet Sienna Rose Goldberg, on Wednesday in Los Angeles. This is the first child for 29-year-old Frye and husband Jason Goldberg. So, did it do the trick?
BEFOREAFTER...

Finally, have you Angelinos noticed all the dead animals in the road? I'm not kidding (okay, the photo is a joke but I'm serious otherwise because putting dead animal pics on your blog is tacky). Dead birds that have been hit by cars (What sort of bird gets hit by a car?), squirrels darting in front of traffic, dead cats, etc. I only mention it because the bodies disappear rather quickly and if this was the first act to a movie dramatic music would be playing. I think there could be a conspiracy or something going on and I just wanted to say something now, so that later I could say, "See I'm right!"

Off to San Diego for a wedding and birthday party. I'll write more next week. Friends in Christ.

The Price is Right every morning

Every morning as I drive to the gym, I see throngs of people who all look like they're from somewhere in Middle America. They're hopeful contestants for The Price is Right, and they are so absolutely excited about being in Los Angeles and walking into CBS Television City (Say it with me... "78-hundred Beverly Blvd., Los Angeles, California, 9-double-O-36.").

When I first moved to Los Angeles, I couldn't believe I lived so close to this mythical place-- and back then I lived in Westwood, some 30 minutes away. The Price is Right is listed on the CBS website as "America's Favorite Game Show" and that makes sense. Which of us didn't watch it religiously during summer breaks or when we were home sick from school? Who didn't get excited about the little yodeler guy hobbling up the mountain because if he doesn't go over the edge you win a new Pontiac? And didn't Plinko drive you crazy because you knew-- YOU KNEW-- that they needed to put the chip between the first TWO pegs and let it go leaning toward the center in order to hit the big money. My sisters and I even discussed how powerfully you had to spin the big wheel so that it would do one rotation, land on the dollar, and then the next time land in a green or dollar spot for even bigger bonus money. Ahh, good times.

But the biggest shocker? That fateful day when Bob Barker walked out with shock white hair!

No longer would good old Bob pander to the notion that he was forever young. Nay, Dick Clark! He may still use that same pencil thin mic with the mini mushroom top, but he was going to admit his age. Good for him! I was proud. I even thought about controlling the pet population and having my animal spayed or neutered.

But it's still the fans I really love. Seeing them on the show is one thing, but seeing them excitedly parking at CBS starting at 6:30 and still dealing with registration when I return home from boxing at 8:30 is awesome. I think they tape closer to 11:00 or noon-- Bob doesn't need to get up that early-- so these people are committed, all hoping for a moment on TV and a chance to win that Pontiac, jukebox, or wet bar.

As they wait for taping time, the groups often walk down Fairfax toward The Farmer's Market for breakfast. You see a lot of somewhat large women with big permed hair and bright pink T-shirts with "Barker's Beauties" ironed onto them, a project they no doubt performed as a group in anticipation of this big trip. There are also lines of sailors in uniforms, African American gospel choirs with their local groups' bright t-shirts, the two husbands who look humiliated in puff-paint covered shirts that say, "I want to win!" but which they only agreed to wear if their wives put out the night before.

Yesterday I saw a horde of college kids, each certainly hoping for some type of car or trip, all wearing yellow shirts with a different letter so that they could presumably spell something out when seated in a row; they were walking down Beverly toward Park La Brea, a no-man's land for food or coffee, and I wanted to warn them that they were going the wrong way. “Go back! It’s not too late! You can still make breakfast at Dupars!” But I didn't. Dupars is now gone anyway, and besides, just like losing at Plinko, some lessons have to be learned on their own.

It's not always pretty. I've been at The Grove (the mall next to CBS and the Farmer's Market) in the early afternoon and seen their long faces (and no, none of them were Celine Dion impersonators). They're so sad that they've even forgotten to take the price-tag-shaped nametags off their shirts. (Does one poor soul hand write all those out because God knows they all seem to have the same perfect writing.)

But those sad folk are rare. More often I see the excited ones, who leave the studio having tasted just a bit of their Hollywood youth. They may not have won, but they were part of the magic, and I think that's why they return. The Price is Right is a phenomenon, and no matter how ridiculous the shirt, the more insane way they attempt to garner attention, when I see those men and women making that trek to the game show Mecca I smile and feel good about living in LA.

MARY ESPINOLA R.I.P. (or how my grandmother finally got laid in her old age)

Last night Steve and I hung out with our friend Valorie Armstrong, one of those great character actors who did everything from Mary Tyler Moore episodes to the Jodie Foster movie Contact. We were joined by her good friend Jeffrey Jones (yes, from Ferris Bueller) and had a wonderful time.

As a side note, it's nights like that when I think about how surreal my life has become.

Anyway, I told her the story about my grandmother's final burial, which I'd originally posted yesterday, and I realized I should post it as a seperate piece. So here it is. Enjoy.


My grandmother was finally laid to rest. Yes, for those of you keeping track Nana died last year, and here she is-- the woman on the right next to her sister, Eileen, during happier and livelier times. But let's take a little acid flashback for a moment...

When Nana’s husband, my grandfather, died some 60+ years ago, he was buried in this cemetery in Massachusetts. Nana was naturally distraught, but for two key reasons: 1. She had been the one who claimed the right of being on death's door every day of her life and hated being beaten to the punch; and 2. A few days after the funeral she returned to the cemetery and was positive the headstone had not been placed on the correct grave. The fact that she was probably so upset (or tipsy) at the funeral couldn't sway her opinion-- she knew those "stupid sons'a bitches" had messed up.

So one night she was getting her drink on with her brother Money (they named people things like that in those days), my Aunt Rita who would later have a nervous breakdown followed by regular visits by the Angel of God, and I think either Rita's husband or some other brother of Nana's (But not Uncle Dick, "That son of a bitch who you weren't named after..." Nana always informed me.) The group soon got worked into a tizzy and the next thing you know the group of them snuck into the cemetery that night, dug up the headstone, and moved it to where Nana was sure her husband was actually buried.

No joke. They did this, ignoring that Nana's memory may have been foggy during the funeral and that she was having it moved while being clearly drunk, pissed off, and during the night-- probably without flashlights since this was so long ago. Maybe oil lamps? Who knows. But there you have it, the marker was moved and Nana was sure it was now in its rightful place.

Well, Nana's now dead and Mom's been holding onto her ashes for almost a year because she sure as heck wouldn't pay for a flight back east without some excuse-- those are expensive, after all. Insert a major reunion/party, Mom gets on the plane, stows Nana in the overhead, arrives, and after much searching is able to find her father's headstone half sunken into the earth. She paid for the caretakers to lift it back up and bury Nana's ashes back in there (for $600, which seemed like a fortune to her) so that Nana could finally rest with her departed husband once more.

Mom did ask the caretakers if the headstone was in the right place, though I doubt she mentioned Nana's drunken night out.

They verified that the stone was located between the two other graves marked in their register, but whether or not Nana was correct about moving the stone, or the stone had been returned to its proper position after Nana's drunken escapades, we'll never know. There's also the off chance that the caretakers didn't much care, were annoyed about having to dig up a long-forgotten headstone and lied to my Mom, and now Nana is resting peacefully with some strange person's ancient body. And you know, for some strange reason that all seems somewhat fitting to me.

The Smurfs and Perez Hilton

SMURF IT UP!

You know those name-generating machines? Now there's one for being a Smurf, and as a pop culture freak that makes me very excited. I am Kung Pao Smurf, which is lovely because I've always felt very Asian. It's why I love anime. (Please stop making racist jokes about my penis. Thank you.)

WE'VE HIT THE BIG TIME!

Perez Hilton, who does this snatchy blog about all things Hollywood, mentioned Steve and I on her website because of our "wedding". How fun! I feel very continental. Now all I need is to be photographed with Jennifer Anniston and have the tabloids assume I'm her boyfriend.

People often ask, how did you and Perez meet? Well, the rumors abound but as I recall it involved Palm Springs, a bunch of vodka drinks, and Perez pushing me into the pool so that she could take the starring role in Lawrence of a Labia. They make those sorts of films in Palm Springs, ya see. But that weekend is somewhat foggy so I could be mixing up plotlines. Who knows? Anyway, thanks for the inclusion, love!

The lonely chimes of wedding bells

Sometimes emotions can hit you in funny ways.

Yesterday, Steve and I got married. The momentous event happened at approximately 4:45pm, and we apologize to all of our friends for not being invited. There was no time, and in truth it wasn't supposed to be our "official" wedding so it wasn't like I was becoming a psycho-homo about the whole thing. It was a matter of necessity, ya see.

We realized the event needed to happen at 4:00pm, as we walked from our apartment to the office where we would sign our loan documents for the new house. This wasn't about flowers and hugs and honeymoons or cake and presents and well-wishers-- this was business--and I didn't really feel anything one way or the other about what was happening.

So we examined our home loan to verify the information was all accurate, then cut a check for the appraiser who would be looking at our Princess Cupcake house on Monday, and finally asked our money man if they had a notary in the office. "You need your domestic partnership papers signed?" he asked intuitively. We nodded. Again, this was just business.

Everything unfolded quite methodically. A guy Steve recognized from when he worked on the lot at Disney walked in, our money man printed out the form from the State of California website, and everyone quickly opened books and looked at IDs and signed lines and took our inkless thumb prints and an official looking stamp was punched onto the white sheet of printed paper and suddenly that was it. We were now Domestic Partners (with capital letters), we were now Garried in the eyes of... well, I don't know who, exactly. And suddenly I felt sad.

Yeah, it's true. I mean, there we were with some men neither of us really knew... Well, okay, we do know much gossip from around town and we had heard something sordid about some of the guys, but being polite we kept quiet about the incident... So there we were knowing more about these guys than they knew about us and yet they were the only witnesses to what should be a momentous occassion. And as I looked out the window, down to the bustling traffic in Miracle Mile, I couldn't help but feel that tinge of sadness.

Let me be clear: When I moved to LA gay men were dying weekly-- this was literally a couple months before the AIDS cocktails came onto the scene-- and as one partner passed on, parents and family would swoop in and take everything. EVERYTHING. It didn't matter how many years the couple had been together, the partner had no rights. Many were left homeless, with seized bank accounts, clothes, furniture, and many of them were sick as well. It was a fantastic way to mourn.

Yes, Steve and I are both on the house's title but we know strange legal things can still happen. Our families love one another and I know my siblings and Steve's brother would do everything in their power to protect our relationship if something happened to one of us... but I've also seen families turn, become vindictive and evil amidst their own pain and suffering, or when money is involved.

So we did this to protect ourselves and each other, and as everyone buzzed about we shared a small quick kiss and laughed at how silly this all seemed. Silly, but necessary.

Sure we will have a real ceremony some time down the line and everyone will be invited and that will be beautiful and great, but I can’t help but hate that our first time was simply about business.

I'm a survivor... I'm gonna make it...

"Escrow sucks... That's all there is to it."
This is the quote from my friend Heimlich (yes, he's related), and he is correct. Everyone tells you this, couples warn you about the inane fights they got into during this period, and yet it all still happens.

Before Steve and I got into buying the house, I became a little burned out on working freelance and realized I needed a personal project to get some excitement from while I waited for publishers to look at my book proposal. And so I did, and life was good. Now with the house, I spend at least 4 hours a day with someone on the phone talking about some aspect of the move, or panicking that we won't have the money and start calling editors for work that I'm trying to fit into my limited schedule because I'm either behind on a pre-existing deadline or on the phone discussing the house with someone else... and thus is goes on.

Then last week I got an e-mail from my friend Anna Marie, whom I met when I was 17 and attending Comic-Con in San Diego (to this day she is still my roommate every year). She is one of the good old liberals, has a beautiful little boy, and so as a parent she reads all these online things about properly raising your child. In her journey across the Information Super Highway she came across a site that devoted a ton of attention on how to fix your child if he or she starts acting like a big old faggot or dyke. It upset her and she sent me the links with the question, "Why can't kids just be allowed to grow up?"

I read the linked instructions-- which I won't place here because there's no need to give unnecessary press to uneducated folk-- and then I started getting really stressed. When that happens I have arguments with people in my head. Sometimes those people exist, sometimes not, but either way I'm now not writing because I'm either on the phone or having fights with imaginary people AND I have no creative outlet either. I told Anna Marie this and she clarified that her point wasn't to upset me-- which I knew-- but that kids should just be allowed to be kids and turn out to be whatever they were destined to become. She then wrote about how most of us were raised, which is contrary to what the "authorities" say is correct, and yet we all survived.

And thus in honor of Anna Marie I titled this column after a Destiny's Child song, and now I present you with Anna Marie's letter because I think THIS is something that's worth sharing. Pass it on. --RA


TO ALL THE KIDS WHO SURVIVED the 1930’s 40's, 50's, 60's and 70's !!

First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us.

They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes.

Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paints.

We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking.

As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.

Riding in the back of a pick up on a warm day was always a special treat.

We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle.

We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this.

We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but we weren't overweight because WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!

We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.

No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O.K.

We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.

We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video tape movies, no surround sound, no cell phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms..........WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them!

We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.

We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.

We were given BB guns for our 10th birthdays, made up games with sticks and tennis balls and although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes.

We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just walked in and talked to them!

Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!

The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law!

This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever!

The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.

We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!

And YOU are one of them! CONGRATULATIONS!

You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before the lawyers and the government regulated our lives for our own good.

Why did I buy that???

When I lived at home in San Diego, Columbia House Home Video teamed up with Paramount to release Star Trek the Next Generation Collector's Edition . This was one of those deals where you get the pilot for around $4.95 (plus shipping and handling) and then you get two episodes per VHS video every month until you've collected the whole series.

I bought it. Yes, I did. When you live at home and don't pay rent you spend your money on many odd things. For example, I purchased more Zillion, City Hunter, Vampire Hunter D, Lupin III, Saint Seiya, Ranma 1/2, Robotech, and assorted other Japanese anime memorabilia and videos simply because I could. I was a collector. And I loved these shows so why not?

Then I moved to college. Then I became poor. AND THEN EBAY HAPPENED!

The good news, was that over the past number of years I have sold off a lot of that old anime stuff because they were well cared for and you can't necessarily get a Saint Seiya pencil board that easily anymore. In fact, last year alone eBay paid for my Mondo Homo book tour because Alyson Books doesn't dish out change for that sort of thing. So let's all thank eBay and wish we were the fun dancers on any of their commercials. (Incidentally, when I was doing The Groundlings I met two girls who were also roommates, Kirsten and Tamatha. Kirsten was the lead in one of those commercials and Tam worked for eBay. Coincidence? Well, yeah, probably.)

But over the course of 4 or 5 moves I've gotten rid of a lot of stuff. Last year I even ditched my Wonder Woman VHS videos from Columbia House. (That company got me twice! They almost snagged me three times when I found out Scarecrow and Mrs. King was coming out, but by then DVD was all the rage and they were only selling videos.) That may seem shocking that I ditched my favorite Amazon Princess, but I knew the DVDs were coming out, and when you combine my collecting with Steve's it can get kind of insane. Besides, I sold them through my local comic book store and could buy more comics with the money. See, one collectible for another. Nice!

But through it all I have hung onto those god damn STTNG tapes (BTW, that's short hand Trek lingo for those of us in the know... GEEK). The packaging is not brilliant-- the glue on the cardboard melts when it becomes too warm and some of them don't fit perfectly any longer-- and ain't NOBODY buying nothing of them on eBay. I looked. But it IS the complete series and they all have their cases and I'm sure they're worth something to someone.

So here's the deal. Now that we're moving I gotta unload this shit, so help a brother out! If you live in LA, make me an offer and I'll drive the two boxes of VHS videos to your house. If you're outside of LA, make me an offer. I can ship them UPS ground through my friend's company and I'll find out how much it costs. Seriously, part of me just wants to get them to someone who wants them, but at the same time, if I can exchange these tapes for a little dough so I can buy a nice dinner out that would be awesome! (And I ain't talking' Olive Garden because I'm Italian and that is NOT my family)

Anyway, tell everyone. NOW! Daddy needs an easy move and a full belly. If you got everyone in your office to chip in like $10 these could be a funny little gift to give that one geek in your office. You know, the guy you always wonder what to buy at Christmas? Well here you go!

Oh, and if you want my SCA/Renaissance Faire costumes those have to go as well. Just tuck that into the back of your little brain. Thanks.

Cupcakes for Everyone!

I love cupcakes. Yummy little puffs of sweet goodness that, if done well, allow one a moist treat with a bite of frosting in every luscious morsel. The big place in LA that everyone's talking about these days is

Sprinkles Cupcakes

, which are beautifully decorated treats. They're also pricey, but located in Beverly Hills that doesn't seem, to bother anyone but me because I’m too cheap. My other favorite place, where you can get fantastic treats alongside their delicious cupcakes, is

Buttercake Bakery

. The girl who owns it is delightful, and their pastries are light and gorgeous. I've written a whole article about Sweet Treats shops in LA for Frontiers and it will run next week. Once it's been out I’ll try linking to their website and the story.

But that isn't why I called you all here today. It's because of this: We call this the Princess Cupcake house because it has pink stucco with purple trim. Actually, I just call it that. Steve politely nods and goes back to drawing pictures of Cinderella. Anyway, it looks like a frosted treat for a little girl's birthday party. And in 40 or so days... it should be ours.

Yikes! Steve and I are buying a house. No joke, and this is it, the Princess Cupcake house. Fitting, no? I won't say what part of town in case we one day get obsessive fans who try to find our home, but it's a lovely little place that we will probably paint at some point but we can move in and live there while we make changes. THAT is the joy. And I think that with the proper care our new home can also become the sweetest little thing on the block.

CHECK IT OUT:
The Living Room.

The Dining Room with a shot of our purple kitchen!

The Bathroom. Note the large size of the room and luxurious murals. As Steve has a thing for Little Mermaids and I for Mermen as they appeared in old Wonder Woman comics, this was perfect!





The Backyard! A perfect size for not needing a gardener and setting up a barbecue. Um, yes, we may be painting. What you can't see in this fantastic area is the stackable washer/dryer. Worth the whole price of the house!





There are more but I don't want to bore you. Inspection is tomorrow. If you need a realtor,

Robert Ellington

is our man and he was lovely. I think I'm going to bake him some cupcakes with pink and purple frosting when this is all done...

Those BLOGS listed to the right...

Hey Pretty People...

So I thought it was time to promote all my friends who are just awesome and have blogs. They're listed on the right but this gives a better definition of who they all are.

Aliki's blog about Yaki and Yumi

Aliki Theofilopoulos is one of our best friends but also an incredibly talented chick. She's just sold her first project, Yaki and Yumi , to Nickelodeon and has been asked to blog about the experience. This is an incredible chance to watch the creative process so check it out and leave comments on her site! (That's Aliki with Yaki and Yumi, "Oh Yeah Cartoons")

Dave White's awesome rants!

Dave White is one of the best writers I know, which is why I asked him to be in Mondo Homo. He also used his blog to plug my book so many times that I'm sure I owe him a yummy lunch at Irv's Burgers in West Hollywood. He's very funny and unapologetic for his humor, and I've learned lots from him.

Creative Types (who are also dads)

A friend of mine-- who shall remain nameless until he tells me I can use his name-- was one of the guys who got me started on blogging and wants me to also do pod casting. One step at a time, kids. But he and his wife just had a baby and now he's journaling about being a father while also being a creative type. Good stuff.

Advice Queen (fun stuff from a straight chick)

Another nameless friend-- because I protect my peeps-- who gives pretty funny advice. I had to list her as straight because I know what you all think when I write "queen". She's out there writing, she's single, and she's funny so if you're a single straight guy go to her blog and find out how you can e-mail her your picture.

I love it when my friends get laid.
xo
Rick

The Perks

I can complain about being a freelance writer. It's difficult work, you're always hustling, trying to find new ways to write about similar topics, and you never quite feel like you've got a... oh, I don't know... savings account. But then there are days when I think about how great my job is. I have free time, I get to meet celebs, and then I get some really sweet perks. Like earlier this year I was paid by Paramount to watch all of Star Trek Enterprise and do the copy writing. Now seriously, I don't care how bad some people say a series was-- and I liked it, BTW-- I WAS PAID TO BE A GEEK! And I know how to spell things like Denobulan and say "Temporal Cold War" without blinking. So there.

There's also this restaurant writing. I ate out at Sterling-- and kept it to basically one glass of wine for those of you keeping track. I say "basically" because when I do these dinners I usually have a wine tasting, so in those cases I approximate. This write up is actually going in both Los Angeles Confidential AND I got a gig with...

EGO L.A.

a new magazine launching in October. (the link is for Ego Miami since nothing is set up for L.A. yet) Hopefully they will keep me on as their restaurant guy but this write up on Sterling is my first one for EGO and they still need to hire an LA editorial staff, so we'll see how it goes. Once the issue comes out I'll let you all know so you can write them and tell them you love me.

Anyway, Sterling. is this magnificent steakhouse in the old Sunset Room space. While Steve and I aren't destitute, we certainly wouldn't be able to eat there once a week. Or month. Hell, it would be a birthday/anniversary event. Steve's brother and his partner totally think we live on the pulse and have this glam life and never quite understand why we have no money. Let me be clear: it is not because we spend cash on these events, it's because we're poor artists but our jobs connect us to fun shit.

So it's not like we get "Around" per se. But we are nearby.

The point to all this is that yesterday I was sent a lovely box of lube. Sex sauce. Joy juice. Maker of the magic milk. Not the yeast that makes my dough rise but the slick liquid that helps it function.

Back when I started freelancing it was necessary that I pay rent and eat, so I wrote for various adult mags. There is one that I still write for when I come up with a fun assignment that my regular mainstream mags won't take. Granted, I'm sure I could pitch any of these same pieces to Maxim or Playboy with a straight spin and they might take it, but it takes a TON of effort ot cold call new magazines, and the one time I did pitch to a Playboy editor she wasn't too interested in me or my clever ideas.

So earlier this year I wrote "My Day At The Dildo Factory" and Steve and I got to go through and check everything out. In fact, here's a picture of my hand sanding a "Bolt" toy from the Chi Chi LaRue movie by the same name. Good times. Steve took the photos. Anyway, a couple months ago I did the sequel, which was "My Day At The ID Lube Factory."

I got to see how Redbull for your Rick is made and bottled, all the fun stuff they do, and at the end of the tour they gave me some sample bottles; just like when you go to the tortilla factory and they give you a warm tortilla with butter and cinnamon. Only different.

Well, the article just came out. So as thanks, my guy Benny at ID Lube sent me some more lube; he even included some for Lloyda, our cleaning lady, but I don't quite know how to give it to her yet. I might save it for her Feliz Navidad. The problem (if you can call it that) is that Benny sent me a pump bottle. It's a VERY generous gift, but I still have samples from the first visit and now there's such pressure! How quickly should one go through an enormous (17.6 oz) bottle? And do I just go wild and open it or use the other lubes he gave me first? Is there an obligation to play 2 times a day and can I thrust that obligation on Steve (pardon the pun)?

And can lube spoil? I don't want to be pleasing Peter one day and suddenly risk a rash. Ew!

God, when I started this posting I was excited to share my good fortune. Now I just feel... inadequate. I need a regular job.

Clean Living!

Every now and then Steve and I have blow out weekends where we return to our lives on Monday morning and decide that we're going to chill for a couple weeks, not drink so much, and just get back on our good diet and exercise program. You see, it's not just that we'll go out and drink for a couple hours, it's that when we're finished we know that food is required for the sobering up process and invariably that leads us to Jack In The Box.

I love Jack in the Box. I worked there in high school and have always loved the menu. So does Steve. A LOT. That's like two crack addicts living down the street from a cocaine factory where all you have to do is pull up, order, and enjoy. The trouble is that the Sourdough Jack burger (two golden brown pieces of sourdough bread, one all beef 1/4 pound patty, crisp strips of bacon all covered in melting cheese with two ripe tomatoes and a yummy mayo-onion sauce) has 713.8 calories, 51.3 grams of fat, 36.4 carbs... of course, 2.8 of them come from dietary fiber so you can subtract those, and then there are 27.4 grams of protein which is very good, but still, something tells me this wasn't the wisest food option.

But when you're tipsy... being wise isn't the first thing on my mind. Yummy, salty, fatty goodness that will soak up the Satan Sauce is tops, and besides (I tell myself) I'VE WORKED HARD ALL WEEK AND I DESERVE THIS! True enough, but let's do some math...

Friday - Marix Tex Mex
-Three pitchers of margaritas (I shared them, yo! I ain't that bad!)
-One basket of chips (didn't share... heh heh)
-A chicken sandwich with fries (I know, WHAT? A sandwich at Marix? Damn good and it soaks up booze so this saved me from going to Jack in the Box later. We call this "planning ahead".)
-One more drink at i-candy.
Now I don't know nothing about adding up calories but something tells me the sugar in all those margaritas was not on my diet. And while I was very functional the next morning due to my wise sandwich option, I did work out to make up for that binging. One thing, though, I have a hard time sleeping after a night of drinking tequila now. Icky sweating. I think I'm getting old.

Saturday - Matt and Paul's house
Our friends had us over to their new pad and Steve and I were excited about the option of having a healthy comfortable dinner with friends, and since they live in Van Nuys (you go east until you feel the heat and then north until you can't breathe and then you're there) we couldn't get too ripped.
-A couple vodka drinks (Really! Who keeps track when among friends?)
-A lovely steak with salad and potatoes
That's it! You see, we do have restraint... Of course, at one point when I went to refill our drinks I walked RIGHT THROUGH THEIR SCREEN DOOR. Yeah. New house. Nice. And that's 175 pounds of weigh smashing into a soft object. I destroyed it and didn't even have the excuse of booze to explain it. ...

Sunday - The Abbey
We met my friend

Doria Biddle

out at The Abbey... actually, Steve and I went there to get some drinks in the sun and I thought about how I first met Doria there over a box of Hostess treats that I thought she'd brought and she thought I'd brought. Next thing you know we were plowing through some strange person's snack treats, only to realize the truth once the box was empty. But that was then. I called Doria and she happened to be there so we hooked up and chatted. We also drank, imagine that!
-I don't know how many Mandarin Vodka and Cranberry drinks.
-Lots of water in between.
-Jack in the Box on the ride home.

Steve is very good about keeping us on the water track when I allow myself to listen to his advice, so yesterday didn't require recovery (though we didn't work out in the morning). But of course, last night we met our friend Sarah at O-Bar for Peach Martinis (yum, yum, gimme some!) and couldn't really sleep last night-- but I blame that on the sonic boom from that silly old Space Shuttle rather than the drinking.

Anyway, now it's time for CLEAN LIVING! No more Satan Sauce... well, I am supposed to have dinner at Sterling, the new steakhouse in Hollywood tonight. And really, how can you eat steak and not have a lovely glass of wine with it? I'll figure something out, I'm sure.

On The Road Again...

Hey Kids,

Here are a quick couple updates.

#1 ANDREOLI IN PORTLAND - After being on TVLand for Tickled Pink, Mike Davis from the Portland Borders bookstores contacted me to do a Mondo Homo reading. Their team is amazing! I'm getting more press in Portland than I did in LA and New York, and since we had huge turnouts in those cities with no press I can only imagine how fun this one is going to be. If you're available for either of these let me know or say hi once you show up, since I'll only know the staff and my one friend Taerie from Comic-Con who lives up there. Here's the info:

Monday, September 12 at 7pm
Borders #152 (western suburbs)
2605 Cedar Hills Blvd
Beaverton, Oregon
(503) 644-6164

Tuesday, September 13 at 7pm
Borders #65 (downtown Portland)
708 SW 3rd Avenue
Portland, Oregon
(503) 220-5911

For those of you who attended one of the other readings, Portland will be much more standard. I'll be there, I'll read, I'll answer questions, I'll read a piece from my new book, and then I'll sign. We won't be doing the wacky trivia games with me running around, making jokes and sweating. For one, I don't have the energy to try and wrangle that much porn and lube to give out as gifts, and without my Mondo Panel of Experts it would just be silly. So expect a totally new and different show!

#2 ANDREOLI ON THE AIR AGAIN
Chris Lisotta, one of the Mondo Homo writers, was driving around LA this morning and heard me on KCRW, the local NPR affiliate in Los Angeles. Why?

During their last pledge drive I called up because I feel like we're living in a politically charged time where money is being taken away from the arts and any sort of moderate voices in order to pay for things that destroy society... I don't know... like war. So I called and made my pledge and then the next day I got this call from KCRW. I immediately worried that my credit card was declined. This is not because I'm maxed out, but in the same way that people are hypochondriacs about their health I always think something will go wrong with my credit card. Like I'll have finally become a victim of identity theft or something. Even when I'm at a store and waiting for the receipt to print out I completely fixate on the register printer until I see the paper spew out. No joke.

But that wasn't the case with KCRW. I won a computer in their raffle drawing which got me ont he radio back then. AND THEN they printed my photo in their mailer. I've been recognized more for winning that computer in LA-- at the gym, by our neighbors, etc.-- than for being on TVLand. So they've begun their new pledge drive and they’ve created radio spots where they interview those of us who won stuff last time. I'm not sure which audio clips they used but evidentially I'm very funny. So if you're listening to KCRW in LA, this is one of the few reasons to not change the channel when they start asking for money.

Okay, time to do a little writing before going out drinking, because if you don't live in California let me tell you: NOTHING BEATS DRINKING ON A WARM SUNDAY AFTERNOON! It's even better if your day ends with ordering pizza and watching Desperate Housewives but since we only have repeats right now I'll settle for the pizza and booze.

Remember to keep holy the Sabbath Day!

A Clean Sweep!

Hello Beautiful People (can you tell it's Saturday morning?)

Before we get started, let's read some free press my blog has already received via e-mail!

"I normally don't read blogs. It has been my experience that other people's thoughts and ideas aren't worth listening to let alone reading. But I was so happy to find mondorickoblogspot.com!!! Rick has a wicked sense of humor and it is great to have someone checking out places before I head out to them. Great site!!!

Fellow Friend in Christ,
-Rodney A. Griffis

And then a another one...
"i don't read blogs b/c of rosie o'donnell, but i read rick's b/c he's funny as hell and has a fab ass."
-Amy

Now, I'll admit that these are two of my dearest friends, but that doesn't mean that they aren't telling the truth.

UPDATE!

Reichen from The Amazing Race who changed his last name to Burke for the new show Kill Reality and his impending acting career has now changed it back to his original last name of Lehmkuhl, which he had previously been using for the 30+ years of his life. An unnamed source at E! told me so, and he's gay, so it must be true. I doubt that change had anything to do with my blog-- mostly because I doubt Google has gotten me in their search engine that quickly. I have NO DOUBT Reichen Googles himself (God knows I do it for my own name when requiring a self esteem boost), I just don't think he's read my little blog yet. Huzzah! (as we used to say at Ren Faire).

Okay, so why this blog title?

Since Steve started his new job it's been really tough for us to keep our apartment clean-- he leaves at 6:30 to go to the gym, comes home at 7pm and we have dinner/go out the sleep-- so we finally hired a housekeeper. After all, I'm working here all day and while I can sometimes wash dishes or tidy up during my lunch break, it's not like I'm just sitting around blogging when I could be Spic-N-Spanning. I actually do work. Imagine you had to take breaks in the day to vacuum everyone's little cubby hole and wipe down the bathrooms in your building. Not fun.

So this is how my yesterday started.

"Hello?" I ask as I answer the phone, out of breath.
"What's wrong?" asks Steve, calling from work and wondering about my voice.
"I'm cleaning the apartment before Lloyda arrives," I say.
"Well, don't kill yourself," he responds.
I look around at the clean dishes in the strainer, the empty trash, the pile of old newspapers I'm about to bring out to the dumpster and the clutter that's been removed from the living room. "Oh God, don't worry about that..." Then I secretly hope she'll find something to do once she arrives.

Lloyda is a tad more Latina than Alice from The Brady Bunch but just as lovely. She arrived with one of her daughters when I got a work related phone call, so she just started without me showing her anything. By the time I came out the kitchen counters were entirely clear, the stove/oven was in the center of the room and everything else had been dragged into the living room. She was scrubbing the grout between the tiles in the kitchen. I felt like a slob.

Why do we clean up for our cleaning people? I mean, we technically are hiring them to do this job. I mentioned my behavior to my boxing teacher, Lisa, whose housekeeper has been with her family for years. In fact, part of the reason Lisa and her second husband bought their house on the outskirts of Korea Town was because Maria (I really do think that's her name) lives over there and Maria's kids and Lisa's kids became close friends over the years. Maria is really a part of her family now, and Lisa admits to having done similar pre-cleaning when they first hired her. Of course, Lisa then said to me, "When they've been in your life for a long time you just let them see how you really live and give up trying to be something else."

Isn't that the case? The clutter and all the fun comic book/animation crap we collect is really part of who we are and part of the reason why cleaning well in this apartment is such a chore-- too many things to move and dust. But neither Steve nor I come from "hiring maid" stock. My parents never went to college and we were taught that a good work ethic was all you needed to survive in this world. So on some level I always think of myself as a kindred soul to ladies like Lloyda, as though they're the next generation of my mothers trying to give their own children a better life so that they won't have to clean houses. At least, that's how my guilty white mind views the situation.

Perhaps it's the same thing as when any guest comes over. You just don't want them thinking you're a pig.

On another level, even without all our nick-nack (paddy-wack, give a dog a bone) collectibles lying around, keeping up on our apartment is a real pain in the ass. We live on the corner of two busy streets and there's no air conditioning, so with the windows open and hardwood floors, this place becomes the depository for more dust than I have ever experienced in my life.

In one old episode of Alice I remember the gals making fun of the dust bunnies in Mel's office. As a suburban kid in San Diego with carpeting, I had no idea what those were. I imagined cute little rabbits made from dust that you would poke and they would disintegrate to the ground, then the next day they would be reformed. How cute!

Now I know better. All of the dust bunnies that got kicked out of Mel's after the show was cancelled (or Flo left, which is more likely the case) they came here to this apartment.

The point is that even when we have everything really neat it's super tough to keep it that way, so I didn't want Lloyda to get to work and suddenly realize to her own horror that this place was a never-ending battle against the dust vermin of Los Angeles. I want her to come back! And I don't want to give her any reason to not come back or to charge me too much more money because, hell, I'm a writer and don't have a ton of it.

Ninety minutes later she was finished with the kitchen. I felt doomed.

At first I wondered how it took so long for just the kitchen and considered that Lloyda may be lazy. Then I saw that room sparkling with a brilliance that it hasn't shown since I've lived here. And Lloyda's forehead was covered in sweat. She looked exhausted. I felt guilty. But I did do a little happy dance in the kitchen when she walked out. I think Lloyda's little girl saw me but she was too polite to make fun of the crazy gay gringo.

I went to a lunch meeting and came back-- mind you, she was supposed to work another house in the afternoon-- and at that point she was doing her second mop of our hardwood floors. I'm sure she wanted to close the windows but without AC the place would have been boiling. She eventually finished everything by 4pm and the place was immaculate.

"Rick," she said, although she sort of called me "reek". I'm still not sure if that was her accent or a deliberate cut. "I couldn't pull out your bed this time to clean under it but I do it next time, okay?"

I love that I would NEVER HAVE KNOWN she didn't pull out the bed had she not told me. Of course, because I'm overflowing with guilt over how long this took her, how fantastic everything looks, and that she said "next time", I over compensate.

"Oh yes, that's fine. Don't worry! It looks immaculate! Everything looks fabulous. Really! Seriously! Thank you! We can never get the floors this clean. Your vinegar trick sure worked. By 5pm today I bet it'll be dusty again because it's so hard to keep things this clean when you're situated on these two streets!"

She just looked at me. NOTE TO SELF: Don't tell a woman, in a gay lispy over-enthusiastic voice, that the floor she just spend hours cleaning will be dusty again in one hour. Lloyda took the payment, said she'd see me in two weeks, and left. Steve came home a short while later and we sat in the living room marveling at our freshly scrubbed apartment, praying she would return, and wondering what we might be able to clean ahead of time so that Lloyda comes to love us as much as we love her.

Time to Dish

Last night I ate at Taste on Melrose Avenue with Rob Davis, the publisher of Metrosource (both LA and New York). Can you believe the NYC magazine has been around for 15 years? Crazy. I won't write about what I ate at this point since you'll have to read about it in the Fall issue, but I thought it was well past time that I plugged a couple of great things that I think everyone should know about.

Taste

- (8454 Melrose Avenue, West Hollywood, 323.852.6888)

(Okay, I'll write a little bit...) The photo to the left is part of the interior at Taste. They've only been open a short while but they have a great, cozy, neighborhood feel and the place was packed (make reservations). The prices are good for LA and the meals are always wonderful and satisfying. I love the staff, who even without knowing that I was a restaurant writer had been really fun. I feel like i'm hanging out at a friend's house when I'm eating here. They also serve only beer and wine which I love because rather than getting instantly drunk one is encouraged to hang out and chat. It's just lovely and if you go you MUST try their beef and aurugula pizetta. Small, and perfect to share with a wonderful crisp crust.

Homocore: The Loud and Raucous Rise of Queer Rock

- By David Ciminelli and Ken Knox. Cim was one of the fantastic writers in Mondo Homo and now he has a book out which is near and dear to his heart: Homocore bands. Who knew there was a gay rock scene? Well, the only reason I did was because of Cim and I've just read his book. He and Ken are really great writers who have been working in the trenches for years, and I think this is a thoroughly interesting examination of a subculture that few people-- even gays-- know exists.
The trouble is that Alyson Books, their publisher, is going through a major overall and their writers are forced to suffer. So I'm doing everything I can to help them promote it. Check out the link to read more, and if you're interested in buying go to my website (I can use the commission, yo!) Just click on the Mondo Homo "Buy Now" link, it will flip you to Amazon.com and then you can do a quick search. I'm hoping to have a direct link up soon, but I'm hella busy so it may take a couple days.

And why am I busy you ask? I'm writing this frickin' thing.

Trick! (I'm trying to bring that back...) Okay, I'm working on the Fall TV Preview for The Advocate and with the influx of queer networks there are just tons of stuff to include. Before I would be the total geek and find out that one character on some show ends up dating a tranny, and that would make me look really smart and connected to my editors (or I assume so since I kept getting the gig each year. Perhaps it's just my nack for writing cute descriptions in 20 words or less. Don't knock it, it's a living. And I ain't talking about Ann Jillian!)

Anyway, my editor, Alonso, was kind enough to let me interview The Hearty Boys-- Dan Smith and Steve McDonagh-- who just won The Next Food Network Star competition. Their cooking/entertaining show premieres in the fall and I got to talk to the boys yesterday. They're so sweet and down to earth. Really great people who need our support. Their show will premeire on Sept. 18 on Food Network at 9:30am, so check it out. If they get enough support then they could very well have a longer term show and we need more great people on TV.

Finally, my friend

Dennis Hensley

is on the new Kathy Griffin show on Bravo! I haven't had the chance to watch it yet but Dennis has a blog about the show and it's pretty great. Check it out, check the show out, and let me know what you think. I'll be watching tonight or this weekend and write more next week.

Okay, time for me to get to boxing class. I know! How butch! And if I'm ever out in public and jumped by a giant black hanging bag I will totally kick its ass.

Love in the Time of Collar-Up

There's a fashion trend going on right about now with the PYTs-- Pretty Young Things. These are mainly young gay guys (though I suspect the look is also very popular with preppie junior high school boys) where they wear polo shirts with the collars up. Or worse, they wear TWO polo shirts of varying colors, both with the collars up. I mean, sure, it seems absolutely lovely on the zero-body fat mannequin, but that doesn't mean one should wear them in public.

You know the look. We all lived through it once, maybe 15-20 years ago and it wasn't that fantastic back in the day. I could never pull it off and trust me when I say I'm not bitter about that fact. I never appreciated feeling this piece of fabric hitting the back of my ears. I'd forget about the collar being up and think a mosquito was buzzing around, or I'd always have this nagging sense that I hadn't finished dressing. Now when I see it on PYTs I half expect them to turn toward me-- just their torsos mind you-- place both hands up at each collar edge like they're flicking the fabric into position, thrust out one hip, toss off a killer smile and freeze. You know, like a Glamour Shot photo with the frosted lens.

Pretty.

(Although now that I think about it, Steve and I have been pondering what our Christmas card should be this year. Hm... Perhaps a trip to the mall is in order.)

Anyway, we attended Beige last night which is the ultra-hip Hollywood night held at the Falcon restaurant on Sunset. Of course there were plenty of PYTs milling about just as fresh-faced as can be and with their collars in firing position. There was also the normal jeans and T-shirt crowd, though the grungy guys sometimes push the envelope a little too hard by having really meticulous "bed head" and plucked eyebrows, but by the time the lights were low they'd just look rugged so if I were single, and drunk, and there, then they'd probably be my type. There were also plenty of Lindsey Lohan wannabes in skimpy cocktail dresses alongside the really fashion forward fags, the ones who sported Lisa Rinna's hairdo and blue sunglasses even though it was after dark, an old rocker T-shirt that they'd neatly slashed with a razor so that it showed a part of their pecs, a hint of belly, and then that was worn underneath a sleeveless flannel.

Read that again: SLEEVELESS FLANNEL! That's right, my friends, we're returning to the early 1990s. When those yellow Timberland Boots and shorts make a return I swear I'm going to hold a protest. At least in LA, THAT would get a turn out.

Here's the thing, I think everyone should be allowed to wear what they want. If you want to bring back Boy George's look, or be a somewhat chunky person (hell, even a fat one) and wear low slung jeans with a crop top then go ahead. If you look in the mirror before going out wearing your too-tight sleeveless, ripped jeans, and a cowboy hat (he was there last night, too) and think, "Damn, I look hot!" then Mazel Tov. And best of all, if those fashion choices that no one else understands get you laid on a Tuesday night at a club where the A-list supposedly congregates, then more power to you!

Fashion isn't about fitting an image it's about making yourself feel good. All of us-- and I don't care what your orientation is-- put up with too much bullshit growing up and battled too many self esteem problems to toss it on ourselves as adults. This isn't to say that someone couldn't learn a thing or 10 from some of those fashion shows where they help you find the right clothes for your body type, but if you're cool then go with God and enjoy.

But let me be clear: We can still make fun of you. Especially if you start bringing back those old gay fashions. If I start humming "Rhythm is a dancer..." or "Everybody dance now!" when I see you, then you're fair game. You may not hear us, but I'll sure as hell write about you in the morning. Or better still, it will inspire a song of our own.

Steve and I left Beige around 11pm because we were exhausted from two long days and as we walked out and passed about 40 people waiting in line (seriously, I haven't waited in line in years), and everyone sort of does that look where they see if you're getting in line or leaving and if they missed out on some hot meat. A whole line of PYTs with their collars in effect gave us the once-over.

Steve started singing like Gwen Stefani, saying, "I ain't no collar up, girl! I ain't no collar up, girl!"

We continued the song until we reached my car. Now that shit was bananas!

Ow! I dropped that name...

Hey Kids,

Last night Steve and I attended a party with E! Entertainment Television at the newly renovated Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. This is where they held the first Oscars so it's a pretty classic space. The party was outside at the Tropicana Bar, which looks like a swank pool you would have seen Lucy and Ethel lounging at in the Hollywood episodes of I Love Lucy. E! Had everything swathed in white fabrics and blue lighting, DJ A.M. (Nicole Richie's boyfriend) was spinning and honestly? He was frickin' amazing. U2 with Janet Jackson, then Beyoncé with some 1980s songs. This guy was fantastic and you immediately understand why he plays all the big parties. No one danced while we were there, of course, because someone might have fallen into the pool or (Heaven forbid) spilled a free cocktail, but Steve and I did nod our heads and move slightly like Mariah Carey did in Glitter when she heard a number she liked.

So who was there? Well, Reichen from The Amazing Race (pictured above), of course, because like many reality stars that boy will come to the opening of an envelope. He's in this new E! show called Kill Reality and in the first episode they show a mouth-to-mouth CPR scene. He's not in it but during a confessional moment he complains about that situation-- after all, it stars two guys so shouldn't the homo be the one doing it?-- and refers to himself in the third person, so now I'm calling him The Reichen.

Also, The Reichen has changed his last name to Burke from the more common Lehmkuhl we all know and love. It's odd to do a Hollywood name change at this stage of the game when everyone knows you, but perhaps he's hoping it will do for The Reichen what "Burke" did for Brooke. Oh wait... her divorce was just announced. A moment, please...

Okay, so forgive my spelling but I'm on a deadline and don't have time to double check celeb names. Perhaps Steve will be able to and correct me shortly. Anyway, the party also featured Ashlee Simpson with boyfriend Ryan Cabrera, and while word on the street is that they're broken up the two were smoochin pretty heavy. Her (1990s gay looking) dad was also there, along with Steve-o from Jackass and all those shows, drunk Trishelle from The Real World, cute Las Vegas Real Worlder Steven Hill, Jenna from Survivor who I think hooks up with Hill during Kill Reality , Stacy from The Apprentice, the brassy Brittany from the last cycle of America's Next Top Model, the lead guy from Testosterone who is taller than I expected but just as forgettable, the lead from Hardball wheeling around, Lou Ferigno looking buff and handsome in the perfect outdoor lighting, random Real World/Road Rules people, and the dreamy Ted Casablanca from E! (and one of the commentators in Mondo Homo) looking fantastic alongside all the other E! hosts.

No one made fools of themselves, unfortunately. No drama while we were there, sadly. BUT THEY HAD SYNCHONIZED SWIMMERS! No shit, there they were, and I haven't seen such perfect moves since I was at my friend Cary's house and Steve was in the pool with our friend Brian. Genius!

Since I write a lot of restaurant stuff I'll let you know that the food was lovely as well, though the sushi was loaded with rice-- which isn't uncommon when you're at a catered event. The yummy of the night? Breaded and fried artichoke hearts with a ranch dipping sauce served by cute girls in white short shorts. They also served drinks with Hypnotic in them... tres ghetto fabulous. The only non-yummy thing? A guy walking around and sporting a cape. I kept wanting to sing songs from Phantom of the Opera every time he glided past.

"Christine! Christine....!"

We left by 11pm because I had to box at 7am this morning and Steve wanted to work ou. We have to work hard if we want to look like The Reichen, you understand. But it was super fun. Tonight we're headed to Falcon on Sunset. It's "Beige" which is the hipster boy night. I can't wait to count how many 21 year old twinks are wearing their collars up. Ew!