RENT on the big screen

I know in my book, Mondo Homo, which you can still purchase as a lovely Christmas gift and if you ask real nicely I'll even autograph, I say the following about the musical RENT:

The story of a group of artistic friends who don'’t work, don'’t want to pay their rent, and either use drugs or practice unsafe sex so they’'ve contracted AIDS. And that means we'’re supposed to feel bad for them.

It's true. That's what the musical is about on the surface. BUT I DON'T CARE! I still love it. Last night Steve and I saw the movie and I really got into it, Chris Columbus' on-the-nose direction not withstanding. It took me back to my annual trips to New York where my boss would bring me to see the latest play and then we'd stay at his apartment in the Ansonia that was huge and he paid $300 a month for. (And if the Ansonia's name is familiar, the Continental Baths where Bette Midler started her career by performing for the gays used to be in that basement.)

RENT captures the romantic notion of a close-knit group of friends who are fighting for the things they believe in-- kind of like in Jesus Christ Superstar. And while I may now be older and a homeowner and have experienced urban redevelopment so I now completely understand Benny's goal of cleaning up the neighborhood for fun and profit, that artistic struggle still gets me in the gut. But seriously, call me a sell out but who doesn't want a cute little coffee house, boutique, and sexy restaurant raising their property values? I mean, really!

But that's not the point. Last night, after seeing the film at The Arclight Cinemas in LA, Steve and I went to validate our parking and who should be standing there but Katherine Heigl. She plays Isobel "Izzie" Stevens on our favorite show Grey's Anatomy. Had the circumstances been different and she not been there with a hot guy, we might have become gushing queens around her, but instead we just marveled because we love her character and, by extension, love her. Like we want to be her friend. And Sandra Oh's. And Ellen Pompeo... okay, all of them. The closest we've come thus far was with Patrick Dempsey who used to work out at our gym, but that was pre-TV stardom and since he's moved gyms we can't really invite him over for cocktails any longer.

Honestly, I've even thought about going into an ER to see if the new docs are as cute and fun as this bunch. I know they're not, but I hope.

And you know what else? SHE'S EVEN CUTER IN REAL LIFE THAN SHE IS ON THE SHOW! Yes, it's amazing, and this picture from the ABC website doesn't do her justice.

BUT THEN, Steve and I faced a test. As we left the theater, a black woman with two duffle bags sat on the cement walkway heading toward the theater lobby and parking structure. She wasn't homeless dirty/crazy, but she didn't look like someone who could necessarily afford tickets at the Arclight; it's an expensive theater but you get reserved seats, no kids, leather chairs, and chances to see cute actresses like Katherine Heigl.

Anyway, the black woman wasn't quite settled onto the ground, and she looked up at us as we approached. I wondered if she'd fallen and was hurt-- too dazed to form a coherent sentence, or if she really was homeless and needed some change to get off the streets in our cold LA nights, or if this was just one big sociology experiment where someone was watching how audiences leaving RENT, which is anti-establishment and all about helping the homeless and other disenfranchised people, reacted to seeing a real needy person after watching the film.

I quickly asked those three things to Steve, making sure I whispered and didn't move my lips so that she wouldn't know I was talking about her as I stared.

"I don't know," said Steve, the panic of indecision that I was feeling also etched in his voice. "Let's run!"

So the too of us grabbed hands and quickly ran past her and into the warm theater lobby toward the back parking structure as though we were escaping a terrible threat. I think we succeeded.

PHRASE OF THE DAAAAYYYYYY!!!!!

The phrase of the day is:
Butterface
Definition: A phrase, generally used at the end of a sentence, to denote a negative opinion of another person's visage; though the term has an implied feminine subject, it can also be used for men, especially if he is a gay or a metrosexual.


In a sentence:
RICK: That guy has one hot body.
STEVE: Yeah, butterface...
RICK: ...I know. It looks like a smacked ass.

Picture fun and our "retarded" dinner...

I've been collecting some random photos recently and thought I would put one up in this posting, along with a brief story about the dinner Steve and I had last night.

This made me laugh...


Last night we ate at Roy's Restaurant downtown and it was a fantastic experience. This is the chain from Roy Yamaguchi who fuses Asian and Hawaiian cuisine with classic American favorites to produce an all-around delightfully exotic experience.

Roy's offers a level of service that is perfection, with staff that completely know the menu, have opinions if you ask, and really make you feel like you're special. In fact, our waitress last night didn't know I was covering the restaurant so her great attitude and skill was genuine. I started with their take on a Rainbow Sushi roll, but Roy's featured spicy tuna on the inside rather than the usual California Roll. Steve started with the Hearts of Palms salad that was fresh, and lightly dressed in a cream sauce so that you could still taste the greens. I then had the scallops on lemon risotto which were buttery perfection while Steve's filet mignon in a pepper miso sauce was just brilliant. Their signature martinis with pineapple infused vodka, vanilla vodka, and rum didn't hurt anything either.
Oh, and the molten chocolate cake with vanilla bean ice cream and raspberry drizzle for dessert... Um yeah, that didn't suck at all.

Somewhere between our first and second drinks I looked over Steve's shoulder and through the glass partition I saw this young woman peeking over from her booth and into ours. At first I wondered if we were being too loud, but the restaurant is not quiet or intimate, and I realized the people with her were speaking and we couldn't hear them, so I was pretty sure that wasn't the situation. I didn't do anything right away, knowing she was an adult who may have her reasons for this behavior, but then I saw her poking her head up again as though playing peek-a-boo. So I raised my hand and flapped my fingers in one fluid motion as though waving to my three-year-old niece. The woman immediately ducked down and hid for almost the rest of her meal.

Steve looked at me, wondered what was happening and I whispered to him, "I think she's retarded."

I wasn't trying to be funny. I really thought it was a group out to dinner and everyone else was ignoring her behavior, so I would be polite and say hello, but I wanted to do it in a simple fashion so that she understood what was happening and perhaps wave back. But maybe 30 minutes later Steve and I realized that she was not slow. In fact, it looked like she was having dinner with her fiance and parents. I have no idea what was really going on when she peeked over the booth at us because God knows she was tall enough to do it without the game, and they weren't making fun of two guys on a date because none of her group even looked back at us as they left. But I learned a couple very important things last night.

1. Be careful how you behave in a restaurant because someone may call you out on your behavior.
2. "Retarded" is a great word that we just don't use that often in our PC world any longer. Pity.

WORD OF THE WEEEEEKKKKKKK!!!!! (Nov. 22)

The word of the week is:
Picasso
Definition: Adjective. A term used during an all night party, usually in the wee hours of the morning, to describe someone that looks cracked out on drugs.

In a sentence:
STEVE: Did you see that guy? He looked so surprised to be awake at this hour and his mouth was on the side of his head.
RICK: Yeah, he was way Picasso.

PLEASE NOTE: I just found these images online. I am not saying in ANY WAY that these people were cracked out. I just thought-- for some reason-- that they might look good on this page.

Friends in Christ

I recently got an e-mail from my friend Gale, whom I used to work with years ago when she ran a Catholic youth group retreat program in San Diego. It was called Christian Awakening, and honest to God it was probably one of the greatest experiences of my life. It helped me develop self identity, a spritual core, and believe it or not it also helped me come to grips with my homosexuality and love myself.

The crew all got these baseball style shirts, and at the time I thought they were wonky. The logo seemed like a 1980s piece of computer clip art from an Apple 2GS, the sleeves came to the forearms and I wasn't developed enough to really wear it well; if I scrunched them up they rolled down, and when they were down my spindly arms just flapped inside the fabric. I couldn't understand why Gale and the other organizers didn't get us all extra large t-shirts like every other event run by straight people. (Although these days, I don't understand the whole XL phenomenon. Why do companies give free shirts only in Large and XL? I don't need a saucy new one-piece dress I can belt in the middle and wear out. GIVE ME SOMETHING THAT SHOWS OFF MY PECS AND SHOULDERS, DAMMIT!)

Anyway, when Steve and I were moving I found a box filled with all my old youth group shirts, including this one from Christian Awakening-- I have never had the heart to toss those il-fitting Ts from that time of my life-- but as I looked at it I realized it was no longer silly... IT WAS RETRO! I tried it on and now that I was 30 pounds bigger than I had been in the early 1990s it fit my shoulders, arms, chest and back as though it were made by a gay clothing designer (And to be fair, this WAS a Catholic program I worked for back in the day.)

I eagerly tried on my other t-shirts. Some were too soiled from working in those camp kitchens, like the one designed after e a one-way sign and said, "I'm making my way... One Way with the Lord!". And some were still XL even though I'd hoped the added weight would make them work for me, such as the one for the WALK retreat program (With A Loving King). But let me tell you, Christian Awakening makes me look hot. If I were single, I think it would get me laid...

What am I talking about? When Steve came home and I showed it to him, we did get laid. It's a great shirt.

So here we are, out with our friends Meghan (on the left) and Lori as we explored the downtown bars-- more on that later this week-- but I have to say to Gale, thanks for the awesome T-shirt! There's something really great about having a retro T that you didn't buy at a thrift store, that you not only know the story behind but it also holds significant meaning for you, AND it makes you look sexy. If I haven't said it before, I'll say it now... God is good.

Friends in Christ.

Brokeback Mountain Press Junket Fun

Journalists can be really annoying.

I was reminded of this during the Brokeback Mountain press junket a couple weeks ago. To give you the breakdown, Steve and I got to see the film in the swank MGM screening room in Century City-- leather reclining chairs, deep wood accents, and the sort of brilliant sound system you can only find on studio lots because it's balanced audio, rather than simply being loud like many public movie theaters rely upon. Journalists from print and online publications were there, and the older ones always trip me out. They tend to talk loudly before a film, covering who they write for, which star they interviewed recently, what they thought of his/her work, and their thoughts on anything else in the world just so you'll know how wonderful they are.

"I loved Jake in Jarhead, and he was a great interview for the Times," says the fat journalist with thinning pitch black hair and oval glasses that are supposed to be stylish but look more like a gift bag freebie that doesn't really fit his head.

"I thought so, too," says a pear-shaped woman with mousy brown hair that hangs straight down to her waist; picture her at the Renaissance Fair and you're with me on this. " I had a one-on-one with him and he gave me a couple extra minutes, even though Entertainment Tonight was waiting."

"Ugh," says Fat J. "Mary Hart..." Everyone in the area nods from this unspoken statement. "I interviewed her once for the Weekly."

"Do you know Donald there? The editor in chief?" asks Ren Fair. "I worked with him when I did the Tom Cruise one-on-ones for ..."

I suspect they're all failed filmmakers, but since my development career never did, I don't say this out loud.

Then the publicist enters to say the film will be starting and Fatty shouts, "What about parking validation? I'm not paying for this parking!" He sounds defensive, like someone has just threatened him even though everyone else in the room was trying to ignore him. But there are similar grumblings from other writers and the publicist explains what to write on the backs of their parking tickets to get out of the garage for free.

Then someone from the foreign press-- which I only assumed because of her accent-- says, "What about validation?" Again the explanation. Then Fat man says to the publicist, "And who are you, anyway?" She says her name and he motions to shake her hand, but he doesn't really get up because the reclining seats are holding his weight very nicely, so she has to walk down the aisle to shake his as he exclaims, "I'm Damien with the Times! So nice to finally meet you!" She's polite but it's obvious the only thing she recognizes is his publication name. "We first worked together on that calendar spotlight on Jamie Foxx."

Calgon take me away...
At the junket itself, I arrive at the Four Seasons where they immediately open my car door for me.

I have to give them credit, because when I went to an event at the Hyatt in Century City the white valet guy looked at my car and said, "You realize there's a dent in your trunk?" To be clear, this dent was caused when a metal pole fell and hit the edge, so I'd have to be blind to miss it. He must have wanted to make sure I wouldn't sue his department for the ding, as I'm sure every non-wealthy individual who visits the Hyatt attempts.

So I looked at him to my dirty Hyundai Accent, examined the 2 inch dent very closely, and then said, "Oh, but you missed the one on the bumper here, the scratch on the wheel well, and the ding in the passenger door. But thanks for being so sharp!"

At the Four Seasons, they host so many junkets that they're used to poor writers in ratty cars. They just smile politely. It's a lovely hotel.

At a junket, the studios rent out a bunch of hotel rooms, you check in at one, pick up a press kit if necessary, then go to your assigned room for a round table interview or a coveted one-on-one that usually goes to larger publications. In my case, I had a choice of five round table rooms where I sat with other journalists. When the celeb comes in-- in this case it was Jake Gyllenhaal and director Ang Lee-- you hope you can ask one or two questions and you record everything in case someone else asks something or an answer is given that you can use later. If you work for news-oriented publications you want to avoid the gossip mag room because they won't let you ask any questions-- they're called "The Cabal" incidentally-- and all of their material will be personal oriented or lame. You also want to avoid most foreign language rooms because if you're like me you'll grow frustrated with confusing questions that make no sense because English is a second language.

I sat down, met some really smart people from news sources who were all of similar mentalities. Then came in the journalists wondering where the coffee was and questioning whether our room had been deliberately neglected. Then the Japanese journalist, who only spoke once when he asked me where the hospitality suite was located, left and came back with a heaping plate of yellow scrambled eggs, bacon, French toast, two sweet rolls and syrup over everything; the studios like to keep us happy. Japanese man then ate breakfast until Jake came in, sat down, and the sexy Italian journalist asked, "What was it like kissing a man?"

Are you kidding me? Lady, you've kissed one, you should know. And haven't we moved beyond this level of writing? He's an ACTOR. He is ACTING! And he's going to make some useless comment about chin stubble which is a waste of time. Fortunately, a smart writer across the way asked about getting into character, making his kisses second nature, which I thought really got to the point of the craft, character and story, thus a good answer was produced.

"Ang said he was trying to push you toward Heath during rehearsals but he went more towards Michelle," says Italy again. "Were you ever jealous?"

What the hell is that? How is he supposed to answer? "Yes, and that's when I learned I was gay." I mean, what is she thinking? Because Jake was considered the romantic in the movie, she also asked, "What kinds of things do you do when you want to be romantic?" Then she says, "Can you describe the woman of your dreams?" followed by "Is there something really crazy that you'd done for love that you can tell us?" He said, "No," and I had to love him for it.

It's funny because journalists always complain about celebrities having attitudes, being demanding, or just being stupid, but I have to say Jake and Ang were two of the smartest, most humble people I met that weekend.

And in case you're wondering, I asked Jake how it felt being a sex symbol for the gay community. He said, "It's fantastic."

Welcome HOME!

It's been a number of weeks, with Steve and I prepping the house even before we moved from our old address, but after this past weekend we completed the last touches and our house is done. Yeah, sure, we have some trim issues in the kitchen and some sorting in the guest closet, but for the most part that's it. And we're so frackin' happy we could scream; and yes, that was a Battlestar Gallactica reference for all you geeks out there.

So now it's time to play "Before & After..."

BEFORE... The Living Room
Please note the orange painted sub-floor, the walls, and the Ikea book case in the corner...


AFTER...


BEFORE... The Dining Room
Please note the glass dining room table, the changes in wall color-- specifically the sponge painting-- and the purple and violet tiled flooring.

AFTER...



Please forgive us for the spaceship dining room light. We have not taken care of every detail, obviously.


BEFORE... The Kitchen
Please note the charming purple cabinets, the stove and refrigerator placement which doesn't allow access into the back two cabinets, and more of those tiles. Good times.

AFTER...





BEFORE... The Bathroom
This was probably the most talked about room, with the mermaids delivering non-Disney feminist lessons to those who sat upon the throne. There was a forth female figure opposite the toilet which cannot be seen in the photo, but I think you get the idea.

AFTER...





AFTER... The Spare Room
There are no photos of the "pre" spare room, at least not from the original listing. Perhaps this was because of the lavender walls and magenta fabric-turned-carpeting that was stapled to the floor. Who can say? But here is the final version. It's small but perfect for someone to crash at.



BEFORE... The Master Bedroom
It was gauzy and nice, but not very masculine... and the subflooring was painting forrest green.

AFTER...



Our friends with homes have told us that we did this very fast, but it still felt like a long, hard journey. But yesterday, as Steve and I stood in the kitchen staring at everything, it finally hit that this was our home. And be it ever so humble...

WORD OF THE WEEEEEKKKKKKK!!!!!

The word of the week (for those of you looking to embrace your Latino heritage as I am) is:
Enhoy
Definition: Verb. A friendly suggestion, usually offered by a waiter of Mexican descent after he delivers a food or drink item to your table.
In a sentence:
WAITER: "I have the carnitas platter..."
RICHARD: "That's mine."
WAITER (as he places the food in front of me): "Enhoy..."

A Random Night in LA

Steve and I have many random nights in LA, where we set out to do one thing and then find ourselves whisked into something that is far more glamorous than we ever expected (or should be allowed into...).

I was covering Honey, the awesome new restaurant located in the Avalon/Spider Club here in LA. You often hear about the club on entertainment shows and in magazines with young celebs congregating here. The whole space is a magnificent converted theater with Avalon being the main dance/performance venue while Spider Club is a smaller lounge/dance space upstairs. Just so's you know, the food at Honey is basic and brilliant. Steve's Kobe beef burger with Gruyere cheese was voluptuous while my salmon with crisp bacon was buttery goodness, and our three cosmopolitans (um, each) were honestly some of the best beverages we've had in LA and NOT overpriced.

Some random Goth band was playing at Avalon-- which Steve used to listen to when he was in high school and very dark-- and in Spider Club (pictured here) they had a fashion show for Cadillac Hammer, a new jewelry line. Hot models, great cocktails, and then we met Kenneth Brown from HGTV's show, reDesign . Such a great guy, we actually got to be gushing fans with him, and he was friends with Josh "Cadillac" Cappo, the designer.

Josh is a young, energetic guy with an eye for men's and women's jewelry. He should, his mom is designer Erica Courtney whom I've written about for Los Angeles Confidential. Here's a sample of Erica's work, and her client list includes Julia Roberts, Sheryl Crow and many, many more. But what's really cool about Josh is that he's really doing this on his own, taking advice from Mom but not simply riding her success.

After meeting Josh we ran into Jonathan Grahm of Compartes Chocolates in Brentwood. I wrote about the 21-year old chocolatier for Frontiers Newsmagazine and I'll be interviewing him again next week for Metrosource. You can read about him in the current issue of Out Magazine but I think he's also in the new issue of US Weekly and he was on Kathy Griffin's show for a second. He makes these things called "Love Nuts" that are truly decadent treats-- nuts covered in caramel, dashed with sea salt, covered in his wonderful chocolate and then dusted with cocoa. YUM! Anyway, I felt very popular.

No Paris Hilton or Lindsay Lohan sightings, but we did get gift bags, which is really all that matters. A Pacman video game, gift certificates (for Cadillac Hammer jewelry, no less), denim bag I can regift to my sisters, body products, etc. We need more of these nights, because while Steve and I are not really on the pulse, it's nice to be nearby.

I Otto Have Known

Before we begin, please note that all the names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.

My quest to embrace my Latino heritage is not a selfish one. When I was working alongside mis muchacho, Otto, the floor man while listening to Super Estrella and the song about "The love that I love tomorrow..." I knew that I could help guys like him out as well. For example, I offered to buy lunch so Otto and his boys immediately chose Jack in the Box, rather than a healthful meal of chicken breasts and salad from the local coffee shop. Or when I would return home after the guys had been working on my floor all day, I'd find that none of the Trader Joe's waters had been touched but all my Corona beers were gone. Adios!

It's not that I care about the beers-- I mean, we are all hermanos after all and what's mine (that holds little commercial value) is theirs to take-- but it's not healthy! You need to hydrate and eat well, especially during manual labor! It's not that Otto is a bad looking fella, but his hair is greasy and his adult onset acne is probably due to a number of nutrition factors. Why heck, from experience I can attest that when I go off my diet and eat fast food my stomach is not well, I become Gassy McGasserstein, and it's just not pleasant. So I vowed I would help my guys through education, and I could bridge that communication gap because I was one of them!

But that never happened.

Ya see, when I hired Otto I gave him a deposit so he could purchase the supplies; I was getting a great deal so why not? That's when he told me in broken Spanglish-- I think he might be Salvadorsian-- that he didn't have his papers and so he couldn't cash a check made out to him. He asked if I could make it out to his novia, whom we'll call Rosarita Beltran, and I did. After all, I'm all about helping out an honest guy.

Well, Otto and his guys did great work, and when they finished he returned for his final payment with Rosarita, who cleans houses and speaks English. She is a solid block of a woman, with thick hairy legs, dry hands, and long black hair pulled into a pony tail. I loved her immediately because she complimented my Spanish language skills. Then when we figured out how much Steve and I owed Otto, I wrote the check and said, "So I make it out to Rosarita Beltran?"

Otto's wife looked at me funny and said, "No, I'm Alma..."

¡Ay, Dios Mio!

Rosarita, it turns out, is Otto's girlfriend.

Being Halfrican American I immediately realized what was happening and said, "Lo siento. Rosarita esta mi amiga. Alma! Exactamente!" Which was probably the most fluent I've ever been in my entire life.

But after that, Otto never returned. I did hook him up with his my friends Matt and Rick for their condo, but he hasn't visited me for café o cervesas. I'm sad, I wanted to help, but I think I broke some inherent rule among men. I shall have to study more.

Me gusta la Fiesta Bargain!

As a further exploration of my Halfrican American heritage ala my Latino side, I have become fascinated by the mercados (stores) that feature hand-painted products on their walls to let the consumer know what's inside. At Fiesta bargain on Sunset Blvd., right across the street from the new Walgreens (Ew! Corporate!), they have some awesome ones on the side wall of their store.

Perhaps such images are used so that non-English speaking residents will know what's inside without having to actually enter those doors and feel foolish if they've made a mistake-- with all those store front churches cropping up in these areas, well, I mean, can you just imagine the humiliation? Or maybe that's not the reason. I don't know. I was too scared to go in and ask because they don't really speak English there.

Anyway, the thing about Fiesta Bargain and why I might actually check it out is that they offer numerous items that are muy importante to the average consumer. Por ejemplo...

Not only can you find prayer candles featuring la Virgen de Guadalupe (Which isn't italicized because that's her name, not some fancy pants Spanish lingo. Duh!), but you can also purchase True Pine (the bastard stepbrother of Pine-Sol), Aqua Net in the aerosol cans for immediate flame-throwing opportunities (or to style your big 1980s high school hair), and VO5 to heal your hairspray damaged locks.

But what's even more exciting-- if these pictures are correct-- is that you can ALSO find Mazola corn oil ("My people call it 'maize'. Your people call it 'corn'. It's the main ingredient in Mazola Corn Oil."), Corn Flakes with a mascot I don't recall, Downy fabric softener because you know there are lots of niños running around this area, and Maxi-Pads. They don't offer a brand name, but as you can see they do guarantee "Quality, Comfort, Savings", and when was the last time you saw a Kotex promising that? Never (period).

So you guys may still be a bit skeptical about my new 'hood, but trust me when I say that if you could promise that sort of availability to your ladies all the time you'd sing another tune. It's all about convenience, yo!

WORD OF THE WEEEEEKKKKKKK!!!!!

The word of the week is:
Incognegro
Definition: Adjective. When a person, usually of Caucasian descent, tries behaving as though he were African American; generally this manifests itself through speech, but can sometimes move into the realm of "bling bling."
In a sentence:
RICHARD: "Check it G, I was all goin' down to Jewel's Catch One to get me some'a dat brutha love 'cause they got the ga-dunk, ga-dunk, you know what I'm sayin'?"
FRIEND: "Little cracker boy, WHY are you acting all incognegro?"
RICHARD: "I am not acting, I am a Halfrican-American."
FRIEND: "Uh huh..."

Ya Big Fruit!

I was exploring my Latino heritage in Echo Park when Steve, who is very patient with his favorite gringo going on such an exploration, discovered something startling and yet exciting! There is a whole group dedicated to the discovery of fruta growing on public spaces in Echo Park. In fact it's such a big deal that it was written about on Daily Candy, which is a website dedicated to new stores, restaurtants, events, spas, and shopping for handbags (among other things).

Anyway, Fallen Fruit was set up by these people who think that if there is an avocado tree growing in a front yard and the fruit is ripe, you have every right to pick it and make a tasty bowl of guac. So they mapped various areas in LA where fruit trees can be found in public spaces and Steve found this map at Chango, our lovely local coffee house.
Guess what... WE'RE ON THE MAP! Oh yes, the owners of Chango marked their location and Steve just casually examined the map and came to our street, where low and behold he found a dot marking the loquat tree in our front yard. He called me over, we confirmed our neighbors had lemons in their front yards and realized that yes, indeed, the Princess Cupcake House is famous.

I love fame. Even when it comes in the form of fruit.

Right now the tree is just loaded with dead things so we need to trim and prune, but by next summer we could have a gaggle of guys and gals picking juicy goodness in our front yard (and thus alleviating us from the chore of pruning in the fall). Well, okay, on second thought that doesn't sound appealing. Perhaps I'll learn to can fruit or make jame and hand it out at Chango to our neighbors so that they love us. We'll be known as the fruity fags or something. Or the loquat lovers. Or maybe I can make loquat liquor. I know people who have made booze before, I could do this! And I could sell it to the neighborhood kids and earn some extra dinero. And as we all know, dinero es muy importante when you own a home and would love a trip to Vegas.

Then again, it is illegal to sell booze to minors; not that they don't necessarily drink it, it's just bad for me to sell it. I do have morals... they're somewhere around here in one of the boxes we haven't unpacked yet. Maybe I'll just trade our loquats for some hearty avocados because the ones hanging over our backyard fence are from an unhealthy tree. We both love guac, as do our friends, and our friends are old enough to drink. Eh, whatever. I'll figure it out later. Right after I get around to pruning that tree.

PHRASE OF THE DAYYYYYYYYY! (and more)

Today's Phrase of the Day is:
Off-Model
Origin: From the world of animation, it is a term used to describe a drawn character that does not match with the original design. For example, if the nose is too low on the face, or the legs are too long for the torso proportions, it is considered "off model."
Usage: An adjective, it can also be used to describe a person who is slightly "off"; that is, when you look at the person you realize something just isn't right about his or her appearance.
In a sentence: Star Jones looked fine when she was big, but since rapidly losing so much weight to compensate for feeling frustrated about her sexually questionable husband, she's become really off-model.
If you kids get a second, check out the Rent issue of The Advocate. On the top banner you'll see a listing for "Rescuing Pups & People". It's my article about Gay and Lesbian relief workers who went in to assist hurricane victims and I think it's pretty great. Also, the article on Rent ain't bad either. I hear the movie is great from my friend Dave at TV Guide. As Fergie would say, "Check it out!"


Speaking of movies, Steve and I saw Jarhead last night and brought a couple of our own Marine friends along; Mom always said it was nice to bring a gift when attending a party. It's a pretty powerful flick that's not so much about a plot as it is about understanding the experience a Marine goes through, and our buddies were stunned. ne of the guys even served in the current Iraq war and said it was so accurate that he was blown away. Yeah, I could focus on dreamy Jake Gyllenhaal and his bum-- really, who couldn't?-- but it's such an amazing story that gives some insight into a world that most liberals just dismiss without much knowledge. I think you'll be moved.

Tonight is the signing party for Alonso Duralde's book and it will go with a screening of The Gang's All Here followed by Alonso speaking and signing. It's at the historic Egyptian Theater and should be awesome. I'll be there with bells on (and author Chris Lisotta who usually plays my substitute date when Steve is busy working, like tonight), so if you come by say hello. You know I love you with the love of the Lord.

.