Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tangentially, my friend called me the other morning and asked if I'd watch her kid for a few minutes while she shopped. I said I would if she'd give me a half hour or so to clean up. She was all, "You're a guy, it should only take five minutes." Well, I don't know about you, but just the Oral Hygiene segment of my routine alone can take ten minutes. Keep that in mind, kids. If I do just pits and crotch in the shower and skip the flossing, maybe I'll see you in twenty five, but no sooner.
Q: How many members of the Bush administration does it take to screw in a light bulb?
1. One to deny that a light bulb needs to be changed;
2. One to attack the patriotism of anyone who says the light bulb needs to be changed;
3. One to blame Clinton for burning out the light bulb;
4. One to tell the nations of the world that they are either for changing the light bulb or for eternal darkness;
5. One to give a billion dollar no-bid contract to Halliburton for the new light bulb;
6. One to arrange a photograph of Bush, dressed as a janitor, standing on a step ladder under the banner 'Bulb Accomplished';
7. One administration insider to resign and in detail reveal how Bush was literally 'in the dark' the whole time;
8. One to viciously smear No. 7;
9. One surrogate to campaign on TV and at rallies on how George Bush has had a strong light-bulb-changing policy all along;
10. And finally, one to confuse Americans about the difference between screwing a light bulb and screwing the country."
Please don't be frightened away. I promise not to make a habit of this.
This is not the first place you'd expect to find a post about a Playboy pictorial, am I right? Less surprising maybe when you realize it's of Janelle from Big Brother then? Love her! Seriously, if I wasn't such a full on manly man among men, I might wanna be her. Head on over via the link above to D-Listed, but know ahead of time you'll see her naughty bits, though she's demure with the nethers. Did I mention I LOVE her? She is really hot in these pics. I mean, I'd do her. No, seriously.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
It's U.S. Open time again, kids. Bring it on! I love tennis and this is a great time for tennis. Our Open may hold less cache than Wimbledon, but for a spectator, I think, there is no better tournament. It's loud and wild and filled with drama, just like the city it calls home. Flushing. Umm, can we just say it's in NYC?
This year we have some of the old guard making a last run at a Grand Slam title. You can't really help but root for Lindsay Davenport, can you? As for Agassi, I never really cared much for him, but he was cast in a new, better light for me when Steffi Graf found him worthy. Can he dethrone King Federer? Grab the stick away from the Maestro? Prolly not, but it'd be fun if he did. There is a young gun (and boy, what guns he has) who does have a chance to derail the Federer Express, though. Young Rafael Nadal, flexing the pythons above, is one of the most exciting players to come along in years.
Who LOVES this shit besides me?
Monday, August 29, 2005
Can anyone explain this debacle to me? Seriously, R Kelly put on the most embarrassing display of a live performance at the MTV Video Awards that I've seen in, well, ever. And I use the word "live" loosely here as he was lip synching some of the time, but other times miming or acting or some crazy shit. The annual Thanksgiving Day skit show my nieces and nephews put on seems inspired and professional by comparison. And easier to sit through.
picture via fourfour
Sunday, August 28, 2005
I was looking at a list of books coming out this fall and saw that Anne Rice, the pop fiction equivalent of a Pez dispenser, is offering us Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt. You know this shit is going to suck, right? It'll rile the holy rollers, I'm sure, but that's not really enough of a justification for mo of her drivel. Seriously, has Miss Anne written anything good since Interview With the Vampire? Hell, maybe Interview is crap, too, because I was young and impressionable when I read it and by "impressionable" I mean "ravenous for anything with a homo-erotic subtext".
When you see Now More Pistachios! on the mixed nuts label you may not be immediately impressed, but then you realize, "Hey, less hazelnuts by weight!" and you're happy.
I haven't mentioned books in a while. I'm slogging through something. It's not so bad, it just hasn't made me want to pick it up at every juncture. I went to a cross country meet yesterday and it reminded me of an old favorite, though. Running hasn't contributed many strong entries to the sports book genre, but Running With the Buffaloes by Chris Lear is one of the best. It details a season of cross country at the University of Colorado. This held a special interest for me because a member of my family is a collegiate All-American in cross country. Trust me that most of what happens will be interesting to anyone, though. It's about running and racing but it's about life. Don't get me started on all my racing/running as life analogies, kids! ::crickets chirping::
I just saw a guy on CNN, a tourist in New Orleans, and he said he was just going to stick around because he's never seen a hurricane. Is it OK that I come away from that feeling better about myself and my long-term prospects in life? Sue me, but I'm always heartened by encounters with stupid people. I was in Orlando during Hurricane Jeanne last fall. Granted it was only a Category 1 when it hit there and was soon downgraded to a tropical storm, but it was still WAY nastier than anything I'd seen in all my thirty some years of life before. Back to our tourist, let's do a little figurin'. x feet below sea level in New Orleans times y feet of storm surge plus 150+ mph winds = u fucked. Hmm. Make sure you report back to us on how that was for ya, bro.
I have a little anecdote that doesn't shine such a nice light on me. It deals with television. You know how I love to suckle at the teat of the cathode ray tube, right? Well, a few years ago, I stunned myself with how resistant I am to weaning. I was in Italy on holiday (I like to say it that way to make me seem more continental). It was a few days into the trip before the jonesing began. It's not like I sat indoors and watched the damn thing instead of experiencing la dolce vita. I was in one of the cradles of our modern civilization for chrissake. I did that, too. Anyway, it was just the one evening (OK, maybe two, but definitely not three!). Not only did I watch television, but I watched it in Italian. I don't speak any Italian. Not only did I watch television in a foreign language I do not speak, I watched Big Brother, or Grande Fratello rather, in a foreign language I do not speak. Let me tell you, their version is way sluttier, way nastier and with way more nudity than ours. It was pretty awesome. Does it help me that I was sipping local wine and eating leftover ravioli while I watched?
Speaking of flirting with straight dudes, I don't do it specifically to make them uncomfortable like this guy does. I like it better when they like it. Especially when they like it while riding a Harley. The postcard is from Postsecret. You've all been there already, right?
I mean, even a straight guy prolly gets a certain itch he needs scratched sometimes, right?
So randomly, Kitty Carlisle Hart is turning 95 this week and is looking hot. How much do we love her? Bitch is still performing! This is via Parade magazine and you know I wouldn't be reading that shizz if you were here to distract me. Well, I actually would because Jodi Foster is on the cover.
I know it's a complete waste of my too much free time to be surfing the gay personals online, but they carry a morbid fascination for me in a "there but for the grace of God, go I" fashion. I'm teetering on the precipice of that, saved only by the nubby grips of my kick-ass driving loafers. A few profile thoughts from your kindly queer editor ::dons half specs:: Hint, guys, let's just assume that "no drama" is implied. Unless I see the phrase "Queeny drama? Yes, please!" spelled out, I won't assume you wantin' it. Also, being a man encompasses so much. We can be anything we want. We can express many feelings that seem to cross traditional gender lines. We can be very masculine (like me ::winks:: cuz you know I'm hairy, low-voiced, pec-tacular and tres-butch)(the "tres" kind of negates the "butch", doesn't it?) and still have some feminine characteristics. Saying that you are "straight-acting" just sucks. It's offensive. Finally, to the dude that has posted a picture of himself all lubed up in boxer briefs, sucking his gut in, standing in front of his PT Cruiser, how's that working out for ya?
Can you handle a little more gay today? Boy, I need to stop talking about it all the damn time and get some or I'm heading toward being my own version of the 40 y.o. virgin. Isn't there like a statute (not statue, mofos)(you know who you are) of limitations on that shit? I think it's something like two years without sex and you're considered newly minted (6 months if you're gay). Anyway, I'm so flippin' horny and aggressive now that I have resorted to shamelessly flirting with straight dudes, practically daring them to bash me. Well, not really. I pick small ones who pose a minimal physical threat to me. I'm in the sporting goods store yesterday and start in on this adorable little married dude in the running gear section. Unsurprisingly, he plays along. Seriously, they do more often than you'd think. Flattering for them maybe. I had to bail out first, though, because brotha started playing dirty. He started shopping for an Under Armour jock! Hurt me, pretty boy.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
PS There must be a prettier way to leave that last infinitive unsplit, yo.
Friday, August 26, 2005
I seem to post about television all the time. Interesting. Well, to me. This is SO worth it, though. Do you LOVE 24 like I do? If you don't, just keep quiet. You don't want to be one of those people who harshes my mellow happy, do you? So USA Today has a little preview of the next season of Jack and Co. It does give some information regarding who will be around for the next national crisis (would you like global impact with that?), so if you consider that shit spoilerish, best not to click on this link. I suppose the picture I added to this little missive could be considered a spoiler too, but just relax will ya? Geesh. You're like my friend who puts his fingers in his ears during the trailers at the movies and starts making with the lalalala's. Seriously. He's like 40. Where was I? This article has me completely in a lather about the upcoming season and it's not starting until January fucking '06. I can't wait! Who am I kidding? I can wait. Delayed gratification is one of my hot buttons. Drag it out until you can hardly stand it and then prolong it some more, yo. And the payoff? Curtis is back!!! Oops. ::places pinkie finger next to lips:: It just slipped out.
OK, I've already admitted this week to watching Ellen and Oprah so I really have nothing to lose. When you already have a picture in your head of me as a 50something suburban matronly type in a housedress and curlers, why hold back now? I just saw one of the most fucked up (read: awesome!) things ever on The Young and the Restless. First, I don't watch this shit regular-like, I swear. I sometimes flip it on for a few minutes, which I did today as I was getting ready for my daily foray to church (read: the gym). Gay, remember? So anyway, as I tune in Victor and Nikki Newman are dancing. Nikki is crying (natch) her huge Demi-in-Ghost sized tears as they are being serenaded in their very own backyard (at the Newman Ranch) by Il Divo for chrissake! It's not just Il Divo, it's Il Divo singing Unchained Melody, brothas. Nicholas and Sharon, the junior versions of Vic and Nik, show up. They swoon a moment at this spectacle and then join the spontaneous dancing, mirroring the elder Newmans, tears for her and brooding that looks suspiciously like bm straining for him. Quite the tableau, huh? Drink it in. I did. The mind boggles at what chain of events led to this delicious cheesy goodness (and hey, non-dairy cheese, so no regret or bloat after)(OK, a little regret). Can anyone explain this? PS If Victor paid for this bidness, he should be pissed cuz I.D. was totally lip synching. Where was the fucking string section we were hearing? Debacle!
Yes, yes, I swore that I don't watch the show and yet I know all the character's names and relationships. So maybe I watch for 10 minutes or so on my lunch hour and that's all it takes to catch up on the last 50 from the day before. Il fucking Divo. Ah, that was good. ::sighs:: They are muy caliente, though, no? I do hunger for their touch, now that I think about it. Righteous.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Added: Fred and his wacky troupe have now decided to head on over to Sweden, and Phelps promises the Swedes he will "hunt down your king. It doesn't matter where he tries to hide." Check it out.
I hesitated only a moment, concerned about repeating myself, and then I remembered it's what I do. If you really know me (and I like to feel that you do cuz it makes me feel warm inside and even between), you know that I rehash the same old tired jokes and stories ad nauseum. Why should I blog any differently? So today, like yesterday, I'm going to post about a daytime talk show repeat featuring adorability. Matthew Fox was on Ellen during lunch and he was absolutely charming. And very giggly. If he is going to act like a schoolgirl, then I am too. He's awesome! So cute and he seemed kind of shy and you just know you could getting him giggling so hard that he would snot. Is there anything hotter?
Also, who else is tingly with anticipation for LOST? All y'all? That's what I thought.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
I think I may have just outgayed myself. Is it possible to blow a gay fuse? I think I felt a pop. I am a grown man and I just spent an hour watching Nate Berkus redecorate Jerry O'Connell's apartment on Oprah. I swooned a bit. It wasn' t over Oprah. This time, anyway. Rebecca Romijn seemed sweet. Seemed like she put on a few lbs. Jerry is fucking adorable. So much so that it didn't even bother me when he had to do his flamer impression when describing how excited he was about his new digs. Also, per usual, I would be happy to take Nate home and hug him and squeeze him and pet him and love him and call him my bitch.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
Too much to ask for?
I'm actually very happy and I have friends and family and a good job and random acts of gay kindness and I'm totally not one of those freaks that have pictures of sad clowns on their checks, I swear. But still.
Oh, and the filter should also exclude people who use fucking "LOL" to cue you, laugh track style, when they are being funny.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Saturday, August 20, 2005
You better run, you better take cover
It was blistering hot action tonight, folks, as the big American finally topped the Australian sprite. In other less personal news, Andy Roddick beat Lleyton Hewitt in the tennis match. Ah, it never gets old, does it kids?
What a great day for tennis, both the playing and the spectating. It was a bit sweltering in the afternoon (almost a hunnerd ackshul dergrees)(them there is Fahrenheit dergrees in case all you fancy metric-fied gits was wonderin') as world #1 Roger Federer took on American upstart Robby Ginepri. Ginepri, shucking off his journeyman status just lately, boldly took the first set. The second looked to be heading to a tie break when Federer turned it up a notch, as he is wont to do. He broke in the 12th game to take that set and then spanked Ginepri with a firm hand, both fore and back, in the third. Just as that match ended, a storm ripped through, clapping all round with thunder. Shakespearian. The temp dropped 20 degrees and the humidity disappeared. Just as quickly the skies cleared. Time for round 2. The nightcap had Hewitt and Roddick closely contesting nearly every point, save those 15 or so where Roddick unloaded the cannon serve for aces. Roddick won in two, so baby if Lleyton's the bottom, Andy's the top! (..the Mona Lisa...) Ahhh, I love this sport. I don't smoke, but after that last tangle on Papa Lindner's DecoTurf, I felt like lighting one up. Followed by a banana, of course, in a polite homage to our kind, former Chiquita owning host. His shit used to be bananas, I suppose.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
A picture over on D-listed of the lithe and spritely Jared Leto has me revisiting the love for My So-Called Life. I was a little out of the target demographic for this girl-centered high school drama, I could suppose, but who am I trying to kid? We've all heard the trite comparison of gay men to teen girls, so I won't repeat it. Won't deny it, but won't repeat it. Angela and Rayanne and Ricky and of course Jordan Catalano (like she always said it), I loved them all. Hell, I even had space left in my heart for dorky neighbor Brian and strangely confused teacher, Mr. Katimsky. This was good stuff, wasn't it? It never felt real, mind you. Real live kids didn't talk or act like this where I grew up. Wish they had. I'll always remember a sweet lil' exchange between our star-crossed lovers, not so noteable for the actual dialogue if you didn't see the way they pulled it off. I try to cue folks with the first line. If some hotness ever chimes right in without missing a beat, I'll know I'm finally home.
Jordan: "Why are you like this?"
Angela: "Like what?"
Jordan: "Like how you are."
Angela: "How am I?"
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Y'all should check out the fourfour for some prime south Jersey shore chunk. I think I've discovered a new predilection, guys. It's about like when you stumble upon a great book and then find it's a fucking trilogy. New vistas. Is it a contradiction that I would absolutely die if I got a gut like dat, but I still find it kinda hot? I posted about Paramount's Kings Island (sounds dirty but it's not) a while back, and that joint is crawlin' with dilf like this.
P.S. Is it OK that I borrow fofo's picture if I credit him? I'm new to this stuff. Brotha has the most hilarious Being Bobby Brown recaps you'll wanna check out while you're there.
I'll be heading to the Tennis Masters Series-- Cincinnati tomorrow. I check out the professionals doin' what they do every year down there. Love it. It's a big tournament. Lots of matches going on....most of the top players in the world...some of them shirtless on the practice courts. I'll have a camera phone on me, so put in your requests for a shot of your favorite player in action now, folks. If you're watching the coverage on ESPN2, look for me in the stands. Oh, and I'm not eating at all today to prep for all my Cincy favorites: Skyline chili, LaRosa's pizza and Graeter's ice cream. Umm, well, oh, I gotta be what I am so: Whee!
Monday, August 15, 2005
Sunday, August 14, 2005
I saw The Phantom of the Opera for the first time this weekend. This show has been selling out for twenty years. I don't get it. There were a couple of good songs and then lots of flashy effects. Seriously, is this shit where we got the phrase "smoke and mirrors"? I did think the cast was great, from the top down. I especially enjoyed my triple-dubbed brotha, Michael Shawn Lewis, as Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny. Boy, that last bit is fun to say, huh? Vicomte de Chagny. Now, the next time I wanna say something Frenchy, I'll have something else besides Guy de Maupassant. Great voice, good actor and just seems like he'd be playful and energetic in the sack. That's a potent cocktail.
If anyone loved this play and knows how good it is, call me out. Enlighten me. Is it a girl thing? Funny moment near the end as Christine and the Phantom are singing his opera. From my seat in the fourth row, I jerked awake from nodding off, and I swear she saw that shit. My name is Michael and I am a Philistine.
Friday, August 12, 2005
I'm off to Columbus for the weekend. Hours and hours of sitting in classes and presentations, subsisting on only ice water, starlight mints, and my namesake pipedreams. I can think of only one way to temper the monotony. You're with me, right? Yep. I've already hit the appropriate sites and hooked myself up for the roadtrip. Gym workout then tickets for Phantom on Friday, massage and then strolling (trolling?) the Short North or Arena District on Saturday. We were on the same page, I know. Of course, if you wanna meet and you know, go for a walk or shopping, arrangements can be changed. Yeah, I'm talking to you, random. Oh, also, is this River On Fire thing any good?
Thursday, August 11, 2005
I said he speaks for himself and he does, but I should note that he is Billy Bean, former pro-baseball player and still faggoty-ass faggot. I can say that, can't I? He has an interesting tale. As with most professional athletes, he came out only after he retired. He even chose not to attend his partner's funeral for fear of discovery. He says his story is a cautionary one for others. It's not worth it to hide. (also see: Maupin's words on the BIG CUP below)
via towleroad (again, I know, but seriously, he's a fine piece ain't he?)
Oh, since I seem to be working my way back through Katie Couric's reading list, did you all like The Time Traveler's Wife? I loved that shit, too. Vous?
I was heartened to see that Europe has seen a drastic reduction in the number of practicing Catholics over the last quarter century. Heartened even when it's the tradition in which I was raised or especially because it's the tradition in which I was raised? Yes.
Well, it was only minutes ago that I pulled out Maupin, but I'm dipping into my quote sack again (ooh, it's still warm) to pull out one from my brotha, Gore Vidal on religion:
"The great unmentionable evil at the center of our culture is monotheism. From a barbaric Bronze Age text known as the Old Testament, three anti-human religions have evolved--Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. These are sky-god religions. They are, literally, patriarchal--God is the Omnipotent Father--hence the loathing of women for 2,000 years in those countries afflicted by the sky-god and his earthly male delegates. The sky-god is a jealous god, of course. He requires total obedience from everyone on earth, as he is not just in place for one tribe, but for all creation. Those who would reject him must be converted or killed for their own good. Ultimately, totalitarianism is the only sort of politics that can truly serve the sky-god's purpose. Any movement of a liberal nature endangers his authority and those of his delegates on earth. One God, one King, one Pope, one master in the factory, one father-leader in the family at home."
Sing it, sister Gore.
And you can sing the title line here, too, if you remember the old XTC song, Dear God. These boys felt the same as Mista Vidal and sang it like this:
Don’t know if you noticed,
But your name is on a lot of quotes in this book.
Us crazy humans wrote it, you should take a look,
And all the people that you made in your image,
Still believing that junk is true.
Well I know it ain’t and so do you.
OK, I'm putting my sack away now, I promise.
"My only regret about being gay is that I repressed it so long. I surrendered my youth to the people I feared when I could have been out there loving someone. Don't make that mistake yourself. Life's too damn short."
The Concerned Women for America, in large part made of the very people he feared I suspect, think he should shutup and pretend. After all, it's what most of them do if you rephrase it as "lay there, shutup and pretend", so they think it should be good enough for him. Get a job, get a hobby, get a real outlook where you don't rely on a few lines from a Bronze Age text written to scare people into submission. And step off, bitch.
While on the Maupin tip, if you've never checked his stuff out, you should. He's famous for Tales of the City, I believe, but I also really enjoyed Maybe The Moon.
Finally, I'll end with another Maupin quote I like. Evil, evil man.
The chief ritual of growing up has to do with finally reinventing yourself in your own image, becoming the person you are, as opposed to the person you're supposed to be.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Over on D-Listed they were making joke captions for this picture. The winner: President Bush proving he also does not have a Weapon of Mass Destruction...
Funny, yeah. But seriously, what was going on here? And who is that leering dude giving it backdoor to the POTUS?
Now granted, I've found myself in virtually the same position, but behind a highway rest stop like a respectable person, not right outside the flippin' White House for chrissake.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Added: Alas, technical glitches (this is live television, folks!) have conspired to make me wait until tomorrow to see video from Anderson's night in a sleep clinic (mmmm) and also to learn what it means when I recurrently find myself naked near beloved national monuments in my dreams. Tune in Wednesday, kids.
P.S. Have you all noticed how my pathologic straining for sexual double entendre has rendered me nonsensical? Recognizing it and stopping myself are apparently two very different animals.
Added: For those who want MORE on Anderson Cooper, check out what Gawker has to say about him today. Page down to just below my man, Peter Jennings.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Sunday, August 07, 2005
On the first page that is the chapter
When I first met you
Appear the words:
"Here begins a new life...."
Dante Alighieri (La Vita Nuovo)
Do you find this sweetly romantic, too, or am I just pathetic and full of sizzurp?
John's voice is not for everyone, but I enjoy his songs, a curious blend of humor and pathos. He has a new CD out called Fair and Square. A local paper mentioned some lyrics from the song Some Humans Ain't Human and they typify his wry, simple style.
Have you ever noticed / When you're feeling really good / There's always a pigeon / That'll shit on your hood? / Or you're feeling your freedom /And the world's off your back / Some cowboy from Texas /Starts his own war in Iraq.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
I have a newfound fascination with tiny houses thanks to Max and Andrew. This may be an extension of that or maybe just my innate frugality (am I still a cheap bastard if I just don't like waste?) or maybe just the serious travel jonz I've been nursing, but I am loving the new easyhotel that opened in central London. The room is only as big as the bed and the bathroom is teensy, but it's in a great location and it's clean. TV is extra. Hell, a window is extra. Go barebones, though, and you may just snag a room for 20 pounds/night! Yeah. That sound you hear? It's London calling.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Those of you who know me might be surprised to hear that I was on a beaver hunt this afternoon. Well, maybe not so surprising for those of you who knew me in the early 80's (aka The Denial Years) (aka The Years I Tried To Make a Point)(often, the point had a whole other agenda in mind). Anyway, the beaver shot was promised for a favorite member of the Queer Nation, Sapphic tribe. Less surprising, that, eh? Beavercreek, OH is celebrating some anniversary and they are aping the time honored tradition that I believe started with cows in Chicago by placing giant themed beavers about town. Witness one of them above, my friends. I guess it's apropos that if a big homo snaps a beaver shot, it's of the construction worker.
PS I have a full frontal view but I can't figure how to get it off my flippin' phone. Just think. More beaver to come! And Jen? Muah!
Over at freakgirl I was trying to demonstrate my aptitude as a partner for her on The Amazing Race, so I was bragging up the reverse-bungee shiz that I did a few weeks ago at Paramount's Kings Island. It used to just be King's Island when I was a kid, but that's not nearly as fun to say (especially in a sentence where I splits the infinitive, yo). Pictured is the Slingshot, folks. The acceleration was fierce, and the recoil bungeewhillickers. Afterward, I mistakenly thought I had kept my shit together proper. That is until I saw the video they hawked post-ride where my face looked like what Burt Reynolds must see in the mirror every morning. Oh, also my sister said she was worried I had infarcted somewhere because my legs were so randomly floppy (the cage spins when it reaches the peak, each time). Flatley-style is the word she used, I think. Picture me in that little cage at the bottom of the photo, strapped in supine, legs in the air. Dress me as you see fit. When the man says "Clear" you fly 260 some odd feet into the air.
Note: After I seriously considered bailing on work for 5 weeks (read: forever) of TAR and strapping on the freak for the ride of her life as the fierce gay/str8, man/woman, commenter/blogger, occasionally catty/occasionally weepy combo, I find we missed the deadline. Maybe next time, huh?
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
I find this picture incredibly hot. OK, commence with the judging. Seriously. Like the Velveteen Rabbit needs loving so he knows he's real, I need judging.
Added: I couldn't remember where this came from when I first posted it, but now I have. If you'd like more, head over to Poseable Thumbs.
P.S. FYI, I'm a whore for a whore with a big vocabulary, so I should mention that after reading his blog the first time, he had me at foudroyant.