This was the view from my room. I think that's the Ponte Vecchio, but my memory is sometimes a victim of romanticism. Let's throw open the window and drink in the fresh Tuscan air, shall we? While you blow me, of course.
Upon arriving in Florence, I walked up an alley to my hotel and was greeted by this view. Mmmm, carbineri. Men in uniform. On horses!? Does it get more Italian? Or more hot?
This is most definitely the Ponte Vecchio. Shall we sigh together?
If you also read freakgirl, it's no secret that I'm a lil' obsessed with poon today. Specifically lesbian poon, actually. It's always held a certain fascination. Who doesn't love a lipstick lesbian? Oh, you're gonna judge me now? Whatev. I'm plenty gay. Anyway, add in my recent feeling that MEAT FRIDAY, while enjoyable, just isn't affording me enough opportunity to objectify celebrities, and the result is that I've decided to try out a new feature on Pipedreams: PIE WEDNESDAY. Can I get an amen? Anyone? Well, sod off wankers, I make the rules. And the inaugural pie belongs to Famke Janssen.
Not a lesbian that I know of, but can you say HOT BITCH? I thought you could. I LOVED her in X-Men 3: The Last Stand this past weekend. Something tells me this won't be the last stand, though. $123 million at the box office opening weekend. That something. Where were all you freaks when I needed you for Serenity? Back to Ms Janssen. Here she is in all her glory. Famke. Famke very much. As for my dykes, allow me to paraphrase Sondheim: Here's to the ladies who munch! ::clinks glass::
As seen at my gym today.
Here's my little brotha as I found him, perched on the garbage. (Bodhi, don't say I've never shown you my junk)
Here he is after I nudged him, gently but firmly, toward sweet freedom.
And here he is free, free at last!
I'm sure he won't mind, given the divine picture he's posted, if I tell you that it's Michael Guy's birthday today, y'all! Head on over to Temporary Trouble Spots and wish him well. While you're there, read some of his musings on life. He's the real deal, folks. I regurgitate showtune lyrics while he brings it with his unique thoughts and sentiments. He'll make you laugh and cry in equal measure. OK, mostly laugh, but a tear or two slid down my cheek this morning, Demi-in-Ghost-style.
In honor of Jared Leto pronouncing his gayitude (and before he retracts it), I'm offering up one of my favorite quotes from the show that made me pine for him as much as Angela did.Sometimes it seems like we're all living in some kind of prison, and the crime is how much we all hate ourselves. It's good to get really dressed up once in a while and admit the truth -- that when you really look closely, people are so strange and so complicated that they're actually beautiful. Possibly even me.The quote is from Angela and not Jordan, as you know. But she was the heart and soul of the show, plus Jordan never really made any sense, did he? Just stuff like this:
Jordan: Why are you like this?Ahhhh Angela, you did earnest right. Not like that doe-eyed atrocity, Jennifer Love Hewitt.
Angela: Like what?
Jordan: Like how you are.
Angela: How am I?
Lately I've been starting the meat posts by saying, "Have I done him before?". Well this time I actually checked, and I haven't. Dudes, I'm plotzing because this guy is my husband. Seriously, I loves me some Hugh Jackman. Don't nobody better say anything bad about Hugh Jackman. {{So, do you think he's a big ol' bearded flamer like they say?}}
In my mind, he can do no wrong. He's huge and he's kinda hairy and he's got that accent and he's charming and he even made fucking Kate and Leopold watchable, people. That's a powerful gift. And although I didn't see the show, only clips, when he danced and preened and pranced across the stage as Peter Allen in The Boy From Oz, he stole my heart for good. He needs no adornments, he just gets better with age, but I probably would drizzle him with a little extra virgin olive oil and maybe add a pinch of kosher salt. It's FRIDAY and he's the MEAT, y'all. And he's my boo.
I hope to catch him in X-Men 3 this weekend. Thought I'd go today, but events have conspired against me. Oh well, a gay subtext underscores every word out of my mouth in real life, I guess I can wait one more day to for a like-minded cinematic experience.
Mostly this random babble is about marking time and making changes and being true...standing in my truth, bitch, as freakgirl says. But I guess part of it is about aging and was triggered by a lady who just left my office. She said she was trying to figure out which of us is older. She is only 47 and I'm about to be 41 (yeah, you heard me), a blink of the eye, I'll admit, but fuck me, sister looks like she been rode hard and put up wet. My reflection may not show who I am inside, but it does show a damn sight better than her mullet-having, tracksuit-wearing, onion-smelling ass.
It's been a while since we shared a poem. What's that? Too soon? Oh, relax. This one speaks to one of my recurrent themes. You know the one: trapped in a prison of my own design. Yeah, that one that I'm always yammering about. Part of my own private prison has a closet, but that's not the part this poem addresses. It's the part where we can be trapped by our comfort, both our possessions and also the familiarity and ease of just doing the same things we've always done. Anyway, it's by Theodore Roethke. Hope you likey.The ReckoningFor those of you not down with the verse, I have something else. It feels kind of cruel to make a stand-alone post about it, so I'll append it here. Remember a few weeks back when my Andy was the MEAT? A few of us were discussing his mother, Gloria Vanderbilt, and her preternatural preservation, as depicted in a Details magazine photo. Well, yesterday A. Coop was on Oprah plugging his book (dirty?) and who should show up along with but Momma Gloria V. I'll just say it. Her face is WRECKED, yo. They can do tricks with photographs, but videotape don't lie. OK, videotape is harsh, but this woman's face looks like a leering skull, only with puckers. Seriously, her skin is stretched so tight that she has these pleats next to her nose. And her face does not move. Only her eyes. It's like she's one of those paintings in a haunted house. And don't get me started on her teeth. She seemed really sweet, if that counts for anything. Oh, and Xiaoxia, if you're around here, Anderson described one of his early floppy coiffures as "Flock of Seagulls hair." It's time to face the music, darlin'.
All profits disappear: the gain
Of ease, the hoarded, secret sum;
And now grim digits of old pain
Return to litter up our home.
We hunt the cause of ruin, add,
Subtract, and put ourselves in pawn;
For all our scratching on the pad,
We cannot trace the error down.
What we are seeking is a fare
One way, a chance to be secure:
The lack that keeps us what we are,
The penny that usurps the poor.
So now my running shoes will be able to talk to me via a wireless link to my Nano. You'll have to excuse me for a moment. I just split my shorts.
See this? This is targeted advertising, my friend. Knowing your audience. Stay tuned for my review within hours of the opening showing.
This is my current background screen at work. Love this shot from outside the Uffizi Gallery in Florence. Inside each column is a statue of a famous Florentine. At least I think they are all Florentines. I have a favorite photo of ME standing under Michelangelo. Anyway, it's perty, ain't it?
This whole gay marriage thing has me thinking. I know I should want it. Equal rights. Blah blah blah. The thing is, I'm just starting to expand my circle of friends beyond straight, married couples with children. So now are all the gay ones gonna bore my ass to tears, too? What's that? No, no, I'm not talking about you, dear. You're the exception. I LOVE the scintillating tales of backstabbing drama from your little angel's soccer league.
When I'm at work, I have to be ON. No choice. Only it's not always my nature. I'm a Gemini. Things can turn on a dime. For years now, too many to count, I've been able to passably fake it. More than passably, actually. You'd marvel at my skillz. Lately though, when I have a break for a few minutes, I don't want anyone all up in my grille. I want to be able to walk into my space, announce "I can see you!" or "I'm entering!" Karen Walker-stizz, and have the help scatter. Is that terrible? I'm getting old and I need some DOWN time, guys.
I awakened this morning to find my hibiscus in full bloom. Just for you!
Will and Grace is over, y'all. I'm missing it already. C'mon! It was funny! And it was very, very gay. Even if there was barely any boys kissing or anything. Queer As Folk is gone. Six Feet Under is gone. It'll be months before Project Runway comes back. There's no good gay left on television! What's that? Well, yeah, there's Ryan Seacrest, but I said good gay.
Wanderlust is gonna fucking kill me. Curse you TiVo (and of course, bless you!) for recording Samantha Brown chirping her way across Spain, Madrid specifically. Samantha really is kinda cute cute, isn't she? In a woodland creature kind of way. But I could do her job better with Esteban tied behind my back. Lord, I just wanna spend a day wandering around the Prado. Come with?
Part of it (the wanderlust) is my own damn fault. I ordered Mr. TiVo to record Three Coins in the Fountain. The fountain in question is the Trevi, of course, and I was in love with this movie from the opening tableau of ALL the fountains of Rome. Then when that cad Prince Dino de Cessi shows up, played by a young and yummy Louis Jourdan, I was really hooked. His performance almost makes me forget his campy turn as Count Dracula. Almost. His Dracula is actually worth catching, if only for the scene where he crawls up the castle wall. Instead of actual crawling, though, he busts out a spastic fish out of water-esque flopping move. A hoot. But back to Three Coins , there is the memorable line near the end that seals it for me. The line that hearkens to the theme that I've been revisiting lo these many months. It's uttered by Dorothy McGuire as Miss Frances, the loyal secretary who's secretly in love with her boss, the famous author John Frederick Shadwell (Clifton Webb). When her hopes of finally having a future with him are dashed by his diagnosis with a terminal illness, she drunkenly exhorts a young boy playing with his toy boat on the edge of a fountain: "Bambino! Don't hug the shore with it. Be reckless! You've got your whole life ahead of you. See what the world is like!" Indeed.
This week I shan't wait until Wednesday to dole out morsels from the weekend. Not that anything momentous occurred. I did take Saturday off, so I had an actual weekend. I know I was just on vacation a month ago (exactly a month, I note, since my menatplay subscription expired today), but I needed a break. People were ghastly last week. Here's to a fresh new start tomorrow! ::clink::
Then discretion took over and I didn't.
Man, I'm having a lazy Sunday. For proof, look no further than my recent analysis of the Q-tips box, which comes with a disclaimer, y'all. To wit: WARNING: Do not insert swab into ear canal. Entering the ear canal could cause injury. If used to clean ears, stroke the swab gently around the outer surface of the ear only. Keep out of reach of children.Who are they kidding with this shit? I don't know about you, but I don't buy Q-tips to detail the grout around the tub and I certainly don't dust musical instruments with them. So let's get down to the nitty gritty, shall we? If you've been around here long, you know plenty about my borderline obsessive personal hygiene proclivities, so you may as well know this: I am a Q-tips hog, people. Do I dare to enter my ear canal, you ask? Fuck yeah. Dude, I usually feel violated after. But in a good way. I don't do myself jailhouse-style, though. I lube it up with some mineral oil and go to town, muthafuckas.
C'mon into my cozy sunroom. In case you've ever wondered, when I'm blogging, often this is the spot. Jimjams on, bare feet on ottoman, laptop and TiVo fired up.....did you just contentedly sigh, too? 
Mmmmm, is there anything better than when you discover something delicious that's been there all along? I've had XM radio in my car for over two years now. Of late, I haven't listened much, mostly suckling from the teat of my iTunes downloads. So I guess that's kinda orally aural, isn't it? Well, the other night I was driving home and started surfing through my XM presets. I had been marginally aware of U-Pop, but never realized what a savory nugget I'd been overlooking. On first tuning back in, it was an auspicious beginning: Sin, Sin, Sin by He To Whom I've Erected Many A Shrine (aka Robbie Williams). And then it never let up for 50 miles. Who else is loving Stoned In Love by Chicane/Tom Jones? Anyone hating it? I had my laptop tuned into U-Pop all morning for the Sunday paper and coffee ritual. Oh, and speaking of a newly discovered delicacy that's been there all along, if you're out there, thanks for chatting me up, darling. I can prolly pull my drawers back up now.
When I was parking at the salon, this was the view through my sunroof. Pretty sweet pic for a phone camera, methinks.
Oh, I know what'll make me feel better. It's Haircut Day! If you're wondering why we're not synched up anymore, I've gone to three week intervals. Nothing to do with the coiffure, the change was purely for psychological reasons. Oh, and meat. Meat will make me feel better. We must find solace where we can, people. There's no one more deserving of the Friday honors than this big, juicy meatball:
It's Friday. He's Bobby Cannavale. Forks up. Mmmmm, now that's a meal, right? And you're not finished until you've sopped up every last drop with a biscuit. If you watched the Will and Grace finale last night, you know that Bobby's character, Vince, figured prominently. I know a lot of you abandoned that show years ago, but I'll miss it dearly. Even though it's waned recently, they still managed to fire off a few lines every episode that had me chortling. Or at least barking a "Ha!". Anyway, as if Bobby's looks are not enough (and they are...they so totally are), he's also played fetchingly gay on a number of occasions. I'm easily, pathetically charmed by that. Oh, and he's had at least two roles in uniform, paramedic and cop. You know, just a lil' FYI because I hear there are those who find that interesting and I'm here for you.
Hey Pretty. Anyone remember that Poe song? I used to LOVE the remix version where her brother is dubbed in spouting his ridiculous poetry/prose. So cheesy. So good. Made me horny in the shower this a.m.. Here's a bit of her brother's (Mark Danielewski)stuff. Pronouns have been changed for my own prurient benefit.Positioning my fingers on the shiny metal tab, small and round, like a tear,Then came Eve. Let Me Blow Ya Mind. Eve and Gwen are a heady mix, no question, but not necessarily bonerific, unless you get a little backstory. Remember that internet porn guy? Malcolm was used to jackin' for beats but I sometimes paid him to get aggressive and throw shit around. Remember him? Cabbage for wildin' seemed like a fair trade for both of us. Anyway, there was this one time when it was a little more overtly sexual. He was naked when I arrived. Eve came over the PA. I had him put his leather jacket back on. Cool black motocross one. Had him dance. He ended up putting three or four fingers up, which I didn't even ask for. How sweet is that?
Then murmuring a murmur so inaudible that even though I could feel his lips tremble against my ear, he seemed far, far away
Pinch it, he said, which I did, lightly, until he also said pull it, which I also did, gently parting the teeth, one at a time, down under and beneath, the longest unzipping of my life...
Also, although I don't generally cook and I never bake, I made her this straight from the kitchens of Freakgirl and Dole:
What? Oh, hell no, I didn't actually make the shortcake. I got it here. But I did stir together all those (3) filling ingredients. And...errrr...washed the strawberries. Now that's love, right? The cake was delish, btw.Hi Sweets,See? Sweetest thing ever. Sounds a little disjointed, I know, but that's totally how she thinks. And talks. And she's right. Her mother was an angel straight from heaven who raised four girls on her own when her husband was always out partying. Never heard the first complaint from her. I miss her too, even though she could be a big pain in the ass sometimes. I said she never complained. I never said she didn't have a fucking laundry list of chores for me all summer long.
Thanks for all the work you put in Sunday. I love the flowers and the angel food cake and you. Can Dad and I come in sometime to put out your patio furniture and grill, etc.?
Thanks again for the great Mother's Day. I still have a sick feeling on that day. I miss my mom so much even after all these years. She just was a nice lady and I miss talking to her. Mom and I went through so much together from the time I was a little girl.
Love you, Mom
I saw United 93 on Saturday night. I'll start with a confession. Had MI-3 been starting when I showed up at the theater, I'd have seen that. I knew United 93 would be harrowing. It was. My chest is tight even now thinking about it. Still, I'm so glad I watched it. It's easily one of the best things I've seen this year. I won't say that you should see it, or enter into the discussion of whether it's "too soon" or not. I do feel like, through seeing this movie, I have a better understanding of the events that occurred on one of the most important days in history that I've actually lived. And United 93, to my relief, doesn't editorialize. This movie just lays out the timeline and the facts, straight up. In some ways it feels like a documentary. You follow along as people go to the airport, wait at the gate, and board the plane. It seem like every other trip you've made to the airport. And there's an overwhelming feeling of dread, because it does feel so familiar, and because you know what they don't.Sure you like it plain, but try drizzling it with extra virgin olive oil, add a dash of kosher salt, and it'll be like a whole new party in your mouth.
I mentioned it at the start of the season, but maybe you're new around here. If you're watching 24, head on over to my posts at Too Much Free Time and discuss! It's been a stellar season of one of my favorite shows. If you haven't been watching, why the hell not? And please, if you're gonna say, "Oh, I don't watch TV", just save it and go make a craft.
This picture is of Jean Smart who is brill in her role this season as First Lady Martha Logan. She's a mascara-smeared, pill-popping, boozing, emotional wreck. Genius, y'all. Behind her is Secret Service agent Aaron Pierce. Sparks have been flying between these two and I'm loving every minute of it. Yeah, he'd like to be at her secret service alright. Hell, I would. Her boobs have me enthralled.
I don't know, guys. Against my better judgment, I think I'm gonna be seen in these at some point. There's no actual age restriction printed on them, MPAA-style, but is there a commonly held guideline I should be made aware of? Or is it one of those "if you have to ask" deals that seem to thwart me at every turn?
Oh my. Where are my manners? Grandma would be mortified, were she not already rigor mortised. It's after noon and I have yet to offer you some meat. Why the delay? I was doing a little self-google-desktop search to see if I'd previously featured Mr. Anderson Cooper on MEAT FRIDAY. Turns out he's been oft-discussed, like when I mentioned him as the seed for why I'm horny for hurricanes. Or when I fantasized about Sanjay Gupta and I being the bread for an Anderson sandwich. But I couldn't find him on the MEAT roster. I really should keep one of those to save time. Who the hell cares anyway, right? Who deserves the Meat Redux more than the man who nightly brings the Blue Steel to CNN?
360 degrees, indeed. Who else would gladly go around the world with/on A-Coop? And yes, yes, he's nearly 40
Special thanks to freakgirl for the suggestion. Gay guys, straight girls, we all love him.
