October 31, 2003
Today, someone will partake in the 20,000th visit to this site. In honor of this unremarkable achievement, I want to play a game.
Over the last thirty years, I have dressed up as every of the following Halloween costumes except for one. Can you guess which I haven't been? The first person to email the correct answer to me will win a CD handmade by P. Diddy's child laborers.
a skier with a broken leg
a pregnant housewife
a bag lady
a Beastie Boy (Mike D, to be exact)
a golfer struck by lightning
Of course this game is just a substitute for the story I had wanted to tell about the Englishman who made me give up underwear for months. That tale will have to wait until next week.
October 30, 2003
I'm feeling the short days. Lately, I haven't taken care of the small things that make the big things easier to work through. Last night, I gave myself a mint-cucumber mask and instantly felt better.
Tonight, I'm running around the park throwing pennies on the ground (heads up, of course). Who's with me?
October 29, 2003
"Judy never felt so good except when she was sleeping"
Belle & Sebastian were amazing. I am tired. I scrubbed my hand, but the stamp won't come off. My sleepiness is compounded by the dreariness of this rain-soaked day (I'm wishing it west...let's all try). But my head and heart are both very full.
Doors opened at 7:30 but Corey and I got there at 7:00. It rained the whole time we were in line. The smell of wet hipster is a mixture of wet dog, warm cotton, and clove cigarettes. The crowd was full of adorkable boys and girls with Bettie Paige bangs, and I loved and hated them all.
There had been two shows planned for last night, the second show starting at 10:30. That show was cancelled, though, as Stuart Murdoch was fighting a lung infection (according to Corey, who knows all things B&S). This meant there were more people than usual walking the line "looking for a miracle." I despise that phrase.
Once inside, we made our way upstairs, because we didn't want to get caught up in those infamous Belle & Sebastian mosh pits. Sitting on the steps near the railing before us, were two girls with their parents. Mom and Dad drank Yeunglings and smiled and looked enthused to be there (though Dad was wearing earplugs). I wondered whether they were the "cool parents" or the "too cool parents."
The younger of the girls was about thirteen with long, dark hair. For some reason, she fascinated me. Was this her first concert? She was nervous around all these twentysomethings, scared to go to the bathroom alone. When not looking at the stage, she looked at the floor, at her feet, shoegazer style. You know the type, the girl in the back of class, the one who doesn't say much, but when she does, it's brilliant. But those girls are quiet for a reason.
I hope she's a writer. I hope one day she writes down all those thoughts. I'd love to read them.
The opening act was Slumber Party. Aptly named.
Corey noticed that Stevie Jackson was standing right in front of us watching the openers. It turns out we were right near the backstage entrance.
The show was too good for words--at least my words. See them if you can.
(Hopefully, you won't have an annoying black sheep of a woman next to you who suggests that her date yell out "Freebird!" Consider this your warning, denizens of the District: If that happens again, it's coming to blows.)
After the show, we saw Sarah through the thin curtain separating us from backstage. And though he denies it, I think Corey tried to sweet talk his way past the woman guarding the door.
The whole walk home, I marveled at how much I love my life.
October 28, 2003
Come on Down, My Friends, Come on Down
In times like these, it's always good to have the support of friends. And like any good conversation with a friend, the following is reprinted without permission:
T.C.: oh no
T.C.: Rod Roddy died
T.C.: first Rerun, now Rod
T.C.: "Roddy was single. The only family member he talked about was his mother, who died several years ago, Pitts said."
T.C.: hmmmm....single, flamboyant dresser....
T.C.: "Roddy's versatility made him a popular voice-over artist for commercials in Los Angeles"
T.C.: and versatile....
T.C.: uh huh
chrisafer: i just laughed tea up my nose
T.C.: it burns
T.C.: kinda like when rod roddy cums in your eye
chrisafer: with a name like rod roddy, who thought he was straight?
T.C.: Roddy, whose real name was Robert Ray Roddy, was born Sept. 18, 1937, in Fort Worth, Texas
T.C.: thats a gay name if i ever heard it
T.C.: and from Fort Worth!
T.C.: the only thing they have there are steers and queers
T.C.: Barker recounted a recent visit to his friend: "I went to the hospital and sat on the edge of his bed and we laughed the whole time we were talking. He was still having fun."
T.C.: yeah because he had a man in his bed
chrisafer: that rowdy Rod Roddy
T.C.: hee hee
chrisafer: Bob liked it since he was no competition for the Barker's Beauties
T.C.: although he got a little annoyed because the girls always took a liking to rod and his flashy ways
It's Hard To Be a Saint in the City
Last night was Quiz Night and we took third place. I'm slowly building my collection of t-shirts so tacky I don't even think I'd wear them to the gym. Worst/best team name: "Jeb Bush Slid His Tube Down a Comatose Woman's Throat." Lesson of the evening: Trust your instincts and speak up when you just know that Charlotte was the older Brontë.
Tonight is Belle & Sebastian @ the 9:30 Club instead of the High Heel Race. I'm the Morton Salt Girl, baby, cause it's pouring with cool things to do and see. And I just found out Junior Senior is at the Black Cat tomorrow... how am I going to fit that in? If only the religious right knew how difficult arranging the gay agenda was, they might have more sympathy for us.
October 27, 2003
The Sum of Its Parts
rugby = men + ball +dirt
rugby afterparty = men + beer + (kilt - underwear)
Scary Movie 3 = tedium + what you've seen in the commercials
waking up when the clock says 9:30 + remembering it's "spring forward, fall back" = 2 more hours to cuddle
self + boyfriend = hotness
grudgingly perky self + house hunting = happy boyfriend
(self - cigarettes) * 3 months = self + smoking boy fetish
October 24, 2003
The Internet is Freaky
What else can you say when you find a poem you wrote many years ago on the personal web site of someone you've never met before?
October 23, 2003
From the Makers of 32 Candles...
News spread quickly that a made-for-TV sequel to 16 Candles will soon be a reality. Word is Molly and AMH are on board. Screw them--what about Michael Schoeffling, damnit?
Really, who doesn't love Jake Ryan? Hell, even straight boys dream about seeing him waiting for them by his little red sportscar as they leave the church.
So, my sexy American girlfriends, here are some thoughts I have for more updating of those tragically classic teen movies...
The Three-Martini Lunch Club
Stuck at the CEO's retirement party, an accountant, the IT guy, a woman from HR, the head of marketing, and a mid-level manager learn a little about each other--and a lot about themselves.
Ferris Bueller's Other Day Off
When the luckiest man on earth calls in sick for a "hip replacement," will his boss catch on that he's actually on a romantic Spring Break getaway with the boss's son?
I Really Can't Hardly Wait
Jennifer Love-Hewitt reprises her role as Amanda Beckett, now in her 40s and confronting the uncomfortable issue of bladder control.
When Garry and Wyatt's dot-com venture capital dries up before they can finish R&D on their virtual reality hot British chick, they need to find creative ways to cut corners. Anthony Michael Hall and Ilan Mitchell-Smith return with Eddie Izzard taking over the role of Lisa.
St. Elmo's Embers
A group of Georgetown alums reunite for their 25th reunion. Who's gone to rehab? Who thinks he's George Stephanopoulos? Who's had more botox? Who's really, really gay? Who ended up with a 25-year-old boy toy? Who fucking cares?
Pretty in Pink Restraints
Planning a romantic getaway to celebrate their 20th anniversary, Andie and Blane thought of almost everything. But when Andie wakes up tied down to a bed by pieces of her thrift-store prom ensamble, she knows only one man can be behind this sinister plot. If it walks like a Duckie and talks like a Duckie....
October 22, 2003
So Long, Farewell, (I Love Him When He's Snarky)
G: Can I use the computer? I have to write some of my research paper.
C: Sure, just let me say goodbye to some people I'm chatting with.
[two minutes later]
G: Honey, can I use the use the computer?
C: Yep, just finishing my goodbyes.
G: Oh come on. Who are you? Cher?
October 21, 2003
Once upon a time there was a band called the Judybats. I loved them for many reasons--wonderful sound, terrific lyrics (as I've said before, funny and smart get me every time). I also was only one sexual degree away from them, and this made me feel somewhat special.
They had a song called "An Intense Beige" which was great, but also gave me the perfect phrase to describe a certain former co-worker. Have you ever met someone so profoundly bland that it becomes uncomfortable to be in her presence? Someone who is dripping in tedium? That was her, my Intense Beige. She even looked the part--mousy brown hair, sallow Aryan skin, and "outfits" in various shades of khaki, oatmeal, neutral, tan, and buff. She would have been a perfect desert chameleon.
The truth, I later discovered, was that in addition to being boring, she was also kind of a bitch. When my superly awesome PR team (me and my girl T) would approach her with a media opportunity, she invariably came up with reasons why she wasn't the person qualified to speak on our behalf. And was rude about it. In the most boring way possible.
How do people get like that? Maybe it's a WASP thing that I'll never understand. Growing up in my family, you needed to be quick with a comeback. Conversation is a contact sport. For Thanksgiving, the Kennedys play touch football. We play "who wants to be the biggest smartass?"
I think my chances of winning are good this year.
Today's Black Sheep of the Day: people who scream out "Freebird" at concerts. That shit is so done. Oh, and if you're at the Death Cab for Cutie show--don't scream out "The District Sleeps Alone" because you're not at a Postal Service concert. Seriously, when that happened, my heart sank for the rest of the band. I wondered if it felt like Ben Gibbard was McCartney and they were just Wings.
English for Non-Native Thinkers
INT. BLACK CAT NIGHTCLUB NIGHT
Chrisafer is pouring a glass of refreshing DC tap water for his friend SILVER GIRL, a stylish mid-thirties heartbreaker type.
So, who is the opening act?
Oh, I forget. Some other band.
October 20, 2003
Weekend Arts Review
Kill Bill Uma, 450 gallons of fake blood, an insane Japanese schoolgirl bodyguard. What more could you ask for? It was very violent, of course. At one point, though, as I watched blood geyser from a just-beheaded torso, I thought of something I read on gawker about how those Jews in Hollywood were being blamed for putting out filth like this glorifying violence. Then I thought, wait, this is really fake violence (as opposed to say, a MOAB). And if we want to talk about glorifying violence...well, let's just say there some people I would point to before I'd start picking on Disney.
Dopamine (thanks, baby) nice movie, interesting story. It was one of those films that you're glad you see with someone you love. The lead actor reminded me of Ben Affleck, but with a soul.
My copy of Wig in a Box came early. I've only had a chance to do a cursory listen, but the tracks that stick out for me so far include:
"Sugar Daddy" - Frank Black Who could resist the chance to hear the former frontman for the Pixies belt out, and if you got some sugar for me, Sugar Daddy, bring it home? Heathens, that's who.
"Wicked Little Town" - The Bens (Ben Kweller, Folds, and Lee) Yes, I may have a strange crush on Ben Folds, but this is a great version of this song. Besides, I have a bigger crush on Roddy Bottum and I'm not as impressed with the Imperial Teen contribution to the record.
"Wig in a Box" - Polyphonic Spree They can do more than provide music for those iPod-VW commercials, you know.
"Midnight Radio" - Cyndi Lauper & The Minus 5 Her voice is perfect for this song... both balance a tension between weariness and strength.
And tonight it's DCFC at the Black Cat.
Oh, but there's always room for a Black Sheep of the Day, and today it goes to former heiress to the throne of Warner Industries Lisa Welchel. While I personally think spanking children only teaches them that violence is a solution to a problem, I guess it's a personal decision each parent has to make. However, if I ever saw a child ask their mother to spank them, I'd be very, very worried. There's just something sick about that to me.
October 17, 2003
Falling Tragic Young Men Again
I was thinking about Rupert Brooke again this morning.
By the way, isn't Rupert a great name? There's Rupert Everret, Rupert Graves, Rupert Giles, and, of course, Stewie's beloved Rupert.
But back to Rupert Brooke.
In college when I read Mrs. Dalloway, I was taken in by the character of Septimus Warren Smith, the shell-shocked vet of the Great War. There was something about his affection for his commanding officer--whom he was unable to save from being blown to bits in front of him--that struck me. I went to my professor during office hours to ask about it. Was I reading into this too much?
No, she said, it's there. She looked at me reassuringly.
Let me share something with you, Chris. Remember that pop quiz I gave about the first half of the book? I had.
Remember the question about whom it was Clarissa remembered kissing? I did remember, and I had answered correctly--it was her kiss with Sally Seton when they were young women.
Do you know that only three or four people answered that question correctly?
Had that many people not done the reading?
No, most of the class answered Peter Walsh--even those who answered every other question correctly. Say hello to heterosexism.
Even when it's painfully obvious (as with Clarissa and Sally's kiss), same-sex desires and connections are hidden to most of the world. So it wasn't just me. There was something to Septimus loving his c.o., not just in my reading, but in others. That same-sex subtext, what dare not speak its name, why gaydar exists at all, etc.
Septimus returned from the war broken. No doctors could help. As the book closes, he leaps to his death. It will probably come as no surprise that in my mind's eye, he looked exactly like Rupert Brooke. Maybe because I had a queer reading of that character so I cast him as some object of my desire that sort of fit that mold. Though, I wouldn't be surprised if Brooke and other war poets weren't in Virginia Woolf's mind as well when she wrote that character. All these tragic men, beautiful men, falling like Icarus.
Okay, that's enough literary geekiness for one day.
October 16, 2003
Frat Like Me
Last night, in a fit of sleep-deprived insanity, I caught up with the boys on MTV's Fraternity Life 2. Ahh, it took me back. Those pledges are sort of lazy, though. Seriously. They knew like five letters of the Greek alphabet. I could say the whole thing three times on a match. Not that I was ever subjected to any sort of hazing, mind you. Nope. Duct tape, blindfolds, jockstraps? Never.
Sometimes when someone I know casually finds out about my "secret past," they're often shocked. "You, a frat boy?" Then there are the inevitable questions. I usually recite a list of stock answers for efficiency's sake: No, no torrid affairs. Yes, some people were stupid and elitist--but no more so than in the Lesbian, Gay, & Bisexual Alliance. No, I won't show you my secret handshake. Yes, it was Grover. No, I don't know why.
Watching this show last night, I saw clear archetypes of fratboydom--every house has them. I knew them well: the terrier boy pledge who wants to start fights, the insecure brother who hazes too much, the gruff and demanding pledgemaster (who really has a heart of gold), the pledge all the brothers admire because he hooks up more than they ever will, the cautious vice president who understands what liability means.
If I had to pick, which I don't, but I'm going to anyway, I relate to Kevin more than any of the others. And not just because he's the cutest. Like me, he seeks to stop drama from getting out of hand. He knows the importance of humor. He's a peacemaker.
And he's the cutest.
Black Sheep of the Day: you tell me.
Glenn and I are working on that whole home ownership thing. Yesterday he had a very productive meeting with a woman through a special program for first-time homebuyers. And, although many customer service professionals may frown on language like this, I think there's nothing more comforting in such a stress-inducing situation than hearing That's okay, baby, we're gonna take care of you.
October 15, 2003
Maybe California Was Onto Something...
And maybe he could do something about all these people wearing white shoes now.
October 13, 2003
The Special People Club
If I were going to a costume party for Halloween and if I could pull this look off without shaving my furry (and tight) stomach and if they made clothes like this for people my size....
this is what I would dress up as.
Andrew Sullivan's Beagle Peed on My Flowerbed
Okay, so technically it's my apartment building's flowerbed, and honestly I don't think he did it on purpose, I was just thinking of what I did this weekend and that popped to mind. It's one of the joys of living in the neighborhood.
Another plus this time of year in DC? The HRC National Dinner. While I've never been to one of these events, I look forward to it each year--mainly for the ensuing early Sunday morning black-tie walk of shame. There's nothing like haggard-looking penguins slipping down 17th street at 6:30 am.
Gurl and I were dancing at Cobalt Saturday night, and I believe we counted up to ten tuxedo-clad men there (and a couple of ladies in evening gowns....at least I think they were ladies). Personally, I don't get it. If you're going to go to a formal event and plan on some sort of afterparty, bring a change of clothes. I lose the urge to dance when everyone on the floor looks like an extra from the prom scene in "Pretty in Pink." Unless the DJ starts playing some OMD, that is.
Today's black sheep of the day: whoever is behind this. While I'm sure things aren't all doom and gloom 24-7 in Iraq, this bullshit PR offensive is just, well, offensive. President Bush, not happy with the way national networks have reported things, today "will seek to go around the press on Monday through television outlets that do not routinely cover the White House." Translation: if I go where they ask me softball questions, I can knock them outta the park.
On his last tour in support of the Patriot Act II: Electric Bugaloo, Ashcroft used a similar tactic--granting interviews to TV but not print reporters. Why? Because print reporters ask tough questions and do more than regurgitate soundbites.
October 10, 2003
Yesterday afternoon's excitement at work turned out to be a person who has threatened to get revenge on someone here (my guess is a professor who did him wrong). The guy wasn't actually here, but has made threats and probably isn't too stable. Sadly, I figured this sort of thing eventually would happen as it has at other other schools.
Then I come home to find that a few hours earlier, there had been a gang shootout along the route I walk from the Metro station to my apartment.
It was hard not to have flashbacks to this time last year and the sniper killings. People afraid to go to craft stores. Or crouching behind their cars as they pump gas. Or telling their kids to walk serpentine so as not to be an easy target.
This is why I don't watch local news.
Oh, and apparently there's mercury all over the city because some dumbass high school kids think it's fun to play with.
Why can't we be a normal city? At least with SARS, you get fashionable facemasks.
Black Sheep of the Day: Cardinal Alfonso Lopez Trujillo. Jesus doesn't like liars.
October 09, 2003
You Think You Know....
Sometimes, I feel like the man behind the curtain, the one to whom no one should pay attention. Please, look that way, see, there's that great and powerful Oz. I'm just pushing some buttons over here. Pay me no mind.
Sometimes, I need to be the center of attention. My outfit is killer. My jokes cut to the core. My hair is just right. My intelligence shines through. My smile will dazzle. And my baby blues? Fuhgetaboutit!
Most of the time I do a little two-step between the extremes. I am an introvert and a Leo. And I can turn on a dime. And am full of contradictions.
Ohandalso? I got a bad haircut today. I'm still feeling the effects of the desertion of my fair, trusted Kristen to the 50th state.
Even better? As I write this, I get an email sent to everyone in the office saying there may be a man with a gun in the building.
So now if I die in a hail of bullets, they'll have to put a hat on me if they want an open casket. I hate hats.
On a positive note, he's a much better singer than you might think. He actually made a J.Lo song sound interesting.
Good Enough for Government Work
Yesterday I posted a link to the city living, dc style! campaign web site. Today, I did some digging through their site as Glenn and I are looking to buy soon. Hopefully, we can find a place that isn't too expensive, dangerously located, or small (stop laughing).
I must have missed some recent mayoral proclamation that renamed certain areas of the city. Welcome, Gorgia Ave and Anacosta, welcome!
October 08, 2003
DC Sells Out
Mayor Tony Williams wants to attract hip people with money to live in DC. Especially if they're younger or older and won't bring kids with them. They caught on to one marketing strategy in trying to attract artists to an area they're calling NoMa (North of Massachusetts). Sounds like a plan to me--you know, the gays love those cute four-letter nicknames (WeHo indeed).
In keeping with this theme, here are some all DC residents should learn.
AdMo (Adams Morgan)
CoHe (Columbia Heights)
WoPa (Woodley Park)
DuCi (Dupont Circle)
LoCi (Logan Circle)
LePa (LeDroit Park)
CaHi (Capitol Hill)
WeEn (West End)
FoTo (Fort Totten)
FoBo (Foggy Bottom)
VaNe (Van Ness)
NaYa (Navy Yard)
EaRi (East of the River)
For the record, I live in AdMo, metro from CoHe, and party in LoCi and DuCi (and sometimes NaYa). I can't say that I've ever set foot in EaRi--which makes me like almost every other white person living in DC.
October 07, 2003
The First Rough Draft of His Story
Some of you may have heard about President Bush's poem for Laura Bush. Apparently the original version of that poem was more telling. At points, it's downright passionate. Who knew?
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
My dear lump in the bed,
How I've missed you.
Money is green.
Sweet Crude Oil is black.
You shoulda seen
Little Jenna throw 'em back.
She came home real late
From a night at Madam's Organ,
Puking all that she ate,
Looking kinda like a gorgon.
The Secret Service attacked
Some frat boy who dumped her.
He'll be sent to Iraq
As a parachute jumper.
Condi and Dick were here awful late
Creating the necessary criteria
To annex Kuwait
And "liberate" Syria.
And Kenny Boy called
To share the good news
With Davis recalled,
He could escape IOUs.
I saw those pictures on Fox:
Of that frog kissing my princess.
So I've added the Chiracs
To the CIA's hit list.
They're calling my tax cuts a facade
And saying the jobless sure are hurtin'
But I counter back, "I was chosen by God.
Of this you can be certain."
Laura, darlin', I'm real glad that you're back.
I missed that shapely lump in the bed.
I hope it's not too unchristian to ask
How's about a little head?
True Tales of Unfortunate Corporate Names
A friend handed me this business card and said, "Tell me what pops out to you in this logo?"
October 06, 2003
He's Not an Actor, But One Played Him on TV
This morning I went to see a neurosurgeon at the recommendation of my orthopedic surgeon. After bouncing around to three different doctors, having an X-ray and two MRIs, and taking plenty of pills, I've decided that I'm going to be a full-time patient. It's sort of the family business, at least on my mother's side.
So, my other doc gives me two names of neurosurgeons to see. One of them wasn't listed in the Blue Cross database, so I picked the other one. I'm thrifty that way. Then I popped on the Internet to see if I could track down any information about this guy. Cyberstalking has its practical uses too, you see. When I google his name, I get all these hits from places like the Internet Movie Database and the filmographies of a certain actor. I was puzzled until I checked them out and discovered that my fair doctor was portrayed in a few movies about a certain president's attempted assassination (which took place just a few blocks from our home at what is generally referred to as the "Hinkley Hitlon").
It's sort of embarrassing to admit this, but I was calmed by the fact that my new doctor was important enough to merit a spot in a made-for-tv movie.
October 04, 2003
The more I think about Arnold being governor, the more I think she'll make a lovely first lady.
October 03, 2003
Where Are Mr. Peabody & Sherman?
I was playing on the Internet Archive's Wayback Machine today and called up my very first web site, one I set up in college around 1994. The oldest version of it they have is from '96.
It was called "The Feel-Good Homepage of the Year" and had links to my friends' sites. Being smartass English majors, I suppose we all thought we needed catchy names--there was Jason's Shrine to Bitterness, Brett's Own Private Idaho, and Gardenburgers in Paradise. I've seen two of those guys recently, but one of them (Mr. Gardenburger) has disappeared from my life completely. It's a shame. Just seeing that link reminded me of how smart and funny he was (oh, and drop-dead gorgeous, too, not that those things should matter).
My pop culture links are so very gen X: the Beastie Boys, Liz Phair, Republica, the Internet Movie Database, and Trainspotting. I remember when I listened to Republica's "Trapped in Your World" and thought that it was fresh, that it was the future of music.
Nostalgia is funny. Especially when it's not even a decade old.
Speaking of which, I saw a frat boy the other day in work boots, a tattered thermal undershirt, and a flannel. Do you smell what I smell? I think that's Teen Spirit in the air.
October 02, 2003
Random Thoughts Thursday
The sign-ups for NaNoWriMo are open. I'm thinking of a political farce. With lots of gay sex. With Republican interns. As you can see, it's a roman à clef based on his life.
If you think he has a sexy voice, you should see his handwriting. Nice strokes. You can tell he knows how to hold his pen. Smooth.
I didn't realize how much I missed Buffy until last night's Angel. Joss Whedon is brilliant. Such wonderful small touches to his work... Fred hanging her Dixie Chicks poster, Harmony!, "the secret ingredient is otter," George Sr.'s deals with the devil, "he was fired....no...wait... i'm sorry, he was set on fire." Sigh, I love me some smart writing.
Today I came across the blog of a former fellow English grad student. Looking over his CV, I had a flashback to a hallmark of nineties academe: cheesy paper titles. The construction usually goes as follows "catchy title using a pun and/or (im)possibly (in)appropriate punctuation, colon, actual descriptive title of the work." My own worst crime in this arena was entitled Cross-(ad)dressing the Reader: Assigning Gender in Second-Person Narration. It was a really good paper. No, honest.
The shirtless straw poll makes me giggle, but I still get more searches for shirtless Anderson Cooper than almost any candidate. CNN, are we listening?
Black sheep of the day: people who use the word racial instead of racist. For example, earlier today, that paragon of intelligent use of English Rush Limbaugh said, "I offered an opinion. In my opinion it was not a racial opinion."
Wrong, Rushie! It was a racial (or "of, relating to, or based on a race") opinion. As soon as you brought up his race, it became a racial opinion. I've heard other people use this strange substitution (e.g., "Not to sound racial...").
Invariably they're misusing the word. And invariably they're being both racial and racist.
October 01, 2003
It's What Makes the Days Seem Shorter
Now that you mention it...
We now return you to a discussion about shoes already in progress.
D-Lo: cute size 14 are hard to come by
crisafer: i heard a rumor
D-Lo: about my feet?
crisafer: no--about karen hughes, who used to be Bush's spokeswoman
crisafer: her feet are so big, apparently, she buys shoes from a catalog that caters to drag queens
D-Lo: oh god, that would be horrible
D-Lo: she probably is a drag queen
crisafer: that would be fun
crisafer: every president should have a spokesdragqueen
D-Lo: and a go-go boy on the cabinet
crisafer: and a chickenhawk in every pot
D-Lo: 40 acres and a sensible pump for every american