Paris Hilton is in My Bedroom… Why Won’t She Leave?

As much as I loathe Paris Hilton, I not only purchased that sleazy “One Night in Paris” DVD of her and her boyfriend, I watched it…

My 17 year-old nephew asked for the scuzbag’s DVD for his high school graduation. Wanting to be the “cool uncle,” I bought it. Then, when graduation day arrived, I did not want his grandparents (my parents) to see him opening this. I can only imagine my mother announcing to all that could hear how embarrassed she was and how horrible I was--meanwhile, my nephew would be locked away in his room with a wetnap rubbing one out...

However, he’s 18 in July, so no one can say a word at that point, so I decided to wait until then. I mention this The Nephew and his mother at graduation, to which his incredibly conservative mother replies, “Heck, give it to him now, I don’t care.” My nephew practically went into convulsions as his head was bobbing up and down in a frantic “Yes! Yes!” motion.

Regardless, I’m waiting until his birthday—I don’t want to be the “perverted uncle” giving my nephew whack-off material. Granted, when he was 13, his dad bought him the Playboy magazine with Barbara Carrera* in it. However, my brother can be the “creepy perverted father buying porn for his underage son,” but I’m staying out of it. Call me crazy, but I don’t want to think of my nephew flogging the log. I guess it’s the conservative streak in me, I’m just that way…

As a result, Paris Hilton is in my bedroom. I guess it would be rude not to offer her something… the only thing she would want is more exposure—and naturally that would be for me to screen the DVD. Plus—as if I needed an actual excuse to view the DVD—it’s going to be about a month before I can give it to my nephew and there is the warranty to think about. I don't want his first experience with porn to be attempting to return it when he hasn't had the thrill/embarrassment of buying it for the first time. So, I sat down and watched Paris at night...

Oh my f’ing lord…

Each “segment” is introduced by sleazebucket and former Paris Hilton boyfriend what'shisname. Who knows and who cares who this guy is? Actually, his name is Rick Soloman... however, I call him "Dick." Somebody wrote Dick a bit of lame script which he uses to introduce each segment and then we’re shown Paris in all her glory. It's strange to feel dirty and shamed at watching the introduction rather than watching the porn portion...

Let’s just say that there is nothing really new in here. It’s the same old stuff one would normally see if one were to watch straight porn. Me being a card-carrying homo, I don’t normally watch this stuff, so it was somewhat new to me. She poses, she coos, she sucks, she gets banged, she answers her cell phone while getting banged... just an afternoon after church, if you ask me.

What wasn’t the usual stuff was the plentiful shots of this dude’s dong. My gosh, he loves that thing! He has long, graceful shots of "It" all alone—no Paris to be found. Granted, it is quite lovely, but I thought this was about Paris? I got the impression that this was really, “All About My Big Donger… with guest appearance by Paris Hilton!”

You really won't see Paris sucking his dork, as you will see Dick's Dork getting sucked by Paris Hilton. He wasn’t fucking Paris, Paris just happened to be there when his schlong was a-fuckin’.

I guess they broke up on their second date, because there is not a whole lot of footage here, folks. The video sleazebags that distributed this embarrassment felt the need to attach “additional hardcore footage,” which was nothing more than leftover scenes from other videos. Some girl getting rammed by some guy we never see (I will say, straight porn has improved in that the guys have pretty good bods and HUGE dicks—maybe Dick will be able to have a job other than busboy at The Olive Garden, after all!)

The whole thing left me feeling dirty and shameful. Not for buying it, not for watching it, but for having it in my home. My bedroom is a sacred place, filled with only the finest in gay porn videos and magazines. Why would I sully such a place with the rancid world of Paris Hilton and straight porn?

Scummy uncle or not, I’m giving this to my nephew ASAP—I have a reputation as a homo-perv to maintain and Paris Hilton is only going to bring my reputation down.

I just hope the fact that Paris Hilton is in his house does not bring down the property values of my brother's neighborhood.



*The Nephew is a HUGE James Bond fan… and then became a Barbara Carrera fan. Me, I’m a HUGE Pierce Brosnan fan—not the actor, the half-naked man. Me likey…

Movies 2004

I haven’t posted anything in a while, and I’m feeling rather dry, creatively speaking. So, I’m scrapping the bottom of the barrel with this posting…

With the release of Star Wars III (or 6 depending on your perspective), the summer movie season has officially begun. I now look back over the past year at the movies I liked, wished I hadn’t wasted the money on, and those that have moved to my Netflix list…

The lists are in alphabetical order, because with films like The Aviator and Team America: World Police on the same list—how do you put one above the other?

My 2004 Favorites:
The Aviator—I would have liked this film so much more if it had been about 40 minutes shorter. My ass really hurt at the end of this… Leonardo (who I can’t stand in the least) did a great job and almost made me like him. Cate Blanchete earned a well-deserved Oscar for her role as Katherine Hepburn.
Being Julia—Annette Bening was absolutely brilliant in this role. I spent the last 15 minutes just beaming at how deliciously evil and upstaging her character was.
Fahrenheit 9/11—How could Americans watch this film and still vote for Bush? Michael Moore at his best.
Finding Neverland—Johnny Depp’s range continues to astound me. He’s brilliant in everything and Neverland was no exception. The film is charming (and I don’t use that term lightly or often) and I could barely see the final 10 minutes through my tears.
Friday Night Lights—Yet another reason to be glad not to live in Texas. These kids’ lives peak at 17… Peter Berg did an excellent job adapting H.G. Bissinger's book.
Garden State—Excellent directorial debut by Zach Braff.
Good Bye Lenin!—I think I want to use the word ‘charming’ again…
Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle—A movie that has ‘Doogie Howser’ leaving “Love stains” in the backseat, someone ‘marrying’ a giant bag of pot, and a guy riding a cheetah all while in search of White Castle burgers is great in my book.
In Good Company—Charm… no, not that. But I enjoyed it. I guess I’m getting old when I enjoy films where the older guy beats up the up ‘n comer…
Kill Bill Vol. 1 & Vol. 2—Kicks ASS! (Both literally and figuratively.)
Kinsey—A movie where Liam Neeson bangs Peter Sarsgaard is tops in my book (plus, it’s fascinating how far we’ve come and how stupid we are today).
Million Dollar Baby—Clint Eastwood and Morgan Freeman give such sublime performances it’s a joy to watch. Hilary Swank won an Oscar for a performance that really didn’t deserve it (I’m still bitter Annette lost to Hilary TWICE!)
Saved!—Great until the end (why must they all fall apart at the end?) Best line: Mandy Moore throwing the bible at Mary, shouting, “I am FILLED with Christ's love!”
Shaun of the Dead—Zombies and slackers, baby. Zombies and slackers…
Sideways—My favorite film of the year. Brilliant all the way around: great writing, directing, and acting. Paul Giamatti not only deserved a nomination, he deserved to win.
Sin City—I went into this film not knowing what to expect and I really enjoyed it. Visually stunning.
Sponge Bob Square Pants Movie—“Who lives in a Pineapple under the sea?!” Fun from beginning to end. I laughed through the whole thing
Super Size Me—I’ll never eat at McDonald’s again… (I still crave me some Big Macs, but I don’t think I can do it…)
Team America: World Police—Marionette sex? Genius! I can’t wait for the DVD and all the extra footage they couldn’t show in theatres. Parker and Stone are the masters at offensive writing… I think that’s why I love them so.
Touch of Pink—Damn… I’m forced to use the word charming again. Great performances throughout and an unconventional story.

Craptacular Disasters:
Anchorman—How I wanted to enjoy this film, but it was just so flat. Great Concept/Shitty Film (Steve Carell had some great moments, as did Will Ferrell, but on the whole it was weak).
Connie & Carla—WTF? From Big Fat Greek Wedding to something we’ve seen way too many times? This could have been a terrific and fun film, but they went with Comedy Formula #147a*…
Day After Tomorrow—Dennis Quaid was in it… and that’s where the enjoyment ends.
Dodgeball—Such potential… however, they went with Comedy Formula #39**. Fun concept and great casting does not make a great film. You need writers for that…
The Dreamers—Tell me we have gone to the 60’s well for the last time…? That well is so dry. I’m not sure what was so shocking as there was nothing we haven't seen before... done better.
The Grudge—Huh? What was scary? That creepy kid? Sure, he was creepy, as was that floating lady, but it wasn’t enough to cause anyone to become catatonic… Big letdown.
I, Robot—It, suck.
The Incredibles—Incredible? Not so much. It was okay, but certainly not incredible…
Ladder 49—Nothing new here. We saw snippets of a guy’s life over 10 years, but we never got to know him. Watch any episode of Dennis Leary’s Rescue Me and you’ve seen something much better.
Latter Days—Great film until the ‘student film’ ending. Completely ruined it for me. Whatever happened to originality?
Manchurian Candidate—The original was flawless--this crappy remake is full of flaws. Why can't they remake the shitty films and save the classics from being ruined?! WHY?!
Meet the Fockers—If we can find out what was successful in the first film and load up the sequel with that it’s got to be good, right? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. And yet, America went to this movie again and again. Never underestimate the stupidity of the public (I think they all voted for Bush… which is exactly my point).
National Treasure—Besides starring the awful Nicholas Cage, the final action sequence was so dull and lackluster that I kept waiting for the ‘big finish’. Dull…
Passion of the Christ—The film about the son of God, who changed the world with his message of love and compassion, shows none of His message, but only how he died. Beautiful cinematography, but missed the point. (Unless the point was “Jews are bad,” then I guess Mel “Anti-Semite” Gibson did as he intended).
The Stepford Wives—Such potential… such drivel. Disappointed!
The Village—Will someone please stop giving this guy money to make these awful movies? The Sixth Sense was wonderful… everything else was crap, crap, crap. ENOUGH!
The Wedding Date—Load of shit from the moment ‘go.’ I think they lopped off the first 20 minutes as unnecessary… they should have lopped off the rest while they were at it and called it a day…

Thank God for Netflix… How could I have missed these?
50 First Dates—Drew and Adam… love them.
Bad Education—A Pedro Almodóvar film starring Gael García Bernal, how could I have missed this?
Cellular—Chris Evans spends the first 20 minutes of the film without his shirt? I’m still kicking myself for missing this.
Coffee and Cigarettes—Heard mixed things…
Dear Frankie—I cried during the trailer… when did this come out?
De-Lovely—I’m not sure where I was for this.
Diary of a Mad Black Woman—this had disaster written all over it and I wanted to be there to see it unfold. What is up with Tyler Perry? I only saw the trailer and thought, "Christ, that guy has some ego..."
Fever Pitch—Maybe I don't like Drew so much... I missed this, too. I like me some Jimmy, though...
Hidalgo—Mmmmmm, Viggo.
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy—Where did it go? I swear it was here a minute ago…
Lost Skeleton of Cadavra—Did this even get released? I loved the trailer.
Millions—Again, I got teary during the trailer. "It's not suspicious... it's unusual." Love those British kids, they're so amusing.
Miss Congeniality 2: Armed and Fabulous—Another film that looked disastrous, yet I wanted to see it.
The Motorcycle Diaries—I kept hearing mixed things… but Gael García Bernal was in it—I should have gone. Vive Che!
Open Water—The trailer scared the crap out of me, I think I need to see this on DVD so I can fast forward when I get all squirmy and girlish. (yeah, yeah, which is all the time... I know...)
The Polar Express—Loved the book… I wanted to see this at IMAX—I think I’m too late for that.
Riding Giants—I have a porn with the same name…
The Sea Inside—Looks heart-wrenching.
Shaolin Soccer—Looks awesome… this zipped in and out of theatres fast.
Spanglish—I heard very mixed things on this. I love James L. Brooks, Adam Sandler and Tea Leoni…
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring—I heard great things, but it sounds way too long.
The Whore—I know nothing about this film, I just stumbled across the title—I believe this is my kind of movie!
Win A Date With Tad Hamilton!— Josh Duhamel is the only reason I watch Las Vegas, and yet I missed a chance to see him shirtless! Oh, hurry, Netflix, hurry!
The Woodsman—I couldn’t bring myself to go see a film where a pedophile comes off as a sympathetic character. I think I'll feel even dirtier watching it alone at home...


*Comedy Formula #147: Two friends witness a murder and must leave town and disguise themselves as:
CF #147a: Nuns
CF #147b: Another sex
CF #147c: 180 degrees opposite to who they are (crooks = gay pageant show consultants, etc.)

** Comedy Formula #39: Group is threatened by real estate mogul/competition with eviction if they can’t come up with money to pay off loan/mortgage. They enter a contest that pays the EXACT amount of the loan/mortgage. In the end, they succeed, which causes the downfall of the real estate mogul/competition. (Reference: see just about any teen movie from the 1980’s http://www.crossfilms.com/films/eightiesending.html).

Family Drives

My sister and I have been on the East Coast for a week. We've worked our way from Rhode Island through Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Virginia, Maryland and we are now in DC.

The countryside is beautiful... driving with family is not.

My sister drives like an old woman. "We're in a rental car so I need to be careful," she keeps saying as she drives the exact speed limit. "No," I counter, "that's why you don't have to be careful--it's a freakin' rental!"

We are both trying very hard to be 'respectful' of the other, so when things get tense (and man, do they get tense) I tend to stop talking, for fear that I will say something that will start an even bigger argument--or that I'll just 'go off' in general and start screaming like a madman. Needless, to say, I haven't been saying much as of these last few days.

Our vacation ends tomorrow and I have never been so glad for a vacation to end. We haven't had any real apart time--except for my evening in Boston, which was the second day we were there, so that's worn off. (I'll tell you more of my gay-bar experience in Boston later...). So, we've been together pretty much 24/7 for the last 5 days. WAY too close for me.

There are things one normally ignores of a loved one: stupid phrasing, inane comments, body odors, etc. Usually, they aren't noticeable, or are negligible to say the least--however, now every other utterance from her mouth is something I want to beat her over the head with something blunt. How many times can someone say "It's all good"? I mean, really, would any jury convict me? No court I know...

So the journey comes to an end and even though we live together, I don't think we will see each other for the next three months. Unless a really good travel offer comes up and then it's another family road trip... God help us all.

Where There’s a Will I Want to Be in it, Not Writing It

So, I finished my will last night. Or is it my last will and testament night? Actually, it’s more like a last will, testament, and ‘comedy stylings’ of Chris. I found it hard to be serious throughout. While I did get a little misty when I was thanking my parents for their kindness and my friends for being supportive, however, when it came to giving my stuff away, how do I know if anyone is going to want my junk?

About a year ago, there was a fire in the building behind our place, and my sister and I rushed into our place to take our “valuables.” I ran into my room and looked around frantically… I tried to calm myself down because I thought I was too frazzled to focus enough to actually lock on to something to save. Then I realized that I don’t own anything of value.

Sure, there are many things of sentimental value and lots of “ironic” items, but nothing that can’t be replaced—or one would need to have replaced. I will say the porn represents a significant investment on my part, but I wouldn’t call it value. And who am I leaving that to? My Republican family? “To my mother, I leave my love and good wishes and my DVD of ‘How the West was Hung’.”

So, last night I started looking at crap that means something to me, but on the whole, means nothing to anyone else. I got done and was rather proud of myself that I disseminated all my property. This morning I realized I didn’t mention my CDs or my (non porn) DVDs. There’s a ton of them and I missed them and concentrated on such valuables as framed “art” I printed off the internet…

It’s sad to think that your legacy is porn, crappy art, and 150 Simpsons action figures, a Heinz Ketchup phone, a glow-in-the-dark Madonna, and a collection of obscenely anatomically-correct dolls with names like Carlos and Tyson (guess which one is black?)

However, my biggest concern at this moment is mourners. Frankly, I don’t think there will be enough of them. I want a packed house, but I don’t know if anyone would show up. I don’t have that many friends… and of those that I do have, most will flake. I can just picture Julie saying she had a sore throat… I don’t think I could make that many friends in the next 17 hours, so I just hope those friends that show bring a friend or co-worker along to the funeral. I'm sure my parents will throw a nice reception with lots of food, is that enough of an incentive to go?

Speaking of… I want tears at the funeral. Fake it if you have to, people, but I demand tears! Sobbing would also be appreciated. I request that Scott McCandless shout out “Not Chris! Not Chris!” at some point—he mocked me when I ‘came out,’ saying, “Not you! Not you!” in his most dramatic fashion. Fag. This is your penance buddy (you get 50% of my porn, so you’d better be convincing…)

Other than that, I mainly fear my friends will embarrass me at my funeral: they won’t show up: “Dude, I had a thing…” or when it comes time to say something about me nobody will get up and say anything… or worse they will: “He had the biggest collection of porn…” or “I think he thought he was funnier than he was—maybe it’s best he went before life could crush his dreams completely…” or worst of all, “Christ, he was fat, wasn’t he?” and then it turns into a roast and my ashes are spinning…

I just realized I forgot to mention my TiVo in my will! It’s got a lifetime subscription and that’s worth bucks… man, I had better survive this trip okay, because I’ve still got work to do on my will…

Flappin’ My Wings…

So, I worked on my will the other day… I’m going on a trip with my sister—my current will leaves everything to her—well, instructions on who to give it to and if the plane goes down, no one will know what to do... or to get to "that drawer" before my parents—so, I have to think “worst case scenario” on things like this.

I always watch for accidents around the time I fly. I figure if there was an air crash right before my trip, I feel better, since I feel the air has been pre-jinxed. There has got to be only so many crashes out there—lurking about, waiting to happen—I figure if it happens to someone else, then the chances of it also happening to me are significantly less.

The skies have been eerily calm lately.

Could it be that safety has gone up? Maybe because so many companies are about to go belly up, they just aren’t flying. Personally, I think the Air Crash Deity is looking for me. In 1990, I was on a plane to New York and we got diverted because just before we landed another plane crashed onto the runway. Two weeks before I was to go to Europe, four planes were hijacked, two flew into the World Trade Center, one into The Pentagon and the last into a field in Pennsylvania. Are they after me? Am I being paranoid? You be the judge… You’ve probably been talking about this already, haven’t you? Haven’t you?!



So, as the date of my trip draws ever closer, the chances of a crash increases with each flight.

I’m almost resigning myself to the fact that the plane is going to go down (and not in a good ‘porn kind of way’ – wacka-chicka-wacka-chicka-bow-wow). I’ll be the only one not screaming and crying… I’ll be sitting there pissed off. “Damnit!” I’ll cry out, “I really should have taken the time to watch TV more…” (Okay, I think I’ve spent more than enough time doing that… but I’ll be pissed none-the-less.)

I’ll probably be cursing God for letting Osama bin Laden, Sadam Hussein and KIM Jong Il live, and I—a lowly schmuck with a penchant for television—dies in a firey crash. I’d pop God a good one, if I could actually get into heaven.

I’m hoping it’s a terrorist over a malfunction. I can at least “play” with the terrorists. I figure they're going to kill us all anyhow, I might as well make it miserable for them too: “You know, that’s a type-o in the Koran. It actually says you get 70 minutes on your cell phone—not 70 virgins… the cruel joke of it all is you’re out of your calling zone in Heaven, so you still have to pay roaming fees. What? Why am I an infidel for telling you the truth?”

I have this sick feeling that I’ll be right… and that God will be on the Verizon Friends and Family program and I’ve got a freakin’ Catherine Zeta-Jones (Douglas) T-Mobile. Damn you, CellularOne!

Since I probably have not earned enough “good” credits to get into Heaven, I’ll have to count on my “Get out of Hell Free” card, which means I’ll probably end up in purgatory. I hear purgatory has improved immensely now that they have a Starbucks…*



*three, actually.

Don’t Kill the Joke Teller…

As you may have read, I’m going on vacation next week. Yes, I’m traveling close to the Evil Empire, the Red-Controlled Washington, DC.

So, I sent an email to my bosses, reminding them that I was going to be away for a week. As a side-note/joke I said, “…in fact, one week from my sending this letter I should be at a Red Sox game… or in a bar. Either way it’s a win/win situation.”

My one boss that actually is a Red Sox fan said nothing. No comment, no “lucky you,” nothing.

The rest, apparently, are rabid Yankees fans.

I’m practically getting hate mail! “You like the SOX?! You SUCK!” was the nicest of the replies. They walk into my office, look at me with disgust and leave without saying a word. None of that is unusual, except usually they look at me with disgust and say, “hello.”

Two others think I’m an alcoholic. “What bar,” one asked incredulously.

“I dunno.”

“So,” he said, pausing to choose his words carefully, “you just hang out in bars?”

“No… it was a joke.”

“You don’t go to bars… at all?” Okay, now he was incredulous. I mean really incredulous.*

“No… I go to bars, just not a lot. I was joking.”

“You think drinking makes you cool?” He said, suddenly becoming my father.

I decided to tell the truth, “Look,” I leaned forward so he knew I was serious, “I’m not a looker, so I need all the help I can get. If finding a drunk hottie in a bar is the only way I’m getting some, then I’m getting some… so back the F’ off!”

“Oh,” he said, feeling guilty and embarrassed. He briefly apologized and scampered** from the room.

Now, normally, one wouldn’t react to my previous comment in such a way, so I can only assume that the words I spoke were slightly different from what I just wrote. I think they were along the lines of “I’m an alcoholic—and rather than say I was going back for the national AA convention, I say I’m in a bar and everything thinks ‘how fun.’ I’m just trying to salvage my dignity… one. day. at. a. time.”

Yeah, I’m gonna burn. I know it.


*Man, I’m so glad I had looked up that word this morning… it’s really come in handy.
** I like 'scampered,' too. Although, I did not need to look it up.
*** Uh, there is no asterisk in the text for this, but I do want to note that I AM definitely copying the asterisks motif so brilliantly achieved by An Intern In New York (his blog ended last week and this is my tribute/plagiarism of his work. God Speed, Intern Andy!

I'm Going To Have To Spend The Whole Week With Her?

My sister and I are going back East for a week trip to do a little family history search (her passion, not mine) but I’m going along because… well, I’ve got nothing better to do. I could go to work, but really—I do that everyday and it’s not like it gets me laid or anything.

Actually, it did. But that’s another story for another time.

Anywho… my sister has not been on a vacation in forever. She used to travel a lot, but now only does the occasional day trip or weekend trip to The Crosby, Tahoe, LA, etc. This will be her first real vacation in a long time and she is very excited about it. Very excited.

So excited, in fact that she constantly talks about it. “Just think,” she said Saturday morning, “in a week, we’ll be flying…” In church on Sunday (yes, I go to church… yet another story…), she leaned over and said, “In a week we’ll be at mass at Victor’s church.”*

She’s even started packing! The dining room table is now covered with her underwear (she’s 45 guys, don’t get excited… it ain’t pretty) and toiletries. We leave on Saturday, so I’ll probably start packing on Friday night… or Saturday, if our plane leaves after noon. I’m not sure what time we leave… which leads me to my next ‘problem’:

She’s highly organized.

My sister keeps everything from the trip in a file—hotel reservations, flight information, car rental, maps, ideas, etc. It’s astounding. However, she thinks everyone does this. We received an invitation to go to a party and she looked at me and asked, “Do you want to put this in your file?”

“My file?” I asked.

“Yes, your file folder with all the trip details.”

“Uh… no. I’m good.”

“You have a file, don’t you?” She asked this in the same way my mother asks questions—pretty much giving you a direction in which she expects you to answer. (My mother often asks questions this way, as it saves a lot of time, because you don’t have to think, you just answer based on the cues in the question: “You’re not gay, are you?” [“not” + “gay” = answer: ‘no’] “You’re not a Democrat, are you?” [“not” + + Democrat” = answer: ‘of course not.’] My mother has since learned to live with disappointment—however, I will say she cried more when I told her I was a Democrat than when I told her I was gay… “You’re not going to vote Democrat, are you?” [“not” + “vote Democrat” = my mother in tears).

Back to the conversation:

“No… I don’t have a file,” I confessed. For a moment, I thought she was going to cry. She stayed very quiet for a moment. “I just figured,” I said desperately pulling something—anything—out of my ass, “that you being so organized, it would just be duplication of work.” She smiled. I’m sure she knew I was full of it, but I was appealing to her sense of organization…

“Okay, I’ll put it in my file.” She started to walk away and I thought I was in the clear, until she turned back and said, “you really should have your own file, to keep all of the things you want to do organized.”

We’re going on this trip together—we are stuck together the whole time. The only time I have some time to myself is Monday night in Boston. I’m going to try to get into a Red Sox game (good luck), or I’m going to hang out in a gay bar.

Guess which way I’m leaning.

“Hey, Alix! In a week I might be sodomizing a Red Sox fan! Should I put a condom and lube in my file?”

It’s going to be an interesting week.



*Long-dead great uncle that was a Monk at Portsmith Priory.

I Really Need To Read the Fine Print

So, a month or so ago, I signed up at sitemeter.com for a site meter for this site. I wanted to see if anyone was reading my blogs. I gave them my information and waited for the numbers to start clicking.

The first day, I got an email excitedly claiming it had my results for the day. ZERO readers. The same thing happend for day two... and day three... and day four... crap. Silly as it was, I decided to keep writing--why? I'm a glutton for punishment.

As the weeks went by and nobody read anything and no comments were made, I felt pretty good about saying anything I wanted. I almost described a rather unfortunate tryst a few weeks back (it was beyond awful and humiliating. In fact, it might have made a few people ill--I was the 'pretty one'--that's how bad it was).

So, a friend sent a note this morning that he had read something on my site... HURRAY! I can go to sitemeter and it will say 1. Glorious, glorious one!

F'ing Zero.

So, I went to site meter to see what their problem was. They had all the information. I gave it to them, they were sending me reports, everything was set, right?

Wrong.

I didn't read the fine print that was boldly (and repeatedly) noted on the emails they sent as well as the website, that I had to add three pieces of information to link it up.

I quickly added the information and submitted the information. I got an error. In fact, I kept getting errors. All they wanted were three things: My my login, password, and blog number ("http://www.yadayada.blogspot.yada/yada/yada/######" is how they noted it. Note the number in bold.), . And yet, I kept getting error messages. After the sixth attempt, I read their explanation again and realized that I was putting in the entire address, not the number.

Hopefully, it's all okay now.

However, if you don't see a number somewhere on the page, then I've skipped something else. And at this point, I couldn't give a crap...

Happy Anniversary, Your Son’s A Pervert!

So, my sister and I had my parents over for dinner to celebrate their 49th wedding anniversary. We made some lovely hors d’oeuvres and had a nice dinner. As we were sitting around talking, the subject of a trip my sister and I are taking back East came up.

We talked about a bunch of different things and then my mother mentioned our wills. Just because she is in her 70’s she thinks that everyone is thinking about death. However, she pointed out there are stocks and other items to be distributed, which made me think of what would happen if I were to die suddenly and they were to have to go through my room.

Now, my sister knows where to go if I were to die: The Drawer. The Drawer is that one special place that everyone has in their home where you don’t want anyone to know what’s in there. It’s usually personal devices of some type or another—vibrators, if I may be so bold. My Drawer is actually several drawers (and trunks, and those plastic bins under the bed—all containing various types of sweet, sweet porn. There are videos, magazines, DVD’s and CD’s (don’t ask) all containing massive amounts of hot man-on-man action.

I once tried to figure out how much I’d spent on porn throughout the years and stopped when I was looking at one of my trunks-O-porn full of video tapes—none of them costing less than $50—such a huge expense; so many happy times…

So, I mentioned to my mother that should my sister and I die on the trip, that she is not to go into my room until I’ve had several friends go through it first. “Why?” I wanted to mention The Drawer that she must have had (everyone has one, certainly she would too, right?) Then I realized she didn’t have one. In fact, it would never occur to her that anyone would have him—especially her own children. Those drawers were for perverts [cut to a shot of a marquee in large lights: “Pervert! Starring Chris”]

Regretfully, I pressed forward, “There are certain things that I don’t want my nieces and nephews rummaging through my room for…”

“You don’t mean… pornography?” She spewed the word ‘pornography’ like it was an arachnid culinary selection from Fear Factor.

“Yep.”

“Christopher!” She only shouted “Christopher!” when she was shocked at my behavior or beliefs. She says “Christopher!” a lot… My dad usually just sits there—not wanting to comment, because that would continue a conversation he doesn’t want to have. My father doesn’t say a lot to me.

“It’s not like it’s a ton…” I lied, “but, I don’t want the kids rummaging through and finding that stuff.”

“They can find it now…?”

“It’s well hidden… but once you start digging…”

“Oh, my God…” she said with her head buried in her hands.

The subject changed, we moved on to other things and my father began to speak again. I just hoped my mother had stopped thinking about my vast (and by vast, I do mean infinite) collection of hot, beautiful gay porn.

After dinner, we were sitting around and I was talking about an old friend of mine. “So I Googled Yves the other day…”

“What?!”

“I Googled Yves… Zsutty.”

“Christopher!”

“What…?” I asked fully knowing her mind was now back on my immeasurable collection of pornography

“I Google all the time…” adding just the perfect light-sleaziness to Google.

Her head was buried in her hands, but I swear I could hear her muttering “Oh, my God” over and over. My father was completely silent. I’m not sure if he was holding his breath or not, but there was no movement whatsoever.

“Mom, EVERYBODY Googles… Alix Googles. I know Vicki and John Google all the time.”

“But their married…”

Getting ready to trap her dirty little mind, I questioned her, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, married people… I mean… you know.”

“Mom, what do you think Google means?”

[blank stare]

At this point my sister walks out and can immediately sense something is up. “What did he say, now?” pointing at me, as if it were all my fault.

I smiled, “We were just discussing Googling…”

My sister smiled, relieved I was not talking about my porn collection and sat down. “Mom thinks it’s some thing dirty…”

“Christopher!”

“You do! You keep acting like it's something awful when it’s only a search engine on the internet."

"What's a search engine?"

"It helps you find people and things on the internet.."

"Oh... 0-0-0hhhh," she sighed as the color came back into her face.

I looked at my father, who appeared to be breathing again and was smiling as he ate his spinach salad. My father muttered “internet” a couple of times and stayed very interested in the salad.

My mother just sat there for a second and then looked at me and in a serious tone said, “You really need to make sure you have your wills before your trip…”

Apparently, the subject was now officially dropped and we were moving back over familiar, and hopefully, non-threatening territory.

I love family dinners.

Are you bored, or is it just me...?

So, I’m bored at work… well, actually it’s after work, but I’m so bored, I don’t want to go home. It’s a little boring there, too.

So, I’m sitting at work, perusing the internet and looking at fun stuff. However, I am not looking at porn. Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to look at porn—love to, in fact—I just know the second something dirty, dirty, oh-I-love-it-it’s-so-very-dirty porn shows up on the screen, someone would enter my office.

Did I tell you about the time a friend made a comment about liking and wearing those way-too-skimpy-shows-too-much-of-your-bulge-briefs I hate/love so much, I went online to look for some too-brief-briefs pictures to send him as a joke… I get distracted with work, when an hour or so later, The Short One comes in and asks a question about some link on the internet. I click on open page and there are bulges as far as the eye could see! I just sat there for a second in confusion and awe (some of those packages were huge--HUGE, I tell you! My GAWD, you could tell their religion).

Well, TSO got all flustered and I said, “You know, there’s a reason, a good reason… but let’s move on, shall we?” TSO just hemmed and hawed and we looked at the stuff he wanted to see and he quickly scuttled out of my office. Not a fun site watching TSO—or anyone for that matter—scuttle away… nope. Not a fun site at all. In fact, I’m against scuttling altogether. I’m a member of a fast-growing anti-scuttling movement known as “The Fast-Growing Anti-Scuttling Movement.” But that’s another story and I don’t want to bore you…

Truthfully, I don't really mind boring you (I think I'm quite good at it, actually). While I'm sure I am boring you, I’m also boring myself, and frankly, I’m also a card-carrying member of another fast-growing movement called “The Card-Carrying and Fast-Growing Anti-Bore Yourself Movement.” I should note, the ‘fast-growing’ is false, because we are shrinking rapidly because we’ve--literally--bored ourselves to death. You’d think our sister organization “The Fast-Growing-Anti-Anti-Bore Yourself to Death Movement” might have something to do with it, but they didn’t. They actually succeeded and bored themselves to death. Which is odd, because you'd think the double-negative would have some effect on that. I guess there's a lesson there, isn't there...?

Man… what was I talking about?

F’ it. I’m going home.

“My husbands an alcoholic…”

I went to dinner with my friend Scott (you know, the guy who’s birthday I forgot?) and we’re sitting outside of Starbucks, enjoying our after-dinner coffees and these guys walk by and make a comment to some woman sitting near us about being a smoker, too. She replies and in the space of a minute, they start chatting in a too familiar pattern. Nothing "saucy" but a little too much like they had somehow instantly become best friends because they both smoke.

Odd, but not too weird, right? Wrong. Very wrong. In less than two minutes, these strangers start to reveal to each other the most intimate of details. The one that caught my eavesdropping ear first was the title of this blog. Who just throws that out in conversation? Seriously, who? (Well… I guess those idiots would be the answer.)

Within five minutes the guy is offering her his manager discount at whatever store he works at ("because my boss totally trusts me..." stupid boss.) and she’s discussing her breast cancer operation and her mother’s various illnesses.

What struck me as the most odd, is that the guy, a perfect stranger to this woman not ten minutes earlier, begins to tell her EXACTLY where he lives. I mean, he gives directions to his place! He had commented about living near by and she said, “Oh, where?” and he tells her to "go out on Hamilton, Right on Leigh, past the school, but before Albertsons, to turn right" and then told her the address and apartment number. I wasn't sure if I missed something, so I looked to see if she was taking notes or something—she wasn’t. Was he just hoping she'd show up?

Smoker Woman: Hi!
Smoke Dude: Who...?
Smoker Woman: It's me! Smoker Chick!
Smoker Dude: Huh?
Smoker Woman: We met at Starbucks... you told me how to get to your house.
Smoker Dude: Oh... yeah
Smoker Woman: I figured you wanted to have sex.
Smoker Dude: Come on in!
[Cue porn music: wacka-chicka-wacka-chicka-bow-wow]

Maybe it’s me, but I try not to get that close to strangers. Heck, a number of my friends still have no idea where I work. I won’t even give my parents my address (that’s all I need is them showing up while I’m at home!)

People are very strange…

The Ultimate Birthday Present: Guilt Points!

I call my buddy Scott on Monday to ask him how his weekend went. We chat for about 30 minutes and hang up. Nice conversation, but not a whole lot said.

Tuesday. I call Scott to see if he wants to get dinner—for no reason in particular, other than I’m hungery—he declines. However, he suggests dinner on Thursday. It’s a date (so to speak).

Wednesday. Neither of us calls the other.

Thursday. In the early afternoon he calls to see if I remembered going out that night. Being the honest fellow I am, I said, “Oops! Thanks for reminding me!”

"Typical," he mumbles.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothin'..."

We chat for a while. Then I remember my great idea. I'm going to impress him. I'm going to make him think I'm giving him a very nice and 'very grown up' birthday present. I told him I wanted to throw a dinner party for his birthday. He said he’s busy this weekend and I said, “Well, I was thinking the 23rd, because that’s closer to your birthday…”

“Um, Chris. My birthday was Monday.”

“Oh... f-f-f-f-f-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-d-d-d-d-d-g-g-g-g-g-e-e-e!"

What a horrible, horrible friend I am. I couldn’t even get away with an “I was so busy, but I meant to call” lie. I spoke to him on the day… the VERY FREAKIN' DAY! Worse, I spoke to him the next day, where I might have recovered had my ADD not been skipping around in my head ('Don't forget it's Scott's... Let's ride bikes!') The kicker is that I forgot plans I had initiated two days earlier! I totally suck out loud.

Scott has banked enough Guilt Points to last a year. He no longer has to feel bad about bailing on plans, ignoring me when I'm talking to him so he can check out some hottie in flip-flops, or forgetting to pick me up at the airport.

I may have forgotten his birthday, but the benefits for him will last the whole freakin’ year.

Happy Birthday, Buddy! Enjoy the gift!

So Groucho Marx and Prince Rainier Go Into A Bar...

...and Elvis and the Pope are on stage singing kareoke together and a reporter is sitting there, but can't seem to understand that as fascinating as E&P are, other celebs have entered the bar...

Oh, you've heard this joke already? Sadly, it's no joke.

So, I'm looking through the San Jose Mercury News this morning... Front Page: The 40th anniversary of Moore's Law of semiconductor chips (3/4 of the front page), The Pope's funeral, and that's about it. No mention of Rainier.

Surely, the death of the leader of a nation, albeit a very tiny principality, deserves some mention, within the confines of a Pulitzer Prize winning newspaper... Nope. Not one mention of his passing.

After looking through the entire paper, I decided to check Wednesday's paper to see if, by chance, the information made it in time to be included. And there it was... on page 3. Ten tiny paragraphs contained in an 8"x 3" space. The online version contains a much longer piece, but still, freakin' page 3?

Meanwhile the Pope's funeral takes up a total of FOUR--count 'em FOUR--full pages. I'm a Catholic, and I mourn for the Pope--but you'd think that there is some other news out there as well. You know, like watching what evil the White House is spewing now...

(sigh...)

Not very funny today... not feeling' it. (Well, I've been feeling "it" all morning, but that's another story...)

He Said The Secret Word

Well, Ranier passed away today... and he's third on most websites headlines--actually, he's more of a side note. Headlines are still about the Pope, followed by the American soldiers killed in a helecopter crash in Afghanistan, followed by the byline (and awful picture) of Ranier. FOX "news" doesn't even mention him on the headlines page (but they do mention sharks feeding frenzy in Florida

On two websites, Peter Jennings' lung cancer revelation got mentioned above Ranier.

The man has definitely pulled a Groucho.

Adventures in Porn
[Warning!!! The links in this segment WILL send you to an adult site--so avoid if you are at work or are offended by such sites... but it you're reading this, you've long since thrown away good taste or discretion.]

I rented some porn about a month and half ago... I still have them. Thankfully, it's one of those Porn-Netflix sites, so I'm not charged. I should probably just by them--but I find the thought of paying $60 for porn outrageous. Of course, paying $29 a month to rent it is okay... go figure.

Anyhow, the first is Detention a wonderful film about a school where the late-20's looking high school students have no problem dropping trou and fooling around with the staff... who, oddly enough, also appear to be in their late 20's... go figure.

The star is Matt Summers (obvious porn name) I don't know who he is, but he's going places. He's just stunning... and what he can do with his mouth is even more so. He can deep throat some of the biggest schlongs I've ever seen. I'm talking Chad Hunt! He can deep throat that monster without gagging. In fact, he wants to go back for more.

Quite frankly, he's my hero.

The second film is called Ambassadors of the Ice. It's about a Hungarian ice hockey team. The production values are pretty spectacular, as they use an actual--and very well maintained--arena. As with all Kristen Bjorn directed films, the men are all incredibly handsome, well built and uncut.

Bjorn was a still/art photographer and has a great eye. His films are pretty amazing. I have some of his older films, and they are pretty amazing. Usually, the "money shot" is at the very end of the scene. Not with Kristen... there would be four, sometimes five (!) money shots in a scene. With very little continuity change and it was pretty obvious that it was the same guys... I'm not sure what they put in the water in Europe, but I like it.

Okay, enough perving for today...

Good Name

Just before I delete the hundreds of junk emails in the morning--my spaminator dumps them into a file--I was reviewing the list to make sure nothing got falsely dropped in. It's interesting how they try to get past the spam stoppers by changing "Slut" to "SIut" or "s1ut".

They are clever those spammers...

Usually the addresses are "Bob" or something that instantly tells me that I don't know the person. "Click Here" is the worst name ever.

However, as I was about to delete the 236 spam emails I got today, I noticed a new name: Zsa Zsa LaHore. Muy excellante! That is one terrific name. If I ever get into drag--and I'm pretty confident I'm not pretty enough for drag--Zsa Zsa LaHore will be my stage name.

Heck, I might use it anyway...

Pulling A Groucho

Groucho Marx, who went from an international comedian/movie star with his brothers to a huge success as a game show host, died in 1977. His career followed the golden age of Hollywood into the golden age of television. He was a truly remarkable man. Sadly, he is not remembered that well because he made one final, fatal mistake:

He died the same week as Elvis Presley.

All that history, all that joy was forgotten as the world mourned the passing of a rock 'n roll singer who died on the john...

Now, when someone of note passes at the same time as someone even more of note and gets eclipsed by the press in the process, it is called "pulling a Groucho."

Everyone knows that the Pope has entered his final moments. As a Catholic, I am truly saddened by this fact. Millions of Catholics and non-Catholics alike will mourn his passing. However, another Catholic in the tiny principality of Monaco their ruler since 1947 and the husband of international star Grace Kelly is also entering his final moments.

Prince Rainier, the man who doubled the size of his nation by building out into the Mediterranean and took his small 'gambling friendly' nation into an international banking capital, will most likely pass the same time as The Pontiff. Thus, his 81 years, his ruling of a nation, his changing of Europe and his note as a husband to a great American actress will be instantly passed by another ruler of sorts who also made great changes in the world.

Prince Rainier, ruler, architect, financial mastermind: you are about to pull a Groucho and I salute you!

Has No One Told Terri It’s Okay to Let Go?

Man, that Terri Schiavo is a fighter, isn’t she? I couldn’t last 20 minutes without something and she’s going on week 7 or something… (With such a personal and national tragedy as this, I could not resist being facetious). Seriously, it always works in the movies. The family sits next to the dying person and says, "It's okay... it's okay..." and then they drift off.

My sister-in-law—a Rabid Republican (foams at the mouth and loves Dubya)—thinks the government is right on in getting involved in her case. This is the same woman that was upset at the government for going after a company that knowingly put carcinogens into the ground water, then lied about it, then lied about lying about it, and then had doctors say that the carcinogens were “good” carcinogens, and then tried to underpay everyone. With that, she felt the government should stay out of our lives.

Yet when it comes to stopping gay marriage and keeping people on life-support systems, this is NOT government intruding on the rights of states or individuals. I’m not sure what planet she lives on, exactly, but it’s a planet with its head up its ass…

Who Crapped on My TV?

I know spring is the dumping season for movies that are never going to be competitive for an Oscar and aren’t decent enough to stand up against any competition with the summer blockbusters, but now spring has become a dumping ground for absolute crap on television.

Case in point: Spring Break Shark Attack on CBS. Just the title sounds like the whole film was thought up by a marketing committee: “Our research shows that people like sharks and they want to see scantily clad women—I’m thinking ‘Jaws’ meets ‘Girls Gone Wild’”. Let me note that “Girls Gone Wild” involves more talented writers.

The film stars a bunch of young actors of no real note. Currently, they are working on such classic shows as Joan of Arcadia and The O.C., as well as soap operas like Guiding Light and The Young and the Restless. All of them I’m sure are fine actors, but with a telefilm as crappy as this, the script was the last thing considered and everything they utter is pretty much pointless. In fact, I’m not sure if they had a script. I think the director said, “Now point at the water and yell ‘shark!’ Yes, dear, I know that the water is filled with blood and screaming people being eaten by sharks and this is redundant, but just point at them and say, ‘shark!’”

Sure they had some good looking actors, but on an event film like this, you need real actors—NAMES—to draw in those that might think that this is some piece of crap spit out by a bunch of hacks. So you bring out the big guns: Kathy Baker and Bryan Brown.

For those of you who don’t know Bryan Brown, years ago, before the heady days of Russell Crowe and Nicole Kidman, Hollywood hired Aussies for a different reason: they were cheap and had accents. Accents, as you may know, adds a touch of class to a film, but Brits are quality actors and that costs money… So, you go outside the ring: Welsh, Irish, Scottish and, finally the Blue Light Special: quality roles… but she had a house payment so, she took the job. She spends much of the film being understanding to her frustrated son. He’s frustrated because… well, does it really matter? It’s the “James Dean Effect”: a good-looking guy that is pissed off for some reason or another. However, he’s still a nice guy. In fact, too nice. He’s so nice and understanding, yet still pissed off that he’s not off getting laid with all the spring break whores that you just know he’s going to live.

Alternate to that is, er, bad guy. I couldn’t tell you his name, and I’ve been looking all over to find it. He’s so unimportant that they list him as an actor, but do not note the character’s name. The actor is Justin Baldoni—a good looking guy with a terrific body. Apparently, women on Spring Break don’t respond to that. They want the kind, good-looking guy, who is also understanding. Not hot guy with hot bod. Right.

Poor guy with no name, while he looks great, he’s an asshole. He even tries to give Danielle (aka “The Virgin”) roofies! Let me just stop here for a moment to note that I’ve been on Spring Break. You do not need roofies to get a girl in bed. A couple of beer shooters or Jaeger shots and tops are off. With the use of roofies, we know he’s bad… very bad. You just know that eventually he’s going to get eaten by a shark.*

The gist of the story is this… They (not sure who ‘they’ are, but it’s most likely the government) installed an artificial reef off shore of a resort. This is bad for Bryan Brown—his resort is on the other side of the island and no one is going to his beach, so he chums the waters off shore of the beach, hoping to bring in some sharks and scare people to his beach. Yeah, that could work. No major holes with this theory. Just how bad of a hotel do you have to run for it to not make any money during Spring Break? I once stayed in a room with 8 other guys with one twin bed, a bathroom that none of us dared to enter. We paid a fortune for that room and felt we got a bargain in the process.

Later, in this mini-epic presented by The Tiffany Network, as the beach is awash in half-eaten college students, and the water is churning red and foamy with 20+ attacking sharks, he mutters in his indistinguishable accent, “I never meant for anything like this to happen.” What did you think was going to happen? You put blood in the water between shark feeding grounds and pouty-breasted college students! I once fed my dog chili and beer and was shocked at the noxious results—I was completely disgusted by the results, but I was in no way surprised. Bryan was surprised.

The best performance was by the shark. I know it’s supposed to be sharkS, but it was pretty obvious they kept using the same shark over and over again. In fact, he seemed to come at everyone from the same direction. After watching this piece of crap, I now know three things: 1) sharks only attack from the right (or underneath if they are being ‘stealth’ and don’t wish to be seen—however, the jets of red water shooting 20 feet into the air as they eat tends to give away a shark’s location; 2) six buoys connected by wire can cause sharks to scatter and 3) sharks live in mortal fear of lifesavers.**

The sad thing about this film is that it was just two steps to the right of being a full-on camp film. Everyone seemed to be trying to take the crappy material and bringing something out of it. If they had taken a cue from the sharks and chewed up the scenery a little, this film would have been hysterical.

Instead, it was just dull.

Okay, there’s more to talk about in bad television*** but I’ll save that for another post.

*He does.
**Not joking… when seven sharks attack the fishing boat with some kids, they don’t attack the livesaver ring thrown to Danielle (“Virgin”), however, they have no problem ramming the boat.
***Mansquito, anyone?

An Act of Futility...

I joined a site metering website to track and manage the throng of visitors at Mornings of S&T. They monitor the number of visitors, how long they stay, what pages they viewed, etc. It's a very sophisticated system and I'm thrilled--yes, thrilled--to use this powerful tool. Tonight, they sent me a comprehensive analysis of my readership.

I anxiously opened it and I am amazed at the information they provided. On behalf of everyone here at both our Palo Alto and San Jose offices: I would like to thank my reader. (Kidding. I'm kidding.) I exaggerated, the meter shows zero hits for the week.

I do this for the joy of writing... f*** that, I want readers. What do I have to do? Bribe people? Write better? Be funny? Use correct grammar and spelling? Well, none of those things are going to happen, so I guess I'll have to be content writing for my own enjoyment.

I guess this answers why no one seemed to be leaving comments. Whatever...