July 31, 2003
Man Landers, Dead at Age 1
Man Landers, 1, the famed Internet advice columnist died suddenly at his desk in Toronto, Ontario of an apparent attack of boredom.
A writer whose recommendations were sought, dispensed, quoted and--by many accounts--enthusiastically followed through almost two days of great social change, Landers often was called one of the most influential men in the world.
"It's hard to put into words the loss that we as a community of advice-givers feel," said Dan Savage, an internationally syndicated sex-advice columnist. "When I read his first and last column, it changed the way I saw the craft."
Fellow advice columnists echoed Savage's statements. "There are times when decorum just doesn't cut it, when you just want to cry out in the streets 'Why? Why? Why?' It's such a loss for the world," said Judith Martin, better known as "Miss Manners" to her millions of readers.
Fans of the Man Landers column expressed sympathy for each other in an online forum created after news of his death broke. One devotee, known only by the nickname "hot4manland," said, "Never before have I read something that spoke to me in the way that Man's advice on gassy hookups did. It felt like he was talking to me and me alone." Another user, "Feel8rBoi," said Landers' advice saved him thousands of dollars in potential therapy bills. "When Man said not to get into that Circuit Party [sic] scene. It made me realize that I was just projecting my loss of adolescent sexual exploration. Think of how long it would take a psychologist to uncover that one? And he did it in just that one column. LOL"
Landers is survived by his twin brother, Gabriel Van Buren, who also dispenses advice via his "Dear Gabby" column.
The End of the Road
Last night, one of the longest running relationships in my life came to an end. It will be difficult to move on alone, but I'm not alone. I have my friends and family to support me. Last night, I smoked my last cigarette.
I never was that heavy of a smoker. It was more something I did with a drink (or five). Or if I had some big stressful day at work. Or if I was hanging out with others who were smoking. Or sometimes just to do it. When I told my doctor how many cigarettes I smoked on average a week, he looked puzzled and asked, "Well, why don't you just quit?" And now I have. Of course I should probably wait at least a month to really say that.
There are a lot of reasons for quitting. I'm tired of needing anything that much. I want to be healthier overall (which has spurred many other changes in my daily routines). It's getting too damn expensive. Glenn doesn't like it. The list is long.
The one that sticks out in my mind, though, is that I hate hospitals. I've been in them too often over the past few months watching various members of my family suffer the pain, the boredom, the loneliness of being stuck in a room with a stranger who is also suffering. Seeing all that helplessness made me wonder--why am I doing something that will only hasten this for me?
So, I'm done. But I'll miss the time we spent together. If you are or ever were a smoker, you know what he's talking about.
July 29, 2003
Tuesday as Friday
I'm taking off work tomorrow (it's just cruel to work on your birthday), so this is my Friday. Of course, then Thursday will be my Monday again. But Friday will remain Friday. Fortunately, I'm going to New York this weekend to see my friend J, the darling of the New York literati. Okay, maybe not "darling" per se, but he is published (and will be again soon), and I think he's darling.
Oh, and silly Thomas at "Oh Manchester" decided to let a bunch of us have free reign today. Check it out.
July 28, 2003
You People Scare Me
Recent searches that brought people here:
Another weekend of fun starting with a wonderful pre-birthday dinner (the actual event is Wednesday, but I prefer to party on the weekends the older I get...has anyone seen my walker?) at Alero. Their Pollo Acapulco is one of my favorite dishes in DC. My friends are just the best too. Best ever.
Jimbo has some great pics of the event, including the moment of extreme embarassment. I don't know who was responsible for the whole waitstaff singing and putting a bigass sombrero on my head. I hate that. Okay, I loved it on a level, but it always brings back painful memories of my days at Chesapeake Bay Seafood House in the kitchen pleading with my fellow servers to come sing for my table. Guys, come on, I sing for your tables. Pleeeeeease, guys.
And I'm now the proud owner of a D-Lo original. Glamour shots showcasing it to follow.
Dinner was followed by drinks at Gazuza, where they "don't have tap water." As occasional bartender Glenn pointed out--if they have soda and juice guns at the bar, they have tap water. Personally, I think it's silly to charge $5 for bottled water, but whatever--it's not like I was drinking water.
A smaller group of us were going to see DJ Rekha spin at the Black Cat for the First Ladies DJ Collective show, but they were booked to capacity. It was too damn hot in there anyway. So we went up the street a bit to Cafe St. Ex where we critiqued the mating rituals of straight people. Damn, they're inefficient.
Saturday was a home improvement day (including a trip to the newest area Ikea--where Glenn and I recreated the first gay commercial I remember seeing) then another birthday dinner with some of my family. Sunday morning was a birthday brunch for a friend, where I got a new celebrity doppelganger comment. The one I always used to get was "you look like that guy who was the fat kid in Stand By Me and then got hotter." Yesterday, it was "you look kinda like that kid in Trick. You know Neve Campbell's brother." So, to sum it up: I'm thin with dark hair, blue eyes, and a fat face. Just like half of Ireland.
July 25, 2003
Every Scar Tells a Story
Have you ever spent time discovering someone's body? Making a mental map of freckles, birthmarks, and scars? There's something amazing about it. Tracing his skin with your fingertips. Seeing the constellations made by the freckles on his back. Learning who he is from the outside in.
Each scar has a story behind it. Some are sad, some are silly, but hearing them invariably brings you closer to the person.
The scar above is on my right pinkie. It runs from my palm about and inch and a half up my finger. I was 19 and working in the warehouse at a paint factory. It was one of those jobs that is physically grueling and mentally uninspiring. My family got the job for me. I think they wanted me to learn the value of my education by showing me alternative career paths. I got off easy compared to my brother who spent a summer roofing.
One day, I was loading a truck with five-gallon buckets of paint. We stacked them five-high and had special dollies that would pick up the stack by the rim of the bottom bucket. As I pushed the cart up the incline to the back of the truck, the axle broke and twenty-five gallons of paint came crashing back toward me. My instincts took over and I reached out my hands to catch...well, to catch what I don't know. Maybe I thought I'd stop the stack from falling. I didn't.
One of the buckets slammed down on my pinkie. Fortunately the rest of me escaped the tower of eggshell white that had fallen all around me. I had to get stitches at the emergency room, where the doctor said it probably wasn't a cut from the bucket but the pressure of the weight that split my skin open.
The moral of the story? Sometimes, when shit's falling all around you, it's better to let it fall and clean it up later than to try and stop it. You'll only get hurt.
Smells Like Victory
Is there anything nicer at 8:30 AM than when your workout partner says Hmm, someone smells like vodka? I didn't think so.
Special thanks to Donald for taking me out on the town for a little pre-pre-birthday
July 24, 2003
They Shoot Fat Women, Don't They?*
Lifetime's getting a lot of mileage out of these reunion shows. But I did enjoy the "Which Designing Woman Are You?" quiz. Especially since I've loved Annie Potts since "Pretty in Pink." Duckie so should have hooked up with her.
Mary Jo Shively:
You’re talented, lovable and bubbly as a country brook. But when it comes to self-confidence, sugar-booger, you’ve got a thing or two to learn. Once you find your voice and speak up, there'll be no stopping the dynamo that is you!
* An actual title of a DW episode. Don't ask me how or why I've remembered it.
IRL vs. URL
This past weekend, I had the pleasure of meeting another online friend, Many Napkins aka Samsonhead aka that smart, sincere, and cute guy in MO. He was in DC with a friend doing the tourist thing, and fortunately we had a chance to meet up briefly. Since I had never seen a photo of him, I wasn't sure what to expect.
When you've never seen someone's picture (or even when you've only seen one small picture of him... say one of him wearing sunglasses on a ferry outside of Vancouver), I think it's natural to try to imagine what he or she looks like. I used to do this with radio djs all the time. When I eventually met them or saw photos of them, my mental image was usually way off--there's a reason most of those people are in radio and not tv. Though with bloggers, I've been pleasantly surprised at just how attractive most of them are. And he was no exception (but he was taller than I imagined). When I say attractive, I'm not just referring to looks. Personality matters much more to me. There's something attractive about everyone I read regularly. Some facet of their style or subject matter that pulls me in. And, in my limited experience, that usually carries over into the real world as well.
There are severe limitations to this form, however. Slices of a person do not always add up to the sum. As seductive as someone's writing is, there sometimes can be a false sense of intimacy on the reader's part. Reading everything people post doesn't mean you know them. Talking with them over email, IM, or the phone is better. Nothing beats actually spending time with them in person. And I'm glad to have had that opportunity with many really intelligent, funny, and attractive people.
July 23, 2003
You can tell a lot about the Catholic Church from the groupings of its saints' patronages.
Drogo: coffee house owners, mute people, sick people, unattractive people. Funny, I always thought there was an Our Lady of Starbucks.
Fiacre: cab drivers, hemorrhoids, venereal disease. Because don't those things naturally go together?
Pancras: children and cramps. What are two reasons I'm glad I'm not a woman?
Bibiana: Los Angeles, hangovers, headaches, mental illness, single laywomen, torture victims. Life must really be rough for single girls in LA.
Homobonus: business people, garment workers, tailors. Okay, I just really liked his name.
Of course, maybe I'm still bitter about this whole thing since St. Christopher is no longer officially "real." Whatever, it's a cool story. And it makes me good luck to go on vacation with.
July 22, 2003
Adults Say the Darndest Things
"I think all foreigners should stop interfering in the internal affairs of Iraq," says Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz. That's just too easy.
"The weirdest thing is people think it's like a publicity stunt, it's all orchestrated. What am I, Rock Hudson in the 30's?" says Ben Affleck. Note to Ben: Rock Hudson's first movie role wasn't until 1948. As for the other implications of that analogy...well, let's not even bother.
"We already hear he's going to bring a bunch of egghead economists to his library to say how great the economy was when he was president," says John LeBoutillier, a man trying to establish a "counter-Clinton" library near the proposed site of the Clinton presidential library. Yes, those egghead economists are troubling. No worries, though, with the way things are going they'll be out of a job soon.
Jeez, now that it's made the Times, my birthday has kinda jumped the shark. Much like that phrase itself.
Black sheep of the day: Gwyneth.
July 21, 2003
Saturday night, when Gurl popped Logan's Run in the DVD player, I wonder if he realized how appropriate it was for me, seeing as my "last day" is just around the corner. (Nine more shopping days left, in case you were wondering).
I enjoyed the movie a great deal. The 1960s and '70s visions of the future are always trippy and full of style. My favorite part, though, may be when Farrah Fawcett-Majors came on screen. After seeing her character's complete lack of intelligence, golden-tressed Glenn lost it. Why's the blonde girl got to be an idiot? Why can't the ditzy girl be a brunette or redhead? Why does the man insist on keeping my people down? My love is a Blonde Panther. He's fighting the Vast Dark-Haired Conspiracy.
Did I also mention that he's Polish? Talk about one-two punches.
It's Intern Season here in DC. In honor of that, our Black Sheep of the Day is one of those very special young people.
I would say that most interns come to DC in hopes of furthering their careers in the public sector for all the right reasons. They honestly love what they do and think being a civil servant is an honor. Much like St. Ray-Ray, who came here as one of those fresh-faced interns a few summers ago and now makes the world a better place by doing whatever it is he does.
Then there are the others. Those who seek power. They're caught up in making connections and stepping on the hands of their fellow ladder-climbing interns. Relevant skills include brown-nosing, backstabbing, and having an overwhelming sense of self-importance. He would fall into category B.
Master Tripplehorn also proves my theory that there is a direct correlation between someone's ability to write coherently and his or her ability to be a decent human being. Further proof available here.
July 18, 2003
Can't Beat the Meet
He sums it up nicely. What's it like to meet someone you only know from the Internet? Sometimes, it's pretty damn freaky, yo.
Last night was fun, though. My blogdaddy looked great, as always, and appears to be feeling better. I know lots of people go for the beard or the fu look on him, but his baby's-ass-smooth face is my personal fave. Call me old fashioned. Todd was just as smart and funny and attractive as he is online, probably more so since he was three-dimensional at the diner. And what can I say about this one? Too good for any man in my book. I don't call him St. Ray for nothin'.
Last night, as Ray-Ray, Jimbo, and I were walking towards the table Todd was sitting at, Ray waved to Todd. In between Todd and us, there was another guy who was staring in our direction. I could see the processing going on in his head....Do I know these guys? What's going on?
He and I made eye contact. Then he smiled. He thinks we're waving and smiling at him, I thought. He didn't know us. We didn't know him. But it was a natural reaction on his part, I guess. Three happy guys coming your way making gestures of welcome, how can you not like that? I'm sure this has happened to you. I know it has to me--when you realize too late that it's not for you, but someone behind you.
So here's my question: Is there any way to handle this gracefully? The passing by of the false friend? I don’t think there is.
Oh and since someone complained about my lack of having a black sheep of the day recently, I'm granting his wish. The man, the myth, the legend....it's Addaboy. You tease me like there's no tomorrow. You're the blunt object the cops are always looking for. You seem to think that my boyfriend deserves better (meaning you, of course). And more than anything, you say things that make it hard for me to walk around the office in a pair of khakis without arousing suspicious looks from my coworkers.
July 17, 2003
Newscasters Who Live In Glass Houses
I'm sorry, could someone please explain why CNN puts Anderson Cooper and Paula Zahn in front of a window looking out on the sidewalks of New York?
It's fine when the now-scary-looking Al Roker is out on the street with the teaming masses, but when the anchor is reporting on how many soldiers were killed in Iraq, I don't want to see middle America jumping up and down over her shoulder. I really don't want to see MariJo from Kinosha, Wisconsin on her cellphone telling the kids to turn on CNN. Look kids, it's Momma. And I'm on the TeeVee.
I'm amazed at the stupidity of these people. These are the people who crowd around reporters at sporting events or crime scenes and mug for the camera. Are they honestly that thrilled to be a fuzzy, waving shadow in the background? Not me. If I'm going to be on the news, I'm going to be clearly visible and I'm going to talk. I'm no extra. And don't even think of sticking me in b-roll.
July 16, 2003
Ink. 3-day weekends. Something will happen with my hair, but only my stylist will know for sure. That wasn't that hard.
Also? Have I told you how much I love it when my niece calls me unc? And is it wrong that part of me likes that she doesn't call my brother that too?
I'm sure we all have thoughts on this show. Putting aside the political, stereotypical, and cultural debates, I would like to state for the record that I will go back in the closet for a few weeks if they would come make over me, my wardrobe, my apartment, and teach me a new recipe. If they pay for it. Queer Eye for the Ex-Queer Government/Non-Profit Worker Guy just doesn't have the same ring to it, though.
July 15, 2003
Weapon of Choice
Which is more important, getting my wisdom teeth removed or that tattoo for my birthday?
Take a week off or schedule a few three-day weekends?
Highlights or not, and if so from where?
I'm no good at decision-making. I try not to live in regret, but you haven't seen buyer's remorse until you catch me moments after walking out of a Filene's Basement. Apparently returning things is verboten there now too.
Oh, and try to pin me down for where we should eat lunch? Forget it. My token response: I dunno. Then suggest a place. Oh not that, anything but that. Suggest another? Oh, I'm not feeling that either. So not A or B, but other than that, I'm down for anything. It's a character flaw, but most of my friends have learned to work around it. Or just stopped eating with me.
I am a classic perceiver in the Meyers-Briggs world. Like, it was off the charts when I took the test. (True story: I once had a boss who was discussing her inability to come to resolution on some issue in a staff meeting and said, "I guess it's just my p-ness coming out." The looks of the faces of those who didn't know what she was talking about still makes me giggle to this day).
One of my problems is that there are too many options. And it seems like there are more and more choices to make these days. Like it used to be just a cup of coffee, now it's a grande soy vanilla latte with an extra shot.
Have you seen this? This could take a while.
July 14, 2003
I'll snatch you bald-headed!
They called a meeting to let us know that someone in the department has been laid off. It's sad on one level, but on another, I wondered if anyone's thought of turning this into a great new reality show. "Tonight on Fox, CANNED! Which of these accountants doesn't have what it takes to make it through the latest round of pink slips? And watch what happens when the loser has to tell his wife in front of his mother-in-law."
Or not. This is why I'm no good in meetings with more than four people--I start daydreaming. I'm very Walter Mitty at conferences.
I'm not too worried. I mean, I'm indispensable, right? No, I'm not. But I have other job offers lined up. Like that thing in LA, and I probably shouldn't be telling tales out of school, but it's just you and me here, so here goes. I've been tapped to be the man who hand picks a group of rag tag hoofers and turns them into a glittering chorus line known as the Solid Gold Dancers. It's back and as beautiful as ever. If you've got any extra ducketts lying around, you may want to invest in some gold lamé manufacturers post haste.
Hmm....maybe that wasn't Novocaine my dentist used on me this afternoon?
July 13, 2003
Internal Monologue Gone Wild
And it's sunday and there is nothing but talking heads on the telly. And you had a great night last night, kiddo. When the 21-year-old hit on you and said you don't look a day over 23, that was fun. Just a little bit. Oh, also, that boy can dance his booty off. For shizzle. So you had a blast last night, didn't you?
And once Glenn showed up. All bets? Off. He still is the cutest boy at the bar and you got him. You won. You are the champ.
So why do you also feel like the chump? Maybe because you cared that two girls were fighting over who got to be the most closest to you in her faghaggery, and you liked that. Maybe because you wanted young boys to hit on you (even if you knew they were republicans). Maybe because you are an asshole who really wants to be that way, despite your claims that you're a nice guy (but, sometimes, yo, it ain't right to dance on the pole like that...really, dude...we're worried about you....stop). And you know what else, we're getting really tired of referring to you in the second person. You chump you.
And I should say this. Unlike Jennie, I don't love you all. But I really do love some of you. Guess who?
July 11, 2003
There's Got To Be a Morning After *
Have you ever had one of those mornings where you start to wake up and your boyfriend/girlfriend/life-partner-in-(what-used-to-be-a)-crime, who didn't go out because he had a "headache," starts chirping ferociously about whatever is on NPR or CNN or some other three-letter news organization and you try to talk but then nothing comes out and you realize that whatever sound you could possibly make at that point would be inaudible by human ears but would register on seismographs in China since your voice is now very much like Kathleen Turner after smoking two cartons of Camel unfiltereds and then gargling sand-water with an everclear chaser and then you somehow make it out of bed and into the shower and it's all very lovely laying there on the floor of the tub letting the water hit your bare-naked (and quite attractive, you might add) ass and you ponder taking a nap right there in the shower but think twice about it when you remember that it is not yet the weekend and those sorts of things are always much better on Sundays so you do your business there and hop out and try to find something that is remotely appropriate to wear to work, deciding against the tee shirt with a picture of Bob Barker that reads "Pimp," but having much trouble since, even though aforementioned live-in love has been home more in the last 48 hours than you have been all week, he doesn't do laundry (no, that is his computer play time, and we don't judge here) so you scrape together a stylish ensemble from whatever doesn't smell or have stains and then you slam the radio because it's playing that stupid evanescence song again, the one that the first time you heard you wondered when and why linkin park added a female singer, but your cat wants food and it's a good thing he lets you know cause if he didn't talk he would end up dead like all the plants and fish and other things that don't use bitching meows to remind you to tend them and then you are off and you forget the whole part about how you get from home to the door of your office building but you are glad it is sunny so you can wear sunglasses and roll your eyes at what everyone else is wearing in secret and then you open the door and there is a man polishing the floor and you look at him and his eyes say "dude, please don't walk on my newly polished floor" and you're like "dude, I forgot my wings" and then you are here unleashing your morning on the world....has that ever happened to you?
oh, and also he is so gallant. Last night as we left the bar, during the torential downpour which turned 17th st into a branch of the anacostia, he took off his full-length mink and laid it in a puddle so i wouldn't get wet getting into a taxi. Southern hospitality indeed.
* apologies to biologic show if this title causes a relapse
July 10, 2003
The Final Countdown
The other day, I caught myself thinking, Remember when VH1 played videos?
Like its cousin, MTV, the channel formerly known as Video Hits 1 seems to have stopped playing more than a couple of hours of music videos a day, even then it's mostly in the middle of the night (and usually the same seven songs at that).
Based on their recent programming, here are my predictions for shows we can expect from VH1:
The Top 50 Women Who've Shaken Their Asses In Rap Videos
I Love the First Three Weeks of 2000
The Best of the Grind with Eric Nies
Movies That Rock: Xanadu II
VH1 Presents Where Are They Now: The Stars of Pimps Up, Ho's Down!
(Not-so) Fabulous Life Of: J. Lo's Personal Assistant
The Top 10 Former Members of Destiny's Child
The 100 Greatest Moments in VH1 Countdown Shows
July 09, 2003
Mama Said Knock You Out
Yeah, we tease him a lot,
cause we've got him on the spot.
Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back.
I'm happy to know that he will be bringing a little bit of warped joy into my days again. Although, I think I like him even better in person. People you meet online could be really nice people or crazed lunatics. Or a little bit of both.
Elsewhere on this p.o.s. we call the Internet....
I know some people who might like him when he's angry after all.
J&B didn't invite me out with them again. Girls, please, it's just down the street. I could have been there in two minutes. Three if you wanted me to wear clothes this time.
This looks like it would make a great summer read in a few years.
July 08, 2003
You down with WMD? Yeah, you know me!
Here's a fun game. Go to google. Type "Weapons of Mass Destruction" in the search box. Hit "I'm Feeling Lucky!" Enjoy. [via beta corpo]
I bet there's a picture of you like this. Probably not one taken in Newark in the 1930s, but definitely one with that look in your eyes. That anticipation for life and love and the future. A photo that captures all of your potential. If there isn't one yet, make sure it gets taken soon.
You should know that after this picture was taken they had more than 60 years of laughter, tears, and everything in between. They had three wonderful children and dozens of grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and nieces and nephews, and friends. They taught us all by example. Even now, with both of them gone, I can still look at this photograph and feel the love they shared with each other and with us.
July 03, 2003
Since, occasionally, you want just a little more than "thumbs up" or "thumbs down," there is The Four-Word Film Review. Brevity is the soul of wit, at least sometimes.
Of course the British would come up with this tool which allows users to search for books on a variety of criteria. Americans just don't read enough. Obviously.
Kids fear Ann Coulter. You're not alone.
I ♥ Stiffler's Mom.
Seekers coming here for "Pictures Of Nasty Young Black Girls Showing Age Doesn't Matter When It Comes To Sex" will be saddened, I'm sure. Of course, the thing I don't understand is I'm number 33 on the list (or was, at least) so the person must have really wanted to see some of that. Also amusing, Masterpiece Theatre was number three. When I shared this with D-Lo, he said I should say something about "naked olson twin pictures" and see how many hits I get. I would never do such a thing, though.
And finally, the return of the Black Sheep of the Day. It's been a while. When Glenn pointed out as we watched the evening news that I should try to contain myself to just one outrage per minute, I realized that for my sanity I needed to just chill a li'l bit. But this man, he takes the cake. He could be the black sheep of every day. That's right folks, George W. Bush. When your speeches start to sound like movies about high-school cheerleading competitions, you've lost your last shred of credibility.
July 02, 2003
My grandfather taught me how to play poker when I was six.
I celebrated each birthday until I was nine at our beach house. This was before my parents' business and marriage both came to an end in court. Before I understood that some things don't always last.
Just before my birthday, my grandparents came down from New Jersey to stay with us. My grandmother took me for walks on the beach and drew smiley faces in the sand with her big toe. She always had her camera, and I knew the pictures she took would join those from their trips to Hawaii and Italy, from dozens of weddings and baptisms, and from other summers at the beach. They would be mixed in with the boxes of slides that somehow managed to come out whenever our family got together. I mugged for the camera and shouldered my way into our family history.
One night, when everyone else had gone out to the movies, my grandfather asked if I wanted to play cards. I was sort of intimidated by him then. I'm not sure why. Maybe the tone of his voice or the fact that he always seemed serious. Even when he called me Christopher Robin, a name reinforced by the stuffed Tigger I carried with me, I wasn't always comfortable around him. Fortunately that changed as I got older. I'm not sure if he grew softer with age or if I just learned to appreciate that he and I were different in the way we approached things.
He taught me how to play five-card draw. I tried to keep track of the different hands--pairs were easy as were three of a kind, but I didn't get flushes or straights as well. He had patience and slowly I understood more. I could almost figure out what cards to throw back on my own. Then I asked if we could play for money.
I'm not sure that's such a good idea, he said. I protested. I was headstrong, a bit overconfident in my abilities. Okay, but once we start, that's it. Any money you lose, you're not getting back.
I lost every hand and about 75 cents. It was a good lesson to learn.
Last night he passed away. Thankfully I will always have the lessons he taught me--especially the ones to temper the stubborn streaks we shared.
July 01, 2003
The E! True DC Story
There are times I wish we saw more celebrities on the streets of DC. Corey had a run-in with one last night. Though, does being a reality show "star" who married another reality show "star" really make you a celebrity? Isn't that like saying you're a columnist when the Post publishes your letter to the editor?
My brushes with greatness have mainly revolved around the political. The highlight being one day when Glenn and I were walking on the mall and Bill and Chelsea hopped out of their limo to press some flesh. I liked that because it was spontaneous. Friends have seen the Bush girls drunk, singing karaoke. Leaving a liquor store, one friend walked into Ted Kennedy, quite literally. And there's a certain famous blogging pundit I see all the time in my neighborhood. None of these excite me, though.
Okay, the Bush girls one was exciting. I really wish my friend would have called me. I so would have been there in a heartbeat. With my camera.
That's It, Isn't It?
Glenn told me recently that I have more faith than anyone he knows, especially since I'm not religious. He meant this to be a compliment, and it is.
Faith is stronger than hope. Faith is knowing the universe has rules, hope depends on them working out for you. Faith is, hope depends.
The greatest of these is still love.