looking back

Happy New Year... almost! I'm going to close out 2006 the same way I did last year with a month-by-month recap of posts.

Suffer.

JANUARY

Re: The Muppets
Here began what turned out to be a 13-part series. It chronicles first love and my process of coming out. Independently, those can both be brutal experiences. When you combine the two, it's completely overwhelming. I almost didn't survive it but hot damn, I made it through. Go me.

I haven't really gone back and read this all the way through after posting it. Occasionally, I'll catch a glimpse of paragraph or passage and honestly, I don't even remember writing it. It just sort of flowed out in a way that I can't explain.

I was scared to poke around in old memories and really hesitant to bare my soul like that to the world but something inside just told me to go for it. And I'm so glad I did. I feel like I finally put that part of my life to rest.

An added bonus to sharing my story was the response I got from people all over the world -- gay, straight, confused, male, female, transgendered, Christian, Jewish, Muslim and everyone in between. Some were too shy to comment and instead, sent highly personal emails to me sharing bits of their own lives and thanking me for sharing mine. It struck a chord I never could have anticipated and inspired a few people to write their own stories. I can't even properly articulate how much that means to me.

Thanks again to everyone who read the story and cheered me on as I labored through the tough parts.

Okay, enough mush. Next!

FEBRUARY

Cottonmouth Au Jus
Here is yet another of the many gems uttered by my beloved niece.

An Open Letter to the Building Facilities Person(s) in Charge of Ordering Paper Goods for the Bathroom at My Job
The custodial staff at my office building feels the business end of a complaint letter composed by yours truly.

Judge Not
Who knew Peter Cetera could set off such a firestorm of controversy?! (Psst! Read the comments on that post.)

MARCH

Erin-Go-A-Cup Bragh
A retelling of the acquisition of my first bra and an unfortunate nickname.

Courtney & Tina: A Theory
Were Kurt's widow and Jennifer Keaton one and the same?

APRIL

The Terrible Twos
My blog became toddler this past year. In case you're wondering, the whole potty training thing is still a work in progress. Don't rush me!

A Not-So-Good Friday
Another tale of Catholic hi jinx.

MAY

An Announcement
Fans of off-key oversinging everywhere rejoiced at the birth of American Midol, the smart-assed brainchild of Mejack, The Lovely Jess and myself. The new season starts soon so stay tuned for more shameless plugs!

In the Criminal Justice System
A footnote (pun totally intended) to the tale of my tortured tootsies.

On Why the Newspaper Guy Must Think I'm a Complete Asshole
This one got a Gawker link, bitches!

JUNE

What's Grosser Than Gross?
Ham & Cheese on Wry goes interactive! Here are the results of a poll on the most disgusting television commercials currently on the air. Caution: the term "nail bed" is used.

Duh, Baryshnikov
Mejack and I discuss plot holes in the Soviet-era film White Nights. You know, typical conversation...

My Way Gay Tale of Even Gayer Gayness
Here's the piece I read at my first-ever public appearance as Curly McDimple. Not only did my story garner a few laughs, I also didn't shit my pants. Success!

JULY

They Feel the Need, The Need for Speed[os]
Photos of Brighton Beach's finest on parade.

He Will 'Rize' Again
The Lovely Jess and I make suggestions to improve the Catholic Mass. Oddly enough, the Church didn't heed our advice. Fools.

Oh man, I'm going to have to say a good Act of Contrition for that.

AUGUST

Rule Of Thumb... And Pinky, Middle, Index & Ring
The results of a manicure given by my six-year-old niece.

Are You There God? It's Me, Curly
An appeal to a higher authority for my menstrual cycle to fuck off.

SEPTEMBER

Rod 'The Bod' and God Side-by-Side on the R Train
Screw The Naked Cowboy. This woman has the hottest act in all of NYC.

My 'Porchret'
The niece takes up portrait drawing as a hobby. Behold the birth of an artiste!

OCTOBER

Toreador, Don't Spit on the Floor
I got all fancy and went to my first opera with The Hot Russian. And it totally didn't suck and stuff.

On Altruism and Inadvertent Anti-Piracy Measures
Another Gawker link! They just love to showcase when I make an ass out of myself.

NOVEMBER

Our Version of Rate-a-Record
The Lovely Jess and I go toe-to-toe on the appeal of Faith No More and the Dave Matthews Band. Caution: The term "mushy peas" is mentioned.

DECEMBER

Acting? Thank You!
Save your pennies for some Broadway tickets and set your TiVos to record the next Tony Awards. 2006 is the year I became an actor!

They Do Know... They Just Don't Care
Band Aid was a noble effort. Really it was but dear God, those lyrics! Here I take Sir Bob down a notch... or twelve.

christmas wrap[-up]

I'm finally back from Jersey and savoring the last few days of my vacation here at home in beautiful Downtown Brooklyn. Here's hoping your Christmas (if applicable) was a good one.

As usual, my father picked me up at the ass crack of dawn on Christmas Eve. Each year, he drives in from NJ so that I don't have to schlep a bunch of bags on the Path train. While I appreciate the door-to-door chauffeur service, I really could do without the early wake-up call. It's about a 45-minute drive but judging by father's ridiculously early start time, you'd think he was driving out to Michigan to pick me up. But beggars can't be choosers, so I deal. Plus, my father was bringing me a special delivery so I woke up good and early to pave the way for the newest addition to my Tiny Wee Studio -- Nintendo. Old school Nintendo. None of that Wii or DS business.

I found the game in the basement when I was home for Thanksgiving and bagged it up but it was too heavy to carry so my father offered to bring it when he picked me up on Christmas Eve. And sure enough, he remembered. It was a quick exchange in front of my building. With the car illegally parked, he handed me the shopping bag with all the paddles, games and shit like that and I gave him my overnight bag. I ran back inside and reverently placed the bag o' Nintendo next to my television and then quickly gathered up the rest of my stuff and locked up the Tiny Wee Studio for my extended leave.

When I got home the other night, I barely had my coat off before I was hooking that shit up. It's amazing how I remember all the tricks and commands in that game. Actually, I covered this topic in the early days of my blog. I said, and I quote, "Ask me what I ate for dinner last night and I'm stumped. Hand me a Nintendo control and I can unearth every hidden coin bank and secret passageway in each level of Super Mario Bros."

And it's true! I gobbled up mushrooms, those fire power flower things and the invincibility stars without even having to think twice. I remembered how to stomp on the turtles and make the shell slide along to knock all the other bad guys out of the way. Mind you, I've had a Netflix movie sitting on my table waiting to be mailed for days because I keep forgetting to take it with me, yet, somehow, I can remember how to make Mario and Luigi capture the flag like it's second nature. Scary.

Heated Nintendo tournaments in the Tiny Wee Studio are most likely in store. I've already lined up The Lovely Jess, her Young Man, The Hot Russian and The Adorable Meg. I expect a lot of Paperboy- and Ice Hockey-related trash talk, in particular.

While at home, I got to spend a lot of time with the niece and nephew. On Christmas Day, I sat the one-year-old nephew on my lap and together we watched Christmas Eve on Sesame Street. He's usually fidgety and quite noisy but that boy sat still for a solid hour watching it. I was even able to put a red and white-striped stocking cap on his head without a fight. He had blocked all previous attempts, you see.

I love that he loved the show because really, I cannot let a Christmas go by without viewing it. It just doesn't feel right. If you haven't seen it, you're missing out. It was made in the 70s so a lot of the faces will no doubt be familiar to you -- Mr. Hooper, Bob, Linda the deaf chick, Gordon, Susan, Maria, David (I had a BIG crush on him back in the day). Actually, Sheila discussed the beloved special on her blog last year. The O'Malleys are as rabid about the program as the McDimples are. There's a reason we're friends.

Oh, and I also found out that the nephew also will stand at attention (and bust the occasional dance move) when the following movies are on: The Sound of Music and Annie. Hmmm...

Later in the day, my niece wanted to watch the movie I bought her for Christmas: Time Bandits. Each year, I try to pad her DVD library with favorites of mine. Last year she was treated to The Neverending Story, The Muppet Movie, The Great Muppet Caper and The Muppets Take Manhattan. This was the year she was exposed to her first Terry Gilliam movie. Since the plot involves time travel, I tried explaining some of the historical references to her. Turns out, it was unnecessary. The niece raised a dismissive hand and said, "I know who Napoleon is." Okay, then. Punk.

And of course, no Christmas at the McDimples would be complete unless these 10 things occur. Actually, though, I'm happy to report that number one on the list was not fulfilled... yet. After all, there's still New Year's Eve to contend with.

Hope you all had a merry one!

merry christmas!

Before I head off to the swamps of Jersey for some holiday cheer, here's a wee throwback from the early 80s I found on YouTube (mmm... YouTube): Billy Squier and the MTV staff singing "Christmas Is the Time to Say I Love You."

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. It's one of my favorite holiday tunes, in fact. Pay particular attention to the hair in this video. Mark Goodman and Billy Squier are both sporting coifs that would mirror mine if I didn't have a fabulous stylist (thank you, Randy!) and a shitload of Bumble and Bumble Curl Conscious (thank you, The Hot Russian!) and Short Cuts Flip-Out (thanks, Canadians!) to keep my ringlets in line.

Oh and get a load of Martha Quinn's bangs. She looks like my younger sister did when she got a hold of a pair of scissors and cut her own hair. Tres horrific.

Speaking of all things that are horrendous, Nina Blackwood's hairdo really pissed off my mother, as I recall. I believe she said that it looked like "rats chewed at it." Upon further review, I think my mother is right. See for yourself...

Have a merry one!

Love,
Curly

mmm... cirrhosis

Good morning! Guess who just woke up? Rolling out of bed at 1:00 PM is all sorts of fun. Actually, bed is not quite accurate... it's more like loveseat. I didn't quite make it to my bed, you see. I got home last night, took off my coat, turned on the TV and then passed out about two seconds later fully clothed, makeup still applied, hat still perched on my head and glasses dangling from one ear. So hot. Shocking that I'm single, no?

I've pretty much been inflicting damage upon my liver for about two weeks straight. 'Tis the season, after all! Last night's round of vital organ abuse came in the form of The WYSIWYG Talent Show. I was there along with Joe.My.God., Aaron, David and Tom rooting for the incredibly awesome Helen Damnation as she took to the stage in her first WYSIWYG appearance. I love the girl for many reasons already (farting on a homophobe, hello?!?!) but anyone who can lead a Springer chant of "WE LOVE LESBIANS!" after her set is okay in my book. Forever.

Last night's show was themed "I'm Not as Think as You Drunk I Am." Helen's hilarious tale of copping a squat in Times Square earned its rightful place in the annals (tee hee hee -- I said "annals") of the WYSIWYG archives. Well done, my friend. Well done.

I was also thrilled as thrilled can be to see Dan Renzi in the flesh. Dan, you see, was a cast member of The Real World: Miami season. I ain't even gonna front -- I love The Real World. Each and every increasingly ridiculous season of it. My love for RW is exceeded only by my adoration of The Real World/Road Rules Challenge. In fact, I've documented this love often on this here blog. See here, here, here and here.

Emily Epstein treated us to a tale of bungee jumping while bombed. I dare say it would take more than alcohol to give me the nerve to fling myself off a bridge tethered to a big ol' rubberband. Coincidentally, I saw Ms. Epstein performing the night before at Chicks and Giggles at Mo Pitkin's in the East Village. Total happenstance, mind you, but it's like Emily Espstein is Phish and I've become her ardent follower. See you tonight, Emily?! Hee hee.

I was at Mo Pitkin's for a Hanukkah party thrown by my friend Amy. Even though I've never spinned a dreidel before in my life (SHOCKING considering my tri-state area upbringing), I proved to be a real ringer. My speed, velocity and spin were quite impressive for a goy like me. The Jews at the table were impressed. Mind you, I didn't land on gimel but whatevs, I displayed a lot of style in my otherwise unsuccessful attempt. I represented the Gentiles well, I dare say.

I'm now on a well-earned vacation. I've barely started my Christmas shopping so I've got my work cut out for me the next few days. I know I promised a series of reviews of holiday specials (something you were all dying to read, I'm sure) but well, fuck it. I didn't have time. Next year.

I will try to check in before I go home but if not, Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah. You'll just have to wait to get your Kwanzaa greetings next week, bitches.

i used to be by the window, where I could see the squirrels and they were merry

I've found in the 10 odd years that I've been working in corporate America that the best way for management to look busy and effective is to inconvenience their underlings. Boring, senseless meetings are scheduled in Outlook on a weekly basis even though nothing is ever accomplished in those gatherings other than annoying the attendees and the poor admin who had to arrange the thing on behalf of the organizer. Productivity is measured by pissed-off expressions it seems. The more annoyed people look, the harder management is working. It's all very Costanza-esque.

The office move is another tactic brand new management likes to unleash to make its mark in an established department. By moving people hither and yon, the powers-that-be look effective and definitive and powerful. Flowcharts and floor plans are the weapons of choice. Their executive assistants know VISIO and they are not afraid to use it. Mark.their.words.

So, if you couldn't tell already, I fell victim to a reshuffling of sorts at my job. Long story short, I no longer have an office. It wasn't a demotion, mind you, but I along with a few others in the creative department (read: non-revenue generating employees) are back to the 1-1/2 fabric wall arrangement. Gone is my closeable door and that highfalutin sheetrock I had grown so accustomed to. Sigh.

Yesterday was my first day in a cubicle. To say that the new feng shui didn't agree with me would be an understatement. With a little help from Meg, I started a little list of ways to revolt. Passive-aggressively, of course, 'cause that's how I roll...

1) Display symptoms of a permanent cold or infection of sorts that leads to lots of coughing, sneezing, nose blowing, etc.

2) Eat lunches at my desk that smell like farts, i.e. Hale and Hearty's Cauliflower Cheddar Soup.

3) Listen to music loudly and sing along, in particular the orgasmic wailing parts of Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love" and the "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!" portion of Rage Against the Machine's "Killing In The Name."

4) Use speakerphone always and often.

5) Call my gyno and talk about oozing sores, rashes and bumps.

6) Explain my BMs in excruciating detail to my gastro doctor.

7) Discuss the various fungi plaguing my nether regions and feet.

8) Ask my shrink if eating one's own dandruff is cause for concern.

9) Call my doctor to see if the results of my TB tests are in. Then say, "Oh."

10) Use my blog to solicit job offers. Seriously, hook me up.

More to come as my frustration levels rise.

bummer

Peter Boyle died. This makes me sad. I can think of no better tribute to the man than the following short and sweet one:

"PUDDINGONDARAAAAAAAAAAAAAARW!"

loose lips

Last night was acting class number two. There was a bit of chaos outside the classroom prior to the start. The 6:00 class ran late sending about 20 actors spilling out into the cramped corridor occupied by students awaiting the 8:00 session.

I arrived, took one look at the disorderly scene and then secured a spot up against the wall out of the path of the recently-dismissed.

A bespectacled man in his late 20s(ish) was standing next to me. He looked me over and shyly asked, "Which class is meeting in here next?"

"Beginning Technique," I offered with a smile as I rearranged the heavy, uncomfortable load in my arms.

He returned the friendly expression and then cast his eyes downward towards my hands. The smile was replaced with a look of supreme discomfort and then he quickly spun on his heel and took about three giant steps away from me.

I looked down to see what he found so off-putting and there in my grip was the folded copy of Gay City News I had just picked up on a whim at a kiosk on West 12th Street.

Okay, which one of you dykes got sloppy and lost her copy of The Lesbian Handbook? Fess up, now. It seems this... this... boy somehow got his oppressive, misogynistic mitts on one and found the passage on page 103 which states, and I quote:

Wherein any straight male with the unmitigated gall to dare socialize with any member of The Lesbian Sisterhood shall be castrated on site (using attached rusty machete). The severed member will then be held up for all to witness after which it should be flung on the floor in disgust, set on fire (preferably using cheap liquor as the flammable agent) and then an interpretive Wiccan ritual dance performed around it. Invoking the name of Martina Navratilova is optional.

Ladies, do you see why we mustn't let this material fall into the wrong hands? He ran away before I could complete the task and now I'm going to fall short of my decapitated dick forecasts for the fourth quarter. You dumb bitches just cost me an all-expense-paid trip to the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

queer of the year readers poll

"Which queer person most advanced the state of the gay rights movement in 2006?"

Have an answer to that question? Visit Joe.My.God. -- one of my favorite queers -- and nominate your choice(s) in the Queer Of The Year Readers Poll. The poll closes on Friday, December 15. The results will be announced on January 3, 2007.

Thank you.

they do know... they just don't care

In addition to brilliant writing, The Sheila Variations also boasts a band of regular commenters who excel at providing hilarious commentary. The tangents that often ensue are delightful. In fact, I was inspired to compose the following letter thanks to a wonderfully off-topic comment thread that began with talk of a deflated Santa and ended with a lyrical analysis of Band Aid's earnest yet erroneous "Do They Know It's Christmas?"

Please read the post and comments to see how that transpired. In the meantime, here's the byproduct of my hijacking. Enjoy.

Dear Messrs. Geldof and Ure:

Thank you for your noble famine relief efforts. On behalf of the African people, I would like to convey our appreciation for your selfless dedication and desire to "feed the world." Although, truthfully, as non-Christians we could do without the accompanying relentless proselytizing about Christmas but still, we are nevertheless indebted to your tireless humanitarian pursuits.

However, I do believe it is incumbent upon me to clear up some misconceptions you seem to hold towards our beautiful continent. Firstly, I dare say the agricultural industry would beg to differ with your statement that "nothing ever grows" in Africa. In fact, my garden alone sprouts enough weeds to choke an elephant.

Secondly, the good people of Ethiopia, Kenya, and Somalia who were recently displaced by flooding would most certainly disagree with the notion that "no rain or rivers flow." That, kind sirs, is sloppy and irresponsible reporting on your part.

And, lastly, I think you do our bell makers a great disservice by describing the melodic and resonant tones of their craftsmanship as "clanging chimes of doom." While not one of our bread-and-butter industries, our bells and percussion instruments in general are no better nor worse than your own continent's. Frankly, we feel this is yet another case of xenophobia rearing its ugly -- and obviously tone-deaf -- head.

Again, we are grateful for the money you helped raise and we are most thankful for the prayers you solicited on our behalf. But, to reiterate, we really don't need reminders that "it's Christmastime again" as we don't really celebrate it. At this point, it has become nothing more than intolerant badgering and we are weighing our legal options.

But, in deference to your season of good will as well as our desire to not contribute to your alarming paranoia about living in "a world of dread and fear," we would like to avoid litigation if possible. Perhaps you can pen a follow-up single to retract some of the falsehoods about our climate and topography as well as your cruel and slanderous claims against African bells, of all things. I'm certain the members of Bananarama, Ultravox and Spandau Ballet, in particular, would jump at the chance to help right these wrongs.

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.

Sincerely,

Nala Simba Mufasa
President, African Board of Tourism

Watch the video here.

what's cooler than bein' cool?

Sally Brown shakin' it like a Polaroid picture, that's what...

(via TV Squad)

enquiring minds

Because no one ever submits questions to my Frequently Asked Questions, I occasionally take it upon myself to peruse my referrals and see what kinds of queries readers posed to Google, et. al to bring them to my place of online residence.

Here's one that came in just a few short minutes ago. Technically, the "you" in the following question is meant to be collective (it better be, yo) but because I'm both self-absorbed and confident in my hygiene, I'll deign to answer it.

Q: Does your vagina smell like cheese?

A: Ew, no. Why, does yours?

Obviously, this one is not going into the FAQ.

one last helping of leftovers

Oops, I forgot to include this in my Thanksgiving recap...

My Mom: Wow, that's some name Heidi Klum gave her baby.

Yours Truly: I know. It's a mouthful. Maybe it's traditional or something because her husband is from--

My Mom: Seal.

Yours Truly: Huh?

My Mom: Her husband's name is Seal.

Yours Truly: Right... Really? You know who Seal is?

My Mom: I'm not as out of it as you think I am, you know!

Yours Truly: Fair enough.

My Mom: Now what do you think of that Michael Richards character? And can you believe the state of that Britney Spears? Did you see the outfit she was parading around in with that other twit, Paris Hilton?

You know, some people take to rocking chairs and macrame in their retirement. My mother, on the other hand, opts instead for some Rush & Malloy. Hot.

I can't wait to see which celebrities she mercilessly skewers next. If Thanksgiving dinner was any indication, she'll be serving up bitch slaps along with the Christmas ham. I'll keep you posted.

acting? thank you!

Last night was my first-ever acting class and it was SO much fun. Oh, and get this: I was called on to perform an improvisational exercise with two other students and I didn't stink up the joint and/or die of a heart attack/piss my pants on the spot as I originally feared.

The exercise stressed the importance of objective. Three chairs were set up on the stage and each seat had an assigned role (later we rotated chairs and roles). First chair: A person expressing an emotional need. Second chair: The antagonist. Basically, whoever sat in this seat had to act like a cranky, unreasonable dick/beaver and deny any and all requests the person in the first chair was making. The third chair was a benevolent Mother Teresa-like role whose mission was to provide emotional support to the first person without actually solving that person's need, i.e. offering to give money, a place to stay, etc.

After the exercise was over, the instructor asked each of us which role we found to be the most difficult. The other two students immediately pointed to the first chair. Not me. See, in real life, I'm loathe to ask for help but in this situation, I had no trouble begging my classmates for money to help me cover the rent.

Oddly enough, the most challenging was yours truly trying to act like Mother Teresa.

Oh, fuck you.

line, please?!?

Guess who signed up for an acting class? No, not Freddie Prinze Jr. (even though the dude sorely needs them)... Me, silly(s)!

Yup, I start next week. I can't wait to say things to the instructor like, "What's my motivation?" and "How come you pull out your hair whenever I start running my lines?" and "Sorry about that whole aneurysm thing I caused you in the last class."

Tales of triumph and humiliation to follow, no doubt. Oh, who am I kidding? It's going to be all humiliation, all the time. And I can't wait.

world aids day

This request came courtesy of a friend. It's a legit and easy way to make a contribution in the fight against AIDS...

In honor of World AIDS Day on December 1st, Bristol-Myers Squibb, the pharmaceutical monolith (that charges nearly $1000 for a 30 day supply of one of its HIV/AIDS medications), is donating $1 to the National AIDS Fund for each person who simply visits their website and virtually lights a candle.

Please click here to light your candle. Don't forget to pass it on. Thank you.