true colors

Oooooooooh! Aren't I fancy? Along with the esteemed Joe.My.God. and Dorothy Surrenders, among others, Ham, Cheese and Wry [sic] has also been selected by the fabulous Cyndi Lauper for a blog shout out to help promote the upcoming True Colors tour.

Sure, Cyndi flubs the title of my blog slightly but whatever, it's Cyndi Lauper and for a brief moment, she was aware of my dopey blog. So, I'll deal.

Check this out:

Here's a bit more information about the True Colors tour:

For the first time ever, music legends and today's hottest artists take the stage for a historical musical event -- Cyndi Lauper, Erasure, Debbie Harry, The Dresden Dolls, The Gossip and The Misshapes with host Margaret Cho join in celebration of the inaugural True Colors concert tour in support of the Human Rights Campaign. This 15 city nationwide tour, presented by Logo, kicks off Gay & Lesbian Pride Month on June 8th at Las Vegas' MGM Grand Garden Arena. The concerts will feature five hours of nonstop music with other exciting special guests appearing on select dates throughout the tour including Rufus Wainwright, Rosie O'Donnell, Indigo Girls, THE CLIKS and Jeffree Star with additional guests to be announced.

For official tour & ticket information, please visit: truecolorstour.com.

Thanks!

in the flesh

Um... so I was just THIS close to Debbie Harry:

I took this picture of her at close range, no zoom needed.

Why was l'il ol' me rubbing elbows with one Ms. Debbie Harry, you ask? Check out American Midol tomorrow for all the details. I'm not being a tease, really I'm not. It's just that I'll need a good night's sleep to help me process the fact that I was standing within inches of the lead singer of mofo Blondie!!!

You have NO idea what this did to me. I don't get misty in the presence of celebrities but my knees buckled a little bit when I saw her. No joke.

I can die a happy girl now.

as cranky as we wanna be

Can you smell it? Take a good whiff. Yes, folks, it's the stench of desperation and shameless pleas for attention mixed with the distinct aroma of a booze-and-pharmaceutical drug cocktail emanating from one Miss Paula Abdul.

Or the stank could be wafting over from that pile of laundry in the corner I keep ignoring...

Whatever it is, it's getting closer, my friends. Closer! In just three days, the brand new season of American Idol begins! And just like last year, I, along with The Lovely Jess and Mejack, will be bringing you the latest catty commentary and breaking news with a snarky slant each and every day on our beloved bitchfest, American Midol.

And, if that's not enough incentive to click on over, I'm pleased as spiked punch to announce that our good friend Sheila has joined our snotty ranks. It's going to be sick, I tell you, SICK.

We've already been posting daily news briefs and other bits and pieces. Once the show gets into full swing, you can expect more news, show recaps, predictions, useless, unscientific polls, in-depth analysis of Paula's descent into drug-addled insanity plus lots of impersonations of Randy Jackson's limited vocabulary. A'ight, dawg? You feelin' us?

See what I mean?

A guaranteed good time will be had by all... um, except maybe the contestants we skewer mercilessly. So mosey on over to American Midol right now, comment on it, bookmark it, Blogroll it and/or add it to your RSS feeds. Oops, that reminds me... I need to set that up. The nerdy backend work never ends. Hee hee... I said "backend."

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.

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

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.

soundtrack to [curly] (soul coughing, anyone? anyone?)

I pride myself on my carefully-crafted mp3 collection. I like to think that it's one of my crowning achievements. In fact, I can be a right haughty beaver when it comes to playlists and libraries. Take pride, people!

So, what better way to show off a portion of my beloved stash of songs than through this fun wee game I found over at Sheila's?

If Your Life Was a Movie, What Would the Soundtrack Be?

The Rules:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc.)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool...

Opening Credits: "No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn" - The Beastie Boys
Kinda perfect, no?

Waking Up: "More Than This" - The Cure

First Day at School: "Bottle of Smoke" - The Pogues
Apparently, my movie is taking place in Ireland. Or Woodside, Queens.

Falling In Love: "Hong Kong Garden" - Siouxsie and the Banshees

Fight Song: "Float On" - Modest Mouse

Breaking Up: "Come Together" - The Beatles
Ha ha ha ha.

Prom: "Girlfriend in a Coma" - The Smiths
Ten bucks says the prom chaperones would seize this opportunity to make a statement about drunk driving. "Use a designated driver, boys and girls! You don't want to end up like that poor girlfriend, the one in a coma!"

Life: "Useless" - Depeche Mode
What a perfect segue into the next category...

Mental Breakdown: "I Don't Mind If You Forget Me" - Morrissey
I think Morrissey would flattered that his music is associated with a mental collapse. He'd probably license it for free, in fact.

Driving: "Talk to Me" - Stevie Nicks
Awesome! I love to belt this out to begin with and a car has THE perfect acoustics for a sing-along. I love how Stevie's voice gets all ragged and pleading. Don't let anyone ever tell you coke abuse doesn't have its merits. Hello, bitchin' vibrato!

Flashback: "Why Do I Lie?" - Luscious Jackson

Getting Back Together: "Seattle" - Public Image Ltd.
Not if Johnny Rotten has any say in the matter.

Wedding: "Reader Meet Author" - Morrissey
Wow, this plot is kinda like the polar opposite of Misery, no?

Birth of Child: "Higher Love" - Depeche Mode
I can't quite place my finger on it but there's something really creepy about this.

Final Battle: "Personal Jesus" - Depeche Mode
I'm guessing this battle would be religious in nature and the person who scored the film is someone often accused of being overly literal.

Death Scene: "Sunday Girl" - Blondie
Aw, it would have been SO much better if it was Blondie's "Die Young, Stay Pretty" but what can you do?

Funeral Song: "Clubland" - Elvis Costello & The Attractions
I'm thinking this particular song in this particular context might have been better suited to the Party Monster soundtrack. Hmmm, now who's the overly-literal one?

End Credits: "Such Great Heights" - The Postal Service
Damn, my story just descended into The OC: The Movie.

(via The Sheila Variations)

our version of rate-a-record

Jess: Were you a Faith No More fan?

Yours Truly: Okay, two things: 1) Nope, hated them and 2) You're not going to believe this but despite my hatred, "We Care a Lot" was stuck in my head just before.

Jess: Hated Faith No More. Huh.

YT: Well, perhaps hated is too strong a word... "Loathed with a fiery and intense passion" is more accurate.

Jess: Wow.

YT: Actually though, I only knew a couple of songs. The lead singer bugged me mostly. I didn't hate them. I just didn't see the point.

Jess: Huh.

YT: Are we no longer friends? Can we bridge this gap?

Jess: I think we'll be okay.

YT: I don't know. It's a wide chasm. Between this and my being okay with the David Matthews Band, I think we may have reached an impasse.

Jess: I just don't think I've ever met someone who actively disliked FNM. Of course, I also don't get what all the fuss about Radiohead is.

YT: Radiohead is a polarizing band. FNM is more of an annoying flash in the pan. I don't campaign against them. They haven't made my blog, unlike say, Hootie or The Goo Goo Dolls. The latter are my default shit bands.

Jess: Mine are DMB and Oasis.

YT: Sorry but Oasis is responsible for more than one snappy tune and I like them without apology. I also like that they spit and fight on stage.

Jess: It's okay. My hatred is irrational.

YT: You just don't like English people in general. You're an anti-Anglophile.

Jess: Hardly. I love the Brits.

YT: Your distaste of HP Sauce is a gateway hatred. It's seeped into people, bands and cities. In fact, you think Liverpool can suck it, don't you? You've punched people out for saying "spool of film" or "tin of mushy peas" and Typhoo tea makes you lose your shit. Crunchie bars outrage you. Don't even get you started on Tizer. Irn-Bru is for wankers, you say. And while we're on the subject, you firmly believe that only wankers actually say "wankers" or "sod off."

Jess: You are killing me.

YT: You're lucky I'm not, like, Polish or whatever because talking about kielbasa and pierogies just isn't as funny.

toreador, don't spit on the floor

Last night I went to see my very first opera. Actually, no, that's not true. I saw a production of The Mikado at Hofstra University several years ago. It was rather forgettable. Not because it was an amateur production. No, no. I assure you that this particular mounting of Gilbert & Sullivan was quite competent. However, the cultural significance was diminished slightly in my mind what with all the jokes about Mineola and traffic on the Meadowbrook wedged into the beloved book.

Nassau County humor, in case you didn't know, has limited reach. Last night's experience, however, is one that will forever remain in my memory bank.

The Hot Russian and I, looking quite spiffy in our suitable opera attire*, attended the New York City Opera's presentation of Carmen at Lincoln Center.

You know, I always found it amazing that there was on opera based on the theme music from The Bad News Bears...

If any of you took the previous sentence seriously, kindly form an orderly line so that I can kick you in the teeth and then ridicule you in an efficient manner. Thank you.

But seriously folks, the opera was way cool. The acoustics, on the other hand, well... they sucked. I was eagerly anticipating ringing ears and blown-back hair when the mezzosopranos unleashed. However, the architecture of the theater all but prohibits soaring vocals from seeping past the proscenium arch. The layout of the stage just sort of swallows up the voices. 'Tis a pity indeed since the company was so talented.

Shitty sound aside, I was totally in my element. I am extremely grateful to The Hot Russian for hatching last night's plan and executing it. Thanks to her, I've already got a ballet under my belt this past season ("Manon" performed by the American Ballet Theater) and we have plans to see Madama Butterfly at the Metropolitan Opera, in addition to a few other artsy-fartsy events. Being a culture vulture suits me, I must say.

After the opera, we crossed Broadway for some red wine and dessert at Cafe Fiorello. I'm not sure which was more delicious -- the chocolate mousse or the cell phone conversation conducted at the next table. A bawdy blonde on her seventh martini (give or take a dozen) said, and I quote: "My girlfriend just got kicked out of the motherfucking symphony. She was escorted out by the police and everything."

Unfortunately, she gave no reason as to why. Maybe she's just reeeeallly fussy about her Wagner and vocalized her disapproval. Wanna know my best guess? I think she blazed up a doobie and got busted. Those Philharmonic fans are often more baked than the most ardent Dead Head or Phish fan. It's true.

____________________________________________

* Unfortunately, not everyone was so mindful of the dress code. If I may, I'd like to play Mr. Blackwell for a second... Dude, flip flops? At the opera? Seriously? And you, young lady, in the low-rider jeans, thanks for showing off the thong-shaped tan lines. Do us all a favor and save those unfortunate wardrobe choices for when you go to see Mamma Mia.

rod 'the bod' and god side-by-side on the r train

Every now and then, I encounter the same busker in the last car of the downtown R train. As I step onboard, she's usually about a verse or two into a very slow and soulful rendition of "Always and Forever." I hate that song but I love how she wraps her voice around it. Each note starts out with a pleasant nasally tone and is finished off with a delightful rasp. Her voice is ragged and worn. There's a lot of mileage on it. She has indeed lived a life.

She's elderly and blind but she still glides through the subway car with the greatest of ease relying on her cane and years of experience negotiating the different subway cars. She doesn't stumble or bump into people. Crowds part to let her through. She's respected and beloved. I've seen this same respect paid to the blind accordion player and a few doo-wop and five-part harmony groups that barrel through the busy trains interrupting conversations, naps and novels.

If someone is talented and/or not screaming about Jesus and urging us to repent, we don't tsk and sigh over the intrusion. Good schtick garners patience, polite smiles, outstretched money-bearing hands and unfettered access to the next car where the performer can charm the pants off the awaiting group of grizzled locals and bright-eyed tourists.

I saw the blind busker again on Wednesday night. As usual, she shuffled through the car singing, shaking her paper coffee cup and offering thanks each time she heard the clink of change deposited in it. And as usual, I took my seat, opened up my paper and drifted off into the day's Daily News headlines with her song serving as the bed music to my nightly ritual.

She finished up "Always and Forever" and segued into the next song. It was a new one, for me at least, in her repertoire. Normally I don't notice the transitions in her medleys but her choice of song and her placement of her words of thanks that night made me lower my newspaper and observe with undivided attention and an appreciative smile:

If you want my body and you think I'm sexy
(Thank you. God bless you!)
Come on, sugar, let me know
If you really need me just reach out and touch me
(God bless you!)
Come on, honey, tell me so

She was far out of my reach at that point but I'm totally giving her a twenty the next time I see her.

all you need is 'midol'

The American Midol blog finally got its long-awaited makeover. I'm a procrastinator, what can I say?

But the labor of love -- mine, The Lovely Jess and Mejack's -- has much more than dense jpgs and a tweaked style sheet! Check out the American Idol episode recaps, polls, news round-ups and tons more crap to help waste some time.

American Midol promises to scratch the itch for you Idol fans... and further outrage those of you who hate the show and just don't get it. We're multi-purpose like that.

A big thank you to Layne for the promotional buttons (see above and the to your right in the sidebar) and all the upcoming back-end stuff he is most likely going to regret offering to do!

an announcement

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Blogger Trio Unveils 'American Idol' Blog

NEW YORK, NY (May 1, 2006) -- Three bloggers today launched a joint venture to feed their shared 'American Idol' obsession. This new blog -- the American Midol Blog -- will be updated at a frenzied pace, and will feature news, gossip and what Jess of Blind Cavefish calls "totally bitchy commentary."

The name American Midol was first thought up by Mejack of Mejack and You're Not.

"I was searching for a term that would really encompass how the show made me feel," Mejack said. "I realized it made me feel like PMS."

Jess and Curly McDimple of Ham and Cheese on Wry immediately proclaimed it as "genius!" and then decided to name the 'American Idol'-themed blog accordingly.

"We want to be a one-stop resource for all things 'American Idol'," Jess explained. "We spend so much time, especially on Wednesday and Thursday morning, firing show-related links at each other over IM. We want to give the 'Idol'-obsessed quick and easy access to a wealth of information."

The bloggers have several plans for the future of the blog. Site enhancements, Photoshop art and images that will probably get them sued are on that list.

"I'm making a seriously bitchin' logo," says Curly McDimple.

The American Midol Blog can be found at http://www.americanmidolblog.com.

courtney & tina: a theory

I recently watched Sid & Nancy. I loves me some Sex Pistols, rally I do. Anyhoo, I knew Courtney Love had a small part in the film but oh my God, when she first appeared on the screen, I had one question and one question only: "Um, are Courtney Love and Tina Yothers of Family Ties fame the same person?"

You decide:

Courtney

Tina

See what I mean? No? Take another look:

Tina?

Courtney?

Come to think of it, didn't Hole have a song called "Jennifer's Body"? Hmm... Jennifer as in Jennifer Keaton?!?! Consider this mystery solved. Sha, la, la, la...


Photo credits: Courtney: burnthiswitch.tripod.com; Tina: familyties-tv.com

judge not

I have something to confess...

I totally snogged a 22-year-old girl tonight.

A woman 10 years my junior.

With a limited knowledge of English, no less.

But then again, there ain't no such thing as language barrier when your lips are otherwise engaged. N'est ce pas? Can I get a whoop whoop?

Now you might think that whole age difference thing would have given me pause but to that I say, FUUUUUUUUCK DAT! She was hot and I have a baby face and therefore it all balances out.

Shut up, it does too.

So now here's where the shame comes in... The impetus for said smooch? After a couple of hours of flirtatious chit-chat and the occasional cheeky grope, I found my oral opening, as it were, during the chorus of "You're the Inspiration" by one Peter Cetera.

Yup, the former Chicago frontman was temporarily the meaning in my life, the inspiration, if you will, to totally mack on a cute wee girl.

You know, I never thought I'd credit Peter Cetera with anything other than, you know, annoying the piss out of me but, well, he really came through tonight. I have a new appreciation for the man.

So, thank you, Peter Cetera. Thank you.

on status reports and ice skates

I had every intention of banging out Part Seven last night. No really, I did! I went out for a lovely dinner with some really cool people and arrived home with an energetic buzz that I was going to parlay into enough paragraphs to keep you all sated. 'Course that nifty feeling could have also been the grain alcohol in the stiff margarita I sucked down at Cowgirl...

But I digress. I was all geared up to write the next installment in my schmoopie saga but I got distracted. I saw something and I.could.not.look.away. I was entranced. Was it some unholy specter haunting my abode? Nope. Was it a vision of the Virgin Mary taking shape in the food stuffs in my kitchen? Again, no.

'Twas the sight of Bruce Jenner decked out in Navy whites skating around an ice rink with Tai Babilonia. Yes, my friends, I got sucked into Skating with Celebrities. And I'm not ashamed. Although, I'm a tad regretful because Bruce Jenner's skinny nose is rather nightmarish. Methinks the plastic surgeon was a little unruly with the scalpel. I'm not banking on ever having a restful night's sleep again thanks to his barely-there beak but I don't care! The bad dreams are worth it. Bring on the B-listers in skates!

Oh and speaking of FOX programming, The Lovely Jess brilliantly recaps the first episode of American Idol. It's impossible for me to expand on her insightful take. Please go read it.

the best o' '05, relatively speaking

Despite my earlier proclamation, I have one last entry left in me for the year. I was going to do a Top 10 Posts of 2005 list eventually but I saw a slightly different format on Sheila's site (via Ann Althouse) that I quite like. Here, dear readers, is a monthly breakdown of notable posts:

January

Boobwatch, Indeed
This, my friends, is when The Hoff sickness began. 'Nuff said.

Long Before Ben and Liv Stunk up the Screen...
A cable airing of Jami Gertz's Jersey Girl riled me up and made me a tad defensive of my home state. I mean, there's a reason I left NJ but I'd still like to issue this rule o' thumb: I can make fun of Jersey as can other former (and present) residents all I/we want. The rest of y'all sound tired when you do it. What else is in your sad cannon? "Why did the chicken cross the road?" and a bunch of knock-knock jokes? Seriously, get some new material. Or go pick on Connecticut or something. Move on or I'll be forced to open up a can of Coors Light on your asses.

But When You Shake Your Ass, They Notice Fast
Any post which contains the line "Seriously I'm so white, I make Debbie Boone look ghetto fabulous," needs, nay BEGS, to be resurrected.

February

The Tesh Experiment
The birth of Harriet McNamara, the rabid John Tesh fan/mail room clerk/ace bowler.

A Couple of Quick Niece-isms
Several gems uttered by the Adorable Five-Year-Old Niece when she was still the Adorable Four-Year-Old Niece.

March

On Movies and Molestation
I'm quite confident this is the only site out there on the Internets [sic] that can discuss Capturing the Friedmans and the diddling of Dudley on Diff'rent Strokes in the same post. If I'm wrong, please let me know because I might need to marry this equally-twisted writer.

She Bops
And lo, the birth of a new phrase on par with "Life is like a box of chocolates..." is born.

Next Week We Teach Her How to Funnel
The Adorable Four-Year-Old Niece begins training for her first keg stand.

April

A Public Service Announcement
I decided to give some much-needed assistance to forlorn Googlers. Lest you think it's a stuffy, tech-heavy tutorial, fear not. One of my lessons was the proper use of the term "tart cart." Never doubt my ability to be completely inappropriate.

And Now Is Zee Time When I Kiss My Own Ass
Because I'm always late, I missed my own one-year blog anniversary. But I had a brain fart several days later and marked the occasion by showcasing some of my lesser-known posts. Whoa... a list of posts WITHIN a list of posts. I think I just blew my own mind.

Chug! Chug! Chug!
A rare photo of Yours Truly... making short work of a pitcher of Brooklyn. 'Cause I'm classy like that.

May

Adam Sandler Doesn't Dice My Onions
Once again, The Lovely Jess and I take the English language to new and interesting heights. Or, like, you know... butcher it.

My Other Talent
I can "cook" too, y'all.

Sex Smells
Some pyschological insight into what makes me tick. It's as disturbing as you've no doubt imagined.

June

Resurrection
A desperate plea to a love nearly lost forever.

Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'
Here's where I took on the tools standing outside the courthouse in support of that horror show, Michael Jackson. Bunch of ass munches. I shake my fist at them.

Question
The first chapter in The Saga of the M-o-u-s-e (to be continued in July).

July

I Have Arrived!
This is when I knew I had made it as a blogger -- I received my first piece of hate mail. It was a beautiful thing.

Breaking News
The conclusion of The Saga of the M-o-u-s-e. Here it is months later and I'm still twitching.

I'm a [Last Name] Girl
This entry was a departure from the usual dopey tone of this here blog. I talk about my half-in/half-out of the closet status. I was really drained by the time I finished and I pretty much sobbed my way through it. But I'm proud of it and it helped me tremendously by writing about it. Once again, THANK YOU to everyone who commented and emailed me. I've never had such a response to a post before. Your words of support and encouragement helped me in ways you can never possibly know. So thank you.

August

It's a Boy!
I became a proud and doting aunt for the second time. Despite the grumpy face in the photo, my nephew has the biggest, best smile and he wears it often. His cheeks are the chubbiest I've ever seen and like his adoring aunt, he relies heavily on his woobie to help him sleep. In case you can't tell, I love my wee boy to bits.

The Alan Alda Sensitivity Project* or What I Learned from TV
The first in an ongoing series of life lessons and observations I gathered by watching copious amounts of television as a child. Perhaps the best quote of the bunch: "Charles Ingalls was a bit of a buttinsky."

Thomas
This is a story about the grandfather I unfortunately never met. This was another one I blubbered my way through.

Flirtation
The post where I punk'd my audience.

Traveling Show
This tale illustrates why Jess and I will never and SHOULD never become exterminators.

September

The Trunk
Despite the heartache and emotional shit storm she unleashed on my life, this is a loving tribute to the good stuff THE EX brought to it as well. Yet another tearjerker. Man, I was mopey this year.

An Ode to My Itty Bitty Titties
Small-chested girls represent!

Someone Is on Your Side
Some thoughts on my beloved Bernadette Peters after she suffered the tragic loss of her young husband.

October

The New-Age Cheese Diet
Just what you always wanted -- health advice and tips for a better life from the former cohost of Entertainment Tonight... The Tesh.

All The Small Things
Here's where I started my list of 100 things about me. I think I got as far as 40 before I quit. Maybe I'll get around to finishing it... maybe not.

#41. I rarely finish things I start.

November

I'll Have the Big Gulp, Thank You
A charming tale of mortification courtesy of my overactive pie hole.

Inside the Actors Studio with Curly McDimple
When I become famous (and I WILL), this is how I'm going to answer James Lipton's questions. Oh and I also go off on Rosie O'Donnell. In truth, it doesn't take much to prompt a Rosie rant from moi. In fact, I could launch into one right now. I'm totally serious.

December

Season's Greetings from Curly and The Hoff
Here are some Hoff holiday greetings to print out and share with your friends... or enemies. You can also hang them up at home and the office to ward off evil, scare away would-be burglars and the occasional annoying coworker.

The Alan Alda Sensitivity Project: Holiday Edition
Among the lessons learned: The Bradys should run FEMA; Shermie schooled whitey on the art of The Running Man; Santa really dicked Rudolph around; and Rankin-Bass is staffed by a bunch of ugly motherfuckers.

And that was my 2005 in a someone wordy nutshell. Thanks for being part of it. May you all have a happy New Year! And to my Scottish peeps, a very Happy Hogmanay!

All the best,
Curly

soldiers burping

I'm having a renewed love affair with Depeche Mode. They have a new album coming out AND! they're also playing the Garden in December (thanks for the heads up, Adena!)

I'm SO there and WILL be screaming like a silly little girl. Depeche Mode/Nitzer Ebb was the second concert I ever attended (The Cure/The Pixies/Love & Rockets being the first.) Depeche Mode put on an amazing show. I chirped about it in school for weeks afterwards to anyone who'd listen. Unfortunately, the only one interested was Kenny, the art student who was always in dire need of a breath mint. He had a retainer, you see...

I love this band dearly and cannot pass up the chance to see them live. Oh and FYI, boys and fellow lesbos, if you give a mix tape with a Martin L. Gore-penned song on it to the right girl, you WILL get ya some, get ya some. Trust me on this. In my case, I used "A Question of Lust." Worked like a charm. Subtle, right?

Anyhoo, I'm listening to Violator right now and "Enjoy the Silence" just finished up. When I first heard the song, which, as I recall, was on Earth Day 1990 (I was watching an Earth Day concert on MTV all day and they world-premiered the video during the show), I fell instantly in love.

Speaking of Earth Day, I was REALLY insufferable about the environment in the early 90s. Oh how I wanted to be aboard the Rainbow Warrior in Alaska with The B-52s, Alec Baldwin and the rest of that Greenpeace ilk ramming into oil tankers and freeing Flipper from fishing nets.

Instead, I was stuck in Jersey lecturing people about the horrors of animal testing while imploring them to cut up their plastic six-pack holders and buy dolphin-safe tuna. Furthermore, I wanted to be a filmmaker in the worst way so that I could piece together the torture of bunnies and space monkeys into a powerful snuff film with The Smiths' "The Draize Train" providing the soundtrack. Again, subtle.

Yeah, I was one of those.

But I digress... I got the Depeche Mode CD as soon as it was released, namely so that I could open up the liner notes and check the lyrics. Up until that point I was confused by Dave Gahan's warbling of a certain line so I just made do and sang along as best I could. This was my take on it:

"Pleasures remain / Soldiers burping"

I was all, "Soldiers burping? Wait, that can't be right. What the fuck, Dave?! This is such a nice song and you're talking about gassy servicemen? What.the.fuck?"

And then I read the lyrics: "Pleasures remain / So does the pain."

OOOOHHHHHHHHHH! Now that made sense. But, I still can't listen to that song without inserting my own lyrics. I kinda like mine better, come to think of it.

So, in the spirit of 'Scuse Me While I Kiss This Guy and my own retardation, here are a few lyrical crimes committed by me and certain people I know:

"Take your pants down and make it happen."
The "Flashdance...What a Feeling" lyrics my friend's father misheard thereby causing him to ban the song from his household. Real lyrics: "Take your passion and make it happen."

"Ah... pussywillow!"
My sister's friend's take on "Push It" by Salt-n-Pepa.

"Two Pop Tarts! I need you. I need you!"
My friend's sister interpretation of Stacy Q's "Two of Hearts"

"Daddy-o! If you daddy-o! You daddy-oooooooooooo!"
Um, that's what I swore Mick Jagger was singing in "Start Me Up." NO IDEA where I got that from. NO FUCKING IDEA.

"Girls WHAT the boys?!?"
This one's courtesy of my mother. Years ago I was watching MTV and "Cum on Feel the Noize" by Quiet Riot came on while she was fishing around in a nearby closet. The chorus was a bit muffled through the sheet rock, you see, so naturally, my mother assumed there was all sorts of fucking going on in the song she could barely hear. She thrust her head out of the closet and exclaimed the above line in a shocked tone. Truthfully, I don't think my reassurance that the girls were in fact rocking the boys made her feel any better.

As it was, she was threatening to cancel the channel from our cable service. She thought it was a bad influence on us. Sheesh, you sing Cheap Trick's "She's Tight" in front of company one time and suddenly the MTV's in jeopardy. Such a tyrant.

Feel free to add your own mangled lyrics to the comments. J'adore this sort of thing. Danke.

rose tint my world

While watching The Daily Show tonight, Jon Stewart said something that put me in mind of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Not sure what he said exactly. I don't recall him specifically mentioning time warps or sweet transvestites or anything of the sort, but then again, it doesn't take much for my feeble mind to meander to regions far and wide.

So within seconds I was singing "Over at the Frankenstein Place" to myself. For those of you in need of a memory refresh, that's the song Brad and Janet sing while they make their way in the rain from their broken-down car over to... say it with me now... the Frankenstein Place. [For you hard-core Rocky fans, now's your chance to bust out lighters, don newspaper hats and squirt water pistols.]

I totally whet my musical appetite with that song snippet and now there was no turning back. I.had.to.hear.this.song. Oh and "Science Fiction Double Feature" too because j'adore that tune and um, it's actually in my key so I can sing it without peeling the paint off the walls. The paint only bubbles and puckers slightly, you see.

Would you believe that the soundtrack isn't available on iTunes? The only Rocky-related tune they carry is some bullshit muzak version of "The Time Warp" performed by some doofy orchestra. I listened to the 30-second preview and it is brutal! I have a good mind to snap that conductor's baton in half and stab him with it.

So I decided to go old school and dip into my cassette collection. I've pretty much cleaned out my stash in recent years with the exception of my cherished Cure, R.E.M and Love & Rockets tapes that I will never ever part with. Oh and of course, the original soundtrack from the original motion picture to... you guessed it... The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

I bought the tape when I was in high school and tortured all of my friends with it. Some of them appreciated the brilliance but the rest couldn't get into it. Although, I did catch one of my more stubborn friends singing "Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch Me" despite herself. Victory was mine.

God, I was a complete doofus in high school. I actually used to request "The Time Warp" at school dances (in between pleas for some Depeche Mode or New Order). It was always strange to hear my songs sandwiched in between "Ice Ice Baby" and "Rhythm Nation." But far be it from me to complain about continuity when the DJ was kind enough to throw me a bone despite the protests of the guido majority.

Naturally when "The Time Warp" came on, the dance floor cleared and only a hearty few remained... most of them members of the marching unit. And me.

So I set aside my usual disdain for the band kids and drama dorks and together, as one, we jumped to the left, stepped to the right, brought our knees in tight and executed some rather impressive and spirited pelvic thrusts. Well, impressive and spirited for a bunch of clueless virgins...

I'm really shocked that this tape isn't all warped from overuse. But, much to my delight, it's still in fine working condition. How do I know? Because it's playing right now! And I'm singing every fucking word to every fucking song. Neighbors be damned!!

Um, anyone know where there's Rocky karaoke in NYC? I'm totally feeling inspired right now. Hook a theater geek up!

Update: A big thank you to Laura, who was cool enough to send me a bunch o' Rocky mp3s. Thanks again!!! They are SO going on the iPod.

hang the dj

While most people were out and about enjoying various and sundry long holiday weekend activities, I was home getting busy...

... with some JavaScript. Now before you go branding me a nerd of the highest order, I must add that I'm illin. I've been battling either a) the longest build-up to a cold in the history of the human race or b) a nasty bout of allergies. In short, I've felt like ass for the past week and a half. Factor in some PMS and well, I've just been delightful to be around lately. So in the interest of not beating people senseless and/or sneezing on them, I sequestered myself in my wee studio and made with the freelance site building and nose blowing.

I did manage to emerge from my bitchy, congested cocoon Sunday night to attend a lovely Sapphic soiree in Queens. We ate, BS'd and giggled all the while ogling the hot women of The L Word. Jennifer Beals, if you're out there and decide that the whole married with children thing ain't doin' it for you no mo, do give me a jingle.

After my lone night out socializing, I got right back to work yesterday redesigning a site for my friend. I built the original site for her kick-ass biznatch a couple of years ago and it's high time the thing got an overhaul. I blush at the thought of any techie types viewing the source code of my first-ever website. It's tres embarrassing.

ANYhoo, throughout my weekend of web developing, I relied on the random shuffle on iTunes and the 80s Alternative channel on AOL Radio to keep me movin' and groovin'. Yesterday I decided to mix it up a bit and listen to my LAUNCHcast radio station. I've been very diligent in programming this station. I take great pains to rank songs and artists and/or banish others completely. The process has thus far been successful in forming a genre-crossing playlist devoid of most shit I can't stand. It's become a source of pride, really.

But my world came tumblin' (tumblin') down yesterday. Somehow... blech, the mere thought of this makes me skeeve... Atlantic Starr's "Secret Lovers" made its way onto my station. The euphoria from the previous track ("Float On" by Modest Mouse) was short lived when that rogue 80s ballad began seeping out of the speakers. I felt helpless... paralyzed. The keyboard and soft drum machine intro surrounded me like a poisonous fog and held me captive. But miraculously I broke free of the sleeper hold and skipped that fucker into oblivion. So let that be a lesson to the rest of that soft rock ilk. You dig, Richard Marx? Stay out!

requiem for aldo's

I am beyond sad right now. I got a call from my sister informing me that Aldo's, my old stomping grounds, burned down the other day. I feel like I lost an old friend.

I grew up in a typical northeastern New Jersey town where guidos and burnouts ruled the roost and the airwaves. Local establishments catered to their musical tastes while those of us artsy, sensitive types were left in the cold desperately wanting more than spandex-clad hair bands and whiny sing-through-the nose clubbers warbling about "Maria" in every other song.

On the other end of the spectrum, there was Top 40 which didn't quite cut the mustard with me either. And despite my blue-collar Jersey upbringing, I was never empowered by the melodies of Bruce or Bon Jovi. In case you were wondering, it's not a law or anything. In fact, I barely know any of the words to "Thunder Road" and I can chime in only on select parts of "Born to Run." At Fatso Fogarty's and Molly's, my friends screamed along to "Rosalita" while I sullenly held up the nearby wall.

The worst were the fraternity parties my friends dragged me to at the New Jersey Institute of Technology. None of us even went to that school but my friends had surmised that boys outnumbered girls about four to one at this and most other engineering schools. Yeah, that was fun for a questioning dyke to be dry humped to the tunes of Gloria Gaynor and K.C. and the Sunshine Band by a drunk frat boy who hadn't seen a girl all week.

What is up with the disco at frat houses?! I can't stand it on its own but it's even worse when accompanied by sweaty boys in baseball caps drinking Busch beer. Not only do they need to update the music library, but their dance moves need an overhaul too. They've really run those variations of "Doin' the Butt" into the ground.

And while I'm on my soapbox, boys, exnay on the sandwiching of and vigorous rubbing against unsuspecting girls. It's both presumptuous and invasive, don't you think?

Good God, I don't think I've ever known such misery as those fucking parties. So I put my foot down and stopped going. I reached out to different friends and we began frequenting Aldo's and The Loop Lounge in Passaic. To some, these were the weirdo bars to be avoided. They complained of the leather-clad pierced regulars. Instead, I embraced them and cursed my bland J. Crew-heavy wardrobe. I too wanted to use Armor All to clean my clothes!

The critics also pooh-poohed the dark lighting whereas my eyes hungrily gobbled up the sight of the holograms dancing on the wall and the pyschedelic screens above the dance floor providing well-timed blasts of color through the dark smoke. I felt at home. The music engulfed me. I felt comfortable, free and happy.

For the first time, I wasn't a wallflower. No one ever had to ask me, "Who died?" because I was never pissed, bored and leaning against the wall counting down the hours to last call. I didn't want the night to end. I knew every song that came on and became fascinated by the ones I didn't. I discovered new, exciting sounds and genres.

When I wasn't at the club, I'd listen to the now-defunct WLIR 92.7 religiously because the playlists and sensibilities were similar. Between my Columbia House membership, trips to Sam Goody and jaunts to Tower Records and St. Mark's Place in the Village for the hard-to-find stuff, my CD collection swelled.

On Fridays, I'd bust out the black clothing, rock the curl and head out to Aldo's for 50-cent drafts with my friends. I don't think you could ever consider me a giddy person but I came damn close to it in this atmosphere. When the smoke rolled out onto the dance floor and the strobe flickered in time to the pulsing beat, I'd just lose myself for a few hours. I wrote about it not long ago as a matter of fact.

And now it's gone. I haven't been there in a few years but obviously my affection for the place has not waned. Luckily no one was hurt in the fire but the club is wrecked. With any luck, they'll rebuild. If so, my ass will be on a NJ Transit bus tout de suite. Until then, I'm listening to my Aldo's-inspired iTunes playlist. Here's a sampling:

:: The Bottom Line... Big Audio Dynamite
:: Ball of Confusion... Love and Rockets
:: Cuts You Up... Peter Murphy
:: The Boy with the Thorn in His Side... The Smiths
:: Welcome to Paradise... Front 242
:: Nonstop Violence... Apoptygma Berzerk
:: Fool's Gold... The Stone Roses
:: I Beg Your Pardon... Kon Kan
:: Once in a Lifetime... Wolfsheim
:: Another World... Beborn Beton
:: Thieves... Ministry
:: Peekaboo... Siouxsie and the Banshees
:: This Corrosion... Sisters of Mercy
:: Head On... The Jesus and Mary Chain

Come back soon, Aldo's.

busted!

I was riding a very crowded F train to work this morning. At one point, four people, including myself, were surrounding a pole and clinging for dear life as a new train driver was being broken in... either that or the driver was drunk. The commute this morning was on par with one of the attractions at Six Flags. I felt like raising my arms at times and going, "Wooooooooooooooo!"

But I digress, the gender makeup of this circle was three women and one obviously straight man listening to his iPod. His mp3s are like mine in that the volume fluctuates from song to song. I didn't hear any of the songs he was listening to until late in the ride when the familiar strains of "Do do do do do do do doot do!" hit my ears. As if on cue, the three women surrounding him all looked at each other with the same look, "Dude, he's listening to Duran Duran!" He totally realized that we were on to him at which point he feverishly poked around in his bag to find the iPod and rid himself of "Rio."

I don't judge the man. I just found it surprising is all. I've had many a sing-along to DD, Erasure and the Pet Shop Boys... just never with straight boys. I have my fair share of guilty pleasures. I even labeled them as "Uncharacteristic Cheese" so that I can easily sort them and banish them from my playlist if company is coming over. No one needs to know that I adore Linda Eder's gender-bending rendition of "I, Don Quixote." Damn, I just busted myself.