I do a mean Mick Jagger. The butt-stickin'-out, hands halfway in the air, Brown Sugar Mick. I also do a mean Tina Turner and the two aren't that different. With Tina, the secret is keeping your legs straight and thinking you have Barbie feet, toes always extended. Proud Mary Tina isn't easy and if you know anyone who can do it well, make them do it whenever you're all drunk and high and playing music incredibly loud. Like my friends do.

In the mid-eighties when I lived in NYC, I went with my Gaymily to Chicago. We were all Young New Yorkers and, spurned by vast amounts of pharmaceuticals, we were alot to handle. At one point my friend Bill, his muscles draped in a kilt and motorcycle boots, jumped on the bar and began Shaking It Wicked. Apparently they didn't do this alot in Chicago then, the patrons looked as if we all were beginning to glow in the dark and eventually we were asked to leave.

I ended up spending a few extra days and despite my late departure, was sharing a plane to LaGuardia with the Village People! No kiddin'. There was the cowboy and the cop and the postman and the gym teacher. Of course they weren't in costume at the airport but I do remember they all seemed to walk in unison.

Later that week, back in Manhattan, I saw the Indian at a popular leather bar. I ended up meeting him and it seems he remembered me from the airport. Unfortunately none of my friends were around to request my Tina Turner, so I wasn't able to show off my smooth moves. I dance, I can spell and I'd make a fierce Lumberjack.

At least with the Mick schtick, I still have a few years left.

11:19:49 PM    sro home /

When I was a Senior in High School, I was the editor of the school "literary magazine", The Gallimaufry. Gallimaufry supposedly means "collection" in French or something equally prissy. I don't know. I wasn't the queen that picked it and I worked with what I had. I included several of my own poems and drawings, natch, and oversaw the trickle of TeenAge Angst that was submitted.

My Freshman year in college, I took a Creative Poetry Writing Course to knock off a Liberal Arts Class. My teacher for the course was basically a Grad Student but she was very supportive and suggested I enter a poem in the University's Annual Poetry Competition. I did and, well, I won first place.

I was the first undergradute to win the contest in ten years and got extra points for only being a Freshman. I was accepted into the Graduate Writer's Program and I was 17. I hated it. The other participants were Pompous Late-Seventies Writer-slash-Grad-Students and were predictably insufferable. It was Survivor without the cool clothes and that should say alot.

At any rate, after years of various occupations, I think my mother has always wanted me to become a writer. When asked, she could finally say what I do without having to explain it. I realized this Secret Wish when I received an e-mail from the "International Society of Poets" where my mother had submitted one of the poems I wrote in High School.

It wasn't the worst poem I'd ever written. Maybe. I think I was going through a heavy John Dunne phase because it sounded like something you might read wearing tights. It doesn't make much logical sense but, as they say about the Fat Girl in High School, it has "lots of personality".

The Society's web site promises lots of big bucks if you win a contest, so my interest was definately piqued. I ended up submitting more recent poems and - whattayaknow - I won second place with one. Apparently second place doesn't get cash but I did receive a silver "coin" of some sort encased in lucite like a scorpion. I don't know what I could really do with it, it looks like something you might buy at the Poetry Casino or Poemworld.

I just received an e-mail invitation to their Annual Convention. Last year featured Shirley Jones and the O-Jays. The invite sounded fun: "Imagine accepting your Grand Poetry Prize of $10,000 from Shirley Jones!". Well, ok. Wow.

This year's convention features Bo Derek and Robert Pinsky and is being held here in Los Angeles. I'm thinking of going, they promise I'll win a huge engraved bowl, a "magnificent work of art in itself" and I'll need an "extra suitcase to carry it home." Just what I need, more crap. But maybe John Corbett will be hanging around because of Bo and I could whip up some sonnets.

I never thought of poetry being so glamorous, I mean Bo Derek. She rips the envelope open with a sensuous toss of her braided head and announces the winner... Me!

At the podium, clutching my work of art against my tear-stained cheek, I thank my friends, my family and all the little folks who helped me make it big here in Hollywood... the Poetry Capital of the Universe.

8:40:40 PM    sro home /

Dear Bloggy,

You're funny. Why don't you have your own Blog?

R.

Dear R.,

Maybe I will after visiting your sorry-ass site. Let's make a deal. Next time you feel all "gooey" and "in touch with yourself", spare us the details. If it happens so infrequently that you need to write about it, take the secret to the grave.

Thanks for the compliment, though. I always like a man with a good sense of humor and honey, that ain't you.

Cya, Wouldn't Wanna Bya, B.

7:35:48 PM    sro home /

Dear Bloggy,

Some other people have such good blogs that I'm having trouble finding my voice. Granted most of them aren't that much, but some of them totally blow me away. Starting my own blog seemed like a great way to waste some time and flex my writing muscle, but now, I've started reading other people's blogs and have concluded that my life just isn't as interesting as I thought it was.

Not even the stalking part.

I'm heartbroken and can't figure out what to do. Please help.

Also, I'm not sure how to ask the guy I'm stalking to the prom and I'm pretty sure after this morning he knows I'm following him a little. Know a good bailbondsman? (Is that all one word like that?)

T-BONE

Dear T.B.-

Let me start by saying Stalking isn't the way to go. Trust MaMa on that one. I wasted a whole summer once sitting on a stoop across from an ex's house and all it got me was a Big Ol' Therapy bill and a trip to Dysfunction Junction.

You sound sweet (in a Single White Female kind of way) and I'm sure there's much more to plumb than you give yourself credit for. What about all those Lesbo Moments in Junior High when you were listening to Alannis Morisette and sharing Mac products? What about the time you got your belly-button pierced and almost passed out in front of your parents? What about your crazy brother who stole your stash and tried to replace it with Tea he'd sprayed with Pam?

If none of these sound familiar, you have some work to do. Otherwise, read 'em and weep.

4:20:37 PM    sro home /

dear bloggy -

i am so bummed. i recently started a weblog and was having lots of fun writing. i met some cool people and read some great things on a lot of subjects. my blog is part of this web group with lots of blogs on it and i recently went and checked some out.

gross!

like some were so lame! i was totally freaked. there's maybe three that are cool (in this group) but the rest were, like, no way! two of them were linked to some religious thing which totally skeeved me. the others were just pompous and dull. i mean, don't we get enough of that from the President? do i have to read about it too?

so, anyway, i like spazzed and got all freaked because all these Geeko Sites were getting, like, all the guys to hit on them. then i started fucking with my head and was like, ew, do i sound like this? i was so ready for a cig by then. thank god for diet coke with lemon.

so, bloggy, what should i do? should i keep writing my blog and ignore them? should i write more like them and be all "here's what i feel about iraq..."? is anyone ever going to ask me to the prom?

down and geeky

Dear D&G,

First, I prefer Diet Pepsi Twist. A little lighter and I swear the lemon flavoring contains huge amounts of some Columbian drug.

Second, get a grip girlfriend! You worked my nerves just reading that. No man likes a needy, greedy whore and you sound one step away from setting up camp at a sailor bar. Do you think the "hits" thing means anything? Do you get money for them or a silver medal? Maybe some of these people have some twisted logic involving "validation" and their "blah.blah.blah" but you don't have to buy it. Just write what you like and fuck'em!

By the way, proms are way overrated. I went to several of them and unless you're already "gettin' some", don't be too hopeful. Do what makes you happy and you'll hopefully make some other people happy too. If they don't get it, their loss.

XXX - B

3:27:52 PM    sro home /

Pickle Juice (see People at right) reminded me this week is "National Coming Out Week". I've been "out" since I was 18 and thanks to a loving family and good friends, have had few issues and little drama surrounding the fact. As she says in her writing about her brother, the response has usually been somewhere along the lines of "duh". Granted, I'm not a Heisman Trophy winner or anything but that reaction can give pause. In the end however, it's a relief to not have to step around anything.

I suggest everyone, straight or gay, take advantage of the occasion and "come out" about something, whether it's being queer or being addicted to the Food Channel. This will alleviate the lame excuses about "looking for something to make for dinner" or "just flipping around to see what's on". In the end, you'll find those who love you will be willing to put up with your Emeril Obsession and those who don't, well you're better off not having to deal with their trailer-park tastes.

We're here, we sear, get over it.

12:19:27 PM    sro home /