Monthly Archives: June 2007

One day, when I was twelve, my mother walked in on me masturbating to The Love Boat.

Over the weekend, E.S. and I went to a wedding in Washington, D.C. In our hotel room the night before the event, we had the following conversation.

E.S.: I want to watch TV.
FAUSTUS: Fine by me.
E.S.: But the remote is all the way over there.
FAUSTUS: …
E.S.: Could you go get it for me?
FAUSTUS: No.
E.S.: Whore.
FAUSTUS: You know, it used to be that when I didn’t do what you wanted you called me a brat. Now you call me a whore.
E.S.: Well, our relationship has evolved.

I’m sorry, Isaiah Washington, but how stupid can you get?

Wow:

Cat Destroys Lloyd Webber’s Phantom Sequel Score

The award-winning composer told the London paper, “I was trying to write some new music; [my six-month-old cat] Otto got into the grand piano, jumped onto the computer and destroyed the entire score for the new Phantom in one fell swoop.”

Really, what else is there to say?

Tomorrow night, if you possibly can, you should come to the very last WYSIWYG event ever, Gays Gone Wild: Gay Tales of Gay Gayness. I’ll be performing, along with Kelli Dunham, Joe Jervis, Cheryl B, Rod Townsend, Amnesia Sparkles, and Leigh Thompson.

If you’ve never been to a WYSIWYG event before, this is your last chance. Don’t pass it up.

I need your help with a project I’m working on.

Would you please take this short three-question survey?

(Two of the questions are yes/no and the third is optional.)

Your IP address will not be recorded and you will not be asked for your email address.

Thank you.

I could explain but I prefer to remain mysterious. Fear not, though; all will be made clear in the fullness of time.

Update: If your answer to question 3 is “sometimes,” then for my purposes that counts as “yes.” Act accordingly.

Opening night was fabulous.

The next night was more fabulous.

The next afternoon was more fabulous still.

Also, E.S., who came out to Seattle to see the show, has insisted that I recant my last post, because, as he points out, I did not vomit and faint at breakfast; I merely retched and swooned.

The first piece of mail I opened upon my return to New York tonight was a summons to jury duty. I can’t decide whether to do my damnedest to get on the jury so that I can fulfill my long-standing fantasy of participating in jury nullification or whether to retch and swoon so I can just go home instead.