What A Great Victory...For Me!

Hurray! The Hollywood Reporter reports that the Strangers With Candy movie, cleverly-yet-sensibly titled Strangers With Candy, has been picked up by Warner Brothers. Sadly, however, they say they are aiming for a fall release.

Personally, I would have preferred a spring release since I'd see it sooner. However, this way I can tell people "They're shooting for a full release" and then when they ask, "What's that you say, a full release?" I'll say, "No fall release, you pervert. I don't know what in the hell you're talking about. Sicko."

Now I just need to find something to occupy my time until next fall. Any ideas?

That is all.

Glitter Sunshine Fantasy Babydoll Fluffernutter Unicorn

I'm a little worried that Tori Amos might be slipping into puffy sticker territory (aka - The Land of Mariah) with the title of her new album, The Beekeeper, and the first single, Sleeps With Butterflies. She avoids it, however, with the truly inspired and totally nutty idea including a package of wildflower seeds with the super-duper limited edition deluxe poster combo CD/DVD pack system.

Sometimes these "limited edition" things get me annoyed - can't I just buy the plain album without having to grow flowers (!) on top of it, or being forced to show up at the Union Square Barnes & Noble on February 13th to get the companion book (?!?!) signed?

I'll be out like $50 bucks, have to read a book, do some gardening, and I bet I'll still have no idea what in the hell she's talking about. I mean, the girl's got a great voice, but I've been lost ever since the lyric, "Is she still pissing in the river now?" on her second album, Under The Pink. Perhaps some metaphors aren't meant to be decipered. Perhaps they're not metaphors. Discuss.

It's that sort of overabundance of product that turned me off of Bjork. Now don't get me wrong, I still love Bjork, but she stopped being one of my "I Need To Buy All of Her Work! ALL OF IT!"-type artistes when she started to release every darn bit of noise that's ever come out of her body as an import-only 2-CD single. I didn't have the time to track them down, and it was such an irritation when, for example, Hyperballad was split into like two CD singles, one domestic and one import, but you'd have to buy one of each because the import had the Fluke remix and the domestic had the Towa Tei remix. It meant shelling out at least $20 at Tower Records on two separate trips, since they would also release the different CDs on different days.

It made me lose respect for her until I saw that video where Bjork attacks a reporter, letting her child get whisked away on a luggage cart while she beats the crap out of some lady. She may be overmerchandised, but she's got spunk, and she's not afraid to take it out on a totally unprepared reporter who won't fight back because who's crazy enough to fight Bjork?

Anyway, the whole seed packet idea is odd, but you have to admit it's a creative way to avoid the dangers of copyright theft, as you can't have seeds dowloaded from Kazaa or Bittorrent.

And I have an update to yesterday's elevator room story: apparently the Singing Neighbor, in the course of relating the roommate story to DKNY, had also included the little too-much-information nugget, "...and there's a lot of room up there in that elevator room - I mean, I've been up there with three guys and an Aerobed!"

Hee hee.

That is all.

UPDATE: There are lovely new photos of Amy Sedaris on IMBD. In this photograph, she shows her whimsical side.

THAT is all.

Actually, That IS A Lollipop In My Pocket, But It Doesn't Mean I'm Not Happy To See You

I've got just a short note for you before I get back to work. Apparently, the suffering in my personal life has been inspiring Todd to masturbate more often, so I'm going to talk about someone other than me, just to save the kittens and so forth.

Last night I visited DKNY, and the Stump and The Singing Neighbor were both visiting also. The Singing Neighbor told the following tale:

The Singing Neighbor and his roommate went out for New Year's Eve, and returned to their apartment roundabout 6am. The Singing Neighbor went to sleep, but his roommate had been partying with a certain acquaintance of theirs, who I shall call Ms. Krystle Grant Jennings Carrington Methamphetamine, so the roommate was still very much awake and wanted to share this special time with a special gentleman friend of his, and by "special" I mean "anyone willing to come over and do him."

So his roommate went onto Manhunt.com and very shortly was joined by just such a special gentleman, someone who shared his interest in the topic of short acquaintanceships among gentleman friends and the topic of anal intercourse. Though they found that their views were in opposition on the second topic, it turned out that this would not hinder their getting to know each other quite well.

To the contrary, they found their two individual positions on the topic to be quite complementary. In order to further discuss this topic - at length - the roommate decided that the very best thing to do would be to leave the apartment he shared with the Singing Neighbor, and go to the elevator room on the roof of the apartment building, which could be accessed by the fire stairway, and have their discussion there.

Picture it: two gentleman of similar interests and extremely brief acquaintanceship having a very heated discussion, so worked up about the discussion that they had discarded most of their clothing, and they're at a part of the discussion when the gentleman caller was trying to drive home his point to the roommate. Repeatedly.

It was in this situation, quite in the very middle of their discussion, and with the roommate having taken a rather treacherous position on the topic, such that he was unable to defend against the endless jackhammer action the the gentleman caller was using to make his point known, that the building superintendant decided to check on the elevator room - the very elevator room where this discussion was taking place!

"What are you guys doing up here!" the superintendant said.

But really, it was more of a rhetorical question at that point, as it was pretty darn obvious what they were doing. The gentleman friend had to give up on making his point to the roommate, and they hastily dressed and said their goodbyes.

That is all.

*UPDATE: The Strangers With Candy movie premiered last night at Sundance, and Strangers With Candy superfan Tony was at both the premiere and some sort of premiere party. If you visit this link (and join the Yahoo group, for those of you pussies who aren't already, um, members) you can see some fun recent photos he took at the pre-premiere party with the cast. Amy Sedaris is looking absolutely adorable, even more so than usual, and there's also a photo where Paul Dinello is touching Tony right on his...shoulder. Sigh. But, in his other hand, Paul is clutching...a beer. Darn! I thought it was going to get dirty there for a minute!

I can only dream of the day that Paul would touch my shoulder, and in his other hand I would imagine, in my wildest dreams, that he was clutching...Todd's neck. Wouldn't that be nice?

I mean, wouldn't that be nice for me?

THAT is all.

Carson's Condition Appears Stable, Say Doctors

"He's Going To Remain Dead For The Forseeable Future."

Doc Severinsen was on the Today show this morning giving a live update from California on Johnny Carson's condition, which has remained stable as "deceased" since his death on Sunday. Television viewers around the nation continue to mourn by watching more television, and old celebrities that you thought had died long ago have been appearing, by phone, by fax, and occasionally in decrepit personage on Larry King in order to cling to the sad, desperate belief that they are still relevant.

"This has really helped me forget about the tsunami and Iraq," said television viewer and meat lover Melba Beasaton. "1.4 people die in Iraq evey day, but really, did those soldiers retire from their television careers with quiet grace, secretly feeding David Letterman jokes for his monologue? Probably not. Are you going to eat that pickle?"

In other news, DKNY has told me about an American Idol contestant, Mary Roach, who is said to be the next William Hung. Both of us missed the show itself, though, and so all we've seen is the before-and-after clip from the official website. Fox is apparently holding on to the actual singing clip like a whore clutching her last tiny shred of self-esteem. Bitches. I've heard it's dreadful, though, so I'm eagerly hoping it will pop up somewhere.

Mary Roach came up because she was apparently visiting a certain friend of DKNY's, in He Who Shall Not Be Named's studio yesterday, where she was already in the process of being made over into the next William Hung. (He Who Shall Not Be Named has the power to do that sort of thing, though sometimes he does it by having his little elves do it for him, like Santa Claus or Martha Stewart, and then taking all the credit. This appears to be one of those times.)

Now, I can't tell you who He Who Shall Not Be Named actually is, but let's just say he's got some recording equipment and he has, in the past, made even Madonna sound good, so hopes are high for Mary, though they are probably higher than they should be.

DKNY also advised that a quick search for "pepper balls" will yield the sexy protesting nipples of an angry liberal who was pelted with pepper balls while at the inauguration, or something like that, but all I managed to come up with was this photo of a shirtless juggler playing with his balls in Palestine, so I don't know what the hell he was talking about.

I forgot to mention what I did over the weekend, and it was this: I went to a birthday brunch on Saturday, which was great fun. Brunch is the most important meal of the week, don't you know, and they were serving shirred eggs, so it was a great victory for me.

At the party several people said I look thinner each time they see me, which was a little odd because one of the people saying that had seen me just the week earlier. I'm afraid the Karen Carpenter fantasy that I've been cultivating might turn into a Karen Carpenter reality in all the wrong ways - I mean, I want the part where I'm the crystal-voiced vocalist for a pop duo who wears extremely flattering wide-leg pants and just a hint of lip gloss and who reminds people that they once told me they loved me, but not the part with the distended stomach and the heart failure.

Hmm - I went to go look up Karen's autopsy report, because I seem to recall reading it on the Smoking Gun and it's not there any more. There was a very memorable description about how her stomach was distended from all the bulimia, and all they found in her digestive tract was partially digested green vegetable matter, which it turns out was a Caesar salad. I know that little nugget of wisdom because in my autopsy report search I found the website of this woman, who tells about going to Karen's house after her death, ringing the doorbell (!) and then stealing a rock from her yard. And you thought I was a crazy stalker? Geesh, lady! Have some respect for the dead! I don't!

You know, Johnny Carson's widow had better watch out if he has a lot of fans like that chick - she could easily be killed if all of Johnny's fans, the nutjob ones at least, stop by their house, ring the doorbell, and then rip a small bit of her flesh out to take take home as a souvenir.

But then, I suppose it's understandable- there just aren't a lot of cultural institutions in Los Angeles, due to the lack of culture, so there's not much to do when you visit except steal things from celebrities, star in amateur porn, or steal amateur porn from celebrities.

It's a vicious cycle, and occasionally also a viscous one.

That is all.

Johnny Carson, Still Dead

On the Today show this morning a very indignant Carl Reiner suggested that some station put Johnny Carson's old episodes on,"even at 1 or 2 in the morning" starting with the very first episodes and going through the next 23 years, and "they'd still be funny! Grrr! Still funny!"

They also had that one comedian - I want to say Richard Brenner, but I can't be sure - and also Dick Cavett, who looked fresh as a daisy. They remained silent while Carl sputtered. *UPDATE: DKNY just told me - "it's David Brenner, not Richard or Yul." He's funny, that DKNY!

Then they played that clip where Johnny Carson messes with Ed McMahon's tie, and then they get into a sort of girly fighting match. If you've turned on the television in the last day, you've seen it - they must have just one two-minute clip reel at all the newsstations. Ed McMahon, wearing an aubergine polyester suit that's too tight in the neck, starts to get really into it and is clearly untying Johnny's tie with gusto, but then Johnny puts an end to it before it gets too sexy, or as sexy as any girlyman fight can get when one of the men is a very jowly and not-carrying-a-big-check Ed McMahon.

The problem with the news - and I read this somewhere so I can't claim it as my own - but the problem is that there's now much more news coverage, what with your CNN and Fox "News" Network, but there's not actually any more news.

So we went right from 24-hour Tsunami-vision into (briefly, in NY) "Oh My Gawd! It's Snowing!" 24-hour coverage, except the snow was totally no big deal, so they pounced on Johnny Carson 24-hour deadwatch when that happened.

I could feel the newscasters getting bored as the snow started to melt yesterday, so they jumped on Johnny Carson's death like it was beef jerky, and they were totally baked.

I actually saw a man being interviewed in Central Park by the "On The Scene" reprorter about the snow, only they had switched midstream so the man was labeled "Carson Viewer" (Great! An Expert viewer! I hate amateur television watchers) who said he "liked Johnny Carson."

Thanks, that was so insightful. Really.

It's always struck me as so odd when Pizza Hut has something called the "Cheese Lover's Pizza" or "Meat Lover's Special" or whatever. Do people actually self-identify that way? Can you imagine a personal ad like that?

GWM seeks athletic hairy Asian. I am a successful 32-year old meat lover. I love consuming all kinds of meat, including sausage, pepperoni, and Canadian bacon. With me, there is no stopping the topping. No fats or fems.

Now that I think about it, though, you'd probably get a ton of responses. Most gay people are retarded, you know, so they'd get sucked in by that line about toppings, but for all the wrong reasons.

Jack: Now we go to Rosario De Los Angeles, who is on the scene in Central Park with people who are desperate to be on television.

Rosario: Thanks John, I'm here with a fan of [dead celebrity] who said he will miss him or her!

Fan: I always enjoyed [dead celebrity] in [dead celebrity]'s television programs and/or movies! I am sad that he or she is gone!

Rosario: So would you say you are the biggest fan of [dead celebrity] ever?

Fan: [unconvincingly] Sure, um, I guess so. I think that his or her work continued to be entertaining and has lasting value, even though he or she kinda dropped out of the public eye for awhile there, and I can't say that I really even thought about him for the last several years. Actually, I thought [dead celebrity] died last year.

Rosario: Yes, me too. This is a sad day. I am sad. Back to you, Jim!

They gave Reagan about three weeks of coverage, so Johnny should probably keep them satisfied until at least Friday, don't you think?

On Saturday I woke up having just had a wonderful and terribly realistic dream in which Del Marquis came over to my apartment, which was not really my apartment, and we hung out for awhile and he talked to me for like 15 imaginary minutes. I was kind of surprised that I dreamed about Del Marquis instead of sexy Jake Shears, and also a little worried. What if imaginary Jake Shears gets jealous of my fledgeling imaginary relationship with Del Marquis?

I mean, we just talked to each other, but he did sit on the edge of my dream bed. Probably because my dream apartment seemed to be some sort of dream cabin, and the dream bedroom was in the dream kitchen, so that was where dream Del Marquis had to sit - there really wasn't any other furniture. But you have to admit, on the animated DVD menu screen for the videos on We Are Scissor Sisters And So Are You - the one where Del is just in his underwear - he's looking pretty yummy. For a white guy.

(If you look in the comments section for yesterday, below the insane ramblings of Todd - who misspelled "Xanga" in all his links anyway so none of them work - what a pussy! - our much more faithful reader marcXc0re, has posted a (working) link of the Scissor Sisters Take Your Mama performance on SNL. Thanks!)

The other day the inauguration was on, and Bushie the Second and Laura were doing their awkward on-stage "dancing" at one of the inaugural balls. Laura had on her glassy-eyed stare, with her head lolling about the room like a bladder on a stick, and I mused out loud to DKNY and the Stump, "Gee, can you imagine what sex must be like for those two? She's just laying there, head flopping around, smiling blandly at everything, and Bushie's just rutting away on top of her like a Chihuahua on a Doberman's leg? Can't you just see it?"

Unfortunately, they have vivid imaginations and they could see it, so they asked me to stop speaking immediately, before I could even start describing what I thought Laura's expression would look like if she had a ball gag in her mouth and was getting it up the butt - but I'll tell you, constant reader: I'll bet she would look exactly the same. (And I'll bet Bushie smirks when he comes).

But really, didn't you totally forget about Johnny Carson for like a half a minute there? Wasn't it worth it?

That is all.