It's Important to Have Enough Salad Dressing

You know how sometimes you order a salad because you're at a pizza place and you feel like you should make at least a half-hearted effort to eat something healthy before your sausage and pepperoni pie arrives? And then you get your salad and you realize they've only given you a pitiful little spoonful of full-fat blue cheese dressing on the side of the plate? Infuriating, amiright? How on earth are you supposed to eat a whole salad with that? What about taste?! Thankfully, there is a place in Brooklyn where this kind of bullshit will never ever happen: my favorite pizzeria, Carmine's on Graham Avenue.

They don't mess around at Carmine's. The pizza pies are big, the bread they give you on your arrival is warm and awesome, and, best of all, me, Jimmy, and whatever friends we happen to drag there are pretty much guaranteed to be some of the skinniest people in the joint (when we sit down).

Also, Carmine's has a lot of respect for salads. They know that you like lettuce and vegetables and stuff but only when you can dunk them in a veritable wave pool of dressing. Hence the cereal bowl full of blue cheese you see up top. Then, when your salad course is over and you're ready to start really eating, you can keep the bowl of dressing and dip your pizza crust all up in there. It's what God intended.

There are also cannolis there.

New Deadbeat Bohemians Post: Morrissey and Siouxsie

The 1994 collaboration between Morrissey and Siouxsie—a cover of the love song "Interlude" by Timi Yoru—did not lead to a second Big Bang the way it should have done. The universe didn't turn inside out and collapse in on itself in a chugging and churning seizure of morbid irony. This should have happened but it didn't. Do you even remember that the two singers ever recorded together? Nope, you don't.

Morrissey contacted Siouxsie about collaborating on a song while she was living in France with her husband, drummer, and sinewy sex pixie-stud Budgie. He had always been a big fan of Siouxsie and her Banshees. In 1994 he told the UK's Q magazine, "If you study modern groups, those who gain press coverage and chart action, none of them are as good as Siouxsie and the Banshees at full pelt. That's not dusty nostalgia, that's fact."

[NOTE: Deadbeat Bohemians is no more; I've expanded this essay and posted it over at The Nervous Breakdown here. ]

I'm Worried About What Life Will Be Like When This Jar of Dark Chocolate Dreams Is Gone

As a type 1 diabetic for over twenty years, y'all, my biggest fear—besides having an insulin reaction while hang-gliding in the Amazon and crash-landing into a pterodactyl's nest—is having an insulin reaction ANYWHERE and not having any sugary food-type thing I can stuff into my mouth to get my blood sugar up to a normal level. In this nightmare I have, I will be alone in the dark—in a forest, in a linen closet, in a fallout shelter, in the hatch on Lost—and I will slowly, sweatily expire as I search in vain for a sugary snack. It could happen!

To make it less likely that this awful thing will ever happen, Jimmy and I always make sure to have plenty of treats in our cabinets. These include Nutella, Little Debbie Zebra Cakes, and/or some cake icing. And ice cream. But I came home two nights ago to find a new treat that Jimmy had bought at the fancy grocery store in Williamsburg: Peanut Butter & Co.'s No Stir Natural Dark Chocolate Dreams. This thing I just typed is so much more than a great title for an awesome porno. It's, in fact, a soft, creamy mixture of peanut butter and rich, lush dark chocolate.

I knew this thing was going to be awesome when I first opened the jar and saw that Jimmy had already eaten at least one third of the contents. That's usually a good sign (though not a guarantee--Jimmy likes eggplant, after all). So I spooned out just a tiny little taste of the Dark Chocolate Dreams and damn if this chocolate/peanut butter spread isn't one of the most delicious things I've ever put in my mouth. And I've put a lot of delicious things in my mouth!

But you know how you discover a new food item, buy it, and immediately start worrying about when it will be all gone? That's where I am with this snack now. Even though I know that the next time I have a low-blood-sugar I will be able to Nosedive Right into Dark Chocolate Dreams (also a great title for an awesome porno), there will come a time when the DCD will be gone. Sure, we can buy more, but that means having to leave the house.

What's worse: Zebra Cakes and Strawberry Cheesecake Haagen-Dazs are no longer good enough for me. My insulin reactions demand more. They Demand Dark Chocolate Dreams. (Also a great title for an awesome porno.)

Wait, Female Arousal Exists?

Folks, have you ever been enjoying a long, meaty stretch of commercials about throbbing 4-hour erections and all of a sudden you are forced to sit through a patently offensive commercial for some women's product touting itself as the best way for the female of the species to achieve some kind of unChristian orgy of pleasure down there? Could there be anything worse?

Well, thankfully most networks aren't allowing this to happen, as a story on Nightline last night reported. Sleepy host Bill Weir, who says the word "erection" with a passion and precision that is sadly missing from most news anchors these days, seemed as surprised as I was that this female arousal thing even exists. (Yeah, heh, right, it rents the room between the Tooth Fairy and Unicorns.)

Zestra is the name of this infernal product, and though it's a very fun word to say, it is not a very fun product to contemplate, because gross! ("In a matter of minutes, I was there!") Who wouldn't much rather see an endless stream of commercials featuring an aging dude in a bathtub giving bathtub eyes to a woman also in a bathtub and then getting a hard-on?

My boyfriend Jimmy said our cat Stella got some bootlegged Zestra in the alley behind our apartment last week, which explains why she's been so breathless and glassy-eyed lately. No more television, radio, or Internet for her.

In conclusion, Dr. Laura Berman is my new favorite sex therapist.

My Latest Film: Rachell and Todd Get Hitched

Readers, Jimmy and I can't yet get gay married here in New York because _____________ but that doesn't mean our straight friends Rachell and Todd can't get gay married! Also, the powers that be still allow weirdo gay freaks to serve as witnesses, so we all twirled down to City Hall last Thursday in advance of the big weird Brooklyn tornado so R and T could get hitched. Witness the magic in the above documentary film.

Tune in Tokyo at the Brooklyn Book Festival

Folks, my book Tune in Tokyo: The Gaijin Diaries was on display at the WNBA table at the Brooklyn Book Festival this past Sunday. No, not the Women's National Basketball Association; I'm talking about the Women's National Book Association, which had the acronym first, bitchez. Anyway, of course I'm a member of the WNBA--after all, I'm a proud black woman. And I'll do pretty much anything to be able to display my book on a table--just ask the shirtless boys playing table tennis at Chelsea Piers.

The bottom line is that I was giving away free bookmarks, which explains why the WNBA table was such a hot property on Sunday.

My Camera Phone Will Not Be Denied: Some Gay-Ass Window Display on 9th Avenue

It's Fashion Week again, I guess, or something, because good Lord there were a bunch of tedious people clustering here, there, and everywhere in the West Village last Friday as I rode my bike home. The point is, I'm never invited to the good parties. Because there was something Olympian going on at this boutique on 9th Avenue that I had no idea was happening and that you needed special goggles to truly appreciate. Why was this kept from me? Sure, I mostly shop at H&M, but I have very fashionable taste in abs, and I'm on a few mailing lists.

Anyway, my camera phone was there and decided these dudes needed photographing because they were trying so hard.

This Man's Thumb Has Been Where Yours and Mine Could Only Dream of Going

British Foreign Secretary William Hague and his thumb are a very busy man. Oh, and there's his aide Christopher Myers, with whom he has maybe been stone cold gettin' it on, in a gay way, probably all day long while Great Britain burns, or whatever.

Full disclosure: THIS IS JUST A NASTY RUMOR! Hague has denied the affair and proclaimed himself married. His aide has resigned. Nothing to see here. Except the above picture, which was just too good to not put on this blog. (Sorry, Mr. Hague. Call me, Mr. Myers.)

(Hat tip HilaryWrites for the hawt photo.)

Happy Birthday, Jimmy! UPDATED WITH BLINGEE

I'll turn this picture into an award-winning Blingee later, but we're off to your birthday cookout at Rachel's and I don't have time right now. Happy Birthday, and you're welcome for all your presents!

UPDATED! Jimmy, you were born many years ago, to a space monster. You deserve a world of Blingees. Here's one for you...


Add Glitter to Pictures

Pimpin' a Book That's Not Mine: Kristen Hersh's Rat Girl!

Some of you obsessive-compulsive fans of mine might remember that I recently wrote about Throwing Muses' early song "Vicky's Box" on my music blog over at Deadbeat Bohemians. (Just kidding! I have no fans.)

ANYWAY, I meant every word of that post and I love Throwing Muses lead singer Kristen Hersh for life. (Though I must admit I love her drummer Dave Navarro more because teenage love never dies.) And I've just found out (hat tip: HilaryWrites) that La Hersh has a new memoir out and I CAN'T WAIT TO READ IT!

Since I always find out about fun things to do after they've already happened, I missed Kristen's appearance at Barnes and Noble at Union Square, where she was interviewed for about an hour, read a few passages, and played a few songs. Thankfully, B&N (whose site, by the way, also sells my book, if you're interested) have a video of the event, which I've embedded above.

The memoir is apparently about the year that Kristen was 18 and her world exploded: record deal for her band, bipolar diagnosis, pregnancy, among other things. (Just like me!) From the passages she read at the event it sounds like she's just as awesome/crazy/hilarious a prose writer as she is a lyricist.

I can't wait for her next memoir, which will no doubt have a chapter covering the time she met me, in 1994, when I was working as a barista at a terrible Starbucks knock-off in London's Covent Garden. I waited on her, her man friend, and my high school crush Dave Navarro. They were just getting out of a radio interview, had stopped into my place of work for an American coffee, and I had a real hard time hiding my fanboy hard-on for all of them. Kristen couldn't order anything with caffeine in it because (she told me in the strictest confidence) she was pregnant again HOW EXCITING! I made her a decaf sugar-free caramel latte with whipped cream because she deserved it: she'd written "Two Step," for God's sake.

I'm sure that experience has as special a place in her heart as it does in mine. And Dave's.

New Fun Thing: glennbeckwarned.us

Folks, are you deathly afraid of what's happening in this country because of sociamalism and muslin Death Stars and health care for zombies and death panels run by the gayly betrothed? Of course you are. Also: you are finding it increasingly difficult to keep up with the things that all us Americans should be feared of. Thankfully there's a new site that will help us remember—and to also never forget—these things. Because Glenn Beck is our profit prophet and he knows html, just like Jesus and Joseph Smith.

Just keep hitting "refresh" until the election and forward this site to your mom and her prayer circle along with a thoughtful message IN ALL CAPS.

Look, There Was a Tune in Tokyo Writing Contest!

My agent Janet Reid (courtroom sketch above) had a Tune in Tokyo-themed writing contest over at her blog. Entrants had to use the following words in a short piece of writing:

Jimmy
frame
viola
smoking
sword

The contest was announced on Friday night and the deadline was midnight on Saturday. Head on over to see the winners, announced today. The top prize goes to a lady by the name of Angela. She will get a copy of my book! (Poor thing.)