Blue Christmas

Allen's dead. Bill's dead. Ugly year. Empty holiday. Xmas limps between funerals. Appropriately cold. It's clear what happens to all of us: life slowly becomes a matter of 'doing without'. I am haunted this Christmas, and I know the ugliest Christmases are yet to come.

OMG

Thanx (naughty) todd, I love stuff like this.

In Memory Of Bill Dose

I'm very sad to report that Bill Dose went to heaven today. Bill, of William Dose & Associates, was a dear friend, as well as my publicist. He fell asleep on the highway and crashed last night. Bill produced an award winning feature film called The Graffiti Artist. He was a colleague, co-worker, artist, business partner, creative partner, faithful son, and dear friend. He will be sadly and sorely missed. Life is random and short. Savor each day (and keep your will in order). Bill didn't even need keys to my apt., he came and went as he pleased. He knew my doormen better than I do. My house is scattered with tiny notes from Bill - scribbled out on random pieces of paper. His handwriting is everywhere. And his oddly shaped coffee cups pepper the cabinets. Bill is still here(?) Last night he curled up on the couch to my right and fell asleep watching Rescue Dawn. The note said he'd be back today. I am anger. My house is so empty - so sickly, gravely empty. Perhaps Bill didn't believe in death, but death believed in him. I believed in him too. A stack of VHS tapes, still in a shopping bag, waiting for him to unload and enjoy. The house is filled with Bill. I'm going to fucking vomit. PERMANENT ONLINE BILL DOSE MEMORIAL. I LOVED YOU BILL DOSE, AND I WILL NEVER BE THE SAME WITHOUT YOU.

Buddha, Punk, Entertainer, Tailor Made, Pretty, Wolf, Et. Al.

If you know these names you must at least "tolerate" the hot mess, Tiffany Pollard. I have zero love for this bitch, but her show, I Love New York 2, has the hottest cast on cable. Yum. New York's new hindenboobs complete the totally tranny-chimp look. Mr. Wise is a schmucky bore. Punk might have a screw loose (and did he really go to Harvard Law?) I have a huge crush on Punk, and I adore his sweet (horrified) mother. Tailor Made is a lowlife sleazebag. Buddha is so fucking hot. Wolf is delicious(I had a tiny crush on him), stupid, sweet, gorgeous, obsessed with his penis. Pretty is gorgeous (do we think Mr. Pretty is gay? (one can pray)). Entertainer is a creep.

More Ricky Martin Outings

I told everyone Ricky Martin was gay years ago. The news is slowly seeping "out". Yum. (ricky martin isn't gay, but his boyfriend is.) ;P

Painful Admission Of Taste Deficit

I hate to admit this. It's taken me fifteen years to come to terms with the horrible truth. I can't stand opera. There, I said it. My name is Spencer, and I loathe opera. (Forgive me Andy). Okay, not all opera of course - there are 20 or 30 arias and pieces that I love dearly. Lakme. The great Puccini pieces. Assorted others. It's the male opera voice I find most unpleasant. All the screaming. And I tried mind you - I listened to countless thousands of hours of it - attended the Lyric plenty of times. I tried to love it. I told myself I loved it. Loving opera seems so consistent with my self image. For fifteen years I've heard WFMT broadcast live from the Met - every Saturday at 12:30 CST. I understand it's infinitely difficult, and fancy, and requires shitloads of talent. I understand how high opera culture is. The sets and costumes alone are mindbending, but I still don't like it. What's wrong with me? Surely opera is glorious and magnificent. I'm, sadly, just not that fancy.