Random Thoughts

* Slowly, stealthily, K-Earth 101, L.A.'s "Oldies" radio has become the station I inevitably find myself turning to when languishing in traffic. Don't know when that happened. This steady onset of growing-older cliches (creaking joints, going to bed early, "those damned kids," et. al.) is goddamn embarrassing. And now I can't flipping get "Build Me Up Buttercup" out-of-my-head, and I don't even like the song.

* Part of my dreams last night involved Wendy the Snapple Lady (now cheerfully debasing herself on VH1's Celebrity Fit Club, but I adore her anyway), having her house made over by the guys from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Her old, rambling house out in the middle of a scrabbly field had an enclosed, wraparound porch that housed 1,200 owls. Yes, owls. Why? I don't know. There was a huge "queen owl" (like a queen bee) that was responsible for all the breeding. Except she looked like a turkey, with oddly placed and disproportionate plumage colored red, yellow, blue and green. Later, waiting in an empty conference room with the Queer Eye guys, I noticed the industrial carpeting was also red, yellow, blue and green.

* In honor of Dubya's fifth State of the Union address tonight, I will be catching up on the gay porn I have to review by week's end. Shall it be City Heat, Country Passion or Musclemen Moving Company or Lust in Translation? Perhaps Hog: The Leather File instead? Young Bucks, Screwed, Surfboys Taken Down Under, Grease Daddies, the choices are endless.

* Have been wrestling for the past few days with drafts of a synopsis for the script I am currently fighting to bring to life. Annie Dillard says "sometimes whole sections of a book just get up and walk away." I would add scripts, too. Yesterday I had the unpleasant experience of watching my synopsis sneer and give me the middle finger, then head out the door to get plastered at O-Bar around the corner. Apparently it went home with the bartender.

Wet Feeling Sugar