This weekend I had the very nice opportunity to hang with Monsieur Hype and his man, which was so delovely. Mr. Pink and I took them to the WWII Club in Noho, which now requires membership (I was alarmed at first, but it's all an elaborate ruse to get around the Massachusetts smoking laws, rad!) and I feel a bit embarassed by my several digressions into discussing the hotness of Clive Owen. But you know, beer and I don't know each other so well anymore, uhmmm.
I spent the rest of my weekend melting on the sofa, watching old movies (highlights include After the Thin Man and The Way We Were) and cursing the godforsaken weather patterns that allow western Massachusetts to have a 120 degree swing between the yearly highs and lows. (How is that possible? Surely that is just plain unfair.)
Seen/heard of late: good to see I am not the only hater, I guess; who says meaningful reform can't happen? PA may soon sell beer on Sundays, bringing joy to football fans statewide; I can't deny that I am endlessly amused at the aggressive craziness of this whole Tom Cruise thing -- more, please!; speaking of more, seems like we can look forward to a fuckload of insurgency, just in case you're retarded and needed Uncle Rummy to tell you that.
Have more, but time is short. Kisses and vodka shots all around, darlings.