What the @#!% is on Camilla's Head?

Today Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles finally got married. They were originally supposed to marry on Friday, but the the pope had to go and bite the dust and delay their nuptials (ever heard of omens, kids?).

My only real question: What the @#!% is Camilla wearing on her @#!%ing head? That is the most hideous hat that I've ever seen. Does she realize she'll have to look at pictures of that goddamned thing for the rest of her life?

What was she thinking?

That's one fashion faux pas that Diana would never have made. Of course, Diana was stylish and fabulous and didn't moderately resemble a horse. Maybe that has something to do with it.

Get Your Freak On at Wal-Mart

So maybe your campaign of finding a new hot boyfriend through Friendster isn't going so well. You're probably sick of bars, too. I mean, who meets a quality boyfriend at a bar anyway, right?

Well, Wal-Mart wants you to consider using their store on Friday nights as a dating hotspot. I am not kidding. (Read the article here on CNNMoney.)

Dating nights at Wal-Mart have debuted in Germany. On Friday nights as many as 400 singles come into Wal-Mart and attach bright red bows to their shopping carts which indicate that they're single and ready to flirt and mingle. Then the patrons wheel their carts around the store, hunt through the bargains, and look for The One.

I think the whole idea of hooking up at Wal-Mart kinda scares me.

So, do you know anybody who has hooked up at a Wal-Mart? Or have you? And what state are you from, exactly?

Celebrity Redeems & Politician Steams

Tonight at The Restaurant (that hot, hip one downtown where I work) Ms. Celebrity came in again with a few of her friends. I mentioned in a previous post that Ms. Celebrity has been in the local spotlight for a few decades and that she's had some work done and that she just loves wine--and perhaps sometimes more than she should.

But tonight Ms. Celebrity may have redeemed herself. Last time at The Restaurant she behaved like a fussy cat (some might say "angry pussy," but I digress). This time, however, she was much better behaved. She came in with a straight male friend and an adorable, well-mannered, well-dressed fifty-something gay couple. Ms. Celebrity even said a few polite things to me through the night. Sure she was sucking down white wine like usual, but she didn't get blitzed and she tipped well. All of this bodes well for her reputation on the Minneapolis restaurant circuit.

But while Ms. Celebrity may have been well behaved, a high profile female Minnesota politician was not. Ms. Politician came in rushed and fussy and armed with a sharp tongue. When Ms. Politician was told she would have to wait an hour for a table (which is very reasonable considering our restaurant's popularity) she started yelling at the host, furious she couldn't get a table right away. The host stood his ground; Ms. Politician left in a huff.

It's never a dull night at The Restaurant.

Chasing the Big Interview

Trying to land an interview with Matthew Shepard's mother, Judy Shepard, is no easy feat. At this point I've talked to her press reps based in Wyoming and with Keppler Associates in Arlington, Virginia, where she has an agent who books her speaking engagements.

Judy Shepard is going to be on the University of Minnesota campus Friday, April 15, and I'm trying to nail down an interview with her before she arrives on campus.

Dealing with press reps and agents requires thick skin. It also involves many, many phone calls, guard dog receptionists, multiple e-mail campaigns, and patience and persistance in spades.

But if this interview goes through I might just have the interview that could put me on the writing radar.

Stay tuned, fair readers. If I land the interview you'll be the first to know, and you'll be first to read the exclusive interview. :)

Josh & Josh Are Moving to Manhattan!

Josh & Josh are moving to Manhattan in September 2005!

After graduation on May 15 we're going to stay in Minneapolis, rack up cash at our jobs, finish up some last business, and then at the end of August we're going to pack up a U-Haul and head east.

Josh H. is making plans to work for a national magazine in New York. Josh K. is making plans to edge his way into film, graphic design, advertising, and/or marketing.

In fewer than five months we'll be living in New York City on the Upper East Side in a great apartment with our friend, David. Josh H. is a writer, Josh K. is a filmmaker, and David is an actor. Somehow I think this could all work out rather well.

We're really doing it, everybody!

Wish us luck! We'll be packing our bags before we know it.

Honeymoon in Paris

I took this picture of my parents standing in front of the Eiffel Tower last January and it truly is one of my favorite pictures of them.

Their plane just took off from the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport, headed for Paris where they will spend the next ten days toodling around the city and lounging in the cute little apartment they rented near the Louvre.

I'm a little jealous that they get to spend all that time in Paris (have I mentioned that I'm madly in love with the city almost as much as New York?) but I'm excited for them, too. Maybe they'll make a little baby brother or sister for me while they're on the trip. You never know....

I Vanna Hump Jim Verraros

Jim Verraros, the openly gay American Idol contestant from the first season, dropped out of sight for a few years. He recently emerged from the ether of minor celebrity status and it seems that he's had quite the makeover in the mean time. (He used to have short blond hair, big glasses, and awkward clothing.)

I think I sort of want to hump him. I feel really embarrassed about saying that about an ex-American Idol finalist.

Jim's new album comes out later this month and it actually doesn't sound completely horrible. Check out Jim's pictures and listen to tracks from his new CD on his official web site.

What do you think? Is Jimmy Boy hot or not?

Goin' to the Chapel

Here's the dish: my parents got married this weekend and it was ridiculously great. I would try and explain how great it really was but it would involve an inappropriate number of hyperboles. There were no drunken uncles, no "oooh, she got fat!" moments, no petty fights--nothing like that. Everybody was gracious and relaxed and kind and fabulous. (See what I mean about the hyperboles? But they're true!)

We had the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner on Friday and then the ceremony late Saturday afternoon. Afterward we had the reception dinner and dance at this gorgeous mansion near the Minneapolis Institute of the Arts (pictured above) and everything was again--and I'm sorry to say this--pretty much fucking perfect. I'm happy for them, though, because they deserve that.

We capped everything off this morning with a huge catered brunch my parents' house where we all got to mingle and hang out and enjoy the post-wedding glow. (Oh God, doesn't this sound like something out of "Chicken Soup for the Soul" or something? I wish I had some dirty gossip to spill or something, but they just didn't give me any good material for any quality gossip swapping. I mean, I guess I could report that my unwed aunt is pregnant--quelle scandale!--but she's been with her man for eleven years now, qualifying as a common law married couple under Minnesota state law, so I guess that isn't much of a quality scandal. So much for the gossip.)

My mama got married, y'all, and the girl did it with grace, poise, and style. (Okay, did we talk about the hyperboles already? No, but seriously though...)

Stop Me If You've Heard This One

A guy walks in to Burrito Loco and orders himself a buffalo chicken burrito with extra buffalo sauce. He does this knowing that most spicy foods, like the buffalo sauce, upset his stomach so much that, to avoid any accidents, he might be better off eating them in the bathroom where he would be in close proximity to a toilet. With that said, he decides to order the sauce anyway because it tastes so good.

Like clockwork, five minutes after devouring the burrito his stomach respectfully sends him a half dozen warning shots, reminding him that, if a bathroom is not found immediately, his ass will explode in one big, mean cloud of shit. Luckily, the bathroom is nearby.

He heads to the counter where he sees the theft-proof bathroom key attached to a large metal spoon. Minutes later he's finishing up business, proud of the work he's accomplished, and begins closing up shop. As he's pulling up his underwear, though, he experiences a minor aftershock that, on the Richter Scale, would measure so low that sounding an alarm would be akin to crying wolf. He decides that it's flatulence and he lets it pass.

It quickly becomes apparent that there are serious communication issues between his stomach and him. So, while riding home in his friend's car, sitting cautiously on his thigh in the passenger seat with toilet paper stuffed tightly between his ass cheeks while recounting the mess to the co-owner of his blog by cell phone hoping he'll approve it for publication (Guy: "This is blog worthy. Is this blog worthy?" Co-Owner: "As long as you post it under your name it's fucking great." Guy: "Thank god."), he remembers a poem he once read that was written in permanent marker on a stall door in a public restroom:

Here I sit,
broken hearted;
I had to shit,
but only farted.

An hour later,
I took a chance
and tried to fart,
but shit my pants.

Escape to Manhattan: Five (The Finale)

My plane touched down in Minneapolis late Sunday night. That afternoon I’d had one last lunch with Christian in Central Park and we’d spent the day lazily reading The New York Times and walking through the city, eating hot dogs from street vendors and snapping pictures on my disposable camera.

Seeing Minneapolis unfold below me from the airplane window felt comforting. Sure, the gnawing reality of college and my ordinary responsibilities started to creep back, but somehow they didn’t feel debilitating like they had before. Now it seemed manageable, like something to be endured and finished up.

I made my way through the Minneapolis airport, collected my bags from the luggage carousel, and walked out onto the street. My best friend, Dylan, waited curbside in his black Saturn with his hazard lights flashing. When he saw me he started honking and waving. He got out of the front seat and rushed around the side of the car to hug me.

“So, how was it?” Dylan asked. He popped the trunk and helped me toss my things into the back of his car.

I sighed and smiled. “Dylan, it was amazing.”

“I want you to tell me everything about it. Don’t leave a goddamn thing out,” he said.

We got into the car, buckled up, and sped onto the highway. As we merged onto I-494 heading home I told him everything I could think of as we zoomed back into the city.

At last I was home. But I knew it wouldn’t be for long....

Click here to continue reading "Escape to Manhattan: Five."

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