I'm not sure what is more strange: the fact that I was at the Washington Auto Show this weekend, or that Danielle "Dani" Evans from "America's Next Top Model" was also there. I can at least explain the former; I went with someone who is into beemers and wanted to check out the 2007 models. As for me, well - eager to please, impress and generally not come across as an idiot, I actually read the Wikipedia article on BMW beforehand to brush up on my knowledge of German cars. (This is akin to multiplying zero by 1,000.) Overall, my attempt at coming across as someone that I'm not (a person who knows that beemers are German cars) was a success.

Here is a picture I snapped on my cell phone of Dani, for anyone who cares.

Posted by Toby at 08:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

As if you even needed a reason as to why "America's Funniest Home Videos" is the second longest-running entertainment program on ABC - and the greatest entertainment program on any network EVER - here you go:

Jury's still out on the "talking dogs v. talking babies" debate, though.

Posted by Toby at 04:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Having enjoyed the luminous commentary of the "FOX & Friends" anchors during the morning's live broadcast of the Oscar nominations ("What is a 'Babel'?"), I boldly asserted my desire last night to watch the State of the Union Address on the nation's most distrusted name in news. Shank flipped to channel 42 and the garish assault of red, white, blue, crimson, cerulean, cherry and azure digital on-screen graphics put me at a patriotic ease. This was going to be a kick-ass speech!

Of course, the gods had something else in store for us. As Shank fumbled with her remote to raise the volume to an appropriately ear-shattering level (How else can one enjoy a news station on which neoconservative talkshow hosts yell at their guests to "SHUT UP!"), the television momentarily flipped to none other than "America's Funniest Home Videos," where a dog was rolling around on a patch of grass to the sound of a hysterically (and understandably!) laughing audience. Cut immediately to a cat sticking its head in a Mary Jane shoe - again, to the cry of uproarious laughter. Oh man, domestic pets sure are hilarious! State of the Union, what?

And so it was with incredible resolve that Shank wrestled the remote from America's most hypnotically low-brow home videos and stayed the course, switching back to the dignified reserve of the House Chamber. Although, really, it was just more of the same old dumb pet tricks; the only thing missing was the laugh track.

Posted by Toby at 08:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (9)

In an effort to start off my week on the right foot, I journeyed through the snow to CVS for a few essentials:

Woohoo — I won't have to go back to CVS for at least another three days!

Posted by Toby at 08:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

I don't even know how to introduce this amazing clip. I cried when Geri left the Spice Girls. I cried when her video for "Look At Me" premiered on TRL. The only kareoke song I've ever sang is "Say You'll Be There." (And more than once I stepped back in silence out of respect for Geri's "two and two together" verse.)

And so it should come as no surprise that this is my FAVORITE clip from "Spice World."

Sure, they're essentially untalented and wholly dependent on their above-average looks — but God damn it, so am I!

I won't have access to the internet until Sunday, so have a great weekend, everybody.

Posted by Toby at 12:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I spent most of my night sitting alone on the couch, drinking a few generous pours of Carlo, watching "American Idol," and playing with the roll of fat that has recently made a home for itself on my tummy. Having become somewhat proud of this roll — it's as if I've created life! — I've now toyed with the idea of becoming morbidly obese, or at least weighing its pros and cons as compared to remaining scrawny, unimpressive and weak. I prefer obese, mostly because I like extremes. Except for extremely skinny. I don't like that at all.

On good nights I'll play a song before bed (usually Adina Howard's "Freak Like Me") and dance around in front of the mirror for a while. I can't be the only one who does this — at least not the only gay one. On bad nights I'll make it a point to skip the mirror and will head straight to bed. It's been mostly good nights for the past few weeks, so I'm now allowed to complain!

Speaking of mirrors and excuses for admiring oneself in them, check out this picture I took yesterday:

If I suspected my back of being fat then, I can only wonder how it can be described now. I know I'm not fat but I also know I'm not huge, so this picture confounds me, to say the least. Say what you will in the comments, but I know I did a bad job of airbrushing my backne, so don't go there.

Posted by Toby at 11:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (36)

Check out "Fed Up," a reportedly leaked track by Britney Spears [via Andy].

I'm assuming this is a rough demo. The verses need a little work, but the chorus is slamming. Great work, Britney! Keep it up - I know you can do it.

UPDATE: UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE.

Posted by Toby at 04:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Ah, Manor Park. (Who knew?) Home of many a chicken shack, Baptist church, unisex hair salon — and evidently the 2007 Mid-Atlantic Drumline Championship. With nothing better to do on the hallowed eve of Martin Luther King Day, some friends and I journeyed to a random high school gymnasium where "urban percussionists" (p.c. term) got down, dirty, and straight-up NASTAY. Welcome to drumline, bitch!

As one of only three white people in attendance, I felt instantly at home among my drumline-loving brothers and sisters, clapping along and resisting the impulse to gawk when an eight-year-old mimed perverse sexual acts to the backbeat rhythm of marching drums. Of course, that comes with the territory. I was amazed by the enthusiasm and spirit of the crowd, and the performances were absolutely stunning, including that of the proud mother who, upon witnessing her daughter accept a first place trophy, stood up and exclaimed, "That's my baby!" Drama — what's not to love?

Further contributing to a day of many firsts, I imbibed a Sam's Club Diet Cola, easily the gnarliest shit I've ever had the misfortune of consuming. Drumline Championship: A. Ghetto-ass shit-in-a-can: D.

Posted by Toby at 11:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Never mind why I was searching "Aunt Jemima" on YouTube. This is easily the most pure and unabashed display of racism that I have seen in my entire life. Anything involving blackface deserves little to no introduction, so sit back, relax, and marvel at what appears to be a Klan Konvention but in actuality is a company Halloween party.

Posted by Toby at 02:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Back in the depression of my high school days — before alcohol and GlaxoSmithKline mercifully intervened — I was really into writing poetry. Naturally, I wrote mostly about how much I hated myself, occasionally referencing some kind of "secret" I had no choice but to hold from all those around me. Gee, I wonder what that secret could have been? I guess we'll never know.

Thinly veiled allusions to my struggle with inner homosexual demons aside, I stumbled upon a bunch of these poems while drunkenly looking for them last night. The first I'll share with you is "Comforting Lie," a title borrowed from the No Doubt song of the same name. Oh, and the plagiarism of third wave ska bands doesn't stop there; the rhyme scheme is stolen from No Doubt's "Cellophane Boy." What can I say — I was really into No Doubt.

COMFORTING LIE

I'm not your man

I'm not what you think

And it's not your fault
That I can't pretend.

You see
I'm holding onto kisses wrapped in tiny sheets of plastic
And I place them on my nightstand to enable easy access
And before I go to bed, I need to fill that vacant hollow
I unwrap your bitter pill and I just pinch my nose and swallow

Will this
lie
become
my
life?

Please, dear, take my advice
Just run for your life
I'm: not the same; not like them.

Oh, your substitution fills the void
Like candy or a toy
You're: sweet; but unfulfilling.

Please leave…
Will you become a comforting lie?

Just go…
Have you become my comforting lie?

This garbage somehow got published in my high school's literary journal, opposite some ninth grader's pen-and-ink drawing of a rose. Could you have imagined it any other way?

Posted by Toby at 10:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

I discovered in the paper a few moments ago that one of my many Friendster crushes died Monday. I had sent him a message a few months ago but he never bothered to reply. Now I'll never know what might have been.

I still have him bookmarked. I don't know what I'm going to do about that. I am really sad about the whole thing. For me, the thrill of Friendster and MySpace and all the other social networking sites lies in the exciting possibility of actually encountering someone whose profile I recognize. Armed with prior knowledge, I would mention that my favorite drink is Jack and Ginger and that I love bacon — two traits that, coincidentally, we would happen to share! Who knew, right? Clearly we were meant to be together — for the night.

Of course, with my departed Friendster crush there is no thrill because he is gone now and there is no possibility of our ever crossing paths. I looked at his profile, already so sad and anicent, one last time and then deleted it from my bookmarks. There is just no point in holding on to someone who I never had in the first place, and absolutely never will.

Posted by Toby at 11:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)

On a more positive note:

I am now remembering how much I loved this show. As my friend Phil said after seeing this, "I wanna laugh and cry." Yeah, I think my heart just exploded a little.

Posted by Toby at 12:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Dreams. Who here has dreams? I know I do, and I think you do, as well — dreams of losing a few pounds, putting on some muscle, transforming your body from head to toe, and other laughable farces that take place exclusively in dreams for a very good reason. Listen up, ok? Dream these dreams at home, but not in my gym.

I'm sorry, but something has to be said. For the past week, it's been fucking Amateur Hour at my gym thanks to the physically and mentally weak among us who have "resolved" to, um, who the hell knows? These people don't have goals. Are you kidding? "Look like Angelina Jolie" or "bulk up" is not a goal. A short, unhindered path to certain failure, perhaps. But not a goal.

I hate to call the new people "newbies" because the phrase implies a certain bonding or initiation process down the road — a road that does not exist. No, I will never accept you! The fact that you will not even be around in two months for me to accept makes this point a deliciously moot one.

A few things I must point out:

1. You paid for a $70/month membership thinking that the cost of the membership will encourage you to work out regularly. Wow, you are dumb. In fact (or should I say theory), you and only you can be the one to encourage yourself to work out regularly. I say theory because even though you can encourage yourself you most likely won't. He shoots, he scores... nothing buf failure.

2. If you are worried about $70, then you'll never be able to afford the nose job and chin implant necessary for the total body transformation. I mean, it's not just a transformation without the plastic. Sorry.

3. You are wearing jeans to the gym and carry around a bag on the weight floor. (What, is that where you're hiding your shorts?) You've entered a world a no from which the only exit is a door marked "Failure." You people are horrible and should be burned at the stake. Jeans? At a gym? Get lost!

4. You don't restack the weights. You hog the weights. You lay your towels over various benches like its a fucking clothesline. You do arm curls while standing directly in front of the weight rack. You bench press without a spotter. You use terrible form. You smell bad. Your gym clothes are disgusting and offensive. And I'd make fun of you for squating like a pussy, but I'm the only one in my gym who squats, so there.

5. And then there are those who engage in all of the above but take it a step further by FLIRTING WITH ME. And by flirting with me I mean creepily staring at me from across a crowded gym. Like what you see, senor? Take a hike.

This entry was brought to you by Lunesta, which I am cracked out on right now, and by a growing intolerance for the gym newbies. When will people give up on their dreams? By February, I hope.

Posted by Toby at 11:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

"I am not racist! If I were racist, would I be this tan?"

I love MADtv. LOVE.

Posted by Toby at 12:03 AM | Permalink

I am obsessed with this video and the song. Someone make this bitch a star!

And lastly, the My Box in a Box blog and also a high-quality mp3 version of the song. There, you are all set for the week.

Posted by Toby at 11:20 PM | Permalink

I bought new bed sheets today because my old sheets had protein shake and self-tanner stains all over them. My protein shakes are brown, as is my self-tanner, so you can imagine the disingenuous rust-colored streaks I've allowed to build up on my linens for the past, um, let's leave it at two weeks. And of course the first thing I do after washing and fitting my new sheets is to lay in bed while eating a chocolate bar and drinking red wine. I deserve whatever ironic misfortune is bound to rain down upon me.

(Actually, I suppose it would be ironic only if a boy slept in my newly made bed and promoted a stain of some kind, but there is little chance of that happening tonight.)

Speaking of red wine, there is nothing left of it. I've moved on to sambuca, and so tonight's lonely journey to intoxication will be a perilous but mercifully short one. Yes, I am flying solo this evening, thanks to an upset stomach bug that would have kept me running to the can every 15 minutes had I not cancelled my plans. I'm feeling fine now, probably because I'm too drunk to perceive gastrointestinal pain.

Many of you have expressed an interest in both how and why I've gained 30 pounds over the last five months. The "how" is simple: I eat 5,000 calories a day. No matter the intensity of your metabolism and/or body dysmorphic disorder, caloric excess will lead to weight gain. Since I bust my ass at the gym and eat only chicken and oatmeal, the bulk of my weight gain has been muscle.

That said, I am still the same skinny fuck who wakes up every morning and hates what he sees in the mirror. And to think my long-term goal was 170 pounds! These days my motto is "207 in 2007," and it should come as no surprise when I one day hit the scale at 207 pounds and am still clinically dissatisfied with my body. What an empty, anticlimactic moment of triumph that will be.

As for why I am gaining this weight - I don't want to get into it right now. Psychologically speaking, I am really fucked up. I feel as if the weight gain has had no impact on my physical appearance whatsoever. Still, I am not engaging in any dangerous behaviors aside from binge drinking, so let's leave it at that for now.

Posted by Toby at 01:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Ever wonder what happens when one gains 30 pounds in five months?

Your jeans start to fit!

Posted by Toby at 12:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (13)

Best. "Strangers with Candy" episode. Ever.

I could watch this scene over and over again. In fact, I often do, and I just did.

Also, here's a parody "Brokeback Mountain" trailer featuring Chuck Noblet and Geoffrey Jellineck. I am kind of obsessed with YouTube.

Posted by Toby at 01:57 PM | Permalink

I've spent a portion of my day searching on YouTube for amateur performances of standard Broadway showtunes. Most of the performances are terrible and wholly deserve the negative comments I left behind. (To one young girl's mangling of the Gershwins' "They Can't Take That Away from Me" I say, "Ouch. The way you sing off-key, indeed.")

This reminds me of my teenaged years when my friends (before I alienated them all in 11th grade) and I would go to local high school musicals and mercilessly mock them - not because we thought theater geeks were fags but because we were theater geeks ourselves and thought our productions to be far superior to the other area offerings. I recall nothing as horrendous as the local JCC's production of "Grease." For reasons I won't say the director's casting of the T-Birds was less than convincing.

As my obsession with showtunes winds down, allow me to leave you with Banu Gibson's awesome performance of "I Got Rhythm." She looks like a huge lesbian but let's not hold that against an otherwise stellar interpretation of the song.

Posted by Toby at 05:03 PM | Permalink

I am not a big showtunes person but for years I have been obsessed with the original cast recording of "Crazy for You," which I saw on Broadway when I was in middle school. It's not so much a musical as it is a collection of Gershwin songs set to a story; you cannot go wrong with that.

Now, when I say I am obsessed with this musical, I really do mean obsessed. In fifth grade I wrote a rave review of the musical for the school paper. Before the estrangement I would make my cousins perform elaborate choreography to some of the more catchier tunes. In high school I bought the score and attempted to play it on my viola. (This did not work out very well.) During my junior year I lobbied for "Crazy for You" to be the spring musical - with me cast as the lead. (This did not work out very well, either.) I know the words to every single song, and yet I still have not found another musical as appealing in the remotest of senses, including "Rent," which I proudly have never seen in my life.

For whatever reason, I listened to my "Crazy for You" recording all day yesterday and have been trying to dig up some decent performances of the songs on YouTube. The best I found is Elaine Stritch's rendition of "But Not for Me," easily my most favorite Gershwin song ever. Elaine sings only the opening verse, but with an anger and bitterness that brought me to tears, literally. I am angry, too, Elaine.

Augh. I want her to finish the song so badly. A full version of the song, sung by someone not as good, is here.

Posted by Toby at 05:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Damn it. I summoned the green butterfly about an hour ago and the only things keeping me up right now are this blog and the car alarm outside my window. How does one go about silencing another's car alarm? I would throw a brick at it or something but the car is across the street and I don't have any bricks laying around. Maybe I'll record a portion of the alarm and sample it in my next hit song, "Ring the Alarm (Please For the Love of God Make It Stop)."

(This would certainly fare better on the pop charts than my other pet project, conceived Friday night at JRs when I suggested that Gwen Stefani sample Horst-Wessel-Lied, a former German national anthem extensively used at Nazi functions as well as being sung by the Nazi militia during street parades. Super kawaii, right? Add a beat and you've got something tailor-made for even the most social — or socialist — of gatherings.)

Given the odds (4:1), I had a really great New Year's Eve. I came home at 4 a.m., a little tipsy but certainly under an influence. I woke up a few hours later, watched some "Strangers With Candy," saw "Love and Death" with Agatha, worked on my new blog layout, ordered some Mr. Chen's, and then took a Lunesta.

By the way, in August I weighed 154 pounds. A few days ago I clocked in at 180. It's 207 in 2007, baby. How will I ever squeeze into a pair of squarecut briefs come beach season? HOW?

Posted by Toby at 10:26 PM | Permalink