RandyRainbow.com

Perry Little Xmas

2011-12-25T08:35:00.004-05:00

I'm just under the wire with this one, but I promised a Christmas special, and every time a Jew breaks a promise on Christmas, an angel gets fat. So here, without further a-jew, is my holiday card to all of you. Please feel free to "regift", and accept it along with my sincerest wish that this be the start of a happy, healthy and fabulous new year for all of us. But especially for me.

To quote the famous song: "Although it's been said many times, many ways - Merry Christmas to you." (But remember now, that does not apply to infants or to senior citizens above the age of 92. That group will just have to fend for themselves.)

Oops.

2011-11-14T08:48:00.004-05:00

Did everyone have a great weekend??? Ok, enough about you.

I was at a party this weekend with a buncha stiffs. It was pretty lame, so I left right after they closed the bar and asked me to leave, twice. The booze was cheap, the music sucked, but the guys were all over me. Here's what went down after hours.

The Golden Ghouls

2011-10-31T08:43:00.005-04:00

I hope you enjoy my brand new Halloween Special, featuring acclaimed television icon - ME! (Also, Bea Arthur.) Please keep in mind that it was made on a very tight budget. There's only so much you can do with a million dollars.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! And kids, remember: Before you eat your candy, check it for razor blades and/or drugs (the razor blade ones give to someone you don't like, and the drug ones mark up and sell for a profit.)

Hello My Name Is Fabulous

2011-10-18T08:46:00.003-04:00

Last night I took part in a fabulous Broadway concert - the annual "Living for Today" benefit - at New York's legendary Joe's Pub (which recently got a schmancy new face lift). And as you'll see from this in-depth documentary, which premiered at the show, it was no easy task. But as usual, I think I came out on top.

VH1 Singular Sensation

2011-10-03T09:24:00.011-04:00

Look for yours truly on the third and fifth hours (Wed, Oct. 5 and Fri, Oct. 7) of Vh1's special "The 100 Greatest Songs of the 00's"! It will air for an hour each night (Oct. 3-7) at 10:00PM. It was my first experience filming a special like this. I'd never been a talking head before; just a gay face. But it was a lotta fun!

I have to say, the experience was much more intense than I imagined it would be. Whenever I see these specials, I always assumed the motley crew offering their commentaries on the parade of songs in question were actually jamming out to the music or at least watching the corresponding music videos as they reminisced. Not the case. Instead, you're placed alone on an empty sound stage with a giant light shining in your face and grilled for an hour and a half on Mariah Carey's career and Adam Lambert's gayness while about 7 people stare at you, not laughing at or responding to anything you say. And every 10 minutes or so, a nice lady touches up your foundation. It's very "Frost/Nixon-y", if that's a word.

I'm not sure how much I'll be featured but keep your eyes peeled. I'm excited for it to air and can't wait to do more! And I'm just happy it didn't turn out to be an episode of "Intervention". When you drink as heavily as I do, you have to be wary of these things.

PS - Everybody, please TiVo it cuz I don't have cable. #ghetto

Labor Pains

2011-09-02T10:15:00.003-04:00

Happy Labor Day Weekend! I had a crizz-azy dream last night. I know I've been talking a lot about my dreams lately. I figure, that old schtick worked for Martin Luther King, Jr... He got a whole day named after him. Of course, his dreams resulted from discrimination and gross social injustice and were about peace among men, whereas mine result from eating too close to bedtime and are usually about Beyonce.

I think Beyonce actually inspired this particular dream, though she did not appear in it (much like her clothing line!) The main plot was that I'd just found out I was pregnant. Which is strange since, as some of you may know, I'm sort of a man, kind of. But the whole dream was basically just me sitting on the turrlet, peeing on those home pregnancy strips and seeing the little pink plus sign pop up over and over again. This went on for what felt like a Lifetime mini-series.

My dream dictionary says that to dream you are pregnant signifies personal growth or the start of a new chapter in your life. Which is nice, but I'm gonna take it as a sign that I should stop having unprotected sex with lots of strangers. LOL!!! JUST KIDDING!!!! I'm not really gonna stop doing that.

#justjokespeople #shutup

Meanwhile, if this hasn't been enough pee-pee/sexy talk for your Labor Day weekend, you can listen to my latest appearance on Sirius XM's Derek and Romaine Show below. We talk about urinating on strangers, homeless love-making and The Little Mermaid. They're fun.

LISTEN: Randy Rainbow on Sirius XM's DNR Show 8/11

A Fight to the Death

2011-08-29T16:34:00.004-04:00

I'm happy to announce the winner of my very first Video Contest, MARTIN LANDRY! I'll be stealing some of his clever ideas to use in an upcoming video, aaaand he's won himself a pair of tickets to Broadway's The Addams Family! Martin did not approve a photograph of himself for use on this site, so let's just go with this one I pulled from stock...

Mazel Tov, Martin! And on behalf of all of me here at RandyRainbow.com, thank you to everyone who participated. Stay tchyooned for more fun and frivolity! I'll be doing more contests like this one in the near future! And please, have your children spayed or neutered.

Pieces of Dreams (On Taco Night)

2011-08-23T12:53:00.023-04:00

With so little to be sure of, one thing that remains evergreen (do you see what I did there?) is the excitement I will always feel on the release day of a new Barbra Streisand album. It’s one of the many thrills of being an extremely gay man. Today is one such day, as Barbra’s new album, “What Matters Most”, is officially on my iPod. I will be working out to it this evening. (And you wonder why I have the muscle tone of a 9 year old ballerina. Pretty sure it’s because I work out to Marilyn and Alan Bergman ballads.)

To celebrate the event, I thought I'd share a portion of an in-depth interview I had with Barbra during a recent and intimate sit-down at her Malibu home. I hope you'll find it both informative and inspiring.

Randy Rainbow: Thank you so much for having me in your lovely home, Barbra. It’s absolutely breathtaking. And might I add, you are so beautiful in person.

Barbra Streisand: How did you get in here?

RR: Through the kitchen. I was walking by and noticed the back door happened to be cracked open a smidge after I broke the lock and kicked it in.

BS: You broke into my house.

RR: Yes.

BS: That’s so crazy.

RR: I know! But I just love you so much.

BS: Did you happen to smell the roses in my rose garden?

RR: I did, and they're beautiful.

BS: I’ve always loved roses. When I was a kid, growing up in Brooklyn, we couldn’t afford roses. So instead I used to collect antique Victorian porcelain dolls from around the world.

RR: I feel like roses probably would have been more economical.

BS: Did you notice that the roses in the rose garden match the wallpaper in the kitchen overlooking the rose garden?

RR: Yes! Barbra, only you would manage to find wallpaper exactly the same color as the roses! [laughs]

BS: I didn’t. I had the roses wallpapered to match the kitchen.

RR: I wish I had a green thumb like you.

BS: Isn’t that so crazy? [laughs]

RR: The house really is gorgeous, though. The photos in your latest book, “My Passion for Design”, don’t even do it justice.

BS: Oh, you like the book?

RR: I don’t know, actually. I didn’t buy it because there was no singing in it. But you have such impeccable taste. I love this couch I’m sitting on. Did you design this?

BS: Please don’t sit on that. I love couches. When I was a kid, we couldn’t afford a couch, so now I design them and sit on them whenever I want.

RR: I so get that. It’s like a real “eff you” to your childhood and your overbearing mother.

BS: Remember Mello Rolls?

RR: Nope. Let’s talk about your new CD, “What Matters Most”, for which you once again teamed up with your long-time friends, husband-and-wife songwriting team Marilyn and Alan Bergman.

BS: If you noticed, the liner notes match the peach colored roses in my garden.

RR: Oh yeah! Look at that!

BS: And it’s exactly the same peach as the color of my husband, James Brolin, and also the lining in my underwear. Look at this.

RR: Whoa! Hello, gorgeous! [laughs uncomfortably]

BS: Isn’t that so crazy? [laughs]

RR: Pull those up and let’s move on to the new Broadway-bound revival of “Funny Girl”. It was recently announced that Lauren Ambrose will play Fanny Brice. I’ve been dying to get your reaction to the news.

BS: There’s an old Jewish expression: “Ugh.”

RR: I know. No one will ever be able to follow you, Barbra, but I’m trying to be optimistic about the whole thing. I mean, I did love Lauren on “Six Feet Under”. Didn’t you?

BS: We never had HBO when I was a kid, growing up in Brooklyn. HBO or couches or roses to match the couches that we didn’t sit on while we didn’t watch HBO. Now I'm on HBO sitting on couches with matching roses. Is that crazy, or what?

RR: That’s crazy.

BS: Isn’t that so crazy?

The preceding interview was a dream I had last night after eating some particularly spicy Mexican food too close to my bedtime.

Real Barbra Streisand took no part in this dream interview. I love tacos.

Snap, Snap!

2011-08-19T09:03:00.016-04:00

I have a fun game! Ready? I thought I'd let you all decide the subject of my next video. I'm tired of doing all the work around here! So I hereby announce the first ever "Randy Rainbow Video Contest"! (I know, the title sucks, but it gets my point across.) There's an awesome prize in it for the winner, so stay with me!

Here's what to do:
ONE) Come up with an idea for my next video. Keep it topical and brilliant and with as little nudity possible - my grandmother sees these.

~~THREE~~ sorry, TWO) Click the "CONTACT RANDY" button in yellow at the top of this site and send your idea (and your full name) directly to me. Be as elaborate or as general as you like. And should you happen to be an eligible bachelor, feel free to also include a full description and photograph with as much nudity possible - my grandmother does not see those :)

On Friday, August 26th, I'll choose a winner. If the idea I pick has been submitted by more than one of you, I'll draw randomly from those names. The winner will receive - get this - TWO FREE TICKETS TO "THE ADDAMS FAMILY" ON BRRROOOOAAADWAY! Now starring gorgeous Brooke Shields as Morticia! (Sure, she was kind of a mess at the Tonys, but we forgive her. She's Brooke Shields. And I hear she's fabulous in this role.) Follow me on Twitter (@randyrainbow) and/or check back here on the 26th for the results.

So, get to it! Have fun and feel free to share this post to Facebook and Twitter so all those friends who you don't really know can participate, too!

The time has come for you to LIP SYNC......FA YAAA LIIIIIIFE! (That's not really pertinent to this situation, but I wanted to type it.)

A Napkin By Any Other Name...

2011-08-11T13:54:00.037-04:00

Have y'all seen the speech (VIDEO HERE) that Republican presidential candidate Rick Santorum shit out in the middle of a grocery store earlier this week? He at one point equates the sanctity of marriage with paper products during a high tech visual presentation in which he holds up a napkin and argues, "I can call this napkin a paper towel, but it is a napkin. And why? Because it is what it is. Right? You can call it whatever you want, but it doesn't change the character of what it is."

He gave a similar speech prior to this about how a glass of water is a glass of water and not a glass of beer, and no matter how many times you call it a glass of beer…(you get it.)

I guess I can understand why scared, often closeted conservatives find solace in repeating these metaphysical analogies opposing gay rights ad nauseum (“marriage is a man/woman thing, a napkin’s a napkin, a glass of water is a glass of water, my ass is my elbow, etc.”) I mean, I’ve been watching the same Golden Girls reruns every night for almost two decades, so if anyone understands comfort in consistency, it’s me. But are these people actually hearing themselves??

The only reason a napkin is even called a napkin is because in the late 1600’s, a fat white straight man named Fred Napkin who was too lazy to get up and wash himself after dinner, picked up a nearby piece of paper and used it to wipe the disgusting chicken lard from his fat face and he was so impressed by his own mindless resourcefulness, he decided that henceforth, everyone would call napkins “napkins”. Pretty arrogant, but no one argued with him because, let's face it, it was a fucking awesome idea.

The story I've just told is not true, but I needed to support my case with facts and didn’t feel like looking any up.

My point is that so many things are as they are because once upon a time, some schmuck (or group of schmucks) decided at a singular moment in time to make those things that way. Am I mad that napkins and water have been defined for me? Not at all. I've so far found it very helpful in communicating with others and it means I don't have to play charades with the waiter when asking for stuff at restaurants.

That another man would try to define my personal feelings and legal right to express them as I choose, however, is a different matter. Any comparison between the two is nothing short of offensive. And not to speak for napkins or anything, but as far as I know, they're cool with just being napkins; they have no further aspirations beyond wiping shit off people’s faces until the end of time, so we’ll let sleeping dogs lie on that one. But to stifle the evolution of humanity and fight against equality with the argument that ANYTHING “is what it is” and therefore as it should be, solely on the grounds that it’s been defined that way is not only antiquated thinking but absurd doublespeak.

And PS, Rick: If you’d take the time to check my glass of water, you’d realize it’s actually a glass of vodka. Furthermore, I've been known in emergency situations, when my weekly trip to the supermarket has been neglected, to call a napkin “toilet paper”. I guess things aren't always as they seem, smartypantssss.

You Are Woman, I Am Ambivalent (or "Nature vs. Bart Sher")

2011-08-08T16:29:00.001-04:00

I spent the weekend re-watching the first season of "Six Feet Under" in an effort to develop a relationship with Lauren Ambrose. It was sort of like obligatory bonding time between new step mommy and rebellious teen. It went well for the most part, though I'm still sensing some resistance from her end. I'm hopeful that we'll get there eventually.

I've done a lot of thinking and self-reflection since it was announced last week that Lauren had been cast in the coveted role of legendary comedienne Fanny Brice, originally made legendary-er in the 60's, of course, by a then relatively up-and-coming Barbra Streisand who would later go on to become my reason for living on this planet. Aware of my complex and unique (yet embarrassingly obvious and stereotypical) affinity for Barbra, many have asked my opinion on the decision. Well, at first I'd felt as though I'd woken up in a bathtub filled with ice and one of my kidneys staring back at me from the top shelf of the medicine cabinet. I've since mellowed.

Funny Girl, by virtue of its subject matter, is unquestionably a star vehicle. But more importantly, it's become the iconic launch pad for the greatest star of our lifetimes (and if you rolled your eyes at that, I respect your opinion but you're wrong and you can drop dead and go to hell.) Never in a million would I have thought they'd dare bring it back without damn good reason; like the exciting discovery of a rising star worthy of succeeding Streisand. For instance - I don't know - Jesus Christ, or someone. (He's at least Jewish and has a musical theatre background.)

When rumors of a revival started, everyone was sure that Glee's Lea Michele seemed the most commercially viable reason. (That was when the night sweats began.) Soon after, the list of possible Fannies began to circulate, naming everyone from Laura Benanti to Kelli O'Hara to my landlady. While I adore all of these women, the idea of any of them being cast was not sparking the Aha Moment I was looking for.

In accordance with the natural progression of the evolution of the homosexual, I discovered the film version at a young age and it was absolutely life-changing. I remember during 8th grade P.E. class, I would hide under the bleachers and sing "Sadie, Sadie, Married Lady" repeatedly while all the other kids ran laps on the track. (This eventually led to my impeccable comedic timing and love handles.) A year later, when I was cast as the lead in the school musical, I'd show up to the auditorium an hour earlier than everyone else so I could sit in the empty house with my hands folded beneath my chin and say, "Did ya hear that, Mrs. Strakosh? Zeigfeld is waiting for me..."

As an aside, it's remarkable that I went all those years without being the subject of a hate crime. Even as I type this, I myself am inclined to get in a time machine and beat the shit out of the younger version of me. (Please don't email me about the seriousness of hate crimes or the impossibility of time travel. I'm well aware on both counts.)

My point is, there's really no satisfying me on this one. So I've decided instead of resisting, to let go and let God and Bartlett Sher. Frankly, I'm devastated that they didn't cast me in the role and beyond that, I've detached all emotional ties and expectations. I think Lauren Ambrose is fabulously talented and though it seems to many of us as though her name was drawn from a hat, I'm gonna be a sport and wish her Mazel Tov (someone tell her what that means.)

Just don't eff it up, shiksa.

Bewitched, Bothered & Bea Arthur

2011-08-02T08:45:00.010-04:00

My alarm clock radio went off to the theme from Grease this morning, so I'm feeling very "Stockard Channing" right now. Only, not sexy, dykey, young Grease Stockard Channing; more like deer-in-the-headlights, 2009 Pal Joey revival, Tony Awards performance, "what am I doing here and why is Bret Michaels lying on the floor in a pool of blood and teeth?" Stockard Channing. I guess that's to be expected, given my advanced age and the sequined gown/faux mink stole I'm wearing.

But enough about that. Let's jump right into Hot Topics: Last night, I had a dream that it was Halloween and I was dressed in a My Little Pony costume (classic MLP - nothing like the "My Little Beyonce" Pony pictured above.) I was trick-or-treating and when I came to one particular house, Bea Arthur answered holding a shotgun. "Trick or treat," said I. "Go the hell away. I haven't got any goddamn money," she replied, through a small crack in the now partially opened doorway (and yes, I did notice a mezuzah in the shape of Betty White on the door frame.) "Cut the shit, Bea," I insisted. "I just want a little candy and I'm not going anywhere until you produce." She finally let me in and before long we were sharing Rue McClanahan stories over cheesecake and she was asking me to move in. Shortly thereafter, we began selling cosmetic supplies and hair care products illegally out of her basement. Then Whoopi Goldberg had a white baby.

(I guess the Whoopi Goldberg/white baby part was sort of like the tag during the end credits.)

Yeah, it was a pretty crazy dream, but I'm probably gonna pitch it to NBC as a pilot for their Fall lineup. I think My Little Pony is long overdue for a primetime comeback. Bea Arthur, also. She hasn't really had a hit since she died.

Will keep you posted.

(I'm high on cold meds, so pay no attention to anything you've just read. Unless you work for NBC and think this might be viable.)

Goodie Bag

2011-07-26T10:51:00.011-04:00

Thrilled you're all enjoying my new Wedding video! As a wedding gift to you, I invite you to download the MP3 of the uncut, original cast recording of myself and Miranda Sings' "GETTING MARRIED TODAY" for the one-time, low price of absolutely free, ya cheapskates. Don't ever say I never did nuthin' for gay rights.

Click RIGHT HERE to download the free MP3!

Runaway Bride

2011-07-25T09:18:00.004-04:00

As you know, gay marriage in New York kicked in this weekend. I decided to give it a shot, but it ultimately wasn't for me...

Brand New Gay (Everybody Exfoliate)

2011-07-14T09:21:00.014-04:00

My cat and I do this thing every morning before I leave the house, where I ask him, "Do you love me," and then he just licks his own asshole. Which is actually how it was scripted in the original version of Fiddler, for all you theatre buffs. The point is, I need a boyfriend. STAT.

This past weekend, I celebrated a milestone birthday. No, not my Quinceanera. I haven't had one of those since I was 24. I don't know how it can have happened, but I'm like a legitimate adult now, you guys. And yet, I still woke up this morning with a huge-ass zit on my forehead, so fuck what ya heard in all those "It gets better" videos, because I'm here to tell you otherwise. Anyway, it's all a little unnerving, but also somehow extremely liberating. Sort of like the "Brand New Day" sequence in the film version of "The Wiz" (I promise this will be the last musical theatre reference I make until the one I'll probably make in the next paragraph about "Cats"), when everyone strips away their dirty peasant rags to reveal all their hot naked blackness. That's kind of how I feel - like a hot black lady in her underwear, ready to dance into a new chapter of life. Oh! And someone offered their seat to me on the subway this morning, so old age does have its perks.

All my older friends have always assured me that, like a fine wine, life does improve with age. But I've never really listened to them. They're old, after all, and nothing they say is relevant anymore. I usually just nod my head and continue drinking their expensive wine. But at this point, I'm ready to believe. All I have left now is my faith and the memories of my days in the sun (BOO-YAH!!!) And speeeeaaaking of "Cats"... One of the highlights of my birthday this year was a post on my facebook wall from one of my all-time fave Broadway legends, the one and only, the magnificent Betty freakin' Buckley! I wanted to share it, so I took a screenshot of it and made it my wallpaper (not on my iPhone - in my living room.)

I love her vibrato on "dear", "to" and "you". Classic Betty!

Look, Mom! I'm A Dot Com!

2011-07-05T14:56:00.013-04:00

Willcommen (and willcom-women, also) to my new digs! You like?! If not, you can go eff yourselves. I pay the rent around here, not you.

It's not without some sadness that I officially shed the skin of the old "Bloggity Blahg-Blahg", which I originally founded some time back in the late 1800's with my old comedy partner Harriet Tubman (that's how long ago it feels, anyway.) But it is with great excitement and a little pee-pee coming out that I welcome you to the new RandyRainbow.com!

Here you'll be able to find all my latest videos (coming soon in high-definition), musings, ramblings, political-ish opinions-ish, song parodies, suicide notes, pot roast recipes and whateverthehell else I decide to post randomly in a state of being hung over from the night before. Which, frankly, is the state I proudly call my permanent home.

Also, please note that below each post is now a handy-dandy set of buttons, which allow you to easily share your favorite posts! With just the tap of your dainty little french manicured tip, you can post them on your Facebook, tweet them to your Twitter and FedEx them to your grandmother in Florida with a balloon that says, "World's Best Grandma". (We're still working on the Fedex/balloon feature, so stay tuned.)

You can also now leave [flattering and complimentary] comments [about how thin and pretty I am] on all posts, so by all means, sing out, Louise!

Enjoy! Love you all!

Randy Rainbow
Founding Flamer

"Hell No!" (O, Don't Go)

2011-05-25T11:23:00.013-04:00

It boggles the gay mind that after 25 years, Oprah will no longer be on my television every day. It hasn't quite registered yet. I purposely haven't been thinking much about it because it's one of those things too devastating to even try to comprehend until it happens, so you just completely block it out until the time comes when you have no choice but to face it head-on. Like when I gave birth at my high school prom those two times. It's sorta like that. Anyway, the day has come. The time is now. The head of Oprah's final show is crowning underneath our prom dresses and we have no choice but to push.

We're all dealing with this in our own way. Mine was to record this hit single. It's called "OPRAH" (after Oprah) and it's an original knockoff of Lady Gaga's song Judas. You may listen here or should you like to download it for the low price of free, there's a link below. Enjoy and Oprahspeed.

CLICK HERE TO LISTEN (DOWNLOAD MP3 BELOW)!

DOWNLOAD FREE MP3 HERE

Queen of Queens

2011-05-02T08:45:00.005-04:00

Oy, and Osama Bin Laden thought HE had a hectic weekend...

The Comeback

2011-04-06T08:55:00.004-04:00

I hate that word! It's a retuuuuuhhrn...

Check out what happened when I paid a surprise visit to some old friends...

Gay & Single: Free MP3 of "BORN THIS GAY"

2011-03-14T11:12:00.010-04:00

I recently recorded this cheap parody (and triumphant and inspiring confessional.) I decided ultimately not to make a video for it, as every drag queen, Gaysian and gynecologist this side of Gaytown has already done their own version. I will not share the stage, do you understand me??? (I might still make a video.)

So here, in limited digital release, absolutely free of charge, is my recording of "BORN THIS GAY". I really think I've written an anthem, here; not only for me, but for me's all around the world (well, at least in gated communities in nice neighborhoods all around the world.)

CLICK HERE TO LISTEN (DOWNLOAD MP3 BELOW)!

http://www.mediafire.com/?u2a9f54ld50ct4b

ENJOY!
XOXO
Lady RaRa

Two and a Half Men

2011-02-28T09:34:00.008-05:00

Mommy and Daddy had a little fight and are spending some time apart. It doesn't mean Mommy and Daddy don't still love each other. It just means Mommy is seeing other people. And Daddy still hates the Jews. Meet Uncle Charlie...

Queen of Hearts

2011-02-14T09:09:00.007-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day, Everybody! Well, I guess not everybody. Looks like it's just another lonely Monday for you single ladies (and the weather's kinda crappy, too, so your hair probably looks like shit.) But I still want you to enjoy it! And, hey! How bad can it be, right? I mean, Beyonce wrote a whole anthem all about single ladies! Beyonce is not single, by the way. She was just doing that to be nice. But, hey! Take what you can get, single ladies! If the hot, rich, married lady wants to wave your crappy flag, let her! What have you got to lose, right? Very little, that's what. XOXOXO!

If any of you are still last-minute shopping for that special someone, please keep this in mind: Diamonds are forever, but so is Chlamydia if left untreated. Listen, I really don't know what that means, but this video is only about 5 and a half minutes and I think it's definitely worth your time.

Find out what happens when America's sweethearts seek counsel from a trained-ish professional-ish with fabulous shoes. (Features a very special, very dragtastic guest star appearance...)

Dance: Ten; Looks: Ten

2011-01-26T09:15:00.004-05:00

Here's what you will not see on tonight's episode of American Idol (no accounting for taste)...

Friendly Neighborhood Homosexual

2011-01-10T09:23:00.005-05:00

I don't know about all y'all, but I haven't been sleeping soundly since "Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark" began previews. Check out this chilling documentation of my fight to stop the villains behind this senseless massacre, and save some of Broadway's hottest. Just doin' my job, people.

A Cover Girl for Christmas

2010-12-20T11:05:00.013-05:00

Mmmmhey!! Check me out on Sirius XM's OutQ channel at 9PM tonight (Monday 12/20)! I'll be guesting on the Derek & Romaine Show! Romaine is out and the special co-host is none other than Broadway's own, Tony nominee Christopher Sieber! Schmancy!

Also! Look who's a Christmas cover girl in Colorado! I'm the cover story in Colorado's hottest fag rag, Out Front Magazine. I couldn't be more flattered. (And please notice Michael Feinstein listed in very small print next to my giant head. I guess it's "all about ME" this time, Mikey. Don't hate!)

And finally, after receiving lots of requests, believe it or not, me and my favorite boyfriend Mel Gibson have released a Holiday EP, featuring our hit single "Baby It's Fuckin' Cold Outside" (from our Christmas Special) and a special bonus track, "Winter Fuckin' Wonderland". Both mp3's are available FOR FREE as our holiday gift to all of you. Go ahead and impress your friends...Add our pretty holiday harmonies to your Xmas playlists this year! And don't say I never gave ya nuthin', jerk...

Randy & Mel: "BABY IT'S FUCKIN' COLD OUTSIDE"

Randy & Mel: "WINTER FUCKIN' WONDERLAND"

The Christm-ish Special

2010-12-14T09:12:00.005-05:00

This Holiday Season, forget everything you know about Donny & Marie, won't you? There's a new act in town! Check out our new video! It's very "Passion of the Christ-ish".

Sex, Lies & Fresh Produce

2010-12-07T09:09:00.004-05:00

Check out what madness ensued after a fairly risque (and I think extremely flattering) video of me and my favorite boyfriend leaked to the public. I feel so terribly violated. And skinny!!!

(***VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED***)

Not Without My Cell Phone

2010-12-03T11:55:00.010-05:00

Everyone! Gather ‘round! A Christmas miracle occurred this morning! An act of good will and altruism the likes of which I personally have not witnessed since The Tyra Banks Show was so mercifully cancelled nearly one year ago.

I was running to catch the train, which was already pulling into the station as I’d only just begun climbing the some 87,000 steps to the platform. Breathless, I made it to the top and the good lord seemed to be smiling on me, as the train was magically still there. The “closing doors” announcement had already played and the “get the fuck out’ the way, idiot” ding-dong warning chime was on its final "dong" when I sprang over the gap, achieving a perfect 10-point landing onto the crowded Q.

“I am invincible,” I thought to myself. “I am superhuman and capable of achieving amazing things in this life. The world is good and I’m happy to be a part of it and hey - it's not so bad that I'm regarded as a second-class citizen in this country just because of my sexuality. Merry Christmas to all!”

As is usually the case, this wave of optimism and joy lasted approximately one millisecond before reality set in and I realized that my dainty lady fingers were no longer grasping the iPhone that had been in my hand all along. “No, no. This can’t be happening.” But it did, in fact, be happening. I had dropped it! I turned around just as the doors were closing and sure enough, there, at the top of the stairs was my precious phone. Through the foggy windows of the train door, just lying there on the cold ground, it suddenly looked like a frightened little child in Auschwitz who’d just been torn screaming from its mother by the Nazis. (I don’t mean to make light of my situation. I mean, I’d just downloaded five new ringtones, so this actually could potentially have been devastating.)

As the train began to pull out of the station, I saw a man suddenly hovering over my phone, and then bend down to pick her up. (“Her” meaning my iPhone, in the gay, non-gender-specifically overused feminine pronoun sense of the word.) He was a real scary, thuggy-looking guy. Just exactly the type of guy you’d pray would NOT be the one to find your lost cell phone. I won’t describe him any further because it might make me sound racist, and of course, I’m not. Most of my friends are real scary, thuggy-looking guys. So I’ll just leave it to you, the reader, to paint your own picture, and then YOU can feel racist. (I don’t really need that on my conscience today. It’s already been a bitch of a morning.)

Desperate and out of options, I banged on the window to get his attention. He looked up and I screamed through the glass as though I were Sally Field in 1991's “Not Without My Daughter”, “NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! Please wait there!!! Don’t move!!!! Please, I beg of you!!!!”

I leapt off the train at the next stop, ran down the stairs and back up to the opposite side of the platform to catch the next train back to from whence I came. After what felt like a six-hour journey, I finally arrived back at my original station, flew down the stairs and back up to the opposite side of the platform to meet my destiny. Certain that the man would at this point either be gone or wearing a brand new leather coat he'd purchased with all the money he'd made from selling the parts of my stolen phone, I made it to the top. What the hell do you know!??! There was that lovely, scary, thuggy-looking light-skinned Puerto Rican man holding my iPhone! He actually waited for me!

"Oh, thank you!", I exclaimed. Had we been in Chelsea and had I not feared him to be carrying a loaded weapon, I would have thrown my arms around him. I insisted he give me his address or phone number so that I could send him something to show my appreciation (and because he was actually pretty hot and - if I know my scary, thuggy-looking Puerto Rican men - most likely surprisingly open-minded.) But (perhaps sensing the sexual energy between us, coming only from me) he wouldn't hear of it. "Don't worry about it, man," he said. "No worries. Have a good one, bro."

HOW NICE IS THAT??? And how foolish did I feel, being so judgemental based solely on a person's scary, thuggish appearance?? I would have given him ten bucks or something right there as a thank-you, but I was a little nervous to take my wallet out in front of him. You understand.

Anyway, I guess the point of this Christmas story is that I'm hosting a show at Comix comedy club this Sunday, December 5th @ 7PM called EPIC FAIL: BROADWAY'S FUTURE FLOPS (click on the link for more info and to buy your tickets). Oh, and also don't be racist!

Guy Talk

2010-11-18T09:48:00.003-05:00

It's no easy task uniting the races of this great country. Still, I continue to pretty much do it single-handedly. And you're welcome. Here's yet another prime example...

Parton Shots & Stephen Schwahhtz

2010-11-12T09:13:00.011-05:00

Last night I had a dream that I was headlining a star-studded Dolly Parton tribute concert at the Kennedy Center. (Don't laugh, assholes, it could happen.) Dolly was in the audience. After Beyonce finished the final chorus of "Jolene", it was my turn to take the stage and close the show with "9 to 5". (Who the hell came up with this lineup?? It's horrible!) So Margot Kidder announces me (what the hell was Margot Kidder doing emceeing?) and I go up and start to sing flawlessly. I'm not being conceited, it just happened to sound really good. I look out into the crowd and not only do I not see Dolly Parton, but I realize that the only people now in the audience are a homeless woman and my Biology teacher from 8th grade.

Then I woke up.

Listen, no one said that was gonna be a good story. It is what it is. You want better plot lines and a friggin' production number??? Watch Glee.

Meanwhile, I'm featured in the November issue of Ion Magazine. Check it out here, idiot!! Thanks Mikey Rox for the great interview!

And, at no additional charge, please enjoy this clip from last week, of the great Stephen Schwartz (introduced by moi) singing his own "Chanson" in support of the Trevor Project. We're good together, nu?

Girl Crazy

2010-11-10T13:05:00.007-05:00

Oh my Christ in Heaven, I haven’t updated this blog since Ethel Merman’s Bat Mitzvah! The last news item I posted was the Hindenburg Disaster. (Did Ethel Merman even have a Bat Mitzvah? I don’t know, but it was the first point of reference that came to mind, and I needed to play to my audience.) Ya know, ever since my international fame really started to kick in (……*crickets*……..), people have begun to tell me that I’ve become much less accessible; that I’m unapproachable, even. And to those people I say: “Mom, Dad… My publicist will call you. I can’t deal with this right now.”

I assure you, though, that my fame has nothing to do with it. I have simply been super busy (with fame) over the past couple of weeks. And I’m also just now getting over a bad cold (the cold, lonely reality that comes with being very famous.) So that’s that. Still the same old me.

But enough about me. Let’s talk about a little someone I like to call “me”. Let me get you somewhat up-to-speed on my life as of late: When last we met, I was putting the finishing touches on my Halloween costume: “Jennifer Aniston as Barbra Streisand”, or as she’s now famously known in certain circles, “Jennifra Anistreiston”. I’m happy to say, she came together beautifully. Here, see for yourself.

Pretty fly for a white guy, no??? Alright, so some people said it came out a little “Thoroughly Modern Millie-ish”. To those people, I lovingly say, “Drop dead and go to hell, you jealous asshole.” I was very pleased with it. I even hosted Tituss’s concert dressed in it on Halloween Eve. I’d never hosted a show in drag before, but I figured, “How hard can it be? Wendy Williams does it every weekday morning from 10 to 11.”

A few days and 79 showers later (yet somehow still in full eye makeup), I hosted a benefit for The Trevor Project at the Laurie Beechman theatre. I had the great honor of introducing a ridiculously amazing lineup, which included the legend'ree Stephen Schwartz! Can you imagine? Fabulous night for a fabulous cause.

Also at the Beechman last week was Donna McKechnie’s one-woman show, “My Musical Comedy Life”. Oh dear lord, can we please discuss my love for this woman?? First of all, she’s stunning – physically and vocally. The show is an autobiographical chassé down memory lane, weaving together music from stage and screen to tell the story of Donna's life in the theatre. It was directed by my fancy schmancy friend, the great Richard Jay-Alexander. RJA is first and foremost a devoted fan of all the “divas” he works with, and so when it comes to directing a show like this one, nobody scratches that gay itch like he does. He knows what we need and he makes sure we get it.

Donna is still touring with the show, so in case you haven’t seen it yet, I won’t give away any- SHE DOES “MUSIC AND THE MIRROR” INCLUDING THE DANCE BREAK!!!! (SHIT! I forgot to say “spoiler alert”.) Anyway, I loved it and I love her. And PS – she gave me an amazing shout-out onstage during the show! I’m getting the audio from it and making it my ringtone, and possibly playing it at my gay wedding, once such a thing becomes legal in the state of New York. Check out photos from the night here, courtesy of the lovely Walter McBride.

And fiiiinally, I was back at the Beechman this past Sunday night (yes, I have signed a lease and moved in there) to see my new best friend, the divine Coco Peru! I’ve loved Coco for years, but had never seen a live show before. So fucking fantastic. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, if you’re reading this gay-ass blog, but if given the opportunity to see her live, you must grab it, pounce on it and ride it into the night! Check out this stunning gorgeousness…

So minus all the alcohol and dirty bookstores, that has been my past couple of weeks, in a nutsac. I’m working on some new videos and have some very exciting and sexy guest stars lined up, so stay tuned for them apples!

I love you all. Call me later.
XOXO
Randy

There's No Business Like No Business

2010-10-25T09:21:00.005-04:00

Last night was the "Living for Today" benefit at the Laurie Beechman theatre here in NYC. It featured a fierce lineup of esteemed Broadway notables, including the chick from "Curtains", the chick from "Avenue Q", the guy from "The Little Mermaid", the chick from "Chicago" and TV's "Trading Spaces", the chick from "Legally Blonde" and Randy Rainbow! Check out this new video, which was made special for the occasion and premiered there last night before a live predominantly gay sold-out audience!

There's no accounting for taste...

It's the Great Pumpkin, Jennifra Anistreisand!

2010-10-20T10:01:00.008-04:00

For those of you who have been following my quest for a Halloween costume (you might have read about it on my Twitter page, or perhaps seen the updates being scrolled on CNN), I think I've finally reached a verdict.

I was originally going to go with "Megan Mullally In the I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Commericial". Then for a while, I was stuck on "Joy Behar the Day She and Whoopi Goldberg Walked Off The View". But then I thought those would be too obscure for people to recognize. And I hate having to explain my costume to people. So I decided to go with "Barbara Walters the Day She Scolded Joy Behar and Whoopi Goldberg For Walking Off The View". Then I realized... Everyone will be doing that this year. It'll be like Pokémon circa '96. So I've decided finally on "Jennifer Aniston as Barbra Streisand". Ya know, from her Harper's Bazarre shoot?

All I need now is the leopard fur coat. So if any of you has an idea where I might score one cheap, or if you so happen to own an actual leopard you're not crazy about and a great pattern for a coat, please email a sista.

In other news: Don't forget that I'll be taking part in the "Living for Today" benefit this Sunday, October 24 at the Laurie Beechman Theatre @ 9:30. The lineup is crazy star-studded and I'll be premiering a video made special for the occasion!

And on Halloween Eve, Tituss (Burgess, duh) will hold a one-night-only concert with his "Tightass Band" at New World Stages to benefit The Trevor Project. I'll be taking part in that, too, so come the hell on down! Gonna be fun! CLICK HERE for all the info.

Love you, guys (for the most part)!
XOXO
Ran

All I Ever Needed

2010-10-14T00:07:00.007-04:00

Taking a cue from Perez Hilton, who just yesterday announced his commedable plans to move his website in a more humanitarian and compassionate direction, I too am going to try something new today and dedicate this blog post entirely to the shameless and unmitigated self-promotion of Me. We'll see how it goes.

Let's begin with the fact the Donna McKechnie - Broadway legend, Donna McKechnie? - Yes, that's the one - appeared on the Frank DeCaro show on Sirius XM yesterday and to my thrill and surprise gave me an amazing shout-out! I wasn't listening when it happened, but I suddenly had a lot of emails in my inbox from gay people with "HOLY SHIT!" in the subject line. That's when I knew something was up. Take a listen to the audio clip...

I. LIVE. FOR. HER. And as she said, I will of course be in attendance for her show "MY MUSICAL COMEDY LIFE" @ 8PM on WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 3rd at THE LAURIE BEECHMAN. Click here for all the official info.

I will also be at the Beechman on Sunday, October 24th for "LIVING FOR TODAY", an amazing benefit for an incredible cause, featuring performances by some of Broadway's best aaaaaaaand an exclusive new video by moi! Click right about here for all the info on that.

But enough about me! Let's talk about...eh, I'm bored.

Times Is Hard...

2010-10-04T10:22:00.002-04:00

Since I'm not getting married any time soon, and since I apparently can't join the United States Military (don't ask), I've been looking around for a few odd jobs...

NYMFomaniac

2010-09-30T13:20:00.007-04:00

Yo, Bloggities! I'm hosting the second round of the New York Music Theatre Festival (NYMF)'s annual "NEXT BROADWAY SENSATION" here in NY this Sunday, October 3rd @ 9:45PM at New World Stages. If you're not familiar with the competition, it's American Idol Broadway style. And I'll be Ryan Seacrest for the night, only with twice as much hair product and half as many gay tendencies.

I'll be joined by celebrity judges Adam Kantor (Rent), Jen Bender (Resident Director of The Lion King), Carmel Dean (Music Director of American Idiot), and Liz Caplan. Audiences can also expect a guest performance by Adam Gwon (Ordinary Days) and Tituss Burgess! CLICK HERE FOR MORE INFO, and come on down if you're in town!
Meanwhile, I've got a couple of new videos in the works, so stay the hell tuned for those!!

Loving you almost unconditionally,
RaRa
XOXO

Just a Dream, Girl

2010-09-22T10:14:00.007-04:00

Beyonce is fucking pissed at me, guys. At least she was 4 hours ago. I was sleeping and it was in a dream. But it was one of those really vivid dreams that stay with you like bad sushi, and now all morning I have agita that Beyonce is not talking to me.

We were at a fancy restaurant, sitting around a big table with friends (my friends; her friends couldn’t get in) and I did this really hilarious, really spot-on impression of “Beyonce overacting in films”. Everyone laughed of course, but B just kinda sat there with a half-smile, trying to act like she was in on the joke and it wasn’t bothering her, but you could tell that it totally was. Then she started overcompensating by laughing too loudly and doing her own version of the impression… ya know, so she could feel like we were all laughing with her and not at her (that’s so Beyonce) but she was pushing too hard and her delivery was off.

Anyway, I’d like to use this public forum to clear my conscience and make an apology to Dream Beyonce: Sorry, B! I love you very much. You are the wind beneath my Dereon jeans and I would never do anything to hurt you. But that impression I do of you is pretty spot-on, ya gotta admit. Calm your shit.

K, now that the air is cleared… Click PLAY below and have a listen to some audio clips from my recent appearance on the Derek & Romaine Show on Sirius XM’s OutQ. I’ll be co-hosting the show with lovely Derek on Monday, October 4th, from 6-10PM, and will bring with me some very special guests. Tune the hell in!

Sadie, Sadie, Married Lady...

2010-09-13T10:24:00.005-04:00

Each one of us has his own inspiring story about the fight for Marriage Equality in this country. Mine just happens to be a litte more inspiring than the rest. Here it is (as not seen on Lifetime Television)...

Happy New Year! (or 'Happy Jew Queer!')

2010-09-09T11:53:00.006-04:00

Shana Tova, Jews and Jewettes!

For all the anti-Semites in the audience, “Shana Tova” is a common greeting used among heebs like myself on Rosh Hashanah. (It is also the drag name I use when I do shows at the 92nd Street Y.) It’s our version of “Happy New Year” but without the excitement and glow-in-the-dark hats. At Midnight tonight, Anderson Cooper will drop a matzah ball in Times Square and all our wishes will come true! Or something. I’m very excited – I’m already wasted.

Meanwhile… lots of stuff going on this end. First and foremost, let’s hear it for the end of this fakakte summer! It was the hottest one on record in NYC and I’m thrilled to see the bitch go. The 70’s are back!!!

In case you missed me and my gal pal Lindsay Lohan on Perez Hilton, CLICK HERE to check it. We also got a sweet shout-out on VH1’s “Best Week Ever”!

My new video drops this coming Monday. It’s an emotional recount of my very personal, very brave journey on the bumpy roller coaster of Marriage Equality – a hot-button issue these days. It has all the makings of a Judy Garland CBS television special… comedy, drama, live musical performances, drunk people and a very special guest star…

Stay chyooned, won’t you?!?!

LiLo & Bitch

2010-08-30T10:44:00.005-04:00

When it comes to my closest friends, this girl is definitely somewhere on the list, kinda. We blend better than a frozen margarita and are twice as alcoholic, if I do say so m'self. So happy she's on the loose!

Mama Will Provide

2010-08-19T10:12:00.003-04:00

Once again, the always insightful Dr. Laura Schlessinger comes to my rescue. Thank god I caught her before her contract expires and she's hanged as a witch...

Going Up (or "Seersuck It!")

2010-08-17T16:23:00.013-04:00

What’s with the walking up to the elevator and pushing the UP button when it’s clearly already lit and I’m clearly already standing there waiting for an elevator car to arrive and transport me to an upper location? What kind of power-trippy, control-freaky, superiority-complexy bullshit is that?? (This is purely rhetorical… I’m absolutely not referring to the overweight bald man in the light blue seersucker suit who just performed this all-too-common act not 5 minutes ago.)

It would be like if I were standing in line at Starbucks behind a stranger who was ordering a Grande Soy Chai Latte, and I cut him off mid-sentence to tell the barista, “No, no! He’ll have a Grande Soy Chai Latte, please… And extra napkins so I can also wipe his ass for him, as he appears to be completely incapable of performing basic human tasks without my intervention and I am his mother.”

Am I overreacting? I don’t think so. Like, why else would I be standing in front of an elevator on the ground level of a building, waiting for the doors to open? Did he think I was perhaps there to greet tourists as they exited the elevator and offer to drive them to the airport? I was absolutely not. We’re both going to the same place, dude! Relax! I know how to work a f*%#ing elevator! (And you know I never use the word “dude”.)

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest… Don’t forget - I’m on Sirius XM’s Derek & Romaine Show (on the OutQ channel) this Thursday @ 8PM.

Oh! And my big-screen video premiere at Splash bar in NYC went fabulously last week. It was a great turn-out (I assume all for me and not Splash's wildly popular weekly event, Musical Mondays); the brilliant Richard Jay-Alexander introduced me and the video; and if you can believe it, the one and only Donna McKechnie called to personally wish me well. I wasn't dealing with my life.

Some pics from the night...

Superbitch.

2010-08-09T11:16:00.009-04:00

Get your tits out, Sweeties! I’ve made Esquire! Click right about HERE to check out this morning’s schmanciness. They refer to me affectionatlely as a "Superbitch" and I couldn't be more flattered than if they'd called me the "C" word! Love it! (That's me on the cover, pictured left! I think... Could be Katy Perry... I'm always confusing those two.)

Lots going on this end, so let’s get right down to it:

1) I got a haircut this weekend, and not for nuthin’, but it’s pretty goddamn gorgeous.

2) If you didn’t catch it, Hillary Clinton and I were featured in AM New York last week. It looked like this (Hil looks fat):

3) Tonight (Monday, the 9th) Splash Bar is hosting an official video launch party to celebrate "Randy Rainbow is Dating Mel Gibson". It'll happen near the end of Musical Mondays, around 11:30 or so. Come by and toast at least one half of the happy couple. (If I can't make it, Mel will definitely be there, and vice versa.)

4) It's almost Noon and not one person has said anything about my gorgeous new haircut. Luckily, I kept the receipt.

5) Next Thursday, August 19th, I will be a guest on Sirius XM's Derek & Romaine Show @ 8PM. Here are the deets:

Randy Rainbow is scheduled for a live in-studio interview with Derek and Romaine of Sirius XM Satellite Radio on Thursday, August 19th at 8:05 pm ET. This will broadcast live on Sirius XM Satellite Radio channel OutQ, Sirius 109 and XM 98. Listeners and fans are welcome to participate by calling 866-305-6887. For those who don't subscribe to Sirius, a free online trial is available at www.Sirius.com.

Oy, that's a lot of self promotion. How obnoxious!?! Sorry. Let's talk about you guys now... What's new with all of...

Sorry, we're out of time. BYE!!!!

Ladies First

2010-08-02T09:56:00.003-04:00

By now you’ve no doubt heard all about the minimal guest list at Chelsea Clinton’s celebrity-deficient Rhinebeck wedding over the weekend. What a bust! Just Ted Danson, Mary Steenburgen, me and a couple of no-name Jews, fightin’ over the last pig-in-a-blanket. Guess the new Mrs. Mesvinskiwitzbaum (or whateverthehell) is not as popular as we might have thought.

Here’s a look at my morning after… (Awkward..!)

America's F#%*ing Sweethearts

2010-07-29T10:10:00.004-04:00

What a week! I have never before been the better half of such a high-profile gay celebrity power couple, but I must say – I like it just fine. Word about my new relationship with you-know-who seems to be spreading like herpes and, despite all the paparazzi, I couldn’t be happier! Mel either.

I mean, let’s face it: Ever since Rihanna and Chris Brown made amends, the world has been pining for a hot new abusive relationship in the headlines. We’re happy to fill that void, World.

Check out my brand new interview with The Advocate here.

And mark your calendars, Bloggities: Monday, August 9th, around 11PM, I will be hijacking Musical Mondays at Splash here in NYC to officially launch the video on the big screen! Stay tchyooned for more details!

Gotta run… Brunch with Oksana.
xoxo

I'm In Love, I'm In Love, I'm In Love, I'm In Love, I'm In Love With A Wonderful Goy!

2010-07-19T10:13:00.008-04:00

Hey Bloggities! I wanted you all to be the very first to know, after I told everyone else, that I'm dating someone. I know...pretty crazy, no? Because of his fairly high-profile career and my respect for his privacy, I have posted a video on YouTube, exploiting our relationship for my own benefit. Check it out!

PS - We've decided that our adopted Asian babies will take my last name, but we're gonna raise them drunk and anti-Semitic... It's all about compromise, people...

I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Kvetch Myself a Letter

2010-07-13T17:15:00.007-04:00

Since last we met, I’ve aged. I know... I don't wanna talk about it.

Last week I celebrated my 29th birthday, if you can believe. 29??? Where did THIS come from all of a sudden? It seems like only yesterday I was a carefree twink in a pretty dress and now suddenly I’m Angela Lansbury! How can this have happened?? I don’t know – but there you have it.

So, I’ve been very busy these past days, self-reflecting and updating my age on all of my online profiles (to say 26.) I am embracing this journey toward a new chapter in my life. With every year comes a better understanding of myself, making it easier to navigate my way. There are, however, a lot of things I miss about my younger years: the bliss of ignorance; the cuteness of naivety; the ability to unabashedly take things for granted; the old pair of high heels I made my parents hot-glue red sequins to, so I could pretend to be Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz (and subsequently redo in silver sequins so I could pretend to be Diana Ross in The Wiz).

I also miss my patience, which seems to have long gone. I don’t know if it’s just New York wearing me out or an early onset of Old Jew, but I find I’m becoming a lot more kvetchy. I mean, it’s no surprise to anyone who’s read this blog before that I’ve always been a complainer. It’s sort of “my thing”. Most people enjoy it, though, because I do it in a way that is EXTREMELY jovial and charming. And skinny, with fantastic bone structure. But now that I’m 50, I’ve begun to get a little curmudgeonly about stuff.

When I was a kid, I remember my grandmother constantly threatening to write letters to various businesses and companies, expressing her dissatisfaction with their products or services: If the seats were too small in the movie theatre; if the toothpaste was overpriced… Even the most minor issues seemed to warrant certified mail to the respective authorities.

This practice of kvetching in an official capacity was a concept that both amused and embarrassed me as a kid, but is now one I subscribe to: If a certain brand discontinues one of my favorite products, I’ll write to customer service, alerting them of my dismay (and asking for free samples); if the service is awful at a restaurant, I’ll fill out the comment card they bring with the check; if a boy I like doesn’t return my phone calls, I will email the NYC LGBT Center and ask them why God made me a homosexual…

Yesterday, I wrote to the makers of my favorite chapstick, who suddenly just decided to stop making the stuff. Not to sound gay, but this is a huge fucking problem for me, girlfriend! Like, I almost called out of work when I found out.

And just this morning, after an altercation with an especially horrible cashier at a particular popular New York-based drugstore with the crappiest service in town (I won’t disclose which; however, I will say that it is a black man’s name paired with a verb you do to books), it took all the self-restraint I could muster not to ask for the manager.

This irrational overreacting is something I vow to work on in this, my final year of twentydom. I’m finally going to allow myself license to relax and no longer sweat the small stuff. It feels liberating and fantastic! Except for the fact that my foot’s been hurting all day, so I can’t go running after work and now I’ll be fat by sundown and alone for the rest of my life. Fucking great.

Make Up Your Own Title Here. I'm Too Hungry.

2010-06-23T16:08:00.004-04:00

I’ve been scarce, I know. I’ve been dieting and far too hungry to come up with anything even remotely amusing or interesting to blog (and I’m frankly still thinking only of pasta, so this will probably be marginal.) But now that the Tony Awards and Broadway Bares have come and gone, I can at least go back to eating carbohydrates in moderation. You know the old etiquette dictum: “No white shoes after Labor Day, no white flour before Broadway Bares and no white people backstage at the Eugene O’Neill until Fela posts.” Didn't your grandmothers always say that...?

I have no real reason to participate in the annual starvation/exercise craze that goes on around these parts pre-‘Bares’. I’m never in the show (I’ve never been asked, thankyouverymuch.) It’s purely influenced by the guilt and self-consciousness of hanging around my skinny-bitch dancer friends. I hate them so much.

Plus, let’s not forget that I live in one of the foremost fashion capitals of the world, where people are judged constantly on appearance. And I don’t mean New York City proper; I’m talking about Ms. Astoria Getting-Too-Big-For-Her-Britches Queens. She is a gay mecca of the outer boroughs now, you know...

But it’s not only the Astoria gays who can get judgy, you guys! (If this were The View, what I just did right there would be called a "segue" and Sherri Shepherd would have done it ineffectively.)

There’s a sign hanging outside my uber straight Astoria gym. This is a picture of it (please note the spelling of what should be “inquire within”):

"Must Be Good Looking"?? Is anyone offended by this?!? I mean, I'm not because I obviously fit into that bracket, but shit! Have some frickin' tact! Can I get a "WHAT-WHAT" from all the unattractive people in the crowd?!

This is just one fairly tame example of the comically blatant disregard for social progression and political correctness so many of the male-dominated Greek establishments in my neighborhood proudly display. I pass by dozens of restaurants every day with gender-specific, grammatically incorrect Help-Wanted signs in the window that say bizarre and sexist things like: “Wait Staff Wanted. Women Only. Must Be Pretty Woman!"

Or..."Looking For Bartender. Must Be Womens. Must Be Greek and Thin with the Big Titties and the Strong Response to Date Rape Sedatives. Prior Restorant Experiensses Rekwired.”

It doesn’t really bother me. Aside from being hysterically funny to me, it actually manages to maintain a level of forgivable old-school charm…like when you visit the World Showcase at Epcot Center in Disney World and everyone on staff in “Ireland” is drunk, and the Mickey Mouse in “China” has considerably smaller genitalia than the Mickey Mouse in “Italy”... Ya know what I mean?

See, I said Italy and now I’m thinking about pasta again…

Fag Hag (or "Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut")

2010-06-09T13:09:00.009-04:00

Big doin’s in Gay Town! If you haven’t yet heard about “The Great-ish Alice Ripley Facebook Scandal-ish of 2010”, here’s what went down: Last week, Alice responded to a negative critic of Broadway’s Next to Normal by posting a comment to her Facebook page which included this statement: “This frustrated actor (I won’t say fag) is my new best friend!”

Though she apologized for her choice of word after receiving backlash, angered “fans” have planned to protest her show on Thursday evening.

Now, mine may not be the most objective opinion, as I’ve been a die-hard fan of Alice’s for hundreds of years, and if she’d posted an invitation to a “Pin the Nose on the Hebe” party on her Facebook page, the Les Miz poster she signed for me 12 years ago would still hang proudly in my bedroom. In any event, this is what Randy Rainbow (me) is posting on his blog today:

In this age of Political Correctness, we’ve made ourselves – in all good intention – obsessed with words, as an expression of our greater hope for equality and civility. But it’s proven in many cases to be a frivolous distraction from real issues; rousing self-appointed “heroes” to fight battles where there are no true adversaries. We’ve been trained to respond to red flags and the instant one goes up, our ears perk, our hearts beat a little quicker and we immediately adopt a fight-or-flight attitude (or, if we are on Jerry Springer, we might throw a chair.) To some, this hypersensitive regulating of language may seem like monumental progress for humanity, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s only a thin candy coating on something that goes much deeper.

It’s easy to feed to people, though. It’s clean, simple and even color-coded; perfect for those (like Alice’s protesters) who require a more “no nuts” approach to things, perhaps by virtue of their possibly less-than-average-sized brains. It seems these No-Nuts, if you will, are incapable of holding more than one concept in their heads at a time: “Yes, she chose to use a word with negative connotation” and “No, she is not a threat to our people”.

Context, context, context, kids! I can’t stress it enough. I personally love and respect words (just look at how many I've used in this blog post alone!) But words are words are words. It’s what’s behind them (or not behind them) that deserves our attention. To visit the Facebook page of Tony winner Alice Ripley – an obvious ally of the Gay community – and accuse her of homophobia over the casual use of an arguably poorly-chosen word describing 97% of her fan base, is like visiting Santa Claus at the mall and accusing him of ageism for “talking down” to young children. (Whatever… You get my meaning…)

I applaud your allegiance to the fags, you darling, young Alice Ripley protesters – I, myself, am considerably faggy. However, I urge you to save your strength and choose your battles more wisely. There are much bigger giants in the sky.

LONG LIVE ALICE RIPLEY!

Music That Makes Me Dance

2010-06-04T12:32:00.026-04:00

Here’s something fascinating you'll want to know about me: The music playlists on my iPhone all have ridiculously long titles. You didn’t know that, did you? The reason being, that I’ve always been a “mixtape” kinda gay, and almost every occasion, emotion, tragedy or triumph immediately inspires my need for a new playlist, uniquely blending the perfect combination of musical selections to precisely express my current mood (and almost always including at least one version of "Rose's Turn".) And because I'm so moody, my catalogue of playlists is vast, and each title closer resembles a complete journal entry than a title. Where some may simply name their playlists things like “Cardio Workout” or “Summer Playlist 2010”, mine look a little more like this:

RANDY’S PLAYLISTS

“Today Started Out Crappy But It Just Might Be Getting Better. We'll See.”

“I Am In Serious Need Of A Vacation Seriously”

“You Can Fucking Get Through This Randy!”

“Think I’ll Order Chinese Food For Supper”

"Cardio Workout"

“That Chinese Food Was Amazing But Now I’m All Puffy”

“Why Hasn’t He Texted Me Back Yet?”

“I’ve Never Felt So Happy And I’m Just Worried That I’m Jumping The Gun on This And Will Inevitably Wind Up Disappointed. We'll See.”

Yeah... A few of them may be a bit much, now that I’m thinking about it. Some of you might even say "overly self-indulgent" (you're assholes, by the way.) Not all of them are like that, though. Some are simply named after boys. If you’re a boy and we have ever made out, almost made out, dated, slept together, not slept together because you are straight, been in an arguement, sat across from one another on the subway, slept together even though you are straight, spoken, or if I’ve ever had a crush on you, then Mazel Tov, my friend! There is a playlist somewhere in my iTunes named especially after YOU! You can tell your grandkids! I imagine this is how presidents feel when they get their faces on money.

To be honest, one of my favorite parts about dating a new person or having a new crush is the music you get to listen to. All the cheesy love songs and horrible pop ballads that would normally constipate you suddenly seem so crisp and relevant; written especially for your lame, faggoty self. It's like eating carbs on vacation: they don't count against you and they somehow even taste a little better!

In fact, if you’re out on a first date with me and things are going even mildly well, you can be pretty sure an hour into it that I’m going over song options for your playlist in my head. Slightly premature on my part, I suppose. But it’s the same optomistic impulsiveness that compels me, after only one date, to find your headshot on Facebook and make it my wallpaper. And I’m not talking about on my phone; I mean in my kitchen.

'Idol' Wild

2010-05-28T10:54:00.010-04:00

Well isn't this embarrassing. Apparently my live reaction to the American Idol 2010 finale was caught on tape. I had no idea there was a camera on me. SO embarrassed. I totally feel like this woman.

On My O.W.N.

2010-05-24T09:44:00.006-04:00

BIG NEWS: Oprah is about to discover me BIG TIME! Well...probably, anyway. As I'm sure you already know, she and her team at HARPO have begun a search for the next big TV host to debut his/her own talk show on the new Oprah Winfrey Network (OWN).

Dr. Phil... Mehmet Oz... Rachael Ray... Randy Rainbow...???

CLICK HERE FOR YOUTUBE VERSION.

Randy Rainbow "The Oprah Audition" from Randy Rainbow on Vimeo.

Big Wheels Keep On Turning, Proud Mary (That's Me) Keep On Burning

2010-05-21T12:35:00.002-04:00

I've just come from Laundromat (notice I said simply "Laundromat" and not "the laundromat" so as to make you think I was British and classy.) I still insist on doing my own laundry, rather than taking advantage of the drop-off service which would undoubtedly save me time, money and labor. I guess I just don't like the idea of strangers handling my underwear, unless I'm drunk. Call me old-fashioned, just call me!

I was sitting on the bench outside waiting for Dryer (again...British/classy), when I saw a small child - no more than five years old - riding his plastic Playskool motorcycle (it could have been Fisher-Price...I'm no auto mechanic) dangerously close to the street. My laundromat sits on an extremely busy intersection, and this little boy was hanging half off the curb, swerving like a lunatic toward oncoming traffic. I mean, he must have been wasted!

So, being a good samaritan and yenta, I went inside and found the mother of this drunk driver. "Does that belong to you?" I asked, pointing to the boy through the window. She nodded "yes". "Well you might wanna keep a better eye on him," I coached her, "He's going very fast and has almost skidded right into the middle of the intersection about ten times now."

See, I have this little quirk that I inherited from my Jewish mother: I often times feel it is my place - no, my responsibility in this life to teach certain people - no, EVERYONE how to parent, speak, behave, think, eat, pee and live; otherwise, how will they know? It's really very charming, I promise. Everybody thinks so.

*crickets*

Anyway, in this case, I certainly felt I had every right. I imagine my tone came off somewhat aggressive because the woman just stood motionless, staring a hole through my face as if to say, "mind your own shit, Gay" and returned to separating her whites. I surrendered and retired once more to my outside bench to watch the second half of Talladega Toddlers 500.

Not five minutes later, an SUV stopped at said busy intersection. A father sat at the wheel with two small children in the backseat. Daddy looked around to make sure he was not being watched, and just before the light changed, he pulled a big ol' bottle of Corona from a paper bag, took a sip and then stepped hard on the gas, taking them almost instantly out of my view.

I have to say... When I see PSA's and so-called experts on major news programs and morning talk shows reminding us all of the importance of NOT BEING COMPLETE FUCKING INCOMPETENT MORONS, I'm almost offended on behalf of the American public that we should be so condescended to. But then occasionally, I'll reluctantly leave the safety confines of my apartment and realize its necessity. This world is scary, you guys! Thank God I'm here to teach everyone how to live in it. And you're welcome.

I also can't help in these instances but to think of all those schmucks so aggressively opposing gay adoption in this country; clutching to the argument that the only acceptable environment in which to raise children is one including both a mother and father. I guess a mother to fold the laundry while the kids play in traffic and a father to teach them where to hide the beer so the cops won't see.

Doody Is the New Mediocrity

2010-05-12T12:33:00.025-04:00

My very first introduction to the great Lena Horne was as Glinda the Good in the film version of “The Wiz”. There she floated in that silver gown like Lady Liberty as dressed by her gay cousin, surrounded by all those shimmering stars and little black babies hanging from fishing wire or whatever (not even Lady Gaga has yet surpassed such innovative utilization of props.) And then the voice! “Believe in Yourself” was the song. I’d never heard anything like it.

I’ve been listening to a lotta' Lena since the news of her passing this week (The lights of Broadway were dimmed last night in her honor.) It’s made me happy; it’s made me sad; it’s also got me thinking… Lo, how our standards hath fallen! Remember the days when Lena was “the next Ella”? When Barbra was “the next Judy”? Or even when Celine was “the next Barbra”? (I don’t remember any of it; I’m far too young. But I figured you would.)

Then eventually, we started getting into some mucky territory when Britney Spears became “the next Madonna” and Christina Aguilera was appointed successor to Whitney and Mariah, who at the time were otherwise engaged (Mariah with buying new bras and Whitney with crack.) I, of course, jumped on the fagwagon and to this day remain a faithful and closeted fan of both Mickey Mouse Club alumni (I'm actually living for the release of Xtina's new album in June! I can't wait to be disappointed by it.) But to me, it was at the start of the Brit/Christina era when the flame of the passing torch began to grow dim. Inspiriation and god-given gift were replaced by mimicry and overproduction, and cheap vocal acrobatics became the Soul of a new generation.

It makes me a tad nervous that our tastes will only continue to dilute as amateur YouTubers and potential American Idols continue to be regarded as muses by upcoming performers. And I’m not just talking about the tween demographic, either. This new accessibility to stardom and overexposure knows no age limits. Now I see shows like Entertainment Tonight making proclamations like, “97-year-old paraplegic bag lady with nodes from 'Britain's Got Talent' could be the next Susan Boyle!” Are you kidding me? I never want to hear the words "the next Susan Boyle". I still have indigestion from the first. And is this really the new scale on which we’ve come to weigh the value of celebrity? I’ve got news for you: Susan Boyle is a marginally talented, overweight, middle-aged lunch lady who, metaphorically speaking, won the fame lottery… We are ALL the next Susan Boyle. And shitting is the next farting.

I know I’m getting kvetchy and I’ve most likely offended you by hating on Susan Boyle and British paraplegic bag ladies with nodes, so I’ll leave you now. I’m gonna go get some lunch…or as Entertainment Tonight might spin it, “my next big puke!”

Here. Watch some brilliance and black babies.

Natural Woman

2010-05-05T09:44:00.012-04:00

I’m sick to death of looking at the image of that unibrow that tried to kill New York. Ladies, once more: If you KNOW you're about to make headlines as the central operative of a high-profile terrorist attack, please...tweeze that shit beforehand! Obviously I’m referring to the man recently arrested as the suspect accused of planting what could potentially have been the biggest bomb to hit Times Square since Dance of the Vampires. Hold for laughter, two, three… (In fairness, that joke’s not an original. Jim Caruso said it to me yesterday, and when I threw a tantrum because I wanted to be the one to come up with it first, he said I could steal it. So there it is. And I came up with it.)

I will say, my tension from all this terror talk was slightly relieved when the NY Times reported the bomb as no more than “a Rube Goldberg contraption”. Apparently, it was made of, like, fishing wire, sequins and a couple of rubber chickens. And that schmuck didn’t even really know how to set it off, which doesn’t surprise me. There are literally dozens of terrorists in my neighborhood (sorry… “Pro-Terror Naturalized Americans” in my neighborhood), and all the ones I’ve hooked up with have never even come close to igniting any flames, if you catch my drift...

TERRORIST DATERS, AM I RIGHT??? Hold for laughter, six, seven, eight…

Anyway, I can joke all I want, but the truth is, this stuff does get to me. I tell myself that it doesn't, but it inevitably does. Last night I had the most vivid, absurd dream (one of those that feels like it's three hours with no intermission): A bomb went off in New York, but instead of a big explosion, it emitted this pink gas that covered the city. When inhaled, it didn't kill us, but instead left us with these bizarre afflictions. Mine was that my nose could suddenly talk and every time I smelled something, it would comment. Like, "Oh, that pie smells delicious", or "Ugh, that cologne smells like my nose-ass!" (It was a real Jewish nose, if you will.) One of my friends grew donkey ears, and another (I swear, this was my dream) grew pizza on her ass. Like, just a whole pepperoni pizza sprouting right from her ass!

Apparently the ultimate terrorist, as manifested in my mind, is Endora from "Bewitched".

"It's Not Television... Seriously."

2010-05-03T09:13:00.012-04:00

Happy May, Bloggities. You know what this means... National STD Awareness Month (or "April" as you prudes refer to it) is finally over, thank god. I don't know about you, but I was getting tired of keeping track of all mine. I'd rather do my taxes.

Meanwhile, the weather is an absolute embarrassment today in New York, and my Seasonal Affect Disorder is kickin' like Seabiscuit. I haven't the strength to update you on what's been going on around here, so just watch this video.

And remember my motto: "It's not television... I actually don't know what the hell it is."

Randy Rainbow "Previously On" from Randy Rainbow on Vimeo.

CLICK HERE FOR YOUTUBE VERSION

"Showbiz... Kid"

2010-04-30T10:43:00.016-04:00

I played the Bellhop in a production of “Lend Me a Tenor” back in Florida. It was a triumphant performance. My grandmother said. And one of the local papers, too, which compared me to Jerry Lewis (before the puffiness – or, at least, I’ve always hoped.) Nothing against Jay Klaitz, the bearish stoner-type doing it on Broadway now, but I firmly believe that part is to be reserved for small-framed, limp-wristed, Caucasian homosexual men. There are so few parts out there for us: the nosy, fanatical bellhop; the gay best friend; the gay assistant; Katie Holmes… I mean, leave us with what little we have left!

I digress…

The woman who owned the theatre where I did the show was in her 80’s and a true veteran of the biz. I won’t describe her because whatever it is you’re picturing in your head is correct. She got a kick out of me. She thought I had a real spark and liked how I did my hand gestures on stage. She used to call me “kid”. “Here comes the kid,” she’d say as I'd arrive every night. I liked it. It made me feel like Fanny Brice. I was thinking about her this morning as I brushed my teeth, for some reason. I just kept hearing her say it… “Here comes the kid!” I really liked her. Dorothy, her name was… Or maybe it was Esther. It was either Dorothy or Esther. Or Ruth. Who cares? She’s probably dead now anyway. And if she’s not, what is she gonna do – sue me? I’ll sue her ass back! The working conditions in that theatre were deplorable, and the dressing rooms were a joke. And you know what else? I don’t even think I got my last paycheck from her. Ugh, she was a nightmare. Good riddance.

Aaanyway...

Last night I crashed the opening night party for "Everyday Rapture" at the Marriott Marquis. (Don't judge. I was at the show earlier this week.) So much fun! Mazel Tov to Sherie Rene Scott and her troops on some well-deserved raves! That show and her performance in it have really stuck with me for some reason. I just think there's something terribly special about it, and I look forward to hearing news of its Tony nominations.

On Wednesday, I was at the opening of "Collected Stories", Manhattan Theatre Club's production of the 1996 play, with Linda Lavin and Sarah Paulson. I absolutely loved that, too. Fantastic book and both ladies are captivating from beginning to end. Go, go!

The after party was held at the Planet Hollywood in Times Square (because I suppose nothing's too good for Linda Lavin.......?) Odd location choice aside, it was a fun party. Check out all the fancy people I was hangin' out with!

Here I am with my new friend, the magnificent, the brilliant Charles Busch. What an honor and a delight! And for me, as well.

Why it's the lovely Jim Caruso, the lovely Stephanie J. Block, the lovely Frank DiLella and the lovely, lovely me. (I SWEAR my allergies aren't acting up in this pic... I'm just drunk.)

And no visit to Planet Hollywood would be complete without my impression of Barbra Streisand in "The Main Event". (Stephanie's pissed because I always get to play Barbra.)

Forget Your Troubles, C'mon Get Nachos!

2010-04-27T13:43:00.010-04:00

I miss the 50’s. I’m not talking about my age, assholes; I mean the 1950’s. I guess I hadn’t been born yet (I’m terrible at math, so who knows where I was) but I imagine I’d have been a lot less stressed. I also would have worn my hair in a soft bob, and had an affair with the milkman. My point is: Like the rest of humanity, I’m now at a point….Oh my god, Betty Buckley just confirmed my friend request on Facebook! This is huge. What was I saying? Oh… I’m now at a point where I’m conditioned to expect bad news and negativity on a daily basis. Like, every morning, I’ll sign on to AOL to get my mail, and the homepage will inevitably be displaying a photo of a recent natural disaster, or of someone who croaked the night before. Last week there was a photo of Tootie from “The Facts of Life” up and I freaked out! Turns out it was just a “Where Are They Now”-type article, updating us on her career. (It was a short piece, by the way. It just said she’d recently bought a cute new sweater and was off dairy.) And then just this morning, there was a picture of a bowl of guacamole. It was just a link to a tasty recipe for guacamole, but before reading the caption, I literally thought, “Oh shit, did guacamole die?!” I’m really a nervous wreck these days! I'll tell you what... If it weren't for Betty Buckley's friendship, I honestly don’t know what I would do.

If you're like me, and craving a little chicken soup for your gay souls: Sherie Rene Scott's show "Everyday Rapture" is now on Broadway, thank Christ! I first got to see it back in 2008 when it was a one-night-only BC/EFA concert performance at the Eugene O'Neill. I'd always enjoyed Sherie, of course, but not until that night did I truly realize the extent of my appreciation for her magic and brilliance. She absolutely slayed me. I thought: "One night only will not do. I need everyone to see this show! I need a cast album! I need it to be recorded in every medium! I need a vodka-tonic!" (There was an after-party, and I'd heard rumors of an open bar.) Well sure enough, it subsequently had an Off-Broadway run at Second Stage, and has now landed safely at the American Airlines Theatre. So you might say that I am single-handedly responsible for the show coming to Broadway. That's certainly the story I'm telling people. In any event, it's there where it belongs, opening officially this Thursday night.

The cast recording is available on iTunes as of today, and if you haven't already, you must! I'm gonna go try and score a little interview with Sherie for The Blahg. You wait here.... (No, it's fine. I'll just do everything myself.)

If A Girl Isn't Purrrrty

2010-04-23T17:03:00.011-04:00

How much do you think rhinoplasty on, say, a 7-year-old allegedly adorable purebred Persian-Episcopalian cat with a Jew nose would run me? I know I'll get flack for this from the ASPCA, or PETA, or the NAACP, or whichever organization opposes the cosmetic augmentation of domestic animals, but I've recently discovered the Jewiest bump on the bridge of my cat's nose and we're strongly considering having it corrected. Form whatever judgements you will about me - This cat's face is my meal ticket, and I gotta eat.

Here's a clip from the new MTV reality series called, "I'm 16 And I Just Found Out My Cat Has A Jewishy-Looking Nose, And I'm Pretty Sure It's The Reason I'm Not Getting Laid... And Pregnant". Catchy title, I think.

Mushi's Nose Job from Randy Rainbow on Vimeo.

(PS- The working title of this blog post was "Randy Schmucks Around With The Video Recording Feature On His New iPhone And Makes You Watch A 3-Minute Movie Starring His Cat")

Take A Little Time To Enjoy The Jew

2010-04-21T15:49:00.015-04:00

I was sandwiched between two bleach blonde nightmares on a crowded train this morning. "Girls", I guess you'd call them. Both had far too much makeup caked over their fake tans; MAC foundation packed into the crevices of their faces like peanut butter on celery sticks. (That sounds so good right now. I'm totally having it for a snack before lunch.) Both were dressed far too cutesy, in a way that was not remotely cute in any way. They were probably about 35, but looked more like 55 trying to look 16. In lieu of a better description, they looked like if Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen were buckets of fried chicken. (Actually, that's remarkably accurate, except they looked more like if buckets of fried chicken were Mary-Kate and Ashley.)

So there I was, stuck between a breast and a thigh, trying to ignore the obnoxious simulation of a conversation being spat back and forth over my head, when that announcement came on; the one about sexual harassment on the subway: "Ladies and Gentlemen, a crowded subway is no excuse for unlawful sexual conduct...yada-yada...Don't grab people's balls...yada-yada...Hands off the boobies...yada-yada...penises...yada." The girls paused to giggle at the bulletin, both catching my eye at the same time. "Don't worry, Ladies," I said, "You're safe with me."

They laughed at my adorable homosexual affability and impeccable comedic timing. I remained expressionless, slipping back into a safe denial of their existence, when suddenly I heard the wretched one say to the horrible one, "Isn't Whoopi soooo nice? She's always super nice to me... And did you hear what Sherri said to Joy yesterday during commercial?"

Naturally, these two schmucks work on "The View".

"Why aren't Iiiiii on my way to the set of 'The View'?" I thought. If I could just get a foot in the door over there, I'd be one step closer to my ultimate goal of being one of the ladies on the panel. That's all I want in this life! Can it really be THAT unattainable??? One of the black ladies.

Had it been an episode of "I Love Lucy", there'd have been a closeup on my face lighting up mischievously, followed by a quick cut to a long shot of the train pulling into the station, the doors parting, and me getting off wearing one of the girls' hideous outfits and a bloody wig of blonde human hair, with both girls beaten, scalped and dead on the floor of the train behind me. (I miss Lucy's quirky antics.)

New Paragraph: Last night I was at Barnes & Noble in Union Square to hear Sarah Silverman talk about her new book, "The Bedwetter". I never go to those book appearances, but I think I'm gonna start. They're cute, and even better - free. She read a chapter from the book and then did a Q&A, during which she managed to use the "C" word four times and even compared herself to Elaine Stritch. (Both of those things were exclusive of one another, but now that I'm thinking about it, didn't necessarily need to be.)

She was hysterical, of course. And even a little inspiring. I won't tell you exactly which words of wisdom she imparted, because they were spoken in a very private moment between Sarah and myself and like six hundred other rabbis, white college kids and a few Asians with cameras who had no idea who "Sah-la Sirrverman" is (she has a very diverse fan base.) I'll just say that I related to her on a number of levels. Not only because of the Jewishness, but also because she said that she's only able to write or perform when she's happy, and that she's "good-for-nothing" when depression strikes. Which is something I've always found to be-

Fuck this. I have nothing else to say.

La Vida Joto ('Joto' means 'Homo' in Spanish. My friend told me. He's Both.)

2010-03-31T13:20:00.009-04:00

Do you remember where you were the day Ricky Martin came out of the closet? I do. I was in Chelsea having my ass waxed… OK. That is probably too much information. Let me rephrase: I was SOMEWHERE BELOW 28th STREET having my ass waxed, when suddenly a lisping voice came over the loud speaker and said urgently, “We interrupt this Lady GaGa song to bring you a special report…” He of course went on to tell us the news. I blacked out. And when I came to, my Filipino wax attendant and I made passionate love for 6 minutes (what else could we do?) Nothing has been the same since.

You don’t soon forget a thing like that. It’s one of those monumental experiences that stays burned in your memory - like where you were on 9/11, or when you found out about the assassination of John F. Kennedy, or when Oprah gave away all the cars. It sticks with ya, man.

The worst part is the betrayal I felt. Remember the betrayal you felt?? I mean, you guys... "Shake your bon-bon, Shake your bon-bon"!?!? This whole time he was talking about a man's bon-bon!!

"She bangs, she bangs"!?!? Who fuckin knew that he actually meant that "HE bangs", but he was doing that weird thing that gay guys do when they refer to each other as "she"??? WTF??

Anyway, I did find it commendable that he waited to go public until his career needed a resurgence and he was virtually out of public view, with nothing to lose. I think that's how I'll eventually come out to my fan(s). (So keep your fat mouths shut until then, ya hear???)

Also! This new unauthorized Oprah biography by washed-up "poison pen" journalist Kitty Kelley has got me hysterical. I mean, I haven't read it of course, because I think it's absolute garbage ~~and also I can't read~~. But apparently it fuels the longtime rumors that Oprah's a fag, and Big O is pissed.

I enjoy gay Oprah jokes as much as the next sassy lady, but nothing makes me laugh harder than the notion that Oprah would actually be a lesbian and not tell us about it every chance she got, through every possible medium - eventually leading us all to be lesbians with her. Please. You KNOW that if Oprah's favorite thing was vagina, we would all be rush-ordering that stuff by the crate-full from Williams-Sonoma. There would be segments on the Today Show about the most affordable, low-calorie ways to prepare it.

I don't really care who's gay anymore, anyway. I really don't. Unless you're dating me, styling my hair, or Jake Gyllenhaal, your sexuality is of no importance to me. I also think that until public figures start owning their truths from the beginning, and the media stops trying to reveal those truths as scandals, the gay movement is in the turlet.

So shut the eff, Kitty!

Have a nice day.
PS - ~~I'M GAY.~~ Nevermind. I didn't say anything! Bye. Go!!!

iHear Singing And There's No One There

2010-03-29T10:56:00.013-04:00

Let me just say this: I was recently in a straight bar (like a really straight bar – the kind where they play sports on the television sets, and the women don’t need permission to speak) and after a few white wines, I actually had to (and by “had to” I mean “vitally required urgently to, as if by medical prescription”) excuse myself to the restroom to put on my headphones and listen to Lady Gaga…

That is the level of homosexuality we are dealing with here, people. I just wanted you to know. Like, it’s bad.

Seriously – Guys were pounding on the door, needing to pee, and I was like, “Hang the shit on, man!!! Just one more chorus!!! Jesus!!!”

Anyway. I know this blahg post is coming to you waaaay past deadline, and I apologize. But I have good reason for being so scarce for so long. I’ve been busy working on an exciting new business venture. I don’t really wanna get into it now – for contractual reasons, mainly – but I will say that it involves drinking and fried food… Ok, fine. I’ve been getting drunk a lot and eating lots of fried food. Ok, fine. It’s not a very good excuse. But ya know what? Who are you to judge me?!

This weekend was a real bastard. Are you sitting down? Are the children out of the room? Are you naked? My iPhone was stolen! It was late Saturday/early Sunday, and after a sensible sixteen cocktails and a few shots and one of those Mike's Hard Lemonades and maybe a nightcap, I somehow may have nodded off a little on the N train back to Astoria. I was listening to Bette Midler’s “Some People” from Gypsy '93. The last thing I remember hearing was “88 bucks, papa” and then before she could get-her-kids-OUT, the music stopped. I suddenly came to, looked down and it was gone. And I was too drunk to even get a look at the Mexican guy who took it.

Now you’re probably saying to yourselves, “Randy… That story is oddly similar to the one about how you lost your virginity.” And you’re right. The parallels are almost uncanny. However, this story has a somewhat happier ending, in that for $200 I was able to replace my iPhone.

The funny thing is that the first thought to enter my head once I realized my phone had been stolen was, Oh god. Whoever has it is going to be either really confused or really judgmental about my music collection. Like that was my only concern - that some thug is gonna be judgy about my gay musical choices. WHY, OH WHY did Bette Midler have to pop on right before it was taken!?!?

So anyway, the point is: if you happen to see a suspicious-looking hood-rat walking down the street, singing along to every version of "Rose's Turn" ever recorded... shoot to kill.

Thank you in advance for your help in this matter.

Delusional And Dirty Rich (or "Poor")

2010-03-04T12:57:00.010-05:00

I’ve been trying my goddamnedest to save money this week. But I find it almost impossible trying to save something that barely existed to begin with. If you don’t believe me, ask Jessica Simpson about her film career. Or Whitney Houston about her sobriety. But seriously, folks – I am not a woman of considerable means. In fact, in some very rich, very Jewish neighborhoods in Boca Raton, Florida, I am even considered poor. Unfortunately, I have expensive tastes and a swingin’ social life which perpetually make this sad truth a bitch of an inconvenience.

I have this little trick I always play on myself (almost subconsciously, by now) in order to relieve some of the guilt I inevitably feel about spending money. If any of you so desire, please feel free to rinse it in a little rubbing alcohol and use it on yourselves:

Let’s say I want to join some fancy friends for an expensive dinner… Or maybe there’s a cute pair of jeans I really want… Clearly, I haven’t the cash to burn on either. But why should I suffer because of that?? Instead of talking myself out of the jeans and away from the queens, I immediately begin to think of all the things I could possibly do that would be even more expensive than what I’m about to shit my money on. Like, I’ll think, “I could plan an exotic luxury vacation, or take a cruise somewhere.” Or, “I could adopt a kid. Yeah! Maybe I’ll adopt a kid! Like a really expensive, special-needs one!” Sometimes I’ll even go so far as to visit the Carnival Cruise website and price trips to Bermuda, or call adoption agencies and ask, “How much for the one with Asperger’s?”

Of course, such ideas are completely bogus. But once I even temporarily entertain these absurd notions as viable options, and factor in all the money I could potentially be spending on travel accommodations or babysitters for my fake adopted special-needs child, I feel a financial burden has been lifted when I ultimately decide not to follow through. Somehow, through the magical crazy straw of my chemically-imbalanced brain, I’ve convinced myself that I’m actually saving money, and suddenly the cost of dinner and jeans seems extremely reasonable. Hell! I’ve earned them by not doing those other really expensive things [that I had no intention of ever doing in the first place.]

Some might call this budget system a damaging and self-defeating practice in denial, but I just call it a fun little game.

It’s almost like when you’re walking down the street, feeling all down on yourself because you have gonorrhea, and suddenly a truck comes out of nowhere and almost runs you down and kills you, but then swerves at the last minute and misses. A huge wave of relief washes over you because you didn’t just die, and suddenly gonorrhea doesn’t seem so bad after all. Hell! Gonorrhea is awesome!

Ya know what I mean? It’s kind of the same thing.

I am the Suze Orman of irresponsible gay men living beyond their means.
And you're welcome.

Thank You For Being Alive

2010-02-17T11:03:00.007-05:00

The first thing I do every morning after I vomit is check my email. My first message today had come in at 7:32 A.M. and was from a friend who very rarely emails me (and who, due to his persistent aversion to employment, I assumed had never even heard of a land called 7:32 A.M.) The title of the email read “SAD NEWS”, all in caps. My thoughts instantly raced in one direction. “Oh god, no…,” I thought, looking no further, “…Betty White?!?!”

Listen. Ever since we lost Estelle Getty in '08, and then Bea Arthur just last April, I’ve been completely on edge. About Betty White and Rue McClanahan, I mean. You might say it’s why I drink so much. Some people wake up and check the papers for breaking economic news, or click on the Today Show to get the weather forecast. I, on the other hand, immediately check to make sure the surviving Golden Girls have made it through the night. If neither of their Wikipedia pages has been updated to show an expiration date, I get out of bed and brush my teeth.

Of course my fear was unfounded. The Girls are still kickin’, worse for wear. And the “sad news” my friend was delivering was just that his boyfriend had broken up with him and his dog died. Or his dog had broken up with him and the boyfriend died? I don’t know. Something. Anyway, phew! What a relief!

I was naturally running late for the train, after all the Betty White drama, and had just made it onto the platform as the doors were closing. Determined to squeeze myself into the crowd, I passed a little gas, sucked in my stomach and slipped right on. The fights started almost instantly. "You have all that room," yelled a woman to me, pointing at a 2-inch space separating myself and another passenger.

"This is the minimal distance at which I can possibly stand without involuntarily breastfeeding this gentlemen," I assured her, "and I'd like to keep it, if you don't mind."

Some horrible French man onboard who'd overheard this exchange, rolled his eyes condescendingly and said under his bad breath, "Heh! Americans!"

Can you believe?? I was so offended! I wanted to say to him, "Hey, buddy... Americans??? Does anyone on this train look American to you?? I haven't seen this many Asians since 'Nam!" Sheesh! Racist people can be so intolerant.

Jesus, I've been writing this for a while. Has anyone checked on Rue McClanahan?? Where the hell is Rue McClanahan!?!?!

#Breaking Up Is Hard To -- (I ran out of characters.)

2010-02-05T16:01:00.016-05:00

I’ve been sort of seeing this guy. Very casual/very nothing-to-write-home-about/very “leave me alone, I’m totally over you”. In fact I tried unsuccessfully to break it off with him last night over Twitter. I wrote @ him that “to everything there is a season”, and went on to tell him what a great guy he is (blah, blah, blah, bullshit). But by the time I got all that crap out of the way, I’d exceeded 140 characters and apparently the “I don’t want to date you anymore” part didn’t go through. (Yeah - like, the most important part.) So we’re going out again tonight.

*Note to self: The next time you want to quickly crush someone’s heart impersonally over a text-based microblogging service, cut to the damn chase!

What have we come to, World? Have we become so busy; so restless; so crowded by our own conversation that we can no longer even share personal thoughts among friends and loved ones (or semi-liked ones, in my case) without getting the hook faster than Elaine Stritch accepting an award? I mean, do ya mind?!?

We’ve gone from blogging our thoughts, to updating our Facebooks, to tweeting in under 200 words. I’m tellin’ ya… This “advanced technology” of ours is on a slow path right back to cave drawings. I believe that once Twitter becomes obsolete and we’ve finally exhausted our use of language entirely, we’ll begin using those schmucky little emoticons exclusively. Because why bother conveying emotion through words when you can easily send a cartoon bunny with a sad face to do the work? And then once we’ve decided we’re too “evolved” to even lift our fat, lazy fingers to a keyboard, we’ll just start expressing ourselves through belches and farts pushed out in Morse code, or something.

Nobody has the patience or interest anymore. In fact, you’ve all probably stopped reading this by now. Assholes.

What I'm saying is, we all have attention deficit disorders. I’m so hungry. Should I have a salad for – Oh! I love this song! I miss slap bracelets. Wait… What was I saying? Oh, yeah! We all have A.D.D.

And we’re much dumber now, too! For instance, I personally don’t know how to spell anymore, thanks to iPhone’s auto-correct. Seriously. I can now only spell the first three letters of words. Maybe four. After that, I’m out. Though I rely heavily on the feature now, I hated it at first. Mainly because it kept correcting all my curse words. Finally, after a year, it’s grown to recognize my filthy mouth, and instead of changing “fuck” to “duck” every time, it just gives in and says “No…it’s ok, y’all… It’s just his nasty ass again. He meant to say that.”

Even Google (an unhealthy crutch of mine to begin with) now has that auto-suggest feature, which completes phrases and topics as you type them, based on popular searches. As it is, I've been medically diagnosing myself for years using Google. Now I don't even have to go so far as to actually research my symptoms and possible maladies. If I feel an abnormal throbbing in my left ass cheek, for instance, I just type in "ABNORMAL THROBBING IN MY LEFT" and if "ASS CHEEK" pops up, that's it. No need to look any further. I know that I'm dying.

Ray, Ray, Go Away

2010-02-03T16:21:00.013-05:00

You guys, Rachael Ray just totally made me feel like an asshole. Well, not directly. She sent one of her minions to do it. I was walking down 3rd Avenue to Duane Reade for some Kaopectate and kitty litter, wondering why I'm so alone, when I was stopped by a bouncy brunette with a microphone in her hand and a big, lanky bastard with a video camera perched on his shoulder standing behind her. Interns, clearly.

"Are you a fan of Rachael Ray," asked the girl, halting me in my tracks with a Racheal Ray Show flagged mic to my chest.

"No," I said. "She irritates the shit out of me and I've never been able to sit through an entire episode of her show. I find that she produces an abnormal amount of saliva, making it nearly impossible for her to conduct an interview or baste a chicken without spewing drool all over herself or her guests or her poultry, and I find it both distracting and repulsive. I also think she might have a penis."

That's not an exact transcript. I think what I actually said was something more like, "Yeah! Totally!" So she went on to explain that they were working on Rachael's Valentine's Day show, and asked if I would like to make an on-camera love declaration to my "special someone".

Sad face.

I didn't feel like standing on 3rd Avenue and explaining to this obnoxious stranger with a camera crew that I'm single, and no, I would not like to appear on her nationally syndicated program, making a Valentine's Day love declaration to my mother. Instead I just started rambling nervously, and puking out every excuse I could come up with, all at once: "Sorry, I'm late for a-uh-uh thing... I'm not camera-ready... I'm under contract with NBC and can't appear on any other networks..."

I don't need that! Especially not from Rachael Ray's slimy spit-face!

Great, now I'm hungry for chicken.

That's So Rainbow! (A Celebration of Black History)

2010-02-02T10:38:00.009-05:00

Happy Feb'uary! I know there’s meant to be another “R” in there, but I’ve purposely left it out. For “Racism”. It’s sort of like my version of 1-800-MATTRES (save one “S” for “Savings”), only with a much more profound impact on human rights and tolerance, and without shipping and handling. And as if that weren’t enough, I’m currently writing this to you from the back of the M60 bus. That’s right. The back. Well, more towards the middle, actually. Honestly, it smells no more disgusting back here than it does up front, so I’m not entirely sure what Rosa Parks' issue was, but still… Consider these modest contributions my respectful recognition and celebration of Black History Month. “Hero”, you say? Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha – yes, I probably am.

This being my first post of the month, I’d like to take a few moments to acknowledge a few of history's most influential strong black men and women whose fearless leadership has paved the way for aspiring strong black women like myself. They are (in no particular order, and with the most important ones on top):

Malcom X
Frederick Douglass
Martin Luther King (Senior; not Junior)
Justin Timberlake
Christina Aguilera
All of the Backstreet Boys
Harriet Tubman
Oprah Winfrey (except in the films "Beloved" or "The Color Purple")
Shoshana Bean
The Queens of Comedy (especially Kathy Griffin)
Vanessa Williams
Tyra Banks (except when she does the scary "black voice”)
Maya Angelou
Mariah Carey (just her mom's side, though)
Harriet Tubman
The guy from "ROOTS" (What was his name? Oh! Lloyd Bridges.)
Phylicia Rashad (only in “August Osage County”)
Langston Hughes
~~Jesse Jackson~~ Janet Jackson
So Journer Truth (I’m not sure who she was, but I think she had a show on the Disney Channel before Raven-Symone. Like “That’s So Journer!”, or something.)
Don King
Gayle King
Larry King
Harriet Tubman
Mrs. Butterworth
Vanessa Williams on "Ugly Betty"
Vanessa Williams in "A Diva's Christmas Carol"
*PLEASE WRAP IT UP*
um... Harriet Tubman (Was that actually a real person?)
OH! And Princess Tiana from "The Princess and the Frog" - Disney's first EVER Africanimated-American princess (but only the parts where she's a frog)

Finally, I dedicate this post not only to President Barack Obama (Lloyd Bridges is pictured to your right), but to all the African American presidents out there... be they man or woman; white or half-black.

Thank you, my beautiful black brothers and sisters. This month, we with less rhythm celebrate you. We are humbled and inspired by your legacy and we graciously honor your courageous and ongoing efforts toward equality. Just don't get too used to it, because next month we go right back to normal. Mmkay?

*The blahg post you've just read was intended strictly for comedic and entertainment purposes. If you've been personally offended by it, you can take it up with any one of my many, many black friends. They're all personally offended by me, too.

Lady Caca

2010-01-28T15:03:00.008-05:00

May I make a bold recommendation to you, my faithful (yet potentially irregular) bloggities? Nature’s Path cereal. It’s my new brand. I’ve been eating a bowl every morning, and look at me! I’m gorgeous, no? It comes in a variety of flavors – all delicious and all incredibly high in fiber. At the risk of sounding crass, I’d never been down Nature’s Path before, but it apparently leads directly to my turlet. TMI? Perhaps. But I figure if Oprah can talk so freely about her royal digestive system, I owe it to my fan(s) to do the same. And, kids, I haven’t been this regular since the night before I interviewed Liza Minelli, if you get my meaning. It’s available now wherever organic foods are sold, so runs – don’t trots!

That concludes my disgusting health report. Next week I’ll be broadcasting a live stream of my pap smear. (Can I even have one of those?)

Ok, I have an admission. I am just now getting very much into Lady Gaga. I know. I missed the gay boat on this one by about 47 hundred years. What will I discover next? Cher? Cosmopolitans? My attraction to other men? I know. But I’m super stubborn when it comes to mainstream pop culture. You know I “roll old skool”. But with all the hype and her recent appearances, it was only a matter of time. Plus, I’d never seen her interviewed until she did Oprah last week, and I thought she was so articulate and intelligent. And I have that sort of grandma mentality about artists like her... It’s not enough to enjoy the music; I also have to be convinced that she is well-spoken, gracious, and above all, polite to Oprah. I was very impressed. That girl’s certainly got a head on her shoulder pads.

So I’m officially converted. I’m totally cool now. Please stop calling me cruel names and throwing wet tampons at me on the playground. My mother said.

In other, arguably more important news than my fiber intake and lagging affections for gay music icons: My BFF - Broadway’s one and only Tituss Burgess - will be appearing at The Metropolitan Room for the next two Sundays (1/31, 2/7 @ 9:30PM) in a gorge new show he's calling "Tituss Stripped - Who Needs A Band?" If you're stupid and don't already have tix, CLICK HERE at once!

I'll be there this coming Sunday. It would behoove you to catch that particular performance, as I will most likely be joining Tituss onstage in a rousing rendition of the Judy/Barbra "Happy Days/Get Happy" duet. (Mind you, he has not in any capacity invited me to do so, but once he sees all this free press, I don't suspect it will be an issue..)

Make Room For Daddy (or "Mama, A Homo")

2010-01-12T12:33:00.011-05:00

In the checkout line at Duane Reade this morning, an adorable little black girl in pigtails pointed right to me as she tugged on her mother’s skirt and cried delightedly, “Look, Mommy! It’s Beyonce!”

[That did not actually happen. But it should have.]

Moving on...

One of my goals for 2010 is to clean up my personal cyber space by consolidating my hundreds of online social networks, and deleting any profiles I no longer need/want/use. Because honestly… What am I hanging on to that fakakte MySpace page for? My grandchildren? I’m cutting the cord and cleaning house.

And Friendster!! Remember her?? She was popular sometime between the Eisenhower administration and legwarmers. She’s pretty much extinct. (I don’t know why I’m suddenly doing that gay feminizing-all-my-pronouns thing and referring to Friendster as "her", but I guess I’m just trying to make a point.) I actually signed into Friendster yesterday, just for shits. There were dust and cobwebs everywhere, the linoleum was all warped and coming up at the corners, and everyone was wearing pompadours and poodle skirts in their profile pictures. And all my black friends’ profiles were separated from my white friends’ profiles. It was totally offensive. Anyway… DELETE, DELETE, DELETE!

Speaking of online social networking… The state of my Facebook has got me in a tizzy; specifically, the “live news feed”; and more specifically, my old-ass friends. They keep posting pictures of their newborns and small children, and their status updates are suddenly all about potty-training and breastfeeding. When did this happen? I’m too young for all my friends to be parents, right??? (That was rhetorical, Rose.) It also makes me feel like an asshole, because here I am still posting pictures of my cat, and still potty-training myself not to wet the bed after a late night of drinking. And the only breastfeeding I’m doing is… (actually, I don’t have an analogy for that one… I don’t go near the things.) The point is, my friends' shameless flaunting of their children is making me feel like an old spinster, and I'd prefer the little ~~shits~~ darlings be kept well-hidden until Auntie Randy comes to terms with reality.

I make myself feel better by reminding myself that children are just not in the cards for me. It's not my thing. I don't want children... (do I??)

Every once in a while, I'm caught off-guard and find myself second-guessing my personal "no children" policy. Like on my walk to work this morning, when I spotted a man about half a block away, pushing a stroller in my direction. The man seemed so incredibly joyful, stopping helplessly every few steps to lean down and sing to the baby or tickle it a little. His smile could not have been broader, and he seemed completely unaffected by the crazed street crowd surrounding him, fighting and pushing and cursing its way down Lexington Avenue. It was clear that for this man, the only two people who existed on the planet at this particular time were himself and his precious child; this tiny little extension of his own heart. Even in the frigid cold, I felt a sudden warmth from within myself. It is times like these that the love between father and child overwhelms me so that I begin questioning if perhaps this miraculous blessing is one I too would one day like to experience.

As the proud father came closer to pass me, I noticed that he was actually a really dirty homeless man, and the contents of the stroller he pushed were not a baby at all, but in fact a six-pack of beer and a few stray rolls of toilet paper, covered by a smelly old coat with holes in it.

Oh, well. My "no children" policy is thankfully still firmly intact, but I'm definitely gonna have a couple of beers after work.

OH! And I have to remember to buy toilet paper before I go home tonight...

toilet paper, toilet paper, toilet paper, toilet paper, toilet paper

All Abhorred!

2010-01-06T10:43:00.010-05:00

I still can’t believe we’re already in 2010 (oh’10). What the frick?!? I always feel a little blue the first week of the New Year. I know it’s designed to be a time of renewal and fresh starts, but I guess it’s seeing all the unlit holiday decorations still hung past their prime that depresses me a little… Even the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center looks as though it’s stayed a little too long at the fair by the 5th of January. It reminds me of myself the morning after Halloween: still dimly lit, and still gaudily dressed (usually in second-rate drag, with my wig on backwards and one false eyelash hanging on for dear life.) Sad remnants of a more festive time... Ah, well. Valentine’s Day is just around the corner. (Ugh. Now I’m really nauseous.)

I heard a new automated announcement on the subway this morning: “Ladies and Gentleman, remember… A crowded subway car is no excuse for inappropriate or unlawful sexual conduct.”

Um… Actually, it’s a perfect excuse. And it's the only reason I still use public transportation.

I looked around to catch everyone’s reaction to the bulletin. Three middle-aged, touristy-looking soccer moms turned red with embarrassment and began to chatter feverishly off-topic, hoping to block out the awkwardness of having just heard the word “sexual” announced over a loudspeaker before 9AM. A rotund business man who’d already been sweating profusely (despite the 20 degree weather he’d just escaped) began to drip harder and buried his big bald head deeper into his newspaper. The three sassy gay guys to my left, however, just grinned and giggled to one another. Naturally. They'd probably done it three times since they boarded the train. (Do not talk to the gays about an excuse for inappropriate and unlawful sexual conduct. We could find one at an autopsy.)

I personally found the announcement thoroughly amusing, needless to say, but also a little offensive. I mean, first they hike the train fare and now they try to take away our subway sex??? What’s next, New Yorkers? No television in our cabs?? No moist towelettes with our chicken wings at Hooters??? My, how times have changed since I was a classy young lady.

*fart*

Victoria's Secret

2010-01-04T09:10:00.004-05:00

Happy New Year, Bloggities! This is gonna be a big year. I can feel it in my uterus. I'm already busy making plans for 2010, and I'm sharing them with you. Check out my video blahg below! I think you'll find it motivational as well as informative. (And perhaps even a little erotic, depending on which prison cell you're joining us from.)

Randy Rainbow "Vision Board" from Randy Rainbow on Vimeo.

Frankly, Tiger, I Don't Give a Sh*t

2009-12-16T10:11:00.013-05:00

I am so sick to death of Tiger Woods and his harem of ho-bags. If I have to hear once more about how shocked and betrayed America is by this whole thing, I’m gonna vomit golf bawllz. I mean, come now… Professional athletes behaving unfaithfully to their wives? What’s next? Asians taking a lot of pictures? Homeless people shitting themselves? Get over it, everybody!

And PS - Santa Claus is a recovering alcoholic and the Tooth Fairy's a big dyke. Let's pick up the pieces and move on.

Anyway, I don't wanna think about that anymore today. I'll think about it tomorrow. Which reminds me... This week marks the 70th Anniversary of the release of the now-classic Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Technicolor extravaganza "Gone With the Wind". Can you imagine?? 70 years ago! I was only like 6 years old, or something. (My math could be wrong.)

I'll never forget the first time I saw it. I was actually around 11 when I watched my grandmother's VHS copy, and I quickly became obsessed. It'll come as no surprise that I felt an immediate connection to the character of Scarlett O'Hara, as played by Vivien Leigh. She was a strong-willed man-crazy spitfire with a phony Southern accent - just like me! I was smitten.

Some little boys had Michael Jordon; I had Scarlett O'Hara.

Imagine my elation when just a year later, I saw a commercial for an up-coming TV mini-series based on the sequel to the novel "Gone with the Wind" called "Scarlett", starring Joanne Whalley in the title role. Great balls of fire! I'd never been so excited about anything. I think I printed up invitations for a viewing party in my living room and handed them out to my stuffed animals. (Boys will be boys!) I walked around the house for a week before it aired, wearing my mother's leather gloves, carrying a Minnie Mouse parasol, saying "Fiddle-dee-dee!" and reciting lines I'd memorized from the TV promos like, "I, sir, am a woman of considerable means!" Then I'd storm out of the room.

My poor parents were so terribly confused by all this. I remember my father kept asking me, "What are you supposed to be, exactly?" Well, if he didn't know, I certainly wasn't about to explain it to him. I, sir, was a woman of considerable means.

Anyway, the point is: I'm gay. Always have been.

I hope I haven't shattered any more of your idealistic fantasies today.

Happy 70th, GWTW!!!

Love,
Scarlett O'Faygehleh

Do You See What I See?

2009-12-08T12:41:00.008-05:00

You know those big scary soldiers dressed head-to-toe in camouflage who march around Grand Central and Times Square with their big scary guns and big scary helmets? Maybe I’m just not getting the big picture here, but I don’t think they really are fully grasping the concept of camouflage. Because, you guys… I can totally still see them. In fact, I find that outside of any sort of desert or grassland situation, the camouflage battle dress only enhances their prominence. And I’m not even like a terrorist or a jungle snake or anything. They should probably be dressing up to look like Rosetta Stone kiosks or the exterior of Starbucks; not twigs and bushes. I'm almost positive it would be less conspicuous and aid in the illusion. The full-out army fatigues just seem a little douchey when we're, say, in Barnes and Noble.

Meanwhile, I'm finally getting into the holiday spirit! (And I don't mean like "Hanukkah" or "Kwanzaa" or "Secretary's Day". I mean the real holiday.) Mariah Carey's Christmas album has been working overtime on my iPod since Thanksgiving, and I'm living! I've always gotten shit from a lot of my anti-Semitic friends about my extensive Christmas music collection (cuz of the Jewishness), but I stand by it.

And Mariah's not the only deev giving me the Christmas crunchies these days... I recently got a double dose of holiday homo happiness at Birdland. Stephanie J. Block and Christine Ebersole (with the great Billy Stritch) each sold out holiday concerts there last week, and I crashed 'em both. So incredible! The Christine/Billy concert has become something of a Christmas tradition for me, as this was my third year in attendance, and let me just say this: if those two have not released a Christmas album by this time next year, I will climb to the top of the Christmas tree at Rockerfeller Plaza and leap to my death, crushing Meredith Vieira live on the Today Show. That might sound overdramatic, but it really is vital! Billy Stritch's arrangements are so fantastic! (BTW - The gorge Brent Barrett is celebrating his new Xmas album at Birdland on 12/13 and 12/14. Hit it!)

Check out me and the exquisite Stephanie Block. We're using this one for our Christmas cards this year.

God, look how radiant she is! (Stephanie, too.)

Lactose Intolerance (or "MMOOOOve Over!")

2009-12-04T11:06:00.014-05:00

What a week, man. TV's Meredith Baxter came out of the closet; Tiger Woods got caught effin' around; New York senate rejected the bill to legalize gay marriage; and according to paparazzi photos released a few days ago, that guy Jared from those Subway commercials has totally put the weight back on. Needless to say, I’m feeling most betrayed and disheartened by the whole Jared thing.

As for the gays: I would like to repost a quote that I tweeted-ed-ed on Wednesday, upon hearing the news. It is by the Nobel Prize-winning British philosopher Bertrand Russell, and those of you who follow me regularly know that I often quote Nobel Prize-winning British philosophers (*hold for silence and confusion*).

Russell said: “Collective fear stimulates herd instinct, and tends to produce ferocity toward those who are not regarded as members of the herd.” I love this. I think it encapsulates perfectly what gays are dealing with on this issue, and on a larger scale, what the human race is dealing with on this planet. We, like most species, are ruled by fear – our own, as well as that belonging to those around us. We’re frustrated and we're scared, because after all our time spent here, we still do not have all the answers. No one here has all the answers. Seriously... even Oprah does not have all the fucking answers. It's horrifying. We take our evolution for granted, forgetting that we are still works in progress. And instead of humbly accepting our deficiencies and remaining open to further devolopment, we let instinctive fear take over, and it quickly generates combative ignorance and intolerance for things/people/ideas we just don’t recognize or understand. It's no more than a selfish, stifling defense mechanism to preserve idealized notions that do not exist, but that are familiar, and it's a damn shame that it dictates as it does. I guess until all those panicked homophobe republican closet-cows die out of the herd, we’ll just have to keep tipping their fat asses one by one. (Moo with me.)

Speaking of gay cows, let’s get back to me… I was home in Flaaariduh last weekend for the Holiday. My parents have left my childhood bedroom untouched. It's like the SmithsFAGian Institute. It is a wall-to-wall shrine of everything Broadway and Barbra, and it remained so throughout high school. I would like to share a few pictures, and also to pose this question to the general public: How in the hell did my family have the nerve to act even the slightest bit surprised when I came out??? I mean, look at this decor! They should just consider themselves lucky that I'm not a post-op transexual touring with the Ice Capades by now!

Here is my closet. That's right - this is the actual closet that I came out of. And what a way to make an entrance. Just around the corner is where I kept my extensive CD collection of Broadway cast recordings. (I only listened to them for the articles...)

Yes, I painted the Manhattan skyline around the entire room. And yes, that is a giant poster of Barbra above my bed. I used wish on it every night that I would one day become her... Any day now.

Keep fightin' the fight, my sexy little cows!
Love,
"The Bovine Miss R"
XOXO

Huey, Dewey, and Jewy

2009-11-23T09:05:00.001-05:00

I recently broke into Chad Kimball's dressing room at the Shubert Theatre and forced him to spend some quality time with me. Check out my video blahg with Chad below. We're talkin' MEMPHIS, upcoming projects, and even Oprah!

Randy Rainbow with Chad Kimball from "MEMPHIS" from Randy Rainbow on Vimeo.

MEMPHIS is currently playing @ Broadway's Shubert Theatre.
CLICK HERE to see the show's fun new commercial.

Everybody Wants to Be Black (or "The Whiz")

2009-11-19T11:36:00.011-05:00

Last night I saw a perfectly normal, lucid-looking woman in heels and a really ugly beige tweed skirt suit put down her bag, pull down her hose, lift up her skirt and pee right on the sidewalk of 9th Avenue.

The reason I'm telling you this, is because what initially shocked me about this woman - the thing I found most appalling and disturbing about this entire remarkable situation...was the really ugly beige tweed skirt suit. Seriously. I frankly did not even consider the fact that she was takin' a leak on a crowded New York street in front of a Ray's Pizza until maybe a block later. Does this perhaps mean I've lived in this city too long? Perhaps it does.

But enough about pee! Let's talk about you... Whadda you think of pee? *RIMSHOT* (Bad joke? Perhaps it was.) But for reals... Let us move away from golden sidewalk showers and onto the Golden theatre, which is where I was on Tuesday night to see David Mamet's Oleanna, starring Bill Pullman and Julia Stiles.

If you don't know, Oleanna (a revival of the original early 90's off-Broadway production) focuses on the power struggle between a university professor awaiting tenure, and the troubled female student who ultimately accuses him of sexual harassment and exploitation. It's a really interesting examination of human interaction and the powers of language and perception. I've always enjoyed Bill Pulman, and he's excellent in this; Julia as well. While she's arguably a bit dignified for the role, I thought she held an impressive balance between ballbusting hellion and afflicted little girl playing with fire, afraid to get burned. The show recently announced a January 3 closing, so get on it!

And last night, I was at the Shubert to see Memphis. Loved it! In fact, there's a song in the first act that won't leave my head, called "Everybody Wants to Be Black". I've been walking around town singing it full out to myself all day. It's a wonder I haven't been shot yet. Anyhoo, it's a fabulously uplifting show with some really exciting performances, including that of its star, adorable Chad Kimball. I'll be dropping by Chad's dressing room later this week for an exclusive Blahg interview. (Fancy, no?) Stay tuned for it!

The Lady Singin' Her Song (or "Baby Weight", or "Baby... Wait!")

2009-11-17T13:22:00.020-05:00

I woke up retardedly early this morning and schlepped to the gym for a rare pre-work workout (the least I could do after single-drunkenly killing off that bottle of wine with dinner last night.) It’s no secret that the neighborhood gym I attend is somewhat ghetto-ass. While my schmancy Crunch-dwelling fag friends brag about their glamorous, airbrushed Chelsea workouts alongside Anderson Cooper or Cheyenne Jackson, I’m at the Astoria Sports Complex in Queens, bench pressing phone books under harsh lighting with Philippe, the guy who makes my Souvlaki at the diner down the street. Don’t judge. I pay $7 for a year membership, and both treadmills get unlimited Telemundo (only when the treadmill part isn’t running.) But I digress…

Another perk of my dinky hetero Souvlaki gym is the alleviation of any pressure or expectation to look especially cute there. Torn t-shirts and comfortable sweats will always suffice. (Who am I trying to impress? Philippe??) Luckily, I looked at least half presentable this morning, though, because amidst the sea of busboys and meatheads, a very pleasant surprise: a handsome dirty blonde lovely on the chest fly machine totally checkin me out. I flashed him a half smile through the cracked mirror hanging above the free weights area, ducking a little bit to make sure I could be seen behind the lopsided "WANTED: RAPIST" sign that had been taped there (complete with black and white forensic sketch.)

I carried on with my workout, trying to look as sexy as possible (as sexy as one could look lifting 3-pound Barbie weights) and praying for perhaps a vein to show itself or a hidden muscle to suddenly sprout from my lady arms and impress my new friend. No such luck. But that's ok! He seemed to be holding interest! I was just about to flash another smile - this time with teeth (slut!) - when I felt a hand on my back and heard a deep voice say, "Hey, do you mind if I work in with you?"

*For those of you less-jockish types, "can I work in with you" is what "dudes" say to other "dudes" at the gym when they want to alternate on a particular piece of equipment in a semi-unconsciously homoerotic effort to save time. It's uber macho, so I was feeling totally butch...

I turned to accept, praying that it was him, but found instead that the deep voice asking to use my weights had in fact come from a 4-foot-nothing middle-aged woman, about 14 months pregnant. That's a real blow to the male ego, especially with my hot new fake boyfriend watching the whole thing play out. "Sure, pregnant lady," I said, "jump on in...dude." She proceeded to talk my ear off for ten minutes, making it almost impossible for me to flirt with blondie, who was just kind of laughing at "mommy and me" by this point.

I'd finally finished my last set with my prenatal weights and was about to peace out to Preggers, when she stopped me short. "Dear, would you mind spotting me," she asked as she lay her huge pregnant ass on the bench and grabbed for the barbell. ARE YOU KIDDING ME, EXTREMELY PREGNANT LADY?? DO YOU REALLY NEED TO BE BENCH PRESSING RIGHT NOW? YOU'RE CROWNING DOWN THERE! I SEE A HEAD! AND AN ARM! AND PS - I'M TOTALLY TRYING TO FLIRT WITH THE POSSIBLE FUTURE FATHER OF MY POSSIBLE FUTURE ADOPTED ASIAN BABIES! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!

So I spotted her. She talked a blue streak for another ten minutes. What she said, I don't know. I kept looking back, hoping to reconnect with new boyfriend, but by then he'd completely lost interest - in me and the rest of the Expectant Mothers of Astoria Workout Group.

Anyway, the point is: I am still boyfriendless. But Nancy and I are going to Lamaze next Thursday.

(call me, blondie. I love you.)

BLAHGCAST: It's Not Britney, B*tch!

2009-11-13T15:39:00.012-05:00

Carly Jibson - one of my fave Tracy Turnblads in Hairspray history and star of Broadway's Cry-Baby - is telling all on November 16 in her hot new show Not a Bitch...Not Yet a Woman at Joe's Pub. Click below to hear us bitching all about it in my latest Blahgcast.

Not a Bitch...Not Yet a Woman @ Joe's Pub (425 Lafayette Street)
Monday, November 16 @ 11:30PM
For tickets, go to www.joespub.com or call 212-967-7555

Kibbles 'n T*ts

2009-11-10T18:02:00.008-05:00

I know gay people don’t get to go to Heaven… those nice folks with the bad haircuts and Bibles on the N train keep reminding me. But if there were such a thing as Gay Heaven, I might have been there last night. Bernadette Peters did a one-night-only concert at the Minskoff theatre to benefit Broadway Cares and Broadway Barks, and I was there! Jealous??? Perfect.

First of all, I know that as a gay I’m legally required to say this, but Bernadette looks effing incredible! Like, I can’t get over it. The woman is 600 years old if she’s a day and has not yet visibly hit puberty. I don’t know what she’s doing, nor would I dare ask questions. All I know is that whatever it is, it’s working overtime and I hope to Christ that I look that good when I’m Bernadette Peters. I think Bob Mackie is doing her face work.

She of course wore a Mackie original, into which she looked as though she’d been poured perfectly through a funnel. Stunning! Although, she did say it had been specially designed for the evening and I have to call her out and say that it very closely resembled the same Mackie gown that she’s been wearing for almost every concert appearance since her Sondheim, Etc. concert in ’96 (and that I’m fairly sure I saw her grocery shopping in on more than one occasion at The Food Emporium.) I’m not upset about it; I just think Bob Mackie is bullshitting a little and Bernadette may have cataracts. Whatever. She looked gorgeous, and center stage of the Minskoff, surrounded by an adoring assembly of her biggest fans and most well-respected peers the likes of Stephen Sondheim, Arthur Laurents, Martin Short, Barbara Walters, Hugh Jackman and myself, seemed as epic and iconic a figure as the Statue of Liberty gleaming atop her pedestal in New York Harbor - if the Statue of Liberty sang Sondheim medleys and had better boobs.

The show opened with a charmingly under-rehearsed Into the Woods bit, featuring a few original cast members and Bernadette’s brilliant Broadway Barks co-founder Mary Tyler Moore as “the narrator”. (Mary had no idea where she was, bless her heart.) Bernadette segued from the prologue into “Greens, Greens” and I, like every other fanatical theatre nerd in the audience, began having contractions and going into labor. I mean, how exciting!?

The rest of the evening was just as fulfilling, and included all the greats: “Being Alive” (or “Being Aliii-VUH!”, as BP does it), “Not a Day Goes By”, “Johanna”, “Some People” and a brilliant "Rose's Turn" encore, as well as a few new treats like “Losing My Mind”, "Buddy's Eyes" and a titillating rendition of “Fever” sung slinkily atop the piano. I’ve been trying to recreate the choreography atop my desk at work all day, but to no avail. And for the first time ever in concert, she delighted us with "Children and Art" from Sunday in the Park (another water-breaking/contractions moment.) She was in exeptional voice.

I'd like to tip my tiara to the evening’s director, Richard Jay-Alexander. Evidently a fan himself, that gay knows what audiences want and sees that we get it. Having helmed past concert performances for Bernadette, as well as for Bette and Barbra, he is proof positive that even the most iconic gay icons never outgrow their need for a good gay at the reins. Richard also co-directed Barbra's most recent farewell-ish tour, which paid such satisfying homage to Funny Girl and 60's Babs... and you KNOW that without some fag to set her straight, Barbra would just be up there talking about her fakakte roses and singing through the "Higher Ground" album. And who wants to hear that shit? Keep up the fine work, R-Jay!

Bernadette's after party was at the intimate Blue Fin in Times Square. It was a lovely and fagulous time, though BP completely ignored me the entire night... I don't wanna talk about it.

"..VUH!"

Finishing the Flat

2009-10-28T12:24:00.013-04:00

One of my favorite things - aside from macraméing, the smell of fresh linen, making homemade bath soaps, and binge drinking - is interior painting. You didn't know that about me, did you? It's inexpensive, it relieves stress, and I think it's the most important thing one can do to enhance one's home next to flushing the toilet.

I know a lot about these things. My middle name is Stewart, and for a good reason - I was named after the iconic diva of domestic living and goddess of good housekeeping... Mary Stuart Masterson.

This past weekend, I repainted my living room and I wanted to share the gorge results with you. The color is called "wood violet". It kind of looks like violet, but with wood. I'm really happy with it. The centerpiece of the wall is my framed print of Seurat's "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte", the inspiration for Sondheim's Sunday in the Park with George. Notice how the new color exactly matches the color of Bernadette Peters' dress in the painting. (Don't you love how I actually think the woman in the painting is Bernadette Peters? Obviously I know it isn't, really. Bernadette was out of the show the day it was painted. The woman in the painting is actually her understudy. Fun fact!)

In somewhat related and much more exciting news: My ticket to Bernadette Peters' November 9th BC/EFA concert at the Minskoff arrived today! I'm so excited, I could bust outta my Bob Mackie gown!

Precious Moments and Jelly Doughnuts (or "The Emancipation of Meeskite")

2009-10-27T13:11:00.012-04:00

It’s begun. I’ve started eating nothing but crap. Cookies, candy, ice cream... anything that's put in front of me. I love the week leading up to Halloween, don't you? You can eat all the sugar your enlarged heart desires and not feel guilty! It’s like skipping the gym while you’re on vacation, or gay prison sex; it totally doesn't count!

Speaking of Shallowqueen, I’ve narrowed my costume options down to just two: I’m either going to reprise last year’s sensation and go as “Kathy”, the drunk, promiscuous trick-or-treater mom (she was very popular – especially with the cab drivers), or as Precious, the obese and lovable African American protagonist from the upcoming Oprah-produced motion picture of the same name. Both have their perks, but I think I’ll probably stick with “Kathy”. After my week of candy binging I’d have to lose 15 pounds just to fit into the Precious costume.

And speaking of obese and lovable, the other night, I had my first encounter with Dylan’s Candy Bar, the monster candy warehouse owned by Ralph Lauren’s daughter on the Upper East Side. And it was an encounter of the most intimate kind. A few friends and I shared some amazing peanut butter cup ice cream creation with extra whipped cream and two scoops of shame and regret. (And by “shared” I mean I ate the entire thing myself while my friends pointed at me and laughed.) Anyway, it's my new favorite place. Ironic, though, that Ralph Lauren should be the creator of the slim-fit chino and skinny jean, while his daughter is the creator of love handles. But I digress…

We were there killing time (and our waistlines) before an advanced screening of "Precious", which, through the haze of my sugar coma, I really enjoyed. Based on the 1996 novel “Push” by Sapphire, "Precious" tells the story of overweight, illiterate 16-year-old Claireece “Precious” Jones and her persevering struggle to survive and thrive in 1980’s Harlem after twice being impregnated by her own father, as she endures the unrelenting abuse of her welfare mother. Needless to say, I have not personally related so strongly to a leading character since "Yentl".

Newcomer Gabourey Sidibe is heartbreaking in the title role. She, along with her entire supporting cast, gives one of the most raw and fearless performances I've seen onscreen in a while; Comedienne Mo'Nique, with whom I've had an arguably unnatural obsession for many years (just ask the African American checkout diva at Blockbuster who blatantly judges me every time I rent "The Queens of Comedy"), is standout as the self-destructive mother. She's already receiving Oscar buzz, and once you see her final scene in the movie, you won't ask questions; Mariah Carey makes a commendable cameo as a native New York social worker who, to be generous, does not share Mariah's real-life affections for cleavage and Cover Girl Cosmetics. Completely stripped of her glitz, glam and good lighting, she goes au naturel for the first time in her glittery career. I'm not saying she looks bad, I'm just saying that if anyone deserves an Academy Award for "Precious", it's Mariah's lovely husband Nick Cannon. However, MC does a nice little acting job and I applaud her bravery. (Maybe next time she's gonna be so brave, she can wear a little foundation.)

The movie opens to average joe's like yourselves on November 6. Don't miss it! It's intense, so bring ice cream.

I'm gonna go try on my spandex leggings.

Xanax and Candy Corn,
"Kathy"

Lady of the Lake (or "Oh Look... There Goes My Old Fur Coat!")

2009-10-22T12:58:00.009-04:00

Jesus needs better publicity, Y’all. I was joined on the train last night by a nine-foot-a-hundred man with bad clothes, bad hair, bad breath, and an even worse attitude. He was waving a bible in the air and yelling at me (well, not just at me, but you know how personally I take these things) that Jesus was returning and that he was crazy mad at us for all the sinning and gay sex and stuff, and that we’d better prepare to burn in the Lake of Fire. How does one prepare for that, exactly? I went straight home and ordered a new bathing suit online – It’s really cute.

Why are these eccentric Jesus fans always so negative about His big comeback? I miss the days when we’d celebrate the return of Jesus by driving him down 6th Avenue on a big float for the finale of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. (Different guy?) Anyway, they always make him sound like a real A-hole, and I find it an unfortunate representation of someone they claim to love so much. I’m sorry, but the god I pray to is nothing to be afraid of. My god only brings peace and joy. My god is not so quick to judge people for their differences and would never be so discriminatory or so violent. The god I pray to is a forgiving and happy god. And I think especially since 1998, when she married James Brolin. She just seems happier.

Also, when my god makes a comeback, it’s usually with a new album or a concert in an air-conditioned arena; never with the threat of eternal damnation in fiery waters.

Speaking of… This past weekend, Babs auctioned off precious items from three of her homes, raising more than $600,000 for her nonprofit organization. If you haven’t already, check out the auctioned items on Julien’s website. It’s quite spectacular. Apparently, the wig she wore in “On a Clear Day” went for a whopping $3,500. Seems like an excessive amount of money to spend on a wig. However, Halloween comes but once a year and I have quite a few costume contests to sew up. Wait’ll ya see it on me!

In other, non-Barbra related news: I’m very excited about my next few nights. This evening, I’ll be attending a screening of the new Oprah-produced film “Precious”, starring newcomer Gabourey Sidibe, the brilliant Mo’Nique, and my darling Mariah Carey in harsh lighting with no makeup (which, from what I’ve seen of her in the trailer, is actually just Sean Connery in really good lighting.)

And Tomorrow night, I’ll be seeing the first preview of one of my favorite shows of all time, Ragtime. I’m so excited, I could plotz! Ah-weeeeeeeeeeee!

If there’s free WiFi in the Lake of Fire, I’ll let you know how it all turns out.

Tickle Me Barbra

2009-10-05T09:18:00.020-04:00

I've just awoken from the most horrible dream: I was in Chicago (the city, not the musical... wait, it gets worse.) I was in the studio audience of the Oprah show, and Oprah had just ~~announced~~ bellowed that we were to be part of her annual "Favorite Things" episode. Naturally, we all became hysterical and began jumping up and down and crying and ripping the weaves from our scalps, just like Oprah's real studio audience always does when they learn there will be a giveaway. Only once the show finally got underway, our elation dissolved when we realized that Oprah's favorite things this year were dental floss, adult diapers and Kraft American Cheese Singles. I looked this up in my dream dictionary and it says it means that I have most likely been setting myself up for disappointment in my relationships with Oprah. Admittedly, I do need to work on that.

But speaking of favorite things and the spirit of giving... It is not even Halloween yet, and that can mean only one thing... CHRISTMAS! At least according to all the Rite Aid drugstores in my neighborhood which have already begun plugging in their artificial fiber optic Christmas trees and hockin' their Holiday crap. It really bugs me that stores start with this in October! It's an offensively blatant marketing plot designed to trick an entire nation of poor hardworking schmucks who don't know any better into emptying their wallets and falling deeper into financial ruin, thus perpetuating the gross commercialization of what should be a sacred and spiritually prosperous time of year. It offends me, personally, and I refuse to take any part in it.

In other, completely unrelated news, I've recently begun Christmas shopping! (The Christmas tree at Rite Aid reminded me that I'd better get a head start.) I've been reading all the online lists of "2009's Hottest Toys" to better prepare myself. Here are a few of my faves (keep your weaves in; I'm not giving anything away):

Apparently Zhu Zhu Pets (left) have been christened "the Tickle Me Elmo of 2009." The plush interactive hamster dolls offer all the fun of an actual rodent pet, without the infectious diseases and shitting. I find this one incredibly lame. I want four of them. Not to be outdone, the makers of Tickle Me Elmo are quickly releasing the Tickle Me Elmo Extreme TMXXX. In addition to having bonus tickle points behind the neck, under the arms and in every major erogenous zone, the Tickle Me Elmo TM Triple-X comes complete with condoms and is capable of full-on intercourse. And when you "tickle" him, he not only laughs but recounts the disturbing rape confessions graphically described in chapters 2, 6, 9, 13 and 24 of Mackenzie Phillips' new memoir, "High On Arrival." (And chapter 28.)

There's also a controversial new line of black Barbie dolls out this week called "So In Style". The ghetto-fab new Barbie has many calling Mattel racist as they feel it is a stereotypical misrepresentation of young black youth in America. Apparently they all come with big earrings, flashy bling, a home pregnancy test, criminal record and an unexplained blonde lock of white Barbie's hair. I think they're just adorable! I need the collection. (Picture on left: This is Trichelle and her "little sister"/daughter Janessa. Trichelle has a gun.)

And finally, for the most amazing toy of 2009 (or quite possibly of life...) Mattel is releasing a limited edition Barbra Streisand doll in November, done up in the style of her appearance on the Judy Garland Show in 1963. Brilliant! I just hope kids today realize how good they have it... In my day, little boys didn't have Barbra Streisand dolls. When we wanted to reenact "Funny Girl" or play "My Name Is Barbra" we were forced to draw jew noses and trim page boy hairstyles on our Malibu Barbies and sew our own little mini sailor blouses with limp bows and black pencil skirts with slits up the side. We've come a long way, Fags! (I need at least eleven of these.)

MERRY OCTOBER! GET TO SHOPPING!
XOXO

I Can Get It for You No Sale

2009-09-29T11:52:00.010-04:00

HAPPY DAYS! I’m LIT’rally just off the plane from Florida. I took a trip down this weekend to spend time with my family for the holiest of all Jewish Ccchhhallah-days, Yom Kippur; the day of atonement traditionally observed by Jews with a twenty-five hour fast and extensive prayer in the synagogue. In the tradition of my family, however, it was observed with extensive drinking and a three-course meal at the Macaroni Grill. What can I say? Siamo molto cattivi poplo ebraico. (That means “we are very bad Jews” in Italian… I learned it in the bathroom of the Macaroni Grill on Yom Kippur.)

I’m thrilled to be back in New York, and even more so that autumn has begun to show her ass. I live for autumn, especially here. Of all the seasons, it gives me the greatest sense of renewal and fresh beginnings. Once Summer wraps up and the leaves begin to turn, I suddenly feel like a kid getting ready to start fifth grade, and all the happy back-to-school memories start flooding back; like brown-bagged peanut butter and jelly lunches and new school supplies and abortions...

Speaking of new beginnings and Jewish holidays, today is perhaps the holiest of them all… It is the official release date of Barbra's latest album "Love is the Answer." For this, I have been fasting since sundown yesterday. Though I have not yet heard the entire album, it's currently being illegally downloaded to my computer at home through one of those free pirating sites (a shanda, I realize, but Babs can do without my $10.) I'm so excited to get back and hear it that I'm seriously considering quitting my job.

Let's celebrate with this gorg clip of Barbra on Oprah last week, looking gorg and sounding gorg. (Please, Christ, I hope I look this good when I'm Barbra Streisand.)

*Please note the "Inside Death Row" chyron on the bottom right of the Barbra video. I paid extra for that.

The Daffodils Who Entertain

2009-09-21T10:46:00.002-04:00

As I boarded the train this morning, I became audience to a performance already in progress by a young college girl in pigtails with a guitar and a plastic Big Gulp cup full of coins and dollar bills. It was a welcomed departure from the usual recital of variations on The Godfather theme by the blind accordionist who farts on you as he walks by, but still a bit much so early in the morning. She was sitting on the floor, propped up against a door, so passengers had to keep stepping over her. The train was packed, and sitting on the floor seemed an awkward choice, but I suppose this was the intimate “Over the Rainbow” live at Carnegie Hall portion of her concert.

She was obviously brand new to the city. Her face had a fresh rosy glow, like if you’d just ripped a band-aid off the Sun, and she still had that new car smell. She sang a catchy little original as she strummed. The chorus is still stuck in my head…

Whatever you wish for
It can be yours
Just reach out and grab it
You’re worth it, for sure…

Although her lyrics were mediocre at best and her voice hideous, I found the song inspiring. So when it was over, I reached down and grabbed a couple of singles from her Big Gulp. (Cuz I’m worth it, for sure.) Then came her closing remarks: "Thank you, Ladies and Gentlemen. I just started school here in the city,and one day I hope to be a star on Broadway. Any help is appreciated."

I did not see that one coming. And I didn't have the heart to tell her that, to my knowledge, there hasn't been a Broadway star discovered on the floor of the N train since before Elaine Stritch went on the wagon. But I did suggest that if it's a career on the stage she's set her sights upon, that she follow in the illustrious footsteps of legends like LuPone and Merman and claim her stardom the old-fashioned way... by posting a video on YouTube or winning a talent contest on reality TV. (Kids today just don't get it..)

And while we're on the subject, let's discuss another pretty young college girl with pigtails in her hair and showbiz in her veins...ME! On October 5th I'll be guest hosting Friends with Benefits at The Metropolitan Room - a concert benefitting BC/EFA, and featuring performers from Hair, South Pacific, Ragtime and Mamma Mia, to name a few. Come support! Maybe I'll pop in my shoulder pads and do a little "Hard Hearted Hannah." Who knows??

Six Degrees of Sutton Foster

2009-09-14T13:20:00.023-04:00

I’m still digging confetti out of every orifice of my body. No, I did not hook up with Rip Taylor (again,) but thank you for asking. I was at Broadway on Broadway yesterday, the annual concert in Times Square which celebrates the start of the new Broadway season with performances from current and upcoming shows. I think I’m most excited for the revival of Ragtime, which remains one the most thrilling theatrical experiences I’ve had in my lifetime. Though I’ve secretly been protesting it a little until now; certain it was too soon for a revival of that show. But when I actually allowed myself to really think about it yesterday, I realized that it has in fact been over a DECADE since it first arrived on Broadway in 1998, making me sixty years old. A DECADE?! Are you kidding me with this? Where has the time gone, and why has Rip Taylor never called me back?

Oh, who cares.

I’m also looking forward to Roundabout’s revival of Bye Bye Birdie, starring my husband John Stamos, who briefly took the stage yesterday to present a performance of “One Boy” by his young cast mates. I live for that man. Had I known he was going to be there, I would have worn something low-cut and with breasts.

Also on hand to belt out “Who I’d Be” was the cast of Shrek, including Sutton Foster. And speaking of… Over the past couple of years, I’ve had the great fortune to interview Sutton twice (arguably two of the most career-defining pinnacle moments of her extensive body of work. Arguably.) In that time, I’ve received a surprising number of unusual emails from former friends of hers (most recently an alleged high school boyfriend) saying that they'd found my interviews, and having lost touch with Sutton over the years, would love it if I would reconnect them. Really? Am I really the most obvious path leading to this highly prominent and fairly accessible Tony-winning Broadway celebrity? Isn’t this a little like asking Lassie to run and fetch the sheriff? I mean, sure... I'm a pretty well-known and resourceful bitch, but there must be a faster, more efficient way to go... A fan site? Facebook? A message in a bottle thrown into the Hudson River? Something!

This all seems a bit suspect to me, and leads me to believe that Sutton has perhaps been misleading the public about the depth of our relationship all this time. She's probably been listing me as her “in case of emergency” contact on medical and insurance forms, too.

Anyway, I haven't tried to relay any of the messages yet, as I fear it could be awkward. Maybe I’ll work it into our next convo. But in the meantime, if anyone has messages for Sutton, other celebrities, or anyone from your youth with whom you'd like to reconnect, I guess go ahead and leave them with me up here at the switchboard. I’ll do my best to see that they’re delivered.

And Sutton honey? Get a secretary. I'm busy over here. XOXO

Kiss of the Stoner Woman (or "Crack Is Back!")

2009-09-11T10:44:00.026-04:00

Calm down, I’m back.

It’s been too long, I know. See…I went away for Labor Day weekend, and stuffed my face so, that I absolutely refused to write anything again until I’d dropped the extra weight. I didn’t want you should have to see me like that. Luckily, I’ve been sick all week and am now back in my skinny jeans. Gorg! But I’d hate to be reputed the Paula Abdul of bloggers; popping in whenever I damn well please to shit out a few drunken, incoherent thoughts and then disappearing for weeks at a time. (The comparisons are already rampant, what with all those Diet Coke commercials I did in the early 90’s.)

Speaking of Paula AbDROOL, let us segue seamlessly into how excited I am for Ellen DeGeneres to take her spot on American Idol! I’ve been reading lots of angry online rants that Ellen is wrong for the job and will be out of her element, as she's not of the music industry. (I assumed that was one of the primary requirements to be on that panel.) Who cares, anyway? I mean, they let David Hasselschmuck judge "America's Got Talent" and he's never been talented. And they still let Regis Philbin host "LIVE" every morning, even though he hasn't been living for years. It's like the old proverb goes: "The shoemaker's queer son isn't always in this season's Manolo Blahniks." Ya know what I mean? Ellen will at least amuse us. And that show could use some dyke power. Other than Ryan Seacrest.

And while we’re being topical – I’m not the only queen of the night making a comeback these days. Whitney Houston released her first new album in six years a week and a half ago, and I'm just now trying to get into it. (I know I'm a little behind on this, but I never listen to new music as soon as it's released; it makes me feel cheap. I always wait at least a week.) I don't mind the uptempos, but I'm finding it depressing to listen to her ballads, like "I Look To Yoo-Hoo" and "I Didn't Know My Own Stremph". Not great. Clearly, Whitney no longer has the stremph.

It's funny, though, to see the positive spin everyone's putting on this situation. I've noticed it particularly with the gays. They're all trying to hold their shit together and stay supportive...

When it was first announced that Whitney was returning, all my friends were ecstatic: "Oooooh, Whitney is coming back and she is gonna turn it out, you guys! Get ready!!" There was a lot of lisping and snapping and excitement going on around the vodka cooler.

Then the first single was released, and while everyone couldn't help being a bit crestfallen, they remained hopeful: "You know what, you guys? It is NOT that bad. Whitney is still back!! And her wig looks kinda fierce on the album cover!"

And now that the full album has been released, I'm hearing a lot of: "You guys, I am really just so thankful she's not dead."

What dedication! We gays are a fussy and judgemental buncha bitches, but when it comes to our divas, we are fully prepared to stand by our man!

Gay people are stupid.
XOXO

Clueless Schmo from Hannibal, 'Mo

2009-08-26T13:20:00.014-04:00

On my walk to the train last night, I was all but giddy to pass through swarms of hot beefy guys in clingy navy blue t-shirts that said “Swisher #33” across the back. I sincerely thought it was gay baseball innuendo, like those tacky couples you see wearing matching “pitcher” and “catcher” t-shirts. I was all, “Heeeeyyyy! Swish on, girl!” and trynna get numbers… Imagine my disappointment to learn that Nick Swisher is actually first baseman for the NY Yankees. Apparently there was a game last night. (This explains why my cat calls were met with nasty looks and threatening profanity.) Here I thought it was a March for Equality or something. That’s what I get for getting all my sports news from Ladies’ Home Journal.

It reminded me of an experience I had a few years back... Picture it: Sicily, 1912 (Manhattan's Upper East Side, 2003...) I'd just moved to New York and quickly became the gay mascot to this group of hot chicks. We'd been hanging out about a month, and one drunken night we all eventually wound up in the limo of a terribly nice, terribly tall gentleman by the name of Robert Clemmings (or something.) I remember my mother called my cell as we were making our way to another bar, asking where I was. (As I said, I'd just moved to the city, so she still worried.) "Don't worry about me, Ma," I assured her, "I'm totally wasted and I just got into the back of some strange guy's limo. Everything is copacetic." When she demanded more information, I asked Robert, "who the hell are you and what the hell do you do? My mother needs to know."

Turns out his name was actually Roger, and he said he was a pitcher. Well, needless to say, the two of us had very little to talk about beyond that point. All my t-shirts say "catcher." But it was still a lovely evening.

Something Old, Something Blue, Something Homo, Something Bleu (or "Good Morning Arnetia!")

2009-08-21T11:02:00.017-04:00

Excuse me. Why had I not heard about this BlueGobo shit until now? You know Grandma is behind the times… I need to be kept abreast. For those of you not yet familiar, BlueGobo.com is a video archive of Broadway clips and Tony performances. It’s like online Musical Mondays, only whenever you want it (and without the overpriced booze and judgment from neighboring fags.) It’s brill. And it’s so well-organized, making searches a cinch. You can search by performer, by year, by title, or by the progression of Liza’s sobriety. Homosexuality has never been easier!

My friend pulled it up at a wine and cheese party he hosted last night, and we wound up having a Broadway Dance-Off until 1AM. (The family upstairs eventually called the police, and my friend has since been evicted, but what fun!)

It was around 11PM when we were heavy into Lillias White circa Once on This Island (and a delicious Camembert,) that I suddenly recalled one of my favorite clips ever, which I’d discovered a while ago on YouTube and somehow since forgotten. It had us laughing until we were barfing Brie and I would like to share it with you now. The clip features Lillias and the 1987 cast of Dreamgirls performing on "Good Morning America." Lil (to your left) is playing Effie, Alisa Gyse (center) is Deena, and Arnetia Walker (to your right) is Lorrell. Now, Arnetia Walker is the main attraction here, so keep your eye on the ball.

The part that kills me comes at around 58 seconds into the video – Lillias has just sung the lyric, “Dreamgirls keep ya dreamin’ your whole life through,” and then Arnetia comes in with the lyric, “Your Dreamgirls can only make love to you.” HOWEVER, Arnetia is apparently so overcome with excitement to be looking fierce in her pink chiffon Bed Bath & Beyond dust ruffle on "Good Morning America," that she cannot even bring her lips together to form the words. And so she winds up singing (entirely through the nose,) “YA DREAMGIRL CANNOLI MAK-A LUMMVV'DA YAAAA-HAAAOOOW!”

I can’t deal with it. It murders me every time. And as if that were not enough... wait for the moment immediately following, when she gives you: touch-and-POINT, looking directly into the camera, as if to say, “Yes, America… I just gave that to you.”

HIT IT!

Oh God... Here comes the Provolone!

Mad Props

2009-08-19T10:31:00.002-04:00

This blahg post is dedicated to all those brave men and women who have so selflessly dedicated themselves to the Gay Rights Movement and repeal of Prop 8 by courageously changing their middle names to “Equality” on Facebook. Those people are doing good work. I’d venture to rank their nobility right up there with that of the brave individuals before them who showed their intolerance for racial discrimination by tying purple ribbons around their black housekeepers and gardeners during the Civil Rights Movement. Or the heroic gentlemen who, during the Suffrage Movement, lent their support to women’s rights by wearing “SHOW ME YOUR TITS” t-shirts to the voting booths. It’s remarkable to see such intense devotion, and I applaud each and every one of you.

I personally have not gotten on board with this middle name movement as I find the name "Randy Rainbow" winds up sounding sort of gay if you add the "equality" to it, and I'd prefer to maintain my discretion. (Shut up!)

While I'm confessing my poor gay spirit... In the past two days I have spurned the efforts of three effeminate young men on the street with clipboards asking if I would "spare a few minutes for gay rights." A few minutes?? Try the better part of twenty-eight years, Nancy! To be accurate, I recently celebrated my ten-year anniversary as an out and proud homosexual (you could have sent a card) and in those ten years I've certainly done my part for the gays. In fact, in those ten years, I've done HUNDREDS of people's parts. Shove your clipboard.

And anyway, I don't support gay rights entirely. There - I said it. In fact, I openly object to the very idea of gay marriage, and this will remain my platform until I land a boyfriend who wants to marry me. Think of all those gay bridal registries I'll have to deal with and gay bridal showers I'll have to host. And you know everyone's gonna want me for a damn bridesmaid. No way am I setting myself up for that... not while I'm still a spinster. I'll support gay rights when I find the right gay. Until that time, you can all fend for yourselves.

Sincerely,
Randy ~~Equality~~ Rainbow

CHRIST ALMARTY!

2009-08-17T09:32:00.006-04:00

Broadway favorite and drop of golden sun Marty Thomas (Wicked, Xanadu) is talking to me about his latest show For the Love of Christ!, dishing about upcoming projects, and reminiscing about Britney. And he wants us all to come to his Birthday party (B.Y.O.GLITTER!)

Hit play!!! (The power of Christ compels you.)

Click here to DOWNLOAD DIRECT.

If I Only Had a Kidney (or "So Much Happened Before Elphaba Won the Tony")

2009-08-14T16:37:00.013-04:00

There was a story on the news this morning about altruistic organ donors; chains of people who anonymously donate their kidneys and other vitals to perfect strangers as an act purely of good will. It certainly made me question my own humanitarianism. I mean, I get bitchy when I’m asked to give strangers directions to midtown. So my kidneys are definitely out of the question. But it was a kidney-warming story, and I applaud all those noble men and women. (Better you than me, suckazzz.)

And speaking of the quest for internal anatomy… MGM’s 1939 classic The Wizard of Oz will celebrate its 70th Anniversary this weekend! I was recently reminded of this fun, faggy fact by a drag queen at Vlada, over a couple of raspberry martinis. (How gay is my life? And how gay are you for reading about it?)

It most likely will not come as a surprise that the film had a profound impact on me from an early age, and it remains to this day. It seems like only yesterday I was gluing red sequins to my little Nike sneakers, wearing my pajama bottoms on my head (a blue ribbon tied around each leg to give the impression of long braids,) and kicking the shit out of the girl who lived next door for thinking she’d prevail in the role of Dorothy when we acted it out in my living room, but of course it was not yesterday; it was Tuesday afternoon. (And lemme tell ya… I still got it.)

But as a young, confused boy, I remember possessing the unwavering belief that I would one day grow up to be Judy Garland. I’m happy to report that, that dream has in fact been fully realized. (Of course, I’d originally hoped circa ruby slippers; not circa alcohol addiction. Be very specific when you’re wishing on your stars.)

I hope you’ll celebrate this weekend by wearing your pajama bottoms on your heads and popping in the DVD, as I intend to. And remember – as Billie Burke once taught us before she was Kristin Chenoweth: If it’s true happiness you seek, look no further than your own backyard...

And if it isn’t there, check the liquor cabinet. That’s usually where I keep mine.

C’est si Bon (or “Nora, Can You Hear Me?”)

2009-08-10T12:58:00.011-04:00

If you’ve not yet seen Julie & Julia – Nora Ephron’s latest bonne bouche, starring Meryl Streep and Amy Adams – get out of my kitchen. It is by far the feel-good comedy of the summer, and I insist you to drop everything and go at once… (WAIT! Lemme finish.)

Braiding together the autobiography of culinary icon Julia Child, and the memoir penned by modern day author Julie Powell, who just seven years ago rose to fame right here on blogspot when she began chronicling her online quest to cook all 524 recipes from Child’s famed cookbook, "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," Julie & Julia is the first ever major motion picture to be based entirely on a blog... Touché, bitch.

Amy Adams is delectable as the quirky blogstress from Long Island City. And Meryl is perfection as her deity of dinner Julia Child. (Surprising, since Meryl Streep is notoriously the weakest link in all her films, but go figure..) Truthfully, this is probably one of my favorite performances of hers to date. And the great Stanley Tucci as her devoted hubby is the icing on the gâteau. (That's french for "cake", or some shit.)

See it! You'll leave uplifted and inspired (and effing starving), no matter your affinity for eating or blogging. Though I must admit, having been a long-time resident of both Long Island City, Queens, and blogspot.com myself, I did feel a specific connection to the younger (and thinner) of these two particular protagonists. It made my big splash onto the silver screen seem almost inevitable. All I need now is a hot husband the likes of Chris Messina, Nora Ephron’s cell phone number, and an actress - preferably a bit younger and more glamorous than Amy Adams - to play me. Perhaps the lovely and talented Ms. Zac Efron is available.

Of course, I'm by no means a master of any type of cooking. Nor do I aspire to be. I've lived in my apartment for over a year without once turning on the oven, and the closest I've ever come to boning a duck was last Thursday when I hooked up with a guy I met at Posh, named Donald. (*badum-fart*) But in honor of this lovely little movie, and Julie Powell's inspiring tale, I would like to apply a little experiment of my own, by chronicling my progress as I work through one of my favorite recipe books: Lindsay Lohan's "Mastering the Art of Binge Drinking." Tonight I'm doing Margatinis!

Check tomorrow's Page Six to see how I did.

Bon Appétit!!!

Burn the Fat (or "I Invented Post-Its")

2009-08-05T12:28:00.018-04:00

I just received an official invitation to my ten year high school reunion. Whaaa?!?!? I scrolled down the E-vite, praying that when I got to the “start time” section it would say “in six years from now.” But, in fact, it is in just two weeks. Ten years?? When did that happen? And how does it work out that I’m still only 22 years old? [uncomfortable silence.]

I RSVP'd, “Thank you, but I would sooner wear last season to a reunion of the Nazi Party at a yeshiva in gay hell.” (I hope they got the point.)

I see absolutely no reason to put myself through that. I’m already in touch with the few people I liked or who were important to me in high school. And anyway, the only good reasons to go to those things are to show off how thin and gorgeous you've become, and to see how fat and bald everyone else got. These days, I'm able to accomplish that via Facebook, without having to talk to anyone I don't like or whisper behind their backs when I make fun of them.

Also, I just recently heard Oprah say that she doesn’t go to weddings or similar functions anymore because she knows she’ll inevitably pull focus from the main event, and she would hate to do that. Unfortunately, as of late, I've had to adopt that same way of thinking.

But enough host chat...

Sunday night I was at the opening of Burn the Floor – the sizzling dance spectacular seen ‘round the globe, now sexin’ up Broadway’s Longacre Theatre for a limited time. So hot! These dancers are ri-schmuck-ulous! In my extensive career as a homosexual, I can honestly say I have never seen bodies like these. At the top of the show, a light slowly comes up in the proscenium, dramatically silhouetting the perfectly chiseled torso of one male dancer, and the entire audience audibly gasped around me. What a vision to behold. (In retrospect, I'm now able to identify that gasp as the rare and unmistakable sound of 1100 people simultaneously developing an eating disorder in perfect unison. It was beautiful.)

The two hours which followed delivered a nonstop, edge-of-your-seat, slap-your-mama, suck-in-your-gut, puke-up-your-lunch explosion of Latin and Ballroom dance like I’d never seen before. At the height of popular reality dance competitions like "Dancing with the Stars" and "So You Think You Can Dance" and "Dance Your Ass Off" and "Dance Till You Shit" or whateverthehell else they got goin', Burn the floor is undoubtedly a perfect Summer kick-off to Broadway's new season. You won't want to miss it. But heed my advice: For the sake of your own self-esteem, you might want to refrain from eating solid foods for about two hours leading up to the show. And then for about six months after.

I'll leave you with a cute pic from the after party, which was held at Providence Restaurant & Lounge in Midtown. Why, it's me with Samantha Harris & Maksim Chmerkovskiy (my fiancé) from "Dancing with the Stars"!

Maksim stars in Burn the Floor through August 16, alongside his actual fiancé and fellow "Dancing with the Stars" beauty, the lovely and talented Karina Smirnoff. (I might hate her a little bit.)

In the Sunlight, Who Can See a Flame?

2009-07-31T11:47:00.018-04:00

MAAAAX!?!?! BRING ME MY PILLS! I have been suffering terrible insomnia the past few nights. I wake up at 2 or 3 AM, and the chances of my falling back asleep do not exist. Like everyone, I've got a lot on my mind, and once those damn voices in my head start in on me, there’s no escape. Why are those voices so much louder and more obnoksh in the middle of the night???

First comes the to-do list; the incessant repetition of the infinite catalogue of tasks I need to accomplish and goals I’ve been putting off for hundreds of years:

Usually, I don’t even recall having ever wanted or needed to accomplish half the things on this list that I now can't get out of my friggin' head. (Senate?? Asians??? What the??) But through the haze of my insomnia, I'm positively adamant about them. More so, I become anxious and frustrated that I'm not able to take care of them right away. "I swear," I pout to myself, tossing and turning, "if that damn grocery store or my dentist's office or the U.S. Capitol Building or Asia were open right now, this shit would sooo be getting DONE!" There is such urgency in those late-night voices.

(Of course, by the light of day, that go-getter attitude has completely dissolved, and the idea of even leaving my apartment to buy soy milk becomes a notion too overwhelming to imagine. I pour the expired remains of a bottle of cranberry juice from the 70's over my bowl of cereal and call it a morning. Needless to say, I never make it to Senate, either.)

I sure do talk a lot of shit in the wee hours of the morn, though. By about 4:30AM, I finally tire of my to-do list and my mind wanders beyond my menial chores and onto much bigger issues: The hum of my air conditioner suddenly starts me wondering how safely the unit is installed in my window and worrying that it will fall out and kill one of my neighbors taking out the trash. This triggers an entire internal examination of how often people in this city must tragically fall victim to plummeting air conditioners. I’m now figuring out statistics and doing pie charts in my head. I’m so worked up by this point, that I decide, come morning, I am going to do my part by establishing the first ever HAFACF (Homosexuals Against Fallen Air Conditioners Foundation.) I’ll organize a walk-a-thon... We'll have a bake sale...

(Meanwhile, if someone came to my door right now with a concussion and bloody chunks of my air conditioner sticking out of his head, I’d probably send him to the neighbors’ and return to my US Weekly. But at 4:30AM, I’m a fucking activist.)

Point is, I've noticed that I talk a big game when I'm alone in bed, in the middle of the night. I suppose, subconsciously, it's my way of safely expressing all the pent up nervous energy for all my procrastination at a time when I know I won't be expected to actually do anything about it. Or maybe it means I should stop drinking warm vodka/redbulls before bed. Who can say? I just wish I could maintain that crazy drive and ambition throughout the day. I am working on it. But at least for now my days are free to brush my hair and watch bad TV without worry or care. Senate can wait.

(I'm so tired. I have no idea what I just said. Get the lights on your way out, will ya?)

HIT IT, BABS!

iGrandma

2009-07-26T16:08:00.015-04:00

I just got back from the laundromat down the street, and a nice young man, who obviously saw me struggling a little at the front door of my building, broke from the game of catch he'd been playing with his friends to come over and offer me assistance with my laundry cart... True story. I'm officially an 80 year old woman. Next thing you know, my couch will be covered in plastic and I'll be wheeling myself to the supermarket without a bra.

I feel badly enough about myself for even owning a laundry cart. But the schelp from my apartment makes it a necessity. And it is not a cute laundry cart, either. It's a big, clunky-ass, bright blue muthaf*ckin' LAUNDRY CART. Believe me, it's no easy task maintaining one's sex appeal while rolling down the block with that thing. (Yet somehow I manage. It's very impressive.)

I just uploaded the latest software update to my iPhone, and it's highly enjoyable. It has some cute new features that will certainly come in handy; like the cut-and-paste option and voice memo recorder. But can someone please tell me why I'm not yet able to easily send pictures from my iPhone? Is that not the most basic function of any phone next to speed dialing for Chinese takeout? Every antique rotary from 1926 is capable of sending pictures, but not the iPhone. Which is odd to me, considering it can do absolutely everything else. I mean, the damn thing comes with an app for delivering babies, but picture messaging is somehow beyond the realm of possibility.

A few minor complaints aside, I do love this world of Apple. Although I believe it's catering dangerously to the old woman within me by making me less tech-savvy than ever. It's all too easy! Before I was a Mac person, I feel like I was much more knowledgeable about the mechanics of my electronics because I had to be. Now I'm ruled by a series of pretty little icons and flashing update notifications all telling me exactly what needs to be done, and better yet, doing it all for me. If I turn on my computer and it says "a software update is available for your phone", I simply plug into that magical little wire hanging from the side of my Mac, and my job is done. I have no idea what the hell is going on beyond that point. All I know is that by the time I unplug again, I have a brand new iPhone, my kitchen is suddenly clean and my taxes are done. And I can speak French. I'm not complaining, I'm just saying...

In fact, I just ordered Apple's latest device - the iVentilator. Because why should I be expected to breathe on my own if I don't have to? I'm very busy!

Anyhooz. It's almost 3:30 in the afternoon, so I'm gonna go defrost some leftovers for dinner and get to bed.

Love,
Grandma

PS - You look too skinny.

We Would Walk Up the Avenue, But We Haven't Got a Gun

2009-07-24T13:52:00.001-04:00

While I’m kvetching…

To the man in the fluorescent fanny pack and matching baseball cap (I hope he’s tuned in) who stands every morning at the top of the stairs leading from my subway platform and smacks me in the face with a fist full of newspaper, shouting, “AM NEW YORK!!! GETCHA FREE AM NEW YORK HERE!!!”: Please back the shit off and let Her Majesty pass. Otherwise, you and I are gonna wind up on the front page of that thing tomorrow morning.

With all the pedestrian traffic New Yorkers contend with, must we also endure the added burden of newspapers and flyers and surveys being shoved into every orifice as we try to make our way through the crowded streets? It seems I can’t walk two blocks without someone asking me to save somebody or shop somewhere or eat something or join something. In an effort to save some time, let me put a blanket on this for all those annoying flyer people impeding my life:

I do not care about animal rights, human rights, children’s rights, gay rights, straight rights, artists' rights, civil rights, gun laws, politics or the environment. I find them all overrated, and I’m late to meet a friend for lunch.

To answer your question: Yes, I do enjoy comedy, which is why I do not want to come to your crappy comedy show tonight. You are all struggling, out-of-work waiters, and that’s never funny.

No, I would not like a free copy of your rap demo CD. I am clearly not a fan of rap music. Did you see how scared I got when you approached me just now?

I do not wish to ever set foot in Ralph’s Old-Time Crusty Barber Shop on 9th Avenue. Frankly, even Ralph is getting his hair done elsewhere.

Thank you for asking, but I will never be a Jew for Jesus.

No, I will not donate money to your charity or organization; I will always be a Jew.

Now get your hand outta my face or it’s coming with me to lunch.

Love you, call me later.

We're a Couple a' Smells

2009-07-23T13:40:00.003-04:00

This next question goes out to all my homeless readers. How is it that when I happen upon the smell of your urine in the street, I must sometimes walk four or five long blocks before I’m able to escape it? Seriously. How are you doing this? Is there a stop-start method happening which allows you to cover that much ground, or is it something you’re eating (or not eating) that makes it possible for you to just target one area and permeate the better part of an entire neighborhood? I’m not being a smartass here; I really want to know. Because I canNOT get mine to do that, you guys. And don’t think I’m not trying.

And since we’re on the topic of odors that confuse me… You know that one empty car on an otherwise overcrowded subway train? You know something ain’t right with that car, but you still always give it a shot; telling yourself that you’ll be the one brave (and lazy) enough to withstand whatever it is making all these other wimps cry, faint and miscarry before running into the next car, for the sake of a nice roomy seat and some privacy.

Then you get on and it smells like Satan got diarrhea and you immediately follow the terrified herd of sheep into the next car. That smell could be any one of a variety of smells, but one of my all-time most perplexing is “wet dog.” You all know it. It’s not your average wet dog smell. It’s more like an entire kennel of wet dogs burning in Hell. But the craziness is that there’s never a dog anywhere near the scene of the crime! And sometimes the stench will stretch the entire length of the subway car or platform. What is that??? Who is this nasty-ass phantom dog and what does it want from us?? I need it exorcised at once lest it continue to wreak havoc on our city.

Call Oprah.

Something Better for Your Lips to Do (or "Kiss My Ass")

2009-07-17T13:07:00.013-04:00

You might recall one of my earliest rants – like, back in the 70’s – about the tenacious mail lady at work who I might have, in my way, snidely suggested was a bit needy or bothersome; insisting on chatting me up every day, through rain, snow, sleet or hail. Well, Mail Lady caught me in the elevator once again this afternoon. Talk about a “full circle" moment.

“This is it,” she sang, giddy to see me, and without holding for my response before pressing on. “It’s my very last day on the job. I’m officially retiring. I’ve worked for the U.S. Postal Service for thirty-five years now. Thirty-five years! I’m turning in this tired old mail bag and hangin’ up these darn grey pants,” she said, holding back a giggle for having almost slipped and said something more than “darn”. "I’m finally gonna enjoy my life!”

She went on to tell me that she was moving home to Georgia with her husband. Georgia’s where her daughter and grandkids live, and she hasn’t seen them in over a year! She talked about the importance of family, and how we all get so caught up in the daily grind that we tend to lose sight of those things which are truly important in life. “You can have millions in the bank,” she assured me, “but in the end, it all comes back to Family. Your family is all you got.” And as she spoke, I must admit, I began to realize something about myself: I still really don’t give a fuck about this woman. Why is she still talking to me?

Why do people feel the need to talk to you in an elevator?? I suppose it feels awkward or rude for some to be in such confined quarters with a perfect stranger and not force conversation. Not me. I’m happy to enjoy the ride in silence, and would rather not spend the ten or eleven flights racking my brain to invent mindless chit-chat for someone I’ve never met and will likely never see again. And personally, I’ve been in much tighter quarters in my day, with entire groups of strangers, and been perfectly content to not say a word… my shower, for instance.

Why don't we stop all this small talk??? Like this guy at work. (His name is Jason, but for discretion’s sake, we’ll call him Susan.) Why does Susan feel he needs to talk to me about the weather every day? Like it's "our thing." Clearly, the conversation is not flowing easy between me and Susan if we’re relying solely on a natural phenomenon as globally inclusive as the weather to bond us. By definition, weather is the natural state of the atmosphere as it affects the entire planet. Susan and I are literally reaching into thin air to try and find the common denominator between us. Maybe we should just let it be, ~~Jason~~ Susan. Otherwise, what’s next...?

“Hey, Randy! Nice weather today, huh?”
“Yeah, Susan. Gorgeous. Hey! How’s the oxygen working out for you?”
“Still breathing the stuff, Randy. Can't get enough of it. You still eat food?”
“Ya know… When I’m hungry, Susan…When I’m hungry.”

ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. I'm over it.

Have a great weekend, Bloggities.
Please don’t talk to me unless it's absolutely necessary.

RANDY LIVE AT CARNEGIE DELI!

2009-07-14T12:06:00.006-04:00

Judy had Carnegie Hall, Barbra had Central Park, Liza had the Palace, and about a year ago, I had one too many cocktails and made this LIVE recording. It has since become [in]famous in certain circles and today I share it with you. Please hold all questions until the end. I will tell you that every voice you hear (even the ones that sound like men) are, in fact, mine. This is the first single I’m releasing off my upcoming album, currently titled “RANDY SINGS for No Apparent Reason”.

Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the most self indulgent one-man show since Elaine Stritch at Liberty!

HIT PLAY!!!

You can also CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD DIRECT