Ohhh, this sucks. The tiniest peep of sunshine smirks briefly down at our mildewed little burg, and all you S.A.D.-addled yahoos go barreling outside to get skin cancer. Fine. Except that while the rest of the world is out playing extreme beach volleyball or whatever, I sit squinting at my monitor, chewing my nails, and praying that SOMEHOW I'm going to hear that wondrous digital voice say, "You've got mail!" and check to find something like: Hey Adrian! I just fucked Justin Timberlake in the dumpster behind Déjà Vu! waiting in my in-box. But no. Everyone is volleyballing, not star-seeing. And so. I'm left with a blank page and exactly 450 words of nothing to talk about. It happens every year.
The up side to all of this is that since everyone's out pretending we have a summer, no one's going to read what I write here. I could start pulling rumors right outta my ass; crank out some libelous and completely bogus headline like, "Leslie Miller Suckles Abandoned Puppies with Third Nipple, Says it Makes Her Horny!"--then send it out to 300,000 Stranger readers and never hear a peep about it. That's power.
But I have WAY too much integrity to do that. (Oh, shut up.) So what do I do? I blather on for a few paragraphs (eat up 250 words or so), then I pull out the B-sides: the stuff I normally skip. It's painful. It's transparent. And I think I've done just enough blathering, non?
Since the statute of limitations is up: I once got pulled over in hunky actor John Corbett's Ford Explorer (you may not remember John from Northern Exposure). I'm not going to tell you how I had access to it, or why, but I'd go joyriding and read the scripts from the show he kept in the back seat. It's true! Thank my lucky gay stars that the cops and I were friends--capital-D Dykes--and let me off with a chuckle. "That wacky Adrian!" This week I was invited to meet Mr. Corbett, who's promoting his new film, My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I told them I had a cold. That's all. (WHAT? I TOLD you it was B-side!)
And since I have the space: A. Birch Steen [A Critical Overview, Stranger comics page] has threatened litigation. He claims I made some libelous "innuendo" that he's a (desperately overcompensating) closeted homosexual. I, of course, have NO idea what he's talking about. (Besides, if I had a nickel for every fudgepacker who threatened to sue....) I'd demand a verbal apology from Steen, but THAT won't happen. My cock's in his mouth.
