Spontaneity and Diligent Pre-Planning

Back when I lived in Atlantic City, I spent as few weekends actually in the area as possible, usually finding my way to New York or Philadelphia for better times. So imagine my surprise this weekend when, only a few hours after waking up and not really knowing what I was going to be doing for the day, I found myself in a car on the way to Atlantic City. Yes, thanks to the wonderful devil-on-the-shoulder whisperings of a great friend, I made my first trip back into South Jersey since I was a resident there.

I didn't win anything, of course, but it's nice to get away every once in a while and also nice to see some of the changes made to the area for the better. The Boardwalk, at least the key sections of it, looks much improved since I was last there about two years ago. And those tacky elephants in front of Trump Taj Mahal are mostly gone! Also, it was strangely cathartic to do the trip I'd done so many times in reverse, having the late-night drive home be toward, not away from, the city I love.

Also of note this weekend was a great blogger meetup in Midtown, smartly organized by Esther of Gratuitous Violins. It was great to meet Esther and Steve of Steve On Broadway, along with a huge number of theatre-focused bloggers with whom I was not familiar, and I look forward to exploring their sites. Lots of great theatre chat at the table, or rasping in my case, since I have virtually no voice left thanks to a persistent cold. Here's hoping it becomes a regular thing!

No touchbacks

Rats. Tagged again. As indicated in the comments in a previous post, I've once again been hit with the "seven weird facts" meme. Thanks a lot, Angela! Now, I'm not going to repost the rules or tag anyone else, even if it means seven years bad luck or that Ronald McDonald won't run across my screen and drop-kick the Taco Bell dog. But, since I've been blog negligent, I'll do it again as penance. Here were my last seven facts, in cast you missed them.

1. When I was four, my sister made me learn her twirling routine as she tried out for the drill team. The music was...gosh, I can't remember the name of the song. It was used in an 80s movie--I can't remember which one--and it had no lyrics. That song used in the SNL sketch about the male synchronized swimmers. Long story short, sis didn't make the team, thus ending my twirling career.

2. I learned to eat beans only a few years ago. For most of the rest of my life, I wouldn't touch them. This included almost every type of bean outside of soy.

3. Although I've been a pretty consistent blond in recent years, I used to dye my hair all sorts of colors. My favorite was red, which I did when I was in "Dancing at Lughnasa."

4. I mentioned this in a blog comment before, but presidential hopeful Ron Paul was my mother's obstetrician and was supposed to deliver me. I was several weeks early, however, so he was out of town when I was born. Paul was also my sister's obstetrician several years later and actually was on hand to deliver my nephew. When I was in the Cub Scouts, I also got to swim in Paul's swimming pool.

5. I can name all the books of the Bible to this day, thanks to an annoying summer church camp ditty from years ago. I have to hum the tune in my head as I do it, though. And I can't name the apocrypha. Not in order, at least.

6. I was supposed to have been a featured extra in the film "Powder," but an unpleasant high school principal blocked me from doing so with nasty threats.

7. My first major writing project was a book I wrote in the second grade about the digestive tract. It was from the point of view of a roast beef sandwich. You should've seen my illustrations, particularly the chyme with the smiley face on it.

A vision of the Claymates in the year 2050

As was alluded to in the comments, it was a rather fun people-watching experience at the Steve & Eydie concert the other night 4 p.m. in the afternoon. Let's just say it made us feel quite young! But nothing compared with the crew behind us.

It was a crew of typical er, mature Long Island ladies. I couldn't really describe their appearance because I didn't look behind me too often. But I could pick any one of them out of a lineup if they opened their mouths.

Even before the dazzling duo appeared onstage, the opening clip montage was enough to provoke squeals of delight. It was kind of like the dead people reel during the Oscars. Who could get the biggest gasp? Steve Allen? Judy Garland? Bob Hope?

Nay, but that nothing compared to the nonstop chatter once Steve and Eydie started the show. I swear, it was like Hannah Montana herself was up there and I was a Brownie den mother. Or whatever they're called. Each song was followed by shrieks of "I LOVE YOU STEVE! YOU'RE FANTASTIC EYDIE!" And so on. Meanwhile, the songs themselves provoked orgasmic ohs of delight. I was expecting a pair of support hose or a bladder pad to fly past my head toward the stage at any minute. This was their Woodstock, dammit. And as seemingly annoying as it got, my companion and I agreed that it was just too funny to be truly annoying. Hell, I hope I keep passion for something...anything...going that long into my life.

Speaking of which, I just realized I've been quite neglectful in adding said companion to my link list. I've rectified that now.

Decitification complete

So, I suppose I should throw in a few photos from the Vermont trip, as I leave again this Sunday for yet ANOTHER out-of-town trip. This one will be pure business, but it should be fun. Hint: I'm hoping to be a true tequila expert upon my return. Anyway, here are a few shots from our great green north (click for full size, if you're so inclined):

This very cold waterfall that I can't remember the name of was quite refreshing to wade in, but the rocks were quite pointy and slippery. A sign at the front had the list of everyone who had died while climbing on the waterfall. The most recent one was a few months before I was born. My goal was to not trip, crack my head open on a rock, drown and break an almost 30-year safety record.

Seriously, why don't more towns have pedestrian-only main drags? This is Burlington. Lovely little town, save one pushy girl in the mall. (We were only in there to buy a quick pair of board shorts. Honest.)

I don't know why, but these cover bridges fascinate me. I'm sure Freud could come up with something on that. I never got to drive through one, unfortunately. This shot was particularly hard to get, because cars kept trying to get through.

I didn't shoot much during our day trip to Montreal, but this was the bar -- Le Drugstore -- where we caught happy hour. Very laid back and fun, but one quibble: The drinks came in large glasses, but they still only used one shot with the full glass of mixer! Somewhere among my gallon of cranberry juice, there were a few molecules of vodka, I guess. Oh, this would be, from right to left, Eric from Southern Boy, his boyfriend Brett and my dear friend Kristina from Houston. Kris had hell getting home on Sunday, what with all the canceled flights out of Boston.

But this is why we were really here, right? Notice everyone had abandoned me except for my beloved pomegranate champagne.

(insert lame variation of Descartes quote here)

So my vast knowledge of the career of Edie McClurg as well as my ability to pick out guest stars from "The Golden Girls" (actually, Edie McClurg was one of those, too, come to think of it), I seem to have snagged a Thinking Blogger Award from my dear southern neighbor. This, however, means I need to single out five others who are equally deserving. In no particular order, they would be:

Kevin Barnett: My fellow Brazoria County cum New Yorker. Not only does he have the best pulse on the local film and music scene, but he also has the design cred to back it up.

Theatre Snobbery At Its Finest: Cameron can boil down any show into a succinct few sentences of perfect praise or evisceration. Even when my reaction to the show was different, I can never disagree with his larger points.

Human Nature: One of the few people who actually knows how to make a purely personal blog entertaining to read. I think it's the superior health care system.

Rusty's Balcony: Another fellow Texan, and a fellow fan of the long-form posts. And I actually read them from beginning to end! That says a lot, coming from an ADD type like me. Ooh, someone's shouting outside my window...

David Benzion of The Lone Star Times: Considering we are usually on the opposite side of the political aisle, it says something that I keep reading. And under Benzion's guidance, the discussions generally avoid falling into that nasty trap that prevent me from reading the comment sections of most major political blogs. Take a look at how swiftly he put the kibbosh a discussion of Marvin Zindler's death from becoming a tacky questioning of whether Marvin's gathering a camera crew to check on the kitchen in heaven or hell.

Well, that's five. There are several others I'd love to pick, but I either assumed they've already won one or they lost a coin toss.

Lainie Kazan's muumuu of choice today, by the way?

Darn it, I thought Don Rickles would be insulting Pat Boone

I'm probably the last to report in from the great New York blogger weenie roast this weekend, hosted by the fabulous Curly McDimple. Despite my penchant for getting completely lost in outer boroughs, I managed fine thanks to the southern contingent as my entourage: Eric, his boyfriend Brett and Roy, who braved a crack-of-dawn flight and the M60 bus from LaGuardia to get here from Austin. Between Brett, Roy and me, we had the three Texas triangle cities covered. I guess that other state (the one next to Texas that kind of looks like a foot and you have to drive through all those crazy East Texas I-10 cities to get to) was represented, too. And even though I didn't eat one weenie -- plenty of hummus, dip and veggie burgers, though -- it was still a blast.

So, like, I guess I'm supposed to post some pictures or something.

Here's Roy and another guy named Roy. I wasn't taking notes, but I do recall that Roy on the Right has a blog but doesn't post often and has great taste in shorts and watches. Roy on the Left, meanwhile, knows the right ice cream to get, and we determined that he might have judged me in a forensics competition when I was in high school. Which was NOT that long ago, I'll have you know. Oh, and they were being quiet, so all signs were being obeyed.

Here's Eric and Brett talking to, um, a guy in an indigo shirt who, uh, blogs at guyinanindigoshirt.blogspot.com. OK, so my lack of notes renders my captions rather useless.

Hey! Remember that wine tasting thing I went to with Amy Sedaris, and I'd forgotten to put an image card in the camera? As it turns out, the photo was there all along, as I found it when I was getting my camera ready for the weenie roast.

I even snagged a photo of our pictorially elusive host!

Fine. I'll admit it. I pulled out my camera a few minutes before we were leaving and took some half-assed, badly framed shots. But it was still fun, nonetheless. And, as a bonus, we got to watch during our post-party dessert some brain-baked chick start a fight with the ice cream server over $2.

A last-minute redemption

June, for me, was a rather wretched month this year for a bevy of reasons. It almost made up for itself with its grand finale this past weekend, however. So pardon me for gushing for a moment.

First, Nancy Wilson. What an absolutely extraordinary concert! The guest performers alone -- including Regina Carter, who can make a violin sing as beautifully as any voice; pianist Herbie Hancock and the exquisite Dianne Reeves -- would have been a great night on their own. Wilson, meanwhile, is on that same Barbara Cook regime that makes a voice as effective at 70 as it was at 20. To hear her perform live "Day In, Day Out," the devastating "Guess Who I Saw Today?" and "How Long Has This Been Going On?" (which she's never recorded, unfortunately) is something I'll truly never forget. I also got to celebrate, albeit quite briefly, the birthday of a dear friend to boot.

Next, Fire Island. With the New York City Gay Men's Chorus, one of the drawbacks to performing in large concert halls is you can rarely see the faces of your audience as you perform. Well, thanks to a construction schedule snafu, we ended up performing in a firehouse rather than a concert hall, so it was certainly up close and personal! The audience, however, couldn't have been more appreciative. Just watching one big Billy Strayhorn fan in the back sing along with every song, including beating us to the last note on "Lush Life," made it worth the long trek out there. Plus, the weather was absolutely gorgeous for a weekend at the beach.

Sunday wasn't really part of June, but it was certainly lovely in its own right, too. So, you're forgiven, June. I guess I'll allow you to come back next year.

Joining the veterans

I had the pleasure this weekend of crashing a gathering of some of New York's (and one of Toronto's) finest gay bloggers. I say crash because these guys are all a lot more established than me. Eric at Southern Boy was kind enough to invite me along. He knows that I'm very likely to accept any invitation that includes access to cosmos, particularly at happy hour prices. Not only did I get to meet two bloggers who have visited here -- Billy of Living My Life in NY and Steven of Human Nature -- but I also have three new daily reads now, thanks to meeting Brechi, Cooper Lowenthal and Chris of About a Boy and his Briefs.

All in all, a pretty damn good way to spend a Friday: cheap drinks at therapy, that wonderfully creamy mac and cheese at Vinyl, more drinks at Barracuda and great conversation. So thanks, guys, for letting the green guy tag along.

They're already posting photos of the event, but I'm still without a memory card for my camera. So I had to use my cell phone to shoot a making-of while the others were actually taking photos. Here's Steven taking a photo of Chris and Eric at Therapy...


Here's Brechi, Cooper and Billy posing for somebody else.


And what the heck. Here's a photo of us all, that Eric was kind enough to let me borrow.

Considering I've already identified everyone else in other photos, use that knowledge to determine which one is me.

Back with reviews tomorrow! That is, if I can still type. We're running our expo tomorrow at work, so that means nonstop cocktails from 4 p.m. until about 9 p.m. But no cosmos, I'm afraid.

Weekday review roundup

Stairway to Paradise
Curse this show. After more than a year of not having Comcast cable, and therefore not watching Comcast's all-Broadway music channel, I had finally gotten that darn "Triplets" song that came on all the time out of my head -- until I saw this show. But the song, as well as the entire new revue being put on by Encores! at New York City Center is so gosh darn charming, I'll forgive it this once. Yup, vaudeville is back, if only for a few days, and it couldn't be in better hands than director Jerry Zaks and Jack Viertel, who conceptualized the piece. They've arranged a top-rate cast and a great collection of songs both familiar and unknown as well as a few comedy bits that, despite being nearly a century old, seem more fresh than what appears on Saturday Night Live much of the time nowadays. I'm finally beginning to be won over on Kristin Chenoweth, because her chemistry as part of a comedy trio with Kevin Chamberlin and Christopher Fitzgerald is not to be missed. Shonn Wiley and Jenn Gambatese are properly cute in their juvenile/ingenue numbers, Capathia Jenkins is both brassy and touching in one of the show's few serious numbers and Kendrick Jones stops the show with his tap skills. And my only complaint about Ruthie Henshall is that we don't get to see enough of her. The dancing, choreographed by Warren Carlyle, is as good as almost anything on Broadway right now. Hard to believe they threw this together in 10 days. Here's hoping someone puts out the money to get this (legally) recorded.

Jerby with a Y
There's some saying among New Yorkers that one of the worst things to hear from a friend is "Come see my cabaret show." Having sat through my share of self-indulgent, pretentious cabaret acts, I know this is too true, but not when it comes from this bud of mine. John Raymond Barker -- who coincidentally grew up in Alvin, Texas, also a part of Brazoria County, but the two of us never knew each other until I moved here -- is back with his latest self-made show at the Duplex, and as usual, he's a delight. With impeccable comic timing, he'll wrap up Broadway, rock and rap into a ball of bawdiness and then whack you with a left hook of pathos and relevance while you're distracted. So let me turn into a shill for a moment and mention that there's but one chance left to see his show -- this Saturday -- so tell them I sent you, and maybe we can convince him to throw at least one number from the musical version of "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane" (which, in its grand premiere in Houston, he was in I am proud to say I actually saw) next time.

For there was no joy at Mambo Palace

As much as it pains me to be the bearer of bad news, I must inform our dear proprietor of Mambo Palace that he's out of the running for a job of a lifetime.

It looks like he, my co-worker, me and everyone else I knew who applied just didn't quite have the "thirst-hand knowledge" to be Four Points by Sheraton's chief beer officer. On the other hand, take a gander at the description of the four finalists. We have:

1) A guy who's visited 340 breweries around the world and tried 2,800 kinds of beers.
2) A guy whose wife works at a bar and who named his dogs Porter and Stout.
3) A woman who already works at a brewery and has received medals from the Great American Beer Festival and World Beer Cup.
4) Another brewery guy who developed a magazine about beer.

C'mon, Sheraton! These people certainly sound qualified, but isn't picking one of them kind of like Bill Gates winning the lottery? Give my buds a bone and let them live the fabulous life these people already are living.

Meanwhile, I guess my own essay, which entailed how it takes me an hour to gag one glass of Guinness down but I was willing to learn beer-love, didn't go over a la Barbara Park's "Skinnybones" like I thought it would. Remember that book? When the kid got to be in the cat food commercial because his essay...? Never mind.

Service with a smirk

Rusty's post from Wednesday at Rusty's Balcony about Chip Boy reminded me of a rather unpleasant chapter in my life.

Back in my college years in Houston, there was a restaurant in the Montrose area called Cafe Urbana -- now defunct for several years, and its location later became the fish taco haven Berryhill's. The food at Urbana wasn't really that great, mostly uninventive pasta dishes and heavy meats, but our usual waiter was really cute, so I always found excuses to make my friends go with me. One of them got her revenge on me after a night of clubbing by vomiting her Urbana venison in my car at the end of the night, but that's another story.

Now, one particular night, I was in especially heavy flirting mode. Keep in mind this was in my formative years, back when I thought two dates meant I had a boyfriend, that "I love you" meant "I love you" and that people in the service industry were really nice because they were attracted to you and not because they wanted a healthy tip. The clincher for me was when the waiter came out beaming with a dessert I hadn't ordered, handing it to me with a wink and saying it was on him.

My dining companion for the evening -- the same friend, I should add, who once helped me fake an identity to facilitate a break-up -- convinced me that leaving my phone number and a brief note with the bill was a great idea. So I did.

After we had driven about two or three miles down the road, my friend asked me if I put the waiter's name on the note. I hadn't. We then realized that it was a distinct possibility that my note could have been picked up by the man who had been pouring our iced tea all night, a man in his 50s or 60s who I don't even think spoke English. The friend convinced me to go back to Urbana, and passive aggressive as I was, she would go in to make sure that the waiter got the note.

A few minutes later, she returned triumphantly to the car. "He's going to call you," she beamed. I started to get excited, but she continued: "He said that he already has a boyfriend, but that he could always use new friends." Crash. The words of death. I wasn't surprised when he never called, and I didn't eat at Urbana again for years.

I did see said waiter again several months later at a Houston club with a guy who presumably was that boyfriend. He was quite friendly and said hello as the boyfriend gave me the iciest stare that I ever saw. We didn't chat for long.

So Rusty -- if the moment ever feels right, go for it! Just be prepared to lose a restaurant you love if it doesn't go well.

Toot, toot, Tootie goodbye

I'm a few days behind in posting this, but Eric and I had the pleasure of catching Charlotte Rae's appearance at the Lincoln Center Barnes & Noble on Wednesday. She was there to promote her recently reissued album "Songs I Taught My Mother."

What a delight it was! At 80, she's just as adept at mugging and broad comedy as ever. She had the room eating from her tiny hand during the approximate hour-long set -- most of the songs in which I didn't know, but no matter. Who else could sell songs about lovelorn gophers and merry minuets to sing amid the strife in the daily news? Sheldon Harnick, the author of the latter, also was in attendance. And it was truly a joy to hear her perform "The Ballad of Dependency" from "The Threepenny Opera," a song she performed as Mrs. Peachum in 1954. A side note: Her version of "Pirate Jenny," which is available through iTunes, is one of the most wonderfully vicious versions of that song I've ever heard.

Eric and I also had a lot of fun failing miserably at star-spotting in the audience. We were able to pick out Olympia Dukakis, but the rest were people who we knew we should have known but didn't. For a second, I was sure that I had spotted Pamela Myers until it was pointed out to me that she was involved in another project and not nearly old enough to have been the woman I was looking at.

At any rate, it's a little sad that most people will remember her as nothing more than Mrs. Garrett from "The Facts of Life" -- or even worse, for Paul Vogt's impersonation of her as Mrs. Garrett on MadTV. She was nominated for a Tony twice, after all. And more recently, she called Joan Collins a bitch.

Just call me the Milton Berle of blogdom

I've never met a good idea I don't like to steal. So following Eric's footsteps yet again, I made one of those maps showing which state's I've visited:



(Create your own personalized map of the USA)

I love that I've been in literally about 10 miles of North Dakota, but that's enough to get the whole state colored in. Obviously, I need to plan a trip to the northern Midwest sometime. I can't think of any excuses to go to Kansas, however.

Just for fun, here's my Europe map as well.



(Create your personalized map of Europe)

I love the little white dots like San Marino and Vatican City. I'd do the one of the world, but you could pretty much see what it would look like by combining the U.S. and Europe maps. Just add Canada. I think I'm one of the few (former) Texans alive who has never even been to Mexico.

A plug for a plug

Although he hardly needs my help, I must give yet another shout-out to Eric at Southern Boy for his fantastic interview (it took me forever to find the permalink button on there!) and equally fantastic accompanying photo now featured on Best Gay Blogs. And it's not just because of the lovely things he said about yours truly.

I myself have finally registered there and have noticed some additional traffic as a result, so welcome to all who are here for the first time! If you like me and link to me, I'll almost always reciprocate, so long as you're not from torturingpuppieswithbatteryacid.blogspot.com or the like.

And speaking of which, I've added two more links. First up is the erudite Kim's Breathing Space. Thanks to the anonymous world of blogging, I'm not sure if we actually know each other or not, but either way, she was kind enough to add me to her blogroll, so I'm more than happy to do the same. The other is a new blog by one of my hometown heroes, Mary Ruth Rhodenbaugh. Loyal readers (all 20 of you!) might recall my being rather upset several months ago when someone in my home county opined about how women should not be allowed to be county commissioners. Well, I'm happy to say that way of thinking lost and that Mary Ruth is rightly on the Brazoria County Commissioner's Court today.

If I may get serious for a moment, I might joke and kvetch about my hometown on occasion, but it's still my hometown. I'll go into more detail about that paradox another time, but for now, I'll just say I'm glad there are people like Mary Ruth there who make it a better place. You could never know a gentler, more selfless soul.

Back through the looking glass

I just got back from subUrbia, the new Eric Bogosian play showing at Second Stage Theatre. Even though it was very typical of the angry suburbian young adult angst and anger plays that are a dime a dozen nowadays, my overall impression was positive. I'm not, however, going to review it any further. It's closing Sunday, and a full review at this point would be a little stupid. I will say, however, that someone needs to find another project for Kieran Culkin as soon as possible once this one is over. He was phenomenal.

The show itself also was a nice segue for my trip tomorrow. Yes, for the next four days, I'm returning to my old stomping grounds of Brazoria County, Texas for my high school reunion. I'm sure it should provide plenty of blogging fodder and incriminating photos over the weekend.

A few other housekeeping items before I go:

i've added one more link: mambopalace. he's the South Parkiest of Republicans and almost got me fired today by making me laugh out loud in front of my boss at a joke about a crowd of people being birthed from rush limbaugh's belly. you had to be there. yes, i know there are no capitals in this paragraph. visit, and you'll see why.

And, in a theme song update, "Get Busy" and "You Are The Sunshine Of My Life" both came up in the last few days, and therefore are off the list. Go Junior/Senior!

Who are the people in your neighborhood?

This blog is now just about three months old -- still a baby, I know -- but I finally think it's mature enough to start dating other blogs. That's right. My HTML-illiterate self managed to figure out how to add links even though they are a part of virtually none of the Blogger templates.

Like my music taste, my taste in Web sites is quite eclectic, and the list might cause anyone who actually knows me to say, "What the hell...?" For one thing, this is certainly not an exhaustive list of my daily read. But really: Do I think that somebody is going to stumble onto this blog and say, "Hey, Ma! I just found this site where this fella's talkin' about Barbra Streisand and absurdist theatre, and he has a link to this thing called the 'New York Times.' Ever heard of it?" No, to me, links are more of a self-observation than a reader service. With that said, here are the sites I have chosen to link for now:

Confessions of a Southern Boy in Yankee Land
Eric is my most faithful commenter, so he gets the top slot. Although he's lived in Manhattan much longer than I have, we've found it rather odd how parallel certain experiences have been. And, his fabulous site has just been featured on Best Gay Blogs.

Pam's House Blend
I've been a long-time follower of Pam Spaulding's Research Triangle-based blog and have watched it grow into one of the leading LGBT blogs. Pam braves the sewers of AgapePress, FreeRepublic and other spots to bring to light some of the most horrifying viewpoints out there. Her "best of" links truly fit the bill.

Andrew Sullivan
My favorite conservative. I know people on both sides of the aisle have issues with him, and that's why I love him even when I disagree with him.

KevinBarnett/craveytrain
I grew up with both Kevin and Mike in Texas. Kevin, like me, is now in New York, and Mike is still in Texas, but both have great blogs and far superior computer skills to mine.

AmericaBlog
I've been following John Aravosis since the StopDrLaura days, back when I had a writing gig with the Texas Triangle (now called TXT). John's best known for breaking the whole Jeff Gannon thing wide open, and I've had the pleasure of hearing him speak at a few journalism conventions.

Lone Star Times
As I said a few posts down, I'm not usually in agreement with these guys, but they do some solid work, and it's a good way of keeping up with the goings-on in Texas without actually having to read the Houston Chronicle's difficult online set-up. Plus, all the Kinky Friedman news I could ever want!

The Facts
My old employer. As someone who has been on the inside there, I can say--even though usual newspaper turnover has made it to where few of my contemporaries are still there--they are the most dedicated and hardest working newsroom I have ever seen. And there's no other way to keep up with Brazoria County...

The Brazosport News
...except for this guy. Banjo Jones, one of the pioneer bloggers. He kept me on my toes when I worked for The Facts, although I had the privilege of being mentioned by name only once on his blog.

The Comics Curmudgeon
Daily comics today are almost never funny. They're mostly groan-inducing, ink-wasting pages of corn and treacle. Start reading Josh, though, and you'll find enjoyment of these comics in a whole new ironic light. He's even got me following Mary Worth. Also, this is one of the rare sites where the wit in the comments is actually almost as good as the wit in the original posts.

Michelle Malkin
Wha...? Yes, I'm linking to Michelle Malkin. Look. I find it informative to read from all viewpoints, and while there is little for me to agree with on her site, the rare occasions when there are can be a special treat. There are several uber-conservative bloggers I could have chosen, but she won out because I was impressed with her coverage of the Foley situation. She held the right people accountable and did not once resort to the easy choice of gay-bashing.

Media Matters for America
They listen to talk radio so I don't have to. Read the outrageous comments from people like Bill Donohoe or Michael Savage in full context. And any enemy of Bill O'Reilly is a friend of mine.

BroadwayWorld
AKA -- the snake pit. My bitchy home away from home, but aside from that, a great place to dogpile all news Broadway.

That's it for now, although I'll certainly always be open to adding more as I go along. Or, if any of the chosen do not want to be associated with me...