Gender In Transition

Bought some blueberries this morning from a farmers’ market. Fellow who took my money smiled all nice and cheerful–“Can I help you, sir?” Of course by the time the “sir” is coming out of his mouth, he notices that I mignt not be a sir. Without missing a beat: “Can I help you, ma’am?” Emphasis placed not on the help you, but on the ma’am.

So I pull out my wallet (I’m sure that didn’t help him figure it out) and get my berries. This afternoon, I stop by to buy more. He sees me coming back and . . . “How can I help you this time, honey?”

From sir to ma’am to honey – all in one day.

Flavor Of Love


Flavor of Love begs the question–what flavor is flavor flav?  Old stale, bitter coffee that’s been filtered through the sock of an elderly chain-smoking waitress from a filthy Jersey diner? Better yet–who is going to want to be with a woman who been kissed, rubbed on, etc by Flav? Flav looks like he’d leave a lasting impression–like ten years from now a dude kissing a former FOL “contestant” will be tasting bits of Flav left over.

In 1988, Public Enemy’s cd It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back had a song on it called She Watch Channel Zero. Who would believe that almost 20 years later, Flavor Flav is Channel Zero? (And why am I watching this train wreck!)

Haven’t seen a horror movie in the theater since Slither–so I’m going to make an extra effort to see Snakes On A Plane. Women slugging it out in a cave (with each other and ghouls) just isn’t my cup of tea. Samuel L. Jackson cussin’ up a storm, poisonous snakes attacking 37000 feet in the air, members of the mile-high club turning into the die-high club–wait more could you want?

Can someone drop some snakes into the Flavor Of Love mansion–please?

A Murder In Boca

The cracked peephole was my first clue that something was terribly wrong.

The door was forced open, so I took the .22 out of my holster and then did my best NYPD impersonation. Turns out I was too late.



The room was a mess–and so was the body.





Of course “they” didn’t find what they wanted, I had the Pasha Stone in my pocket the whole time.

Now, not only did I have to get the stone back to my client–I had to avenge a death.