Sunday, September 30, 2007

Pass The Mission (Or, You Can Fool With A Straight Guy)

Twice this week I've encountered the Eurthymics video for "Missionary Man" online. It's a great song, but it always makes me think of one of the best put-downs I've ever had the pleasure to witness.

In college, I was sitting at a table full of friends at lunch. The group was a mix of gays and was the standard at my so-liberal-it-hurts college. Anyway, a straight male friend - who was prone to be loud and obnoxious - was teasing another straight guy about how much he wanted to give it to him up the ass. The two straight guys bantered back and forth until my friend (and then-boyfriend) Rob piped in:

"Don't you know [hetero dude doing the teasing] loves anal sex with men?"

To which the obnoxious, hetero dude replied...

"No fucking way, man. I love pussy. Love it, love it, love it. I can't get enough of it."

"Really?" Rob asked. "From what I've heard, you're awfully unimaginative with it."

"What the fuck's that mean?"

"We might as well call you The Missionary Man."

In the game of word volley that's what I like to call...perfect set...perfect spike.

And He's Like "I Saw You Come In" (Or, Omigod)

Here's to the genius of Catherine Tate...


Friday, September 28, 2007

Eye Lashing Out (Or, The Big K)

I frequently tell stories about my mother and, when I do, most people think I was raised by a drag queen.*

However, I've never really told a story about my younger brother here - and it's about time.

When my brother was a kid - he was a total cut-up. Not that he's not funny as an adult, but he definitely had a streak of wit early on.


My brother was a genuinely adorable kid. Which meant that women - all women - young and old - fawned and cooed and pinched him and hugged him and squeezed him like he was a doll. He never got tired of the attention, but sometimes, he would sass those who were doing the squeezing. Once, in the middle of such a squeeze/pinch/oooooo-athon, the woman doing the cooing said:

"Oh, Jason. You have such pretty eyes. Where'd you get those eyes - your mom or your dad?"

"My mom," my brother replied.

"And where'd you get that cute smile?"

"My dad."

"And where'd you get those long eyelashes?"


*I'll qualify that at a later date. Those who know Linda Marie know exactly what I mean.

Mocha My Dreams Come True (Or, Ice Cream For Everyone)

About a month ago, I sang the praises of Stewart's Shops and their most excellent product names.

Well...due to the strange magic of the internet, the president of Stewart's Shops replied to my blog entry and challenged me to come up with a name for a new ice cream flavor.


It's official. One of the names I submitted - Mocha Me Crazy - is now an honest-to-goodness flavor available at Stewart's Shops.

I got a ton of gift certificates in the mail yesterday...guess I'll be getting crazy fat on my copywriting skills while I road trip in upstate New York this fall.

Good times!

And thanks to the folks at Stewart's for thinking like I do.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Ho's Up, Hose Down (Or, A New Classic)

Let's give it up for Miss Wendy Ho and her future classic "Bitch, I Stole Your Purse".


Truckin' (Or, Slow Down 18 Wheeler)

Although my personal style has devolved into a studied kind of "man-drag" in recent years, I'm not one to criticize those who take fashion risks.


Walking home from a movie last night, I passed someone (yes, a fellow gay) who was so totally turned out, styled out, and fagged out that I had to pause for a second.

I won't go into the details of the look, but it was so much homo-in-motion that I thought to myself:

"Slow your roll there. You're truckin' on 18 wheels of gay."

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Bulgaria Is For Lovers (Or, A Steamy Interlude)

I've been meaning to take a trip abroad for some time now...and Bulgaria seems like a hot option all of a sudden.

Not so much for their sequined, bearded singers...but for their sweaty, steamy deodorant commercials.


Nail Biter (Or, Gee Your Nail Looks Terrific Part Two)

When I first moved to New York, I worked for an internet start-up. I won't go into the details of its fast and furious crash and burn (clearly, the company wasn't Google...not even close), but I still have a few good stories from working there.

At first the company was located in an amazing loft building in Union Square. We soon got too big for our space and decamped for the hell-on-earth known as Times Square.

Now, Times Square does have its merits. If you're a tourist, an actor, or a petty thief, it's a little slice of heaven. But if you work in a gigantic office building and have to face hoards of tourists, actors, and thieves to get your lunch every day, it's a fucking junkshow.

Anyway, when the company first moved to Times Square, we had no idea where to go for food. Union Square is jam-packed with amazing restaurants so lunch there was beyond easy - delightful even. Times Square is jam-packed with roasted nut carts, hot dog stands, and questionable eateries that are frequently shut down by the Health Commissioner. In the company-wide confusion that came with our move, most people ended up going to the Deli that was closest to our building.

To this day, I have no idea what this deli is actually called because located on the second floor above it was a giant Korean nail salon. The deli and the salon must have been owned by the same folks as they shared a huge green signage canopy - but, from the direction which I (and all of my co-workers) approached it, we only saw the "NAILS" portion of the shared sign.

Because no one knew the real name of the deli, it just became NAILS to everyone.

As in:

"Where'd you get that sandwich?"

"I got it at NAILS."


"I'm going to NAILS for a muffin. Anyone want anything?"


"I have to leave early. That salad I got from NAILS isn't sitting right with me."

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Short, Sharp, Shocked (Or, Hey Mister Shortstuff)

Recently, a notorious someone posted a piece about short men.

I'm short - always have been, always will be. I'm 5'7" - and never, ever cop to being anything more.

When someone says "hey shorty" I say - "That's right, bitch. That's me."

Anyway, a few years ago, I was dating a guy who was exactly my height.

I mean ex-act-ly.

I don't remember the context for this next snippet of conversation, but I do remember we were walking down a street in my neighborhood:

EX: You know, Tom Cruise is short like you.

ME: Um, don't you mean 'Tom Cruise is short like us'?

EX: God no. You're sooooo much shorter than I am.

ME: Really?

EX: You're what? 5'4"?

ME: 5'7".

EX: Same difference.

ME: And how tall would you say you were?

EX: 5'10".

At this point, I had to stop walking, since I was choking on a massive ham sandwich of disbelieving laughter.

ME: You can't be serious.

EX: What's so funny? I'm totally 5'10".

ME: You are not.

EX: Do you want to measure?

ME: No need - you know I can see the top of your head, right?

Re: Office Hours (Or, Not a Bad Idea)

As I write this, it's nearly closely exactly almost sort of close to something like or approximately a time on or around 3:00 PM on a Tuesday afternoon.

Now, I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking: "Bitch, get back to work and stop dicking around."

And you don't know I'm thinking: "Sweet Jebus, I have a to-do list that scares the shit out of me."

I know I should be working on other things right now...but I have a problem with 3:00 PM.

It's the start of that awful lag time in the afternoon that goes on and on and on and on and on. Even procrastinating takes too much time and harmless, delicious dicking around is like running through a vat of vaseline wearing a lead muumuu.

My loyal, fictional staff members LaDawna, Naomi, and Darcelle all want to take an hour off to get microdermabrasion.

And...if I were in a Mediterranean country, right now I'd be sleeping sleeping sleeping.

So under much duress by my staff, I've decided that it's time to institute a company wide, mandatory siesta.

Of course, no sooner than I'd said "siesta" during the announcement, all three ladies were out the door in flash to get their faces sanded and repaved at the Korean nail salon around the corner.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Rehashed, Remixed, Rewound (Or, Suited By A T)

I usually don't plug things shamelessly...let alone myself.


I just relaunched a website of mine called Suited.

It's a collection of drawings (a lot of which have appeared here) and those of you who might be familiar with what used to be at - it's now at

Yes, I'm overly handsy when it comes to URLs and webhosting. What can I say? Being a web-design-dork is what keeps my children enrolled in the Dalton school and my wife in Hermes handbags.

Hey...wait a minute...

I's what keeps my fictional employees (Darcelle, LaDawna, and Naomi) out of petty crime, drug use, and prostitution.

Anyway, go check out Suited at your leisure...

Friday, September 21, 2007

No Good Reason #89 (Or, A Drawing)

Celluloid Savant (Or, Film Strip Poker)

I have a lot of useless information in my head.

Most of it has to do with movies.

Before the days of digital cable, I would frequently scare friends and family members by being able identify films on TV in a matter of seconds.

Most were films I'd never seen before - but knew of - who starred, etc. - and could name in a flash.

I recently scared a blogger in Denver in a game he created called "Six Degrees of Parker Posey". His challenge was to connect Posey to John Wayne in six films or less...which I did with the help of Julianne Moore, Nicole Kidman, and Lauren Bacall.

Once friends are past being truly frightened by this aspect of my psyche, they use me as an informal encyclopedia. My friend Torrey once called me in a cold sweat because the name of a child actress from the 1970s was killing him.

"She was on Diff'rent Strokes...but not all the time."

"She might have been on Little House on the Prairie a few times."

"She had freckles and a raspy voice"

"She was in a film where an old woman was trying to kill her."

In a matter of minutes I was able to talk Torrey down...finding the talented Miss Kim Richards for him on based on his frantically random qualifiers.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Hello, Again (Or, Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Programming)

Pardon the dustiness of this thing called Buffalo Void...I've been meaning to write, but the last two weeks have been, well, more than I can say and my sense of humor has been hurting to say the very, very least.

I was going to write about one of the following but never got around to it:

-My cameo appearance as "Male Juror #8" in Law and Order: Special Victims Unit

-Yes, Virginia, there still is a hell of a lot of crime in New York.

-Yes, Virginia, being a juror on a criminal trial sucks ass.

-Yes, Virginia, if you take a month off from the gym you really really really never want to go back.

-Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. I see him every time I look in the mirror.

Now, who exactly this "Virginia" is, I have no idea. Given how much time I've spent thinking about addressing entries to her, I should know who the little bitch is. She may have replaced one of my fictional staff members (Naomi, Darcelle, LaDawna) when I wasn't looking...I'm not sure.

Regardless, here's to a return to bidness as usual.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Duty (Or, Doody)

I have jury duty this posts might be light in coming.

As soon as my duty is through, I'll get back to my real passion: doody.

Can't say anything more than this...despite it being kind of a drag, there is something thrilling in being called "Mr. Messersmith" and "Sir" all day.

Say My Name, Say My Name (Or, Nick Up My Ears)

For some reason (or many reasons), I have a lot of nicknames.

Hardly anyone I know calls me "Trevor".

My nicknames range from the simple:


To the cracker-flavored urban:

Bo-Bo Tonya

To the hard-to-explain, yet wholly endearing:

T. Marie

To the borderline-insulting:

Trevana Trump

It might seem impossible that I'm called all these different things by different folks...but it's all true. All of these nicknames are still out there being used by family, friends, and frenemies.

In a first...I will ask a question that you can answer in comments...

Any suggestions for new ones

I think I can handle a few more.

Friday, September 07, 2007

Fruit Loop (Or, A Plum)

Plums this time of year rock pretty hard. Plums also make me think of this knit hat I had when I was a kid. It was bright purple and was adorned with the phrase "New York's the Big Apple...but Cleveland's a Plum" knitted in white.

No, I didn't knit that myself.

And, no, I'm not making that up.

That Plum statement was Cleveland's attempt to "rebrand" itself in the early 1980s...rebranded as what I have no idea.

See also: The C-Word

Chapschtick (Or, These Things Happen)

A few days ago the phrase "assless leather chaps" came up in conversation with my mother.

Hey, these things happen.

I can't remember exactly how the phrase was introduced, but my mother, ever the meek blushing flower, said:

"Lots of people wear them now. Not just the leather guys. Bike riders wear them...lots of people. I was in the doctor's office the other day, and a young woman came in wearing them."

I had to pause.

"Um, a woman came in wearing assless leather chaps?"

"Yes. Well, she did have jeans on underneath."

"Was she carrying a motorcycle helmet?"

"Oh. Yes."

"For a second there, you had me picturing groups of young women on ten-speeds biking to their doctor's office with their bare asses hanging out."

"You never know, Trev. Maybe they were airing out the rug for a gyno exam."

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Breathless, Sockless (Or, Another Toe Jam)

There's a shoe store in my neighborhood that makes me laugh every time I walk by it.

It's not that the shoes are that bad...

The store's name (I'm saving it) is so ridiculous, that I always find myself making up a story about how the name ever came to be. Most of the time, the stories go something like this:

SHEILA (spoken in the strongest Long Island accent possible): Oh my god Margot...I was at this shoe store the otha day and the sales guy kept fondling my feet. He fitted me in the most delicous pumps...and then he massaged my feet for ten mintues.

Margot...I got so excited, so overwhelmed...I had a Shoegasm.

Yes, that's the store's name. I hope to G-d they only employ verified foot fetishists.

The Left Coast (Or, Jackie Dressed in Cobras)

Every once and a while, when New York is really wearing me down, I think to myself:

"I could live in Los Angeles."

And then I remember...

1. I don't work in the entertainment industry


2. Sarcasm is such a large part of my psyche, I may not be able to function there...I think all that perfect weather dries it out of people.

However...the IFC show The Minor Accomplishments of Jackie Woodman - which I'm re-hooked to now that it's back on - might just prove me wrong about #2. The show is so good I can't take's also so bitter it good.

Case in point: this week's episode, Jackie (as written and performed by the brilliant Laura Kightlinger) becomes a writer for a fashion magazine...she writes an expose about how most chic boutiques are really just lame fake businesses set up by rich husbands to keep their bored housewives busy. I won't give up the rest...but I will give up this:

When questioned about a soy candle, Jackie tells someone:

"You know what? Go fuck your soy."

I can't wait to use that at Whole Foods. I almost want to run there now and try to pick a fight.

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

A Drawing (Or, For Now)

It's been a while since I've posted one of these...

Monday, September 03, 2007

Bald Ambition (Or, Fritz)

I once confessed to having a lot of grandparents. Now that gaggle of grandmothers is now missing their sole male: my grandfather passed away this weekend after a very brief battle with cancer.

Humor is a huge part of how my family relates to one another. My grandfather was no exception. As kids, whenever my brother and I would get spazzy or get in fights, Grandpa was known to say things like: "Calm down. You two are like a couple of farts in a windstorm."

My grandfather was also known for the story of how he lost his hair. He told me the reason why he was bald was because he stuck his head out a car window as a child and his hair blew completely off - never to grow back.

I was so awestruck by this story that I told it to my entire kindergarten class during Show & Tell. My fellow five year-old classmates were as stunned and intrigued as I was by the incident. After all, when you're that age, anything related to the world of adults is mysterious and entirely up for grabs.

Once I was done with the story, my teacher understandably laughed her ass off.

Grandpa was also the owner of a photograph near and dear to my heart.

Needlesstosay, I will miss him.

(Above: Fritz in White Sands, New Mexico sometime in the 1960s)

Sunday, September 02, 2007

Flippity Floppity Fool (Or, Pardon Me?)

Like all men in my neighborhood, I have been subject to a variety of cat calls and luridly unappealing come-ons.

Today, however, I was subject to a form of sexual harassment I've never experienced before.

As I was innocently strolling up Eighth Avenue to the bank, I passed an older leather-ish looking man. I felt a leer coming on, so I kept my eyes forward. Just as I walked by him, he growled and said:

"Mmmmmm....nice feet."

Now, I supposed I "asked for it" since I was wearing flip flops...but still.

As I walked to the bank I tried not to get drunk on the thought that my feet - which I never consider - were somehow considerable enough for someone to growl at.

Saturday, September 01, 2007

The Last of the Coney Dog Lovers (Or, The End)

Scenes from Coney Island's last weekend...ever.