Here's yesterday's thoughts from my boss:

Why aren’t any Democrats raising this issue:

OK. So the White House says it is the height of injustice and racism to launch kneejerk attacks on the Dubai Ports deal because Dubai has been such a useful instrument in the so-called War on Terror.

Keeping in mind that this is a STATE-owned company, what assurances can Mr. High Crimes & Never-Been-Briefed offer that the government of the nation state of Dubai will always be a government pre-disposed to cooperate with the United States? It wasn’t too long ago, for example, that Iran was a sea of pro-U.S. tranquility/stability/oil in the Mideast and Lebanon was the “Switzerland of the Mideast.” But I think those descriptions, in the words of the Nixon White House, might no longer be operative. Can you imagine what a fix we’d be in if Nixon had sold a half-dozen U.S. ports to the Shah of Iran in 1972? Two generations ago, Yemen was a conservative pro-Western mini-state. Then it became one of the most radical regimes in the world. Now it is struggling to regain its footing and rejoin with the Western World. Libya is pointed to with great pride by the boosh neo-cons as proof of the success of their war of aggression on an Islamo-fascism that is partly of their own making. But who’s to say the Qadaffi will not fall victim next month or next year to a young, radical firebrand of a colonel … somebody exactly like the M. Qadaffi of 35 years ago. Things change. All over. Particularly in such a volatile region of the world as Jim Baker’s Mideast.

So maybe Dubai is the United States’ greatest, strongest, most reliable ally in the world today. In that part of the world, that’s zero guarantee that tomorrow that state couldn’t be the second coming of the Taliban.

And, of by the way, our great and good and cooperative friend Yemen just recently stood by and allowed several dozen Al Qaeda operatives to escape from a local prison. Sure makes me feel good about turning our port security over to a country who’s greatest claim to fame is that Michael Jackson has decamped there.
In other news, I have found a reason to love Richard Gere, something I never thought I would say in my lifetime. But the quotes that have been circulating after his acceptance of the Hasty Pudding Award, have finally won me over. If you haven't seen it yet, here it is:

"I'm asking why I said yes to this," Gere said of the student roast. "'Cause we're all bozos on the bus. All of us, and especially in this world and in this country right now, the biggest bozo on the bus is actually driving the bus."

The emphasis is mine. But who would have ever thought that the man who is the Dalai Lama's BFF would be quoting Firesign Theater. I may just have to swoon a little here over that.

Finally, to round out my reasons to live today, tonight we get to see the great and glorious Tim Gunn visit the finalists of Project Runway in their natural habitats. Maybe, though, natural isn't a word to use with that useless asshat Santino... And as if that isn't enough to keep me on the couch tonight, it is also the ANTM "Where Are They and What the Fuck Are They Doing Now" show, prior to next week's season 6 opener.

Fuzzy bathrobe, bunny slippers and a jug o' plonk and I am good for the night.

I have written a summary of the Project Runway Reunion Show twice. The first time the window crashed after about five paragraphs. It just crashed again after I had discoursed on everyone but the final three.

Fuck it. Let's make it short and sweet. Trust me when I say this was a lot funnier in long form.

Lupe was out of control on some kind of heavy drugs. I have a rule that I live by, and that is this: There are two types of drugs in the world. The first treat or cure diseases. The second are for recreational use. Never mix up the two. Lupe clearly did that and then some. Intervention required.

Zulema has an alter-ego? Puh-leeze. That's for comic books and Disassociative Personality Disorder. And frankly, Tshangi was a bitch and a ho, and in no way discernable from Zulema.

Santino is a big asshat. He's always been an overbearing, abusive, bullying asshat, and he always will be. Like most bullies, he's also a coward, refusing to own up to his behaviour. Furthermore, he is a talentless blow hard and I find it hard to believe that anyone, male or female has sex with him willingly.

Daniel Franco was either edited unfairly or Heidi needs to pull a restraining order on him ASAP. I tend to believe the former. I also believe that the weird look in his eyes (always) is due more to being extremely myopic and wearing contacts than anything more sinister.

Andrae needs his own Project Andrae. Or the montage of him and the revolving door needs to go on the Viral Video site for downloading. Also? He was robbed on the "Inspiration" challenge.

Kara Janx wuz robbed during any number of challenges, but especially on the Garden Party challenge and the makeover challenge.

Diana is cute, was cute and had on a scarf that I'm sure she knit herself, seeing as it was as much there as it wasn't and her use of negative space was her greatest strength and singular vision.

If I can remember half of what I said in either of my other entries, maybe I'll amend this one. Or not.

OK. Item the first. Many thanks to RJ for stepping in to be my emergency backup during my surgery. I was rescheduled (without my knowledge) for 3 hours earlier than I had planned, so the RLA was supposed to be in class, and couldn't get a substitute.

If you ever have to sit around and wait for surgery, RJ is your girl. We were having quite the yocks before they came in to sedate me. After? Maybe we continued to have the yocks, but you can't prove it by me.

My reaction to sedation is this: Oh! I think I feel it startizzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Part of the cocktail they gave me was sodium pentathol, known to all movie watchers as "truth serum". What truths did I reveal under the influence of this powerful drug? That I wanted to go out for sushi.
This actually came as quite a shock to me, because I quit eating the raw stuff after my housekeeper's son developed brain worms as a result of sushi. Now, I'd like to think, in my effete snobish way, that we eat at different sushi bars, but a brain worm is a brain worm is a brain worm (take THAT Gertrude Stein) and so I quit. Cold tuna, if you will.

Another thing that RJ and I found infinitly amusing was that in addition to drawing a big blue circle on my tushie where he thought the lump would be found, the surgeon felt it necessary to also write "YES" in big indelible letters next to said circle.

I believe that this is testament to the fineness of my white ass, but RJ says that it's just an extra precaution against cutting the wrong side. Like they all kept saying to each other "not the tatoo side" but I suppose that YES and a big blue circle help. Still, it's my fine white ass, and it's indelible ink, and so who is to debate with me about why the YES is there.

Item the second is for my readers in California. Larry Cafiero, a fellow traveler from my salad days is running for office in your state. Here is his website. Vote for him. He's really a fine fellow, loves children and cats, and has more common sense in his little finger than most politicians have in their entire bodies. This, of course, bodes badly for his career in politics.

Item the third. Are they fucking kidding me?

Item the last in this list. Tonight is the reunion show for Project Runway. Oh, the blissful bitchiness of the dishing. Can my heart take it?

I'm goofing around today, trying to find things to occupy my mind and hands before I go in for surgery tomorrow. I want to play in my sewing studio, but I'm afraid to handle needles and sharp objects like my sewing shears. I think the safest thing for me today is knitting and reading.

It is such a tourist-bureau-perfect day in Miami that I'm debating about going to see the Dale Chihuly exhibit, or make a run to an outdoor market. If the RLA drives, that should be safe, huh?

PS: I've nicknamed the offended digit "Frankenpinkie" and it must be said in the best, Gene Wilder "Young Frankenstein" accent, thusly:

FRRRAHNK-uhn-peenkie.

Things are going to hell in a handbasket around here. I took a header down the stairs leaving work yesterday and just smashed the crap out of my left knee and right shin. Finally made it home, whimpering and whining, started dinner for the RLA and promptly sliced my left pinky finger to the bone with a chef's knife that was sharpened as a birthday present. So. Five stitches and a tetanus shot later, we ate leftovers for our Valentine's day dinner. Still, the nurse said not to worry, this wouldn't prevent my having surgery on Monday to remove the lipoma from my right tushie dimple. Of course, I can't use any sort of pain killers between now and then, and my typing is compromised by the huge bundle of bandages on my pinky....

PS: just got up to make myself some tea, and slopped scalding water over my left hand... the one with the stitches. Maybe I should just go home and stay in bed until my surgery?

I bought this the other day on i-tunes.

I know that I bore you all to tears with these stories, but. I have talked about that tour for thirty years. I had always been a rocker, and I saw a lot of acts — top acts during my college years, but that September night in 1975 changed my life. It was held at the Miami Jai Alai Fronton. It was no where near sold out. They made us wait for a long time before they finally opened the gates and let the audience in.

No. Really. Not hyperbole. It. Changed. My. Life.

And this show is from that tour, just a month or so later. It's the same set list that I've remembered for the last thirty years. The opening number was "Thunder Road." There was a single blue spotlight on this skinny guy in a black touque and a denim jacket. He had his back to the audience. He started to play the harmonica and turned around. He was wearing a black wife beater under the denim jacket. He was hairy and scraggly and that harmonica cut straight into my soul.

By the third number ("Spirits in the Night") my camera was stowed under my seat, and I was standing on the arms the seat, dancing. At one point in the song (I think it was when he sang the lyrics about Crazy Davy being really hurt and crawling into the lake in just his socks and his shirt), he threw himself flat on the stage (still singing) and crawled off the edge and into the crowd. I never took a shot that night, although somewhere in my storage unit is a photo that my boyfriend took.

This CD captures all of that. I can seen the blue spot. When the first strains of the harmonica play, it still cuts straight through my soul.

This is why, people. This is why he was and is the Boss. This is why I haven't missed a tour in 31 years (except the Devils and Dust tour, and it was at the Hard Rock Cafe, and it was a solo show, and I know what those are like. He lectures the crowd and gets really, really, SERIOUS. I love you, Bruce, but not enough for that.)

Years later, I met Bruce at the wedding of The Coolest Person In The World TM, and I told him that I had moved to New York City after that show. That my boyfriend wanted me to stay in Miami and live with him, but I'd said (and I apologize to you, my readers, for this; I apologized to Bruce when I told him; but remember, I was only 20 years old when it happened) "I can't. Tramps like us, baby, we were born to run." I told Bruce that I'd never forgotten that show, and that despite the tiny venue and even tinier audience, it was as good as any sell-out show I'd seen him do at the Garden.

Bruce said that he remembered that show, too, because so few tickets were sold they almost cancelled it. They had a hard time getting Danny's piano up on the stage. He said thank you. I said, no, THANK YOU. I never would have come to New York. I never would have met The Coolest Person In The World TM.

Buy this CD, and try to remember what the world was like when Bruce first took the stage, but before he changed the world of rock and roll.