When it rains, it pours. And when it suns, I blog.

So I think it's painfully obvious that despite an '06 resolution to write on this damn blog every day, it just hasn't happened. Please excuse the monstrous absence (A MONTH!!! AAAHHH!!!) Well, I'm back for now to share some photos from an amazing day that I had. Kate and I went to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, so... Enjoy.

Now, that's a Birthday Cake of a Different Color...

I think this photo pretty much sums up my bday festival on Sat evening.
You know things are going well when candles are placed in a giant vat of vodka-filled jello...



For the record, I'm still 24 for another 22 hours and 47 minutes...

"Now you go feed those hogs before they worry themselves into anemia!"

That is an actual quote from The Wizard of Oz. That Auntie Em. What a character.
I heart the IMDB. (which also told me Basic Instinct 2 made a paltry 3.2 million this weekend, and that in NY and DC they are pulling the trailer for that god awful 9/11 movie, which I totally agree with...But I digress...) Anyway, the reason I needed a Wizard of Oz quote is that DC is currently under a TORNADO WARNING. How is that possible? Tornados are supposed to happen to people in red states, people on farms, people who...know what the hell your supposed to do in a tornado. (Low ground I think, right?) At any rate, if Bill Paxton drives by and cows start flying around I'll let you know.
Although, a tornado just might take all the cherry blossoms off the trees, which may make the 17 million tourists currently clogging up the metro go home. That would be nice.
In other news, a week from tomorrow I will be closer to thirty than twenty. I'm accepting condolences and donations of fine spirits and wine. Speaking of which, that makes my bday party co-host, Paul, 25 today. Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, mein Liebschen!
Finally- this blog officially has over three hundred posts.
Kevin, what does that say about us?
-Lethal.

BROOKLYNITES, finally, again.

SUCCESS!

Kate and I are Ft. Greene residents. Nothing has broken. We're alive.

Yay.

A Note on Facial Hair, by special guest blogger Katie McGrath!

(Katie McGrath, a dear friend of this blog, has a few things to say about beards, goatees, stubble, and 'staches. Clearly, this is the ideal platform. Let 'er rip, McGrath!)

You may have noticed that the media is currently fascinated by a "resurrection" of facial hair. Over the past few months there have been articles in Time Out NY, The Boston Herald, etc., spots on The Today Show, an entire documentary known as "The Glorious Mustache Challenge," and just last week the follicle frenzy made it's way into the New York Times. (http://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/23/fashion/thursdaystyles/23BEARDS.html?_r=1&oref=slogin )

Now seeing as I've been talking about this for years I think I'll jump on the current literary bandwagon and tell you what I think of this trend.

Side note: My theory is mainly based on NYC because of it's high gay population.

The recent popularity of male facial hair is a result of the woman's search a masculine lover.There has been such a growth of public homosexuality (which we all love) that straight women have to set straight men further apart from their gay boys. Due to the influx of femininity we need masculinity and we've been driven to the extreme.
Our gay counter-parts have taken us shopping and then sent us to bed the grizzly man.

Think about it; we've got all these gay friends but we don't want to sleep with them. We as straight women don't necessarily think of them as "Men", in the sense of someone we are attracted to. Therefore the men that we are attracted to are turning out to be more rugged than in the past. Those pretty-boy, Abercrombie and Fitch models that used to do it for us are now turning on the boys at the club a whole lot more than they're working it for the ladies. We see a clean shaven man with a blue button down shirt and we have to put on our gaydar but if we see a guy who looks a bit disheveled, sporting a bit of scruff then we know right away that he is a straight man.

I believe that I speak for many women when I say that today, more so than a few years ago, I am definitely more attracted to men with a healthy amount of scruff (no full beards for me.) The fact is that when I'm with a man I want to know that I'm with a MAN. It's just a reminder of their masculinity - it's hot.

So ladies, the next time you find yourself stopping a makeout session to get the hair out of your mouth or waking up with irritated skin around your mouth, blame it on the gays!

WHAT WORKS AND WHAT DOESN'T:
1. Goatee and/or Chin-Strap: No Way. There's a fine line between hot and trashy and unfortunately those two are the latter.
2. Lil' bit of a Mustache (no beard) : The Prepubescent look. Definitely a NO.
3. Full fluffy mustache (no beard): The Magnum PI look. Some woman like this look. I'm not one of them but I guess it can pass.
4. Bushy Beard & Mustache Set- Hippie or Man-in-the-woods look: Only works for me if they\re a tortured artist, and oh how that works for me.
BEST LOOK: The "I haven't shaved in a week." I think this is the look that pulls in the ladies. EXAMPLE: A few years ago I confused all my friends by having "relations" with this short Jewish pothead with shaggy hair and a face full of scruff. I couldn't put my finger on what attracted me to him but I just kept telling them that there was just "something about him." I realized what that something was one evening when I saw him after a full shave. I was shocked to learn that I was turned on by his facial hair. I loved the scruff! I loved the rough feeling of it against my face and I wanted it back. So when he said to me, "You don't like it do you? I look 12, don't I?", I answered with a very unconvincing "Nnnooo, I don't hate it." and then followed with "It'll grow back."

"I totally hooked up with the Town Crier... I hope he doesn't tell anyone"

This past weekend I journeyed south to Colonial Williamsburg. I have fond memories of playing fife and skipping through time (in my yellow jelly sandals) circa 1987. Let me tell you kids- 20 years has NOT been good to this place. As it turns out, you can beat the proverbial dead horse that is Williamsburg in about 17 minutes. Were it not for the availability of Draft Cider and giant Turkey legs, the whole thing might have been a bust.
My fellow time-travelers, Paul and Neena and I managed to make our own fun. Paul and I also got see our friend Rebecca, who we studied abroad with in Germany. To understand both the low and high point of this mini-break, you will need to picture the following scene:
Your are in a hotel bar called "Bones"
in the bar are the following groups:
1-some very proud rednecks having a pool tourney.
2-the inebriated guests of an African-American wedding reception who have decided to keep the party going by drinking an playing "electric slide" on the juke box
3-actors from Colonial Williamsburg, still wearing their costumes, sitting in stockings and knee-pants at the bar.
4-Us.
Oh, and did I mention that it 's Karaoke night?!?
Our mission was clear. We had drink long island iced teas and break into the hotel pool after it closed.
My next adventure will be Paul and Leighs 50th Birthday party, coming up in like, a week.

"Your life sounds like a sordid novel."

I'm really tired. Kate and I signed a lease for a new apartment on Friday- Yeah! Fort Greene! I heart Brooklyn!- which means that now until when we move (AKA, next Saturday), my life is an endless montage of boxes, crying, alcohol and garbage bags. That sounds totally kinky, but it's not. It's suckville. Oh, and OH! Check this out for size: I have a dislocated vertebrae in my back. True story. It hurts like a MOTHERFUCKER, and I'm going to a chiropractor to have it adjusted, or manipulated, or whatever they do with it, and then hopefully, I won't end up a paralyzed, drooling burden on society. Quite truly, I think this is some sort of karmic bitch-slap for all the times I mocked Christopher Reeve.

But things are looking up, because right down the street from where Kate and I will be living is BAM, currently home to the greatest performance in New York City-- Academy Award-winner Cate Blanchett in Hedda Gabler. I had the good fortune of seeing this "show" today with my beloved coworker (and fellower sufferer) Cara Joytotheworld David. This is such a half-assed production, from Andrew Upton's (that's Mr. Blanchett, FYI) bizarrely modern translation to Robyn Nevin's incomprehensibly "busy" direction- I mean, it's actually quite something to be THAT mediocre. But Cate Blanchett is just so fucking bat-shit insane in this part, that you quite literally don't even notice anything wrong with it. I mean, it's totally a one-woman show. Ben Brantley called it "a dozen performances in one,"and that gaywad is so flippin' right, except I think it's closer to 45 distinct "Heddas" that she employs. In all honesty, she camps it up with such "Dynasty" high style and the most insane energy I've ever seen in my life... She quite literally beats you in the face with her ever-mercurial arsenal of characterizations. Cara perhaps put it best when she likened Cate's performance to a 1-2-3 of Nicolette Sheridan, Katharine Hepburn and Kathleen Turner. I think there's also some Barbara Stanwyck, some Charles Busch, and even some Bette Davis. Basically, she's a Grand High Bitch, always either smoking, pouting, skipping, yelling or vogue-ing, and it's genius. If the play is inappropriately modern, she's in-inappropriately futuristic.

But the character of Hedda really spoke to me...

WAYS THAT I'M LIKE HEDDA GABLER, by Kevin Manganaro:

1. We're both trapped in constrictive living situations. (Sorry, Kate.)
2. We both like pulling the hair of our long-time, mousy school chums. (Sorry, Joe.)
3. We're both likely to commit suicide by the end of the next 2 hour and 45 minutes. (Did I mention how much by back hurts?)
4. We share an affinity for high-collared 19th century gowns with golden capes.

Anyway, that's where I'm at right now. High art, low(-er) back pain, and a gross excess of packing tape. Anyway, kisses to call. Please send Kate & I warm wishes. Hedda would want it that way.

KEVIN :-)

Shenanigans!

I heart Being Irish. and I love St. Pats. Please enjoy the following photographic evidence of the previous statements.:


This is Antonio, world's greatest bartender, back for one night only.

I'm using my Shamrock antenne to improve cell reception.

If you're Irish and you know it, read our blog!

Kevin M.- 1/2 Irish. (Each of my parents is 1/2 Irish, so that makes me 1/2 Irish too, right? Like... I get 1/4 of it from each of them, and that makes 1/2, right? Wait... Or is it 1/8? Can someone text me the answer?)
Leigh S.- 1,000/2 Irish.
BOTTOM LINE: Happy St. Patrick's Day! Yay!

This is such a sweet-ass holiday. Man, oh man. As soon as 6:00 rolls around, I am flying on wings of potato to Molly's Shebeen of 3rd Avenue and parking myself in sawdust and puking frat boys until the sun comes up. Hooray!

If I can be all righteous-gay for a second, while we totally love, appreciate and obsess over St. Pat's Day, as well as the contributions of countless Irish men and women in America (and specifically in New York... Hello, they built the mother-effin' subways!), it remains a sad state of affairs that gays and lesbians are denied participation in the St. Patrick's Day Parade year after year. The Irish sensibility that I know is so far from exclusionary, and yet the greatest agent of evil in the modern world (the Catholic church) has it tentacles so deep in the minds of the people who organize the Parade that year after year we get shit on. It's really sad, and we encourage everyone to avoid the Parade, if at all possible. And big ups to City Council Speaker Christine Quinn, a fucking awesome lesbian woman, for boycotting. We love you, brother.

Speaking of boycots, is anyone with me in turning on a frigid tit to "Mission: Impossible: 3: Colon"? Tom Cruise needs to be stopped, if not exported to Camaroon where he'd invariably be stoned to death for the crime of "creepiness."

Last item of business, a snippet from a Beastie Boys interview, courtesy of Joe Rockonis:

Little news came out of the Q&A session, with fans asking the trio to talk about their early inspirations or discuss their views on Three 6 Mafia winning an Oscar. "Nothing against them," Ad Rock said, "but we think Dolly Parton was robbed."

OK, all. Have a happy and safe SPD. And if you catch "The Quiet Man" on AMC or one of those channels this weekend, give it a watch. It's one of the best movies ever made. OK. Peace.

KEVIN :-)