Queer AfterElton.com has named the “Top 25 Gay TV Characters” based on a survey from their readers and Brian Kinney, the fictional character from Showtime’s horrible series “Queer as Folk” is their #1 pick.

According to AfterElton.com :

Handsome, arrogant, successful, and slutty, Brian spent five seasons running from love, almost-but-not-quite selling his soul for money and power, and drinking, drugging, and clubbing while trying to hide most of his good deeds – and the fact that he had a heart – from everyone around him.

Why is this so horrible? Because so many people have told me that I remind me of this character, morally and physically, which I find revolting. I’m no drug-addled, whoreish, nasty advertising homo! Thankfully most of these comparisons came when I lived in Seattle and was single. Now that I think about it at that point in my life I may have resembled Brian Kinney in more ways than one.

In the past two weeks 4 light bulbs have popped and gone dead in my apartment in NY. One in the kitchen, one in the walk-in closet, one in my study and one in the bathroom. Another one in a lamp also did the same thing. I feel that I am being targeted by malevolent forces beyond my control. Perhaps it’s time to hire an exorcist.

I have a simple rule that governs placement on my blogroll - post at least once a month or you’re deleted. It’s not hard to write a few words once a month, it’ll probably take less than 5 minutes of your day. If you can’t manage that then adios.

I laughed my ass off when I read this story in the NY Times this morning. The Republican Party is so bankrupt, morally, intellectually and fiscally, that it has to seek self-financing, aka: rich, candidates to run against Democrats in 2008. Imagine a party that just three years ago heralded the dawn of perpetual majority status for itself is now reduced to trolling country clubs in the Midwest seeking bored and wealthy businessmen to run under its banner. What a comedown.

They think they see glimmers of hope on the horizon: “The surge is working” they say, all aquiver with excitement at the thought that Iraq may turn from an albatross around their necks instead to a golden ticket to re-election. Wrong.

How is the fact that putting more troops into Iraq to reduce violence to levels of two years ago a victory? I thought invading Iraq was supposed to be a visionary method of re-engineering the Middle East? Victory is reducing violence caused by the Bush administration’s inept handling of the aftermath of the invasion to levels we consider “manageable?” What happened to Iraq as the linchpin of democracy and goodness in the Middle East?

The weakness of the dollar is causing oil prices to rise and rise. Our currency is so weak one has to be a millionaire to travel to the UK. Unemployment is rising as are crime rates, which are always a better harbinger of an economic downturn. The Republican Party is dreaming if they think people are going to forget the ruinous state of our foreign and economic policy over the past 7 years. But then again when they have nothing positive to point to to deserve re-election dreaming is about all they’ve got left.

Last night was h-o-r-r-i-b-l-e.

1. Two bottle minimum. When did this become the rule for clubs in the Douche district Meatpacking District? I used to love Cielo, with its great music and nice one-bottle policy. When did it become a magnet for every pudgy, greasy kid from New Jersey with Momma’s credit card to use?

2. Going out on the weekends is a bad, bad idea. Exiting our cab I was immediately struck by the site of a rotund girl with two-inch dark roots clad in a tight vinyl jacket which left exposed to the 28 degree air her several rolls of adipose. Gross.

3. Inside was worse. When did tiny little Asians start taking over Cielo? Yellow alert! Yellow alert! It was like a lilliputian Hong Kong up in there.

Ugh. I’ve learned my lesson. During my exile from Bungalow I am never, ever going to the Meatpacking District again unless it’s Sunday-Wednesday.

As someone who actually lives in Manhattan I have two policies I consider sancrosant - the first is never wandering above 14th Street (I’m pretty successful at this rule, other than when I venture to the cursed environs of W.27 St.) and the other is never going out on a Friday or Saturday night.

Well, I’m breaking the latter this evening.

Because my boyfriend is leaving tomorrow some friends and I are heading over to the Guidodistrict Meatpacking District to go to Cielo, a club I love but frequent all too rarely these days. Besides the freezing weather outside I think it’s going to be a fun evening.

Ugh. The gluttony that accompanies Thanksgiving is truly disgusting. As fat as Americans are becoming I’m surprised we even need the excuse of “Thanksgiving” to eat enormous quantities of pumpkin pie and turkey. Nonetheless, conformist that I’m becoming, I once again ate too much and now am feeling sick and bloated.

Diet starts tomorrow.

I’ve had this feeling for a while. I’ve reached the limit (as far as I wanna take it) of my social and academic life in New York, yet something is missing. While I’m away from my boyfriend I miss him so much and all I want is to get back to California to my home and be with him again. Yet even with the two of us something is missing…

We want to have a child. I’ve had my niece with me the past four summers and when she’s with us, my boyfriend and I, we feel whole, completely together. We have a wonderful life but our life would be so much more wonderful with a child. A baby who we could have between us as we sleep, a child we can raise as our own.

We want to raise a child as our own. I want the Good Doc and I to have a child and raise it as our baby. A baby raised in a strong, loving Jewish home. A baby who will know the pure comfort of acceptance and love and safety its whole life, in all the ways I never did. A baby who will be ours, wrapped in the pure, gentle love of our home.

I want to have a baby with my boyfriend of over 4 years. We want to raise a child together, to grow old together with our child (or two) and live our lives with one another and our baby.

I know this is shocking. I’m Mr. Party. I’m also Mr. Intellectual and my boyfriend is Mr. Career. But you know what? We’re also Mr. Human and Mr. Love TOGETHER and we want our lives to mean more than having the most beautiful house or the best job or the most money. We want to have children who know and experience the love in their lives we never got to when we were children.

And we will.

My boyfriend is arriving tomorrow and my friend from LA just left today. She’s a bit bummed because she’s one of the assistant-directors on Big Love and she found out it’s now on hiatus until the WGA strike is over. She’s also in the DGA and they’re threatening to strike next June along with SAG, so we may be bereft of new material on the boob-tube for quite a while.

I ordered all the food I need for Thanksgiving from Citarella and Dean and Deluca. Some of it arrived today, packed in dry ice which I promptly took out, put in a cup and then ran around my apartment in my underwear singing Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit.” Good times.

So few progressive commenters have it in them to call a spade a spade. Glenn Greenwald is not one of those. Day after day he uses his brilliant wit to excellent effect, calling out right-wing pundits and ass-kissing Beltway insiders and exposing them for what they really are.

Take today’s column for example, where he comments on the stale and irrelevent Maureen Dowd:

Republican authoritarian warmongers who swagger around in tough guy costumes — Friedman’s Cheney and Dowd’s Giuliani — are Real Men whom we need to keep us safe. Men who don’t crave war are faggots and aggressive Democratic women are unshaven, threatening bitches. That’s the core belief of the Beltway Religion of Seriousness, as practiced on Sunday so vividly by these NYT columnists.

Glenn is one of the reasons I keep my Salon.com membership active.