I've been thinking about aging a lot lately. Mainly because I'm, well, aging. I started losing my hair in my early 40's. Now that 60 is knocking at my door, and I have a very obvious bald spot, I've WILLED it to stop falling out.

Some people think male-pattern baldness is sexy, but I'll tell you what; I've NEVER met a man with thinning hair who is happy about it. Of course, a lot of them say it doesn't bother them. (Of course they're lying. Why? Because I say so, that's why.) Ok, maybe it doesn't really bother them, but it bugs the shit out of me.

When I was in junior high school, there was a girl named Jan up the street that I sometimes spent time with. Her mother would say to me, «You have such a wonderful hairline!» (She really did.) I wonder what she'd say if she saw me now. Back then I had a flat stomach and an ass like polished granite, too. Now everything is sliding south and I have more hair in my ears than on my head. So it goes. If I could go back in time, I WOULDN'T. I'm SO glad those days are over. But, please, the next time you see me, tell me my hair looks nice.

All three of them.

Thank you.

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The kitty and I were having a conversation yesterday. Ungrateful little wad of fur has no idea how lucky he is.

Kitty: I don't like this Salmon Dinner. It's bland. I want the Seafood Medley.

Yip: We're out of Seafood Medley. Besides, where do you think salmon comes from?!

K: How about the Chicken Buffet? At least it has some flavor to it.

Y: Look, you should be glad to get the Salmon Dinner. There are less fortunate cats out there with NO dinner, you know.

K: Oh, SPARE me the 'You're so lucky' speech! Fine. Salmon Dinner. But make a dill sauce to go with it. And hurry it up. It's almost time for my evening massage. Is there any more Chardonnay?

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The latest video from Osama bin Laden shows him with a beard that has obviously been colored. (New Dawn? Nice n' Easy? Just For Men?) The old boy had a makeover! And he looks smashing!

Maybe we can send Ty Pennington over there to give his cave an Extreme Makeover. I can visualize little snippets of interviews with bin Laden during the re-do, «Praise Allah! This is SO much more than I expected! 'Thank you' just doesn't seem enough to say!» All the while he's getting misty eyed and hugging the makeover crew.

Hey, those makeover folks could do as good a job of finding the bastard as Bush has done. And with STYLE!

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Apparently our tap-dancing senator from Idaho has decided he won't resign just yet. Even if he does finish out his term, I can't see him being re-elected.

But all is not lost for the partition prancer. He was one of the Singing Senators, too. (Now THERE'S an elite group.) So, can a Broadway musical be in his future? I mean, he sings, he dances, he sucks cute coppers…… I'm sure there's a part on the Great White Way for him somewhere. Maybe a revival of The Wizard of Oz.
(«My! People come and go so quickly here!»)

I think «Wicked» may be more apropos.

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When I was about 8 or 9 years old, there was a single woman named Bea who lived on the corner of my street. She was incredibly good looking, with red hair she always wore swept up on her head. She had an in-ground pool put in her yard. Kidney shaped. Back then, having an in-ground pool was a real status symbol. I suppose it still is, to some people. It was even more impressive if it was kidney shaped, like Bea's. She would let the neighborhood kids swim from time to time. Me, Bill, Gary, Bob, and a few others. My posse at the time.

It was always neat to go to Bea's house. Her basement was fixed up like a tavern, with a lot of neat «grown up» stuff to look at. Beer signs, a pool table, a long bar at one end. And a room that we were not allowed to go near. She was nice enough to let us use the pool and mess around in the basement, so we never questioned why we couldn't go to «the room». It was just a rule that we considered part of the deal.

Bea didn't live in the neighborhood for a long time, and none of this is especially remarkable, except for one thing. On certain nights, Bea would have a red light glowing in her basement window. Apparently it was in «the room».

Now that I'm an adult, I'd like to meet up with Bea. If she's even still alive. I bet she'd have some stories to tell.

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Enough of the briefs. Now to the boxers. Oscar de la Hoya has been outed as a cross-dresser. Well, maybe. The pictures that have surfaced may or may not be real. One can do amazing things with PhotoShop. But, hey, if we can have sports stars come out as being gay, why not a pro boxer as liking drag? I prefer to look at Oscar in man clothes (or in boxer shorts…yum!). But, if drag was good enough for J. Edgar Hoover, why not de la Hoya? Too bad Hoover's dead. He could give Oscar some tips on accessorizing.

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