But instead I’m reading Hank and Phyllis’ blog, and because of that will share with you the “juicy bits about Eleanor Mondale” from the Warren Zevon biography, I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead. Warren was a rock and roll bad boy. Really bad. Drugs, women, drugs, more women and drugs. Eleanor is Walter’s daughter … you know, VP for Carter.

Last two entries:

July 2, 1990–Minnesota with Eleanor

… I told Eleanor I didn’t know if I could handle the long-distance relationship … She said she wasn’t going backwards in the relationships and if I started seeing other people — sleeping with them — that was it.

July 7, 1990

Made love with Annette on the couch.

Sue Johanson’s “Talk Sex” show on the Oxygen channel.  Seriously.  If you watch one show this year, it must be this.  Sue is someone’s Grandma – white curly hair, polyester shirts, big necklace, the works.  It’s a call-in show.  People call Sue with heartwrenching stories of bad sperm, sore scrotums, condom-chafing and Sue’s got the answer to everything.  

A sampling of last night’s topics:

Kate from Minnesota wondered if her Brazilian bikini waxes kept her safe from crabs.  Not entirely, Sue said.  There are still anal and perineum hairs, that most waxers miss, which make great little campsites for baby crabs.  And did you know, she adds, that men can get crabs in their beards?  From oral sex?  Sue and Kate giggled about this for a bit.  Silly men. 

Diane from Ontario was allergic to her lubricant.  Sue named the particular ingredient (starts with a “G”, reactions are common), then rattled off an impressive list of alternatives, including saliva.  None of them interested Diane until Sue held up a tube from her desk, “this one is designed specifically for anal play,” and read off the ingredients.  It seemed to satisfy them both.

Alicia wanted to know what a healthy vagina smells like.  Sue said it varies, then walked through the different smells in a typical cycle. 

Tammy got really light-headed after a G-spot orgasm and wondered if that was normal.  “Yes!” Sue declared, clapping her hands together, delighted.  “Good for you!”  After a good G-spot orgasm, Sue said, most of the time you can barely walk.  Tammy was relieved.  

Sue also reviewed the ”Cyberskin Creamsicle,” which she was very displeased with.  The hood is hard to get off for lubricating and cleaning purposes, and the long rubber tip doesn’t actually stimulate anything.  Bad Cyberskin Creamsicle, Bad. 

Sundays, 11:00PM.  Oxygen Channel.  You heard it here.

While the rest of you were busy staring at computers or making dinners or driving your cars, my brother-in-law was busy buying motorcycles and being famous.

You can get an autographed photo (nude, on his bike) by sending $100 here.

I don’t know why it does that, see my Hopper post? All tiny letters and bunched on the right? It makes me mad.

The Friday picture was of a morel-picking spot, from Jake Rockwood‘s plane. You look for clear cuts, that’s the trick. No one won the rootbeer float.

Double or nothing, though, if you fix my stupid formatting. Make it never ever ever happen again, as long as I live.

[Photo courtesy of Chris Chennell.]

These guys are nuts. [Courtesy Zulkey].

What’s this? A rootbeer float if you guess.

Very Obvious List today recommends Andy Richter’s new show, “Andy Barker, P.I.” I like Andy, so yeah, watch it.

Also, buy The Bird and the Bee’s self-titled album because they look fun and the cover art’s cute, plus they have EXPLICIT LYRICS. Get Roy Hargrove’s Nothing Serious for rainy days and Mondays. And read Christine Falls by “Benjamin Black” (John Banville, of The Sea).

There. You have something to do. And, surprise! Everyone in my audience today gets a car. Send your shipping address here.

… Did you know?

Teddy Roosevelt said “bully” when he meant “awesome.”

He’s the “Teddy” of “Teddy Bear.”

He put a dead ibis in the icebox once, which made the waiter on the family houseboat scream. Oh, the humanity.

More at 5:00.

… There were two little coffee tubs in the drawer yesterday evening. This morning, after A. left, there was one. Marriages are made and shattered on this kind of stuff. I had the Tully’s Italian Roast and I want more!

Anyhoo.

Mark knows how to not read a book, buy his book!

And Dick Cavett is suddenly everywhere (again). Well, in two places. If you find more, please tell. I heart Mr. Cavett.

Hug a president.

Every morning I think of something fun to write.  I swear, really.  It usually hits me going into Dundee — right at that house with the big boat in the front yard.  Then I think of three more fun things, and two more after that.  But by the time I drop G. off 30 minutes later, it’s all gone. 

I do remember thinking something about a “one-eyed monster,” which is how the van looks right now to the people I tailgate.  And is also how some might have misinterpreted Prince’s guitar.  But of course it came together much better in Dundee.  

So there’s that.

And then I wanted to blog about this show I watched Sunday night with my Uncle Bill – an old (mid-50′s) black-and-white western called Cheyenne.  (Get DVDs of old episodes on Netflix). 

Cheyenne Bodie is a do-gooder cowboy who is also “physically huge,” according to Wikipedia.  He’s actually breathtakingly huge.  It’s hilarious.  He ripples right out of his skin-tight cowboy shirts and he’s twice as big as everyone else on the show, with an unnaturally deep, soothing voice. 

He’s played by Clint Walker who obviously inspired that whole Chippendale’s thing. 

The first episode we watched had a treat – the bad guys caught Cheyenne and ripped his shirt off so we could see his physically huge and hairy naked chest.  Then they whipped him.  (Bad Cheyenne, bad!)  The first network gay porn.   

Hey, you know what?  This is the kind of stuff we should be getting from Very Obvious List, duh!  Show me cool and campy stuff I never knew about, not the leftovers from Sunday Magazine.  Jeesh.  Anyway, that’s all I’ve got. 

(Julie Nipp never comes to my house.)