Saturday, December 31, 2005
Friday, December 30, 2005
WTF WTMJ?
Once upon a time the local NBC station in Milwaukee was considered level-headed and fair-minded. It lead in local news and was considered unbeatable.
Well, those times are over. Now that WISN is beating them in almost every timeslot save for the 10 o'clock news, they're pandering to the fearmongers. Within the first ten minutes tonight, they aired a story about some woman who is shunning NBC's own upcoming "limited run" series The Book of Daniel because she feels that it was wrongly presented to her as a pro-family show.
AFA much?
Um...no. It's about an Episcopalian priest with a Log Cabin son, another one who is sleeping with the Bishop's daughter, a drug dealing daughter, and an alcoholic wife, who sorts out his problems by talking to Jesus. It's probably more true to life than 7th Heaven, to be honest. Unfortunately, the problem when you do shows that paint a portrait of life being far from sweet, is that it tends to upset those who probably would be best served by seeing their flaws all over the television.
Never mind the fact that the lady said that with her umpteen children that she "barely has time to watch television," WTMJ still felt that her opinion needed to be aired. Now, pardon me for being a cold cynic here, but this is just asinine. You're offering airtime to somebody who wouldn't normally watch television so that she can complain about a programme that she wouldn't likely be able to watch anyway?
In their defense, the director of programming basically said in a (puff piece) interview that "viewers can decide for themselves." Well if that was the case, then air the show and SHUT UP about it. You're not owned by NBC, so don't go disguising promo material as a "report."
This is really just the most recent dismaying occurance that I've seen at WTMJ. For the past week, they've been beating the pearl-clutching drum, which is quite surprising since Milwaukee is basically a town where people say "believe what you want to believe, just don't thrust it in my face." Yesterday, they were obsessed with what possible repercussions the recent beating attack would have on Milwaukee's image across the nation since apparently the story was carried on the Miami Herald's and Washington Post's websites.
Earth to WTMJ's news department: Nobody cares. This is Milwaukee. The city's image outside of the Midwest is basically Happy Days and Laverne & Shirley. Don't even get me started on what many gay men think about the city that let Jeffrey Dahmer run amok. You need to convince the world that you aren't basically a bunch of yokels just off the farm.
But feel free to air reports wherein reporters call people "slimeballs." (What happened to the "balanced coverage" you tout in your ads?) See what good it does you. You know that you're slipping and you can try the tactic of being bombastic and mortified to try to edge your way to the top. Never mind that it never works in the long run.
What does it say about a town where the local NBC station resembles Fox News and the local Fox station (which is owned by Newscorp itself) is pretty even-handed? Ponder that, JBG.
Well, those times are over. Now that WISN is beating them in almost every timeslot save for the 10 o'clock news, they're pandering to the fearmongers. Within the first ten minutes tonight, they aired a story about some woman who is shunning NBC's own upcoming "limited run" series The Book of Daniel because she feels that it was wrongly presented to her as a pro-family show.
AFA much?
Um...no. It's about an Episcopalian priest with a Log Cabin son, another one who is sleeping with the Bishop's daughter, a drug dealing daughter, and an alcoholic wife, who sorts out his problems by talking to Jesus. It's probably more true to life than 7th Heaven, to be honest. Unfortunately, the problem when you do shows that paint a portrait of life being far from sweet, is that it tends to upset those who probably would be best served by seeing their flaws all over the television.
Never mind the fact that the lady said that with her umpteen children that she "barely has time to watch television," WTMJ still felt that her opinion needed to be aired. Now, pardon me for being a cold cynic here, but this is just asinine. You're offering airtime to somebody who wouldn't normally watch television so that she can complain about a programme that she wouldn't likely be able to watch anyway?
In their defense, the director of programming basically said in a (puff piece) interview that "viewers can decide for themselves." Well if that was the case, then air the show and SHUT UP about it. You're not owned by NBC, so don't go disguising promo material as a "report."
This is really just the most recent dismaying occurance that I've seen at WTMJ. For the past week, they've been beating the pearl-clutching drum, which is quite surprising since Milwaukee is basically a town where people say "believe what you want to believe, just don't thrust it in my face." Yesterday, they were obsessed with what possible repercussions the recent beating attack would have on Milwaukee's image across the nation since apparently the story was carried on the Miami Herald's and Washington Post's websites.
Earth to WTMJ's news department: Nobody cares. This is Milwaukee. The city's image outside of the Midwest is basically Happy Days and Laverne & Shirley. Don't even get me started on what many gay men think about the city that let Jeffrey Dahmer run amok. You need to convince the world that you aren't basically a bunch of yokels just off the farm.
But feel free to air reports wherein reporters call people "slimeballs." (What happened to the "balanced coverage" you tout in your ads?) See what good it does you. You know that you're slipping and you can try the tactic of being bombastic and mortified to try to edge your way to the top. Never mind that it never works in the long run.
What does it say about a town where the local NBC station resembles Fox News and the local Fox station (which is owned by Newscorp itself) is pretty even-handed? Ponder that, JBG.
Triangle-Fluid-Boom Post Mortem: And I saw that film
(This is going to be a post-mortem in reverse.)
The day started with a trip to go see Brokeback Mountain. I wasn't expecting to go see it, but the fact that it had just opened up in Milwaukee at the Oriental Theatre was too good to pass up. Pardon me as I wax nostalgic, but the Oriental holds a special place for me. Apart from the fact that it is the most gorgeous cinema I have ever been to, it also is one of the two places where independent films show in Milwaukee. It is also where I saw Trick, the first gay film that I ever saw in public. So seeing Brokeback Mountain at the Oriental was something that I felt I had to do, as I'm a big believer in signs. So much so that I violated my rule to see films in their first week of release. (Brokeback Mountain only opened in Milwaukee yesterday!)
Much has already been said about the film, and I don't feel that I can add anything worthwhile. All I can say is that it is extremely moving, and that is not a phrase I use lightly. Anne Hathaway manages to make you completely forget of her Princess Diaries past and in the same vein, Michelle Williams really comes into her own as an actress as Alma del Mar. That said, it really is Heath Ledger's film. Although you may strain to understand what he says, his face and emotional reactions speak volumes. Gyllenhaal does a superb job as Jack Twist ("Jack NASTY!" as Alma puts it), and honestly, both him, Ledger, Ang Lee, and Larry McMurty and Diana Ossana deserve all the awards they have received and have forthcoming.
The audience at the 1 PM showing that I went to was a true surprise. Now granted, I have the worst gaydar on god's green Earth, but it seemed to me that the audience was mostly middle-aged to elderly women, a few college gays and their fag hags, some cineastes, with middle-aged gay men sprinkled throughout. As I exited the theatre, I overheard several women talk about how Ennis reminded them of their father or grandfather who was from Wyoming or other rural parts of the US. Basically, go see it if you can. It really does not feel like 3 hours after the first 15 minutes. (I don't know if I'm in a more emotional state these days than normal, but I teared at the end, and I don't tear. Ever,)
Afterwards, I had planned to go out drinking in Bayview along National Avenue, which is the hub of Gay Milwaukee. Of course, first I had to actually find National Avenue which proved to be easier said than done. It's rather embarrassing, but given that I grew up outside Milwaukee, I really cannot drive myself around it without help from a map. Eventually, I found Triangle, which I think is a rarity in Milwaukee--a bar open before 5 PM. Triangle, I like. It may not have any videos (the music was proved by Sirius's Big '80s channel), but the atmosphere was very laidback and friendly. I could've done without a man with a home contracting business slurring in my ears trying to pick me up, but nowhere is perfect.
The real destination of the evening, however, was Fluid for one singular reason: I wanted another t-shirt! The one I had purchased several years ago had gotten too small (or I had gotten too big) and I wanted a replacement. So after having a drink at Triangle, it was off to Fluid...since it was after 5.
I was planning on actually heading home after getting the t-shirt, but as I was going up S. 2nd, I noticed Boom, which I remembered was a pretty nice bar with (drumroll, please) videos! I couldn't pass it up and had another two MGDs there (Why is MGD so hard to find outside of Milwaukee?!) , since it was still happy hour.
Isn't it evil that $2.50 beer is flowing in a place where you basically have to drive yourself home? My kingdom for the four counties to come up with some sort of non-bus reliant transit system!
The day started with a trip to go see Brokeback Mountain. I wasn't expecting to go see it, but the fact that it had just opened up in Milwaukee at the Oriental Theatre was too good to pass up. Pardon me as I wax nostalgic, but the Oriental holds a special place for me. Apart from the fact that it is the most gorgeous cinema I have ever been to, it also is one of the two places where independent films show in Milwaukee. It is also where I saw Trick, the first gay film that I ever saw in public. So seeing Brokeback Mountain at the Oriental was something that I felt I had to do, as I'm a big believer in signs. So much so that I violated my rule to see films in their first week of release. (Brokeback Mountain only opened in Milwaukee yesterday!)
Much has already been said about the film, and I don't feel that I can add anything worthwhile. All I can say is that it is extremely moving, and that is not a phrase I use lightly. Anne Hathaway manages to make you completely forget of her Princess Diaries past and in the same vein, Michelle Williams really comes into her own as an actress as Alma del Mar. That said, it really is Heath Ledger's film. Although you may strain to understand what he says, his face and emotional reactions speak volumes. Gyllenhaal does a superb job as Jack Twist ("Jack NASTY!" as Alma puts it), and honestly, both him, Ledger, Ang Lee, and Larry McMurty and Diana Ossana deserve all the awards they have received and have forthcoming.
The audience at the 1 PM showing that I went to was a true surprise. Now granted, I have the worst gaydar on god's green Earth, but it seemed to me that the audience was mostly middle-aged to elderly women, a few college gays and their fag hags, some cineastes, with middle-aged gay men sprinkled throughout. As I exited the theatre, I overheard several women talk about how Ennis reminded them of their father or grandfather who was from Wyoming or other rural parts of the US. Basically, go see it if you can. It really does not feel like 3 hours after the first 15 minutes. (I don't know if I'm in a more emotional state these days than normal, but I teared at the end, and I don't tear. Ever,)
Afterwards, I had planned to go out drinking in Bayview along National Avenue, which is the hub of Gay Milwaukee. Of course, first I had to actually find National Avenue which proved to be easier said than done. It's rather embarrassing, but given that I grew up outside Milwaukee, I really cannot drive myself around it without help from a map. Eventually, I found Triangle, which I think is a rarity in Milwaukee--a bar open before 5 PM. Triangle, I like. It may not have any videos (the music was proved by Sirius's Big '80s channel), but the atmosphere was very laidback and friendly. I could've done without a man with a home contracting business slurring in my ears trying to pick me up, but nowhere is perfect.
The real destination of the evening, however, was Fluid for one singular reason: I wanted another t-shirt! The one I had purchased several years ago had gotten too small (or I had gotten too big) and I wanted a replacement. So after having a drink at Triangle, it was off to Fluid...since it was after 5.
I was planning on actually heading home after getting the t-shirt, but as I was going up S. 2nd, I noticed Boom, which I remembered was a pretty nice bar with (drumroll, please) videos! I couldn't pass it up and had another two MGDs there (Why is MGD so hard to find outside of Milwaukee?!) , since it was still happy hour.
Isn't it evil that $2.50 beer is flowing in a place where you basically have to drive yourself home? My kingdom for the four counties to come up with some sort of non-bus reliant transit system!
Thursday, December 29, 2005
The Long Mild December
(In honour of The Style Council video for "The Long Hot Summer," which features Paul Weller rubbing himself like he's in some Bel Ami video.)
Phone service is back, courtesy of a very jovial repairman. Never in my whole life have I ever heard of the street I grew up on as "beautiful." "Suburban" maybe. "Tranquil" on occasion, but "beautiful" is pushing it. Apparently the conglomerate people cut the wrong line. I'm sensing that there's some sort of tacit rift between the telecommunications and cable people. Back in October when the satellite repairmen and the cable repairmen were here they got on like a house on fire--fortunately it was not the one I was in at the time.
The cable modem seems to be working in 15-30 minute spurts, but the conglomerate person that I spoke to on the phone mentioned that they would be working strictly outside and not ring the doorbell, ergo I'd have no idea if they were here or not unless I had a startled reaction to seeing an unfamilar person digging around outside the window. (This is quite common for me, and bodes poorly for my chances at dodging hypertension.)
On the happier side of things, I'm now nearing my three month long sojourn into debauchery (January to early March) that surrounds my birthday, which is in February, but since it's such a short month I lay claim to the lion's share of winter itself.
In other bizarre news, the man from the conglomerate left an orange traffic cone on the driveway. There has to be some sort of metaphor there, but I'm buggered if I know what it is.
Phone service is back, courtesy of a very jovial repairman. Never in my whole life have I ever heard of the street I grew up on as "beautiful." "Suburban" maybe. "Tranquil" on occasion, but "beautiful" is pushing it. Apparently the conglomerate people cut the wrong line. I'm sensing that there's some sort of tacit rift between the telecommunications and cable people. Back in October when the satellite repairmen and the cable repairmen were here they got on like a house on fire--fortunately it was not the one I was in at the time.
The cable modem seems to be working in 15-30 minute spurts, but the conglomerate person that I spoke to on the phone mentioned that they would be working strictly outside and not ring the doorbell, ergo I'd have no idea if they were here or not unless I had a startled reaction to seeing an unfamilar person digging around outside the window. (This is quite common for me, and bodes poorly for my chances at dodging hypertension.)
On the happier side of things, I'm now nearing my three month long sojourn into debauchery (January to early March) that surrounds my birthday, which is in February, but since it's such a short month I lay claim to the lion's share of winter itself.
In other bizarre news, the man from the conglomerate left an orange traffic cone on the driveway. There has to be some sort of metaphor there, but I'm buggered if I know what it is.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Merry Christmas from The Closet
Thickly accented paramour: "I want to wake up every morning and see that black ass that belongs to me."
Sexually ambiguous coworker: "I'm looking for love...and you all can go to hell!"
I swear to Santa Claus that is what was said.
(I can't help myself, but this show is so bad it's good (in a very camp way). I'm buying the DVDs as they come out.)
Sexually ambiguous coworker: "I'm looking for love...and you all can go to hell!"
I swear to Santa Claus that is what was said.
(I can't help myself, but this show is so bad it's good (in a very camp way). I'm buying the DVDs as they come out.)
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Silence Is Golden
Honestly, very little to add on this Christmas Eve except that I learned something very interesting today. My mother & I sat down to watch Reflections in a Golden Eye*--because nothing says familial bonding like watching Marlon Brando deal with his closetness while Robert Forester rides a horse naked.
*Spoiler there, in case you're curious
The film was indeed a bomb when released, but irregardless it was gripping as hell. Mostly because it relied heavily on subtext and looks. Elizabeth Taylor & Marlon Brando in the same film and Brando has all of maybe 20 lines, most likely less. Yet, you can't escape him, he's omnipresent. This was an epiphany for me. I'm a big believer in talkative characters, and I started to think if Brando talked anymore than he did, his character would not have the same impact. To the writers out there, this is something worth thinking about.
*Spoiler there, in case you're curious
The film was indeed a bomb when released, but irregardless it was gripping as hell. Mostly because it relied heavily on subtext and looks. Elizabeth Taylor & Marlon Brando in the same film and Brando has all of maybe 20 lines, most likely less. Yet, you can't escape him, he's omnipresent. This was an epiphany for me. I'm a big believer in talkative characters, and I started to think if Brando talked anymore than he did, his character would not have the same impact. To the writers out there, this is something worth thinking about.
Friday, December 23, 2005
This Is My Town and These Are The People In It (Part Two)
Oh, it's just wackiness galore for those who have dark senses of humour.
- Man accused of stealing snowblowers (This is the 19th largest city in the US and this is newsworthy?)
- Woman stabs husband over his smoking
- And guess what? A man got stabbed with a meat thermometer
- The real kicker: Wisconsin and Milwaukee are the worst places to be black in the US...even worst than Iowa and Delaware. (Delaware? I didn't even know Delaware was considered bad. Oh well, I'll just say it: "Milwaukee hates black people." Though I'd say that going by prison population isn't the most conclusive way of judging.)
The MTA Strike Post
I'm not in New York now, so I was debating on whether to comment on the strike. Now that it is de facto over, I figured I'd put my two cents in.
Myopia + Classism = Distress
There's been myopia on both sides, but mainly on the MTA board for letting it get to this point. Seriously. They have a billion dollar surplus and they made it known that they had a billion dollar surplus and had workers operating without a contract. The oligarchs on the board displayed a "let them eat cake" disdain throughout this whole process. Now, I'm not saying that Toussaint is an example of the latter part of his name. He did not succeed at all in communicating with the members and the general public on their grievances, the majority of which (especially pensions) I think were valid. Often forgotten in the rants of the disgruntled was that a sticking point was to raise the contributions of new hires from 2% to 6%. Honestly, that's a wise consideration. So many of the problems of this world are due to people only looking out for themselves and not willing to care about those who will follow them.
I'm not saying at all that I would support crippling New York City's infrastructure, but I believe that this was a last resort option that was deployed only when the talks reached an impasse, which indeed they had. Why did it have to get to the point of both sides playing "quién es más macho?" Why didn't they decide to shove the bravado aside and actually work on a deal that both sides could agree upon?
There never is a perfect deal, but just ignoring it will always make it worse.
Once people start to realise that being short-sighted has gotten us into many messes in the past, then we'll actually be able to move on.
Myopia + Classism = Distress
There's been myopia on both sides, but mainly on the MTA board for letting it get to this point. Seriously. They have a billion dollar surplus and they made it known that they had a billion dollar surplus and had workers operating without a contract. The oligarchs on the board displayed a "let them eat cake" disdain throughout this whole process. Now, I'm not saying that Toussaint is an example of the latter part of his name. He did not succeed at all in communicating with the members and the general public on their grievances, the majority of which (especially pensions) I think were valid. Often forgotten in the rants of the disgruntled was that a sticking point was to raise the contributions of new hires from 2% to 6%. Honestly, that's a wise consideration. So many of the problems of this world are due to people only looking out for themselves and not willing to care about those who will follow them.
I'm not saying at all that I would support crippling New York City's infrastructure, but I believe that this was a last resort option that was deployed only when the talks reached an impasse, which indeed they had. Why did it have to get to the point of both sides playing "quién es más macho?" Why didn't they decide to shove the bravado aside and actually work on a deal that both sides could agree upon?
There never is a perfect deal, but just ignoring it will always make it worse.
Once people start to realise that being short-sighted has gotten us into many messes in the past, then we'll actually be able to move on.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
This Ain't News and You Know It Too
Perhaps I am getting senile, but I do not remember a time when airplane landing gear malfunctions were followed as intensely as car chases.
I remember when the news went to places after something happened, not before...if it even does.
What next? News cameras in front of your face as you leave your home in the morning because you just might break your hip on the ice?
I'd like to tell something to all the local stations (I'm looking at you channels 6 and 12) , if the people getting off the damn plane are themselves wondering what all the fuss was about, then it is not worthy of being "breaking news." Dear lord, it's not even worth being the leading story the day after. I'm sure I'm not the only one pointing out that you have no clothes on now.
Notice how you haven't been covering this rather important story now, have you?
I remember when the news went to places after something happened, not before...if it even does.
What next? News cameras in front of your face as you leave your home in the morning because you just might break your hip on the ice?
I'd like to tell something to all the local stations (I'm looking at you channels 6 and 12) , if the people getting off the damn plane are themselves wondering what all the fuss was about, then it is not worthy of being "breaking news." Dear lord, it's not even worth being the leading story the day after. I'm sure I'm not the only one pointing out that you have no clothes on now.
Notice how you haven't been covering this rather important story now, have you?
In Case The Pentagon Is Watching
I am not in any way shape or form related to the fictional character Huey Freeman of The Boondocks (he is a cartoon, you know).
That is all, reckon I.
That is all, reckon I.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
This Is My Town and These Are The People In It
Tonight's Local News Headlines in Milwaukee:
- 3 Firefighters are suspended for a homoerotic webcam sex prank. (And the reporter on WTMJ was absolutely *shocked* by that. I bet the antics at the Bronx "Animal (Fire) House" would make him pass out. )
- A man attacked his girlfriend with a cactus.
- And in the heartlessly callous headline department: "Man Found Dead May Have Been Seeking Shelter From the Cold." With a -15 degree windchill? You think?
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
The List
(Oh why not let's just go for three list posts in a row?)
I'm back in Mequon for the next fortnight. It promises to be an interesting two weeks full of chiropractor's appointments, testosterone level checks, and...not as much drinking, because I have to drive. (Fun supposed fact: Milwaukee is a popular lesbian town, who knew?)
As I was searching for an electric blanket to put on my bed in my old childhood room, I noticed the old mid-nineties pinup I had of a bloated Robbie Williams I had on my wall. (My old room is stuck in 1997. I'm not here that frequently and there's really no need for anything else to be done to it.) Remembering his nice little gesture to the gay community recently triggered an idea for a post. All the people--in no particular order--who will need to make a serious mea culpa to get kind treatment on here (like they care, but what the hey?):
I'm back in Mequon for the next fortnight. It promises to be an interesting two weeks full of chiropractor's appointments, testosterone level checks, and...not as much drinking, because I have to drive. (Fun supposed fact: Milwaukee is a popular lesbian town, who knew?)
As I was searching for an electric blanket to put on my bed in my old childhood room, I noticed the old mid-nineties pinup I had of a bloated Robbie Williams I had on my wall. (My old room is stuck in 1997. I'm not here that frequently and there's really no need for anything else to be done to it.) Remembering his nice little gesture to the gay community recently triggered an idea for a post. All the people--in no particular order--who will need to make a serious mea culpa to get kind treatment on here (like they care, but what the hey?):
- Michael Bloomberg
- Robbie Williams
- Brian Ellner/Jonathan Capehart
- George W. Bush
- James Sensenbrenner
- The major contributors to the GOP from my New York zipcode
- Elizabeth Vargas (Is it that hard to just say you messed up?)
- GLAAD under Giuliano
- Chris Crain and Windows Media
- Stephen Harper
Monday, December 19, 2005
Splash-Stonewall-The Hangar-The View Post-Mortem: The Last Gig of 2005
I barely remember a thing. I know I was at these places, and I can still taste the cheese fries, but the memory is very sketchy. I don't like to do lists too often, but there's no way I can string sentences together composed of completely unrelated subjects. So here it goes.
- Splash had another antipodean bartender tonight. For some reason he thought I looked so serious and down. I get this a lot, and I do not know why. I'm not a smiling person, but still...
- The Stonewall apparently had a black leather night. "Black" as in the skin colour as well as the colour of the clothes. It was not as bizarre as I thought it would be. (I want my $5 back!) I have always wanted to fully participate in a leather night, but the cost of the clothes and my low pain threshold probably will keep me on the sidelines.
- The Hangar was not as psychotically crowded as it normally is. Who knew The Hangar had go-go boys. Crappy go-go boys, but go-go boys nonetheless. Nothing else I can remember there, except that the only reason I went is because it's a December tradition with me.
- At The View the bouncer thought I was drunk. I quite possibly was, but courtesy of my mp3 player I was able to blame my stumbling on trying to take my headphones off. I did take it as a sign to wrap up my night after two Twisted Teas.
And that was that. The 2005 New York drinking season went out with not quite a whimper, but with a very average cast of characters: an overly perky Australian (I hate perky in general), black leathermen, crappy go-go boys, and a kind bouncer.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
The Challenge to Say Something Nice
Once every sowhile, I realise I'm a mean son-of-a-gun and try to balance that out by saying something nice. Nomrally, I do this in person, but I reckon, why not put it out there for public view? I'm also writing this right after I have woken up and am still a bit groggy--which makes it easier for me to not hem and haw. Let's get this started shall we?
- Westin Hotels' Smoking Ban: It's very daring, perhaps it's good for those who are allergic to smoke. Granted, I'd say just invest in some filters for your overpriced rooms, but I understand the sentiment.
- Mayor Bloomberg: He's not Giuliani. He's more like Giuliani-medium. (That's the best I could do.)
- Penile piercings: (I'm not referring to prince alberts, but the other kind that goes through the head.) They certainly are a test of strength and pain endurance.
- FIT (Fashion Institute of Technology) Students: Clearly you guys have talent. You can't stop capering about in public with ear-piercing shrieks, but you have talent. Fortunately, not all of you are prone ear-piercing shrieks about inane topics.
- Dancers/Chorus Boys: Physically, I wish I had your agility, despite the fact that what I said about FIT students and their ear-piercing shrieks also applies here.
- Steroid Users: For all the attending medical problems, they do make you look imposing and it's always good to be admired.
- Neil Giuliano, GLAAD President: You may be asleep at the wheel 90% of the time, but at least your highlights are always well-maintained. I'd sleep with you too. (I wouldn't necessarily talk to you afterwards, but I'd sleep with you.)
- Yuppies: You dress well and have probably saved a few stores from closing.
- Free Language at the Eurovision: The fun of hearing mangled pronounciation like "Ladies and Gentlemens."
- The Eric Braate Referral Brigade: Eric Braate should know that he's apparently quite missed in Milwaukee.
- The Current Crop of Broadway Shows: Chita Rivera's show and the revamped Sweeney Todd as set in an insane asylum.
- James Sensenbrenner: I'm not even going to try, even in my groggy I-love-all-humans state this morning.
That's about all I could squeeze out at this moment in time, and yes, it was a challenge.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Ellner: Still an opportunist uber alles
Brian Ellner, that Will Truman-esque turncoat of Chelsea, has now gone and gotten his pretty little Alfred E. Newman self a job in the Bloomie's administration. What's more, I don't quite understand why he felt the need to sling mud at fellow turncoat Margarita Lopez. That'll make for some very interesting meetings.
Does this all seem a bit too similar to The Picture of Dorian Grey to anyone else?
(Offtopic, my sympathies to both the workers and those affected by any MTA strike today. As of this writing, it appears that the formerly private Jamaica and Triboro lines will be affected immediately, with a full all services strike deadline now moved to Monday night/Tuesday morning.)
Does this all seem a bit too similar to The Picture of Dorian Grey to anyone else?
(Offtopic, my sympathies to both the workers and those affected by any MTA strike today. As of this writing, it appears that the formerly private Jamaica and Triboro lines will be affected immediately, with a full all services strike deadline now moved to Monday night/Tuesday morning.)
Thursday Jukebox Thinks You Are Wonderful
I had previously made note of the song "Alomszep" as a great song to stumble home drunk to. Well, here is the video.
Also, here is Simone de Oliviera's performance of "Sol de Inverno" from the 1965 Eurovision. Previously mentioned as a song with the best break up lyrics ever ("Without you my life has no colour"). They don't do ballads like this anymore.
Also, here is Simone de Oliviera's performance of "Sol de Inverno" from the 1965 Eurovision. Previously mentioned as a song with the best break up lyrics ever ("Without you my life has no colour"). They don't do ballads like this anymore.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Wednesday Jukebox Strikes Back
THE ballad of the 1979 Eurovision.
Alcazar, La Podolskaya, and maybe Julia Savicheva manage to sing "This is the world we live in" without knocking each other down and ripping hairpieces off.
Afro-Dite's performance at Tallinn 2002, notable for the high amount of growling ("WE'LL BE SHAAAKIN'!") and the fact that they didn't collapse afterwards.
And finally, some butch political camp from the 2004 German Final: Westbam & Afrika Islam (featuring dancing riot police no less).
Alcazar, La Podolskaya, and maybe Julia Savicheva manage to sing "This is the world we live in" without knocking each other down and ripping hairpieces off.
Afro-Dite's performance at Tallinn 2002, notable for the high amount of growling ("WE'LL BE SHAAAKIN'!") and the fact that they didn't collapse afterwards.
And finally, some butch political camp from the 2004 German Final: Westbam & Afrika Islam (featuring dancing riot police no less).
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Nowhere-Phoenix-Stonewall Post-mortem: Passivity has made a failure of our home
Nowhere-Phoenix-Stonewall-The View Post-Mortem: Passivity has made a failure of my home
Perhaps I should stop thinking ahead of time. I mean, I should stop thinking with preconceptions or hopeful assumptions of what a night out should be.
As previously mentioned, I started tonight out in the East Village, a place where I have always felt a tad bit uncomfortable because I never see anybody who looks like me around. Well, that was true. At Nowhere, I was the only person in the bar. Fortunately, the bartender was very affable and great to be around. Anyplace that has Pabst for $2 a can during happy hour is good in my book.
Next was (the) Phoenix. Here’s where things started to go awry. Phoenix is a place that is in one hand hospitable, and in another tacitly hostile. It’s a bit hard to explain, but the clientele lived up to my preconception of what the stereotypical East Villager is like: seemingly very bohemian, but the more you look underneath, still the snob from the suburbs. Now, in their defense, I will say that these are my opinions based on a random Tuesday night with 17 degree weather, but that is what I took away. The bartender was at least pleasant and welcoming.
I was intending on going to the (in) famous Cock, but I couldn’t find it based on the listing I had. I know it has moved, but perhaps the address I had was the old one. Either way, I needed some sleaze. I found it, in of all places, at the Stonewall which had some sort of special night going on upstairs. Whatever this night is called (Buff Boyzz, maybe), it seemed to involve a lot of go-go boys. For once they were actually good looking. Good looking enough to make me pay for lap dances. That’s where I had my internal meltdown. Somehow, I really was taken in by one of the dancers who took me to the equivalent of their champagne room and showed me a very good time. Such a good time that my rational mind went out the window, and I started to believe that he was interested in me sexually. For his sake, I’ll keep the acts to myself, but I think that what he/we did was above and beyond the normal call of duty. Something seemed strange and I couldn’t put my (metaphorical) finger on it.
Drunk enough for another round of dances, I eagerly went for him again. This time, it turned into talking amidst all the grinding. I found out that he was almost 30, still in love with his 20 year old ex-boyfriend (whom he left his “girlfriend”—let’s not go to that issue tonight—for). Yes, on some level it was demystifying the fantasy, but on another level it was it was taking me out of the carnal and into the cerebral. I guess to some extent I should feel flattered, but honestly, I just feel used.
You see, men that I am quite strongly attracted to are rare. Quite likely this is me thinking with my crotch, but I wanted to go have hours worth of animalistic sex with him. I didn’t really care about his problems, because he never inquired about mine beforehand. This was meant to be a sexual situation and it wasn’t.
That aside, what gets me more than that is that I have no self-confidence. I really wanted to see if my Pollyanna thoughts had some substance and I could snare him in my bed for a few hours. Did I try? No. I was too chicken. I am my own worst enemy. Who knows what could or couldn’t happen if I had taken the risk?
My resolution for next year? Kick this doubting Thomas to the curb by next January.
Perhaps I should stop thinking ahead of time. I mean, I should stop thinking with preconceptions or hopeful assumptions of what a night out should be.
As previously mentioned, I started tonight out in the East Village, a place where I have always felt a tad bit uncomfortable because I never see anybody who looks like me around. Well, that was true. At Nowhere, I was the only person in the bar. Fortunately, the bartender was very affable and great to be around. Anyplace that has Pabst for $2 a can during happy hour is good in my book.
Next was (the) Phoenix. Here’s where things started to go awry. Phoenix is a place that is in one hand hospitable, and in another tacitly hostile. It’s a bit hard to explain, but the clientele lived up to my preconception of what the stereotypical East Villager is like: seemingly very bohemian, but the more you look underneath, still the snob from the suburbs. Now, in their defense, I will say that these are my opinions based on a random Tuesday night with 17 degree weather, but that is what I took away. The bartender was at least pleasant and welcoming.
I was intending on going to the (in) famous Cock, but I couldn’t find it based on the listing I had. I know it has moved, but perhaps the address I had was the old one. Either way, I needed some sleaze. I found it, in of all places, at the Stonewall which had some sort of special night going on upstairs. Whatever this night is called (Buff Boyzz, maybe), it seemed to involve a lot of go-go boys. For once they were actually good looking. Good looking enough to make me pay for lap dances. That’s where I had my internal meltdown. Somehow, I really was taken in by one of the dancers who took me to the equivalent of their champagne room and showed me a very good time. Such a good time that my rational mind went out the window, and I started to believe that he was interested in me sexually. For his sake, I’ll keep the acts to myself, but I think that what he/we did was above and beyond the normal call of duty. Something seemed strange and I couldn’t put my (metaphorical) finger on it.
Drunk enough for another round of dances, I eagerly went for him again. This time, it turned into talking amidst all the grinding. I found out that he was almost 30, still in love with his 20 year old ex-boyfriend (whom he left his “girlfriend”—let’s not go to that issue tonight—for). Yes, on some level it was demystifying the fantasy, but on another level it was it was taking me out of the carnal and into the cerebral. I guess to some extent I should feel flattered, but honestly, I just feel used.
You see, men that I am quite strongly attracted to are rare. Quite likely this is me thinking with my crotch, but I wanted to go have hours worth of animalistic sex with him. I didn’t really care about his problems, because he never inquired about mine beforehand. This was meant to be a sexual situation and it wasn’t.
That aside, what gets me more than that is that I have no self-confidence. I really wanted to see if my Pollyanna thoughts had some substance and I could snare him in my bed for a few hours. Did I try? No. I was too chicken. I am my own worst enemy. Who knows what could or couldn’t happen if I had taken the risk?
My resolution for next year? Kick this doubting Thomas to the curb by next January.
Another quote of the day
Tonight, I'm bringing my weekly booze-athon to the East Village, and I can't help but think of this quote from Dwight A. McBride's Why I Hate Abercrombie & Fitch:
"I am reminded of a trip that a close African American gay friend and I took while in graduate scholl at UCLA to a conference just up the coast at UC Santa Barbara. The first evening we spent in Santa Barbara, we decided to go out to a gay establishment to check out the local nightlife. We found ourselves at a bar with thrity-five to forty men--all of them white except the two of us. We had a cocktail, enjoyed each other's company, traded comments about the obvious stares we were receiving (trying to determine whether this was because we were new meat or because we were black). Finally, my friend pointed out to me that practically every video that had been played on the large screen television at the bar since we had arrived had been of black performers. After making this observation he quipped, 'I guess virtual blackness is okay, even unremarkable for white folks in a context like this, while our presence is an entirely different story.'"
"I am reminded of a trip that a close African American gay friend and I took while in graduate scholl at UCLA to a conference just up the coast at UC Santa Barbara. The first evening we spent in Santa Barbara, we decided to go out to a gay establishment to check out the local nightlife. We found ourselves at a bar with thrity-five to forty men--all of them white except the two of us. We had a cocktail, enjoyed each other's company, traded comments about the obvious stares we were receiving (trying to determine whether this was because we were new meat or because we were black). Finally, my friend pointed out to me that practically every video that had been played on the large screen television at the bar since we had arrived had been of black performers. After making this observation he quipped, 'I guess virtual blackness is okay, even unremarkable for white folks in a context like this, while our presence is an entirely different story.'"
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
More Selections from The United Burger States of America
(My revenge against Abacus for not making Peter Biddlecombe's books easily available in the US continues...)
On Florida (for Pookie and Dondon):
"North Florida is nothing like south Florida. It's more Montgomery, Alabama than Miami. Jacksonville, way up near the border with Georgia, I know quite well. Some people rave about it. The airport, they say, is one of the best in the world. The town is one of the nicest in the world and the beaches ditto. If this is true, they must be talking about a different Jacksonville from the one I know. But my opinion of it might be coloured by the fact that I once spent the night at the sheriff;s ofiice. In other words, the local Holiday Inn. The sheriff's office is located right in the middle of reception. I can only assume that the best parties in the United States take place in the Holiday Inn, Jacksonville, otherwise why would they have a sheriff's office on the premises?
"Tampa is one of the most important towns in the whole history of the States: it was here that, in 1938, on the eighteenth hole of the campus golf course of the Florida Bible Institute, Billy Graham received the call. Unlike poor old St. Paul, who had to make do with a scrap of desert on the outskirts of Damascus...But in the time it took poor old St. Paul to descend the city wall in that basket all the members clubbed together to send him off to Wheaton Theological College, Illinois. They say it was to study the bible. I reckon it was to get him off the golf course so that they could enjoy a decent round of golf, swear and retell all those old stories about Jack Nicklaus playing golf with God and you-know-who losing without having to listen to Billy going on all the time."
On North Dakota:
"I'm not saying that North Dakota is the dullest, most boring place on earth, it's just that given the choice between a trip there and an uncontrollable nosebleed, I'd take the nosebleed."
On Tennessee:
"I'm worried about Tennessee. I think it must be the cured-oak water. First there is a ducking stupid hotel, the Peabody, the best in Memphis, which is decorated from floor to ceiling with ducks. There are duck doorstops, duck bars of soap and duck designs all over the place. And at eleven o'clock every morning, you've got it, five ducks waddle into the lobby and up the red carpet and clamber into the fountain, where they splash around until five o'clock, when they up and waddle out again. The Americans, of course, go quackers over them, but it was all too much for me. I dragged myself into the bar--called, inevitably, the Mallard--sank a couple of bloody marys, staggered into the restaurant and to get my own back, ordered duck a l'orange which, of course, they didn't serve.
"Tennessee is the only place I know in the world where it's legal to take home and eat roadkill, in other words any animal you knock down and kill on the road. Deer, skunks, racoons, squirrels, opossums, rabbits, anything."
On Minnesota:
"...to Minnesotans, [Garrison] Keillor is God. No, that's not true: he's more important than God. He captures their shallow personalities, their inadequacies, their unimportance and the wide range of two subjects they don't talk about: winter and winter."
On Kansas:
"The trouble with Kansas is that it has not only not evolved, it still doesn't believe in evolution, either."
On New Hampshire:
"New Hampshire is in the wrong place. It should be in the south. Say between Oklahoma and Texas. It's slow. It's rural. It's old-fashioned. It's very, very conservative. While the rest of New England pretty solidly votes Democrat, it is strongly Republican. It should be called Old Hampshire instead of New Hampshire, because as far as I can see, there's nothing new about it."
On Florida (for Pookie and Dondon):
"North Florida is nothing like south Florida. It's more Montgomery, Alabama than Miami. Jacksonville, way up near the border with Georgia, I know quite well. Some people rave about it. The airport, they say, is one of the best in the world. The town is one of the nicest in the world and the beaches ditto. If this is true, they must be talking about a different Jacksonville from the one I know. But my opinion of it might be coloured by the fact that I once spent the night at the sheriff;s ofiice. In other words, the local Holiday Inn. The sheriff's office is located right in the middle of reception. I can only assume that the best parties in the United States take place in the Holiday Inn, Jacksonville, otherwise why would they have a sheriff's office on the premises?
"Tampa is one of the most important towns in the whole history of the States: it was here that, in 1938, on the eighteenth hole of the campus golf course of the Florida Bible Institute, Billy Graham received the call. Unlike poor old St. Paul, who had to make do with a scrap of desert on the outskirts of Damascus...But in the time it took poor old St. Paul to descend the city wall in that basket all the members clubbed together to send him off to Wheaton Theological College, Illinois. They say it was to study the bible. I reckon it was to get him off the golf course so that they could enjoy a decent round of golf, swear and retell all those old stories about Jack Nicklaus playing golf with God and you-know-who losing without having to listen to Billy going on all the time."
On North Dakota:
"I'm not saying that North Dakota is the dullest, most boring place on earth, it's just that given the choice between a trip there and an uncontrollable nosebleed, I'd take the nosebleed."
On Tennessee:
"I'm worried about Tennessee. I think it must be the cured-oak water. First there is a ducking stupid hotel, the Peabody, the best in Memphis, which is decorated from floor to ceiling with ducks. There are duck doorstops, duck bars of soap and duck designs all over the place. And at eleven o'clock every morning, you've got it, five ducks waddle into the lobby and up the red carpet and clamber into the fountain, where they splash around until five o'clock, when they up and waddle out again. The Americans, of course, go quackers over them, but it was all too much for me. I dragged myself into the bar--called, inevitably, the Mallard--sank a couple of bloody marys, staggered into the restaurant and to get my own back, ordered duck a l'orange which, of course, they didn't serve.
"Tennessee is the only place I know in the world where it's legal to take home and eat roadkill, in other words any animal you knock down and kill on the road. Deer, skunks, racoons, squirrels, opossums, rabbits, anything."
On Minnesota:
"...to Minnesotans, [Garrison] Keillor is God. No, that's not true: he's more important than God. He captures their shallow personalities, their inadequacies, their unimportance and the wide range of two subjects they don't talk about: winter and winter."
On Kansas:
"The trouble with Kansas is that it has not only not evolved, it still doesn't believe in evolution, either."
On New Hampshire:
"New Hampshire is in the wrong place. It should be in the south. Say between Oklahoma and Texas. It's slow. It's rural. It's old-fashioned. It's very, very conservative. While the rest of New England pretty solidly votes Democrat, it is strongly Republican. It should be called Old Hampshire instead of New Hampshire, because as far as I can see, there's nothing new about it."
Book Quotes of the Day
From Peter Biddlecombe's spelling error filled (but still hilarious) The United Burger States of America:
On Philadelphia:
"Now I know all about this Philadelphia and city of brotherly love business--it means that if the police beat you up in front of a video camera they will immediately take you to a hospital afterwards--but I can't for the life of me understand why they didn't call the place Franklin, or even Franklinville or, I suppose, given the American genius for yukky (sic) names, HappyBenjyFrankyVille. Rather than the cradle of American Liberty, it's more like the Cradle of Benjamin Franklin, the short-sighted harmonica-playing son of a man who changed shades and colours every day of his life (he was a dyer)."
On Milwaukee:
"For all the hype about Wisconsin being the beer state of America, the capital (sic), Milwaukee, is pretty dull, flat and insipid.* A bit like most of their beers.** In fact, given the size of their dairy industry, it should be called Milkwaukee instead.
* It is.
**Except for Miller.
"Before I went there I thought it was going to be all bierkellers the size of baseball pitches, beer flowing in the streets and hearty, thigh-slapping, strapping, 20-stone Americans in their designer lederhosen getting schlossed out their tiny minds...Instead it's like a small town; a very small-town Chicago."***
***It is a small-town, but you never ever say Milwaukee is like Chicago. If we could, we'd declare ourselves in a different time zone.
On New Jersey:
"New Jersey is like Michael Jackson's nose. It's for ever changing, updating, and reinventing itself."
On Boston:
"As for the whole 'no taxation without representation' business, Massachusetts and all the others broke away from the UK because they believed so fervently in no taxation without representation. Right? OK, try asking a Boston barman or cab-driver to deduct the Massachusetts sales tax from your bill because you're not entitled to vote in the US, and you'll soon see how much they believe in no taxation without representation. If, that is, you get out alive."
On New York:
"Now that wandering the streets is no longer fraught with danger, the excitement has gone. There are people around at all hours of the day and night, taking cabs, riding the subways--where you can watch the weirdos, spot passengers on the fiddle as well as on the violin and shrink with fear as way-out rappers leap into the carriage at the last-minute, boom box in hand, to serenade the world--or risking their lives on the Staten Island ferry."
On Detroit:
"Not just one derelict office building; not just one street of derelict office buildings, banks, and stores, but whole blocks of derelict office buildings, banks, stores, hotels, and theatres. Welcome to Detroit, originally named by its founder, Antoine de la Mothé Cadilliac, as far back as 1701 as Ville d'Etroit, or City in a Right Mess. Which at least proves one thing: the French are not always wrong."
On Philadelphia:
"Now I know all about this Philadelphia and city of brotherly love business--it means that if the police beat you up in front of a video camera they will immediately take you to a hospital afterwards--but I can't for the life of me understand why they didn't call the place Franklin, or even Franklinville or, I suppose, given the American genius for yukky (sic) names, HappyBenjyFrankyVille. Rather than the cradle of American Liberty, it's more like the Cradle of Benjamin Franklin, the short-sighted harmonica-playing son of a man who changed shades and colours every day of his life (he was a dyer)."
On Milwaukee:
"For all the hype about Wisconsin being the beer state of America, the capital (sic), Milwaukee, is pretty dull, flat and insipid.* A bit like most of their beers.** In fact, given the size of their dairy industry, it should be called Milkwaukee instead.
* It is.
**Except for Miller.
"Before I went there I thought it was going to be all bierkellers the size of baseball pitches, beer flowing in the streets and hearty, thigh-slapping, strapping, 20-stone Americans in their designer lederhosen getting schlossed out their tiny minds...Instead it's like a small town; a very small-town Chicago."***
***It is a small-town, but you never ever say Milwaukee is like Chicago. If we could, we'd declare ourselves in a different time zone.
On New Jersey:
"New Jersey is like Michael Jackson's nose. It's for ever changing, updating, and reinventing itself."
On Boston:
"As for the whole 'no taxation without representation' business, Massachusetts and all the others broke away from the UK because they believed so fervently in no taxation without representation. Right? OK, try asking a Boston barman or cab-driver to deduct the Massachusetts sales tax from your bill because you're not entitled to vote in the US, and you'll soon see how much they believe in no taxation without representation. If, that is, you get out alive."
On New York:
"Now that wandering the streets is no longer fraught with danger, the excitement has gone. There are people around at all hours of the day and night, taking cabs, riding the subways--where you can watch the weirdos, spot passengers on the fiddle as well as on the violin and shrink with fear as way-out rappers leap into the carriage at the last-minute, boom box in hand, to serenade the world--or risking their lives on the Staten Island ferry."
On Detroit:
"Not just one derelict office building; not just one street of derelict office buildings, banks, and stores, but whole blocks of derelict office buildings, banks, stores, hotels, and theatres. Welcome to Detroit, originally named by its founder, Antoine de la Mothé Cadilliac, as far back as 1701 as Ville d'Etroit, or City in a Right Mess. Which at least proves one thing: the French are not always wrong."
Sunday, December 11, 2005
A Poem for Jim Castillo
Oh Jim, 'tis cruel how you were given the boot
Having worked so hard thanklessly
Alas, no one knows the song of the second banana on the midday shift
The one who does all the drudgery while the stars get all the credit
You were like Jan Brady, Joe from Gatchaman, Max from Macross/Robotech, George Constanza (I could go on and on)
But you soldiered on even without a contract
Cute and airbrushed weren't your style
Nor overly muscular and perky
You weren't saintly and wise
You were just you
And sadly, Newscorp didn't think that was enough
But cheer up, Jim
For surely as perkiness gives way to embittered cynicism
The second banana always has the ultimate laugh
Having worked so hard thanklessly
Alas, no one knows the song of the second banana on the midday shift
The one who does all the drudgery while the stars get all the credit
You were like Jan Brady, Joe from Gatchaman, Max from Macross/Robotech, George Constanza (I could go on and on)
But you soldiered on even without a contract
Cute and airbrushed weren't your style
Nor overly muscular and perky
You weren't saintly and wise
You were just you
And sadly, Newscorp didn't think that was enough
But cheer up, Jim
For surely as perkiness gives way to embittered cynicism
The second banana always has the ultimate laugh
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Bloomie, Please...
So Marie Antoinette up in Gracie Mansion is now calling for legalised gay marriage?
Isn't this just ducky? You wait until the circumstances are such that you could be portrayed as the saviour. I offer this little kernel of wisdom to the closet case of the city: If you knew it was the right thing in February, then you should've gone then and there and fought for it tooth and nail. Perhaps waiting may give you brownie points at the polls. Perhaps waiting until you were re-elected may have made your advisors (certain ones who I have addressed on here ) more content.
Lest you think that I am dismayed by your announcement, Mr. Mayor. I am quite happy that you are doing the right thing. I just wonder why your motivation to do it took 10 months, particularly since you were already aware that giving same-sex couples the right to marry was indeed the correct thing to do.
The sooner you and your hollow opinion poll-based heart leave office, the better off the rest of us will be.
Isn't this just ducky? You wait until the circumstances are such that you could be portrayed as the saviour. I offer this little kernel of wisdom to the closet case of the city: If you knew it was the right thing in February, then you should've gone then and there and fought for it tooth and nail. Perhaps waiting may give you brownie points at the polls. Perhaps waiting until you were re-elected may have made your advisors (certain ones who I have addressed on here ) more content.
Lest you think that I am dismayed by your announcement, Mr. Mayor. I am quite happy that you are doing the right thing. I just wonder why your motivation to do it took 10 months, particularly since you were already aware that giving same-sex couples the right to marry was indeed the correct thing to do.
The sooner you and your hollow opinion poll-based heart leave office, the better off the rest of us will be.
Friday, December 09, 2005
And now a message from our sponsor...
Americanwyr , paham mo gwna Cymraeg 'n 'n genedlaethol dafodiaith? Dybia bai 'n ardderchog a ni d pawb blymio choelbren 'n llyfnach.*
Hon cenadwri chyrchir atat chan 'r Hikaruland Swyddog Dafodiaith bwyllgor.**
It may look daunting, but try saying it and you'll feel like Richard Burton and Tom Jones in no time at all.
* "Americans, why don't we choose Welsh as our national language? I think it would be excellent and we'd all sound a lot smoother."
**And yes, I know I'm grammatically incorrect, but it's not too shabby for my rudimentary Welsh...and you have to admit, it sounds and looks pretty cool.
Hon cenadwri chyrchir atat chan 'r Hikaruland Swyddog Dafodiaith bwyllgor.**
It may look daunting, but try saying it and you'll feel like Richard Burton and Tom Jones in no time at all.
* "Americans, why don't we choose Welsh as our national language? I think it would be excellent and we'd all sound a lot smoother."
**And yes, I know I'm grammatically incorrect, but it's not too shabby for my rudimentary Welsh...and you have to admit, it sounds and looks pretty cool.
Some Things Will Never Change
I was in my kitchen today when I spotted a couple touring the vacant apartment across the street. Without thinking about it I yelled "GO AWAY YUPPIE SCUM!"
Of course given that it's 30 degrees outside I didn't open the window, but I felt good.
Of course given that it's 30 degrees outside I didn't open the window, but I felt good.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Oh, Robbie...
What tales we weave when we sue in order to deceive.
Comrade, ain't nobody buying this. I didn't buy it when you started out. I didn't buy it when I read Feel. I didn't buy it when you were gobsmacked over Nicole Appleton...and it was completely plausible that you are in puppy love with Jonathan Wilkes.
Just. Come. Out.
Lest we forget, Liberace also won a lawsuit that alleged that he was gay and we all know what the final story was on that.
Comrade, ain't nobody buying this. I didn't buy it when you started out. I didn't buy it when I read Feel. I didn't buy it when you were gobsmacked over Nicole Appleton...and it was completely plausible that you are in puppy love with Jonathan Wilkes.
Just. Come. Out.
Lest we forget, Liberace also won a lawsuit that alleged that he was gay and we all know what the final story was on that.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Ah...hockey
Five reasons why I watch hockey:
(Top row: Bryce Salvador, Pavol Demitra, Marc Bergevin; Bottom row: Manny Malhotra, Mariusz Czerkawski)
Normal Service Has Been Resumed
Well, I finished my work (well 75% of it) so normal posting is back.
To celebrate its completion, I watched March of the Penguins.
I cannot believe they are marketing this film to children. It is just full of death. I'm not going to go into detail here, but it was like watching Bambi all over again (a film that I have only seen once since it was too traumatic to me as a child when Bambi's mother was shot). I'm just envisioning children unwrapping the DVD over the Holidays, putting it on and just crying their eyes out. I didn't cry myself, but I certainly winced a lot.
Maybe the current crop of children are harder souls than I.
To celebrate its completion, I watched March of the Penguins.
I cannot believe they are marketing this film to children. It is just full of death. I'm not going to go into detail here, but it was like watching Bambi all over again (a film that I have only seen once since it was too traumatic to me as a child when Bambi's mother was shot). I'm just envisioning children unwrapping the DVD over the Holidays, putting it on and just crying their eyes out. I didn't cry myself, but I certainly winced a lot.
Maybe the current crop of children are harder souls than I.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
A Pause for Praise
My sabbatical is still not over, but I wanted to just quickly praise two things:
- Dwight A. McBride's book Why I Hate Abercrombie & Fitch. Absolutely fascinating and engrossing. McBride makes an excellent and none-too-surprising connection between Abercrombie & Fitch's marketing and Nazi propaganda. The company's "Look Book" comes across as a modern day Mein Kampf. I'd write more, but I'm trying to keep this post short.
- The film Brother to Brother. I seriously was not expecting to like this film, but it really sucked me in on a personal level. Rarely have I felt so close to a protagonist as I did with Perry in this film. Shock of all shocks, the cast is relatively good. (Anthony Mackie went on to do Spike Lee's She Hate Me, and Daniel Sunjata goes without saying to anyone who saw Take Me Out several seasons ago.) Two scenes especially stand out (I do not think this is a spoiler): The first is where Perry bolts out of a post-coital embrace with Jim (who is white) after Jim says that he has "the sweetest black ass," unaware of how loaded and unintentionally offensive that comment is (very relatable); The other is a conversation between James Baldwin and Eldridge Cleaver which puts the aforementioned scene in perfect sociological context, if you ask me. Rodney Evans did an amazing job with the script and direction. Generally, I'm against directors writing and directing their own work, but he's a notable exception. I hope to see more from him.
And for the record, I am receiving no kickbacks.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
"Holy Smokes!"
I'm still on sabbatical, but last night I was talking with another ex-Milwaukeean about the Hoan Bridge cracking up several years ago. It's quite a hilarious story.
The Journal-Sentinel is telling the truth, no one thought that the bridge was seriously in need of repairs until somebody called 911 after driving over it and feeling it come apart.
The Journal-Sentinel is telling the truth, no one thought that the bridge was seriously in need of repairs until somebody called 911 after driving over it and feeling it come apart.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Gone Writin'
I've been a bad boy and let my writing outside of here build up and now I've got to clear the backlog. (Damn you, Mercury Retrograde.)
Y'see, I think of writing as being like a well, it all comes from the same place and when you use it in one place, it means the others don't get as much as they used to. So, my play and my articles need some nourishment and I'm taking the week or so off of here.
'Tis a shame, because go figure things are getting quite interesting. Former Illinois governor (and perfect expressway or TV anchor name) George Ryan is on trial and his slightly hidden campaign for the gay vote looks to play a role, and SVT has released the names of most of the performers at next year's Melodifestivalen, which looks quite full of Swedish-language songs (hurrah).
Before I sign off, here's something for the referrals: Eric Braate, Eric Braate, Ron Corning, Ron Corning. (I swear, you mention somebody's name twice...)
Y'see, I think of writing as being like a well, it all comes from the same place and when you use it in one place, it means the others don't get as much as they used to. So, my play and my articles need some nourishment and I'm taking the week or so off of here.
'Tis a shame, because go figure things are getting quite interesting. Former Illinois governor (and perfect expressway or TV anchor name) George Ryan is on trial and his slightly hidden campaign for the gay vote looks to play a role, and SVT has released the names of most of the performers at next year's Melodifestivalen, which looks quite full of Swedish-language songs (hurrah).
Before I sign off, here's something for the referrals: Eric Braate, Eric Braate, Ron Corning, Ron Corning. (I swear, you mention somebody's name twice...)
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Splash-The View Post Mortem: The Grand Coda
I think too much. Honestly, I think I do, and it prevents me from actually relaxing and taking that pole out of my ass. Tonight was a prime example.
It started out with me intending on having a few Mike's Cranberries over at Splash. Little did I know that this choice would bring me face to face with the previously intended object of revenge...who actually didn't do anything, but still left me pissed.
Guess what? He was wearing a harness and jock strap tonight. If only I was a little bit more assertive, I could've worked it to my favour. (Then again, I wouldn't be myself if I wasn't a tad bit gunshy.) I was not about the spend the whole night waiting for a resolution, but I've come to the conclusion that indeed, he is a ho, and I like him for that. In the parallel universe where this all has a happy ending, we would be your standard happy non-monogamous couple. In this world, however; I am quite content with dubious purrings of "sexy" and a hug, because dammit, I have no time to be anything other than pursued. (He wasn't that good, and I don't brake for copraphiliacs.)
I get my coat and decide to have a Corona for the road before braving the elements. Wrong move. Somebody spots me and decides that I am the perfect receptacle for his pent-up hormones over his ex-boyfriend. Mister, I am trying to have a beer and nothing else! Yet, I cannot shake my politeness. Somehow "bugger off" is a difficult thing to say for me...on occasion.
Eventually liberated by giving him an outdated number and certain that said person would hold no damage to my career, it was off to the View. Here's where things get interesting: Not only do I meet an interesting guy, but he happens to be from Southeastern Wisconsin no less and happens to share my intellectual curiosity towards beating someone up. (You can be a pacifist and curious about self-defense.)
It can be unbelievably freaky how certain aspects of someone just cause such an immediate reaction inside. This was the case here. In one corner, you had a curious slut (me). In the other corner you had a total hipster complete with Mo Rocca hairdo, glasses, and vocabulary that used "kid," and "son" as terms of endearment. No sooner than we'd left the bar, than the groping, pawing, and naked acrobatics commenced.
He may not have been the type to enact revenge with, but it felt just as satisfying.
It started out with me intending on having a few Mike's Cranberries over at Splash. Little did I know that this choice would bring me face to face with the previously intended object of revenge...who actually didn't do anything, but still left me pissed.
Guess what? He was wearing a harness and jock strap tonight. If only I was a little bit more assertive, I could've worked it to my favour. (Then again, I wouldn't be myself if I wasn't a tad bit gunshy.) I was not about the spend the whole night waiting for a resolution, but I've come to the conclusion that indeed, he is a ho, and I like him for that. In the parallel universe where this all has a happy ending, we would be your standard happy non-monogamous couple. In this world, however; I am quite content with dubious purrings of "sexy" and a hug, because dammit, I have no time to be anything other than pursued. (He wasn't that good, and I don't brake for copraphiliacs.)
I get my coat and decide to have a Corona for the road before braving the elements. Wrong move. Somebody spots me and decides that I am the perfect receptacle for his pent-up hormones over his ex-boyfriend. Mister, I am trying to have a beer and nothing else! Yet, I cannot shake my politeness. Somehow "bugger off" is a difficult thing to say for me...on occasion.
Eventually liberated by giving him an outdated number and certain that said person would hold no damage to my career, it was off to the View. Here's where things get interesting: Not only do I meet an interesting guy, but he happens to be from Southeastern Wisconsin no less and happens to share my intellectual curiosity towards beating someone up. (You can be a pacifist and curious about self-defense.)
It can be unbelievably freaky how certain aspects of someone just cause such an immediate reaction inside. This was the case here. In one corner, you had a curious slut (me). In the other corner you had a total hipster complete with Mo Rocca hairdo, glasses, and vocabulary that used "kid," and "son" as terms of endearment. No sooner than we'd left the bar, than the groping, pawing, and naked acrobatics commenced.
He may not have been the type to enact revenge with, but it felt just as satisfying.
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Airline Smackdown!
I received this card in the mail recently (I'd scan it, except I have no scanner nor digital camera with me):
On the outside, it showed the picture of a cookie and said "This is a key feature of a certain local airline."
On the inside, it showed a globe and read "This is a key feature of Northwest Airlines."
Ouch.
(Some back story. Milwaukee is home to Midwest Airlines, which gives a chocolate chip cookie on the majority of their flights. This is also quite funny--at least to me--because Northwest has opened, closed, and now re-opened a mini-hub in Milwaukee. It's Mitchell Field's on-again, off-again dysfunctional relationship.)
On the outside, it showed the picture of a cookie and said "This is a key feature of a certain local airline."
On the inside, it showed a globe and read "This is a key feature of Northwest Airlines."
Ouch.
(Some back story. Milwaukee is home to Midwest Airlines, which gives a chocolate chip cookie on the majority of their flights. This is also quite funny--at least to me--because Northwest has opened, closed, and now re-opened a mini-hub in Milwaukee. It's Mitchell Field's on-again, off-again dysfunctional relationship.)
Friday, November 25, 2005
Tail-Between-Legs
Remember when I was all hellbent on destroying a certain person?
Well, I was reviewing my text messages, and it turns out that person is now off the hook. It turns out that the mystery messenger was the drunk black man from way earlier this month who gave me Maria Shriver's book.
To be honest, I'm now kind of miffed that it wasn't who I thought it was. The thought of taking some vapid pretty-boy down was quite pleasurable.
Well, I was reviewing my text messages, and it turns out that person is now off the hook. It turns out that the mystery messenger was the drunk black man from way earlier this month who gave me Maria Shriver's book.
To be honest, I'm now kind of miffed that it wasn't who I thought it was. The thought of taking some vapid pretty-boy down was quite pleasurable.
Thanksgiving Day Parade Post-Mortem
(Well, technically it's not a post-mortem since as I write this the parade is not yet over in either the Central Time Zone, but I'm not going to split hairs.)
Every single year I watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade like religion. Perhaps it's the march of time, but the parade has truly lost its whimsy, at least to me. First off, either WTMJ or NBC screwed up the HDTV broadcast because for the first ten minutes we were watching the East Coast feed which was high-definition and already an hour into it, then suddenly it changed to the regular delayed Central feed. The upside was Rita Coolidge twice. The downside? Sesame Street's sacchrine performance twice. (Seriously, half of that cast just needs to retire. Bob looks and sounds like he needs a respirator.)
Other live observations:
Every single year I watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade like religion. Perhaps it's the march of time, but the parade has truly lost its whimsy, at least to me. First off, either WTMJ or NBC screwed up the HDTV broadcast because for the first ten minutes we were watching the East Coast feed which was high-definition and already an hour into it, then suddenly it changed to the regular delayed Central feed. The upside was Rita Coolidge twice. The downside? Sesame Street's sacchrine performance twice. (Seriously, half of that cast just needs to retire. Bob looks and sounds like he needs a respirator.)
Other live observations:
- You can plug The Office as much as you'd like, NBC. I doubt it'll do any good after those horrific "water-cooler talk" radio commercials. I now go out of the way to avoid it.
- Tommy Tune looks old. Yikes.
- I pity the poor people who have to walk that route in those Pilgrim balloon heads.
- Rihanna? Go away now.
- Why oh why would they put Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on? It's closing soon.
- My mother's assessment of Jersey Boys: "Dull and that man does not look like Frankie Valli." This led into a mini-spat over semantics. She referred to it as a "play." I said "it's a musical." "Isn't a musical a play?" "Hell, no." We argued this point for 5 minutes, looked up the definition online, and I have to minorly concede to her that she is technically correct, but I will never refer to any musical as a "play." Unfortunately, she now knows that usign that term will get under my skin.
- Who are all these no-name singers on all these floats?
- In my fantasy 2005 parade: Yummy Bingham on a float performing "Come Get It." Anyone who has seen the Soca floats during Pride knows how fun that would be to see.
- It says something about the rest of the show when I actually enjoy seeing that opening number (which was censored, by the way) from Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Still can't stand that Butz man.
- Matt Lauer sounds unbelievably awkward saying "off the chain." I know I do as well, but geez...This is national television.
- Does Click 5 have any credibility anymore? If they did, I think appearing on the Hess float killed it.
- Please let Al Roker lose his voice next year.
- My god, NBC is actually letting it run over now. Quelle horreur! Though I suspect that the dog show is not going to get great ratings anyway.
- I will scream if see that asshole mayor.
- To my neighbours: I send you my wishes, because Sixth Avenue is probably Hell today.
- My stone heart was moved by the Preservation Hall Jazz Band.
- "Camp Broadway." It works on so many levels.
- Those cheerleaders are on E, I tell you.
- Who the hell are the Cheetah Girls? Can't we sic a cheetah on them?
- Hands up if you want to see an all-male version of The Rockettes. (The Cockettes don't count.)
- Apparently James Dobson's homophobic cult (Focus on the Family) was soliciting during the parade by handing out "balls." He doesn't get the irony of doing so. I hope some Upper West Siders pelt him with them.
- Jai Rodriguez should stay the hell away from performing anything from the Steve Martin songbook. The lyric "my favorite honky" was surprisingly not cut.
- Four Kings: I smell "sophmore slump." Shame, because Seth Green is actually quite talented as a comedic actor.
- Are those marching band uniforms designed to give everybody a huge gut?
- Whoever scripts those Shecky Greene "jokes" for Matt Lauer, Katie Couric, and Al Roker needs to be bound, gagged, and lobotomised.
- I think Aaron Neville is keeping that mole just to piss the rest of the world off. Was that a facial tattoo of schimtar I saw on his cheek?
So...It's Thanksgiving
We're still alive.
We still have some modicum of freedom.
We still can have gay sex.
And we're still fighting back.
Happy Thanksgiving to all, with special greetings to everyone on my blogroll: Adam, Cane, Stephen, Pookie, Dondon, FARB, Frank, Thomas, and STB. (And even though the Mizez is in France now, Happy Thanksgiving.)
We still have some modicum of freedom.
We still can have gay sex.
And we're still fighting back.
Happy Thanksgiving to all, with special greetings to everyone on my blogroll: Adam, Cane, Stephen, Pookie, Dondon, FARB, Frank, Thomas, and STB. (And even though the Mizez is in France now, Happy Thanksgiving.)
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Snow!
We got a nice covering of snow last night, about two inches. Waking up and seeing it warmed the cockels of my hardened heart.
Of course, the high today is going to be 42, and rain is supposed to move in later so it's likely it'll last throughout the day. However, real Wisconsin weather (which is cold as opposed to snow) comes in this evening with the low going down to 16. I never felt so butch as when I was forced to go to high school in -30 degree weather (that's the temperature, not the windchill).
I'm going to cut this post off now before I start to morph into a dark-skinned Garrison Keillor.
Of course, the high today is going to be 42, and rain is supposed to move in later so it's likely it'll last throughout the day. However, real Wisconsin weather (which is cold as opposed to snow) comes in this evening with the low going down to 16. I never felt so butch as when I was forced to go to high school in -30 degree weather (that's the temperature, not the windchill).
I'm going to cut this post off now before I start to morph into a dark-skinned Garrison Keillor.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Bayshore and Other Nostalgia
They have torn half of Bayshore Mall down. Barnes & Noble, Abercrombie & Fitch, Walgreen's, Blockbuster Video, all memories.
Milwaukee, especially in the 1980's and 1990's was a metropolitan area divided by malls. If a person told you where they shopped, then you had a somewhat of an idea of where they lived. Bayshore, for the most part was the closest mall to the part of Mequon where I grew up. (You could argue Northridge (RIP), but I spent more time at Bayshore.) It was relatively modern in that 1980's glass atrium way, and had a Rocky Rococo. What was not to like?
Well, apparently the owners thought that Bayshore was outdated and they have embarked on some ambitious new remodeling which will turn it from one solitary building into what appears to be several buildings plus a parking structure. I agree with the parking structure. (Surprisingly only The Grand Avenue in downtown Milwaukee was the only local mall to have a parking structure up until this year.) I have severe doubts with everything else in the plan. Part of the appeal of Bayshore for me was that it was basically all one level and in one structure. You didn't have to go hunting for an escalator or a map unless you were very new to the area. This also made it popular with senior citizens who would power walk from one end of it to another every morning before the shops opened. (The mall even posted "power walk" hours.)
It will be very interesting to see what this new look Bayshore will look like, but I'm not quite certain that it's a sign of progress.
Being at Bayshore last night also took me back to my late teens where it was one of the places I would arrange to meet men for sex. It went like this: we'd meet up in a chatroom, find somewhere public to meet up, one of us would drive the other back to his place, we'd do it, and then go back like strangers. Being a horny teenager, however, I didn't really play it safe all the time. I always wore protection, but oftentimes I'd skip the "public meeting place" rule and just have them come to my house while my parents were out.
I remember staring through the gauzy curtains, paying close attention to the sporadic traffic passing by, thinking one of two thoughts:
1) "Will this finally be a guy who's actually good looking?"
2) "Well, at least I'm having sex."
#1 always let me down in the end. How could it not? Every online sex meeting is basically a crap shoot, and ultimately I came to realise that there is something attractive about everyone. I'll be honest with you, I was no prize as a teenager except to chickenhawks who see youth over everything else. I was pimply, plump, had gynecomastia, and my hair was very unkempt. Yet most of the guys I was with achieved orgasm. Somehow there was something about me that got them off, if not myself.
In retrospect, I think the fact that the suburbs tend to be rife full of closeted married men who are just desperate to have any sort of gay sexual expression, played a major role. It was the act, not the actors.
Yet, it's nice to go back and remember this time when I felt like I was such a rebel having gay sex. A time when I was both sleazy and innocent. A time where scanning the cars and waiting for that one unfamiliar car to pull up onto the driveway. A time where I wasn't politically aware of the ramifications of what I was doing. I just knew that it felt good to be desired for a brief moment in time.
Today, I rarely go into chatrooms. I'm of age, quite happily hit the bars, and I feel no need for secrecy about what and who I do and associate with. That said, I still get those pleasant butterflies before sex. I still put my partner's pleasure first. And most importantly, I still feel that every guy is attractive.
Given all the primping and cloning that many gay men do, we do often lose who we are. We start to exclude others based on initial judgments. "He's fat." "He's effeminate." "He's this, that and/or the other." I think that if one day we all just gave ourselves a chance to look deeper, we'd find that there's a part of us that really is attracted to something that we claim we aren't attracted to.
Milwaukee, especially in the 1980's and 1990's was a metropolitan area divided by malls. If a person told you where they shopped, then you had a somewhat of an idea of where they lived. Bayshore, for the most part was the closest mall to the part of Mequon where I grew up. (You could argue Northridge (RIP), but I spent more time at Bayshore.) It was relatively modern in that 1980's glass atrium way, and had a Rocky Rococo. What was not to like?
Well, apparently the owners thought that Bayshore was outdated and they have embarked on some ambitious new remodeling which will turn it from one solitary building into what appears to be several buildings plus a parking structure. I agree with the parking structure. (Surprisingly only The Grand Avenue in downtown Milwaukee was the only local mall to have a parking structure up until this year.) I have severe doubts with everything else in the plan. Part of the appeal of Bayshore for me was that it was basically all one level and in one structure. You didn't have to go hunting for an escalator or a map unless you were very new to the area. This also made it popular with senior citizens who would power walk from one end of it to another every morning before the shops opened. (The mall even posted "power walk" hours.)
It will be very interesting to see what this new look Bayshore will look like, but I'm not quite certain that it's a sign of progress.
Being at Bayshore last night also took me back to my late teens where it was one of the places I would arrange to meet men for sex. It went like this: we'd meet up in a chatroom, find somewhere public to meet up, one of us would drive the other back to his place, we'd do it, and then go back like strangers. Being a horny teenager, however, I didn't really play it safe all the time. I always wore protection, but oftentimes I'd skip the "public meeting place" rule and just have them come to my house while my parents were out.
I remember staring through the gauzy curtains, paying close attention to the sporadic traffic passing by, thinking one of two thoughts:
1) "Will this finally be a guy who's actually good looking?"
2) "Well, at least I'm having sex."
#1 always let me down in the end. How could it not? Every online sex meeting is basically a crap shoot, and ultimately I came to realise that there is something attractive about everyone. I'll be honest with you, I was no prize as a teenager except to chickenhawks who see youth over everything else. I was pimply, plump, had gynecomastia, and my hair was very unkempt. Yet most of the guys I was with achieved orgasm. Somehow there was something about me that got them off, if not myself.
In retrospect, I think the fact that the suburbs tend to be rife full of closeted married men who are just desperate to have any sort of gay sexual expression, played a major role. It was the act, not the actors.
Yet, it's nice to go back and remember this time when I felt like I was such a rebel having gay sex. A time when I was both sleazy and innocent. A time where scanning the cars and waiting for that one unfamiliar car to pull up onto the driveway. A time where I wasn't politically aware of the ramifications of what I was doing. I just knew that it felt good to be desired for a brief moment in time.
Today, I rarely go into chatrooms. I'm of age, quite happily hit the bars, and I feel no need for secrecy about what and who I do and associate with. That said, I still get those pleasant butterflies before sex. I still put my partner's pleasure first. And most importantly, I still feel that every guy is attractive.
Given all the primping and cloning that many gay men do, we do often lose who we are. We start to exclude others based on initial judgments. "He's fat." "He's effeminate." "He's this, that and/or the other." I think that if one day we all just gave ourselves a chance to look deeper, we'd find that there's a part of us that really is attracted to something that we claim we aren't attracted to.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
The New Referral King
Apparently it's Eric Braate, who follows previous kings Ron Corning and Reichen Whateverhisnameisnow. I don't know whether he makes the hausfraus from Waukesha County all funny in the morning or if he's appealing to the gay men in the metro area (or indeed, both), but he's certainly popular. Perhaps he's Milwaukee's meterological answer to Anderson Cooper?
Anyway, he hasn't left Milwaukee television (yet) much to the contentment of the aforementioned groups and myself. Watching him this morning, I noticed that with his departure scheduled, Il Braate seems a lot less stiff than he did in October. Wherever he's headed it must be somewhere he really likes.
Anyway, he hasn't left Milwaukee television (yet) much to the contentment of the aforementioned groups and myself. Watching him this morning, I noticed that with his departure scheduled, Il Braate seems a lot less stiff than he did in October. Wherever he's headed it must be somewhere he really likes.
Mequon Strikes Back: Now It's Personal
"Tea? You brought me fucking tea? How long have you've known me? Tea. Gin. Tea. Gin."
This line from The Closet has been in my head for lo 3 days now and it still cracks me up. I do not know if it was meant to be serious or just flat out campy, but I cannot get it out of my head.
I find myself in the strange position of actually missing QTV while I'm in Wisconsin for just that reason alone. I finally figured out what niche it's trying to fill: it's gay tv for those who like their swearing. No porn, but we do get swearing.
Oh well.
My idiot US Representative, James Sensenbrenner was on the local news last night defending our district's spending of Homeland Security money on security items that frankly this area does not need. This got under my skin for several reasons:
1. Nobody knows how to use it. Just ask the family of Matthew Sheridan.
2. We are not a major target. Yes, there should be some protection, but more than Milwaukee? (And Milwaukee isn't even a major target!)
3. There's a tiny portion of the city of Milwaukee that is in Washington County, which is even more rural than Ozaukee County (where Mequon is). This portion has no voters and has nothing more than a recycling plant. However, this does allow Washington County access to the money set aside for urban areas. And you know what? They took it.
God save me, but the closet-case megalomaniac GOP fool that is the mayor of New York City is right about New York getting the short end of the stick in respect to more money for security. (Still don't like him, will never like him, but he's right on this point.) It is absolutely asinine that Officer Bob out in Germantown is getting equipment that he doesn't even have clue how to operate while the NYPD & FDNY are still underfunded and ill-equipped for a city that has been on "Orange" since September 11, 2001.
(They're underpaid as well, but the yuppies apparently don't care about that, as evidenced on Election Day.)
One last local note for today: Three local radio stations are already all-Christmas music all the time. Three! I mean, I like Christmas music as much as the next person, but three?
This line from The Closet has been in my head for lo 3 days now and it still cracks me up. I do not know if it was meant to be serious or just flat out campy, but I cannot get it out of my head.
I find myself in the strange position of actually missing QTV while I'm in Wisconsin for just that reason alone. I finally figured out what niche it's trying to fill: it's gay tv for those who like their swearing. No porn, but we do get swearing.
Oh well.
My idiot US Representative, James Sensenbrenner was on the local news last night defending our district's spending of Homeland Security money on security items that frankly this area does not need. This got under my skin for several reasons:
1. Nobody knows how to use it. Just ask the family of Matthew Sheridan.
2. We are not a major target. Yes, there should be some protection, but more than Milwaukee? (And Milwaukee isn't even a major target!)
3. There's a tiny portion of the city of Milwaukee that is in Washington County, which is even more rural than Ozaukee County (where Mequon is). This portion has no voters and has nothing more than a recycling plant. However, this does allow Washington County access to the money set aside for urban areas. And you know what? They took it.
God save me, but the closet-case megalomaniac GOP fool that is the mayor of New York City is right about New York getting the short end of the stick in respect to more money for security. (Still don't like him, will never like him, but he's right on this point.) It is absolutely asinine that Officer Bob out in Germantown is getting equipment that he doesn't even have clue how to operate while the NYPD & FDNY are still underfunded and ill-equipped for a city that has been on "Orange" since September 11, 2001.
(They're underpaid as well, but the yuppies apparently don't care about that, as evidenced on Election Day.)
One last local note for today: Three local radio stations are already all-Christmas music all the time. Three! I mean, I like Christmas music as much as the next person, but three?
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Splash-Stonewall-Rawhide Post-Mortem: The Last Boogie on Earth
...(until Thanksgiving).
So tonight was the last night that I had to get blotto in public, and it's...kind of a success.
At Splash, I wound up drinking in Rocco & Tony's section (ask Stephen), which proved rather abrasive and forced me to amscray over to the Stonewall ultimately. (There are only so many "thanks bro" that I can take.)
The Stonewall was interesting, since I found myself drinking with the head of a security company and occasional bodyguard. Now, after feeling his chest, I wouldn't quite trust him with my life, but the fantasy was sufficient. On a sidenote, what's with all these bisexuals that I keep on coming across? I mean, I'm a tolerant person, but I kind of would like it if you're thinking about me while we're going at it, or at least someone with the some anatomical makeup. Plus, I'm a little worried that a deranged girlfriend or wife might come along. (Perhaps I was little too much into The Dying Gaul when I saw it.)
Since misery enjoys company, I came up against the same situation at Rawhide. Yes...Rawhide. I'm starting to wonder if I put out some bi-friendly vibe. Well, there are worst things in the world if I do. Like the go go "boys" at Rawhide, and that Screamin' Rachael lady. Where did she come from with her cheap video and--I'm sorry--lack of screaming capabilities.
And this was my last boogie on Earth...until Thanksgiving. I'm a good date.
So tonight was the last night that I had to get blotto in public, and it's...kind of a success.
At Splash, I wound up drinking in Rocco & Tony's section (ask Stephen), which proved rather abrasive and forced me to amscray over to the Stonewall ultimately. (There are only so many "thanks bro" that I can take.)
The Stonewall was interesting, since I found myself drinking with the head of a security company and occasional bodyguard. Now, after feeling his chest, I wouldn't quite trust him with my life, but the fantasy was sufficient. On a sidenote, what's with all these bisexuals that I keep on coming across? I mean, I'm a tolerant person, but I kind of would like it if you're thinking about me while we're going at it, or at least someone with the some anatomical makeup. Plus, I'm a little worried that a deranged girlfriend or wife might come along. (Perhaps I was little too much into The Dying Gaul when I saw it.)
Since misery enjoys company, I came up against the same situation at Rawhide. Yes...Rawhide. I'm starting to wonder if I put out some bi-friendly vibe. Well, there are worst things in the world if I do. Like the go go "boys" at Rawhide, and that Screamin' Rachael lady. Where did she come from with her cheap video and--I'm sorry--lack of screaming capabilities.
And this was my last boogie on Earth...until Thanksgiving. I'm a good date.
Friday, November 18, 2005
OUT TV Lives!
You know that haphazardly run gay network on Will & Grace that Jack works for?
Well, it lives and is called Q Television. For $7.95 a month you can have it in New York now (which is getting it after Birmingham, Alabama and Eureka, California of all places). It looks very nice, with five hours of in-house live programming daily, but after watching it after only 20 minutes you can really tell how much money Viacom pumped into LOGO by comparison. Some of those sets look as rickety as an SRO off of 11th Avenue.
QTV has its own daily newscast which seems like it is normally hosted by a black man, but is guest anchored by Steve Kmetko this month, who is nearly unrecognisable and more jittery than I ever remember him. This newscast does seem very airy and casual, which is...I guess a good thing. (There was someone from Air America giving an anti-Bush commentary who said "goddamn." My kinda show.)
They have also given Reichen whateverhisnameisrightnow his own weekly call in show. Honey Labrador? She's got her own show. Dallas's gay and lesbian church, the Cathedral of Hope? They've got their own show. Hell, they seemed to have given anybody a show AND DAMMIT I WANT MY OWN! I mean you're airing Mirage of Blaze, which is an anime about gay angels of death. It's like you're just begging me to have my own half-hour.
QTV even has it's own Noah's Arc, called The Closet. (Cue the R. Kelly jokes, because lord knows that's what I thought.) Well, it looks like Noah's Arc except it's set in Baltimore, the men aren't physical adonises, and the acting looks and sounds straight out of Tyler Perry, pun intended. In fact, I think La Perry probably wrote this to be produced upon his death because it looks so unnecessarily overwrought. ("She said you were sleeping with her...and her husband!" SLAP!)
One thing that QTV has over LOGO so far is that they know that the gays love their dance music. (Seriously LOGO, you're an MTV network, you can at least give us an hour or two of pop/techno a day as opposed to having it just as filler.) All the obscure remixes of dance hits that you ever wanted. I need never go out to Splash again...okay, I probably will, but now it's just to get drunk.
I have found my guilty pleasure and I pray it stays kitschy and chaotic forever.
Well, it lives and is called Q Television. For $7.95 a month you can have it in New York now (which is getting it after Birmingham, Alabama and Eureka, California of all places). It looks very nice, with five hours of in-house live programming daily, but after watching it after only 20 minutes you can really tell how much money Viacom pumped into LOGO by comparison. Some of those sets look as rickety as an SRO off of 11th Avenue.
QTV has its own daily newscast which seems like it is normally hosted by a black man, but is guest anchored by Steve Kmetko this month, who is nearly unrecognisable and more jittery than I ever remember him. This newscast does seem very airy and casual, which is...I guess a good thing. (There was someone from Air America giving an anti-Bush commentary who said "goddamn." My kinda show.)
They have also given Reichen whateverhisnameisrightnow his own weekly call in show. Honey Labrador? She's got her own show. Dallas's gay and lesbian church, the Cathedral of Hope? They've got their own show. Hell, they seemed to have given anybody a show AND DAMMIT I WANT MY OWN! I mean you're airing Mirage of Blaze, which is an anime about gay angels of death. It's like you're just begging me to have my own half-hour.
QTV even has it's own Noah's Arc, called The Closet. (Cue the R. Kelly jokes, because lord knows that's what I thought.) Well, it looks like Noah's Arc except it's set in Baltimore, the men aren't physical adonises, and the acting looks and sounds straight out of Tyler Perry, pun intended. In fact, I think La Perry probably wrote this to be produced upon his death because it looks so unnecessarily overwrought. ("She said you were sleeping with her...and her husband!" SLAP!)
One thing that QTV has over LOGO so far is that they know that the gays love their dance music. (Seriously LOGO, you're an MTV network, you can at least give us an hour or two of pop/techno a day as opposed to having it just as filler.) All the obscure remixes of dance hits that you ever wanted. I need never go out to Splash again...okay, I probably will, but now it's just to get drunk.
I have found my guilty pleasure and I pray it stays kitschy and chaotic forever.
Let's All Hold Hands And Beam
Attention Bush administration:
You really want to improve your standing in the Middle East? Send basketball players.
In fact, could we send Iverson to Syria as soon as possible? He'd get all the various factions to unite against him in no time.
You really want to improve your standing in the Middle East? Send basketball players.
In fact, could we send Iverson to Syria as soon as possible? He'd get all the various factions to unite against him in no time.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Bring Back the Seventies
Yesterday, I went to see Gay Sex in the '70s. It was eye-opening. Watching the documentary, I got the impression that living in 1970's gay New York was basically a nonstop hedonistic orgy of sex, drugs, and even more sex.
It was sex as protest, sex as celebration, sex as fraternity. It didn't seem to have the plethora of no fats, femmes, racism, and other discrimination that has afflicted the gay community now. Unfortunately, the downside of this openness and nonstop sex was the spread of HIV/AIDS, but there is something to be learned and applied from the 1970's ethos to today.
Feel Free and Unashamed. Love all of us. We're all special.
One question that I had after seeing the film. Several times the interviewees mentioned "the trucks" which I gather were in the Meatpacking District (ha ha). The way this seemed to work is that men would get into these trucks and in pitch black darkness proceed to have sex. I can't quite follow this. Sex is such a sensory experience that I think you miss something by not being able to at least see what's going on. Hell, it's pretty hard to know what you're doing in total darkness. Even the backrooms I've been in have had at least some dim lighting.
A final comment, go see this film if you can. Anything that makes me actually like Tom Bianchi for over an hour, is pretty remarkable.
It was sex as protest, sex as celebration, sex as fraternity. It didn't seem to have the plethora of no fats, femmes, racism, and other discrimination that has afflicted the gay community now. Unfortunately, the downside of this openness and nonstop sex was the spread of HIV/AIDS, but there is something to be learned and applied from the 1970's ethos to today.
Feel Free and Unashamed. Love all of us. We're all special.
One question that I had after seeing the film. Several times the interviewees mentioned "the trucks" which I gather were in the Meatpacking District (ha ha). The way this seemed to work is that men would get into these trucks and in pitch black darkness proceed to have sex. I can't quite follow this. Sex is such a sensory experience that I think you miss something by not being able to at least see what's going on. Hell, it's pretty hard to know what you're doing in total darkness. Even the backrooms I've been in have had at least some dim lighting.
A final comment, go see this film if you can. Anything that makes me actually like Tom Bianchi for over an hour, is pretty remarkable.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Splash Post-Mortem: I Want My Revenge!
Nowt as scary as a queen with "Hung Up" playing on repeat.
Nowt as determined as a queen hellbent on vengeance.
Let me back up a bit.
So there's a certain person who has been sending me text messages over the past few days, which is fine by me. However, said person seems to have no tact whatsoever when it comes to the content of these text messages.
Hikaru don't play that.
In order to make this preamble short, suffice to say that one of the golden rules in my book is that when you send a text message to someone you PERSONALISE it. You do not go and send mass messages to your entire phonebook. You do not know if that person is liable to go all Angela Basset in Waiting To Exhale on you. No, not at all. Do not disturb my equilibrium by telling me about all the romantic plans you have in store with someone that I do not know. I do not care. I got you off, now let me be, unless I have some spot in your future. Otherwise, it's just tacky...and tacky carries a penalty of cruel revenge with me.
I do not play fair when crossed and I will go for the jugular. Revenge, as I see it, is like a bee sting. It is pointed, it is quick, and it lingers on the victim long after the aggressor has moved on. I like to get my revenge over quickly. It does not linger with me. I need my grudge relieved ASAP or else it will fade away.
Tonight was supposed to be the night that I enacted my revenge on the aforementioned person. I squatted nearly 100 pounds over my weight. I bench pressed just 5 pounds shy of my weight. I wore my most binding and slutty clothes. I was hellbent on breaking a narcissist at his own game.
And then, the fool didn't even show up.
This pissed me off to no end, because I will forget this very soon and I was very much looking forward to carrying out my divine retribution before my short-term memory chucks it out.
It was a brilliant plan: I was going to flirt shamelessly; grope, french kiss, and whatever I could get away with any male body present to make this person realise his apparent lack of morals as well as the fact that I can and will outdo him if I so please. Instead, I'm left feigning interest in some talking head from Pennsylvania who really has nothing of merit to say, but is too nice and scarred to squash.
Dammit, I hate it when I have no resolution.
Nowt as determined as a queen hellbent on vengeance.
Let me back up a bit.
So there's a certain person who has been sending me text messages over the past few days, which is fine by me. However, said person seems to have no tact whatsoever when it comes to the content of these text messages.
Hikaru don't play that.
In order to make this preamble short, suffice to say that one of the golden rules in my book is that when you send a text message to someone you PERSONALISE it. You do not go and send mass messages to your entire phonebook. You do not know if that person is liable to go all Angela Basset in Waiting To Exhale on you. No, not at all. Do not disturb my equilibrium by telling me about all the romantic plans you have in store with someone that I do not know. I do not care. I got you off, now let me be, unless I have some spot in your future. Otherwise, it's just tacky...and tacky carries a penalty of cruel revenge with me.
I do not play fair when crossed and I will go for the jugular. Revenge, as I see it, is like a bee sting. It is pointed, it is quick, and it lingers on the victim long after the aggressor has moved on. I like to get my revenge over quickly. It does not linger with me. I need my grudge relieved ASAP or else it will fade away.
Tonight was supposed to be the night that I enacted my revenge on the aforementioned person. I squatted nearly 100 pounds over my weight. I bench pressed just 5 pounds shy of my weight. I wore my most binding and slutty clothes. I was hellbent on breaking a narcissist at his own game.
And then, the fool didn't even show up.
This pissed me off to no end, because I will forget this very soon and I was very much looking forward to carrying out my divine retribution before my short-term memory chucks it out.
It was a brilliant plan: I was going to flirt shamelessly; grope, french kiss, and whatever I could get away with any male body present to make this person realise his apparent lack of morals as well as the fact that I can and will outdo him if I so please. Instead, I'm left feigning interest in some talking head from Pennsylvania who really has nothing of merit to say, but is too nice and scarred to squash.
Dammit, I hate it when I have no resolution.
You Just Knew It Had To Be Ugly
I guess I'm not the only one who finds the idea of a 14 year long Tyra Banks vs. Naomi Campbell feud extremely interesting.
Tyra: Who took my wig?
Naomi: Oh that's so cute, she needs a wig with her nappy hair.
Tyra: Like you don't.
Naomi: I know you weren't talking to me.
Tyra: Bitch, who you think I'm talking to?
Naomi: Bitch? Who you calling "bitch," you slag?
Tyra: No, you didn't call me no slag.
Naomi: If the shoe fits.
Tyra: In your big ass feet.
Naomi: At least I don't have a five-head.
Tyra: Oh, hell no!!!! I know some heifer who was in the Vanilla Ice movie did not just go and insult me. I worked with John Singleton and Denzel, ho.
Naomi: At least they bought my album.
Tyra: In Japan, heifer.
Naomi: (Silence.) Oh what's that? That's the amount of airplay "shake ya body" got.
Tyra: IT'S ON NOW!!!!
Naomi: I'll beat you like you were my assistant.
Tyra: Who took my wig?
Naomi: Oh that's so cute, she needs a wig with her nappy hair.
Tyra: Like you don't.
Naomi: I know you weren't talking to me.
Tyra: Bitch, who you think I'm talking to?
Naomi: Bitch? Who you calling "bitch," you slag?
Tyra: No, you didn't call me no slag.
Naomi: If the shoe fits.
Tyra: In your big ass feet.
Naomi: At least I don't have a five-head.
Tyra: Oh, hell no!!!! I know some heifer who was in the Vanilla Ice movie did not just go and insult me. I worked with John Singleton and Denzel, ho.
Naomi: At least they bought my album.
Tyra: In Japan, heifer.
Naomi: (Silence.) Oh what's that? That's the amount of airplay "shake ya body" got.
Tyra: IT'S ON NOW!!!!
Naomi: I'll beat you like you were my assistant.
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