365Gay has the story of two American go-go boys who have gone missing in Montreal.
This is how I see it shaking out. The ex-military man is afraid of both getting called up again and of getting a dishonourable discharge due to Don't Ask Don't Tell, so his party boy friend/sex partner decides to take him on a thousand mile odyssey throughout Canada: where they speak broken French, have a threeway with Ashley MacIsaac, take photos of themselves in headscarves--teeth a-gleaming, culminating in a high speed chase over the Confederation Bridge.
It's Thelma & Louise as written by Bret Easton Ellis.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Vintage Eye Candy
I am a bad gay blogger by rarely posting eye candy. As a mea culpa, here is a classic photo of John Wesley Shipp:
Attenzione!
Missives to Hikaruland may be interrupted this week as I'm working on a "project." It's not necessarily top-secret, but all I can really say is that I never imagined that my life's trajectory would lead me to hyping opportunities for capitalists--even if it is in the "Third World" and in a country that I'm surprised isn't up there with the Ireland, South Korea, Singapore, and the other "tiger" nations.
Oh well, I just keep repeating to myself "it's for the people," and I really do want this country to become an economic powerhouse.
(By the way, there were no hidden clues inside the preceding photographs. I'm just staying mum.)
In other navel-gazing news: Ben Patrick Johnson and Ron Corning must have loads of fans or people curious about them, because I'm getting loads of referrals with their names. Alas, the Cameron Cartio referrals are still coming in, lo these many months post-Melodifestivalen.
Oh well, I just keep repeating to myself "it's for the people," and I really do want this country to become an economic powerhouse.
(By the way, there were no hidden clues inside the preceding photographs. I'm just staying mum.)
In other navel-gazing news: Ben Patrick Johnson and Ron Corning must have loads of fans or people curious about them, because I'm getting loads of referrals with their names. Alas, the Cameron Cartio referrals are still coming in, lo these many months post-Melodifestivalen.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
The Roxy Post-Mortem: Dancing to Oblivion
Yes, that's right, I went to The Roxy.
It all started out very innoculous, I was chatting with Garrett last night, when I saw a high school classmate's name listed as one of the performers to appear at The Roxy. I haven't seen her in almost a decade, so I roped Garrett into going.
It was like a surreal comedy brought to life.
Here we are two people who don't dance sitting in the middle of a dance club. It's too dark for Garrett to read my lips or my haphazard ASL, so we communicated via pad and text messages. A particular highlight was when I thought I saw B.D. Wong dancing shirtless, but upon closer examination, 'twas not him.
However, this is all beside the point.
Being at The Roxy that night was a bit of a sociological epiphany for me. You see, I can't quite wrap my mind around the logic of going there. You pay $20+ to enter (general admission was $40 this particular night), you have bottles of water starting out $3 (perhaps even higher), and it gets so crowded that you can barely move around. Why would someone subject themselves to this on a weekly basis?
The rationale that I've come to believe: These people are living purely for now.
Savings be damned, some people just want to forget that the world exists. Life is brutal today, we are bombarded with news of how dire the economy is, how the war in Iraq is a quagmire that no one seems to know the way out of, how the GLBT community is still treated like second class citizens in the US, and just basically how imperfect we all are when measured up against some impossible media ideal--especially if you look at gay media.
When I was making my way back to my apartment afterwards, I was thinking that I was going to focus on the absurdly thin twinks flailing their bodies across the dancefloor, the steroid abusers shuffling from left to right, and the Freudian hysteric Will & Grace-esque couples. Yet, as I type this out now, I realise that perhaps this is their one time a week where they feel at ease with themselves.
I often say that there is a lack of personal responsibility in today's society, but there is also a lack of self-love. It seems like the hardest thing for many of us to do is to wake up in the morning and say "I'm right as I am." This is not to say that we are no longer works-in-progress, but occasionally we need to realise that while we are works-in-progress, we are still marvelous things behold.
As marvelous things, we sometimes curse the sun that our lives have not become the stuff that William J. Mann novels are made out of. It always seems that someone else has got that special ingredient that makes their lives appear seemingly sparkling in comparison to our own seemingly humdrum existence.
So we dance, we spend beyond our means, we do drugs, we drink, we become nihilists. Yet we forget that in someone else's eyes, we seem to have it all.
The answer, as I see it, is not to be happy beyond your wildest wishes, but instead, to be serene. If you can, take a moment today--and every day, indeed--to just remind yourself of what you do have and what you are, instead of what you lack both externally and internally.
Then you'll know, that if you have made it this far in life, there is no need to dance off into oblivion.
It all started out very innoculous, I was chatting with Garrett last night, when I saw a high school classmate's name listed as one of the performers to appear at The Roxy. I haven't seen her in almost a decade, so I roped Garrett into going.
It was like a surreal comedy brought to life.
Here we are two people who don't dance sitting in the middle of a dance club. It's too dark for Garrett to read my lips or my haphazard ASL, so we communicated via pad and text messages. A particular highlight was when I thought I saw B.D. Wong dancing shirtless, but upon closer examination, 'twas not him.
However, this is all beside the point.
Being at The Roxy that night was a bit of a sociological epiphany for me. You see, I can't quite wrap my mind around the logic of going there. You pay $20+ to enter (general admission was $40 this particular night), you have bottles of water starting out $3 (perhaps even higher), and it gets so crowded that you can barely move around. Why would someone subject themselves to this on a weekly basis?
The rationale that I've come to believe: These people are living purely for now.
Savings be damned, some people just want to forget that the world exists. Life is brutal today, we are bombarded with news of how dire the economy is, how the war in Iraq is a quagmire that no one seems to know the way out of, how the GLBT community is still treated like second class citizens in the US, and just basically how imperfect we all are when measured up against some impossible media ideal--especially if you look at gay media.
When I was making my way back to my apartment afterwards, I was thinking that I was going to focus on the absurdly thin twinks flailing their bodies across the dancefloor, the steroid abusers shuffling from left to right, and the Freudian hysteric Will & Grace-esque couples. Yet, as I type this out now, I realise that perhaps this is their one time a week where they feel at ease with themselves.
I often say that there is a lack of personal responsibility in today's society, but there is also a lack of self-love. It seems like the hardest thing for many of us to do is to wake up in the morning and say "I'm right as I am." This is not to say that we are no longer works-in-progress, but occasionally we need to realise that while we are works-in-progress, we are still marvelous things behold.
As marvelous things, we sometimes curse the sun that our lives have not become the stuff that William J. Mann novels are made out of. It always seems that someone else has got that special ingredient that makes their lives appear seemingly sparkling in comparison to our own seemingly humdrum existence.
So we dance, we spend beyond our means, we do drugs, we drink, we become nihilists. Yet we forget that in someone else's eyes, we seem to have it all.
The answer, as I see it, is not to be happy beyond your wildest wishes, but instead, to be serene. If you can, take a moment today--and every day, indeed--to just remind yourself of what you do have and what you are, instead of what you lack both externally and internally.
Then you'll know, that if you have made it this far in life, there is no need to dance off into oblivion.
Schadenfreude: Milwaukee Edition
The City of Milwaukee now admits that it messed up in closing the production of Naked Boys Singing. The Milwaukee Gay Arts Center (yes, I'm surprised there is one, as is Garrett) is seeking $634,420 in damages nonetheless.
Don't mess with us Dairy Queens, we bite hard and rough.
Don't mess with us Dairy Queens, we bite hard and rough.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
The Commemorative 250th Post
After one month of the recovery from hell, two months of sadistic (but fulfilling) workouts, seven weeks of stacking, and several post-mortems...Here is how I look today:
Alas, the self-timer on my camera is so fast that I always forget to shuffle my boxers down so that they aren't showing. I had the same problem last month, but at least I'm a little less puffy now.
Alas, the self-timer on my camera is so fast that I always forget to shuffle my boxers down so that they aren't showing. I had the same problem last month, but at least I'm a little less puffy now.
Friday, August 26, 2005
What's the Spanish for Schadenfreude?
I was not trying to make this a triple post day--especially since I'm nearing 250 posts very soon--but sometimes a story comes along that needs a lot of publicity.
I can't write it better than the headline: Chavez offers cheap gas to Poor in the U.S.
Pardon me while I laugh pointedly in the direction of Virginia Beach.
I can't write it better than the headline: Chavez offers cheap gas to Poor in the U.S.
Pardon me while I laugh pointedly in the direction of Virginia Beach.
Another Confused Philospher
(With apologies to The Royal Canadian Air Farce)
- Why does it feel like The Young & The Beautiful is followed by The Bold & The Restless this summer?
- When did being Christian include calling for physical harm to others?
- Why does the openly gay candidate running for Manhattan Borough President not have the endorsement of the Gay & Lesbian Independent Democrats?
- Why hasn't George W. Bush been impeached yet?
- Who does Sean Hayes think he's fooling by going publicly back into the closet?
- Why isn't Myra Breckinridge seen as a camp classic film?
- Why am I not working for the CBC?
- How did Jerry Bruckheimer wind up taking over most of CBS's primetime lineup?
- Were Christian LeBlanc and Gale Harold separated at birth?
- Why is Rex Wockner so bitter?
- Who thought that musicalising the Alfred Kinsey story was a good idea?
- Why does MTV still broadcast The Video Music Awards if there's practically no music on the network at all?
- Why did they change the voice of Four Murasame for the new Zeta Gundam movies?
- Why did they get rid of Crystal Pepsi?
Thursday, August 25, 2005
These are the people in my neighbourhood
Stumbled across this interesting tidbit from Curbed:
The Post offers a handy guide to telling apart the different apartment towers in Chelsea. On the terrace at Chelsea Towers (100 West 26th St @ 6th Ave): "'Single, rich young women' lounging in bikinis and Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses." At the Capitol at Chelsea (55 West 26th St @ Broadway/6th Ave): 'Very gay and very snobby,' notes one resident. 'If we see a straight person in the elevator, it's like, 'What are you doing here?'"
The Post offers a handy guide to telling apart the different apartment towers in Chelsea. On the terrace at Chelsea Towers (100 West 26th St @ 6th Ave): "'Single, rich young women' lounging in bikinis and Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses." At the Capitol at Chelsea (55 West 26th St @ Broadway/6th Ave): 'Very gay and very snobby,' notes one resident. 'If we see a straight person in the elevator, it's like, 'What are you doing here?'"
Minneapolis: The Next Gay Mecca
That's what GLBT Minneapolis would like you think. This may very well be the Milwaukeean in me speaking, but Minneapolis as a gay mecca? I think Biloxi is more likely.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
The View-Splash-Rawhide Post Mortem: Lots O' Observations
I certainly was not expecting to keep the post-mortems up given that I'm now working out 6 days a week--and getting up early for each one, but bizarrely I find myself doing my normal Tuesday night pattern.
- Gwen Stefani is at least a decade older than I am. She has no business referring to herself as a "girl" (I gave up "boy" when I turned 21) nor can she gallivant about like a high school cheerleader. That being said, her music is very good.
- If the Benetton becomes a Wachovia, then what does that say about Chelsea?
- The go-go boys @ Rawhide are still skanky. I think the "New York's best" tagline should be removed.
- If you're drinking solo, the last thing you want to be privy to is a fag and his hag dancing to "Dancing Queen"--especially if they appear to be younger than yourself.
- RuPaul's video for "Workout" is disturbingly cheap. The whole premise seems to be "let's put RuPaul in front of a cement wall, change her hair a couple of times, but avoid changing her outfit."
- Why does "Since U Been Gone" get the young queens excited? I know Kelly Clarkson is the first "American Idol," but still...
- I am not considering my twenties complete until I have sex with Rod Barry.
- While I like the bartenders over @ Splash personality-wise, there's a lot of distended (read: likely steroid use) stomach over there.
- At some point in life, everyone--especially gay men--should try to re-enact house music videos on 25th street between 6th & 7th Avenues. My specific recommendation: "Alomszep" by Karanyi out of this year's Hungarian National Final.
- True masculinity comes from being who you genuinely are as opposed to subscribing to what you think masculinity is.
- I hate to say this, but The View does actually edge out Splash in terms of music video selection.
Possible Answers
Here's a possibility for the closeted couple from yesterday's Daily News blind item:
The talk show host: Tavis Smiley
The playwright: Tyler Perry
Well...erm...that's an interesting couple. For those who aren't familiar with the names; Tavis Smiley hosts a well-known if not popular (especially amongst blacks) talk show that's along the lines of Charlie Rose. Tyler Perry is the (HACK) writer behind many "chitlin circuit" plays, most notably Diary of A Mad Black Woman, which was a sleeper hit as a film earlier this year. He lives in Atlanta, I believe (Pookie can you confirm?) in a mansion that I think he had painted pink.
Now, I know fully well that cross-dressing goes on all across the sexual spectrum, but the fact that Perry's plays often feature himself playing loud-mouthed sassy grandmother Madea makes you wonder. (Personally, I don't necessarily buy Smiley, but who knows?)
Standard set up of a Perry play: Decent person or persons go astray, Madea sasses them into church, they find salvation in god after a lot of screaming about how they're mad at themselves.
He's the new Tennessee Williams, he is.
The talk show host: Tavis Smiley
The playwright: Tyler Perry
Well...erm...that's an interesting couple. For those who aren't familiar with the names; Tavis Smiley hosts a well-known if not popular (especially amongst blacks) talk show that's along the lines of Charlie Rose. Tyler Perry is the (HACK) writer behind many "chitlin circuit" plays, most notably Diary of A Mad Black Woman, which was a sleeper hit as a film earlier this year. He lives in Atlanta, I believe (Pookie can you confirm?) in a mansion that I think he had painted pink.
Now, I know fully well that cross-dressing goes on all across the sexual spectrum, but the fact that Perry's plays often feature himself playing loud-mouthed sassy grandmother Madea makes you wonder. (Personally, I don't necessarily buy Smiley, but who knows?)
Standard set up of a Perry play: Decent person or persons go astray, Madea sasses them into church, they find salvation in god after a lot of screaming about how they're mad at themselves.
He's the new Tennessee Williams, he is.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Fast Food Theatre
This is turning out to be quite the cerebral multiple-post day for me.
My comrade playwright and classmate, Adam Szymkowicz posted on his blog a letter from playwright Larry Kunofsky about the current state of playwriting.
I have to say that while Larry makes me feel good about my choice to pursue my MFA, I have to disagree with what he says about playwriting today.
While the current crop of plays coming out may be written by serious-minded playwrights, the plays themselves seem to suggest that at the forefront of their mind is "fast food theatre," which is easy to digest, and completely unforgettable afterwards.
Theatre is definitely doing well, but it seems that the people behind it are taking their cues from Hollywood and packing 'em in with celebrities and/or simplistic themes that don't challenge you. Most things of merit tend to be revivals or re-envisionings of classic work. The new crop of work is based on pop culture. Having pop culture as a subject matter is not of itself a bad thing, but it must be used as a vehicle to explain something deeper, not to just merely say "hey, I like this, don't you?" It's theatre as a celebration of conformity.
Take for example The One-Man Star Wars Trilogy. It is exactly what it says it is, one man performs the Star Wars Trilogy. It is lauded by many ostensibly for the performance of Charles Ross (who wrote and performs it--not always a good idea), but what I feel they are really applauding is seeing one media in another. It's nothing more than that. Think of the successful film-to-television series transfers, for every M*A*S*H and The Odd Couple, there is a My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Party Girl, and a 9 to 5. It's just the novelty.
Theatre today is obsessed with the familar, and in this day and age of 15 minute fame, pop icons are born practically at the speed of sound. The man who did the superficial, but stylish Paris Hilton one-man show, is now directing Fatal Attraction: A Greek Tragedy (Not!), which features Corey Feldman in its cast in order to maximise the 1980's references. It's not camp, it's just tacky and self-referential. I'm pretty certain Charles Busch would agree with me on this.
Then there's Orgasms: The Play, which brings out the ancient battle of the sexes cliche and adds nothing to it. That's just evident by the title. Let's just talk about sex, but make it superficial and funny, because no one wants to actually sit through a production that talks about genuine feelings and genuine sexuality.
Joy (as in The Joy of Gay Sex) purports to do that, but ultimately fails because again, the interest is solely in sex, laughs, and colourful characters. You forget about it afterwards, because it's just another gay romantic comedy, a creature that is needed more in film and less onstage.
Now in theatre as opposed to film, the writer has a lot of control, so we can't say that these were great works that became homogenised by the evil producers. The fact of the matter is that these plays were the works that the writers have chosen to meet the world. They are their beasts that shout "I," and their "I" is life unexamined.
I am not saying that there isn't a place for camp and froth in theatre. Quite the opposite, we need to laugh at the outlandish foibles of others much as we need to be able to laugh at ourselves. What I am saying, however, is that something is terribly wrong with the state of playwriting today if the majority of work being done and seen by the public is froth that assumes that people don't want to think. We don't have to be restrained from slitting our wrists at the end, but we do want to feel like we had a genuine live experience.
Otherwise, we'd just sit at home, watch E!, and giggle at Benny Hill reruns.
My comrade playwright and classmate, Adam Szymkowicz posted on his blog a letter from playwright Larry Kunofsky about the current state of playwriting.
I have to say that while Larry makes me feel good about my choice to pursue my MFA, I have to disagree with what he says about playwriting today.
While the current crop of plays coming out may be written by serious-minded playwrights, the plays themselves seem to suggest that at the forefront of their mind is "fast food theatre," which is easy to digest, and completely unforgettable afterwards.
Theatre is definitely doing well, but it seems that the people behind it are taking their cues from Hollywood and packing 'em in with celebrities and/or simplistic themes that don't challenge you. Most things of merit tend to be revivals or re-envisionings of classic work. The new crop of work is based on pop culture. Having pop culture as a subject matter is not of itself a bad thing, but it must be used as a vehicle to explain something deeper, not to just merely say "hey, I like this, don't you?" It's theatre as a celebration of conformity.
Take for example The One-Man Star Wars Trilogy. It is exactly what it says it is, one man performs the Star Wars Trilogy. It is lauded by many ostensibly for the performance of Charles Ross (who wrote and performs it--not always a good idea), but what I feel they are really applauding is seeing one media in another. It's nothing more than that. Think of the successful film-to-television series transfers, for every M*A*S*H and The Odd Couple, there is a My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Party Girl, and a 9 to 5. It's just the novelty.
Theatre today is obsessed with the familar, and in this day and age of 15 minute fame, pop icons are born practically at the speed of sound. The man who did the superficial, but stylish Paris Hilton one-man show, is now directing Fatal Attraction: A Greek Tragedy (Not!), which features Corey Feldman in its cast in order to maximise the 1980's references. It's not camp, it's just tacky and self-referential. I'm pretty certain Charles Busch would agree with me on this.
Then there's Orgasms: The Play, which brings out the ancient battle of the sexes cliche and adds nothing to it. That's just evident by the title. Let's just talk about sex, but make it superficial and funny, because no one wants to actually sit through a production that talks about genuine feelings and genuine sexuality.
Joy (as in The Joy of Gay Sex) purports to do that, but ultimately fails because again, the interest is solely in sex, laughs, and colourful characters. You forget about it afterwards, because it's just another gay romantic comedy, a creature that is needed more in film and less onstage.
Now in theatre as opposed to film, the writer has a lot of control, so we can't say that these were great works that became homogenised by the evil producers. The fact of the matter is that these plays were the works that the writers have chosen to meet the world. They are their beasts that shout "I," and their "I" is life unexamined.
I am not saying that there isn't a place for camp and froth in theatre. Quite the opposite, we need to laugh at the outlandish foibles of others much as we need to be able to laugh at ourselves. What I am saying, however, is that something is terribly wrong with the state of playwriting today if the majority of work being done and seen by the public is froth that assumes that people don't want to think. We don't have to be restrained from slitting our wrists at the end, but we do want to feel like we had a genuine live experience.
Otherwise, we'd just sit at home, watch E!, and giggle at Benny Hill reruns.
Why I am a Socialist
I've transitioned to working out early mornings this week, so I now have a huge chunk of my days open while waiting for: a) an interim job, b) a production, c) a random adventure. I'm not a huge fan of idle time, so I've started educating myself further with Socialism.
I initially switched from mainstream Democrat to Socialist in college, partly for shock value, but also because I do believe strongly in egalitarianism and cooperative ownership. I also don't have a fear of government when smart, intelligent people who aren't concerned with career advancement are in charge. I think government ownership is a wonderful thing in certain critical industries such as utilities. Problems arise, however, when those in charge of government owned companies forget that they are representatives of the public at large.
Yet despite these beliefs, I often wonder if I'm as "rose" (Socialists are different than Communists, so I don't say "red," which oddly enough suggests Republicans these days) as I believe. So I took a look at the manifesto/platform for New York City's Socialist Party local.
On housing:
"Physically beautiful, ecologically sound affordable housing is absolutely vital to the future of the city – only by constructing such housing can we reduce rents and break the overwhelming political power of the real estate industry."
How true. I love my apartment, but the rent I pay is exorbitant for what it is. Very few New Yorkers outside of rent-controlled apartments would disagree. "Well, you're in New York, no one is forcing you to be there," critics would say. This argument does not hold water with me. I am not much of a conspiracy theorist, but there does seem to be a cabal between the media, the real estate developers, and the government to hype "hot neighbourhoods." I imagine the process works like this: City has land that it wants developed. Developer buys site in a neighbourhood in order to build a towering apartment building. Wanting to insure that the units will be filled with residents paying the maximum, developer goes to the media to generate "buzz." If the hype is successful, the building fills up with people wanting to sample "the glamorous life." The process is repeated over and over, sometimes even in the same neighbourhood, all for the love of greed. The residents and employees are basically cash machines. It does need to stop. I do believe that we have to have a capitalist economy, but it must be kept strongly in check.
On Public Transit:
"Private cars make no sense in a dense city center. The pollution, noise, and danger they bring is only exacerbated by the tremendous cost to the city for the roads, services and infrastructure they require. Cities like Amsterdam have shown that it is possible to remove cars from the city center while allowing delivery trucks and emergency vehicles to operate with far greater efficiency."
Again, I totally agree. I live on the corner of 6th Avenue (aka Avenue of the Americas). Personally, I don't mind the ambient noise of cars going by, but the amount of traffic is insane for a locale in the middle of Manhattan. There are many many private cars being driven here, that really have no place being in New York with the multitude of public transit options at their disposal. This is not Los Angeles. People who work in New York City have a choice of subways, buses, trains, and ferries to get them where they want to go in relative speed--not to mention taxis as well. It does indeed make no sense to have private cars. Every evening, it seems that I am witness to a fire truck creeping slowly up 6th Avenue, horns a-wailing, trying to make it through a sea of cars, the majority of which are not taxis/limousines, nor delivery trucks.
That being said, I think the NYC Socialists are a little bit crazy with this portion:
"Our subways would cost only 60 cents a ride if the state subsidized them at the same rate it subsidizes the commuter railroads that serve the suburbs, but we call for a completely free system, funded by fair subsidies and a return to the commuter tax for non-residents."
Oh, we should tax the commuters without a doubt, but a free system? That is ludicrous. I don't think that a commuter tax would subsidise the transit system. A commuter tax would reduce the amount of commuters coming by car, who would subsequently switch to public transportation. Capacity on public transport would have to be expanded to accommodate them, and that costs money. The fares need to stay in order to allow the system to both expand, improve, and maintain itself. I believe in subsides, but I also believe that subsidies should not be wasted.
On independence:
"New Yorkers send three times as many dollars in taxes to the state and federal governments as we receive in services--the Transit Authority, school budget, housing laws, and social welfare systems are all controlled by bureaucrats in Albany. The Socialist Party advocates complete legislative autonomy for New York City, in effect creating a free city within US territory."
I find this very interesting. On a purely symbolic level, "New York City" being separate from "New York State" is bizarre and anachronistic. The county seat of my home county, Ozaukee County, is Port Washington, which is a holdover from the time when it was part of neighbouring Washington County. (Not that it has made any difference, according to Mike Nichols of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.)
Putting aside any renaming debates, I have a problem with the notion of separation. Call me Pollyanna, but if the money sent from New York City helps others in New York State plus the city itself, then I am perfectly fine with it being so. If I move to Buffalo, I'd like to have the same access and government benefits that I would in New York City. Sheer population ensures that New York City will often contribute more, and the way to fix the disparity is by working in tandem with New York State, not by suddenly creating a new level of bureaucracy.
Nonetheless, it's this statement on the main website of The Socialist Party USA that affirms my socialism:
"THE SOCIALIST PARTY USA stands for the abolition of every form of domination and exploitation, whether based on social class, gender, race/ethnicity, sexual orientation, or other characteristics... As we build the socialist movement, we organize around a platform committed to our common and interdependent struggles and aspirations."
And that's what is so often forgotten in the world today, that we are all in this together.
I initially switched from mainstream Democrat to Socialist in college, partly for shock value, but also because I do believe strongly in egalitarianism and cooperative ownership. I also don't have a fear of government when smart, intelligent people who aren't concerned with career advancement are in charge. I think government ownership is a wonderful thing in certain critical industries such as utilities. Problems arise, however, when those in charge of government owned companies forget that they are representatives of the public at large.
Yet despite these beliefs, I often wonder if I'm as "rose" (Socialists are different than Communists, so I don't say "red," which oddly enough suggests Republicans these days) as I believe. So I took a look at the manifesto/platform for New York City's Socialist Party local.
On housing:
"Physically beautiful, ecologically sound affordable housing is absolutely vital to the future of the city – only by constructing such housing can we reduce rents and break the overwhelming political power of the real estate industry."
How true. I love my apartment, but the rent I pay is exorbitant for what it is. Very few New Yorkers outside of rent-controlled apartments would disagree. "Well, you're in New York, no one is forcing you to be there," critics would say. This argument does not hold water with me. I am not much of a conspiracy theorist, but there does seem to be a cabal between the media, the real estate developers, and the government to hype "hot neighbourhoods." I imagine the process works like this: City has land that it wants developed. Developer buys site in a neighbourhood in order to build a towering apartment building. Wanting to insure that the units will be filled with residents paying the maximum, developer goes to the media to generate "buzz." If the hype is successful, the building fills up with people wanting to sample "the glamorous life." The process is repeated over and over, sometimes even in the same neighbourhood, all for the love of greed. The residents and employees are basically cash machines. It does need to stop. I do believe that we have to have a capitalist economy, but it must be kept strongly in check.
On Public Transit:
"Private cars make no sense in a dense city center. The pollution, noise, and danger they bring is only exacerbated by the tremendous cost to the city for the roads, services and infrastructure they require. Cities like Amsterdam have shown that it is possible to remove cars from the city center while allowing delivery trucks and emergency vehicles to operate with far greater efficiency."
Again, I totally agree. I live on the corner of 6th Avenue (aka Avenue of the Americas). Personally, I don't mind the ambient noise of cars going by, but the amount of traffic is insane for a locale in the middle of Manhattan. There are many many private cars being driven here, that really have no place being in New York with the multitude of public transit options at their disposal. This is not Los Angeles. People who work in New York City have a choice of subways, buses, trains, and ferries to get them where they want to go in relative speed--not to mention taxis as well. It does indeed make no sense to have private cars. Every evening, it seems that I am witness to a fire truck creeping slowly up 6th Avenue, horns a-wailing, trying to make it through a sea of cars, the majority of which are not taxis/limousines, nor delivery trucks.
That being said, I think the NYC Socialists are a little bit crazy with this portion:
"Our subways would cost only 60 cents a ride if the state subsidized them at the same rate it subsidizes the commuter railroads that serve the suburbs, but we call for a completely free system, funded by fair subsidies and a return to the commuter tax for non-residents."
Oh, we should tax the commuters without a doubt, but a free system? That is ludicrous. I don't think that a commuter tax would subsidise the transit system. A commuter tax would reduce the amount of commuters coming by car, who would subsequently switch to public transportation. Capacity on public transport would have to be expanded to accommodate them, and that costs money. The fares need to stay in order to allow the system to both expand, improve, and maintain itself. I believe in subsides, but I also believe that subsidies should not be wasted.
On independence:
"New Yorkers send three times as many dollars in taxes to the state and federal governments as we receive in services--the Transit Authority, school budget, housing laws, and social welfare systems are all controlled by bureaucrats in Albany. The Socialist Party advocates complete legislative autonomy for New York City, in effect creating a free city within US territory."
I find this very interesting. On a purely symbolic level, "New York City" being separate from "New York State" is bizarre and anachronistic. The county seat of my home county, Ozaukee County, is Port Washington, which is a holdover from the time when it was part of neighbouring Washington County. (Not that it has made any difference, according to Mike Nichols of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.)
Putting aside any renaming debates, I have a problem with the notion of separation. Call me Pollyanna, but if the money sent from New York City helps others in New York State plus the city itself, then I am perfectly fine with it being so. If I move to Buffalo, I'd like to have the same access and government benefits that I would in New York City. Sheer population ensures that New York City will often contribute more, and the way to fix the disparity is by working in tandem with New York State, not by suddenly creating a new level of bureaucracy.
Nonetheless, it's this statement on the main website of The Socialist Party USA that affirms my socialism:
"THE SOCIALIST PARTY USA stands for the abolition of every form of domination and exploitation, whether based on social class, gender, race/ethnicity, sexual orientation, or other characteristics... As we build the socialist movement, we organize around a platform committed to our common and interdependent struggles and aspirations."
And that's what is so often forgotten in the world today, that we are all in this together.
Monday, August 22, 2005
I Want Answers!
Very interesting blind item in today's Daily News:
"Which prize-winning male talk-show host has been secretly dating a renowned playwright who still hasn't managed to leave the closet? The scribe keeps telling interviewers that he is excited to find a wife and start a family, even though he has been seeing men on the sly ..."
I'm baffled on this one. McNally, Rudnick, and Greenberg are all out. Shanley, I severely doubt. I know it definitely can't be my former professor at Columbia, because he's out as well.
As for talk-show host: Montel is married; Olbermann, I doubt; Charles Perez is possible, even though he's just doing news now; Geraldo Rivera is married.
Any guesses?
"Which prize-winning male talk-show host has been secretly dating a renowned playwright who still hasn't managed to leave the closet? The scribe keeps telling interviewers that he is excited to find a wife and start a family, even though he has been seeing men on the sly ..."
I'm baffled on this one. McNally, Rudnick, and Greenberg are all out. Shanley, I severely doubt. I know it definitely can't be my former professor at Columbia, because he's out as well.
As for talk-show host: Montel is married; Olbermann, I doubt; Charles Perez is possible, even though he's just doing news now; Geraldo Rivera is married.
Any guesses?
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Alas, Milwaukee takes two steps back (again)
Milwaukee's attempts to become Chicago's answer to Fort Lauderdale--which is to say the swinging, hip, gay-friendly mid-level city--are further squashed by the shuttering of a local production of Naked Boys Singing.
The excuse? No theatrical license.
Yah, right.
Norquist, despite his flaws, at least realised that you have to be good to the gays in order to see a city prosper. That being said, I think this has more to do with the Milwaukee Police Department's entrenched bigotry rather than the city administration.
The excuse? No theatrical license.
Yah, right.
Norquist, despite his flaws, at least realised that you have to be good to the gays in order to see a city prosper. That being said, I think this has more to do with the Milwaukee Police Department's entrenched bigotry rather than the city administration.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Martha Stewart: My New Neighbour
I have not had many celebrity encounters since moving to New York 4 years ago--save for Ethan Hawke, but everybody sees him, so he doesn't count.
Now I find out (via Gawker) that Martha Stewart's new show will be shooting from the studios a block away from my apartment. Said block is also home to FIT. I think this will create the most fabulous concentration of gayness in New York City outside of Pride. I'm no Martha fan, but I thoroughly welcome this development.
Now I find out (via Gawker) that Martha Stewart's new show will be shooting from the studios a block away from my apartment. Said block is also home to FIT. I think this will create the most fabulous concentration of gayness in New York City outside of Pride. I'm no Martha fan, but I thoroughly welcome this development.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
No, I'm not GLAAD
...I'm just curious. GLAAD has picked a new head, Neil Giuliano to replace Joan Garry.
Giuliano is the former Republican mayor of Tempe, Arizona, where he served 4 terms. (Although Tempe elections are non-partisan, Giuliano's political stance was apparently quite well-known, especially during the presidental election last year where he did support Bush.)
I have to say that I don't completely trust this development. GLAAD has been making missteps for quite some time.
For starters, I think the ABC boycott GLAAD made was asinine, because it made no sense to do make it network-wide instead of limited to just 20/20, where the problem was and remained. I have trouble buying that a news organisation that has a slew of out reporters (Jeffrey Kofman, Miquel Marquez, Steve Osunsami, and John Yang to name a few) and anchors (Ron Corning) would have a noxious environment for gays. A show might have a homophobic environment, but not an entire organisation with that many out professionals.
Secondly, I remember GLAAD meekly defending Boat Trip by saying that it was true that gay cruises are full of big muscular men dancing around in their skivvies. THAT WAS NOT THE POINT. The point was that the film suggested that straight = good and gay = weird. You can poke fun without crossing the line, you know. Any educated writer knows that the best comedy comes out of character-specific traits, not by generalisations about an entire community.
I don't know what happened to this once vibrant organisation. Have their teeth disappeared after years of celebrity boot-licking? The GLAAD Media Awards used to really celebrate positive portrayals, now, it seems that it's just a chance for people to rub shoulders with celebrities.
Where is the advocacy?
All that being said, I do believe that GLAAD can return back to the organisation it once was. Perhaps Giuliano is a RINO (Republican In Name Only) like Bloomberg, and he'll actually change things for the better. His pedigree doesn't seem to suggest so, but then again, Souter got to the Supreme Court under a Republican, so who knows?
I know that I will be watching closely to what actions he does take.
Giuliano is the former Republican mayor of Tempe, Arizona, where he served 4 terms. (Although Tempe elections are non-partisan, Giuliano's political stance was apparently quite well-known, especially during the presidental election last year where he did support Bush.)
I have to say that I don't completely trust this development. GLAAD has been making missteps for quite some time.
For starters, I think the ABC boycott GLAAD made was asinine, because it made no sense to do make it network-wide instead of limited to just 20/20, where the problem was and remained. I have trouble buying that a news organisation that has a slew of out reporters (Jeffrey Kofman, Miquel Marquez, Steve Osunsami, and John Yang to name a few) and anchors (Ron Corning) would have a noxious environment for gays. A show might have a homophobic environment, but not an entire organisation with that many out professionals.
Secondly, I remember GLAAD meekly defending Boat Trip by saying that it was true that gay cruises are full of big muscular men dancing around in their skivvies. THAT WAS NOT THE POINT. The point was that the film suggested that straight = good and gay = weird. You can poke fun without crossing the line, you know. Any educated writer knows that the best comedy comes out of character-specific traits, not by generalisations about an entire community.
I don't know what happened to this once vibrant organisation. Have their teeth disappeared after years of celebrity boot-licking? The GLAAD Media Awards used to really celebrate positive portrayals, now, it seems that it's just a chance for people to rub shoulders with celebrities.
Where is the advocacy?
All that being said, I do believe that GLAAD can return back to the organisation it once was. Perhaps Giuliano is a RINO (Republican In Name Only) like Bloomberg, and he'll actually change things for the better. His pedigree doesn't seem to suggest so, but then again, Souter got to the Supreme Court under a Republican, so who knows?
I know that I will be watching closely to what actions he does take.
Rent Me!
A Swedish library is offering people for rent in an effort to combat stereotypes.
I think this is a brilliant idea. I would have no problem offering myself up to be rented from the Mequon Library.
I think this is a brilliant idea. I would have no problem offering myself up to be rented from the Mequon Library.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
From the Ozaukee County Schadenfreude files
A man in Port Washington claims that Dr. Phil was the inspiration for him to scare his wife by kidnapping her and locking her in the trunk of a car.
What's even worse, he has grown children. It's an actual wonder that the county is somehow managing to actually gain population despite such residents.
Perhaps while he's getting mental treatment, they can remind him of the simpler times when all a man had to worry about was if his heifer would place at the County Fair.
What's even worse, he has grown children. It's an actual wonder that the county is somehow managing to actually gain population despite such residents.
Perhaps while he's getting mental treatment, they can remind him of the simpler times when all a man had to worry about was if his heifer would place at the County Fair.
Fairy Tales: A Homage
My nighttime reading for the past few weeks was Fairy Tales, a collection of fairy tales by Peter Cashorali with a gay male twist. Some of them are quite poignant, indeed, I cried a little bit after reading "The Ugly Duckling." (For future reference, me crying is as rare as snow in Florida.)
So here's my own brief fairy tale, entitled The Lord & The Trainer:
In a shining kingdom far away, but closer than you think, there lived a young lord who lived in an ivory tower. The lord's title gave him much prestige and comfort, but very little responsibility, which left him in constant pursuit of something or someone to entertain his mind. You see, the lord was smart, very smart. When he was pursuing his studies, he was often at the top of his class. Never the very top, mind you, because he always made sure to allow those higher up in hierarchy to outshine him--even if they didn't deserve it.
But those days had long since passed, and now the lord was left basically to his own devices.
One morning, while holding a spirited debate in his mind about the ethics of colonising the Moon, the lord received a flyer under his door.
"Kingdom Gym now open. Royal Membership complementary."
"A gym?" The lord pondered. "I think that might be interesting, and better for me than these mental debates."
So the lord made his way to the gym. Noticing several princes and a marquess there, the lord sheepishly hid in the back of the membership office before asking the attendant for his free membership.
"Thank you for joining, m'lord." The perky attendant said. "As a royal, you also have your pick of our personal trainers who will whip you into the shape befitting a man of your stature."
The attendant brought out three men. One was enormous, and had arms nearly as big as his head.
"This is Jett, m'lord."
The second one, was not as huge, and seemed to have no flesh on him whatsoever. He also seemed unusally twitchy.
"This is Spike, m'lord"
The third man, was shorter than the other two, but managed to actually look the lord in the face and smile...well, at least something warmer than a scowl.
"And m'lord, this is Case."
And although Case was not as big as Jett (who looked like he could crush him), nor as energetic as Spike (who he feared might drop a heavy barbell on him), the lord immediately knew that Case was the perfect choice.
The lord's hunch was correct, as Case did an excellent job in getting the lord into great shape. Indeed, in no time, the lord was getting attention from many men who never paid attention to him before. The lord, however, could see no one else but Case. Whenever he had an appointment with Case, the sun shone brighter, the breezes blew calmer, and even the dull water in his exercise bottle tasted like champagne. The lord never felt more alive.
One such appointment, after finishing a set of squats, the lord worked up the courage to ask Case out for a date. Just as the words were coming out of his mouth, a little, but sassy fairy appeared on Case's shoulder.
"Oh, m'lord. Why do you want to ask this man out? You could have any other man that you see." The fairy asked.
"Case makes me laugh. He's smart too. I would love to spend the rest of my life with him." The lord responded, more than a little bit miffed.
"But m'lord, you can't ask Case out. You will never be happy."
The lord's determination remained strong. What did this fairy know about his happiness?
"Please disappear, so I can ask him out."
"I beg you again, please don't. I will only appear one more time to warn you."
And in a flash, the fairy disappeared.
The lord managed to somehow string enough words together to actually ask Case out for a post-workout protein shake and grilled chicken. Much to his surprise, Case accepted, although the lord was not quite certain if Case realised that he was being asked out on a date.
At the local health restaurant/smoothie bar, the lord and Case found that they got along quite well outside of the gym. They shared the same interests and political views, and even their astrological signs were compatible. When Case excused himself to go to the bathroom and make a call on his cellphone, the lord started imagining what their wedding would be like. He was right in the middle of writing his vows when a mysterious woman slinked over to his table.
"Care to see your future, m'lord?"
Giddy with the prospect of seeing his future with Case, the lord excitedly said "yes."
The mysterious woman took some white powder out of her purse and blew it in front of the lord's face.
After a nasty cough, the lord saw himself, or at least someone that looked like himself except it looked like the life had been sucked dry out of him. Just to be certain, he asked the woman:
"Is that me?"
"Yes, it is." She replied with a slight chuckle.
Four children tugged at the (future) lord's pants. They were cute as cherubs, but the lord could barely keep up with them.
"Oh, that's nice," the present-day lord remarked. "Case & I will be parents."
"Yes...and no." The mysterious woman responded.
A dishelved man with circles under his eyes, a hangdog look on his face, and a cellphone virtually attached to his ear entered the room.
"Who's that," the present-day lord inquired.
"You'll see," the mysterious woman said with a slightly louder chuckle.
"CAAAAASE. Would'ja get off the phone with your ex-wife and help me here?" The future lord nagged.
The future Case let out a brief sound that was not a word, but seemed to communicate resignation perfectly.
"Stop it, I don't want to see anymore!" The present-day lord begged.
"As you wish." The mysterious woman complied, as she pulled out more white powder.
Just as quickly as she arrived, so did she disappear. Her timing was impeccable, as that was the moment that Case reappeared.
While Case remained as charming and funny as ever, the lord could not shake the image of his once flawless Adonis turned into a depressed wreck. He left in such a hurry, that Case checked his reflection in a spoon, to see if he had some chicken stuck on his teeth.
That night, safe in his bed in the ivory tower, the lord cried.
"O cruel destiny, why can't I have the man of my dreams?"
Knowing the value of a well-timed entrance, the sassy fairy reappeared. Unfortunately, she did not count on the lord's nervous nature as he let out a shriek that would scare King Kong.
"M'lord. The man of your dreams will always be there."
Confused, the lord pressed her.
"What I mean, m'lord, is that the man of your dreams, is merely the man of your dreams. You cannot expect him to come to you in reality."
"But, dear fairy, who else is there out there?"
The fairy waved her magic wand and suddenly the lord saw just how many men there were in the kingdom, hundreds of thousands indeed.
"Wow. Dear fairy, how will I ever meet all of them?"
"Patience and hope."
And he is still hopeful today.
So here's my own brief fairy tale, entitled The Lord & The Trainer:
In a shining kingdom far away, but closer than you think, there lived a young lord who lived in an ivory tower. The lord's title gave him much prestige and comfort, but very little responsibility, which left him in constant pursuit of something or someone to entertain his mind. You see, the lord was smart, very smart. When he was pursuing his studies, he was often at the top of his class. Never the very top, mind you, because he always made sure to allow those higher up in hierarchy to outshine him--even if they didn't deserve it.
But those days had long since passed, and now the lord was left basically to his own devices.
One morning, while holding a spirited debate in his mind about the ethics of colonising the Moon, the lord received a flyer under his door.
"Kingdom Gym now open. Royal Membership complementary."
"A gym?" The lord pondered. "I think that might be interesting, and better for me than these mental debates."
So the lord made his way to the gym. Noticing several princes and a marquess there, the lord sheepishly hid in the back of the membership office before asking the attendant for his free membership.
"Thank you for joining, m'lord." The perky attendant said. "As a royal, you also have your pick of our personal trainers who will whip you into the shape befitting a man of your stature."
The attendant brought out three men. One was enormous, and had arms nearly as big as his head.
"This is Jett, m'lord."
The second one, was not as huge, and seemed to have no flesh on him whatsoever. He also seemed unusally twitchy.
"This is Spike, m'lord"
The third man, was shorter than the other two, but managed to actually look the lord in the face and smile...well, at least something warmer than a scowl.
"And m'lord, this is Case."
And although Case was not as big as Jett (who looked like he could crush him), nor as energetic as Spike (who he feared might drop a heavy barbell on him), the lord immediately knew that Case was the perfect choice.
The lord's hunch was correct, as Case did an excellent job in getting the lord into great shape. Indeed, in no time, the lord was getting attention from many men who never paid attention to him before. The lord, however, could see no one else but Case. Whenever he had an appointment with Case, the sun shone brighter, the breezes blew calmer, and even the dull water in his exercise bottle tasted like champagne. The lord never felt more alive.
One such appointment, after finishing a set of squats, the lord worked up the courage to ask Case out for a date. Just as the words were coming out of his mouth, a little, but sassy fairy appeared on Case's shoulder.
"Oh, m'lord. Why do you want to ask this man out? You could have any other man that you see." The fairy asked.
"Case makes me laugh. He's smart too. I would love to spend the rest of my life with him." The lord responded, more than a little bit miffed.
"But m'lord, you can't ask Case out. You will never be happy."
The lord's determination remained strong. What did this fairy know about his happiness?
"Please disappear, so I can ask him out."
"I beg you again, please don't. I will only appear one more time to warn you."
And in a flash, the fairy disappeared.
The lord managed to somehow string enough words together to actually ask Case out for a post-workout protein shake and grilled chicken. Much to his surprise, Case accepted, although the lord was not quite certain if Case realised that he was being asked out on a date.
At the local health restaurant/smoothie bar, the lord and Case found that they got along quite well outside of the gym. They shared the same interests and political views, and even their astrological signs were compatible. When Case excused himself to go to the bathroom and make a call on his cellphone, the lord started imagining what their wedding would be like. He was right in the middle of writing his vows when a mysterious woman slinked over to his table.
"Care to see your future, m'lord?"
Giddy with the prospect of seeing his future with Case, the lord excitedly said "yes."
The mysterious woman took some white powder out of her purse and blew it in front of the lord's face.
After a nasty cough, the lord saw himself, or at least someone that looked like himself except it looked like the life had been sucked dry out of him. Just to be certain, he asked the woman:
"Is that me?"
"Yes, it is." She replied with a slight chuckle.
Four children tugged at the (future) lord's pants. They were cute as cherubs, but the lord could barely keep up with them.
"Oh, that's nice," the present-day lord remarked. "Case & I will be parents."
"Yes...and no." The mysterious woman responded.
A dishelved man with circles under his eyes, a hangdog look on his face, and a cellphone virtually attached to his ear entered the room.
"Who's that," the present-day lord inquired.
"You'll see," the mysterious woman said with a slightly louder chuckle.
"CAAAAASE. Would'ja get off the phone with your ex-wife and help me here?" The future lord nagged.
The future Case let out a brief sound that was not a word, but seemed to communicate resignation perfectly.
"Stop it, I don't want to see anymore!" The present-day lord begged.
"As you wish." The mysterious woman complied, as she pulled out more white powder.
Just as quickly as she arrived, so did she disappear. Her timing was impeccable, as that was the moment that Case reappeared.
While Case remained as charming and funny as ever, the lord could not shake the image of his once flawless Adonis turned into a depressed wreck. He left in such a hurry, that Case checked his reflection in a spoon, to see if he had some chicken stuck on his teeth.
That night, safe in his bed in the ivory tower, the lord cried.
"O cruel destiny, why can't I have the man of my dreams?"
Knowing the value of a well-timed entrance, the sassy fairy reappeared. Unfortunately, she did not count on the lord's nervous nature as he let out a shriek that would scare King Kong.
"M'lord. The man of your dreams will always be there."
Confused, the lord pressed her.
"What I mean, m'lord, is that the man of your dreams, is merely the man of your dreams. You cannot expect him to come to you in reality."
"But, dear fairy, who else is there out there?"
The fairy waved her magic wand and suddenly the lord saw just how many men there were in the kingdom, hundreds of thousands indeed.
"Wow. Dear fairy, how will I ever meet all of them?"
"Patience and hope."
And he is still hopeful today.
Collared!
Responding to Pookie's challenge and request, here is my answer:
Dog Name
OTTER HOUND
Origins
UK. Directly descended from the Griffons of Nivernais, Brittany, and Vendee. Big and strongly built, it was used to hunt the otters that decimated the fish in English rivers. The Otter Hound also has scenting abilities on par with the Bloodhound. Today, the breed is rare.
Personality
An amiable but frequently stubborn animal, which can be somewhat destructive in a domestic environment. Should be kept outdoors in a kennel if you value your china ornaments.
(This is pretty bang-on correct for the most part. I'm a total bull in a china shop and I am indeed, stubborn as hell.)
I collar Adam, Danny, and Famous Author Rob Byrnes...if they dare.
Go to Gone2thedogs to play the game.
Dog Name
OTTER HOUND
Origins
UK. Directly descended from the Griffons of Nivernais, Brittany, and Vendee. Big and strongly built, it was used to hunt the otters that decimated the fish in English rivers. The Otter Hound also has scenting abilities on par with the Bloodhound. Today, the breed is rare.
Personality
An amiable but frequently stubborn animal, which can be somewhat destructive in a domestic environment. Should be kept outdoors in a kennel if you value your china ornaments.
(This is pretty bang-on correct for the most part. I'm a total bull in a china shop and I am indeed, stubborn as hell.)
I collar Adam, Danny, and Famous Author Rob Byrnes...if they dare.
Go to Gone2thedogs to play the game.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
The Ultimate Break Up Torch Song
I finally got around to reading the translated lyrics of Sol de Inverno. Wow, they pack a punch and a half.
Whenever I break up with somebody, I'm using this portion:
Dreams that I have dreamt, where are they?
Hours that I have lived, who has them?
What's the use of having a heart, and not having someone's love?
I live on longings, my love, my life has lost the splendour.
Like a winter sun, I have no warmth.
Shortly followed by a day long marathon of Almodavar movies.
Whenever I break up with somebody, I'm using this portion:
Dreams that I have dreamt, where are they?
Hours that I have lived, who has them?
What's the use of having a heart, and not having someone's love?
I live on longings, my love, my life has lost the splendour.
Like a winter sun, I have no warmth.
Shortly followed by a day long marathon of Almodavar movies.
Friday, August 12, 2005
A year ago today
New Jersey Governor Jim McGreevey announced that he was "a gay American," and...nothing really happened afterwards except for a few little scandals over graft and whether Golan Cipel is lying about being straight.
This incident will be forever etched in my head as the time when I thought that "gay American" meant "happy." Seriously, it took me forever to realise that he was saying he was a homosexual.
August is not my smart month.
This incident will be forever etched in my head as the time when I thought that "gay American" meant "happy." Seriously, it took me forever to realise that he was saying he was a homosexual.
August is not my smart month.
Ah, nostalgia!
There are countless things that I do not miss about living in Wisconsin. You can keep the boredom, the football obsession, the driving, all that.
What I do miss most of all--second to weather--is the food.
I don't just mean regional cuisine, I'm talking all types of food. Greater Milwaukee is one of the places where companies like to test market products, so we would get everything under the sun before they went national (if they ever did). It was a shock to my system when I first went to Los Angeles and saw that the grocery stores there had less than what I was used to in Wisconsin.
Sometimes, I go into a supermarket here in New York and I just feel sad for the shelves that will never know the beauty of holding Crystal Pepsi, 4 flavours of Jolt Cola, and Diet and regular Vernors all at the same time and even 3 separate sizes. Needless to say, beer and dairy products require at least 4 aisles.
Don't even get me started on the various things we've had from the fast food restaurants over the years.
Why, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, oh why did you have to publish a State Fair article on Cream Puffs vs. Brownies? It's just not fair when I'm stuck out East all August.
What I do miss most of all--second to weather--is the food.
I don't just mean regional cuisine, I'm talking all types of food. Greater Milwaukee is one of the places where companies like to test market products, so we would get everything under the sun before they went national (if they ever did). It was a shock to my system when I first went to Los Angeles and saw that the grocery stores there had less than what I was used to in Wisconsin.
Sometimes, I go into a supermarket here in New York and I just feel sad for the shelves that will never know the beauty of holding Crystal Pepsi, 4 flavours of Jolt Cola, and Diet and regular Vernors all at the same time and even 3 separate sizes. Needless to say, beer and dairy products require at least 4 aisles.
Don't even get me started on the various things we've had from the fast food restaurants over the years.
Why, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, oh why did you have to publish a State Fair article on Cream Puffs vs. Brownies? It's just not fair when I'm stuck out East all August.
Cripes!
I was having a good buzz listening to the Miami Sound Machine's "1-2-3" on VH1 Classic, when I stumbled across this tidbit on Keith Boykin's website: Apparently the Nation of Islam halted production on the long-awaited [at least by myself and I'm pretty certain a fair amount of other people] Noah's Arc, which is scheduled to air on LOGO.
Patrik-Ian Polk is a very talented auteur, and it's a shame that his show has to endure this. He did a great job with Punks, which I was very lucky to see at Boston's gay film festival several years ago. I hope that this only proves beneficial for the show and his career.
On a slightly eerie note, I think VH1 Classic is equally peeved. As I was writing this post they played Soul II Soul's "Back to Life" and then George Michael's "Freedom '90." That speaks volumes.
Patrik-Ian Polk is a very talented auteur, and it's a shame that his show has to endure this. He did a great job with Punks, which I was very lucky to see at Boston's gay film festival several years ago. I hope that this only proves beneficial for the show and his career.
On a slightly eerie note, I think VH1 Classic is equally peeved. As I was writing this post they played Soul II Soul's "Back to Life" and then George Michael's "Freedom '90." That speaks volumes.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Political Guilt: New York City Edition
These past two days, I've gotten hand-outs from two politicians that I really don't think I'm going to vote for. What makes it worse is that I really wish I could, but there's just nothing sbout them to make me switch my opinion, as least as it stands now.
Case #1: Gifford Miller (Mayoral candidate). The Empire State Pride Agenda is supporting him, but I just think he seems a bit too meek and not tenacious enough for me. Yes, it's great that he cut off funding for the West Side Stadium (aka the stadium nobody wanted for the Olympics that nobody wanted). It's also great that he's the youngest City Council Speaker in New York City history. As I don't have children (and I wouldn't raise them in New York if I did), I could care less about what he does for schools, except on a "they should at least know that Latvia is a real country" level.
Case #2: Brian Ellner (Manhattan Borough Presidential candidate). I had previously described my reservations with Ellner last month. My opinion has not changed. He's all good intentions, but I just don't think he can cut it on a large level. Yes, I definitely would like a gay Borough President, especially one whose campaign literature says "...without rent control I would never had the chance to grow up in Manhattan." He also is in favour of universal health care, stem cell research, and marriage equality (well, duh), but I just don't think he has the experience to make it work. He needs to convince me to vote for him, because I won't vote for symbolic reasons this time. (If I was voting for symbolism, then I'd support Fields for Mayor, but I don't.)
I don't know who I'm voting for vis-a-vis Borough president yet, but I think Anthony Weiner has a good shot with my vote for Mayor. He just seems like new blood, but experienced on the Federal level.
Nonetheless, this all may change by next month, and that's what matters.
You want to know how bizarre things are getting? I am not entirely dismissing La Pirro since she's seemingly more openly pro-gay than Hilary. It might just be August heat and humidity, but I'm listening to what she says. It'll take a lot more than camp value for me to switch over the Republicans, but my ears are open.
Case #1: Gifford Miller (Mayoral candidate). The Empire State Pride Agenda is supporting him, but I just think he seems a bit too meek and not tenacious enough for me. Yes, it's great that he cut off funding for the West Side Stadium (aka the stadium nobody wanted for the Olympics that nobody wanted). It's also great that he's the youngest City Council Speaker in New York City history. As I don't have children (and I wouldn't raise them in New York if I did), I could care less about what he does for schools, except on a "they should at least know that Latvia is a real country" level.
Case #2: Brian Ellner (Manhattan Borough Presidential candidate). I had previously described my reservations with Ellner last month. My opinion has not changed. He's all good intentions, but I just don't think he can cut it on a large level. Yes, I definitely would like a gay Borough President, especially one whose campaign literature says "...without rent control I would never had the chance to grow up in Manhattan." He also is in favour of universal health care, stem cell research, and marriage equality (well, duh), but I just don't think he has the experience to make it work. He needs to convince me to vote for him, because I won't vote for symbolic reasons this time. (If I was voting for symbolism, then I'd support Fields for Mayor, but I don't.)
I don't know who I'm voting for vis-a-vis Borough president yet, but I think Anthony Weiner has a good shot with my vote for Mayor. He just seems like new blood, but experienced on the Federal level.
Nonetheless, this all may change by next month, and that's what matters.
You want to know how bizarre things are getting? I am not entirely dismissing La Pirro since she's seemingly more openly pro-gay than Hilary. It might just be August heat and humidity, but I'm listening to what she says. It'll take a lot more than camp value for me to switch over the Republicans, but my ears are open.
Separated at birth
Perhaps I watch too much of The Bold & The Beautiful, but Jeanine Pirro, the recently announced Republican candidate for New York's Senate race (in other words, Hilary's seat) looks shockingly similar to Hunter Tylo.
What do you think?
La Tylo on the right, La Pirro on the left (for
the sake of irony). 
What do you think?
La Tylo on the right, La Pirro on the left (for
the sake of irony). 
This was just too twee to pass up
| H | Healthy |
| I | Intelligent |
| K | Kinky |
| A | Ambitious |
| R | Rare |
| U | Unforgettable |
Name Acronym Generator
From Go-Quiz.com
Yep, that sums me up.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Splash-View Post Mortem: Going to battle!
Technically, this should be Splash-View-XES post-mortem, but the XES portion was so insignificant that I won't count it.
So tonight I went to Splash as I am wont to do on a Tuesday night. I was witness to the battle of the grey-haired queens. In one corner, there was one physically fit queen in a tank top. In the other corner was a hard-working queen in polo shirt (henceforth referred to as "TT vs. Polo."). First and foremost, TT seemed to have an "in" with the Brazilian bartender, Alex. Every ten seconds it was "Alex (this), Alex (that)." Polo struck back with going out of his way to make sure that he kisssed Alex on the mouth.
In all honesty, it was a bit depressing, because the bartender is really only in this for the tips, but TT & Polo were definitely taking things more seriously than need be.
So tonight I went to Splash as I am wont to do on a Tuesday night. I was witness to the battle of the grey-haired queens. In one corner, there was one physically fit queen in a tank top. In the other corner was a hard-working queen in polo shirt (henceforth referred to as "TT vs. Polo."). First and foremost, TT seemed to have an "in" with the Brazilian bartender, Alex. Every ten seconds it was "Alex (this), Alex (that)." Polo struck back with going out of his way to make sure that he kisssed Alex on the mouth.
In all honesty, it was a bit depressing, because the bartender is really only in this for the tips, but TT & Polo were definitely taking things more seriously than need be.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Oh, the horror (film)!
I read the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel nearly every day. Mostly because I like Tim Cuprisin's Inside TV & Radio column (which is often times funnier than the New York Daily News's Inner Tube), but also because I get a chance to find out how bizarre things are in my hometown.
Apparently, some guy who teaches film at my old school (where film wasn't even an option!!!) is hoping to take over a shuttered elementary school in Mequon to shoot a low-budget horror film, or as the school board president described it "a creature feature."
Considering that Mequon is zealous about image, I'm truly shocked they actually are considering this. I know the city is greying, but they can't be that hard up, can they?
If this reads bitter, then you're bang on target. Mequon is Milwaukee's answer to Stepford. Every building has to be colonial. I do mean every building from houses to fast food restaurants to even gas stations. You will not even be allowed a permit unless the building is done in that style.
This is the same city where the police suffocated a teen who was resisting arrest with a gas mask issued by Homeland Security.
This is the same city where I sampled the wares of its middle-aged married male populace as a teenager, but was probably the only openly gay male for miles.
This is the same city that is so obsessed with cultivating a landed gentry image, that they are planning a subdivision for horse riders.
And now they are considering shooting daft horror films there? Has the world gone mad?
All right, well, I want to see if I can get the Mequon-Thiensville School Board to sign on to produce my play Mequon, which I can assure you, is not violent, at least in the physical sense.
We can stage it at Range Line Elementary. It'll be an atmospheric production, the audience can just walk around from room to room along with the actors. Oh, we'll use all local actors as well.
And they'll just love the subject matter.
Apparently, some guy who teaches film at my old school (where film wasn't even an option!!!) is hoping to take over a shuttered elementary school in Mequon to shoot a low-budget horror film, or as the school board president described it "a creature feature."
Considering that Mequon is zealous about image, I'm truly shocked they actually are considering this. I know the city is greying, but they can't be that hard up, can they?
If this reads bitter, then you're bang on target. Mequon is Milwaukee's answer to Stepford. Every building has to be colonial. I do mean every building from houses to fast food restaurants to even gas stations. You will not even be allowed a permit unless the building is done in that style.
This is the same city where the police suffocated a teen who was resisting arrest with a gas mask issued by Homeland Security.
This is the same city where I sampled the wares of its middle-aged married male populace as a teenager, but was probably the only openly gay male for miles.
This is the same city that is so obsessed with cultivating a landed gentry image, that they are planning a subdivision for horse riders.
And now they are considering shooting daft horror films there? Has the world gone mad?
All right, well, I want to see if I can get the Mequon-Thiensville School Board to sign on to produce my play Mequon, which I can assure you, is not violent, at least in the physical sense.
We can stage it at Range Line Elementary. It'll be an atmospheric production, the audience can just walk around from room to room along with the actors. Oh, we'll use all local actors as well.
And they'll just love the subject matter.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Truly Missed
Rest in Peace, Peter Jennings.
In the interest of levity, several interesting quotes pulled from the Special Report on ABC:
"Peter could scare the hell out of you." -- Charles Gibson
"A stunningly handsome man...a heartbreaker" -- Ted Koppel
It will be very strange watching the news knowing that he'll never come back to anchor.
Kudos to ABC for not making their tribute maudlin, but respectful and jovial.
In the interest of levity, several interesting quotes pulled from the Special Report on ABC:
"Peter could scare the hell out of you." -- Charles Gibson
"A stunningly handsome man...a heartbreaker" -- Ted Koppel
It will be very strange watching the news knowing that he'll never come back to anchor.
Kudos to ABC for not making their tribute maudlin, but respectful and jovial.
Eurovision in August
According to esctoday, the rumour mill has it that Despina Vandi will be asked to be the Greek entry for next year.
The main reason that this is of interest to me, is that Splash for some reason plays Despina Vandi videos every time I get in there. If indeed this turns out to be true, I wouldn't be surprised if they air next year's Greek final.
That is all, reckon we. Anorak mode: off.
The main reason that this is of interest to me, is that Splash for some reason plays Despina Vandi videos every time I get in there. If indeed this turns out to be true, I wouldn't be surprised if they air next year's Greek final.
That is all, reckon we. Anorak mode: off.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Saturday Morning Lyrics
The first few verses of the original Pokemon theme (translated from Japanese, courtesy of Anime Lyrics) give a creepy spin on the whole "gotta catch 'em all" idea:
(I'll get you, Pokemon!)
For example, in fire, in water, in grass, in forests
in earth, in clouds, in that girl's skirt (eek!)
very, very,
very, very difficult but
surely I'll get you!
I'll get you, Pokemon!
farewell, bye-bye, Masara Town
I'm taking a journey with my friends (pikachu!)
I'll win with my sharpened skills
and make new friends as I go to the next city
of course I always go dexterously
there's no compensation, but... (that's not so!)
I always, always live seriously
because I have my friends
For example, in fire, in water, in grass, in forests
in earth, in clouds, in that girl's skirt (you're persistent!)
very, very, very, very difficult
but surely I'll get you!
I'll get you, Pokemon
I got tired in battle, good night, good night
if I close my eyes, I'll revive (pikachu?)
flames burn, winds blow
that battle roars
yesterday's enemy is today's friend
those are old words but... (what do you mean "old"!)
today's friend is also tomorrow's friend
yeah, forever
Ah! I long to become a Pokemon master
I must become one
I will surely become one!
It doesn't sound so much like he's trying to exhort children to be Pokemon masters, but rather Moby Dick style obsessive predators and perverts. Not to mention what's with all this flippant "yeah, forever" business?
You were warned, children.
(I'll get you, Pokemon!)
For example, in fire, in water, in grass, in forests
in earth, in clouds, in that girl's skirt (eek!)
very, very,
very, very difficult but
surely I'll get you!
I'll get you, Pokemon!
farewell, bye-bye, Masara Town
I'm taking a journey with my friends (pikachu!)
I'll win with my sharpened skills
and make new friends as I go to the next city
of course I always go dexterously
there's no compensation, but... (that's not so!)
I always, always live seriously
because I have my friends
For example, in fire, in water, in grass, in forests
in earth, in clouds, in that girl's skirt (you're persistent!)
very, very, very, very difficult
but surely I'll get you!
I'll get you, Pokemon
I got tired in battle, good night, good night
if I close my eyes, I'll revive (pikachu?)
flames burn, winds blow
that battle roars
yesterday's enemy is today's friend
those are old words but... (what do you mean "old"!)
today's friend is also tomorrow's friend
yeah, forever
Ah! I long to become a Pokemon master
I must become one
I will surely become one!
It doesn't sound so much like he's trying to exhort children to be Pokemon masters, but rather Moby Dick style obsessive predators and perverts. Not to mention what's with all this flippant "yeah, forever" business?
You were warned, children.
In 2038: A lot of old doors have new knobs
(2038 seems increasingly more bizarre the more I read these entries.)
The CBC is going through a nostalgia kick, and it seems to benefit me. Well, partially. I don't want to seem like some sort of male Greta Garbo, but I don't want to be one of those people who are constantly cashing in on their glory days. Hell, no. I live forward.
Nonetheless, a big enough check can get me off of my high horse. So next week, I'm off to Toronto to go record the first episode of Remembering the Teens. For my bit, they're focusing in on Peter and Reflection (aka the cash cows which gave the CBC bucketloads of money in syndication). They're also dragging up Ryan Reynolds and Ken to give their thoughts as well.
Ken & I had a long talk about what we would say and what we wouldn't say vis-a-vis Reflection. The end result? We're taping our segments separately. He doesn't want to be present while I basically say that those sex scenes weren't exactly as fake as people thought.
Personally, for all the career highlights I had during the Teens, I actually think the Twenties were more interesting, especially for Americans. You had:
The CBC is going through a nostalgia kick, and it seems to benefit me. Well, partially. I don't want to seem like some sort of male Greta Garbo, but I don't want to be one of those people who are constantly cashing in on their glory days. Hell, no. I live forward.
Nonetheless, a big enough check can get me off of my high horse. So next week, I'm off to Toronto to go record the first episode of Remembering the Teens. For my bit, they're focusing in on Peter and Reflection (aka the cash cows which gave the CBC bucketloads of money in syndication). They're also dragging up Ryan Reynolds and Ken to give their thoughts as well.
Ken & I had a long talk about what we would say and what we wouldn't say vis-a-vis Reflection. The end result? We're taping our segments separately. He doesn't want to be present while I basically say that those sex scenes weren't exactly as fake as people thought.
Personally, for all the career highlights I had during the Teens, I actually think the Twenties were more interesting, especially for Americans. You had:
- The implosion of the Democrats and the Republicans in 2020, who subsequently morphed into the Liberals and Conservatives. Not to mention, SP-USA actually forming the House majority in 2024.
- The amalgamation of ABC, NBC, CBS, and old PBS into the new PBS System in 2026. That was fun. Especially when the old NBC and ABC news anchors in New York and Los Angeles actually rioted during their protest. I thought that was funny. A whole bunch of people in Brooks Brothers suits trashing Central Park. I still crack up laughing whenever they show it. I don't know what their problem was, since The CW and Fox are still around. (Well, it's still "Fox" even though Newscorp got broken up and divided in 2019.)
- The election of Liberal President Butch Hall in 2028. For starters, I still can't believe that his parents actually named him "Butch." We get our first openly gay president and his name is Butch! Not to mention the Butch-mania that ran rampant across the US for the next 8 years. Apart from the children (both male and female) named after him, there was the whole "new name" craze that saw "Chaz," "Mags," "Al," and "Shaz" up on the list of most popular names.
- The Scientology trials from 2020 to 2024. Who can forget the image of Tom Cruise spitting wildly at John Travolta for being "a turncoat?" The man truly did live in an ivory tower. And poor Katie Holmes, looking as vacant as a Manson Family member.
- Conservative President Suzanne Trainer going on television in 2021, apologising to the LGBT community for all the Republican gay-baiting. Even better, she even proceeded to air out all the Republicans' dirty laundry! I mean, I knew Santorum was hypocritical, but even an old slut like me was shocked at what he did. And Sensenbrenner was a true shock. He had no business criticising Clinton over Lewinsky while he was busy being an old leather queen.
- The signing of the Comprehensive [don't-even-try-to-overturn-it] Equal Rights Amendment in 2021. I don't like the Conservatives, but they're ten times better than their predecessors.
- The Francophile craze that swept both Canada and the US in 2023. Johnny Hallyday videos played on MTV? People in Iowa able to cite the lyrics from Celine Dion's back catalogue by heart? Night of a 1000 Mylene Farmers in Calgary? Bizarre.
- Senator Affleck. I like the man, but that still boggles my mind.
Then again, I will be able to talk about the Bush cabinet trials of 2010, so there was at least some interesting things that happened in the Teens.
Friday, August 05, 2005
In 2038: Biloxi is the new San Francisco
(Apparently I moved to Mississippi after raising children. Talk about life going full circle. I can't even imagine moving to the place my father called "the old country.")
We had the Pride parade today. It was like going back in time to Oughties New York. A whole bunch of shirtless men and women waving rainbow flags down Main Street. The local PBS1 station covered it live. They even had their own float, which I joined them on.
I was sitting smack dab between Lyle Ralston, the 5 PM anchor, and his 2nd husband, Peter. He doesn't like to talk about Jonathan, which, fair play to him, I wouldn't either since all and sundry ask him about that kiss at the Superbowl. You know, I try to be witty and entertaining whenever I'm on air, but in ultra-humid Biloxi I was just trying to stay lucid.
Sample exchange:
Lyle: You've been living here for 2 years now, what d'you think of how we do Pride down here?
Me: It...good.
Lyle: Come again?
Me: Hmphbleaha...Could you pass the water bottle, please?
I recovered by the time we got closer to the beach, but in one [unfortunately live on television] moment, Lyle and State Senator Moxon (aka "Fox-on Moxon" and yes, he is) doused me with water. Now, that may have been cute when I was in my twenties and thirties, but I'm nearly 60! I don't like surprises even if they come from hot men.
The big dance was held out on Deer Island. That's right, Deer Island, the marshy wildlife preserve. I don't know how they did it, I don't even know why they did it, because honestly, the casinos were practically begging Pride Biloxi to host the dance. It was one nasty battle that seemed to prove that the Dixie Mafia had indeed gone gay. I just hate to imagine the cleanup bill after 10,000 people. (Oh yes, 10,000, and they were saying this was a light year.)
Nonetheless, it was worth braving the mosquitoes to hear Bobbi Kristina perform. That woman is still kicking ass in her forties. She's like Cher, Liza Minnelli, and Streisand rolled into one, and I'm just talking about her image. If indeed the old saying about greatness coming from crazy is true, then she's superb. (It also makes me a little optimistic about Four's success. She most definitely is the product of two deranged parents.) The best thing was seeing her come onto the stage and the crowd greeted her with "I'm not doing this with him, todaaaaay." She started laughing.
After she did her set, the other act was Sunny, the drag queen whose Shirley Bassey-esque voice has kept her on the charts since '30. And she's only 32 now. Seriously, 32! You know how they're always saying how people are fainting at her concerts? Well, I always thought that was a bunch of hokum, but they aren't kidding. This group of big strapping frat boys from Ole Miss (I think one of them is the quarterback up there) practically parted the crowd in their rush to see her. Midway through "Diamonds are forever" those boys fell with a thud straight out of a movie.
Being that I no longer have the stamina to dance all night, I caught the GulfRail home. (You know, we used to always think that Disney was so outdated with the monorail. Who knew? The thing takes you straight from downtown to Brasher Bayou in 10 minutes.) I got home just in time to get a call from Ken--who seems to forget that there's a serious time difference between Osaka and Biloxi, when the first thing out of his mouth is "Wow, you look wrecked."
Ain't he a charmer?
We had the Pride parade today. It was like going back in time to Oughties New York. A whole bunch of shirtless men and women waving rainbow flags down Main Street. The local PBS1 station covered it live. They even had their own float, which I joined them on.
I was sitting smack dab between Lyle Ralston, the 5 PM anchor, and his 2nd husband, Peter. He doesn't like to talk about Jonathan, which, fair play to him, I wouldn't either since all and sundry ask him about that kiss at the Superbowl. You know, I try to be witty and entertaining whenever I'm on air, but in ultra-humid Biloxi I was just trying to stay lucid.
Sample exchange:
Lyle: You've been living here for 2 years now, what d'you think of how we do Pride down here?
Me: It...good.
Lyle: Come again?
Me: Hmphbleaha...Could you pass the water bottle, please?
I recovered by the time we got closer to the beach, but in one [unfortunately live on television] moment, Lyle and State Senator Moxon (aka "Fox-on Moxon" and yes, he is) doused me with water. Now, that may have been cute when I was in my twenties and thirties, but I'm nearly 60! I don't like surprises even if they come from hot men.
The big dance was held out on Deer Island. That's right, Deer Island, the marshy wildlife preserve. I don't know how they did it, I don't even know why they did it, because honestly, the casinos were practically begging Pride Biloxi to host the dance. It was one nasty battle that seemed to prove that the Dixie Mafia had indeed gone gay. I just hate to imagine the cleanup bill after 10,000 people. (Oh yes, 10,000, and they were saying this was a light year.)
Nonetheless, it was worth braving the mosquitoes to hear Bobbi Kristina perform. That woman is still kicking ass in her forties. She's like Cher, Liza Minnelli, and Streisand rolled into one, and I'm just talking about her image. If indeed the old saying about greatness coming from crazy is true, then she's superb. (It also makes me a little optimistic about Four's success. She most definitely is the product of two deranged parents.) The best thing was seeing her come onto the stage and the crowd greeted her with "I'm not doing this with him, todaaaaay." She started laughing.
After she did her set, the other act was Sunny, the drag queen whose Shirley Bassey-esque voice has kept her on the charts since '30. And she's only 32 now. Seriously, 32! You know how they're always saying how people are fainting at her concerts? Well, I always thought that was a bunch of hokum, but they aren't kidding. This group of big strapping frat boys from Ole Miss (I think one of them is the quarterback up there) practically parted the crowd in their rush to see her. Midway through "Diamonds are forever" those boys fell with a thud straight out of a movie.
Being that I no longer have the stamina to dance all night, I caught the GulfRail home. (You know, we used to always think that Disney was so outdated with the monorail. Who knew? The thing takes you straight from downtown to Brasher Bayou in 10 minutes.) I got home just in time to get a call from Ken--who seems to forget that there's a serious time difference between Osaka and Biloxi, when the first thing out of his mouth is "Wow, you look wrecked."
Ain't he a charmer?
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Canada's new head of state...
...is gorgeous and smarter than the rest of us.
I don't think we'll ever get someone that good-looking in a major level in the US.
I don't think we'll ever get someone that good-looking in a major level in the US.
Splash Post-Mortem: Avant-garde poetry edition
Woke up naked.
Had cheese fry crumbs on my thigh.
Remember flirting with a muscular Israeli bartender
And trying to drink martinis.
I can't pull off being coy
Without my id bursting into laughter.
Why would a rapper call himself Nelly?
And make so many videos?
Doesn't he know that is an invitation for ridicule?
My new favourite drink is a greyhound
But it's dangerous to drink it
Unless you like waking up naked in the morning
with cheese fry crumbs that you don't remember buying.
(Et tu, Rosie O'Donnell, et tu?)
Had cheese fry crumbs on my thigh.
Remember flirting with a muscular Israeli bartender
And trying to drink martinis.
I can't pull off being coy
Without my id bursting into laughter.
Why would a rapper call himself Nelly?
And make so many videos?
Doesn't he know that is an invitation for ridicule?
My new favourite drink is a greyhound
But it's dangerous to drink it
Unless you like waking up naked in the morning
with cheese fry crumbs that you don't remember buying.
(Et tu, Rosie O'Donnell, et tu?)
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
In 2038: They redefined "queer"
(More musings from 2038)
Apparently "queer" is back to being a pejorative, but not how it used to be. They're using it to describe all the ex-gay fanatics that are now in jail. From what I gather, "queer" means anyone who is zealous in their piety.
Today the networks interrupted regular programming to show the parole hearing of one of the head honchos from Exodus. PBS 3 (remember when that was NBC?) had a commentary by this one ex-member and his sister, which nearly made me break down in tears. As much as I like this new Liberal government in the US, sometimes I do hate these transparency-in-court laws. Still, this was history, especially for me.
For nearly two hours, we heard testimony of the brutal brainwashing that they forced upon people. All this talk about how "god will hate you if you act upon your nature." Disturbing. The most unnerving one to me was when the woman who could barely speak after her tracheotomy, which was brought on by a botched suicide attempt. Yet, the guy remained defiant. His whole world seemed to be defined by twisting religion as hate.
You know, I saw the Dahmer trial live and uncensored while growing up (which featured the first time I had ever heard the word "fuck" on broadcast television), but that didn't unnerve me as much as this. I was seriously shaking by the time it was all over.
And yet, I was happy that I've lived long enough to see it.
Apparently "queer" is back to being a pejorative, but not how it used to be. They're using it to describe all the ex-gay fanatics that are now in jail. From what I gather, "queer" means anyone who is zealous in their piety.
Today the networks interrupted regular programming to show the parole hearing of one of the head honchos from Exodus. PBS 3 (remember when that was NBC?) had a commentary by this one ex-member and his sister, which nearly made me break down in tears. As much as I like this new Liberal government in the US, sometimes I do hate these transparency-in-court laws. Still, this was history, especially for me.
For nearly two hours, we heard testimony of the brutal brainwashing that they forced upon people. All this talk about how "god will hate you if you act upon your nature." Disturbing. The most unnerving one to me was when the woman who could barely speak after her tracheotomy, which was brought on by a botched suicide attempt. Yet, the guy remained defiant. His whole world seemed to be defined by twisting religion as hate.
You know, I saw the Dahmer trial live and uncensored while growing up (which featured the first time I had ever heard the word "fuck" on broadcast television), but that didn't unnerve me as much as this. I was seriously shaking by the time it was all over.
And yet, I was happy that I've lived long enough to see it.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
In 2038: They call me MISTER Grandma!
(So I'm having my dinner, when I get a package delivery. I open it up, and it's a disk. After scanning of viruses and such, I find out that it's apparently the musings from myself 33 years from now. Here's the entry from August 1, 2038.)
My grandson is starting to ask questions. His first one was "why is mommy's first name Four?" I wanted to ask him why my daughter insisted on giving him the name Jake. Not Jacob, but Jake. He's only eight now, but he'll get a complex about it in a few years. She rode the wave of President Butch-mania, now her child will have it in for her when he grows up.
Anyway, the answer I gave was this: "Well, your mother is special so I gave her a special name. I just wasn't expecting her to use it."
"Why?"
Boy, I hated that when the kids were, well, kids. "Why? Why? Why?"
"She was special because I gave birth to her."
"Oh."
Not "wow," but "oh." The little ingrate. (I know, I know. Children are precious, blah blah blah.) They've only had male pregnancy for 30 years and the current generation is so blase about it. In order to impress upon this child just how important this was, I had to give him the whole story. Well, the G rated version.
"Your grandfather & I were very happy living in Toronto, but something was missing. The penthouse felt lonely with just the two of us there."
Lie #1: I thoroughly enjoyed having Ken gone half the time. It meant that I could actually finish my scripts. Besides, we had those multi-purpose wall length videophones/television/computers. That man could check on me whenever he damn well felt like it. And he didn't, that's why I love him.
"So we decided that we wanted some company, a sweet little angel. So we went to the doctor and said we want a baby. "
Lie #2: Oh, we wanted a child, but the arguments over who was going to carry it were vicious. Ken told me "I'm too pretty to get pregnant." I shot back "So I'm supposed to get huge instead?" After several debates that put Lincoln & Douglass to shame, as well as 5 games of rock-paper-scissors, he pulled his trump card: "I am not touring with an ever-increasing stomach." He got the silent treatment for some time after that.
"And the doctor hooked us up to a machine, and your mother appeared in my stomach."
Lie#4: Now I couldn't very well tell the child that his mother was the product of 4 HOURS worth of sex with his grandfather all performed with a whole bunch of tubes attached to my neither regions. (Not to mention with the least sexiest doctor on Earth watching over the entire procedure.) I know it's prudish, but I'm sorry. By the way, do not believe these queens who tell you that conception is bliss. I like an orgasm as much as the next guy, but after 4 hours, you're just plum tired and want it over with.
"I had a fun time being pregnant. I almost never wanted it to end."
Lie #5: Ever since men could get pregnant, the courtesy stopped. No one made space for me on the train, or in restaurants. They didn't want to do jack, but just go "awww." And I was only the fourth man in Toronto to get knocked up so there was the curiosity aspect combined with my previous mid-level celebrity. Nowadays, they don't even coo at either women or men. I cry for this world, sometimes.
"But one day, your mother gave me a light tap inside and said she wanted to meet us in person."
Lie #6: That child didn't give any tap. She did a roundhouse! It didn't stop there either, she did the can-can, krumped, and I swear at one point she got her hands on an infant-sized jackhammer. I'm already getting the chills writing about it.
Jake smiled at the end of my fairy tale (no pun intended). I'm now thinking that I sugar-coated things too much. Perhaps that's a good thing. Just the other day I saw some man on television extolling the virtues of the "new masculine mystique," which screams ploy, but Jessica Simpson (who'd of thought she'd be the new Katie Couric?) was ate it all up.
That being said, Ken was getting rather amorous in bed the other day. I leaned over, smiled sweetly, and told him "NEVER AGAIN ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH!"
My grandson is starting to ask questions. His first one was "why is mommy's first name Four?" I wanted to ask him why my daughter insisted on giving him the name Jake. Not Jacob, but Jake. He's only eight now, but he'll get a complex about it in a few years. She rode the wave of President Butch-mania, now her child will have it in for her when he grows up.
Anyway, the answer I gave was this: "Well, your mother is special so I gave her a special name. I just wasn't expecting her to use it."
"Why?"
Boy, I hated that when the kids were, well, kids. "Why? Why? Why?"
"She was special because I gave birth to her."
"Oh."
Not "wow," but "oh." The little ingrate. (I know, I know. Children are precious, blah blah blah.) They've only had male pregnancy for 30 years and the current generation is so blase about it. In order to impress upon this child just how important this was, I had to give him the whole story. Well, the G rated version.
"Your grandfather & I were very happy living in Toronto, but something was missing. The penthouse felt lonely with just the two of us there."
Lie #1: I thoroughly enjoyed having Ken gone half the time. It meant that I could actually finish my scripts. Besides, we had those multi-purpose wall length videophones/television/computers. That man could check on me whenever he damn well felt like it. And he didn't, that's why I love him.
"So we decided that we wanted some company, a sweet little angel. So we went to the doctor and said we want a baby. "
Lie #2: Oh, we wanted a child, but the arguments over who was going to carry it were vicious. Ken told me "I'm too pretty to get pregnant." I shot back "So I'm supposed to get huge instead?" After several debates that put Lincoln & Douglass to shame, as well as 5 games of rock-paper-scissors, he pulled his trump card: "I am not touring with an ever-increasing stomach." He got the silent treatment for some time after that.
"And the doctor hooked us up to a machine, and your mother appeared in my stomach."
Lie#4: Now I couldn't very well tell the child that his mother was the product of 4 HOURS worth of sex with his grandfather all performed with a whole bunch of tubes attached to my neither regions. (Not to mention with the least sexiest doctor on Earth watching over the entire procedure.) I know it's prudish, but I'm sorry. By the way, do not believe these queens who tell you that conception is bliss. I like an orgasm as much as the next guy, but after 4 hours, you're just plum tired and want it over with.
"I had a fun time being pregnant. I almost never wanted it to end."
Lie #5: Ever since men could get pregnant, the courtesy stopped. No one made space for me on the train, or in restaurants. They didn't want to do jack, but just go "awww." And I was only the fourth man in Toronto to get knocked up so there was the curiosity aspect combined with my previous mid-level celebrity. Nowadays, they don't even coo at either women or men. I cry for this world, sometimes.
"But one day, your mother gave me a light tap inside and said she wanted to meet us in person."
Lie #6: That child didn't give any tap. She did a roundhouse! It didn't stop there either, she did the can-can, krumped, and I swear at one point she got her hands on an infant-sized jackhammer. I'm already getting the chills writing about it.
Jake smiled at the end of my fairy tale (no pun intended). I'm now thinking that I sugar-coated things too much. Perhaps that's a good thing. Just the other day I saw some man on television extolling the virtues of the "new masculine mystique," which screams ploy, but Jessica Simpson (who'd of thought she'd be the new Katie Couric?) was ate it all up.
That being said, Ken was getting rather amorous in bed the other day. I leaned over, smiled sweetly, and told him "NEVER AGAIN ON GOD'S GREEN EARTH!"
Monday, August 01, 2005
Oh, the irony!
The letter from the editor in this month's issue of Out is quite interesting, given the source:
"When you look at yourself naked in the mirror, are you turned on by what you see? I ask the question not to invite narcissm but to raise a subject that we all, openly or not, obsess about: body image."
In the column, Brendan Lemon goes on to point out (tepidly) the role that Out has played in this, with their infamous selection of half-naked buff (mostly straight) cover men:
"Like many people, I view cover guys with conflicted emotions (even as I obviously understand, and promote, their appeal). I feel drawn to these guys' beauty. I also experience a sinking inability to match it, not to mention a secret resentment of them, the kind expressed by a character in the 11th century Japanese prose masterpiece The Tale of Genji: 'The way good looks have of blotting out everyone else can be rather annoying.'"
Hmm. Well, this is quite the shocker. I find the section about him promoting the appeal of the cover guys very interesting. Personally, I've always felt that Lemon talks out of his ass ever since that whole "I'm-dating-a-closeted-baseball-player" debacle, which really had nothing to do with anything.
On this point, however; he's onto something. I mention this, partly because I've been described as a self-loathing black man (which seems to me more like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole--it just doesn't describe my insecurities (especially anorexia) in total) and partly because I've been going through this post-surgery period extremely paranoid about my body. I am frankly, a neurotic mess. I make no bones about it, I just am.
This is the quagmire that I think a lot of gay men fall into. We both want to be and be with Adonises, and no one would ever admit to being one, because arrogance is unseemly. Yet, many of us exercise ourselves to the point of no return hoping against hope that we can get just a taste of the magic that the aesthetically pleasing elite possesses. I know that's part of the reason I go psycho in the gym. (The other reason being to run further away from the chubby, awkward, outscast that I was 7 years ago.)
Lemon touches on this:
"Remember that you take care of your physical self not primarily to attract others but to please yourself. This reminder is perhaps more difficult for gay men than for straight: 'Settling down' seems harder to acheive for us than for the straight guys, and so the search to stay eternally attractive feels more pressing...Perhaps the worst aspect of bodily perfectionism is the way it diminshes our sensual selves. If you don't believe me, ask yourself: Would you rather have dinner with someone who likes an occasional bit of dessert, or someone who can't stop talking about his no-trans-fat diet?"
Amen.
But I wonder how long this lesson will last?
"When you look at yourself naked in the mirror, are you turned on by what you see? I ask the question not to invite narcissm but to raise a subject that we all, openly or not, obsess about: body image."
In the column, Brendan Lemon goes on to point out (tepidly) the role that Out has played in this, with their infamous selection of half-naked buff (mostly straight) cover men:
"Like many people, I view cover guys with conflicted emotions (even as I obviously understand, and promote, their appeal). I feel drawn to these guys' beauty. I also experience a sinking inability to match it, not to mention a secret resentment of them, the kind expressed by a character in the 11th century Japanese prose masterpiece The Tale of Genji: 'The way good looks have of blotting out everyone else can be rather annoying.'"
Hmm. Well, this is quite the shocker. I find the section about him promoting the appeal of the cover guys very interesting. Personally, I've always felt that Lemon talks out of his ass ever since that whole "I'm-dating-a-closeted-baseball-player" debacle, which really had nothing to do with anything.
On this point, however; he's onto something. I mention this, partly because I've been described as a self-loathing black man (which seems to me more like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole--it just doesn't describe my insecurities (especially anorexia) in total) and partly because I've been going through this post-surgery period extremely paranoid about my body. I am frankly, a neurotic mess. I make no bones about it, I just am.
This is the quagmire that I think a lot of gay men fall into. We both want to be and be with Adonises, and no one would ever admit to being one, because arrogance is unseemly. Yet, many of us exercise ourselves to the point of no return hoping against hope that we can get just a taste of the magic that the aesthetically pleasing elite possesses. I know that's part of the reason I go psycho in the gym. (The other reason being to run further away from the chubby, awkward, outscast that I was 7 years ago.)
Lemon touches on this:
"Remember that you take care of your physical self not primarily to attract others but to please yourself. This reminder is perhaps more difficult for gay men than for straight: 'Settling down' seems harder to acheive for us than for the straight guys, and so the search to stay eternally attractive feels more pressing...Perhaps the worst aspect of bodily perfectionism is the way it diminshes our sensual selves. If you don't believe me, ask yourself: Would you rather have dinner with someone who likes an occasional bit of dessert, or someone who can't stop talking about his no-trans-fat diet?"
Amen.
But I wonder how long this lesson will last?
Who's minding the store?
We need another Irving Thalberg, because the people green-lighting these films need to be taken out back and shot:
- The 40 Year Old Virgin (As much as I find Steve Carrell attractive, this film has asinine written all over it. I know he's got a cult following, but Judd Apatow is a hack in my book.)
- Deuce Bigelow: European Gigolo (Even the 12-14 year old boys are groaning.)
- Four Brothers (The Sons of Katie Elder redone as an urban thriller/drama; By the way, who thought that Andre 3000 and Tyrese could act? They can't. They're nice to look at, but they can't act.)
- Undiscovered (Random pretty people trying to get famous in Los Angeles. Just re-release Fame.)
- Underclassman (You must be joking. Does anyone still find the ancient "detective/agent going undercover at a school" bit interesting?)
And they wonder why no one goes to the movies anymore.
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