"Holy Smokes!"

I'm still on sabbatical, but last night I was talking with another ex-Milwaukeean about the Hoan Bridge cracking up several years ago. It's quite a hilarious story.



The Journal-Sentinel is telling the truth, no one thought that the bridge was seriously in need of repairs until somebody called 911 after driving over it and feeling it come apart.

Gone Writin'

I've been a bad boy and let my writing outside of here build up and now I've got to clear the backlog. (Damn you, Mercury Retrograde.)

Y'see, I think of writing as being like a well, it all comes from the same place and when you use it in one place, it means the others don't get as much as they used to. So, my play and my articles need some nourishment and I'm taking the week or so off of here.

'Tis a shame, because go figure things are getting quite interesting. Former Illinois governor (and perfect expressway or TV anchor name) George Ryan is on trial and his slightly hidden campaign for the gay vote looks to play a role, and SVT has released the names of most of the performers at next year's Melodifestivalen, which looks quite full of Swedish-language songs (hurrah).

Before I sign off, here's something for the referrals: Eric Braate, Eric Braate, Ron Corning, Ron Corning. (I swear, you mention somebody's name twice...)

Splash-The View Post Mortem: The Grand Coda

I think too much. Honestly, I think I do, and it prevents me from actually relaxing and taking that pole out of my ass. Tonight was a prime example.

It started out with me intending on having a few Mike's Cranberries over at Splash. Little did I know that this choice would bring me face to face with the previously intended object of revenge...who actually didn't do anything, but still left me pissed.

Guess what? He was wearing a harness and jock strap tonight. If only I was a little bit more assertive, I could've worked it to my favour. (Then again, I wouldn't be myself if I wasn't a tad bit gunshy.) I was not about the spend the whole night waiting for a resolution, but I've come to the conclusion that indeed, he is a ho, and I like him for that. In the parallel universe where this all has a happy ending, we would be your standard happy non-monogamous couple. In this world, however; I am quite content with dubious purrings of "sexy" and a hug, because dammit, I have no time to be anything other than pursued. (He wasn't that good, and I don't brake for copraphiliacs.)

I get my coat and decide to have a Corona for the road before braving the elements. Wrong move. Somebody spots me and decides that I am the perfect receptacle for his pent-up hormones over his ex-boyfriend. Mister, I am trying to have a beer and nothing else! Yet, I cannot shake my politeness. Somehow "bugger off" is a difficult thing to say for me...on occasion.

Eventually liberated by giving him an outdated number and certain that said person would hold no damage to my career, it was off to the View. Here's where things get interesting: Not only do I meet an interesting guy, but he happens to be from Southeastern Wisconsin no less and happens to share my intellectual curiosity towards beating someone up. (You can be a pacifist and curious about self-defense.)

It can be unbelievably freaky how certain aspects of someone just cause such an immediate reaction inside. This was the case here. In one corner, you had a curious slut (me). In the other corner you had a total hipster complete with Mo Rocca hairdo, glasses, and vocabulary that used "kid," and "son" as terms of endearment. No sooner than we'd left the bar, than the groping, pawing, and naked acrobatics commenced.

He may not have been the type to enact revenge with, but it felt just as satisfying.

Airline Smackdown!

I received this card in the mail recently (I'd scan it, except I have no scanner nor digital camera with me):

On the outside, it showed the picture of a cookie and said "This is a key feature of a certain local airline."

On the inside, it showed a globe and read "This is a key feature of Northwest Airlines."

Ouch.

(Some back story. Milwaukee is home to Midwest Airlines, which gives a chocolate chip cookie on the majority of their flights. This is also quite funny--at least to me--because Northwest has opened, closed, and now re-opened a mini-hub in Milwaukee. It's Mitchell Field's on-again, off-again dysfunctional relationship.)

Tail-Between-Legs

Remember when I was all hellbent on destroying a certain person?

Well, I was reviewing my text messages, and it turns out that person is now off the hook. It turns out that the mystery messenger was the drunk black man from way earlier this month who gave me Maria Shriver's book.

To be honest, I'm now kind of miffed that it wasn't who I thought it was. The thought of taking some vapid pretty-boy down was quite pleasurable.

Thanksgiving Day Parade Post-Mortem

(Well, technically it's not a post-mortem since as I write this the parade is not yet over in either the Central Time Zone, but I'm not going to split hairs.)

Every single year I watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade like religion. Perhaps it's the march of time, but the parade has truly lost its whimsy, at least to me. First off, either WTMJ or NBC screwed up the HDTV broadcast because for the first ten minutes we were watching the East Coast feed which was high-definition and already an hour into it, then suddenly it changed to the regular delayed Central feed. The upside was Rita Coolidge twice. The downside? Sesame Street's sacchrine performance twice. (Seriously, half of that cast just needs to retire. Bob looks and sounds like he needs a respirator.)

Other live observations:

• You can plug The Office as much as you'd like, NBC. I doubt it'll do any good after those horrific "water-cooler talk" radio commercials. I now go out of the way to avoid it.
• Tommy Tune looks old. Yikes.
• I pity the poor people who have to walk that route in those Pilgrim balloon heads.
• Rihanna? Go away now.
• Why oh why would they put Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on? It's closing soon.
• My mother's assessment of Jersey Boys: "Dull and that man does not look like Frankie Valli." This led into a mini-spat over semantics. She referred to it as a "play." I said "it's a musical." "Isn't a musical a play?" "Hell, no." We argued this point for 5 minutes, looked up the definition online, and I have to minorly concede to her that she is technically correct, but I will never refer to any musical as a "play." Unfortunately, she now knows that usign that term will get under my skin.
• Who are all these no-name singers on all these floats?
• In my fantasy 2005 parade: Yummy Bingham on a float performing "Come Get It." Anyone who has seen the Soca floats during Pride knows how fun that would be to see.
• It says something about the rest of the show when I actually enjoy seeing that opening number (which was censored, by the way) from Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Still can't stand that Butz man.
• Matt Lauer sounds unbelievably awkward saying "off the chain." I know I do as well, but geez...This is national television.
• Does Click 5 have any credibility anymore? If they did, I think appearing on the Hess float killed it.
• Please let Al Roker lose his voice next year.
• My god, NBC is actually letting it run over now. Quelle horreur! Though I suspect that the dog show is not going to get great ratings anyway.
• I will scream if see that asshole mayor.
• To my neighbours: I send you my wishes, because Sixth Avenue is probably Hell today.
• My stone heart was moved by the Preservation Hall Jazz Band.
• "Camp Broadway." It works on so many levels.
• Those cheerleaders are on E, I tell you.
• Who the hell are the Cheetah Girls? Can't we sic a cheetah on them?
• Hands up if you want to see an all-male version of The Rockettes. (The Cockettes don't count.)
• Apparently James Dobson's homophobic cult (Focus on the Family) was soliciting during the parade by handing out "balls." He doesn't get the irony of doing so. I hope some Upper West Siders pelt him with them.
• Jai Rodriguez should stay the hell away from performing anything from the Steve Martin songbook. The lyric "my favorite honky" was surprisingly not cut.
• Four Kings: I smell "sophmore slump." Shame, because Seth Green is actually quite talented as a comedic actor.
• Are those marching band uniforms designed to give everybody a huge gut?
• Whoever scripts those Shecky Greene "jokes" for Matt Lauer, Katie Couric, and Al Roker needs to be bound, gagged, and lobotomised.
• I think Aaron Neville is keeping that mole just to piss the rest of the world off. Was that a facial tattoo of schimtar I saw on his cheek?

So...It's Thanksgiving

We're still alive.

We still have some modicum of freedom.

We still can have gay sex.

And we're still fighting back.

Happy Thanksgiving to all, with special greetings to everyone on my blogroll: Adam, Cane, Stephen, Pookie, Dondon, FARB, Frank, Thomas, and STB. (And even though the Mizez is in France now, Happy Thanksgiving.)

Snow!

We got a nice covering of snow last night, about two inches. Waking up and seeing it warmed the cockels of my hardened heart.

Of course, the high today is going to be 42, and rain is supposed to move in later so it's likely it'll last throughout the day. However, real Wisconsin weather (which is cold as opposed to snow) comes in this evening with the low going down to 16. I never felt so butch as when I was forced to go to high school in -30 degree weather (that's the temperature, not the windchill).

I'm going to cut this post off now before I start to morph into a dark-skinned Garrison Keillor.

Bayshore and Other Nostalgia

They have torn half of Bayshore Mall down. Barnes & Noble, Abercrombie & Fitch, Walgreen's, Blockbuster Video, all memories.

Milwaukee, especially in the 1980's and 1990's was a metropolitan area divided by malls. If a person told you where they shopped, then you had a somewhat of an idea of where they lived. Bayshore, for the most part was the closest mall to the part of Mequon where I grew up. (You could argue Northridge (RIP), but I spent more time at Bayshore.) It was relatively modern in that 1980's glass atrium way, and had a Rocky Rococo. What was not to like?

Well, apparently the owners thought that Bayshore was outdated and they have embarked on some ambitious new remodeling which will turn it from one solitary building into what appears to be several buildings plus a parking structure. I agree with the parking structure. (Surprisingly only The Grand Avenue in downtown Milwaukee was the only local mall to have a parking structure up until this year.) I have severe doubts with everything else in the plan. Part of the appeal of Bayshore for me was that it was basically all one level and in one structure. You didn't have to go hunting for an escalator or a map unless you were very new to the area. This also made it popular with senior citizens who would power walk from one end of it to another every morning before the shops opened. (The mall even posted "power walk" hours.)

It will be very interesting to see what this new look Bayshore will look like, but I'm not quite certain that it's a sign of progress.

Being at Bayshore last night also took me back to my late teens where it was one of the places I would arrange to meet men for sex. It went like this: we'd meet up in a chatroom, find somewhere public to meet up, one of us would drive the other back to his place, we'd do it, and then go back like strangers. Being a horny teenager, however, I didn't really play it safe all the time. I always wore protection, but oftentimes I'd skip the "public meeting place" rule and just have them come to my house while my parents were out.

I remember staring through the gauzy curtains, paying close attention to the sporadic traffic passing by, thinking one of two thoughts:

1) "Will this finally be a guy who's actually good looking?"
2) "Well, at least I'm having sex."

#1 always let me down in the end. How could it not? Every online sex meeting is basically a crap shoot, and ultimately I came to realise that there is something attractive about everyone. I'll be honest with you, I was no prize as a teenager except to chickenhawks who see youth over everything else. I was pimply, plump, had gynecomastia, and my hair was very unkempt. Yet most of the guys I was with achieved orgasm. Somehow there was something about me that got them off, if not myself.

In retrospect, I think the fact that the suburbs tend to be rife full of closeted married men who are just desperate to have any sort of gay sexual expression, played a major role. It was the act, not the actors.

Yet, it's nice to go back and remember this time when I felt like I was such a rebel having gay sex. A time when I was both sleazy and innocent. A time where scanning the cars and waiting for that one unfamiliar car to pull up onto the driveway. A time where I wasn't politically aware of the ramifications of what I was doing. I just knew that it felt good to be desired for a brief moment in time.

Today, I rarely go into chatrooms. I'm of age, quite happily hit the bars, and I feel no need for secrecy about what and who I do and associate with. That said, I still get those pleasant butterflies before sex. I still put my partner's pleasure first. And most importantly, I still feel that every guy is attractive.

Given all the primping and cloning that many gay men do, we do often lose who we are. We start to exclude others based on initial judgments. "He's fat." "He's effeminate." "He's this, that and/or the other." I think that if one day we all just gave ourselves a chance to look deeper, we'd find that there's a part of us that really is attracted to something that we claim we aren't attracted to.

The New Referral King

Apparently it's Eric Braate, who follows previous kings Ron Corning and Reichen Whateverhisnameisnow. I don't know whether he makes the hausfraus from Waukesha County all funny in the morning or if he's appealing to the gay men in the metro area (or indeed, both), but he's certainly popular. Perhaps he's Milwaukee's meterological answer to Anderson Cooper?

Anyway, he hasn't left Milwaukee television (yet) much to the contentment of the aforementioned groups and myself. Watching him this morning, I noticed that with his departure scheduled, Il Braate seems a lot less stiff than he did in October. Wherever he's headed it must be somewhere he really likes.

Mequon Strikes Back: Now It's Personal

"Tea? You brought me fucking tea? How long have you've known me? Tea. Gin. Tea. Gin."

This line from The Closet has been in my head for lo 3 days now and it still cracks me up. I do not know if it was meant to be serious or just flat out campy, but I cannot get it out of my head.

I find myself in the strange position of actually missing QTV while I'm in Wisconsin for just that reason alone. I finally figured out what niche it's trying to fill: it's gay tv for those who like their swearing. No porn, but we do get swearing.

Oh well.

My idiot US Representative, James Sensenbrenner was on the local news last night defending our district's spending of Homeland Security money on security items that frankly this area does not need. This got under my skin for several reasons:

1. Nobody knows how to use it. Just ask the family of Matthew Sheridan.
2. We are not a major target. Yes, there should be some protection, but more than Milwaukee? (And Milwaukee isn't even a major target!)
3. There's a tiny portion of the city of Milwaukee that is in Washington County, which is even more rural than Ozaukee County (where Mequon is). This portion has no voters and has nothing more than a recycling plant. However, this does allow Washington County access to the money set aside for urban areas. And you know what? They took it.

God save me, but the closet-case megalomaniac GOP fool that is the mayor of New York City is right about New York getting the short end of the stick in respect to more money for security. (Still don't like him, will never like him, but he's right on this point.) It is absolutely asinine that Officer Bob out in Germantown is getting equipment that he doesn't even have clue how to operate while the NYPD & FDNY are still underfunded and ill-equipped for a city that has been on "Orange" since September 11, 2001.

(They're underpaid as well, but the yuppies apparently don't care about that, as evidenced on Election Day.)

One last local note for today: Three local radio stations are already all-Christmas music all the time. Three! I mean, I like Christmas music as much as the next person, but three?

Splash-Stonewall-Rawhide Post-Mortem: The Last Boogie on Earth

...(until Thanksgiving).

So tonight was the last night that I had to get blotto in public, and it's...kind of a success.

At Splash, I wound up drinking in Rocco & Tony's section (ask Stephen), which proved rather abrasive and forced me to amscray over to the Stonewall ultimately. (There are only so many "thanks bro" that I can take.)

The Stonewall was interesting, since I found myself drinking with the head of a security company and occasional bodyguard. Now, after feeling his chest, I wouldn't quite trust him with my life, but the fantasy was sufficient. On a sidenote, what's with all these bisexuals that I keep on coming across? I mean, I'm a tolerant person, but I kind of would like it if you're thinking about me while we're going at it, or at least someone with the some anatomical makeup. Plus, I'm a little worried that a deranged girlfriend or wife might come along. (Perhaps I was little too much into The Dying Gaul when I saw it.)

Since misery enjoys company, I came up against the same situation at Rawhide. Yes...Rawhide. I'm starting to wonder if I put out some bi-friendly vibe. Well, there are worst things in the world if I do. Like the go go "boys" at Rawhide, and that Screamin' Rachael lady. Where did she come from with her cheap video and--I'm sorry--lack of screaming capabilities.

And this was my last boogie on Earth...until Thanksgiving. I'm a good date.

OUT TV Lives!

You know that haphazardly run gay network on Will & Grace that Jack works for?

Well, it lives and is called Q Television. For $7.95 a month you can have it in New York now (which is getting it after Birmingham, Alabama and Eureka, California of all places). It looks very nice, with five hours of in-house live programming daily, but after watching it after only 20 minutes you can really tell how much money Viacom pumped into LOGO by comparison. Some of those sets look as rickety as an SRO off of 11th Avenue.

QTV has its own daily newscast which seems like it is normally hosted by a black man, but is guest anchored by Steve Kmetko this month, who is nearly unrecognisable and more jittery than I ever remember him. This newscast does seem very airy and casual, which is...I guess a good thing. (There was someone from Air America giving an anti-Bush commentary who said "goddamn." My kinda show.)

They have also given Reichen whateverhisnameisrightnow his own weekly call in show. Honey Labrador? She's got her own show. Dallas's gay and lesbian church, the Cathedral of Hope? They've got their own show. Hell, they seemed to have given anybody a show AND DAMMIT I WANT MY OWN! I mean you're airing Mirage of Blaze, which is an anime about gay angels of death. It's like you're just begging me to have my own half-hour.

QTV even has it's own Noah's Arc, called The Closet. (Cue the R. Kelly jokes, because lord knows that's what I thought.) Well, it looks like Noah's Arc except it's set in Baltimore, the men aren't physical adonises, and the acting looks and sounds straight out of Tyler Perry, pun intended. In fact, I think La Perry probably wrote this to be produced upon his death because it looks so unnecessarily overwrought. ("She said you were sleeping with her...and her husband!" SLAP!)

One thing that QTV has over LOGO so far is that they know that the gays love their dance music. (Seriously LOGO, you're an MTV network, you can at least give us an hour or two of pop/techno a day as opposed to having it just as filler.) All the obscure remixes of dance hits that you ever wanted. I need never go out to Splash again...okay, I probably will, but now it's just to get drunk.

I have found my guilty pleasure and I pray it stays kitschy and chaotic forever.

Let's All Hold Hands And Beam

Attention Bush administration:

You really want to improve your standing in the Middle East? Send basketball players.

In fact, could we send Iverson to Syria as soon as possible? He'd get all the various factions to unite against him in no time.

Bring Back the Seventies

Yesterday, I went to see Gay Sex in the '70s. It was eye-opening. Watching the documentary, I got the impression that living in 1970's gay New York was basically a nonstop hedonistic orgy of sex, drugs, and even more sex.

It was sex as protest, sex as celebration, sex as fraternity. It didn't seem to have the plethora of no fats, femmes, racism, and other discrimination that has afflicted the gay community now. Unfortunately, the downside of this openness and nonstop sex was the spread of HIV/AIDS, but there is something to be learned and applied from the 1970's ethos to today.

Feel Free and Unashamed. Love all of us. We're all special.

One question that I had after seeing the film. Several times the interviewees mentioned "the trucks" which I gather were in the Meatpacking District (ha ha). The way this seemed to work is that men would get into these trucks and in pitch black darkness proceed to have sex. I can't quite follow this. Sex is such a sensory experience that I think you miss something by not being able to at least see what's going on. Hell, it's pretty hard to know what you're doing in total darkness. Even the backrooms I've been in have had at least some dim lighting.

A final comment, go see this film if you can. Anything that makes me actually like Tom Bianchi for over an hour, is pretty remarkable.

Splash Post-Mortem: I Want My Revenge!

Nowt as scary as a queen with "Hung Up" playing on repeat.

Nowt as determined as a queen hellbent on vengeance.

Let me back up a bit.

So there's a certain person who has been sending me text messages over the past few days, which is fine by me. However, said person seems to have no tact whatsoever when it comes to the content of these text messages.

Hikaru don't play that.

In order to make this preamble short, suffice to say that one of the golden rules in my book is that when you send a text message to someone you PERSONALISE it. You do not go and send mass messages to your entire phonebook. You do not know if that person is liable to go all Angela Basset in Waiting To Exhale on you. No, not at all. Do not disturb my equilibrium by telling me about all the romantic plans you have in store with someone that I do not know. I do not care. I got you off, now let me be, unless I have some spot in your future. Otherwise, it's just tacky...and tacky carries a penalty of cruel revenge with me.

I do not play fair when crossed and I will go for the jugular. Revenge, as I see it, is like a bee sting. It is pointed, it is quick, and it lingers on the victim long after the aggressor has moved on. I like to get my revenge over quickly. It does not linger with me. I need my grudge relieved ASAP or else it will fade away.

Tonight was supposed to be the night that I enacted my revenge on the aforementioned person. I squatted nearly 100 pounds over my weight. I bench pressed just 5 pounds shy of my weight. I wore my most binding and slutty clothes. I was hellbent on breaking a narcissist at his own game.

And then, the fool didn't even show up.

This pissed me off to no end, because I will forget this very soon and I was very much looking forward to carrying out my divine retribution before my short-term memory chucks it out.

It was a brilliant plan: I was going to flirt shamelessly; grope, french kiss, and whatever I could get away with any male body present to make this person realise his apparent lack of morals as well as the fact that I can and will outdo him if I so please. Instead, I'm left feigning interest in some talking head from Pennsylvania who really has nothing of merit to say, but is too nice and scarred to squash.

Dammit, I hate it when I have no resolution.

You Just Knew It Had To Be Ugly

I guess I'm not the only one who finds the idea of a 14 year long Tyra Banks vs. Naomi Campbell feud extremely interesting.

Tyra: Who took my wig?
Naomi: Oh that's so cute, she needs a wig with her nappy hair.
Tyra: Like you don't.
Naomi: I know you weren't talking to me.
Tyra: Bitch, who you think I'm talking to?
Naomi: Bitch? Who you calling "bitch," you slag?
Tyra: No, you didn't call me no slag.
Naomi: If the shoe fits.
Tyra: In your big ass feet.
Naomi: At least I don't have a five-head.
Tyra: Oh, hell no!!!! I know some heifer who was in the Vanilla Ice movie did not just go and insult me. I worked with John Singleton and Denzel, ho.
Naomi: At least they bought my album.
Tyra: In Japan, heifer.
Naomi: (Silence.) Oh what's that? That's the amount of airplay "shake ya body" got.
Tyra: IT'S ON NOW!!!!
Naomi: I'll beat you like you were my assistant.

Me Vs. Tyler Perry

Tyler Perry is now on the list. The list of people who just need to be silenced by any means possible. It's a small list:

1. George W. Bush
2. Osama Bin Laden
3. Jean-Marie Le Pen
4. Tyler Perry

I'm not worried about numbers 1-3; however, Perry has worked my last nerve. You know, someone out there is going to say this is because I want his money. No. (Believe me, I'd like his money, but that's not why I despise him.)

This fool was on Steve Harvey this morning and just reveling in his ignorance. He was just "god this, god that" and then crowing about how successful his stupid film was back in January. His film (like his "plays") that is basically a glorified minstrel show with a liberal sprinkling of "lawd almightys." This man is an insult to every playwright across the colour spectrum. Plus he's CLOSETED! A closeted playwright? In 2005? For pete's sake, mister, you've literally got a mansion-size closet. Come the hell out.

And then they took calls.

I spent more than 20 minutes trying to get through because I was fittin' (yes, when I'm angry I start talking like my father) to tear into him. Alas, the damn line was busy the whole time. So, Mr. Perry, here is what I would've asked you:

• Do you secretly look down on the people who go to your "plays?"
• Do you seriously believe that anybody buys that "I'm seeing a special woman" excuse?
• Have you even read anything by Suzan-Lori Parks? August Wilson? Genet? Or did you just read the stage version of Uncle Tom's Cabin and ran with it?
• Do you try to actually challenge your audience's perceptions? Or do you find it easier to just confirm their prejudices?
• Do you lie awake at night realising just how much of your script for that movie was ripped off of much better ones?
• Did Shemar Moore get his part by giving up his cookie for you? Did you tell Tavis?
• Have you had any training whatsoever? Didn't they teach you that dialogue which is all plot isn't desirable?
• Do you even know the significance of naming a character "Madea?"

Kiss my ass, you hack.

Monday Jukebox: Is It possible to be in love with an anime character?

If so, I stake my claim on City Hunter's Ryo Saeba:

Sure, he's a lecherous fool and total narcissist, but just look at that body. When he leaves me in the morning without any warning whatsoever, I can console myself by playing "Alone Again" on repeat.

Speaking of Middle-Aged Black Men

I noticed an interesting thing this morning on the treadmill: All three of the networks' weekend morning shows have a black male co-anchor.

Saturday Today: Lester Holt
Good Morning America Saturday: Ron Claiborne
The Saturday Early Show: Russ Mitchell

It's quite remarkable and perhaps a good sign of the future that there is practically no one pointing this out in the media. Remember the days when it was Bryant Gumbel and nobody else? Of course, the aforementioned trio are cut from a similar, but less abrasive and smug, cloth.

Now if we can just get rid of the jolly black weatherperson stereotype. (I'm looking right at you Mike Woods and Al Roker. Don't think you're exempt either, Janice Huff.)

It Was Fun While It Lasted

RIP Kitchen Confidential. My condolences to Darren Starr, although I suspect that he knew it would be hard for lightning to strike more than once and to Bradley Cooper, who I would be very glad to console personally between the sheets.

My advice: Darren, go pitch to the cable networks, particularly LOGO and HBO. Bradley, you're very strong in character roles, follow Darren to cable, find a good spot in a new series either comedic or dramatic, and do some theatre. You could be my muse.

Oh Please, Please, Please Let It Happen

There is discussion of enacting a $7 surcharge for people who drive in Manhattan below 60th street during peak hours.

I am all for it (and not just because the rich idiot is against it). Let's face facts, this area is covered pretty well with public transportation from Park to 8th Avenues. There is no need for anyone driving a non-commercial vehicle to be in Manhattan.

Out of towners, take the train.

Perhaps I'm a bit gleeful at this possibility, because I have just barely avoided being killed by deranged or inattentive SUV drivers countless times.

Friday Jukebox: If Nanne Calls

You can always depend on Nanne Grönvall's aggressive performance of "Håll om mig" to pick you up on a Friday morning.

Or ponder just what drugs were they on to come up with the stage act for "Ready for me," and could I get some of them, please?

(Read the February and March archives for more.)

The Uncontrollable Urge to Smack Someone

I've got the urge very bad this morning.

First him:

Then the writer of this piece in The Blade, who apparently doesn't the see the hypocrisy in his final line.

I'm Afraid of Conglomerates

PlanetOut is buying LPI, the company that brings you The Advocate, Out, and Alyson Books.

I have a very bad feeling about this. Perhaps it's my natural distrust of large private companies, but the first thing that came to my mind when I read this was "this is the gay version of AOL Time Warner." I just sense that this behemoth will do its best to stymie any competitors.

Think about it, how many other serious competitors does The Advocate have? (I'm excluding Out because they are pretty much in competition with Instinct, Genre, and arguably Attitude in the "let's put some twentysomething oiled-up Hitler Youth on the cover in the hopes that somebody will buy it" market) Practically none. All the other magazines are too busy selling lifestyle over actual news. The Advocate for the most part is the gay Newsweek. Now, I wouldn't be surprised if they decide to stop including actual news for a story about which butt implants are right for that perfect bubble butt. (Remember PlanetOut owns Gay.com which knows what it's selling as judged by the current campaign of a man with his briefs around his ankles.)

So if you are planning on starting your own gay-focused newsmagazine, you'd better start it right now.

Keep On Shining, You

It's Wednesday. I have a slight hangover. My Rio Carbon just died on me. My warranty on it ran out last week.

All I want to do is just stare at a tackily dressed Russian girl group, because these girls can sing.

Decision 2005: You Take The Good, You Take The Bad...

Well, this was really a mixed bag for me.

The rich closet case won in New York, albeit by 20% which was closer than expected but was sadly one of the largest percentages ever. I guess the Sex & The City yuppies, Uncle Toms, Aunt Condis, and power-hungry guppies just don't care about anybody other than themselves. For those who crossed party lines, I'm just going to point out this quote by RNC Chairman Ken Mehlman:

"Bloomberg's achievement, is particularly impressive when one takes into account that there are 5 Democrats for every 1 Republican in the city. Tonight's victory is testimony to the fact that voters are more concerned with the candidate and the platform that best represents their views."

You voted for a Bush-licker, you drank the Kool-Aid, now deal with the 4 year hangover.

On the other hand, Proposition 2 passed which will allow construction to start on the 2nd Avenue subway and connect the LIRR to Grand Central Station. Anyone who has ever used Penn Station during rush hour has got to be happy about that.

In Texas, the bigots got their ban on the constitution. My sympathies, especially to STB. I hope they see the error of the ways in the very near future. In Maine, however, the bid to repeal the LGBT anti-discrimination laws failed, so sanity did prevail there.

Then there were the governor's races. Porky Pig got trounced by Jon Corzine in New Jersey, and La Kilgore lost to Kaine (albeit by only 5 points, but still...), a victory made even more sweet by the fact that Bush campaigned for him. At least Thor the leatherman now gets his prize client back on a regular basis.

Splash Post-Mortem: Middle-aged Black Men Like Me

All I can say is that tonight was bizarre.

After liquoring up at The Stonewall, I made it over to Splash--where the infamous Alex wasn't present, but apparently a very drunk near 40 year old black man was. He was, indeed, a very jolly man to say the least.

Apart from the shock that my name is Hikaru (honestly, has no-one heard of Kobe Bryant?), he proceeded to give me his entire family genealogy. I can't think of a time where copious amounts of alcohol lead to a discussion on the origins of black family names. When he left he gave me a present (no not that one)--Maria Shriver's book. What the hell kind of present was that?

After he bounced off, another middle-aged black man approached me. We had a very intriguing conversation peppered with politics amongst other things. This guy had apparently been eyeing me for quite sometime. Unfortunately, his opinions (slightly pro-Bloomberg, in favour of the smoking ban) didn't exactly mesh with mine. Nonetheless I stayed there longer than normal because they extended happy hour for all voters, and you are not going to separate me from having an extra Mike's Hard.

And by the way...

If you live in Virginia, please vote for Kaine, because as funny and unaware as he is, the thought of La Kilgore in power is not worth the risk.

Vote or Shut Up

Remember what I said in September? Well, it applies double now. Not only because it's your damn civic duty, but also because you might encounter the idiots that I had the misfortune to be sandwiched between at the polls this morning and you don't want them making decisions affecting your life, don't you?

Idiot #1: A stunned gormless fool wearing a "Berkeley" shirt who couldn't manage to figure out how to operate the sodding voting booth. You pull the lever before you vote and pull it again when you are finished! He also verbally pointed out that he was voting Republican. So apparently Magic Johnson isn't the only Californian that Bloomie is bringing in to rig this election. I gave him a cold stare not rarely seen outside of International Falls for his traitorous actions. (Not to mention the fact that it's just not right to mention who you're voting for while you are at the booth!) I hope his income plummets to zero, his company goes into receivership, and all his accreditations are disqualified. Don't mess with me, I know voodoo priestesses.

Idiot #2: This stunned fool didn't bring his ID. Excuse me? Was I the only person who had it drilled into his head that you do not leave your home without any identification? The nice woman volunteering at the booth (I had a very nice conversation with her while Idiot #1 was still arsing about in the booth) asked him for it and his face was just awash with the shock that: A) He didn't have it on him; and B) that she asked him to prove who he was. Do people not remember the voter fraud scandals last year and in 2000?! For all she knows, he could be a felon or someone trying to muck up the elections. Luckily for him (and unfortunately for those of us who believe in fair elections), another poll worker said that he was not required to show photo identification. I chose that moment to take out my photo ID and display it prominently. Sometimes you just have to educate these fools with a visual aid.

So there you have it, these are the fools shaping your public policy. If you don't get your ass out and vote properly they will truly give us a government run and chosen by dunces.

By the way, if you live in Maine or Texas, you had better get out and vote against institutionalised discrimination against gays. In Maine, the single celled organisms of The (so-called) Christian Civil League are trying to overturn Maine's civil rights law that protects LGBT residents from discrimination in housing, employment, and credit. While in Texas, there is a measure to amend the state constitution to ban gay marriage--which is sadly already banned by law, so this is basically the bigots trying to stomp down even harder on civil rights.

On a less moral but still important note, for New Yorkers who live and/or work on the East Side from Lexington Avenue to the East River, you'd be wise to vote for Proposition 2, which will authorise construction on the long-awaited Second Avenue subway line. If you have ever taken the 6 from 6 am to 10 pm, then you know what I'm talking about. It's desperately needed.

Go vote or do not even consider complaining when your civil rights and services start being chipped away. In fact, if you don't vote and you are eligible to vote, just leave this planet now. People have died to give you that right, and your pampered ass should be sufficiently humble to give up just a shred of your time.

Irony at The Bold & The Beautiful

I know Pookie and the Mizez will get a kick out of this:

Stephanie: The underlying message in all [women's] lives is that in order to be attractive she has to expose her whole entire body.

Taylor: Amen...Well in my business it seems like you're selling eating disorders and unrealistic body images.


Um...I wonder if Hunter Tylo and her collagen lips and breast enhancements are in on the joke.

In Other TV News

• Killer Instinct: Johnny Messner still can't act, but at least knows how to brood enough to keep you interested, because face it no one is paying attention to anything that comes out of his mouth. That said, this man is no lead and the series would be vastly more interesting if they wrote it with Chi McBride or Kirstin Lehman as the lead character. Messner just seems so out of his league.
• But Can They Sing? : Bai Ling still can't sing, but knows that outrageous outfits and '80s pop songs always win voters; Antonio Sabato Jr. improves ever so slightly by not completely butchering "I Want You To Want Me" shirtless (do not ever give this man a ballad again); Carmine tries the same route, but I'm sorry, I don't think there's a market for tanorexic twink rap; Larry Holmes sings "Let's Get It On" and...ew, it's my father and I just don't even want to envision it.
• The Boondocks: This show and Noah's Arc were the two big premieres I was waiting for this Fall, and...this is the bigger disappointment. Let's just put the whole "nigger" debate to the side here (I side with Steve Harvey and Richard Pryor on it, anyway)*, this show just seems to have the oddest pacing. The comic strip is quick-paced and to the point, and the show just drags. As much as I like Regina King, she's no Cree Sumner, who is a voice actress par excellance and makes some of the most hackneyed lines on Drawn Together work.

*Richard Pryor said that after he visited Africa, he would never call another black man "nigger." Steve Harvey echoed that sentiment and disagrees with McGruder, who believes that the word does belong in entertainment.

• Reunion: Well, it's getting kind of interesting. I'm praying that as we get into the 1990's that the characters will at least acquire some sort of actual depth and quirks. The show's basic premise is too good for it to tank.
• Noah's Arc: I still stand by my Julia comments, but for pete's sake, I hope the actor playing Noah starts pitching his voice a bit deeper, because half the time I have to rely on captioning in order to find out what he says. The writing, however, still is very strong and I hope it stays that way. Good job, Patrik-Ian.

What I Do All Day

To answer a question that a lot of people have, I do work.

I'm a freelance writer and work from home. Essentially, the majority of my work is cleaning up grammar and spelling, which I find quite funny, since I think that my own isn't that great to start with. In between projects, I work on plays, do notes for plays, and [after spending the month of June housebound] take time off to watch The Bold & The Beautiful. (Speaking of which, they just need to give Susan Flannery the Emmy now.)

Currently, I'm working on three scripts.

In the middle of writing: A play about anorexia and body image. I'm nearly finished with Act 1. I don't rewrite until I have a production, so I ponder dialogue very closely before writing. Sometimes I can finish a play in a month, other times, it takes me nigh on a year. The latter is the case here.

Note-taking stage: A true-crime play (that's all I can say about it now in a public forum).

Brainstorming: My second ever spec script for television.

Splash Post-Mortem: No Sex in the Champagne Room

World, let it be known that a certain somebody and myself have been captured for posterity in HX of all things. There will be no escaping it, so we'll just embrace it.

I don't know how these Saturday nights at Splash turn into nights of debauchery, but please do not let them end. At the far corner of the downstairs bar there were lap dances being given and was it a sight. The eroticism of it was relatively low (well, at least to the specatator), but one gets taken in by the technique. One man seemed to be a one-trick pony because all he ever did was thrust himself silly against whatever man (and solitary woman) who paid for him. Not too impressive, except that after this woman decided to flash her breasts at him he walked away and said "Oh, disgusting!" I gave him $5 on the basis of that alone, because I'm an old militant and an avid supporter of hiring gay men over gay-for-pay ones.

Another lap dancer must have been an acrobat because he was able to get on his hands and work his crotch 'til the cows came home. I nearly paid for him just on the basis of that alone. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention "Daddy" with his '70s era mustache and intimidating body. I didn't get a good look, but he tweaked our nipples and I felt like a schoolgirl inside.

And I won't even start on the cheating doctor, Alan with the baby oil promises, the return of the infamous Alex, and Rocco & Tony. All I can say is that indeed, no one got or gave up the cookie last night, but I got damn close.

On a slightly related note, courtesy of Thomas, I took a gander at Astrodienst and found this very interesting tidbit about my romance life:

You can enjoy a wide variety of sexual experiences, and if you limit yourself to one partner, that person should enjoy lovemaking as a continuously changing adventure, however affectionate.

You are not the type to be tied down intellectually or emotionally, so you must have a partner who respects your freedom.

Achieving the kind of communication you want requires contact on many levels with your partner, so a close relationship will develop slowly.

Although you find sex by itself naturally satisfying, you are quite capable of carrying on a love affair without any sexual contact at all.

And that my friends, is why there will be no sex in the champagne room, unless I'm really turned on mentally and physically.

Me Vs. The Blade

Rarely have I ever read The New York Blade and felt pissed off. Well, that's changed. Somehow it's gone all Log Cabinette this week.

Perhaps it has to do with this week's cover story?

Which has seeped down to this Blade Blog entry.

And lest we forget, the parent company gave Jeff Gannon an occasional column.

L'Ètat C'est Moi

Doug Forrester is Porky Pig

Or is it the other way around?

Odd Thoughts That Pop Into My Head On A Thursday Morning

• For some reason one of the doormen here just does not like me. I do not know why. I do not yak away on my cellphone. I talk to him in a respectful polite manner. I always make sure to say "hello" when coming in or out of the building. All I get in response is a sneer and cold stare. I am honestly stumped. I'm almost tempted to believe it's some strange form of black-on-black racism or male-on-male sexism, because he fawns all over the white women. No need to be rude just because you don't want to sleep with me.
• There has to be some sort of city law that prevents construction sites from starting at 7 am in an area that has more than 200 apartments.
• I don't care what Steve Harvey says, any song that features the lyrics "a thug has feelings too" has got to be tossed out and steamrolled.
• Speaking of which, could I actually pass as a "homothug" for one day? I got this image of me with cornrows and baggy pants and I thought it was hilarious. I looked as ridiculous as Shemar Moore in Diary of A Mad Black Woman (aka Misery In Da Hood).
• I like this new Ferrer ad that has a roller blader dancing to salsa with the tagline "for all New York." It's very GAP-meets-political ad. Go Freddie.
• Ann Tripp is funny. She needs her own show. In the interim, she can replace Alexis Glick on Today. Television is just aching to have a woman who just doesn't care and tells it like it is.
• I know it's only next month, but it just seems a little bit early for egg nog to be hitting the stores.
• Aquarians: Read today's horoscope at Out.com and strut proudly.

Posh-Splash-Barracuda Post-Mortem: Do Not Violate The Box!

As I type now, John Kerry is being interviewed by Steve Harvey. Now that I've established that weird image in your head, let's go rewind to last night.

Somehow I found myself starting out in Hell's Kitchen at Posh. Quite a strange bar I have to say, it feels crowded when it actually isn't. Even more strange, the bartender was from Milwaukee and actually knew Mequon. Perhaps strange is the wrong word, because whenever I come across someone who knows my hometown it makes me feel like I'm not pulling the wool over everyone's eyes. It's a bit hard to explain, but I imagine that anyone living in the Northeast who wasn't born here understands where I'm coming from.

After a good spirited and friendly debate on socialism with a Frenchman it was onto the mainstay of every Tuesday evening--Splash. I jumped for joy--at least on the inside--upon entering because the music videos had returned. I was all settled in when all of a sudden I was besieged by a blonde woman and her gay male friend. They just came up into my box without a care. I do not understand it. It was somewhat ameliorated by the fact that she did start up a conversation and was quite an interesting person. Nonetheless, they violated my box, so I found my way to Barracuda.

I don't knpw why I went to Barracuda, except for one reason--I've missed waking up in the morning with a handstamp. Again, I was beseiged by another group of people--ironically, another blonde woman and her gay male friends. Now, I could ultimately care less who comes into a bar, but it does drive me insane when people start behaving as if others aren't there. I'm talking about SCREECHING IN MY EAR and flicking your hair right into my face. For pete's sake, could we kill this strain of narcissism that seems to be running rampant amongst urban twenty and thirtysomethings?

And trust me, no upspoken apology like "I am so sorry about that. I like totally hate it when people flick my hair" does not do the trick.

RIP Conviction

I’ve come to the conclusion that the era of people having convictions and standing by them is coming to a close. Perhaps it’s a sign of maturity and it’s always been this way, or perhaps it’s a whole societal shift. Personally, I don’t know, but it’s a sad state of affairs nonetheless.

What’s made me take notice of this has been seeing all these Democrats all of a sudden run to support Bloomberg. I’m not necessarily referring to sociopaths like Brian Ellner and Jonathan Capehart, but rank and file nominally liberal ones. It boggles the mind how in a city that has 6 Democrats for every 1 Republican, that the Republican candidate is leading by 30%. Some people say it’s because he’s doing a good job. Those people tend to not have much on their mind other than getting their end over on a Friday night. They do not want to think. Thinking causes them to question the futility of their existence. They will register as Democrat in a Democratic city; they will register as Republican in a Republican city. Oh hell, I’ll cut to the chase, they are basically sheep.

Sheep are prevalent in American society, because there is a vicious disease running through this country, a disease called “I’m afraid to stand up for what I believe in, because it might not be popular.” “I won’t stand up for what I believe in because I’m scared.” Everybody wants to back the winner, even if they don’t really care about the winner, because at least they aren’t the loser. It’s just unfathomable to be the loser.

Well, let’s start changing that. Whether you win or lose, go down believing what you believe. History remembers those who are unique, not those who were part of the masses. A vast amount of people don’t want to stand out, but every time that you don’t stand up for what truly matters to you (and forget how much elected officials can actually do), your identity dies.

If you see your identity as secondary to being with the in crowd, then enjoy the primordial ooze.

On Halloween

B.A.H. H.U.M.B.U.G.

Especially when the sodding parade route gets too close for comfort.