Now let me be one of many people to say that Milwaukee is not Chicago and neither the twain shall meet except on I-94.
A prime example of this difference, this is playing at one of the theatres over at The Marcus Center.
Meanwhile, how appropriate is it for my idiot-laden suburb of Milwaukee to have the archetypal grumpy old white man with too much money and too little sense writing editorials for its lobotimised website? This man would never be wise enough to figure out that I'm a product of his Mequon. (Yet it gives me much satisfaction to know that his ilk is dying out like fruit flies.)
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Friday, November 24, 2006
The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade 2006 Post-Mortem
Yes, indeed it's back again, and again, it's a "post-mortem" since I'm watching it from the Central Time Zone where the parade doesn't start until 9 AM local time, meaning that everything onscreen has already happened.
Apparently this is the 80th Parade, and I steel myself for constant mentions of it.
Then deep-voiced cokehead (because he's just that animated) announcer man starts reeling off the names of the "celebrities" appearing in this year's parade, and all I have to say is "DENISE VAN OUTEN?" Ms. Jay Kay-shagging-Maxim-staple?
Is there some sort of US welfare for '90s British television staples? Sean Maguire is on The Class, Cat Deeley is on some show on Fox, and now Denise Van Outen is attacking US television.
Camp Broadway [the double entendre] does some inane number about "give me a drum," without actually having any drums whatsoever, and we go to commercials.
NBC plug #1: Heroes. The amount of desperation in the three actors is palpable from space. It's like Al Roker has to try to push them off screen.
Oh, jesus! A Chorus Line. Well, I already said my piece about the revival at AfterElton, and transposed to Herald Square makes it look even more pitiful. Go away now.
NBC plug #2: Friday Night Lights. Maria Celeste interviews an actress from the show and treats it like a political interview. It's kind of cringe-inducing, but mostly boring. One nitpicking thing I have with that show is that it's depressing to see a bunch of people who peak at high school. Schadenfreude, but still depressing.
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas performs. I like to think--and my mother backed me up on this--that I had more of a grip on reality as a child, so that trifle like this would not appeal to me whatsoever. That aside, I think the Chuck Jones animated special was good enough, this just screams naked greed.
Cokehead announcer says "this dramatic view of New York is from the top of Rockefeller Center." What the television audience sees: low level clouds and a faint outline of a building. Absolutely stirring, I tell you.
After commercials, there's a video piece with Martin Short tracing the route of the parade by helicopter: 1) He's looking old--especially on HD; 2) I actually used to be indifferent to him, but since his musical has opened, I can't stand him and his mugging, ironic or not.
The Colour Purple: Eh.
NBC plug #3: ER and Maura Tierney, who has been promo'd like crazy. It's the first plug today that didn't seem like it was blatantly begging people to watch them.
After commercials, Al Roker chills my blood by saying that there's a revival of Grease and they are turning the auditions for the leads into a television show--on NBC, of course--hosted by...Denise Van Outen. Denise looks no different than she did in the nineties.
The horror of that announcement marinates in me throughout Spamalot's performance. By the way, Spamalot doesn't seem all that interesting without any star power. (And for those in the New York television market, the new ads just prove that even more.)
Commercials: Even though I grew up in the 1980's, there is no way you can make me believe that Izod is sexy, because I still think of uptight yuppies thinking of ways to get rich off of others' labour.
Matt & Meredith intro The Rockettes and I have to say that Meredith is kind of a non-entity. Maybe it was the raspy voice and sub-textual bitchy comments that Katie Couric kept throwing in, but she did seem to add something extra to the show. By the way, I'm continually amazed that people kicking their legs up in sync manages to impress people.
The parade arrives in Herald Square with lots of rain pouring on The Rockettes. There's a metaphor there, but I'm buggered if I can find it at the moment.
One thing that is good about all the rain is that for the people still in my neighbourhood, the foot traffic is not as horrid as it could be.
The Post Office float has some people from some show called High School Musical which I have never heard of, but I'm not hip, especially not to things Disney. Fortunately, the Cokehead Announcer cuts them off a minute into singing.
Local commercials: Generally daytime television in Milwaukee has commercials for "cash advances" and injury lawyers. Today, it is nothing but ads for Farm & Fleet and Menards. Feel the Wisconsin-ness.
After commercials, Julie Andrews sings on top of a golden goose. I say singing, but she's more talk-singing than anything else. Still, a valiant effort and justly rewarded with applause.
I'm developing some sympathy for the participants since it looks like it's pouring down, but then they bring out some daft children's singing act going on about bumblebees. Mother Nature is just expressing her opinion.
Barbie float: Whoever is playing Barbie is going to have serious facial pain from grinning that widely for so long.
Matt makes mention of the 1926 Macy's Parade Queen. What he doesn't say is that these days the Macy's Parade Queens number in the hundreds and few of them are female. (I'm sorry, but the joke was just too tempting.)
Marching bands: Are there any marching bands that aren't from the South or the West? Surely, there are some from the Tri-State.
Oklahoma float: Sandi Patty is still around? Or is that Kim Zimmer? Either way, I don't think you could write such a rising anthem about Wisconsin.
Commercials: We Are Marshall makes me think of "We Are Legion."
Sesame Street Float: More welfare for aging performers. Seriously, a significant amount of the humans on the float have been on that show since I was born.
Synergy plug: "Vote for your favourite float on iVillage," says Matt. "What would anyone get out of that?" says Hikaru.
Some random PBS float: Another pre-pubescent faux-rock group that I have never heard of. Befitting the ADD generation, their song snippet lasts about 30 seconds.
Animal Planet & NBC plug (because they're airing that dog show) float: They cut off Gloria Estefan! Gutsy.
The Dora the Explorer balloon is flying awfully low and threatening to knock out another tourist from Albany.
Tutenstein (NBC Plug!) float: Diana Degarmo performs with the Phoenix Boys Choir. It's saccharine, but considering that last year featured Jai Rodriguez singing "King Tut" uncensored and after Madonna (you go, girl!) gave a brilliant and bleep laden performance last night on NBC, I can understand the rationale.
This show is full of filler when you get down to it. A perfect example of this is the fact that there is a jump roping team. Al Roker joins Matt & Meredith in the booth to introduce a bunch of Cartoon Network characters butchering "A Little Help from my friends." Absolute filler, I tell you.
Some random Rhinoceros float: I don't get Chris Brown, but puberty looks like it's going to be mean to him.
Commercials: The Apprentice is going to premiere on January 7, along with that acrid Grease show. January 7th is the day that television died...on NBC. I do not pay attention to David Blaine's stupid stunts, but if he is suspended in the air over Hell's Kitchen, I am very glad that I'm not there getting annoyed as well as getting drunk.
Royal Caribbean float: Ciara is lip-syncing her butt off, and as Clay Cane astutely pointed out: Ciara & Wanda Sykes look exactly the same. Nonetheless, those evil people at GE cut. her. off!
Marching Band update: Well apparently Indiana bucks the South & West monopoly.
Hershey's Float: My lack of hipness continues since I have no idea who RBD is, platinum album sales or not. It's a ballad so my curiosity is negligible. They get cut off as well. Would it kill NBC to let people perform for at least a minute?
Cokehead announcer says "don't touch that dial." I haven't seen a dial on a television in over a decade.
Marching Band update: NYPD marching band. Is this the only Tri-State representation? For shame.
And this is a weak year if I'm paying any attention at all to the marching bands. Al Roker makes a "Battery Park" joke in reference to the Energizer Bunny. Please lobotomise him, somebody.
New York float: Hall & Oates. The unspoken theme of this year's parade is "The Eighties Have Come Back with a vengeance." Hall & Oates get an extra 30 seconds for some bizarre reason.
Hess float: Some scruffy man with a guitar and a grin surrounded by a bunch of people wearing traffic signs. They should legalise LSD for occasions like this. Scruffy gets cut off by the Cokehead Announcer. Conspiracy Theorists start your engines!
Football float: "A tradition for 120 million Americans" says Matt. Count me as part of the 180 million Americans that don't celebrate that tradition. Some blonde girl from MTV called Cheyenne (I thought it was Chayanne, as in the Puerto Rican singer, at first) tries to maintain her coolness while performing around a bunch of football mascots. Did you really want a singing career that desperately?
Retro (read: AARP nostalgia) float: Darlene Love manages to perform without looking awkward while still embracing some hokum. She gets cut off by Cokehead Announcer. The best performance so far.
Commercials: Isn't Identity just an update of What's My Line?
Charlotte's Web float: Sarah McLachlan tries to maintain her dignity on a float surrounded by kids and a big pig looming over her head. I don't think anyone could manage that. She barely gets cut off by Meredith to talk about the new "healthy" Mr. Potato Head float.
This is our country, kids; Mr. Potato Head is being used as a symbol of healthy living.
Americana Overload float: The question lingering in my head is whether they would dare cut off the USAF Marching band and Renee Fleming singing "America the Beautiful." They didn't, but Cokehead Announcer jumps in very quickly to mention that Barry Manilow is coming up.
Boy, this parade has fallen on hard times.
For some reason they are running this parade extremely quickly. Everything is blink-or-you'll-miss it. On the upside, the cringe inducing numbers don't have that long to unnerve.
Random New York float: Barry Manilow gestures angrily to somebody on the float, then switches on the syrup to "sing" "What the world needs now." Based on the anger and the fact that he was "on" so quickly after looking pissed off, I would never want to get on his bad side. Barry does not get cut off, but he also didn't sing a full version.
Matt & Meredith mention John Tartaglia (Shock! Openly gay famous person), but unless he's turned into the Pillsbury Dough Boy, I don't see him. Also on the Pillsbury float, some people from some production of White Christmas that I've never heard of. They get cut off quickly.
Polar Express (boy, are they trying to get their money back on that): Somebody called Natalie Grant sings some dirge about "believing." She gets about 90-120 seconds and is not cut off. Whoever scheduled the appearances this year messed up royally.
Santa Claus arrives after a tacky dance sequence and Meredith meekly says "I'm so excited."
Am I getting older or was it always so anticlimactic?
Al Roker keeps his mouth blissfully shut as they sign off.
Apparently this is the 80th Parade, and I steel myself for constant mentions of it.
Then deep-voiced cokehead (because he's just that animated) announcer man starts reeling off the names of the "celebrities" appearing in this year's parade, and all I have to say is "DENISE VAN OUTEN?" Ms. Jay Kay-shagging-Maxim-staple?
Is there some sort of US welfare for '90s British television staples? Sean Maguire is on The Class, Cat Deeley is on some show on Fox, and now Denise Van Outen is attacking US television.
Camp Broadway [the double entendre] does some inane number about "give me a drum," without actually having any drums whatsoever, and we go to commercials.
NBC plug #1: Heroes. The amount of desperation in the three actors is palpable from space. It's like Al Roker has to try to push them off screen.
Oh, jesus! A Chorus Line. Well, I already said my piece about the revival at AfterElton, and transposed to Herald Square makes it look even more pitiful. Go away now.
NBC plug #2: Friday Night Lights. Maria Celeste interviews an actress from the show and treats it like a political interview. It's kind of cringe-inducing, but mostly boring. One nitpicking thing I have with that show is that it's depressing to see a bunch of people who peak at high school. Schadenfreude, but still depressing.
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas performs. I like to think--and my mother backed me up on this--that I had more of a grip on reality as a child, so that trifle like this would not appeal to me whatsoever. That aside, I think the Chuck Jones animated special was good enough, this just screams naked greed.
Cokehead announcer says "this dramatic view of New York is from the top of Rockefeller Center." What the television audience sees: low level clouds and a faint outline of a building. Absolutely stirring, I tell you.
After commercials, there's a video piece with Martin Short tracing the route of the parade by helicopter: 1) He's looking old--especially on HD; 2) I actually used to be indifferent to him, but since his musical has opened, I can't stand him and his mugging, ironic or not.
The Colour Purple: Eh.
NBC plug #3: ER and Maura Tierney, who has been promo'd like crazy. It's the first plug today that didn't seem like it was blatantly begging people to watch them.
After commercials, Al Roker chills my blood by saying that there's a revival of Grease and they are turning the auditions for the leads into a television show--on NBC, of course--hosted by...Denise Van Outen. Denise looks no different than she did in the nineties.
The horror of that announcement marinates in me throughout Spamalot's performance. By the way, Spamalot doesn't seem all that interesting without any star power. (And for those in the New York television market, the new ads just prove that even more.)
Commercials: Even though I grew up in the 1980's, there is no way you can make me believe that Izod is sexy, because I still think of uptight yuppies thinking of ways to get rich off of others' labour.
Matt & Meredith intro The Rockettes and I have to say that Meredith is kind of a non-entity. Maybe it was the raspy voice and sub-textual bitchy comments that Katie Couric kept throwing in, but she did seem to add something extra to the show. By the way, I'm continually amazed that people kicking their legs up in sync manages to impress people.
The parade arrives in Herald Square with lots of rain pouring on The Rockettes. There's a metaphor there, but I'm buggered if I can find it at the moment.
One thing that is good about all the rain is that for the people still in my neighbourhood, the foot traffic is not as horrid as it could be.
The Post Office float has some people from some show called High School Musical which I have never heard of, but I'm not hip, especially not to things Disney. Fortunately, the Cokehead Announcer cuts them off a minute into singing.
Local commercials: Generally daytime television in Milwaukee has commercials for "cash advances" and injury lawyers. Today, it is nothing but ads for Farm & Fleet and Menards. Feel the Wisconsin-ness.
After commercials, Julie Andrews sings on top of a golden goose. I say singing, but she's more talk-singing than anything else. Still, a valiant effort and justly rewarded with applause.
I'm developing some sympathy for the participants since it looks like it's pouring down, but then they bring out some daft children's singing act going on about bumblebees. Mother Nature is just expressing her opinion.
Barbie float: Whoever is playing Barbie is going to have serious facial pain from grinning that widely for so long.
Matt makes mention of the 1926 Macy's Parade Queen. What he doesn't say is that these days the Macy's Parade Queens number in the hundreds and few of them are female. (I'm sorry, but the joke was just too tempting.)
Marching bands: Are there any marching bands that aren't from the South or the West? Surely, there are some from the Tri-State.
Oklahoma float: Sandi Patty is still around? Or is that Kim Zimmer? Either way, I don't think you could write such a rising anthem about Wisconsin.
Commercials: We Are Marshall makes me think of "We Are Legion."
Sesame Street Float: More welfare for aging performers. Seriously, a significant amount of the humans on the float have been on that show since I was born.
Synergy plug: "Vote for your favourite float on iVillage," says Matt. "What would anyone get out of that?" says Hikaru.
Some random PBS float: Another pre-pubescent faux-rock group that I have never heard of. Befitting the ADD generation, their song snippet lasts about 30 seconds.
Animal Planet & NBC plug (because they're airing that dog show) float: They cut off Gloria Estefan! Gutsy.
The Dora the Explorer balloon is flying awfully low and threatening to knock out another tourist from Albany.
Tutenstein (NBC Plug!) float: Diana Degarmo performs with the Phoenix Boys Choir. It's saccharine, but considering that last year featured Jai Rodriguez singing "King Tut" uncensored and after Madonna (you go, girl!) gave a brilliant and bleep laden performance last night on NBC, I can understand the rationale.
This show is full of filler when you get down to it. A perfect example of this is the fact that there is a jump roping team. Al Roker joins Matt & Meredith in the booth to introduce a bunch of Cartoon Network characters butchering "A Little Help from my friends." Absolute filler, I tell you.
Some random Rhinoceros float: I don't get Chris Brown, but puberty looks like it's going to be mean to him.
Commercials: The Apprentice is going to premiere on January 7, along with that acrid Grease show. January 7th is the day that television died...on NBC. I do not pay attention to David Blaine's stupid stunts, but if he is suspended in the air over Hell's Kitchen, I am very glad that I'm not there getting annoyed as well as getting drunk.
Royal Caribbean float: Ciara is lip-syncing her butt off, and as Clay Cane astutely pointed out: Ciara & Wanda Sykes look exactly the same. Nonetheless, those evil people at GE cut. her. off!
Marching Band update: Well apparently Indiana bucks the South & West monopoly.
Hershey's Float: My lack of hipness continues since I have no idea who RBD is, platinum album sales or not. It's a ballad so my curiosity is negligible. They get cut off as well. Would it kill NBC to let people perform for at least a minute?
Cokehead announcer says "don't touch that dial." I haven't seen a dial on a television in over a decade.
Marching Band update: NYPD marching band. Is this the only Tri-State representation? For shame.
And this is a weak year if I'm paying any attention at all to the marching bands. Al Roker makes a "Battery Park" joke in reference to the Energizer Bunny. Please lobotomise him, somebody.
New York float: Hall & Oates. The unspoken theme of this year's parade is "The Eighties Have Come Back with a vengeance." Hall & Oates get an extra 30 seconds for some bizarre reason.
Hess float: Some scruffy man with a guitar and a grin surrounded by a bunch of people wearing traffic signs. They should legalise LSD for occasions like this. Scruffy gets cut off by the Cokehead Announcer. Conspiracy Theorists start your engines!
Football float: "A tradition for 120 million Americans" says Matt. Count me as part of the 180 million Americans that don't celebrate that tradition. Some blonde girl from MTV called Cheyenne (I thought it was Chayanne, as in the Puerto Rican singer, at first) tries to maintain her coolness while performing around a bunch of football mascots. Did you really want a singing career that desperately?
Retro (read: AARP nostalgia) float: Darlene Love manages to perform without looking awkward while still embracing some hokum. She gets cut off by Cokehead Announcer. The best performance so far.
Commercials: Isn't Identity just an update of What's My Line?
Charlotte's Web float: Sarah McLachlan tries to maintain her dignity on a float surrounded by kids and a big pig looming over her head. I don't think anyone could manage that. She barely gets cut off by Meredith to talk about the new "healthy" Mr. Potato Head float.
This is our country, kids; Mr. Potato Head is being used as a symbol of healthy living.
Americana Overload float: The question lingering in my head is whether they would dare cut off the USAF Marching band and Renee Fleming singing "America the Beautiful." They didn't, but Cokehead Announcer jumps in very quickly to mention that Barry Manilow is coming up.
Boy, this parade has fallen on hard times.
For some reason they are running this parade extremely quickly. Everything is blink-or-you'll-miss it. On the upside, the cringe inducing numbers don't have that long to unnerve.
Random New York float: Barry Manilow gestures angrily to somebody on the float, then switches on the syrup to "sing" "What the world needs now." Based on the anger and the fact that he was "on" so quickly after looking pissed off, I would never want to get on his bad side. Barry does not get cut off, but he also didn't sing a full version.
Matt & Meredith mention John Tartaglia (Shock! Openly gay famous person), but unless he's turned into the Pillsbury Dough Boy, I don't see him. Also on the Pillsbury float, some people from some production of White Christmas that I've never heard of. They get cut off quickly.
Polar Express (boy, are they trying to get their money back on that): Somebody called Natalie Grant sings some dirge about "believing." She gets about 90-120 seconds and is not cut off. Whoever scheduled the appearances this year messed up royally.
Santa Claus arrives after a tacky dance sequence and Meredith meekly says "I'm so excited."
Am I getting older or was it always so anticlimactic?
Al Roker keeps his mouth blissfully shut as they sign off.
Monday, November 20, 2006
The Splash-View Post-Mortem: This Is How I Reckon The World Works
Bet you weren't expecting another one so soon.
The fact of the matter is that my general m.o. when faced with an early morning departure is to just stay up all night. Since I already spend a lot of time at home, I figured why not just go out.
So I did.
Apparently, Splash on Sunday nights has a dance contest. I dutifully watched and waited for it to end so I could just listen to the music and bop my head along.
It was during this dance contest that I stepped upon a personal epiphany.
The American gay world in general is geared towards one type and one type only: GWMs aged 30-35, with a height of 5'7"-5'10", lean bodies, with a skin tone between slight pink to lightly tan.
Everyone else is basically their playthings, or entertainment, or learns to derive their pleasure within that spectrum.
And you know what? That's alright.
I don't at all agree that this is the way things should be, but for the time being (and it is a short time), I can live within these parameters.
Primarily because I know (not hope, but know) that this is going to change within my lifetime.
On a completely superficial note, if you play "Pride (A Deeper Love)" on repeat twice in a row, it's damn near spiritual. Could we declare that our anthem?
The fact of the matter is that my general m.o. when faced with an early morning departure is to just stay up all night. Since I already spend a lot of time at home, I figured why not just go out.
So I did.
Apparently, Splash on Sunday nights has a dance contest. I dutifully watched and waited for it to end so I could just listen to the music and bop my head along.
It was during this dance contest that I stepped upon a personal epiphany.
The American gay world in general is geared towards one type and one type only: GWMs aged 30-35, with a height of 5'7"-5'10", lean bodies, with a skin tone between slight pink to lightly tan.
Everyone else is basically their playthings, or entertainment, or learns to derive their pleasure within that spectrum.
And you know what? That's alright.
I don't at all agree that this is the way things should be, but for the time being (and it is a short time), I can live within these parameters.
Primarily because I know (not hope, but know) that this is going to change within my lifetime.
On a completely superficial note, if you play "Pride (A Deeper Love)" on repeat twice in a row, it's damn near spiritual. Could we declare that our anthem?
Sunday, November 19, 2006
The View-Splash Post-Mortem: When Red Eyes Goes Out
Originally, the plan was to have 4 drinks over at The View and be done with it.
Unfortunately several things came together to make it a bigger night than it should've been. For starters, there's this new guy over at The View who seems to personify the definition of robotic twink. Factor in the upspeaking fag hags and after 2 Twisted Teas I was out of there.
I was going to go to Splash only if there was a short or no line whatsoever. Goddamit, there was practically no line, so I had to. The only people in front of me were a group of fags mit hags who apparently were shocked that Men's Night charged $40 for women. (Well, it's called Men's Night! Don't tell me you were expecting your hags to get in cheaply at a gay bar.) Grudgingly, they all came in as a group a priori my own entrance, which ultimately wound up being a good thing since the bouncer/doorman & I wound up having a very interesting (albeit one-sided) conversation:
Doorman: Like these white people couldn't pay?
Me: (courtesan laugh)
Doorman: You know, I saw Amistad and was pissed off.
Me: I know what you mean.
Doorman: I say pay, dammit. You get more money than we do, so you can pay.
Me: (courtesan laugh)
And I got in.
Now, I had no idea it was leather night, and in general, that thought would fill me with dread, since I had no leather on (nor would I, since I don't own any standard leather "accessories").
But there was an upside! That upside being that I really love the intense music that plays on leather nights. So I was bopping my head like a crazy man throughout the night.
I situated myself in a non-Brat area and was served by a bartender who I'll call J. J & I get along very well. Perhaps it's flirtatious (more on his part than mine), but at the end of the day, J likes me...probably because I'm so damn simple to figure out drink-wise: "Corona" and that's all.
Now while I seated in a non-Brat area, it did not mean that I was immune to The Brat since he had just gotten off his shift and he really likes showing off for J. So The Brat got onto one of the podiums generally used for go-go boys and shook his thing ad nauseam. He actually wound up being a pleasant distraction since I was sandwiched between a pair of "fabulous" friends and a new couple or two guys who were horny as hell for each other.
I'll admit it, I can get jealous. I am constantly trying to figure out what the criteria of the ideal guy is for me: I want him to be whip smart so we can debate public affairs, but with a high degree of sexual experience so that he has several surprises up his sleeve; he should be able to get as shallow as I can get without spending too much time there; and frankly, he should realise how much more stock I put in post-coital conversation than anything we do in bed.
And it kind of freaks me out when I realise just who could fit this criteria, but I'd have no problem making that leap mind you...if I'm on his radar.
Nonetheless, all I can say is that I'm happy I made it home in the condition I wanted to: solitary.
Unfortunately several things came together to make it a bigger night than it should've been. For starters, there's this new guy over at The View who seems to personify the definition of robotic twink. Factor in the upspeaking fag hags and after 2 Twisted Teas I was out of there.
I was going to go to Splash only if there was a short or no line whatsoever. Goddamit, there was practically no line, so I had to. The only people in front of me were a group of fags mit hags who apparently were shocked that Men's Night charged $40 for women. (Well, it's called Men's Night! Don't tell me you were expecting your hags to get in cheaply at a gay bar.) Grudgingly, they all came in as a group a priori my own entrance, which ultimately wound up being a good thing since the bouncer/doorman & I wound up having a very interesting (albeit one-sided) conversation:
Doorman: Like these white people couldn't pay?
Me: (courtesan laugh)
Doorman: You know, I saw Amistad and was pissed off.
Me: I know what you mean.
Doorman: I say pay, dammit. You get more money than we do, so you can pay.
Me: (courtesan laugh)
And I got in.
Now, I had no idea it was leather night, and in general, that thought would fill me with dread, since I had no leather on (nor would I, since I don't own any standard leather "accessories").
But there was an upside! That upside being that I really love the intense music that plays on leather nights. So I was bopping my head like a crazy man throughout the night.
I situated myself in a non-Brat area and was served by a bartender who I'll call J. J & I get along very well. Perhaps it's flirtatious (more on his part than mine), but at the end of the day, J likes me...probably because I'm so damn simple to figure out drink-wise: "Corona" and that's all.
Now while I seated in a non-Brat area, it did not mean that I was immune to The Brat since he had just gotten off his shift and he really likes showing off for J. So The Brat got onto one of the podiums generally used for go-go boys and shook his thing ad nauseam. He actually wound up being a pleasant distraction since I was sandwiched between a pair of "fabulous" friends and a new couple or two guys who were horny as hell for each other.
I'll admit it, I can get jealous. I am constantly trying to figure out what the criteria of the ideal guy is for me: I want him to be whip smart so we can debate public affairs, but with a high degree of sexual experience so that he has several surprises up his sleeve; he should be able to get as shallow as I can get without spending too much time there; and frankly, he should realise how much more stock I put in post-coital conversation than anything we do in bed.
And it kind of freaks me out when I realise just who could fit this criteria, but I'd have no problem making that leap mind you...if I'm on his radar.
Nonetheless, all I can say is that I'm happy I made it home in the condition I wanted to: solitary.
More Quotes from Stage Struck
(Buy this book.)
On "Tolerance:"
The breadth of ideas permitted into the popular discourse is extremely narrow--yet these restrictions are accompanied by a rhetoric of "diversity." This contradiction, a narrow range of ideas presented as a broad range of ideas, has come to be known as "tolerance" and is now an intrinsic component of how dominant-culture people feel about themselves, how they rationalize their privileges and justify their own false sense of objectivity. Today we face a "tolerance" defined by the diminishment of the minority and the heroization of the majority, a "tolerance" that simply acknowledges that the minority exists and that claims that acknowledgement as an act of generosity. The fact that this minor recognition is the result of the suffering and insistence of millions of gay and lesbian people over centuries is completely erased.
Et tu, MySpace "bisexual" men?
On marketing and subculture:
The rapidity with which newly articulated identities get channeled into marketing is an interesting one. It is a postmodern affirmative action employment plan--designed, not with the purpose of social equity in mind but to give marketing companies direct-pipeline access to information about emerging consumer niches. The campaigns are increasingly created by design teams that include at least one representative individual from the particular consumer category in question, who works inside the marketing industry. Their job is to take their knowledge of the source community, to engage its sensibility and wrap that around the desire for specific products, presented in such a way as to acknowledge the codes of the particular niche. The presence of these representative individuals in the industry allows for a contained upward mobility, even though the larger marketing structure is controlled by dominant-culture people. Most seductively, the presence of these individuals in the industry allows their previously overlooked or excluded community a veneer of normalcy by the fact if being represented in the marketplace, which is now a measure of American citizenship.
True in 1998, even more true in 2006.
And finally, on marketing "rebellion:"
Millions and millions of product dollars are earned by convincing white straight young males that they are actually outlaws and therefore not responsible for the system that benefits them. The advertising offers them a way out of that responsibility without losing any of their privileges, if they purchase and display particular products that have been coded as oppositional. Gay men, on the other hand, who are concretely rejected by the government and by their families...are not described [by niche marketing firms] in outsider terminology. Instead they are defined by normative purchases. By going against the grain of gay men's real experience [niche marketing firms] offer themselves and gay consumers an illusory normalcy that fits both of their needs.
Again, it was true in 1998 and even moreso now. Look at how often various gay men either claim allegiance to or independence from other gay men by virtue of what they do and do not own. You can see it online, and you can hear it in on the street.
In addition, the statement about advertising offering "a way of that responsibility without losing any of their privileges" can be expanded to explain the many ways that some former liberals (moderate and radical) proceed to become arch-conservative without undergoing a crisis of conscience. They don't think that they are being inconsistent, because they made the appropriate generational rebellious choices. They believe that they have maintained that magnanimous outlook, because they bought the right things (including ideology) at that time, when what they really have done is just proved that they have been self-obsessed at all stages of their lives.
On "Tolerance:"
The breadth of ideas permitted into the popular discourse is extremely narrow--yet these restrictions are accompanied by a rhetoric of "diversity." This contradiction, a narrow range of ideas presented as a broad range of ideas, has come to be known as "tolerance" and is now an intrinsic component of how dominant-culture people feel about themselves, how they rationalize their privileges and justify their own false sense of objectivity. Today we face a "tolerance" defined by the diminishment of the minority and the heroization of the majority, a "tolerance" that simply acknowledges that the minority exists and that claims that acknowledgement as an act of generosity. The fact that this minor recognition is the result of the suffering and insistence of millions of gay and lesbian people over centuries is completely erased.
Et tu, MySpace "bisexual" men?
On marketing and subculture:
The rapidity with which newly articulated identities get channeled into marketing is an interesting one. It is a postmodern affirmative action employment plan--designed, not with the purpose of social equity in mind but to give marketing companies direct-pipeline access to information about emerging consumer niches. The campaigns are increasingly created by design teams that include at least one representative individual from the particular consumer category in question, who works inside the marketing industry. Their job is to take their knowledge of the source community, to engage its sensibility and wrap that around the desire for specific products, presented in such a way as to acknowledge the codes of the particular niche. The presence of these representative individuals in the industry allows for a contained upward mobility, even though the larger marketing structure is controlled by dominant-culture people. Most seductively, the presence of these individuals in the industry allows their previously overlooked or excluded community a veneer of normalcy by the fact if being represented in the marketplace, which is now a measure of American citizenship.
True in 1998, even more true in 2006.
And finally, on marketing "rebellion:"
Millions and millions of product dollars are earned by convincing white straight young males that they are actually outlaws and therefore not responsible for the system that benefits them. The advertising offers them a way out of that responsibility without losing any of their privileges, if they purchase and display particular products that have been coded as oppositional. Gay men, on the other hand, who are concretely rejected by the government and by their families...are not described [by niche marketing firms] in outsider terminology. Instead they are defined by normative purchases. By going against the grain of gay men's real experience [niche marketing firms] offer themselves and gay consumers an illusory normalcy that fits both of their needs.
Again, it was true in 1998 and even moreso now. Look at how often various gay men either claim allegiance to or independence from other gay men by virtue of what they do and do not own. You can see it online, and you can hear it in on the street.
In addition, the statement about advertising offering "a way of that responsibility without losing any of their privileges" can be expanded to explain the many ways that some former liberals (moderate and radical) proceed to become arch-conservative without undergoing a crisis of conscience. They don't think that they are being inconsistent, because they made the appropriate generational rebellious choices. They believe that they have maintained that magnanimous outlook, because they bought the right things (including ideology) at that time, when what they really have done is just proved that they have been self-obsessed at all stages of their lives.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Quotes for the Week
Techincally these should go on The Story The Person, since they are writing-based, but I think these quotes have a lot to say about present-day pop culture (in all formats).
From Sarah Schulman's Stage Struck:
On gay themes in theatre:
"It seems as though the post-Angels in America theatrical condition is a profoundly retrograde one. Because homosexuality and AIDS have been normalized as the province of heterosexual writers, gay writers are pressured back into metaphor, euphemism, and code. In other wordsm straight writers can now use AIDS and homosexuality to assert their universality while gay writers must obscure the same subjects to ensure theirs. That is not equality."
On Philadelphia:
"It is shocking that an entire film could be built on this premise [that a gay lawyer would go to homophobic lawyer, because there are no gay lawyers], which is not only absurd but grossly ahistorical, since the abandonment of people with AIDS by heterosexual society is the most historically significant factor in the initial escalation of the crisis in the United States...Gay lawyers were among the first professional sectors to respond to the epidemic. In other words, not only was the premise of Philadelphia false, it was the opposite of the actual truth. Yet this film was highly rewarded and made huge, moral claims. Throughout the film, gay people are vulnerable, weak, and alone. We take a back seat while the heroic straight people protect us and defend us. In the end of the film, Hanks dies happy."
And a quote that I just flat-out agree with:
"For the record, I find the reflective, "best"--female friend charater (a.k.a. "fag hag") to be a profoundly annoying mainstay of gay male artwork, and it is upsetting to see it picked up in a heterosexual man's play [David Rabe's A Question of Mercy] about gay life. But in a way, her presence reveals that the piece is written more from other representations of AIDS and gay life than from lived experience. Because in the real world, unlike in most work by and about gay men, a heterosexual woman who is a close friend of a gay man also has a life of her own."
From Sarah Schulman's Stage Struck:
On gay themes in theatre:
"It seems as though the post-Angels in America theatrical condition is a profoundly retrograde one. Because homosexuality and AIDS have been normalized as the province of heterosexual writers, gay writers are pressured back into metaphor, euphemism, and code. In other wordsm straight writers can now use AIDS and homosexuality to assert their universality while gay writers must obscure the same subjects to ensure theirs. That is not equality."
On Philadelphia:
"It is shocking that an entire film could be built on this premise [that a gay lawyer would go to homophobic lawyer, because there are no gay lawyers], which is not only absurd but grossly ahistorical, since the abandonment of people with AIDS by heterosexual society is the most historically significant factor in the initial escalation of the crisis in the United States...Gay lawyers were among the first professional sectors to respond to the epidemic. In other words, not only was the premise of Philadelphia false, it was the opposite of the actual truth. Yet this film was highly rewarded and made huge, moral claims. Throughout the film, gay people are vulnerable, weak, and alone. We take a back seat while the heroic straight people protect us and defend us. In the end of the film, Hanks dies happy."
And a quote that I just flat-out agree with:
"For the record, I find the reflective, "best"--female friend charater (a.k.a. "fag hag") to be a profoundly annoying mainstay of gay male artwork, and it is upsetting to see it picked up in a heterosexual man's play [David Rabe's A Question of Mercy] about gay life. But in a way, her presence reveals that the piece is written more from other representations of AIDS and gay life than from lived experience. Because in the real world, unlike in most work by and about gay men, a heterosexual woman who is a close friend of a gay man also has a life of her own."
Friday, November 17, 2006
Iroiro (this-and-that)
- Wisconsin faces a brain drain, according to 365Gay, and rightly so considering that a slim idiot majority is now voting. (Of course, in my home county there has always been a high idiot majority.)
- This whole Delta-US Airways merger talk is absolutely crazy. For starters, I'm happy that US Airways is now bouncing out of bankrupcy--after being swallowed by the even smaller America West, but smart business sense does not include being cocky. I say interline, mesh yourselves together via an alliance, but for the love of god, DO NOT MERGE! If anything, Delta ought to reposition itself as a domestic trunk routes only carrier with a slew of international destinations. (In other words, Pan Am for the new millenium.) Conversely, US Airways should give up most of its international routes and become the lead interregional airline which has always been its strength both as US Airways and as America West. All that aside, I actually think a Northwest-Continental merger is not that bad of an idea, though the fleet standardisation (Airbus versus Boeing) would be killer.
- President Tommy "Crying-at-the-Wisconsin-State-Fair-because-they-don't-like-me-in-DC" Thompson? God, I hope not. McCarthy ought to be proof enough that Wisconsin Republicans should not be allowed to run amok in national politics.
- Eye Update: The bruises are still there, and have left me with a rather nice look: Half of each eye is white, the other half is red. I personally like it (but I don't want it to be permanent), and my refusal to wear sunglasses--especially on a cloudy day--briefly scared a little child at Macy's yesterday. Life is good.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
The XES-View Post-Mortem: Unfit In Love, But Optimistic
It might explain a lot about me if I tell you that one of my favourite films is Sweet Charity.
I don't know why, but the whole idea of remaining defiantly optimistic in the face of a world that says otherwise, appeals to me. I like to think that any time that the world says "no," it's really just saying "rethink." So I do.
I wasn't really planning to go out tonight, but I thought, "listen, you've got two big red sploshes in your eye...who cares?" And indeed, who does?
The first stop off was XES, where I realised that even my jaded self could still be taken in by mere sleight-of-hand, literally: There was a patron there who also did magic tricks such as punching a hole through a dollar bill (only to have the dollar bill reappear unscathed) and levitate a dollar bill. On a conscious level, I knew that these all involved being able to replace one dollar bill with another as well as the ability to use physics, but I didn't care. I wanted to believe in it, and I did.
Since I was without my beloved Chasers this evening, I cut myself off at XES after 2 Hard Lemonades prior to heading off to The View.
It was on the walk there where I found myself drifting off into ex-love land.
Perhaps "ex-love" is too dramatic a word, but "ex-possibility" sounds too clinical.
I was thinking of P, the designer whose world-weariness and sarcasm captured me for two years and whose coldness led me to do something that I never do: base a character on him in a play.
Then there's T, the accidental activist who fought for Equality in Wisconsin with his ex, and continued the fight after they broke up. I had hoped to be the salve for his wounds, but ultimately wound up being the salt, since you can never fairly compete with a memory. (There's much more to that story, but I won't go further without his consent.)
And G, who seemed to be fully engaged in my life, eagerly interested, and could make me laugh...and I had to go ruin it by becoming infatuated with someone who could never be that, or even allow himself to consider it. (Made all the more ironic by the fact that one of truths that I hold dear is that infatuations have a way of always being a letdown in the odd chance that they become reality.)
Perhaps the cosmos has a way of reading the subconscious, since when I got to The View, I wound up in a conversation with a man who was HIV+ and bemoaning his fate. Now, one of my best friends is HIV+ and an optimist that would put Annie to shame. In fact, my encounters and friendship with HIV+ guys have been ones that celebrate every single experience that life gives you, because you learn to put it in perspective.
Not this guy, he seemed to want the world to be his virtual Wailing Wall. Unfortunately for him, neither I nor the bartender were having it.
Now if you think we managed to change his mind, you're wrong. All we really did was just express ourselves and our world view: aka the "glass is full" rule. 2 against 1 adds to a big shot of "shut the hell up."
And he did...with his whining.
So with Ken Hirai playing away on the Zen , I went back home and I started to ponder: "Is it right to believe that one day someone will come along to soothe away all these ghosts?"
Yes, it is okay to believe that.
It boils down to this, I reckon: If you accept that every encounter you have with another person is unique and can rock your world, then any ache is open to being healed. Likewise, there will be someone who can best out the Ps, Ts, and Gs, and be wholly original in their own right.
And he'll come when you least expect it, but are fully prepared for it.
I don't know why, but the whole idea of remaining defiantly optimistic in the face of a world that says otherwise, appeals to me. I like to think that any time that the world says "no," it's really just saying "rethink." So I do.
I wasn't really planning to go out tonight, but I thought, "listen, you've got two big red sploshes in your eye...who cares?" And indeed, who does?
The first stop off was XES, where I realised that even my jaded self could still be taken in by mere sleight-of-hand, literally: There was a patron there who also did magic tricks such as punching a hole through a dollar bill (only to have the dollar bill reappear unscathed) and levitate a dollar bill. On a conscious level, I knew that these all involved being able to replace one dollar bill with another as well as the ability to use physics, but I didn't care. I wanted to believe in it, and I did.
Since I was without my beloved Chasers this evening, I cut myself off at XES after 2 Hard Lemonades prior to heading off to The View.
It was on the walk there where I found myself drifting off into ex-love land.
Perhaps "ex-love" is too dramatic a word, but "ex-possibility" sounds too clinical.
I was thinking of P, the designer whose world-weariness and sarcasm captured me for two years and whose coldness led me to do something that I never do: base a character on him in a play.
Then there's T, the accidental activist who fought for Equality in Wisconsin with his ex, and continued the fight after they broke up. I had hoped to be the salve for his wounds, but ultimately wound up being the salt, since you can never fairly compete with a memory. (There's much more to that story, but I won't go further without his consent.)
And G, who seemed to be fully engaged in my life, eagerly interested, and could make me laugh...and I had to go ruin it by becoming infatuated with someone who could never be that, or even allow himself to consider it. (Made all the more ironic by the fact that one of truths that I hold dear is that infatuations have a way of always being a letdown in the odd chance that they become reality.)
Perhaps the cosmos has a way of reading the subconscious, since when I got to The View, I wound up in a conversation with a man who was HIV+ and bemoaning his fate. Now, one of my best friends is HIV+ and an optimist that would put Annie to shame. In fact, my encounters and friendship with HIV+ guys have been ones that celebrate every single experience that life gives you, because you learn to put it in perspective.
Not this guy, he seemed to want the world to be his virtual Wailing Wall. Unfortunately for him, neither I nor the bartender were having it.
Now if you think we managed to change his mind, you're wrong. All we really did was just express ourselves and our world view: aka the "glass is full" rule. 2 against 1 adds to a big shot of "shut the hell up."
And he did...with his whining.
So with Ken Hirai playing away on the Zen , I went back home and I started to ponder: "Is it right to believe that one day someone will come along to soothe away all these ghosts?"
Yes, it is okay to believe that.
It boils down to this, I reckon: If you accept that every encounter you have with another person is unique and can rock your world, then any ache is open to being healed. Likewise, there will be someone who can best out the Ps, Ts, and Gs, and be wholly original in their own right.
And he'll come when you least expect it, but are fully prepared for it.
This Is My New State Assemblyman
Is this Wisconsin or Taliban-era Afghanistan? I'm confused.
I am being represented in Madison by a crazy former meterologist.
Amongst his beliefs:
I am being represented in Madison by a crazy former meterologist.
Amongst his beliefs:
- Support for the reinstatement of the death penalty
- "Ethical discussion" on stem cell research
- Allowing citizens to carry concealed weapons
I have a big problem with the last one. If you've ever seen what a whole bunch of soccer moms and Rotary members high off of lutefisk, beer, bratwurst, and hairspray are capable of, you do not want these people armed.
And you just know they won't get the death penalty. (And you know who will.)
The American Healthcare System At Work
One of my favourite movie sequences is from The Twelve Tasks of Asterix, wherein Asterix and Obelix go searching for a form inside a huge Roman bureaucracy entitled "The House That Drives You Mad."
Sample dialogue:
Bureaucrat 1: I can't give you form B, without form C. You'll have to go upstairs for form C.
Bureaucrat 2: They didn't give you form C downstairs? Alright, but first you have to fill out form B. Go downstairs.
And so on and so forth.
Today, I went over to a eye hospital (I'm not saying where) to see if the redness in my eyes was pinkeye or something that required serious care.
Since I can see perfectly, I first go into the huge snaking line downstairs marked "Outpatient Registration." (This is at 10 am, for reasons that will become apparent later.) 5 minutes in, an employee canvassing the line (in order for it to move faster), pulls me aside and says that I should go upstairs to Triage. I go upstairs to Triage, wait in another line for 2 minutes, only to be told that the actual "Triage" section is around the corner. I go around the corner, wait 5 minutes only to be told to sign my name in a book and wait to be called.
I dutifully sign the book and wait 10 minutes for my name to be called. My name is called and I head into a room where I'm asked the standard medical questions (fever, cold, medication, etc.) and have my blood pressure and temperature taken. (Both normal, by the way.) Then I'm told to go into another area and wait.
I wait there for 5 minutes until my name is called. Another nurse collects me and takes me into another room where my vision is checked and again, I'm asked the standard medical questions. She then gives me a set of forms and instructs me to go back down to Outpatient Registration and hand them to the employee canvassing the line.
That's right, literally go back to where I came from.
I give the forms to the employee canvassing the line, who gives me a congenial look that tells me that he was expecting my return. He gives me another set of forms to fill out with a dull pencil. I fill them out. He then announces to the rest of the line: "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm sorry, but this is an emergency patient and due to hospital policy, he must be served first." I'm subsquently escorted to the front of the line, to do something which I could've accomplished 22 minutes ago.
At registration, I'm asked about my insurance and social status for about 10-12 minutes through a tinny speaker. After parting smiles with several new forms and shiny red card with my name on it, I'm then sent back upstairs to another section, where I wait in line for 5 minutes to give the card and forms to the receptionist. In a bit of comic irony, these vaulted forms are received with a perfunctory "please sit down over there."
And I sit.
And I sit.
And I sit some more.
When I start pondering how insane this system is considering that I've been labelled an "emergency" patient, the receptionist calls my name and has me fill out another form.
I was rather struck by the repetitiveness of the forms. They all ask me my birth date, name, medical provider, and how long I've been having the trouble. Do they not read the forms they ask people to give them? Does one slip of paper have a different meaning than the other? It seemed more like an action to pass the time rather than provide necessary information.
After a 30 minute wait, I'm finally called into a room and meet with an attending doctor who again runs vision tests on me that are the exact spitting image of the ones I had earlier. Then I'm treated to a fresh hell I have never experienced before: having my eyelids flipped. I did not do this as a child and I do not do this as an adult. I don't know if it's the shape of my eyelids, but it was having chlorine rush into your eyes. Painful.
The intern then puts eyedrops in my eyes to dilate them. She chides me for not keeping both eyes open. I have no trouble sympathising with her--since it's clearly evident that everyone there is overworked--but at the same time, it is not the easiest thing to keep both eyes open when someone is dropping something that stings into your eyeball.
I'm just saying.
An attending doctor comes in and does pretty much the same thing: look left, look right, look up, look down, let's flip your lid again.
He then talks mostly to the intern, saving only the same standard medical questions for me. (Don't you people talk about this beforehand?) The intern drops even more dilating fluid into my eyes and has me do the look left, look right dance again with both tearing and twitching eyes open.
Then I'm told to wait outside for 20 minutes for the dilating fluid to kick in.
Oh, joy.
The intern comes and picks me up again and we go into the same examination room from whence we came. More of the look left, look right dance. Another attending comes in and does the same. This one is rather mean because he doesn't even warn me when he flips my eyelids.
The ultimate diagnosis: subconjunctival hemorrage. No need to do anything but just let it clear up, but "would you follow up with us?"
I nod my head because I'm supposed to, but in all honesty, there's no way on god's green earth I'm going to go back there and through that maze for a follow up visit.
So what have we learned here, Charlie Brown?
Well, I reckon it's that the pass-the-buck nature of HMOs and other trappings of American healthcare wherein profits trump people has created a pointless bureaucracy where people spend more time telling others the when, if, and how they're going to pay as opposed to actually getting treated.
Either that or the next time you think you might be sick, just stay at home and wish it away.
By the way, remember that I started this process at 10 am? I left there at 1:59 pm, complete with blurry drunk vision from having my pupils dilated.
Sample dialogue:
Bureaucrat 1: I can't give you form B, without form C. You'll have to go upstairs for form C.
Bureaucrat 2: They didn't give you form C downstairs? Alright, but first you have to fill out form B. Go downstairs.
And so on and so forth.
Today, I went over to a eye hospital (I'm not saying where) to see if the redness in my eyes was pinkeye or something that required serious care.
Since I can see perfectly, I first go into the huge snaking line downstairs marked "Outpatient Registration." (This is at 10 am, for reasons that will become apparent later.) 5 minutes in, an employee canvassing the line (in order for it to move faster), pulls me aside and says that I should go upstairs to Triage. I go upstairs to Triage, wait in another line for 2 minutes, only to be told that the actual "Triage" section is around the corner. I go around the corner, wait 5 minutes only to be told to sign my name in a book and wait to be called.
I dutifully sign the book and wait 10 minutes for my name to be called. My name is called and I head into a room where I'm asked the standard medical questions (fever, cold, medication, etc.) and have my blood pressure and temperature taken. (Both normal, by the way.) Then I'm told to go into another area and wait.
I wait there for 5 minutes until my name is called. Another nurse collects me and takes me into another room where my vision is checked and again, I'm asked the standard medical questions. She then gives me a set of forms and instructs me to go back down to Outpatient Registration and hand them to the employee canvassing the line.
That's right, literally go back to where I came from.
I give the forms to the employee canvassing the line, who gives me a congenial look that tells me that he was expecting my return. He gives me another set of forms to fill out with a dull pencil. I fill them out. He then announces to the rest of the line: "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm sorry, but this is an emergency patient and due to hospital policy, he must be served first." I'm subsquently escorted to the front of the line, to do something which I could've accomplished 22 minutes ago.
At registration, I'm asked about my insurance and social status for about 10-12 minutes through a tinny speaker. After parting smiles with several new forms and shiny red card with my name on it, I'm then sent back upstairs to another section, where I wait in line for 5 minutes to give the card and forms to the receptionist. In a bit of comic irony, these vaulted forms are received with a perfunctory "please sit down over there."
And I sit.
And I sit.
And I sit some more.
When I start pondering how insane this system is considering that I've been labelled an "emergency" patient, the receptionist calls my name and has me fill out another form.
I was rather struck by the repetitiveness of the forms. They all ask me my birth date, name, medical provider, and how long I've been having the trouble. Do they not read the forms they ask people to give them? Does one slip of paper have a different meaning than the other? It seemed more like an action to pass the time rather than provide necessary information.
After a 30 minute wait, I'm finally called into a room and meet with an attending doctor who again runs vision tests on me that are the exact spitting image of the ones I had earlier. Then I'm treated to a fresh hell I have never experienced before: having my eyelids flipped. I did not do this as a child and I do not do this as an adult. I don't know if it's the shape of my eyelids, but it was having chlorine rush into your eyes. Painful.
The intern then puts eyedrops in my eyes to dilate them. She chides me for not keeping both eyes open. I have no trouble sympathising with her--since it's clearly evident that everyone there is overworked--but at the same time, it is not the easiest thing to keep both eyes open when someone is dropping something that stings into your eyeball.
I'm just saying.
An attending doctor comes in and does pretty much the same thing: look left, look right, look up, look down, let's flip your lid again.
He then talks mostly to the intern, saving only the same standard medical questions for me. (Don't you people talk about this beforehand?) The intern drops even more dilating fluid into my eyes and has me do the look left, look right dance again with both tearing and twitching eyes open.
Then I'm told to wait outside for 20 minutes for the dilating fluid to kick in.
Oh, joy.
The intern comes and picks me up again and we go into the same examination room from whence we came. More of the look left, look right dance. Another attending comes in and does the same. This one is rather mean because he doesn't even warn me when he flips my eyelids.
The ultimate diagnosis: subconjunctival hemorrage. No need to do anything but just let it clear up, but "would you follow up with us?"
I nod my head because I'm supposed to, but in all honesty, there's no way on god's green earth I'm going to go back there and through that maze for a follow up visit.
So what have we learned here, Charlie Brown?
Well, I reckon it's that the pass-the-buck nature of HMOs and other trappings of American healthcare wherein profits trump people has created a pointless bureaucracy where people spend more time telling others the when, if, and how they're going to pay as opposed to actually getting treated.
Either that or the next time you think you might be sick, just stay at home and wish it away.
By the way, remember that I started this process at 10 am? I left there at 1:59 pm, complete with blurry drunk vision from having my pupils dilated.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
The Splash-View Post-Mortem: Entitlement
Tonight's drunken stumble back home brought to you by Kumi Koda, who I reckon would probably not come close to being as obnoxious as some people that I encountered at The View.
There are few things that stoke my ire like entitlement. I just cannot comprehend what goes through people’s minds that cause them to believe that the place they are in can adapt to them, as opposed to adapting to the patrons.
The night started off at Splash, oddly enough in The Brat’s section (wow, has he muted himself) . I plopped myself down and ordered myself a Corona. Well, at that moment a guy—who I’ll call The Grabber—sat down next to me. The Grabber told me that he had only recently moved to New York from LA, because he missed the street life and interaction. I fully agree, that is one of the things that I love about urban life. Amidst several, very flattering statements about my attractiveness, he proceeded to grab my shoulders, neck, back, and even my scalp to "massage" them.
Now, I have had massages before, but none were quite as "firm" as his. If a "massage" was supposed to involve the Vulcan Death Grip, it is news to me. This man attacked my corpus as if it was the last food on Earth and he was starving. A wise man would tell him to ease up, but I've always operated differently. The way I show someone that they are barking up the wrong tree is that I show that I am unaffected by whatever they are doing. That way--I reckon--the transgressor learns and I can get relief without embarassing either of us.
Unfortunately, The Grabber didn't pick this up. So at this moment, I've got a bruised shoulder, back, and oblique muscles from his "massage." Even now they feel very raw and tender.
Still, I don't lay all the blame at The Grabber, but instead at myself. Inside of me, I still see the chunky teenager who believes that any attention is good attention, despite the fact that the present me, really just wants to have his drinks, listen to others, and stay an observer.
In all honesty, the whole time that The Grabber was brutalising my body, I was strictly focused on a bartender in another section: Mr. Glasses. I have tried for years to ascertain what my "type" is, and Mr. Glasses comes extremely close to it. He wears rimmed glasses and has a (likely steroided--this is Splash) physique which combined with the glasses just makes me weak-in-the knees. I'm almost embarassed since nine times out of ten, I need to have a sense of personality before launching into lust mode, but Mr. Glasses does it to me and I have yet to exchange any words with him at all.
I think I'm probably too scared to do so. See, that's the funny thing about lust objects: You find yourself wanting to get closer and closer to them, but when the time to talk to them comes about, you lose all sense. In short, I'm too chicken to actually sit in his section. I know that I could not at all register on his radar (why would I?) beyond the patron/bartender dynamic, but still I can't help myself from wanting to at least catch a glimpse. At least dreaming about him gives me a modicum of euphoria, that is probably better than any real interaction. (A dream coming true always has a way of becoming a letdown, such is the power of the human lust.)
After a slightly cunning escape from The Grabber (involving the fact that Splash only serves Mike's Lemonade downstairs), I made my way over to The View.
Well, The View was quite more crowded than I reckoned it would be. (Damn you, Roxy, for being shut this weekend.) It was jammed pack full of that combination that drives me up a wall: eunuch gays and their fag hags. Even worse, it also had the several examples of the people I try to avoid: fag hags in search of a fag for the night.
Remember how I mentioned "entitlement" at the top? Well, this is where it comes into play: Now I fully understand that many times you just want to be out with your girls and be left alone by any lecherous straight males. Fair point and I totally believe in that. It crosses the line, however; when you try to drag me into it, because you feel: A) uncomfortable (welcome to the world of being gay in a straight world), B) deluded to the point that you think engaging me into your car-crash of a self-absorbed life is a sign of being magnamious.
Note: It isn't.
Seriously, at a gay bar, sometimes I just want to look at scenery and imagine. Sometimes, I just want to listen to the videos. At no time do I want to play happy eunuch to you and your girlfriend, while you coo over the bartender that you have deemed your "best friend," after knowing him for 10 minutes.
Another note: not all gay men know each other. Just because I'm near the bartender and standing (primarily because you went and took a seat before I could), does not that mean I know him. I'd hate to shatter the comfortable worldview you have, but let's be honest here--apart from drag queens, very few GWMs in their 20s know GBMs and vice versa. It's not right, but that's the way things are in this country. I hope--nay, I pray--that things will change before I die, but that's the ugly truth. So no, I do not know the bartender that you are cooing over, I just want to have my Twisted Tea, and since I'm flying solo and this is the sole spot (not seat, but spot) where I can have it, I'm having it right here.
After debunking that the secret gay fraternity doesn't exist, the two upseaking women proceed to tell me that they are lawyers and my age. Like I care. I'm much more interested in the video that's playing than anything they have to say. They don't care, since apparently they are the queens of the night, and I should feel humbled in their presence. They ask me my name. I tell them "Hikaru."
There are few things that stoke my ire like entitlement. I just cannot comprehend what goes through people’s minds that cause them to believe that the place they are in can adapt to them, as opposed to adapting to the patrons.
The night started off at Splash, oddly enough in The Brat’s section (wow, has he muted himself) . I plopped myself down and ordered myself a Corona. Well, at that moment a guy—who I’ll call The Grabber—sat down next to me. The Grabber told me that he had only recently moved to New York from LA, because he missed the street life and interaction. I fully agree, that is one of the things that I love about urban life. Amidst several, very flattering statements about my attractiveness, he proceeded to grab my shoulders, neck, back, and even my scalp to "massage" them.
Now, I have had massages before, but none were quite as "firm" as his. If a "massage" was supposed to involve the Vulcan Death Grip, it is news to me. This man attacked my corpus as if it was the last food on Earth and he was starving. A wise man would tell him to ease up, but I've always operated differently. The way I show someone that they are barking up the wrong tree is that I show that I am unaffected by whatever they are doing. That way--I reckon--the transgressor learns and I can get relief without embarassing either of us.
Unfortunately, The Grabber didn't pick this up. So at this moment, I've got a bruised shoulder, back, and oblique muscles from his "massage." Even now they feel very raw and tender.
Still, I don't lay all the blame at The Grabber, but instead at myself. Inside of me, I still see the chunky teenager who believes that any attention is good attention, despite the fact that the present me, really just wants to have his drinks, listen to others, and stay an observer.
In all honesty, the whole time that The Grabber was brutalising my body, I was strictly focused on a bartender in another section: Mr. Glasses. I have tried for years to ascertain what my "type" is, and Mr. Glasses comes extremely close to it. He wears rimmed glasses and has a (likely steroided--this is Splash) physique which combined with the glasses just makes me weak-in-the knees. I'm almost embarassed since nine times out of ten, I need to have a sense of personality before launching into lust mode, but Mr. Glasses does it to me and I have yet to exchange any words with him at all.
I think I'm probably too scared to do so. See, that's the funny thing about lust objects: You find yourself wanting to get closer and closer to them, but when the time to talk to them comes about, you lose all sense. In short, I'm too chicken to actually sit in his section. I know that I could not at all register on his radar (why would I?) beyond the patron/bartender dynamic, but still I can't help myself from wanting to at least catch a glimpse. At least dreaming about him gives me a modicum of euphoria, that is probably better than any real interaction. (A dream coming true always has a way of becoming a letdown, such is the power of the human lust.)
After a slightly cunning escape from The Grabber (involving the fact that Splash only serves Mike's Lemonade downstairs), I made my way over to The View.
Well, The View was quite more crowded than I reckoned it would be. (Damn you, Roxy, for being shut this weekend.) It was jammed pack full of that combination that drives me up a wall: eunuch gays and their fag hags. Even worse, it also had the several examples of the people I try to avoid: fag hags in search of a fag for the night.
Remember how I mentioned "entitlement" at the top? Well, this is where it comes into play: Now I fully understand that many times you just want to be out with your girls and be left alone by any lecherous straight males. Fair point and I totally believe in that. It crosses the line, however; when you try to drag me into it, because you feel: A) uncomfortable (welcome to the world of being gay in a straight world), B) deluded to the point that you think engaging me into your car-crash of a self-absorbed life is a sign of being magnamious.
Note: It isn't.
Seriously, at a gay bar, sometimes I just want to look at scenery and imagine. Sometimes, I just want to listen to the videos. At no time do I want to play happy eunuch to you and your girlfriend, while you coo over the bartender that you have deemed your "best friend," after knowing him for 10 minutes.
Another note: not all gay men know each other. Just because I'm near the bartender and standing (primarily because you went and took a seat before I could), does not that mean I know him. I'd hate to shatter the comfortable worldview you have, but let's be honest here--apart from drag queens, very few GWMs in their 20s know GBMs and vice versa. It's not right, but that's the way things are in this country. I hope--nay, I pray--that things will change before I die, but that's the ugly truth. So no, I do not know the bartender that you are cooing over, I just want to have my Twisted Tea, and since I'm flying solo and this is the sole spot (not seat, but spot) where I can have it, I'm having it right here.
After debunking that the secret gay fraternity doesn't exist, the two upseaking women proceed to tell me that they are lawyers and my age. Like I care. I'm much more interested in the video that's playing than anything they have to say. They don't care, since apparently they are the queens of the night, and I should feel humbled in their presence. They ask me my name. I tell them "Hikaru."
"Wow, that's so cool. Are you Japanese?"
"No, I'm not. I just have a Japanese name."
"That's so cool. I want my children to have Japanese names, even though I'm not."
What am I supposed to do? Wave a banner and say "that's great?"
A welcomed lull in the conversation leads them to point out that the "fat" bartender (as opposed to the twink in our section) doesn't seem to jive with that environment, even though one of the women states that she dates "fat guys."
Now was that called for? Isn't she Mother Theresa?
I tell them that if it wasn't for a "fat guy" (aka my father), I wouldn't exist.
"Oh, yeah, that's like so true."
All I can say is thank god for my bladder being full at that time. After I relieved it, I finished my 2nd Twisted Tea and got the hell out of Dodge.
Lo these many years later, people still have trouble reading others.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Colour Me Befuddled
Very interesting editiorial in today's Journal Sentinel. Apparently, bigots (especially ones in their thirties and forties) will vote bigotry in Wisconsin and then make sane choices when it comes to representation.
At least Sensenbrenner isn't as cocky this time around.
Personally, I just want to know how Arizona defeated the marriage ban, but Wisconsin didn't.
At least Sensenbrenner isn't as cocky this time around.
Personally, I just want to know how Arizona defeated the marriage ban, but Wisconsin didn't.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
The Election 2006 Post-Mortem
Well, hasn't this been an interesting evening?
From a national perspective, it certainly seems that the majority of Americans believe that we are headed in the wrong direction, and it's now our duty to correct it. (And by the way, YAY Bernie Sanders, finally a Socialist in government!)
Then, there's Wisconsin.
Doyle won over the noxious Mark Green.
Kohl won over...well, some band of idiots.
Another band of idiots put Sensenbrenner back, for reasons that I cannot fathom, but then again, he still had 3 people running against him, an amount of opposition candidates in that race the likes I have never seen.
Some idiot from DePere thought Wisconsin should reinstate the death penalty (last seen in 1853!) and apparently found another group of sociopaths to agree with him. (Honestly, I have no strong opinion on the death penalty, but if Dahmer didn't cause it to return, then it should be left that way. Fortunately, this was "advisory"--unlike another referendum--and is unlikely to pass with Doyle now re-elected.)
The former weatherman from WTMJ is barely winning his asinine bid for State Assembly.
Even with the weatherman, Sensenbrenner, and the Death Penalty, it was that first amendment result that stung the most.
I want to thank all the bigots who apparently forgot that they have unmarried heterosexual and homosexual friends and children (in a state where same-sex marriage is already illegal) and went and still passed a ban that takes away any protections for them.
That's right, no rights.
In a referendum shepherded by a divorce lawyer.
Just think about that.
Also think about the brain-drain that will leave the state because of it.
Think about the conventions, corporations, and innovators that will not even consider for one second moving to the state because of it.
Think about the fact that you voted for shotgun marriages over actual loving ones.
Think about the vision of the state of Wisconsin that you have in mind.
And realise that when all is said and done, you have consigned us to being insignificant.
You weren't voting against gays getting married. You were voting against simple human respect and decency to one another.
"Forward," indeed.
From a national perspective, it certainly seems that the majority of Americans believe that we are headed in the wrong direction, and it's now our duty to correct it. (And by the way, YAY Bernie Sanders, finally a Socialist in government!)
Then, there's Wisconsin.
Doyle won over the noxious Mark Green.
Kohl won over...well, some band of idiots.
Another band of idiots put Sensenbrenner back, for reasons that I cannot fathom, but then again, he still had 3 people running against him, an amount of opposition candidates in that race the likes I have never seen.
Some idiot from DePere thought Wisconsin should reinstate the death penalty (last seen in 1853!) and apparently found another group of sociopaths to agree with him. (Honestly, I have no strong opinion on the death penalty, but if Dahmer didn't cause it to return, then it should be left that way. Fortunately, this was "advisory"--unlike another referendum--and is unlikely to pass with Doyle now re-elected.)
The former weatherman from WTMJ is barely winning his asinine bid for State Assembly.
Even with the weatherman, Sensenbrenner, and the Death Penalty, it was that first amendment result that stung the most.
I want to thank all the bigots who apparently forgot that they have unmarried heterosexual and homosexual friends and children (in a state where same-sex marriage is already illegal) and went and still passed a ban that takes away any protections for them.
That's right, no rights.
In a referendum shepherded by a divorce lawyer.
Just think about that.
Also think about the brain-drain that will leave the state because of it.
Think about the conventions, corporations, and innovators that will not even consider for one second moving to the state because of it.
Think about the fact that you voted for shotgun marriages over actual loving ones.
Think about the vision of the state of Wisconsin that you have in mind.
And realise that when all is said and done, you have consigned us to being insignificant.
You weren't voting against gays getting married. You were voting against simple human respect and decency to one another.
"Forward," indeed.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
This Is My Homeland
I received my absentee ballot today and apart from the fact that there is still not a single Democrat or even non-Republican running for any of the county seats, I am presented with several very odd things.
- The Republican running in my state assembly district is the former weatherman from Channel 4. And he's qualified, how?
- When did the Greens become such a formidable force that they can run a full slate of candidates for statewide office? Even for the US House of Representatives!
- Sensenbrenner must really not be that well-liked since there are 3 other candidates for his job (a Democrat, a Green, and an Independent).
- There's a death penalty referendum. Honestly, I thought this was done and decided and over with in Wisconsin. If we didn't kill Dahmer, we're not killing anyone...at least not on purpose.
- Ozaukee County for some bizarro reason has decided to put a referendum on the ballot that states: "Do you support the efforts of the United States and its military in waging a war on terror throughout the world, including Iraq and Afghanistan, until such time as organized terrorism is eliminated and citizens of all countries can be assured of their safety to go about their tasks of everyday life?" I dub this referendum the "pixies and unicorns referendum," because you would have to believe in them in order to actually think that any sane person would think that "organized terrorism" would ever be eliminated and that "citizens of all countries can be assured of their safety to go about their tasks of everyday life."
By the way, O wise GOP legislators of Ozaukee County, considering that the Mequon police cannot even use their Homeland Security equipment properly (and subsquently killing someone in the process), you are living in some delusional land divorced from any sort of reality to what has transpired globally in the past two years.
Then again, reality has never had much currency in Ozaukee County anyway.
Vote or Shut Up
If during the past two you have ever complained about the following:
- Traffic
- Homophobia
- Lack of employment
- Iraq
- Iran
- The President
- Smoking Bans
- Congress
- The Homeless
- Bar Closing Time
- Public Schools
- Mass Transit
- The Airlines
- Amtrak
- Healthcare
- Cost of living
- Tuition
- The MPAA/ESRB
- Music and TV Downloading
- Copyrights
...but aren't planning to vote tomorrow, I would suggest that you tape your mouth shut and restrain your fingers, because you have absolutely no moral authority to complain.
Some might say "well, it doesn't matter since Diebold (et. al.) already have the election decided." To that I say a very loud and resounding "SO FUCKING WHAT?" There are few times in our lives where we as individuals can say "this is my view of the world and this is how I feel this country should go." Take advantage of it. Discrepancies will out, believe me. Get a paper ballot if you can.
Do you not know how many people of all colours and genders died for the right for you to participate in this process? Thousands, if not millions. Nonetheless, the last midterm election saw a rate of only 40% of eligible voters participating. That is flat out disgusting and disrespectful.
The world is changing for the better, but it will not complete this change if we do not do our part at the ballot box.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Splash-The View Post-Mortem: It Does Keep You Runnin'
But what is it?
Seriously, I listened to that song several times over and I couldn't identify what "it" was that The Doobie Brothers were singing about.
Anyway, despite a runny nose and a sore throat I dragged myself over to Splash for several reasons:
Seriously, I listened to that song several times over and I couldn't identify what "it" was that The Doobie Brothers were singing about.
Anyway, despite a runny nose and a sore throat I dragged myself over to Splash for several reasons:
- I was not going to be out on Tuesday night, aka Election Return Night.
- Having stayed in on the previous Tuesday night, I was anxious to go out proper.
It was a good thing that I did, since I wound up meeting my ultimate challenger.
I think everybody should at some point in their life meet someone who challenges them to defend their world view and apparently tonight was night my night.
I'll call my challenger "J." J was initially introduced to me by an acquaintance of his (one of only a hour as I would learn later), who encouraged me to go talk to him. Being of the mind that if someone honestly thinks that me talking to them is a thrill, then I should go and do it, I gladly did so. Well, that opened Pandora's Box!
It turned out that J was a Socialist and from Chicago to boot. He also shared my ability to go in deep and profound when it came to conversation. For starters, I told him that I try to keep a low profile whenever I go out, so that I can better observe and overhear people. J wasn't having it! He barraged me with a litany of questions as to "why" I tried to be non-descript, and how could I "pretend" to be non-descript when I stand out. (This was meant as a compliment...as was the fact that I am "complicated.")
Until he felt my scalp, he truly believed that I got my hair cut specifically for tonight. In all honesty, I got my hair cut on Thursday because by that time it had grown enough during the intervening month and a half.
As I unknowingly poured out my id to him, J began to draw conclusions:
- I'm polite up to a certain point and then I chose stay because I'm stimulated.
- I have no sense of how I appear to the outside world.
- I'm polite, but still disingenuous.
- I'm lying to myself when I say that no one can violate my box who I don't know well. (Well, trust in a certain aforementioned crush to come in at that second and a give me a hug and a grope during that conversation.)
What scared me the most is that J was spot on. Being true to myself and my gut, I left at that moment to go drown my sorrows in a Twisted Tea and a shot of Jagermeister at The View.
And now, all is semi-right with the world.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
And another one comes out
Cross Neil Patrick Harris off of this list, he's now publicly out as well.
Sean Hayes, the pipes are calling you.
Sean Hayes, the pipes are calling you.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Thursday Jukebox Gives Honourable Mention
...to the runner up to the Election 2006 theme song: "Guild" by Bump of Chicken.
(Yes, that is the band's actual name, and it makes no sense to me either.)
"Guild" would've won it in a landslide, except that there's a bit of a disconnect between the lyrics and the video.
Although you could argue that a bunch of twentysomethings swaying in unison is a "job" of some sort.
(Yes, that is the band's actual name, and it makes no sense to me either.)
"Guild" would've won it in a landslide, except that there's a bit of a disconnect between the lyrics and the video.
Although you could argue that a bunch of twentysomethings swaying in unison is a "job" of some sort.
Thursday Jukebox Has Election 2006 Theme Songs
The way I see it we are either Astro Boy...
Or the doomed cast of Ideon, who I must add do get reborn after being blown to smithereens.
In other words, good does triumph over all. The only setback being distracted by the present.
Or the doomed cast of Ideon, who I must add do get reborn after being blown to smithereens.
In other words, good does triumph over all. The only setback being distracted by the present.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
For Your All Saints Day Reading Pleasure
Granted since I grew up "secular non-demonational Christian" I have no idea what All Saints Day is about, but I had to think of a title to tie in with the article I wrote for AfterElton.
Enjoy.
Enjoy.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Let's Just Mummify Children Until They Turned 18
I realise that it is difficult being a parent these days, but honestly, some people are just being way too over protective when it comes to nursery rhymes.
I heard these things growing up and I didn't turn out traumatised.
And I don't know what sort of Precious Moments life the people in Sleepy Hollow live, but they need to get over themselves pronto.
I heard these things growing up and I didn't turn out traumatised.
And I don't know what sort of Precious Moments life the people in Sleepy Hollow live, but they need to get over themselves pronto.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Are The Times A-Changin'
My jar nearly dropped in astonishment when I read Mike Nichols's recent editorial in The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel that points out what a lot of pro-amendment advocates forget: it's about people's lives.
Brilliant.
Brilliant.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Sunday Jukebox Wishes It Was 1984
I like to think that we're living in a right-wing version of 1984, the book, when I'd much rather be living in 1984 the anime year.
But maybe, that's just me, since I've been known to sing "Dreamy My Love"* when drunk.
* I know it's not a slit your wrists type of ballad, but it's the exception that proves my rule.
But maybe, that's just me, since I've been known to sing "Dreamy My Love"* when drunk.
* I know it's not a slit your wrists type of ballad, but it's the exception that proves my rule.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
It's Baaaaack
Just in time for Thanksgiving, The Closet is being reissued in a Platinum Edition Box Set.
Relive the wonders of:
"She said you were sleeping with her...and her husband (SLAP)"
"I'm not gonna be yuh secret anymor-ah"
"His grandson is a homosechsual"
and of course:
"I want to wake up every morning and see that black ass that belongs to me"
Noah's Arc is our Julia, and The Closet is our Mommie Dearest.
My recapping abilities are saved for Eurovision season, but I'd highly suggest that you get a group of your friends (the ones you can queen out with), some alcohol, and pop this in the DVD player.
Relive the wonders of:
"She said you were sleeping with her...and her husband (SLAP)"
"I'm not gonna be yuh secret anymor-ah"
"His grandson is a homosechsual"
and of course:
"I want to wake up every morning and see that black ass that belongs to me"
Noah's Arc is our Julia, and The Closet is our Mommie Dearest.
My recapping abilities are saved for Eurovision season, but I'd highly suggest that you get a group of your friends (the ones you can queen out with), some alcohol, and pop this in the DVD player.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
The Splash-View Post-Mortem: Who said weirdness was limited to the 31st?
For starters, I want you to imagine the opening theme song to Galvion playing on a loop when you read this, because that's exactly what I was doing.
First, let's begin at Splash, because I did. I have come to an interesting revelation about The Cypriot. He makes sense when you are talking with someone, because I wound up chucking my observer routine tonight due to a very eager Spaniard* who engaged me in conversation downstairs. It's hard to focus on what others are saying when someone is feeling up your calves, and that's all I'm saying. The Cypriot came in to take my drink order at just the right lulls.
* I don't know what it is with Spain, Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, but apparently the locals are very intrigued by American blacks.
After the Spaniard left, I made my way upstairs where there was a HUGE backdrop with the logo for BETJ. I want you to process this for a second: a backdrop for BET's Jazz Channel was at Splash, one of the whitest bars in existence even on its "ethnic" night. (Seriously, it is, especially with this new "Ocean" theme.) Unfortunately, I never got a chance to ask what the connection was, but rest assured that for the remaining 2 drinks I had there I was trying to figure out why it was there. All I can come up with is that it is possible that BETJ was plugging Dance Diva #8907 in whatever way possible.
It certainly attracted a very...um...scenester crowd. Apart from the odd man who always dances at Splash with his herky-jerky reaching movements (if you've been, then you know who I'm referring to here), there were a few groups of Noah's Arc clones swaying to the various songs, eager to dance, but too self-conscious to actually go onto the centre of the dancefloor.
Normally, I would've taken that as a sign to do a runner to The View, but since Shequida bought me a shot (why, I do not know) , it seemed rude to do so. Plus, I am trying out those Chaser hangover pills tonight; so, I reckoned I could play with fire to some degree. Not to mention, the weirdness of seeing a group of gay white men congregate around a sign for BETJ was worth it.
Duties complete, I made it over to The View, which was relatively tranquil and playing music videos by that time. After hearing the young, kind bartender go on about his lovelife (unsolicited, I must add), I got involved--against my nature--in being the kindly ear to a man go on about the differences between '70s gay life and present and the subsequent parallels between that and modern black gay life. I get it, no need to remind me.
By time La Ryan's "Alive" came on, I knew it was time to go. Midnight or Kate Ryan, I always say.
First, let's begin at Splash, because I did. I have come to an interesting revelation about The Cypriot. He makes sense when you are talking with someone, because I wound up chucking my observer routine tonight due to a very eager Spaniard* who engaged me in conversation downstairs. It's hard to focus on what others are saying when someone is feeling up your calves, and that's all I'm saying. The Cypriot came in to take my drink order at just the right lulls.
* I don't know what it is with Spain, Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, but apparently the locals are very intrigued by American blacks.
After the Spaniard left, I made my way upstairs where there was a HUGE backdrop with the logo for BETJ. I want you to process this for a second: a backdrop for BET's Jazz Channel was at Splash, one of the whitest bars in existence even on its "ethnic" night. (Seriously, it is, especially with this new "Ocean" theme.) Unfortunately, I never got a chance to ask what the connection was, but rest assured that for the remaining 2 drinks I had there I was trying to figure out why it was there. All I can come up with is that it is possible that BETJ was plugging Dance Diva #8907 in whatever way possible.
It certainly attracted a very...um...scenester crowd. Apart from the odd man who always dances at Splash with his herky-jerky reaching movements (if you've been, then you know who I'm referring to here), there were a few groups of Noah's Arc clones swaying to the various songs, eager to dance, but too self-conscious to actually go onto the centre of the dancefloor.
Normally, I would've taken that as a sign to do a runner to The View, but since Shequida bought me a shot (why, I do not know) , it seemed rude to do so. Plus, I am trying out those Chaser hangover pills tonight; so, I reckoned I could play with fire to some degree. Not to mention, the weirdness of seeing a group of gay white men congregate around a sign for BETJ was worth it.
Duties complete, I made it over to The View, which was relatively tranquil and playing music videos by that time. After hearing the young, kind bartender go on about his lovelife (unsolicited, I must add), I got involved--against my nature--in being the kindly ear to a man go on about the differences between '70s gay life and present and the subsequent parallels between that and modern black gay life. I get it, no need to remind me.
By time La Ryan's "Alive" came on, I knew it was time to go. Midnight or Kate Ryan, I always say.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Some House Business
If you've noticed this link to The Story The Person and wondered what it is, well, it's basically the flip side of this corner of the internet, or rather, the processed side of me which some would call emotional, but since I'm an Aquarian it's more like the Splenda version of feelings*, if you will.
*Aquarians don't feel. We analyse.
Here is going to be the home of alcohol-induced sociological observations, Anime nostalgia, Eurovision, political and cultural opinion, and other pop culture tidbits.
Over there is where the playwright comes out periodically to run amok: Character notes, writing observations, occasional diary entries, all that jazz is over there. Some truth, some fiction, and the lines between the two will be blurred at random.
*Aquarians don't feel. We analyse.
Here is going to be the home of alcohol-induced sociological observations, Anime nostalgia, Eurovision, political and cultural opinion, and other pop culture tidbits.
Over there is where the playwright comes out periodically to run amok: Character notes, writing observations, occasional diary entries, all that jazz is over there. Some truth, some fiction, and the lines between the two will be blurred at random.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Saturday Jukebox Says WTF?
Since I'm on a Tomino kick today, I looked into one of Tomino's recent shows: Overman King Gainer.
All I have to say is that artistically, I liked him better when he was all depressed and nihilistic, although I'm happy that he's better, of course. Still, look at this opening and tell me this isn't a warning to take the happy pills in moderation:
Go-go dancing robots? "Metal Full Coat?" Oh yes, makes as much sense as this.
Conversely, Lambchop singing the hits of Judy Garland doesn't seem all that far-fetched at all. In fact, it makes you say "ahhh, bless."
All I have to say is that artistically, I liked him better when he was all depressed and nihilistic, although I'm happy that he's better, of course. Still, look at this opening and tell me this isn't a warning to take the happy pills in moderation:
Go-go dancing robots? "Metal Full Coat?" Oh yes, makes as much sense as this.
Conversely, Lambchop singing the hits of Judy Garland doesn't seem all that far-fetched at all. In fact, it makes you say "ahhh, bless."
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Space: So What?
I was watching Wanda Sykes's new comedy special recently and she said that the space programme was "welfare for really smart people, who are so smart that they are worthless." The more I think about it, her comments really reflect the sort of ambivalence that many people have today over Space in general. I have no problem admitting that I'm pretty ambivalent about it as well.
The funny thing is that a lot of my own writing style and character development was inspired in great part from Leiji Matsumoto and especially Yoshiyuki Tomino's space operas, even though I don't write anything that has a science-based theme. A few days ago, I was wactching several old anime TV opening sequences, and it is interesting to note just how the use of space has gone from something that inspired awe and whimsy in the 1980's to being rather anonymous in the present day.
Note the way that it's presented in the opening for Bismark.
And several years later in the 2nd opening for Zeta Gundam.
Compare those with these two opening sequences from Gundam Seed & and its sequel Gundam Seed Destiny (2002 & 2004, respectively):
Who'd ever think that anime sci-fi would start turning inward?
The funny thing is that a lot of my own writing style and character development was inspired in great part from Leiji Matsumoto and especially Yoshiyuki Tomino's space operas, even though I don't write anything that has a science-based theme. A few days ago, I was wactching several old anime TV opening sequences, and it is interesting to note just how the use of space has gone from something that inspired awe and whimsy in the 1980's to being rather anonymous in the present day.
Note the way that it's presented in the opening for Bismark.
And several years later in the 2nd opening for Zeta Gundam.
Compare those with these two opening sequences from Gundam Seed & and its sequel Gundam Seed Destiny (2002 & 2004, respectively):
Who'd ever think that anime sci-fi would start turning inward?
Another Reason to Vote
Stories are being lost courtesy of congress cutting money.
Watch to find out more, and visit SaveDeafTheatre.
Watch to find out more, and visit SaveDeafTheatre.
Friday, October 20, 2006
And now who?
T.R. Knight is now out, and perhaps the time is coming that a line is being drawn in the sand where people realise that to play along with the closeting and bearding is basically claiming that being gay is something to be ashamed of.
So who is next?
Jorja Fox?
George Eads?
Eric Szymanda?
Wanda Sykes?
Neil Patrick Harris?
Only time and character will tell.
So who is next?
Jorja Fox?
George Eads?
Eric Szymanda?
Wanda Sykes?
Neil Patrick Harris?
Only time and character will tell.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Observations from the Elliptical Trainer
- Now that WNBC has moved Megan Mullally's show up against The View, the 11-12noon hour is probably the gayest hour on broadcast television. This is a very good thing.
- Today probably had the most segments with gay sensibility as well with Megan hosting Eric Mabius (Ugly Betty, The L Word) , Mario Vazquez, and Shelley Morrison (Rosario from Will & Grace), and The View hosting Julian Macmahon and Ruben Studdard.
- As much as everyone talks about Ruben's weight loss, something is still awry because he shouldn't be sweating like he's in the desert before he starts singing.
- Why did Julian wear that cap? It made him look like he was in the throes of a midlife crisis.
- Who were those two dancing bimbos that Mario Vazquez had onstage with him? They had no rhythm. (And I should know about that, since I have none myself.)
- The View & Megan Mullally were being aired on neighbouring televisions, so it looked like Eric Mabius were a gay couple being interviewed by 3 hosts talking in tandem.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Does This Seem A Bit Misguided To You As Well?
I'm not saying that this is in poor taste, because it isn't...but at the same time, I just don't think that a gay news website should run an AP story about stripping marines and not add a comment about "Don't Ask Don't Tell."
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Friday Jukebox Says You Will Respect Anna Oxa
Attention wannabe ballad singers: Until you can give a performance like this, you will never be taken seriously...at least by me.
Because Anna has been at it since 1978, and only improving.
Because Anna has been at it since 1978, and only improving.
Friday, October 13, 2006
When Bad Theatre Happens Nearby
Every single cliche about gay theatre wrapped in a shoddy knockoff of The Dying Gaul.
I'm just sayin'
I'm just sayin'
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Umm...Okay
Well, I haven't heard it on either VH1 or MTV, nor have I seen it in Splash, nor heard it on KTU, but according to ESCToday, Helena Paparizou is #11 on Billboard's Dance & Regular charts with "My Number One."
I know things move slow in this country, but a song from Spring 2005 only just hitting the charts in Fall 2006? Something's fishy.
I know things move slow in this country, but a song from Spring 2005 only just hitting the charts in Fall 2006? Something's fishy.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
It's Just You & Me, Clive
The revival of A Chorus Line has now premiered and based on the reviews I've seen so far, Clive Barnes of The Post and myself saw one show and Gus Solomons Jr. of The Gay City News saw some other revival of A Chorus Line which seemed to be appearing simultaneously at the same theatre.
Funny that.
Update: Guess who also sides with us? Ben Brantley of The Times. (Link may require registration)
Funny that.
Update: Guess who also sides with us? Ben Brantley of The Times. (Link may require registration)
Friday, October 06, 2006
It Makes You Wonder
Ever wonder why Wisconsin is a swing state?
By the way, my home district is #5, home of the idiot Sensenbrenner.
By the way, my home district is #5, home of the idiot Sensenbrenner.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Thursday Jukebox Praises Donna Summer
I remember listening to "This Time I Know It's For Real" and wishing that I was in my twenties and going to big city nightclubs.
Oh well, it's always 1989 in my mind.
And the video version
Oh well, it's always 1989 in my mind.
And the video version
Friday, September 29, 2006
Good Day New York: Good Morning Queens
Subversive or not, I am calling Good Day New York the gayest morning show on local television. Everyone on it is basically a queen, regardless of sexual orientation: There is Uber Queen, Jodi Applegate, who rules the roost and let's everyone know it; then there's Junior Queen, Ron Corning, who would be as powerful as Applegate if was there as long as she was; Weather Queen, Mike Woods does his best Al Roker-meets-Shemar Moore imitation ("oh gosh, li'l ol' me? I'm not trying to be a sex symbol); then there's Traffic Queen Stacy-Ann Gooden, who must have a huge legion of fans since I can't see how she gets into the promos when Lucy Noland doesn't; and finally there is News/Single Parent Queen Lucy Noland, who eerily resembles Ann Curry (even down to ethnicity) and often is the only person to mention that they have a life outside of the studio...in her case, it comes down to her being single with a bad dating pool.
Then there are two princesses: Anne Craig, who always seemed awkward doing hard news and then was put on the cute beat ("Anne About Town"), fortunately; and Mark Joyella, who actually was quite good on hard news, but transitioned pretty well to the Dave Price (read: jester) slot, since you know Mike Woods was never ever in a million years allow himself to act foolish oncamera. Interestingly, Joyella is the only man of unknown sexual orientation on this show, however, this show is so fused with a gay sensibility that he winds up coming off sexually ambiguous as a result. (This is a good thing in my book. I think we need more shows with a gay sensibility.)
Good Day New York follows the established format of virtually all morning shows: news, weather, traffic, infotainment, and repeat. What it excels in, however; is in personality--way more than CW11's Morning News or even Today. The anchors are extremely casual. Normally this is the kiss of death in news, but in morning news, this is an asset. As I type this, Applegate & Corning are doing the financial report with a man from Fox Business News and it sounds more like a watercooler conversation than a cut and dry business report.
This is followed by Anne Craig at the inventors' convention that was profiled on Today a few days ago. Being local as opposed to national news, Muhammad has to go to the mountain here (I am relishing using that expression to describe a Fox show), and Craig is at the Javits Center, cavorting along with the president of Wired Media. I don't know how she does it, but I could never get even close to her degree of perkiness at 7:40 in the morning. I couldn't be that upbeat at noon.
Mike Woods does the weather every ten minutes on Good Day New York, and I think I should probably explain why I aim for Mike Woods everytime I refer to this show on this piece of the internet. Quite frankly, I don't buy his schtick. He just comes across as very phony to me and I just want to see him make a misstep and admit that he's human like the rest of us. It's a bit incongruous with the rest of the show, and I wish he'd just get over himself. In addition, it is pretty much apparent that he or his handlers are trying to shape him as another weatherman fame whore, and I hate that trend. (Oddly enough, it never bothered me that Jillian Barberie does the same thing on Good Day LA, but is the weather in LA all that different from day-to-day? I think not.)
I think of the Good Day shows as being the example of how a morning news show should be: personality driven, but not a cult of personality--which is why I don't particularly think the station is being wise in hyping Jodi Applegate every ten seconds. I first got used to watching them when I lived in Burbank for four months and found Good Day LA vastly more interesting than anything else on television. Coincidentally, 2/3s of Good Day LA's anchor team comes from New York and the show could best be described as a shouting match. Conversely, the New York version is much more measured and laid back, I have always wondered why Fox never does an anchor exchange between the two for a week. It seems like a very good idea for a ratings stunt.
(Personally, I've always thought that the Milwaukee Fox affiliate should revamp their show under the Good Day format, since I think Milwaukeeans are much more earthier than Wake Up would suggest.)
Since this is a Fox show on a channel in a city served by the New York Post, it is rather interesting that a pro-Republican bias rarely comes up. I'm certainly not saying that it is never there, however. Earlier this morning, Applegate & Corning talked to Chris Wallace and did all they could to make him appear like a bruised David against Clinton's Goliath as opposed to actually asking him if Clinton's truthful allegation about Wallace doing a "conservative attack" on him was valid. Then again, that is not their place as members of sister networks, nor do have they established themselves as probing journalists. (I don't even think WNYW's tough-as-nails star anchor Rosanna Scotto would have the guts to ask Wallace that question.)
Getting back to the show's gay sensibility, I'm reminded of an incident that happened a few weeks ago when the picture of John Travolta kissing another man on the lips was making the rounds. Applegate commented that it was an interesting revelation, as did Gooden and Noland, who were eager to find out if it was evidence that Travolta is gay. What was interesting for me was the reaction of the show's two resident gay men: Corning could not bring himself to give an opinion whatsoever, meanwhile Woods brushed it off by saying that it "means nothing, [I] see men do that all the time." Men may kiss each other on the cheek all the time, Mike, but on the lips? I think not. The comment didn't boost his butch quotient as he might've hoped, but just made him seem rather, um, idiotic.
And of course, as I'm writing this, "Mamma Mia" is playing and both Applegate & Corning refer to themselves as "huge ABBA fans." This is to introduce a segment on mother/daughter rivalry. To their credit, the producers do not let Applegate fly solo on this segment. In fact, as a longtime viewer, I'd like to tell the producers to never let Applegate go solo, because she has a tendency to overwhelm the interviewee. I generally like Applegate, but she can be overbearing, as evidenced by the period over the Summer post-Chris Gailus. *
* This show really is a different animal with Ron Corning than it was with Gailus. Gailus served as the show's straight man (in more ways than one) and his awkwardness and geekiness became a pun onto itself. Corning, however, gives as good as he gets, and he gets a lot.
Now it is time for "Mark [Joyella]'s Mission." A daily scavenger hunt that they send Joyella on, thus proving himself to be the show's keen jester. It also makes him look a bit like Carson Kressley ("oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!") on the sidelines of the Super Bowl, if you know what I mean. Today's "mission" was to see if Mark could get people in a diner to do the wave. Of course, he does, but some of these "missions" are hard, such as trying to coerce people at Penn Station to do The Hustle in front of a TV camera.
Every Friday, the show becomes self-referential, and shockingly succeeds at it, with a segment entitled "Fox Soup," where they recap the bizarre and comical antics the Queens & Princesses have been tossed into from Monday to Thursday. Joyella recaps these goings on with a very heavy and pleasing degree of laconic sarcasm that you never see on The Daily Show, much less a news show. This week's tidbits: how many food cliches can Mark make versus Ernie Anastos, Corning & Dr. Keith Ablow talk about "teasing polygamy," dogs in a carrier bag ("if you don't want to carry your dog in a bag, we have something called a leash" says Mark), and Mike Woods screwing up Applegate's and Corning's first names ("Rodi & Jeff," Woods said, leading Joyella to hold up a picture of Applegate stating--with a comical sneer--"this is a Jodi").
And that was Good Day New York. After the week I've had watching other morning shows ranging from the superficial to banal to downright abysmal, I think I'll keep the Good Day New York/Today mixture I've been taking.
Then there are two princesses: Anne Craig, who always seemed awkward doing hard news and then was put on the cute beat ("Anne About Town"), fortunately; and Mark Joyella, who actually was quite good on hard news, but transitioned pretty well to the Dave Price (read: jester) slot, since you know Mike Woods was never ever in a million years allow himself to act foolish oncamera. Interestingly, Joyella is the only man of unknown sexual orientation on this show, however, this show is so fused with a gay sensibility that he winds up coming off sexually ambiguous as a result. (This is a good thing in my book. I think we need more shows with a gay sensibility.)
Good Day New York follows the established format of virtually all morning shows: news, weather, traffic, infotainment, and repeat. What it excels in, however; is in personality--way more than CW11's Morning News or even Today. The anchors are extremely casual. Normally this is the kiss of death in news, but in morning news, this is an asset. As I type this, Applegate & Corning are doing the financial report with a man from Fox Business News and it sounds more like a watercooler conversation than a cut and dry business report.
This is followed by Anne Craig at the inventors' convention that was profiled on Today a few days ago. Being local as opposed to national news, Muhammad has to go to the mountain here (I am relishing using that expression to describe a Fox show), and Craig is at the Javits Center, cavorting along with the president of Wired Media. I don't know how she does it, but I could never get even close to her degree of perkiness at 7:40 in the morning. I couldn't be that upbeat at noon.
Mike Woods does the weather every ten minutes on Good Day New York, and I think I should probably explain why I aim for Mike Woods everytime I refer to this show on this piece of the internet. Quite frankly, I don't buy his schtick. He just comes across as very phony to me and I just want to see him make a misstep and admit that he's human like the rest of us. It's a bit incongruous with the rest of the show, and I wish he'd just get over himself. In addition, it is pretty much apparent that he or his handlers are trying to shape him as another weatherman fame whore, and I hate that trend. (Oddly enough, it never bothered me that Jillian Barberie does the same thing on Good Day LA, but is the weather in LA all that different from day-to-day? I think not.)
I think of the Good Day shows as being the example of how a morning news show should be: personality driven, but not a cult of personality--which is why I don't particularly think the station is being wise in hyping Jodi Applegate every ten seconds. I first got used to watching them when I lived in Burbank for four months and found Good Day LA vastly more interesting than anything else on television. Coincidentally, 2/3s of Good Day LA's anchor team comes from New York and the show could best be described as a shouting match. Conversely, the New York version is much more measured and laid back, I have always wondered why Fox never does an anchor exchange between the two for a week. It seems like a very good idea for a ratings stunt.
(Personally, I've always thought that the Milwaukee Fox affiliate should revamp their show under the Good Day format, since I think Milwaukeeans are much more earthier than Wake Up would suggest.)
Since this is a Fox show on a channel in a city served by the New York Post, it is rather interesting that a pro-Republican bias rarely comes up. I'm certainly not saying that it is never there, however. Earlier this morning, Applegate & Corning talked to Chris Wallace and did all they could to make him appear like a bruised David against Clinton's Goliath as opposed to actually asking him if Clinton's truthful allegation about Wallace doing a "conservative attack" on him was valid. Then again, that is not their place as members of sister networks, nor do have they established themselves as probing journalists. (I don't even think WNYW's tough-as-nails star anchor Rosanna Scotto would have the guts to ask Wallace that question.)
Getting back to the show's gay sensibility, I'm reminded of an incident that happened a few weeks ago when the picture of John Travolta kissing another man on the lips was making the rounds. Applegate commented that it was an interesting revelation, as did Gooden and Noland, who were eager to find out if it was evidence that Travolta is gay. What was interesting for me was the reaction of the show's two resident gay men: Corning could not bring himself to give an opinion whatsoever, meanwhile Woods brushed it off by saying that it "means nothing, [I] see men do that all the time." Men may kiss each other on the cheek all the time, Mike, but on the lips? I think not. The comment didn't boost his butch quotient as he might've hoped, but just made him seem rather, um, idiotic.
And of course, as I'm writing this, "Mamma Mia" is playing and both Applegate & Corning refer to themselves as "huge ABBA fans." This is to introduce a segment on mother/daughter rivalry. To their credit, the producers do not let Applegate fly solo on this segment. In fact, as a longtime viewer, I'd like to tell the producers to never let Applegate go solo, because she has a tendency to overwhelm the interviewee. I generally like Applegate, but she can be overbearing, as evidenced by the period over the Summer post-Chris Gailus. *
* This show really is a different animal with Ron Corning than it was with Gailus. Gailus served as the show's straight man (in more ways than one) and his awkwardness and geekiness became a pun onto itself. Corning, however, gives as good as he gets, and he gets a lot.
Now it is time for "Mark [Joyella]'s Mission." A daily scavenger hunt that they send Joyella on, thus proving himself to be the show's keen jester. It also makes him look a bit like Carson Kressley ("oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!") on the sidelines of the Super Bowl, if you know what I mean. Today's "mission" was to see if Mark could get people in a diner to do the wave. Of course, he does, but some of these "missions" are hard, such as trying to coerce people at Penn Station to do The Hustle in front of a TV camera.
Every Friday, the show becomes self-referential, and shockingly succeeds at it, with a segment entitled "Fox Soup," where they recap the bizarre and comical antics the Queens & Princesses have been tossed into from Monday to Thursday. Joyella recaps these goings on with a very heavy and pleasing degree of laconic sarcasm that you never see on The Daily Show, much less a news show. This week's tidbits: how many food cliches can Mark make versus Ernie Anastos, Corning & Dr. Keith Ablow talk about "teasing polygamy," dogs in a carrier bag ("if you don't want to carry your dog in a bag, we have something called a leash" says Mark), and Mike Woods screwing up Applegate's and Corning's first names ("Rodi & Jeff," Woods said, leading Joyella to hold up a picture of Applegate stating--with a comical sneer--"this is a Jodi").
And that was Good Day New York. After the week I've had watching other morning shows ranging from the superficial to banal to downright abysmal, I think I'll keep the Good Day New York/Today mixture I've been taking.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
The CW11 Morning News: If Robots Did The News
In general, I have a preference for a local news show over a national one. I tend to find the local news shows full of more personality and quirks instead of shine and gloss. You would generally think that a show in New York would be personality amplified.
And for the most part you would be right, except for this one.
For starters, maybe it's me, but it is a bit bizarre that the Morning News seems to have a virtually all-female anchor team, the only male being co-anchor John Muller who looks like an android version of Richard Carpenter. Male or female, neither of them could muster a smile beyond a grin or get their voice slightly above monotone. Even the entertainment reporter, Emily Frances, sounded like she would rather be somewhere else...which is the kiss of death in entertainment news.
What I find interesting is that no one has any chemistry with each other. Now, I'm not saying that the have to be a "morning zoo" type of show with comedy galore, but this is a group of people who don't even seem like they want to be there. Even the people on the abysmal Wake Up Milwaukee act like they like each other.
Morning News gets some injection of life when Dr. Steve (late of WNYW) comes on to talk about health, and boy does that say something if medical news is more interesting than anything else.
Morning News is so dull that they provide a rundown on the station's website of what they will be talking about and when they will do it. The menu today does not bode well for me: Tracey Ullman, a preview of Open Season, and The Doodlebops--a children's group that tortured me on Today sometime ago.
I may very well have to break my vow and cut this short after one hour. I can easily envision that two hours of this would put me in a foul mood for the remainder of the day.
The more I look at this show, I start thinking what does this show remind me of. It doesn't sound nor look like a New York morning show, in fact dare I say it, this is like KTLA, the Los Angeles CW affiliate that seems to suffer from the same monotony, but is undeniably Los Angeles. This is LA television in New York, with no personality.
Some minor interest comes from meterologist Linda Church's malfunctioning computer--which she threatens to burn, but she decides to stall for time by relating inane weather facts. (Mike Woods does not even do that.)
Again, I'm reminded that this is the first (read: showcase) hour, when everyone supposedly has their A-game. Emily Frances's A-game is apparently a clip show of the characters from Open Season. Oy.
Julie Chang comes on with her "Truly Julie" segment. Today's segment is about kid inventors. I cannot begin to tell you how boring this show is. It even makes me wish for the horrifying NYC TV shows on WNBC every late morning.
At this point, I am now 6 minutes away from changing over to The Early Show. (Yes, I said it: The Early Show seems more promising than this.) The final nail in the coffin is a teaser about Star Trek memorabilia.
On deck: Good Day New York or Good Morning, Upper Eastside Queens
And for the most part you would be right, except for this one.
For starters, maybe it's me, but it is a bit bizarre that the Morning News seems to have a virtually all-female anchor team, the only male being co-anchor John Muller who looks like an android version of Richard Carpenter. Male or female, neither of them could muster a smile beyond a grin or get their voice slightly above monotone. Even the entertainment reporter, Emily Frances, sounded like she would rather be somewhere else...which is the kiss of death in entertainment news.
What I find interesting is that no one has any chemistry with each other. Now, I'm not saying that the have to be a "morning zoo" type of show with comedy galore, but this is a group of people who don't even seem like they want to be there. Even the people on the abysmal Wake Up Milwaukee act like they like each other.
Morning News gets some injection of life when Dr. Steve (late of WNYW) comes on to talk about health, and boy does that say something if medical news is more interesting than anything else.
Morning News is so dull that they provide a rundown on the station's website of what they will be talking about and when they will do it. The menu today does not bode well for me: Tracey Ullman, a preview of Open Season, and The Doodlebops--a children's group that tortured me on Today sometime ago.
I may very well have to break my vow and cut this short after one hour. I can easily envision that two hours of this would put me in a foul mood for the remainder of the day.
The more I look at this show, I start thinking what does this show remind me of. It doesn't sound nor look like a New York morning show, in fact dare I say it, this is like KTLA, the Los Angeles CW affiliate that seems to suffer from the same monotony, but is undeniably Los Angeles. This is LA television in New York, with no personality.
Some minor interest comes from meterologist Linda Church's malfunctioning computer--which she threatens to burn, but she decides to stall for time by relating inane weather facts. (Mike Woods does not even do that.)
Again, I'm reminded that this is the first (read: showcase) hour, when everyone supposedly has their A-game. Emily Frances's A-game is apparently a clip show of the characters from Open Season. Oy.
Julie Chang comes on with her "Truly Julie" segment. Today's segment is about kid inventors. I cannot begin to tell you how boring this show is. It even makes me wish for the horrifying NYC TV shows on WNBC every late morning.
At this point, I am now 6 minutes away from changing over to The Early Show. (Yes, I said it: The Early Show seems more promising than this.) The final nail in the coffin is a teaser about Star Trek memorabilia.
On deck: Good Day New York or Good Morning, Upper Eastside Queens
La Pirro Is La Tylo
La Pirro says she was under federal investigation for trying to wiretap her husband to see if he was having an affair.
And guess who's involved? Bernard Kerik.
Now has anybody ever seen Jeanine Pirro & Hunter Tylo in the same room together, because this is straight out of a subplot from The Bold & The Beautiful.
And guess who's involved? Bernard Kerik.
Now has anybody ever seen Jeanine Pirro & Hunter Tylo in the same room together, because this is straight out of a subplot from The Bold & The Beautiful.
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