The Year That It Was (On Here): 2006

January

• The late, lamented QTN featured Reichen Lehmkuhl giving relationship advice with no trace of irony whatsoever.
• Christine Quinn is selected Council Speaker for New York City.
• Ralph Ellison was right, part 1.
• That damn building going up next to me starts off with a crane situation that would make nearly anybody nervous.
• Gene Shalit's milquetoast apology for his Brokeback Mountain review.
• Hardcore photo shoots and Viagra? Kind of boring.
• SVT's choice to not provide webcast this year leads to unexpected recaps of the Norwegian Melodi Grand Prix and the bizarre pair that is Syn & Sti.
• Ralph Ellison was right, part 2.
• NBC, I give you all this advice and yet, you still don't listen closely.
• Paul Martin gets his slap in the face, but unfortunately that means dealing with inanity that is Stephen Harper.
• RTVSLO? I'll forget EMA 2006 if you will too.

February

• I was bound to wake up like this one day. I just knew it.
• QTN starts its rapid slide into receivership.
• NBC still doesn't get it, and goes for the jugular.
• The Norsk MGP ends with a decent result.
• My birthday resolution? Two out of Eight, isn't bad.
• My attempt to sex up the image of playwrights starts well, but just gets a bronze in the end.
• They don't do Dansk MGPs the way they used to.
• The moral of 2006? It doesn't matter if you are rich, as long as you look rich.
• DC? Beautiful subway system. Kind of cold metaphorically and atmospherically.
• Narcissism is its own sexual orientation.
• Four questions that will probably never be answered.
• Fox will never get it, and why does anyone bother to correct them?

March

• Idiot divorce lawyer from New Berlin decides to turn Wisconsin into Bigotry Land ...and unfortunately succeeds.
• Slut Wins Dora 2006!
• Cruises can be journeys of self-loathing at work, cheap cigarette carton buying, ethical exploration, borscht belt humour, all leading up to 3 days straight out of 9 1/2 Weeks.
• 500 Posts! (Thank you, Esteban!)
• Eurovision 2006 participants? They're freaky!
• Mortality in Milwaukee.

April

• Why I shave my head.
• Steroids and guns get clubs in Chelsea shut down.
• German emigres don't get it.
• Evil building site steals the sun from my heart!
• Masturbating without porn or erotic literature? Not for me.
• When is sushi more than just sushi?

May

• Quotes. Lots of quotes.
• My vote for Post-Mortem of 2006 (and Ralph Ellison was right, part 3).
• La Ryan goes on killing spree throughout Athens or the Eurovision 2006 Qualifier. Take your pick.
• As an American, I apologise to Euroland for Grace clogging up your television screens for 3 hours. Just remember, we have to deal with her on a daily basis.
• Eulogy for QTN.
• Our idiot closet-case mayor tries to have it both ways.

June

• The La Ryan vs. Sibel vs. Severina debate continues...if only in my mind.
• Even innocent words can become slurs, and anyone with a brain and an ounce of morals knows it.
• Let's be blunt. The Tonys sucked.
• The Manifesto for Pride 2006.
• Fuddle Duddle, or why can't American politics be this funny?
• Yes, Virginia, this is the main gay newspaper of New York.

July

• The difference between independence and interdependence.
• They can get married and I can't?
• Phillip Michael Thomas can SING!
• Idiot from New Berlin is a callous bigot, part 2.
• Protect Marriage. Ban Divorce.

August

• Stop calling it HD when it isn't.
• This is the Fringe festival? More like the frayed.
• Fun with Canadian closet cases in Chicago.
• I think Morning Blend is going to be bad, and it is.
• New York local television loses one gay anchor and gains another one.
• Gay Milwaukee is invaded by the pod people.
• Chicago is even more fun without a Canadian Closet Case.
• I am not here to make you feel better, or Ralph Ellison was right part 4.
• Cruising through "happy poor people land."

September

• Dionne Warwick sings the anthem of Summer 2006.
• Luther and rewriting.
• To no one's surprise, 10% of straight men aren't straight...They're cowards.
• Sunday Morning is good...as long as you ignore Charles Osgood.
• Good Morning America: You'd think with this lineup, it'd be better.
• The Early Show: Sponsored by Unisom.
• Today: All I wanna know is how on Earth could Natalie Morales inspire such rabid fandom?
• The CW11 Morning News: Yes, we're even more boring than The Early Show!
• Good Day New York: The most gay [note: superlative here] morning show on the planet since QTN went off the air.

October

• Wisconsin's schizophrenic nature in a picture.
• A majority says the recent revival of A Chorus Line is insipid, and we're still right.
• The downside of New York? Bad gay theatre everywhere you turn.
• T.R. Knight comes out, shortly followed by Neil Patrick Harris, but no one dares come out from the leads of CSI.
• Save Deaf Theatre.
• No one cares about space anymore, not even anime science fiction shows set in space.
• The Story, The Person is born.
• The Closet returns. "(SLAP) Don't say shit to me!"
• Mike Nichols delivers the perfect North Shore smackdown to the pro-amendment block.

November

• Ralph Ellison was right, part 5.
• Vote or shut up. Fortunately, a lot of people did the former.
• My idiot home county and the paranoid retrogressive geriatrics who run it.
• Yes, there was a big sliver lining nationally, but the results from Wisconsin make me see just one big cloud.
• Boundaries & Tact? They're dead.
• Adventures in the American Healthcare System.
• Batshit crazy retired weatherman is my new state assemblyman. Is this penance for my Mike Woods jokes?
• Sarah Schulman tells it like it is. Preach on!
• The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade 2006: Only just beating out Aiden Shaw for most referrals. By the way, people get really defensive when you criticise their bland anonymous ballads.
• Why are all the men in New York smelling like Baby Powder?

December

• NBC began its slide downwards much earlier than we thought. Michael Landon "dancing?"
• I say sin all you want. It's all relative unless you hurt someone else.
• Rupert Murdoch launders his money in bad television. The rest of us just use Wisk.
• The Hudson Affair: Gay Yellow Journalism at its worst.
• Redefining invisibility, or Ralph Ellison was right part 6.
• The Finns melodically tell us that modern life sucks.
• I win Dreamgirls tickets and get pickpocketed. Balance is restored.
• Merger Fever: We'll all get it in the end, but honestly, I say just nationalise the lot.
• I told you Morning Blend was bad.
• Renato Zero refuses to walk quietly into that dark night, and teaches us all a lesson.

Moral of 2006: Ralph Ellison was right.

We Need A Little Renato Zero this Christmas

Don't you think?




Now that is the textbook definition of "fierce performance" in my book.

This Is Milwaukee...Morning Television

Sometime ago when I heard that WTMJ was doing a local chat show to air after Today, I surmised that it would be a car crash.

God, was I right.

This morning the two hosts spent the first 4 minutes going on about getting rid of the smell attached to bracelet by putting it in a toaster.

It was like watching Pirandello with thick Milwaukee accents: "Ohmigaaawd. I can't believ' dat."

Just like Live is pretty much just the first half-hour, Morning Blend really is rather dull after the opening segment.

They should embed these opening segments within Saturday Night Live.

Did I Just Blackout or Do I Just Not Watch Enough CNBC?

AirTran wants to merge with Midwest? (Hubs in Milwaukee & Atlanta? You know Milwaukee would be the loser.)

Continental and United discussing merger? (That oddly makes sense.)

Northwest and American? (TWA mark II)

The View-Splash Post-Mortem: Believe Me, I Have The Last Laugh

Let's get the big news out of the way: I got pickpocketed.

Yes, I finally got pickpocketed and in a very sly way: by a small guy with bad breath groping my crotch at The View.

All I lost was a mp3 player (which is covered by a guaranty and is only activated by a password which I only know) and ultimately no big loss.

Ironically, I also wound up winning 2 tickets to the sold-out showing of Dreamgirls this Saturday. I can't use them, but I have 2 friends who can, so it's not like they would be wasted.

The way I see it, I can now get a better mp3 player and I have now given a good friend of mine a great Hanukkah present.

All is right with the world.

Eurovision 2007: She's Back....!

Alya, that is. RTVSLO announced the shortlist for next year's EMA, which includes the aforementioned Alya as well as rock band Nude (courtesy of ESCtoday.com).

Here's a reminder of how much Alya kicks ass (and hopefully will finally get the prize this tiem around). This is her debut EMA performance from 2003 with Exploziv(no).




And remember this was the winning entry from EMA 2003, an upbeat version of The Neil Sedaka/Bette Midler/The Carpenters' "Superstar."

Modern Life Sucks

...in choral form.



By the way, Finnish is such very practical language, and soothing to the ear, isn't it?

The Splash-G-The View Post-Mortem: Am I The Same Hikaru?

I state the titular question, because tonight felt so different, even though I did the same things as I normally did any Saturday night.

The common definition of insanity is repeating the same action over and over again and expecting a different result. I pretty much expect nothing to happen, and nothing--in general--ever does...except for tonight.

I get towards the entrance to Splash and the doorman greats me with a hug and a handshake. Am I that much of a regular? I never know what to do in those situations, so I go along with it. I plop down at my usual seat in the back and as if by psychic intuition the bartender puts down a Corona--my standard for when I can't be arsed to go downstairs for a Mike's. (Not to mention the fact that Rimmed Glasses was working the bar...in boxers, rolled up to look like briefs)

After three Coronas, I get a message from the guy--I guess--I'm sort of seeing. (We're both Aquarians, so it's really hard to tell.) He's tipsy over at G, so will I go and join him. Of course, I will. Were he Joe Blow off the street, I wouldn't, but this guy is practically my doppelganger, so how could I refuse?

Over at G, I inadvertently keep on stepping on toes as my "linked comrade" goes hunting for a seat. He's very singular-minded and for that I applaud him. I also wind up having a bit of a personal crisis since the "linked comrade" is 5 years my junior. That's right, he's young and I have no idea how to deal with youth that is basically me when I was his age. He also happened to be very tipsy and eager to get home, which means that he was not a challenge.

Over at The View, I get into a conversation with someone who might as well be labelled Kryptonite, since it drives me absolutely wild. Who is this mysterious guy? A Russian. That's right along with the Adam Sessler-as-sex-god admission, I am admitting that I have got the big pants for Russians or in fact any Slav.

My bladder unfortunately put an end to that, since I scurried to the urinals in no time at all.

So that was my night, comrades.

Invisibility

I realise that I've probably skirted around a subject on a lot of my posts without necessarily addressing head on: invisibility. It's probably because on this subject, I don't quite know what to say in a direct manner. I will try this time around.

I've been rereading (albeit for the first time in its unabridged version) The Invisible Man and I forgot how much of a price everyone pays by keeping themselves and others invisible.

What's my definition of invisible? Invisible is not speaking up when you are being used like an object. Invisible is when you realise that someone who is seated right next to you is completely looking through you as if you are not there. Invisible is feeling the rage inside and trying desperately to quell it. Invisible is slinking off into the corner, watching the world pass by, and being confused by whether or not to interact in it.

All too often, I seek invisibility, but I also get incensed when I'm not noticed. I don't mean this in a vain sense, I'm only talking about not being noticed that another human being is present in your close proximity.

The old expression of "man is an island" has always left me perplexed. Yes, we are physically islands, but we are so dependent on others that it seems ludicrous to conduct ourselves in that manner. Today, while I was changing at the gym, I had elbows bump into me, conversations conducted over my head, and "pardon me"s ignored. In short, I became to those in my surroundings, a non-person.

It may seem like what I'm calling "invisibility" is just a lack of manners, but I think it goes further than that. If you look back in the history of discrimination, you'll find that people often employed slurs to dehumanise others and justify their perceived superiority and autonomy in the world. "Fag," "boy," "girl," and so on. (In respect to the last two, they might seem nebulous and are most of the time basically innocuous words, but with a certain tone of voice, they become weapons of submission.)

Modern urban life, I reckon, has forced many people to lump others into the category of non-persons. Many don't look around to see the cleaning people, subway clerk, or even junior colleagues. I wonder if there's a fear that if we accept that everybody is just as human as the rest of us, then we won't be able to function on a daily basis (the "I have enough friends" theory). As I see it, I think we can; since there's a difference between establishing intimacy and treating others with respect based upon shared humanity. We do not have to agree on everything, but there needs to be a lot less of "them" and "us" in the world.

As for me, when I go out next, I will interact as if I am a full-rank player in the world. It won't stop me from taking in the greater picture, nor observing my surroundings, but it will hopefully reinforce my sense of self and my involvement with others, because I am visible.

You Only See What Your Eyes Want To See

My opinion on the The Hudson Affair that semi-erupted this week.

I think a lot of projection went on when it came to the (now-unnamed) author of the Dallas Voice article. Hudson should've been much more explicit in how she personally feels--despite her previous statement on sin which the author called "schizophrenic." The author was clearly coming in with an axe to grind as well.

This sort of "journalism" is what got Jeff Gannon his notoriety (and a column in the Washington Blade) and one wonders if the author was interested in promoting his/her own self and opinions over the actual subject he/she was supposed to be covering. (By the way, isn't the Dallas Voice an affiliate of the Washington Blade? The same fools behind the waste of trees that is the New York Blade?)

If ego was the goal, then on some level the writer succeeded, since their piece was rocketed all over the online gay press where commentators worded out cautious statements along the lines of "I hope she didn't realise what she was actually saying." Hudson subsequently issued a statement that has hopefully put this issue to rest in all but the most hysteric fringe.

The author has apparently disappeared into the annals of cyberspace.

Now for a real clear labelling by singers of gays as sinners, read Clay Cane's excerpt from his interview with Mary Mary.

So here's my statement on religion: I don't go to church, never regularly attended church, nor do I plan on becoming a regular member of one. I am not Baptised, nor was I ever Confirmed. I was raised celebrating Christian holidays as family affairs as opposed to religious ones--although I was also thought the stories behind them. I don't currently consider myself Christian, or even Spiritual, unless being Taoist counts as a spiritual belief system. I know (which is much stronger than "believe" in my book) that people have used religion to excuse away bigotry and violence for centuries. I also know that throughout it all, sanity and logic have prevailed in the end and that naught is ultimately gained by twisting other's words to salve one's own wounds from the past.

My interpretation of the infamous quote ("man should not lay with man as he does with woman," or thereabouts) is this: I wouldn't have sex with a woman anyway, so having sex with men when you only desire men isn't violating any biblical doctrine. Of course, that same biblical book also tells people to avoid shellfish.

Okay, so I watch WNYW!

Anne Craig subbed for Rosanna Scotto on the 5pm news on WNYW, and I have to say...she's not too bad in the anchor's desk. It's a whole different feeling with her than La Scotto. It's...perky, but not annoying. You get the sense that she's definitely got a brain, but that she isn't going to tell you what to feel. (La Scotto expresses her opinion often, but she's got the personality and gravitas to back that up, which is a very good thing mind you.) It is just a touch strange to hear upspeak on the news.

Nonetheless, I am getting the sense that they are grooming her to take over someone's slot.

In other matters WNYW, the channel has picked some of the daftest stories for viewers to choose for 2006 story of the year. Amongst the candidates:

• Steve Irwin's death. (Nod to the dark Antipodean overlord.)
• Christie Brinkley's divorce. (Ego stroke, since the strumpet involved gave an exclusive interview to La Scotto)
• Ed Bradley's death. (I liked Ed Bradley a lot, but his death did not define this year for anyone outside his family and friends.)
• Howard Stern moves to satellite radio.
• A tornado hits Westchester.
• Umpteen stories about celebrities breaking up, getting together, and blah, blah, blah.

Christ on a stick, it wasn't that boring of a year.

Thursday Jukebox Says "I Love You Kumi but..."

Explain this video




You can do so much better...

The Worst Show on American Television

...has not aired yet. (We've still got at least another half century as a country, I reckon.)

One of the contenders for that honour, however; has just aired: Watch Over Me over on the strangely-titled MyNetwork TV.

If I may get all Cindy Adams on you, Children, "mother" must tell you something: If the best actors on a show are Casper Van Dien & Catherine Oxenberg, then you have got major problems.

What plot there is seems to revolve around the ex-Mrs. Marc Anthony (and former beauty pageant winner) and two men, who I'll call Light Hair and Dark Hair. Light Hair is the Beauty Queen's current boyfriend and a bit of a prick. We know that he is a prick, because traditionally bastard male characters have light hair while virtuous or purely evil ones have dark hair. Dark Hair used to be in the military or something and has lingering guilt over his dead girlfriend who was shot, and--you guessed it--Dark Hair couldn't save her. (Dark hair also means scarred by the past, you know.) Beauty Queen gets the hots for Dark Hair in some meet cute scene involving her car breaking down while off to go buy a tuxedo for Light Hair. When Beauty Queen's life is targeted, Dark Hair becomes employed as her bodyguard.

There's some business with other people, but really the show is about those three. It would be actually be tolerable if there was decent acting--even over-the-top acting--involved, but there isn't. Everyone is being serious to whatever level their mediocre acting ability will allow them. Beauty Queen's contribution seems to be utilising vacant stares whenever possible. Dark Hair does the same thing. You see, whenever they open their mouths the lack of comprehension of their respective characters comes pouring out by the bucketload.

Some would say, "well Tatum O'Neal wasn't exactly doing Strindberg an hour earlier." You're right, she wasn't. She was aware she was in trash and lept into it just like Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest. Dark Hair & Beauty Queen can't figure out how to do camp and still come across as earnest.

Guess who has to actually do the actual acting for Dark Hair & Beauty Queen? The editors. Dark Hair has to show agony? Slow-motion. Beauty Queen has to convey lust? Quick cuts over Dark Hair shirtless.

Oh jiminy cricket, this network is truly Rupert Murdoch's public way of laundering money.

The Belarus "Selection" for Eurovision 2007

Dot Eurovision has the shortlist of the 15 songs "competing" to represent Crazy Lukashenko Land, aka Belarus.

Amongst the possible contenders--which god help us all will not get selected--a song entitled "Call me (September 11)."

For anyone familiar with Spagna, it just conjures up images wrong on so many levels.

This Is Milwaukee (In The Middle of A Snowstorm)

Tim Cuprisin's blog is a frequent read of mine and his coverage of the TV coverage of the recent snowstorm is hilarious.

Milwaukee television, who knew it was so vicious?

The Splash Post-Mortem: uh...

I don't remember much except that I did wake up at home with all my limbs attached.

The only other thing that I do recall is that apparently The Brat is now subdued and that it takes forever to get a drink from a Cypriot bartender with steroid gut.

So to make up for the brevity, here is a CBS promo from 1994.

Note how passive-aggressive Dan Rather is in this. If I had known that Dan was this bitchy, I would've watched him.




By the way, talk about a network in transition: It's odd to think that this was the twilight of the original CBS comedy years and still nearly a decade away before CBS became the Jerry Bruckheimer-Mark Burnett network.

Sit Back and Cringe

It was one of the better promotional campaigns of the 1980's, but looking back from 2006, "Let's All Be There" was kind of cringeworthy.

Apparently, it also was international as well.




For maximum cringe, watch this NBC promo from 1988 featuring a "dancing" Michael Landon.



It really was just all downhill from that point on for the Peacock, wasn't it?

The View-Splash-The View Post-Mortem: What's With All These Men Smelling Like Baby Powder?

The evening actually started out with me going to go see The Little Dog Laughed,"Douglas Carter Beane's new play. Now let me be honest with you here, I really hate Douglas Carter Beane, to the point that I consider him only one tiny bit above Tyler Perry (and it really takes a lot of animosity on my end to hate gay playwrights).

As much as it kills me to type the following sentence out, I really liked the play for one main reason: Julie White. As much as I hate Beane, the guy writes spectacular female characters. He just bombs out with his gay characters, which is even more strange since he's gay himself (how difficult is it to write about yourself, mister?). For her alone, you should get your posteriors over there. It may have very well been an off-night, but Johnny Galecki was horrible (like he was looking for cuecards) and Tom Everett Scott was pretty much a non-entity through the first act, a fact made even worse by the fact that his character's actions are the main plot.

So you can imagine the kind of mood I was in when discovered that I was seated next to some actor in his "I'm-trying-to-look-cheap-but-my-parents-support-me-because-they-think-I'm-cute" gear and his fawning sycophant friend who couldn't be more obvious with his unrequited lust over him. (I wouldn't pay so much attention except the non-working actor decided to eat candy right next to me.)

I was just gagging for a drink after this reminder why I don't go to the theatre frequently. So much so that I actually took a pedi-cab: not for the thrill of being overcharged in an unregulated transport, but because it is indeed the quickest way to get to Chelsea from Midtown. I plopped myself down at The View, which has been oddly video-free the last few times I've been in. I'm hoping that the VJ is just on vacation, but if The View stops showing music videos then my nights out will be limited to 3 hours in the early evening over at Splash.

At The View I started to notice something, practically all the well-coiffed scenesters were smelling like baby powder. Now I rarely wear cologne (once a year, basically), because I figure that deodorant does the same job without being overpowering, but I can't imagine that somebody would actually come out with a scent that smells like baby powder on adult men.

Somebody must've though, because when I went to Splash--a double shot of Jagermeister made me feel the urge to dance with my shirt off (I had exhausted all my Chaser pills) --that same smell was all over the place. Even after returning to The View for a nightcap way past Cinderella Hour, I could still smell it on me from dancing. I know it's nothing in my cabinet, and the mystery--like the smell--still lingers.

Nancy Drew has her work cut out for her.

Melodifestivalen 2007: Start Your Engines

We basically now know who will be duking it out to represent Sweden at Melodifestivalen 2007, and it's a fierce lot according to the list from dot eurovision. (And the wild cards haven't even been announced yet.) Personally, I'm hoping that Nanne finally takes the prize after she was so royally done in by the jury vote in 2005. (Not to mention that this past year has been a bit of rough one for her.)

Interestingly, during the Eurovision season the 2nd highest amount of visitors to this part of the internet come from Sweden. Currently, however; 2nd place is a three-way tie between Canada, the UK, and France...there's a metaphor in there, but I'm buggered if I know what it is.

The Pledge for December

Until December 30th, I pledge to do the following:

• Reduce the amount of digs at Mike Woods to once every fortnight--even though he makes it so easy.
• Figure what it is about Jodi Applegate that leads her to be so searched, because I don't see it.
• Complete the first act of the play I'm working on.
• Finally get rid of the last vestiges of Dell on my computer.
• Make more references to Kumi Koda.
• Cautiously support The Closet if only for the chance to hear and see dialogue like "(SLAP) Don't say shit to me!" and "I'm not gonna be yuh secret anymore!"
• Watch at least one episode of the MyNetwork TV shows.
• Do something special for the upcoming 666th post.

This Is Milwaukee (deep sigh)

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.)

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.

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 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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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:

• 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.

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."

"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.

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.

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.

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.

1. The Republican running in my state assembly district is the former weatherman from Channel 4. And he's qualified, how?
2. 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!
3. Sensenbrenner must really not be that well-liked since there are 3 other candidates for his job (a Democrat, a Green, and an Independent).
4. 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.
5. 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.

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:

1. I was not going to be out on Tuesday night, aka Election Return Night.
2. 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:

1. I'm polite up to a certain point and then I chose stay because I'm stimulated.
2. I have no sense of how I appear to the outside world.
3. I'm polite, but still disingenuous.
4. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Tonight's Post-Mortem

...will be posted later at The Story The Person.