Fun time at Parliament

The CBC (blissful sigh) has a hilarious selection of political insults hurled between MPs during Question Time in Ottawa. It makes you wish that Bush had to meet with Congress on a daily basis, just see what some Congressional memebers would say. Not to mention the absolute fun time it would be to see him defend his Social Security reform.

Oh ya, Milwaukee dat's a happening hotspot, don'cha know?

Even though I liked it better when it was two newspapers, my old hometown newspaper, the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel is always a funny read. Take a look at this article on nightlife in Brew City.

I know this might make me seem like a snooty New Yorker, but if you grew up there, you'll know why I find this hilarious. Nightlife has always been notoriously bad.

Gay News Roundup

Two articles really stood out this morning as I read New York's two gay weekly papers:

The New York Blade has an article on the upcoming trio of Gay TV networks we will be getting. I'm just taking a stab in the dark here, but I'm assuming that Time Warner has a near vice-like grip on the 5 boroughs, because the only time I had RCN as an option (and yes, I took it) was when I lived in Morningside Heights. This is quite the disadvantage, because Time Warner is only airing LOGO, which is the Viacom supported channel, even though it has here TV (listen, the channel writes it lowercase) on pay-per-view. If we get Lifetime and all of its channels, plus WE, and Oxygen, can't we get a trio of gay ones as well?

The Gay City News has the strangest article that I've been trying to decifer. On one hand, it seems to be talking about some bar on Avenue A called Boysroom where I guess boys get drunk and watch go-go boys cavort about. (Eh, I get the same at Splash and it's closer. Not to mention that I find new-to-the-city NYU students for the most part...loud and annoying.) However, it seems to be considering it a gay parallel to frat house-style partying. Okay, I'm dumb. If someone out there can explain what the point of this article is, I'd be very grateful.

Plastic Surgeon's Office: A Metaphor for Gotham Society?

Yesterday, I spent a good chunk of the afternoon at the plastic surgeon's office for a consultation.

(I will get into the specifics as the day of surgery arrives, but for now, suffice to say that I believe that cosmetic surgery should only be used to subtract and normalise, not to turn into a Jocelyn Wildenstein freak. Google that name and be prepared to be horrified.)

Since I'm very paranoid about being on-time, I wound up getting there too early and spending some time in the waiting room. What a cast of characters! It was a therapist's wet dream:

• A man dressed straight out of the Lands End catalogue, who got increasingly more uncomfortable as time wore on and he realised that he had no reading material, and therefore might be forced to read Blender or Radar.
• A loud abrasive and spoiled high school or college student. (I know I'm getting old, since they are all beginning to look the same) She dropped her cell phone and nasally made a joke to the very charming and level-headed receptionist saying "you didn't call, like, Bangladesh, or something?" She was accompanied by a bleach blond friend who stayed on her own cell phone the whole entire time. It makes me wonder how terrified they must be to actually deal with someone face-to-face.
• A flaming red-headed woman in the throes of middle age, but desperately trying hold onto a youth that has long since left her. She name-dropped P. Diddy and other big social names while caressing her face to smooth out wrinkles that the Botox didn't hit. Once she sat down, she started typing away on her Sidekick like her life depended on aping Paris Hilton.
• A man in a business suit, trying to act all tough and masculine, but appearing like he was just constipated.
• And then there's me: Sitting in the corner, flashing bare ankle (the second Spring comes, off go my socks) and trying to write without bursting into laughter.

I'm Still A Millionaire (XXXXXX)

John Rocker, that beacon of tolerance, is now playing with some minor league team out in Long Island. Apparently he had an interesting exchange with someone in the stands.

I'm hoping "I'm Still A Millionaire (chose your own expletive)" becomes the new stoned college student phrase du jour.


So here's the quick and ranting Splash post-mortem: For once I was going to have company on my Splash night--Garrett. Was trying to sit down and enjoy the videos but was hit upon consistently by a drunk lawyer. Received text message from Garrett that he was running late. The transition over to a club began and I switched places to the far side of the bar, which has more space. I placed my sweater on the seat next to me. All of a sudden a group of drunk and rude Germans plop down next to me, bumping the sweater off. Only when I pick it up, does it occur to them that maybe an apology is required. Instead one of them looks at me with this dazed look in his eyes and says "are yooooou angry?" I give my best passive-aggressive smile and say "no, not at all."

What I should've said: "I'm Still A Millionaire, ya drunk asshole."

Halfway there book review: One Night Stand

I've been reading One Night Stand for the past week right before I go to sleep. I don't quite know what to make out of it. On one hand, this book is clearly not War & Peace and therefore shouldn't be examined on a deeper level; but, on the other hand, sometimes these little stretches of reality irk me.

The stretch of reality with One Night Stand is that I really don't buy Derek's (the lead character) sanctimonous attitude.

Here's a fairly spoiler-free summary of what I've read so far: Derek is a 23 year old handsome, muscular (I think author Ben Tyler means muscular in the lean sense) aspiring actor in Los Angeles, working as a waiter. When the restaurant he works at suddenly shuts, Derek scrambles to find another source of income. In desperation he takes out an ad in a local gay magazine as a legitmate masseur. Derek stays firm in his refusual to give "happy endings." Eventually he meets up with Tom, a client who he does sleep with (because he wants to). Tom, in turn, introduces Derek to a movie star who wants to take Derek on as his toy boy. Derek reluctantly agrees.

I am majorly summarising things here, because there are pages and pages of Derek being all moral and what have you, which is just annoying. Likewise, there's this romance with his ex-coworker Juan that just seems to come out of nowhere. Not to mention, it's a bit unnerving how Juan still refers to Derek as "Boss."

Nonetheless, I am going to give this a shot and finish it to the end, because despite the shaky way to the middle, the road to the end might be much more satisfying.

Happy May Day

It's May Day. I'm a Socialist. I'm in New York. So, voila.

You'd Better Run and Hide

(Courtesy of Germany's song "Run and Hide" Funny that.)

I really did not want to comment on the whole runaway bride media circus in Georgia, but geez...14 bridesmaids and 600 guests? How unnecessarily ostentatious is that? I'd want to escape that hellish wedding too--especially if I had to beard for some fruity branch of a Southern family.

Not that this lady gets that much sympathy from me. Did she have to mention the race of her fake kidnappers? That's a screwy value system that uses racism to cover up for your own neuroses.

By the way, if you saw Saturday Today this morning, you got the hilarious treat of watching Lester Holt & Campbell Brown get gradually more confused as the story unfolded. First, it was "Yay! She's alive." Second it was "Oh, she may not have been kidnapped." Finally it was "I don't get it...She made this all up." Absolutely funny to watch them try to be perky and perplexed at the same time.

If you can, take a brief moment to pause and reflect on the War in Vietnam. As in most wars, there were no winners. As you may remember, my late father was a Vietnam vet and POW. I often wish that I knew what exactly occurred to him there, but perhaps his greatest gift to me was shielding me from some of the horrors that I think may have replayed in his mind on an all too frequent basis.

Wake Up You Guys

(So say Suntribe in this year's official Estonian Entry "Let's Get Loud")

• Natalya Podolskaya has launched her new website (wherein she spells her name as Natalia instead of Natalya, but for reasons listed below, I'm spelling it that way I want to). It's a very standard affair, but it merits a mention in this entry because on the site is La Podolskaya's new video clip for "Nobody Hurt(s) No One" is a true tragedy and illustrates the major disconnect between the lyrics and the performers. It's a song about school shootings and what do we see? Natalya and generic East Village rocker types (I don't care if one of them is from Rasmus, they still look like bland rocker boys/models) performing and pouting but NOT A SINGLE image of the terror and aftereffects of school shootings. This is a message song people! To not show what you are singing about (and I am giving her the benefit of the doubt that she does) and instead focus on portraying "rock cred" is really selfish and beyond the pale.
• So I'm watching "Revolution" (on AZN, formerly the International Channel) and they play a video for this Japanese singer Rie Fu. While I'm certain Ms. Fu is nice woman, she is irritating to listen to. I've already come across once before, as she is currently singing the new ending theme song for Gundam SEED Destiny. I didn't like it, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. No more. What gets my goat about her is that she has an extremely flat singing voice. Lady, if life is indeed a boat, I suggest you get on yours and sail away from the music business.
• As evidenced above, my major criticism of Japanese pop music has always been its focus on style over substance. Rie Fu may have a flat singing voice that gnaws at the nerves, but YUI & YUKI are even worse. YUI and the management team behind her seems to think that by playing a guitar and wailing "Feel My Soul" off-key makes her seem credible. Far from it. She looks and sounds like a teenage girl playing grown-up. (Nami Tamaki does the same thing, except Nami actually has the voice to back it up.) YUKI & her crew don't even pretend that she can sing and that's just plain cruel. Listen to her song Joy. It sounds like it's going to be a nice little pleasant synth-pop song then YUKI starts "singing." Oh lord, it is painful. The woman is nasal beyond belief and she strangles words within an inch of their life. Never before have I heard "desu" come out as "DE~A~YA~S."
• ORANGE RANGE has a pretty good song out called "Asterisk." My only problem with it, is that I can't pick up any sort of connection between the lyrics and asterisks. Were they just looking in a dictionary picked a random word as the title? I mean the group's name is ORANGE RANGE, so clearly logical names and ideas are not important to them.
• Gawker has interesting coverage of the launch party for Air Tahiti Nui's new nonstop flight between New York and Papeete. That's right, New York to Tahiti nonstop. To give some context to this, you must know that Air Tahiti Nui (an airline I have never flown, but the buzz seems like it's quite a good one) has plastered the sides of buses and phone booths with ads reading"www.nyctotahitinonstop.com" for months now. I admit that as a playwright, I am disconnected from the business world, but I have trouble believing that there are enough New Yorkers clamouring for nonstop service to Tahiti even on a weekly basis. At least not enough to fill up an A340. When I last checked, a fair amount of Air Tahiti Nui's Papeete-Los Angeles flights continued onto Paris. So unless they are flying Paris-New York-Papeete, then this is one stupid business move in my opinion.

Show Me All Your Dirty Moves

(Tonight's entry courtesy of Norway's "In My Dreams")

George W. Bush in unintentional double-entendre gaffe in Texas.

Later at the same meeting in Galveston, Bush was quoted as saying "But I really do like Dick."

I am scared the boys are insane

Gay racism is alive and well in at least one San Francisco bar. The bar apparently entitled "Badlands" was just that for black customers. The owner, Les Natali (how slimy and Seventies is that name?), apparently believed that Blacks did not constitute "Badlands" clientele. This seemed to be his motivation behind several discriminatory practices including a special dress code for black patrons.

I say bring back the sit-ins!

Happy Pretty Way

For the remainder of the week I am going to use lyrics from this year's crop of ESC contenders as titles. (Today's victim is Portugal's "Amar.") Your stamina is appreciated.

It's after midnight on what is now technically Wednesday morning, which means that this is this week's installment of the Splash post-mortem. Tonight was a pretty good night actually. An extremely handsome and charming bartender (Hi Joe, if you're out there) said that I had a pretty face before I even placed my order...so you know he was getting the lion's share of my money. (Listen, I only drink twice a week and I average 6 beers at Splash.)

Anyway, as regular readers might know, my sole raison d'etre of going to Splash is to see music videos and there were some doozies tonight, I tell you:

• Some awards show performance of Usher, Mya, and Whitney Houston singing THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS out of Michael Jackson's "Got to be starting something." Worth noting for the fact that Usher was wearing some sort of fur thing slung over his shoulder, Mya got suspended in the air flashed her panties at the audience and really did nothing else, and Whitney looked really skinny. (She's still popular with the gays though, a very audible "woooo" came across the bar when she made her entrance.)
• As embarassing as this might be to admit, Rick Astley was quite the posh sex on a stick in his heyday. Some extended version of "Together Forever" played and I can tell you I forgot all about the uncoordinated big haired dancers behind him and was just taken in by his suave, pasty self. I loves me some Rick Astley. (Helps that he & I share the same birthday.)
• "Pump up the Jam" is one long, boring video...much more than I remember it from when it originally came out. Seriously all it consists of is one big frizzy haired black woman dancing and possibly lip-synching the lyrics interpersed with some dancer.
• I sympathise with the woman singing back up in "Church of the Poison Mind." She just gets two brief shots in the video, yet you remember her voice more than anybody else's.
• Jake Shears is skinny! Or at least he looked rail thin in the video for "Take Your Mama." He was a go-go boy? Was his ex-employer not picky? (I do actually like Jake Shears and his political stances, I just had to mention this because...well, if you mention that you used to be a go-go boy you shouldn't be surprised if you get comments like that.)
• There are dance mixes of The Killers' "Somebody Told Me" and for Michelle Branch. I guess on some level I'm not surprised, but at the same time...geez, is everything up for dance remixing now?

Like Watching A Car Crash

I have stumbled upon a dance remix of "Nobody Hurt(s) No One," and god help me, I really like it. The ethical side of me says that to do a dance version of a song about school shootings is pretty much beyond the pale, but my inner "boi" (shudder) says "the beat is soooooooo cool."

Yep, I'm going to hell.


Odd happening of the day: A friend (not Aron) told me that his boyfriend wants to leave him because he's getting too good looking and making the boyfriend feel insecure. I think he should grant him his wish, if the guy can't get past it. What do all of you in cyberspace think?

ESC = Eurovision Shag Contest?

The Red Cross is going to give free condoms out to people going to Eurovision 2005 in Kiev/Kyiv. Do ESC fans get oddly horny around the time of their favourite contest?

(Not like I should talk. Had I been in Istanbul last year I would be busy trying to arrange a threesome with Sakis Rouvas and Deen.)

Brief Movie Reviews

• Testosterone: Some people may rave about David Sutcliffe and his hairy chest. Some people may rave about seeing Antonio Sabato Jr's penis for a few seconds. Me, I found it mostly dull with fleeting moments of genuine suspense. Since I have never read the book (own it, never got around to it sadly) and now that I just found out that the movie omitted a HIV infection that would've made it EXTREMELY understandable as to why Dean acts bonkers as opposed to just an unhinged whiny man who you want to slap silly. The reworking is quite tragic when you realise some of the reasons why James Robert Baker committed suicide.
• Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason: Funny, cute, good, but there was no need. Look at the fight between Hugh Grant & Colin Firth which was basically an exact reproduction of their scene in the previous film. Whoever chose the music cues in that film, however, should be shot. I was so sick of hearing MOR Top 40 songs every five minutes by the end of the film. Thank goodness there is no chance for another one. "Like a version" indeed.

By the way, respect to Richard Roeper for his catty take on Ashton Kutcher's career: "His career peaked with Dude Where's My Car."

The Fabulous Life?

I hate working out on Saturdays--not just because I have to do it with Aron, but because the crowd is so remarkably different at the gym. On weekday mornings, the atmosphere is more focused and relaxed. People are there to lift weights, run on the treadmill, or do a stairclimbing machine. They do not have long, loud discussions about what bars they are going to "do tonight." They do not lift some tiny amount of weight, get the tiniest bit of sweat, and then stand and pose for two minutes.

Contrast that with the weekend morning crowd which is full of men and women (not many, but they are there) who are very clearly living beyond their minds in pursuit of some "fabulous" life that exists merely in their heads. (Many of the same people of all ages have that annoying nasal "valley girl" voice that seems to go all the way up and all the way down, but really just stays flat the whole time.)

At the same time, I think it just might not be me that is not getting it. I live a very structured life and I like it...for the most part. I know that five times a week I'd better be lifting some weights by at least 11 unless I'm physically ill. I know that if it's a Tuesday night and I'm not drinking then something is very wrong (and conversely, if it's a Friday night, then somebody must've invited me out or indeed something is very wrong). Perhaps in the midst of talking about minutiae the Fabulous have achieved some sort of zen-like state where inside they are very calm although they are extremely frantic on the exterior?

Then again, it could just be mortality creeping up on them.

If there's an underlying issue that you think I might be avoiding, you might indeed be right. Two years ago, I had two golf ball sized tumors removed from my chest. They were fortunately non-cancerous, but their effect on my psyche and self-image was quite lethal. Before they were removed, I spent years trying to hide myself because I felt like a genetic mistake. In many ways I felt like the Hunchback of Notre Dame: living a hermit's existance because of hatred (perceived or imagined) from the "normal world." The difference without them has been miraculous. I feel a little bit more bolder and a little less crippled by what I think others' think. (The truth is they aren't thinking about you.) Logic aside, I even feel like I am not the same person I was before.

I've also lost a lot of weight over the years and physically, that leaves you with a ring of excess skin around your stomach. I've debated many years over what to do about this. Many people say they don't notice it, but in many ways that's almost irrelevant, since I do. I've hoped that working out regularly would firm things up, but that seems to only go so far. Sometimes, I want to really tear my skin off and just be the literal person inside. Given the debacle over Rock DJ, that would not be such a wise idea, of course. So I'm going to be seeing a surgeon (the same one who operated on my chest) and see what can be done. What terrifies me is not the surgery per se, but what it might represent and my motivations for it. Am I doing this for the same ambiguous construct as the Fabulous? Am I really doing this to put an end to the old me who was clouded by such doubt?

I know I talk a good game, but this is one time where I will have to live with the results if I proceed.

Splash Post-Mortem April 19/20

Actually managed to get a seat at a bar where the go go boys weren't walking around thrusting their crotches in my face. So I was happy in that regard; however, I either was getting cruised or made a horrible faux-pas. I went to use the bathroom downstairs before I left. All of the stalls were empty, so I went to the stall/urinal thing they have opposite. I locked the door and began to relieve myself. Midway through, I see a guy poking his head between the partition to sneak a peek at me. Call me dense, but I couldn't quite tell if he was: a) cruising, b) kinky, c) shocked. I mention option c, because it is possible that I may have used something as a bathroom that clearly wasn't one. I doubt it, but life is that bizarre.

Do You Remember What Happened to Piedmont & PSA?

US Airways and America West are looking quite set to merge. In a way, it makes sense because they do not overlap each other for the most part: US Airways is big on the East Coast; America West is big in the Southwest. Yet, when Republic (remember them?) was cobbled together you had a big airline in the Great Lakes, and big airline in the South and that union didn't last too long before it was gobbled up by Northwest Orient.

If this merger happens and sets off a whole bunch of consolidation in the airline industry, then I pray they'll bring back regulation or even nationalisation. By the way, what is taking Continental, Delta, and Northwest so long to announce their inevitable merger? As much as I quite like Continental and Northwest (I've barely flown Delta, save for that ride at Walt Disney World), I really could see a merger between the three of them actually work.

Attention citizens of Las Vegas!

If you see a sparkling Swedish man who cannot pronounce the word "Mandalay," do not approach him. Do, however, throw any custard pies, smoothies, hot dogs, pizzas, and peanut butter & banana sandwiches in his face. If Stenchmark is so hellbent on channelling Elvis, then he can bloat up like him before May.

By the way, this new pope...kind of sucky.

Passing

I'm in danger of having an identity crisis. You see, I think I'm black/Choctaw/Irish, but apparently no one else seems to think so. In fact, many people think I'm Latino.

I have to admit that the dazed look that comes across my face whenever the temperature gets high (as it did this weekend) doesn't help matters much. I went to Blockbuster and the clerk greeted me in Spanish. All I could answer with was a simple "uh...?"(Humidity gets to me.) The same thing happened at McDonald's where again I was greeted in Spanish. At XES, I had a great conversation with a guy who grew up in Westchester and Puerto Rico. He then asked how I felt growing up Latino in Wisconsin.

I wonder sometimes if I should try to pass as Latino, but I think that passing in this day in age is unnecessary (or at least it should be). Then again, I realise that I have spent a lot of my life passing as different things: in my late teens, I claimed that I was bisexual because it seemed to be more acceptable than being full-out gay; I've passed as single when I wasn't; I've passed as being part of a couple when I wasn't; I still identify myself as a playwright even though I've had no productions outside of school.

What's odd is that I really am proud of myself and my components. I'm proud of being gay. I'm proud of my ethnicities. I'm proud that I do write even though I don't have any productions [yet]. I don't feel the need to assert any of these things on a daily basis. I express my pride in my sexuality at Pride. I express my pride in my ethnicities on St. Patrick's Day and MLK Day. I express my pride as a playwright whenever I finish a play and like the end result.

So let the rest of the world think what they will.