In about 3 hours I will on a plane heading out to Palm Springs, so Hikaruland will be mostly for show...unless there's something really interesting that I just can't help but show to this little piece of the internet.
One thing I can't figure out: How on Earth is the high only 73 degrees in Palm Springs this week? Honestly, it's in the desert! Has global warming gone that wacky?
Monday, January 31, 2005
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Dad upstaged me
It's nearing February 4th, which would mark the 3rd anniversary of my father's death. I'm pretty certain in the coming days, I'm going to spinning more interesting tales about him, but I'm going to start from his death, because it illustrates our fractuous and competitive relationship.
Before I get this ball rolling, let me say one thing. It may seem like I didn't like my father, but I did. It took a long time for us to be able look past what we thought the other one should be, and see what the other one is. We never did have the "Dad, I'm gay" conversation, but I certainly never made any attempts to hide my attraction to men in front of him--such as a room full of male pin-ups--and he never expressed any hatred towards me vis-a-vis my own homosexuality.
Some (astrological) background: I don't know how many of you out there are only sons, but I am. In our house, there was myself, my mother, and father, and we didn't cotton too friendly to strangers. (We didn't cotton too friendly to relatives either, but they had the genetic excuse.) So the basic demographics were two men and one woman, so there was a lot of testosterone flying about. Let's factor in personalities now. I'm going to use astrology here, because it's great for personality assessment. (Note well, playwrights, note well.) I'm an Aquarius, my mother is a Leo, and my father was a Cancer. That's two fixed signs (read: stubborn as hell) and one mutable sign (read: indecisive and manipulative) and also an Air sign (read: opinionated and chatty), a Fire sign (read: Confident), and a Water sign (read: emotional). Air and Fire get on very well (respect amongst the equally powerful); Fire and Water get on decently (provided Water respects Fire's authority); Air and Water...not too friendly. I've had Water sign boyfriends, and while we could get along, at time it is like two people speaking two separate languages. Water is obsessed with feeling, Air is obsessed with logic and reasoning. Long and short of it is this: my mother & I got along perfectly, my mother & my father got along without much fuss, and my father & I got along like a parrot in at the North Pole.
Now onto the story.
Late in the evening on February 4th, I get a call from my mother. Sounding very cool, she says "your father is dead." She explained to me that she had called him downstairs in the basement and recieved no response. Thinking something was wrong, she went down to check on him and found him collapsed on a treadmill, dead from a heart attack. I remember being very together about this piece of news. There was no crying or angry thrashing of nearby items. In fact, I remember being angrier trying to get a berevement ticket to Milwaukee.
I make it back to Mequon, and my mother is...functional. No crying, no jaunts off to nostalgia, just handling the details. We're both more interested in hammering out the details of my father's estate. Then she tells me that the relatives are coming in three waves as the funeral nears. The first wave consists of members from my mother's family. They are all coordial, consoling, and very Virginian, which in this particular case could be interpreted as the Southern equivalent of being from Connecticut. The second wave, consisting of the first part of my father's family, arrived on February 6th. At the time, had you told me it was my birthday, I would've said that you were absolutely crazy. So when my mother turned to me and remarked that she's getting me a cake, I was puzzled.
That evening, I am greeted with the truly too-meta-for-words sight of a birthday cake being plopped down in front of me while assorted relatives sing "Happy Birthday." This was too bizarre. My birthday had always been celebrated with my mom & I going off to New York, while my Dad grunted a "happy birthday." It never really mattered to me what he said, because I knew on that day, he had to at least try not to rile me up. As I took in the surreal scene, it was then that I realised that I'd never again have the chance to act smug in front of my father on my birthday; nor would I ever be able to engage in one of our many arguments (he liked to call them "discussions," though I have never "discussed" anything with someone while speaking rapidly and in a high pitched tone) from Mitchell Field to the airport. When I blew out the candles, I talked myself out of making the first birthday wish that came to my head: "I'd like to see my father one last time." Yep, for once, he deservingly got one over on me.
As for the funeral, there's several other stories tell, but for now, this is all about my father.
An interesting postscript: The day after his funeral, one of the Encore movie channels aired The Karen Carpenter Story. Mourners in the house or not, I was hell-bent on seeing this. (By the way, Mitchell Anderson as Richard Carpenter...inspired casting.) So I sit down and make it through the movie. At the end of the film, there's an onscreen blurb that says that Karen Carpenter died on February 4th. Eerie, I tell you. Even more unsettling, is that while my father died of a heart attack, it was basically brought on by obesity...so now February 4th is now seared in my head as the day people with eating disorders die. (This somewhat makes me freak out since I'm a recovering anorexic myself. They aren't kidding when they say that eating disorders are genetic.)
Before I get this ball rolling, let me say one thing. It may seem like I didn't like my father, but I did. It took a long time for us to be able look past what we thought the other one should be, and see what the other one is. We never did have the "Dad, I'm gay" conversation, but I certainly never made any attempts to hide my attraction to men in front of him--such as a room full of male pin-ups--and he never expressed any hatred towards me vis-a-vis my own homosexuality.
Some (astrological) background: I don't know how many of you out there are only sons, but I am. In our house, there was myself, my mother, and father, and we didn't cotton too friendly to strangers. (We didn't cotton too friendly to relatives either, but they had the genetic excuse.) So the basic demographics were two men and one woman, so there was a lot of testosterone flying about. Let's factor in personalities now. I'm going to use astrology here, because it's great for personality assessment. (Note well, playwrights, note well.) I'm an Aquarius, my mother is a Leo, and my father was a Cancer. That's two fixed signs (read: stubborn as hell) and one mutable sign (read: indecisive and manipulative) and also an Air sign (read: opinionated and chatty), a Fire sign (read: Confident), and a Water sign (read: emotional). Air and Fire get on very well (respect amongst the equally powerful); Fire and Water get on decently (provided Water respects Fire's authority); Air and Water...not too friendly. I've had Water sign boyfriends, and while we could get along, at time it is like two people speaking two separate languages. Water is obsessed with feeling, Air is obsessed with logic and reasoning. Long and short of it is this: my mother & I got along perfectly, my mother & my father got along without much fuss, and my father & I got along like a parrot in at the North Pole.
Now onto the story.
Late in the evening on February 4th, I get a call from my mother. Sounding very cool, she says "your father is dead." She explained to me that she had called him downstairs in the basement and recieved no response. Thinking something was wrong, she went down to check on him and found him collapsed on a treadmill, dead from a heart attack. I remember being very together about this piece of news. There was no crying or angry thrashing of nearby items. In fact, I remember being angrier trying to get a berevement ticket to Milwaukee.
I make it back to Mequon, and my mother is...functional. No crying, no jaunts off to nostalgia, just handling the details. We're both more interested in hammering out the details of my father's estate. Then she tells me that the relatives are coming in three waves as the funeral nears. The first wave consists of members from my mother's family. They are all coordial, consoling, and very Virginian, which in this particular case could be interpreted as the Southern equivalent of being from Connecticut. The second wave, consisting of the first part of my father's family, arrived on February 6th. At the time, had you told me it was my birthday, I would've said that you were absolutely crazy. So when my mother turned to me and remarked that she's getting me a cake, I was puzzled.
That evening, I am greeted with the truly too-meta-for-words sight of a birthday cake being plopped down in front of me while assorted relatives sing "Happy Birthday." This was too bizarre. My birthday had always been celebrated with my mom & I going off to New York, while my Dad grunted a "happy birthday." It never really mattered to me what he said, because I knew on that day, he had to at least try not to rile me up. As I took in the surreal scene, it was then that I realised that I'd never again have the chance to act smug in front of my father on my birthday; nor would I ever be able to engage in one of our many arguments (he liked to call them "discussions," though I have never "discussed" anything with someone while speaking rapidly and in a high pitched tone) from Mitchell Field to the airport. When I blew out the candles, I talked myself out of making the first birthday wish that came to my head: "I'd like to see my father one last time." Yep, for once, he deservingly got one over on me.
As for the funeral, there's several other stories tell, but for now, this is all about my father.
An interesting postscript: The day after his funeral, one of the Encore movie channels aired The Karen Carpenter Story. Mourners in the house or not, I was hell-bent on seeing this. (By the way, Mitchell Anderson as Richard Carpenter...inspired casting.) So I sit down and make it through the movie. At the end of the film, there's an onscreen blurb that says that Karen Carpenter died on February 4th. Eerie, I tell you. Even more unsettling, is that while my father died of a heart attack, it was basically brought on by obesity...so now February 4th is now seared in my head as the day people with eating disorders die. (This somewhat makes me freak out since I'm a recovering anorexic myself. They aren't kidding when they say that eating disorders are genetic.)
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Friday, January 28, 2005
How to choose which network news is for you
This is my lil' attempt to help boost network news ratings. (Listen, if they get younger viewers then the non-hypocondriacs will be spared the prescription drug ads.)
So which broadcast is for you?
ABC World News Tonight: The closest one of the big 3 networks is going to get to having a global perspective on the nightly news. (Remember this used to be broadcast partly in Chicago and partly in London, before the whole kit-and-caboodle got moved to New York.) If you like quirky, you get the distinctively-voiced Robert Krulwich giving a light-hearted spin on complex matters. However, the real bonus is watching Peter Jennings (who was once voted the sexiest anchor of the evening news, but this was before Brian Williams, so who knows who owns that title now). Why? Well, as much as I love Canadians (And wish to one day be one), I'll admit it's kind of funny to listen for how many times he says "aboot." The other bonus is seeing if they'll show the reporters reacting when Jennings cuts them off abruptly.
CBS Evening News: Did you hear that? I could've sworn that was...No, it can't be. The bogeyman is here and he's going to scare you with the rocky music and the hippity-hop. CBS's evening broadcast is terror news for senior citizens. It's all about confirming that "yes, things used to be better in my day, etc." The upside--while it lasts--is watching Dan Rather let off with one of his folksy Texan platitudes. Sometimes I wonder if CBS's Newsroom was the basis for Network . I can imagine being attacked by somebody saying "What's the frequency, Kenneth?" could freak a man out.
NBC Nightly News: If the elderly get spooked on CBS, then the middle-aged get spooked on NBC. (ABC tries to keep everybody relatively calm, but suspicious...for better or worse.) Rampant teenage sex! Meth labs in your neighbourhood! The sky is falling! The sky is falling! Network news is basically a reflection of the network itself, so sex-and-drugs-laden NBC has an appropriate broadcast. Every story is UNBELIEVABLE and proof that some evil conspiracy is at work to bring down you, your family, and your kid's soccer team. I'd like to think that Tom Brokaw (with whom I share a birthday with, so I'll admit some bias here) kept it in check, but who knows? On the flip side, there's always a plethora of "triumph-of-the-human-spirit" stories that edge out the paranoia. That being said, those "stories" aren't for everyone (pardon me while I vomit.)
Now, if all you want to do is stare at eye candy for 30 minutes and be able to make current-affairs water cooler talk, then here's a run down of the most attractive (male, because I'm not a good judge of females) anchors...according to a thoroughly unscientific poll of one by the Freeman Institute:
1) Bob Woodruff - ABC (Weekend)
2) Brian Williams - NBC
3) John Roberts - CBS (Weekend)
4) Peter Jennings - ABC
5) John Siegenthaler - NBC (Weekend)*
*He'd rank higher if he didn't look so uncomfortable all the time.
6) Dan Rather - CBS**
**I'm sorry, Dan. If it helps, I love the folksy yarns.
So which broadcast is for you?
ABC World News Tonight: The closest one of the big 3 networks is going to get to having a global perspective on the nightly news. (Remember this used to be broadcast partly in Chicago and partly in London, before the whole kit-and-caboodle got moved to New York.) If you like quirky, you get the distinctively-voiced Robert Krulwich giving a light-hearted spin on complex matters. However, the real bonus is watching Peter Jennings (who was once voted the sexiest anchor of the evening news, but this was before Brian Williams, so who knows who owns that title now). Why? Well, as much as I love Canadians (And wish to one day be one), I'll admit it's kind of funny to listen for how many times he says "aboot." The other bonus is seeing if they'll show the reporters reacting when Jennings cuts them off abruptly.
CBS Evening News: Did you hear that? I could've sworn that was...No, it can't be. The bogeyman is here and he's going to scare you with the rocky music and the hippity-hop. CBS's evening broadcast is terror news for senior citizens. It's all about confirming that "yes, things used to be better in my day, etc." The upside--while it lasts--is watching Dan Rather let off with one of his folksy Texan platitudes. Sometimes I wonder if CBS's Newsroom was the basis for Network . I can imagine being attacked by somebody saying "What's the frequency, Kenneth?" could freak a man out.
NBC Nightly News: If the elderly get spooked on CBS, then the middle-aged get spooked on NBC. (ABC tries to keep everybody relatively calm, but suspicious...for better or worse.) Rampant teenage sex! Meth labs in your neighbourhood! The sky is falling! The sky is falling! Network news is basically a reflection of the network itself, so sex-and-drugs-laden NBC has an appropriate broadcast. Every story is UNBELIEVABLE and proof that some evil conspiracy is at work to bring down you, your family, and your kid's soccer team. I'd like to think that Tom Brokaw (with whom I share a birthday with, so I'll admit some bias here) kept it in check, but who knows? On the flip side, there's always a plethora of "triumph-of-the-human-spirit" stories that edge out the paranoia. That being said, those "stories" aren't for everyone (pardon me while I vomit.)
Now, if all you want to do is stare at eye candy for 30 minutes and be able to make current-affairs water cooler talk, then here's a run down of the most attractive (male, because I'm not a good judge of females) anchors...according to a thoroughly unscientific poll of one by the Freeman Institute:
1) Bob Woodruff - ABC (Weekend)
2) Brian Williams - NBC
3) John Roberts - CBS (Weekend)
4) Peter Jennings - ABC
5) John Siegenthaler - NBC (Weekend)*
*He'd rank higher if he didn't look so uncomfortable all the time.
6) Dan Rather - CBS**
**I'm sorry, Dan. If it helps, I love the folksy yarns.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Fear of a Str8 Planet
Apparently there are now straight men and str8 men. The former are your garden-variety heterosexuals and the latter are gay men who wish to distance themselves from other effeminate gays.
This is the most asinine thing I have ever come across in my life. As if gay men don't have it bad enough with glass ceilings, forced closeting, and external homophobia, now we have to deal with internalised homophobia as well.
For some reason (which I'm going to guess is a mixture of media and a society that isn't quite as cognizant of the necessity to embrace diversity), many men are going around saying that they are str8 which they seem to believe puts them on some man's man pedistal and therefore adored by other men who lust/envy them. (Perhaps some even get a kick out of telling a woman that she is not sexually desired by him, which is probably a sign that str8 = narcissist.)
I don't get it, and frankly, I don't want to get it. Why are we rushing to define what we are by what we aren't? There's an oft-repeated story of the gay man (particularly here in Chelsea) who was teased and taunted in school for his gayness and/or other perceived differences, who when he gets older builds himself up into a modern Adonis so that he can feel impervious to the psychological scars from his youth. This is no different. We all know how this one ends, either dead from an overdose, or old and bitter when the looks and muscles begin to sag. (Unless your planning to die young, don't get those tribal tattoos on your biceps because things sag, boys.)
This is the most asinine thing I have ever come across in my life. As if gay men don't have it bad enough with glass ceilings, forced closeting, and external homophobia, now we have to deal with internalised homophobia as well.
For some reason (which I'm going to guess is a mixture of media and a society that isn't quite as cognizant of the necessity to embrace diversity), many men are going around saying that they are str8 which they seem to believe puts them on some man's man pedistal and therefore adored by other men who lust/envy them. (Perhaps some even get a kick out of telling a woman that she is not sexually desired by him, which is probably a sign that str8 = narcissist.)
I don't get it, and frankly, I don't want to get it. Why are we rushing to define what we are by what we aren't? There's an oft-repeated story of the gay man (particularly here in Chelsea) who was teased and taunted in school for his gayness and/or other perceived differences, who when he gets older builds himself up into a modern Adonis so that he can feel impervious to the psychological scars from his youth. This is no different. We all know how this one ends, either dead from an overdose, or old and bitter when the looks and muscles begin to sag. (Unless your planning to die young, don't get those tribal tattoos on your biceps because things sag, boys.)
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
The Fear of Yourself
I'm at a low point.
I like to think of myself as basically a rational person. You know, the type who realizes when silly things prevent me from enjoying life, and blasts them away. The fact of the matter is that I fall short of the self-image most of the time. In many ways, I find looking at myself in the mirror one of the most traumatising things I can do. There are also few photos of me, because I prefer it that way. I really can't explain why I feel this way. It is possible that it is lingering thoughts from my youth (I was overweight until age 20). I remember very well how out-of-place I felt amongst other kids.
Yet it is also possible that it's due to how I take in media images. In college, I took a class called Semiotics of Performance. In a nutshell, it basically said/argued that we make 500+ judgements on people before they even open their mouth. Think about the images that you see on TV/movies/magazines (et tu Out), I'm far from a conspiracy theorist, but every seemingly flawless image is designed to make us lust for that person. It's the same reason you always see models showing off cars. Penn & Teller (on their excellent show on Showtime) had a great episode that dealt with body images. They put forth the view that it is all designed to separate you from your wallet. "Buy this supplement," "work out at this gym," "use this tape," etc. They've got a point. I can look at my medicine cabinet and see tons of supplements there. I have no problem admitting that some of them do work, and I take them to this very day. Yet, at the same time I know the main reason why I do: the mirror.
I like to think of myself as basically a rational person. You know, the type who realizes when silly things prevent me from enjoying life, and blasts them away. The fact of the matter is that I fall short of the self-image most of the time. In many ways, I find looking at myself in the mirror one of the most traumatising things I can do. There are also few photos of me, because I prefer it that way. I really can't explain why I feel this way. It is possible that it is lingering thoughts from my youth (I was overweight until age 20). I remember very well how out-of-place I felt amongst other kids.
Yet it is also possible that it's due to how I take in media images. In college, I took a class called Semiotics of Performance. In a nutshell, it basically said/argued that we make 500+ judgements on people before they even open their mouth. Think about the images that you see on TV/movies/magazines (et tu Out), I'm far from a conspiracy theorist, but every seemingly flawless image is designed to make us lust for that person. It's the same reason you always see models showing off cars. Penn & Teller (on their excellent show on Showtime) had a great episode that dealt with body images. They put forth the view that it is all designed to separate you from your wallet. "Buy this supplement," "work out at this gym," "use this tape," etc. They've got a point. I can look at my medicine cabinet and see tons of supplements there. I have no problem admitting that some of them do work, and I take them to this very day. Yet, at the same time I know the main reason why I do: the mirror.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Would you pay for commercial-free television?
Would you? What I'm talking about is turning all channels into subscription services (a la HBO/Showtime/et. al.). I'm not good with money figures, but I wonder how much it would calculate to receive the major 7 broadcast networks (ABC/NBC/CBS/Fox/The WB/UPN/PBS) commercial/pledge-drive free?
After watching today's Sunday Morning it dawned upon me that this might increase the amount of product placement. So perhaps in a perfect world, we'd have a FCC that banned such things (the ball started rolling in the wrong direction with Reagan allowing telemarketing) and a subscription fee.
In other news: We had a blizzard. Chelsea is very pretty all covered in non-controlled substance white. (Sixth Avenue is practically desolate and quiet save for the snowplows.) I'm a bit peeved that the expected vicious overnight "part 2" of the storm didn't wind up being as bad as the meterologists were predicting. That being said, with a good amount of snow and a current temperature of 16 degrees, this is a nice present for Aquarian New Year. (If you can't stand the cold, get out of the freezer, I say.)
One last thing: Here's a funny little animation I saw via gossiplist: http://www.ebaumsworld.com/moresexthanme.html
After watching today's Sunday Morning it dawned upon me that this might increase the amount of product placement. So perhaps in a perfect world, we'd have a FCC that banned such things (the ball started rolling in the wrong direction with Reagan allowing telemarketing) and a subscription fee.
In other news: We had a blizzard. Chelsea is very pretty all covered in non-controlled substance white. (Sixth Avenue is practically desolate and quiet save for the snowplows.) I'm a bit peeved that the expected vicious overnight "part 2" of the storm didn't wind up being as bad as the meterologists were predicting. That being said, with a good amount of snow and a current temperature of 16 degrees, this is a nice present for Aquarian New Year. (If you can't stand the cold, get out of the freezer, I say.)
One last thing: Here's a funny little animation I saw via gossiplist: http://www.ebaumsworld.com/moresexthanme.html
Sunday, January 23, 2005
National Weather Service: Sadists?
Last night, while chatting online with a good friend of mine, we brought up the subject of the alerts by the National Weather Service. See, I've got WNBC's weatherbug on my computer and the sodding thing keeps on chirping whenever there's an alert. I am fine with that, except that the National Weather Service seems to issue alerts like mad. The asinine thing is that all the alerts seem to do is confirm what they said in the previous alert. I fully understand the need to have a warning system in place, but haven't these people heard of "The Boy Who Cried 'Wolf'?"
Considering that they claim not to want to cause panic, the NWS should learn to tone down their messages to a less-neurotic level. Here's the tail end of the Blizzard warning for the New York area: "This Is A Life-Threatening Winter Weather Situation! Preparations To Protect Life And Property Should Be Made By Noon Today!" Ease off the meth, people.
Considering that they claim not to want to cause panic, the NWS should learn to tone down their messages to a less-neurotic level. Here's the tail end of the Blizzard warning for the New York area: "This Is A Life-Threatening Winter Weather Situation! Preparations To Protect Life And Property Should Be Made By Noon Today!" Ease off the meth, people.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Drown me in Shoujo (and realistic SF)
I am not an emotional person. I swear, I am not, but I'm still human. Ok, I should explain.
Recently, I've been following Boys Over Flowers on DVD, and it's gotten to me in the same way Orange Road did more than a decade ago. This is a rather long-winded way of saying that it made me cry a little. Oh yes, I sniffled when Kyosuke told Hikaru that it was over between them in the first movie. This time, I sniffled in joy when Tsukasa told Tsukushi that he believed her. (I'm horrible at plot synopsis, so I'll echo the review from Anime News Network: "Spunky girl kicks preppie butt.")
From my writer's perspective, it's such a pleasure to come across a series that comes across as very realistic, funny, and moving , but not in a mawkish way. (Listen, I love Orange Road, but when you think about it..."espers?")
So now there's two anime shows I'm now following like the insane fan-boy I used to be in the early nineties: Boys Over Flowers and Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex. (The latter one I like to call Law & Order for the mid 21st century.)
Recently, I've been following Boys Over Flowers on DVD, and it's gotten to me in the same way Orange Road did more than a decade ago. This is a rather long-winded way of saying that it made me cry a little. Oh yes, I sniffled when Kyosuke told Hikaru that it was over between them in the first movie. This time, I sniffled in joy when Tsukasa told Tsukushi that he believed her. (I'm horrible at plot synopsis, so I'll echo the review from Anime News Network: "Spunky girl kicks preppie butt.")
From my writer's perspective, it's such a pleasure to come across a series that comes across as very realistic, funny, and moving , but not in a mawkish way. (Listen, I love Orange Road, but when you think about it..."espers?")
So now there's two anime shows I'm now following like the insane fan-boy I used to be in the early nineties: Boys Over Flowers and Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex. (The latter one I like to call Law & Order for the mid 21st century.)
Friday, January 21, 2005
It May Be Cliched but...
I'm wearing black for the inauguration. I'm certain that there are people out there who are wearing head-to-toe funeral outfits, but I'm a subtle person, so I'm wearing an old tank top. It may be a token gesture, but it seems worth it.
Listen, if we get socialised health care, a repeal of the anti-gay laws, and a government willing to intervene with nefarious business practices, then I'll seriously consider changing parties.
(Hard to believe I share the same birthday as Reagan sometimes.)
In other news: I'm aiming to finish a play by the end of the month, which is something that I haven't done in 7 years. (I wrote my first play nearly nonstop over 3 weeks while in college.) I've got the first act done already. I'm hesistant to say more about it, but suffice to say the title is Mequon and it's basically my take on being gay in my hometown, Mequon.
I can hear the gasps from a 1000 miles away.
Listen, if we get socialised health care, a repeal of the anti-gay laws, and a government willing to intervene with nefarious business practices, then I'll seriously consider changing parties.
(Hard to believe I share the same birthday as Reagan sometimes.)
In other news: I'm aiming to finish a play by the end of the month, which is something that I haven't done in 7 years. (I wrote my first play nearly nonstop over 3 weeks while in college.) I've got the first act done already. I'm hesistant to say more about it, but suffice to say the title is Mequon and it's basically my take on being gay in my hometown, Mequon.
I can hear the gasps from a 1000 miles away.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Unintentionally Funny Eurovision lyrics
One of my favourite songs out of last year's Eurovision was the Swedish entry "It hurts." Being very aware of lyrics, I have to say that this song made me nearly cry with laughter. Here's a sampler:
I'm standing on the rooftop
And I'm crying out your name
I'm looking for an answer
And for somebody to blame
'Cause even though it's over
You linger on my mind, oh
Hurts, oh it hurts, really hurts
In the middle of the night
In the light of the day
You know that it hurts
Oh it hurts, really hurts
And I wish I could be stronger
No longer afraid
Nobody but me, could know the way I feel
How it hurts, oh it hurts
And the next verse talks about "clinging to my pillow" as a reaction to "the pain I feel inside."
Now imagine Lena Philipsson (the leggy Swedish answer to Kylie Minogue who sang this) doing assorted bumps and grinds against a microphone stand. How on earth could this song not be about a particular sex act? (There's even a remix version making the rounds that has assorted porn "oohs" and "ahhs" incorporated.)
It's a shame that Lena has no desire for an international career, she could've made a killing in the gay clubs.
I'm standing on the rooftop
And I'm crying out your name
I'm looking for an answer
And for somebody to blame
'Cause even though it's over
You linger on my mind, oh
Hurts, oh it hurts, really hurts
In the middle of the night
In the light of the day
You know that it hurts
Oh it hurts, really hurts
And I wish I could be stronger
No longer afraid
Nobody but me, could know the way I feel
How it hurts, oh it hurts
And the next verse talks about "clinging to my pillow" as a reaction to "the pain I feel inside."
Now imagine Lena Philipsson (the leggy Swedish answer to Kylie Minogue who sang this) doing assorted bumps and grinds against a microphone stand. How on earth could this song not be about a particular sex act? (There's even a remix version making the rounds that has assorted porn "oohs" and "ahhs" incorporated.)
It's a shame that Lena has no desire for an international career, she could've made a killing in the gay clubs.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Just...why?
Someone has yet to explain to me why Airbus thinks that an 800 passenger plane is needed. It seems to me like an airborne version of the fall of Rome.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/business/4183201.stm
Flying is already annoying enough, can you imagine how hellish it could get trying to get 800 people to sit down and buckle up before taking off? To the (likely insane) airlines ordering this behemoth, you'd had better pay your flight attendants extra for having to work on this monstrosity.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/business/4183201.stm
Flying is already annoying enough, can you imagine how hellish it could get trying to get 800 people to sit down and buckle up before taking off? To the (likely insane) airlines ordering this behemoth, you'd had better pay your flight attendants extra for having to work on this monstrosity.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
So where are we now?
It's Martin Luther King day and to all too many people it's just a day off, which I think is a true shame. The fact of the matter is that there remains rampant discrimination and inequality. As a black gay male, I sometimes get asked how I feel about having "two strikes against me." (In fact, my mother's sole worry when I came out as a teenager was exactly that.) The answer is "I don't know."
See, I do feel like I have to work harder and sometimes scream louder to get people to know that I exist. It's the reason that I'm a playwright, and what drives me. Yet, my two strikes are also a badge of honour. A black comedian [whose name escapes me at the moment] once said that when black men come out they come out with flames blazing. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not fierce by anyone's standards, but I totally understand what he means. It's tough to wear the history of slavery and segregation as well as the coat of unequal legal rights. Even when we get all the laws discriminating against homosexuals overturned, it'll be hard to actually change society. That's the real battle ahead, and it's the one that we should be fighting everyday.
If there's anything I could say to people who are closeted or living on the "down-low," I'd say that you can always be the one to change the image. If you think you can't be incorporate being openly gay with the rest of your personality or the people you hang around with, just try it. Take the risk. The people that you might lose by coming out were not worth keeping.
To the gay guys who just see this as a day off to go out and party or whatnot: Pause and think about how much society has changed to allow you to go out and celebrate while also being openly gay.
To everybody else: Be a little subversive and do not go quietly into the night. Dr. King taught us that it doesn't necessarily mean resorting to fisticuffs, but just pointing out that, yes, all is far from rosy here on Earth no matter what others might say. That is still true today.
The National Black Justice Coalition is one of a handful of organisations that is working on behalf of improving life for black gays, lesbians, and trans people. A link to their website is below.
http://nbjcoalition.org/
See, I do feel like I have to work harder and sometimes scream louder to get people to know that I exist. It's the reason that I'm a playwright, and what drives me. Yet, my two strikes are also a badge of honour. A black comedian [whose name escapes me at the moment] once said that when black men come out they come out with flames blazing. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not fierce by anyone's standards, but I totally understand what he means. It's tough to wear the history of slavery and segregation as well as the coat of unequal legal rights. Even when we get all the laws discriminating against homosexuals overturned, it'll be hard to actually change society. That's the real battle ahead, and it's the one that we should be fighting everyday.
If there's anything I could say to people who are closeted or living on the "down-low," I'd say that you can always be the one to change the image. If you think you can't be incorporate being openly gay with the rest of your personality or the people you hang around with, just try it. Take the risk. The people that you might lose by coming out were not worth keeping.
To the gay guys who just see this as a day off to go out and party or whatnot: Pause and think about how much society has changed to allow you to go out and celebrate while also being openly gay.
To everybody else: Be a little subversive and do not go quietly into the night. Dr. King taught us that it doesn't necessarily mean resorting to fisticuffs, but just pointing out that, yes, all is far from rosy here on Earth no matter what others might say. That is still true today.
The National Black Justice Coalition is one of a handful of organisations that is working on behalf of improving life for black gays, lesbians, and trans people. A link to their website is below.
http://nbjcoalition.org/
I Love You, Mother Nature
We finally have some snow in New York! Granted it's a dusting, but it at least gives me some hope for a blizzard in the future. Plus, it's currently 26 degrees and wind chills tonight are supposed to get down to -5! My treasured memory of having school cancelled (back in Wisconsin) for -30 degree windchill has returned full force. (Tomorrow the high temperature is supposed to be only 20!!)
All that being said, I don't know why I get so giddy about cold weather. In the past, this generally meant a day off of school, but since those days are now long gone, I still have to "brave the elements," as they say. The silver lining is seeing all the people born in warm climates look like they have been whipped silly. Winter isn't for the weak.
All that being said, I don't know why I get so giddy about cold weather. In the past, this generally meant a day off of school, but since those days are now long gone, I still have to "brave the elements," as they say. The silver lining is seeing all the people born in warm climates look like they have been whipped silly. Winter isn't for the weak.
Monday, January 17, 2005
Out of the Closet: As an ex-Milwaukeean
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You Know You're From Milwaukee When... |
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You've been to the Rep and could smell beer, brats, and kraut. You drive around with little Green Bay Packers flags on your car. You and your friends spend all day Sunday drinking at the bar, bashing the Cubs. You don't know that Schlitz, Blatz, and Pabst aren't brewed in Milwaukee anymore You know people who have tied dead animals to the hoods of their cars. You know what a "Supper Club" is. You've eaten beer, brats, and kraut for breakfast. You think "The Safe House" is better than Disneyworld. You won't let a car from out of state go faster than you. You call Air Force Ones Dookies No matter where you go you see the Jesus Car - and can't understand what's coming out the speakers You cruised Hwy 100 or Sherman Ave To you, Martin Luther King Drive is still 3rd St. and Cesar Chavez Drive is still 16th St You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from Milwaukee. |
Very true that bit about not letting anyone with an out-of-state license plate drive faster than you. Several times when I've been back in Wisconsin, I've rented a car that had Illinois license plates...Ooh, I could just feel the animosity. Of course, when I've rented a car with WI license plates I revert back to "screw those out-of-staters" mode.
Ein Jeer und Ein Cheer for TV hosts
Every Sunday morning I watch two shows back to back without fail: CBS Sunday Morning and Great Hotels on The Travel Channel. Obvious subject matter differences aside (is it fair to judge an Arts show against a travel show? I'm saying yes.), the show's hosts are like night and day.
Charles Osgood (Sunday Morning): This man just cannot get it together in my view. For starters, he ends each broadcast with "I'll see you on the radio." I'm pretty much willing to assume he means it as a joke, but WHY? (Don't even get me started with his "twenty-oh-five" pronounciation for the year 2005.) I'd be willing to bet he's quite the affable man in person, but he just seems so awkward. I know Charles Kuralt isn't coming back (barring some new technology that can raise the dead), but jiminy Osgood, cut loose for a bit. We'll love you for it.
Samantha Brown (Great Hotels and a myriad of other Travel Channel shows): Charles, take note. She's quirky, informative, lightly critical, and not willing to take herself too seriously onscreen. I have major respect for someone who doesn't come across as fawning over her destination. An example: If the room is small, she'll call it small. Small doesn't equal horrid, but listen, if it's tiny, then call a spade a spade. Major respect for her for that.
In a perfect world, I'd have a presenting job on a show that combines travel and arts. (I certainly don't want to sit around my apartment being a hermetic playwright all day.) Of course, I don't think I'd be able to hold tongue so easily. I have been known to do the Bette Davis thing of walking into a room and saying "What a dump!" Usually followed by "This &(&**#(( isn't worth $200 a night! Who are they kidding?" Et tu, New York hotels. Et tu.
Charles Osgood (Sunday Morning): This man just cannot get it together in my view. For starters, he ends each broadcast with "I'll see you on the radio." I'm pretty much willing to assume he means it as a joke, but WHY? (Don't even get me started with his "twenty-oh-five" pronounciation for the year 2005.) I'd be willing to bet he's quite the affable man in person, but he just seems so awkward. I know Charles Kuralt isn't coming back (barring some new technology that can raise the dead), but jiminy Osgood, cut loose for a bit. We'll love you for it.
Samantha Brown (Great Hotels and a myriad of other Travel Channel shows): Charles, take note. She's quirky, informative, lightly critical, and not willing to take herself too seriously onscreen. I have major respect for someone who doesn't come across as fawning over her destination. An example: If the room is small, she'll call it small. Small doesn't equal horrid, but listen, if it's tiny, then call a spade a spade. Major respect for her for that.
In a perfect world, I'd have a presenting job on a show that combines travel and arts. (I certainly don't want to sit around my apartment being a hermetic playwright all day.) Of course, I don't think I'd be able to hold tongue so easily. I have been known to do the Bette Davis thing of walking into a room and saying "What a dump!" Usually followed by "This &(&**#(( isn't worth $200 a night! Who are they kidding?" Et tu, New York hotels. Et tu.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
And thus it starts
Well, I never thought I'd be doing anything like this. If I can veer into "woe-is-me" mode for a bit: I have never really believed that my thoughts were terribly interesting to the rest of the world. So why I did I decide to start blogging? Well, it's my birthday in a little over three weeks and I reckon that this should be my year of being serious. I used to poke fun of the twenty-something twinks who seem to believe that life revolves around hot guys, the latest dance mixes, clubs, and faaaaabulous friends. As I'm nearing 26 (with the majority of my twenties behind me), I'm beginning to think I spent them doing exactly what I was criticising others about. My first confession to the world: I'm a hypocrite. I'll try to improve on this. Wait and see.
On Charity
I'm not going to watch the upcoming Tsunami Aid concert. I'm glad that all these celebrities and whatnot (emphasis on the whatnot) are helping out, BUT why not just donate and SHUT UP about it? (It creeps me out that I may be siding with Bill O'Reilly on this.) I just find it distasteful when people make a huge public deal about what they are doing. Always question people's motives, because altruism (which is on its last legs anyway) does not require witnesses.
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