Sunday Night Is For Trashy Celebrity Singing Shows

Good god, I just saw Larry Holmes singing "I Feel Good" on But Can They Sing? And I swear it was like watching my father during one of his rare free-spirited moments. Vocally, it was no different either.

The show's most interesting moment, however, was when host Ahmet Zappa (get that man some codeine ASAP) say enthusiastically that he'd go gay for Antonio Sabato Jr. It certainly wasn't based upon his horrific version of "Every Breath You Take."

Nonetheless, my vote went for Bai Ling and her I-don't-care-what-you-think-of-me performance of "Like A Virgin." We should all be so lucky to have batshit crazy moments where we don't care what the rest of the world thinks. (Stephen knows what I'm talking about.)

They Don't Do Openings Like This Anymore

Forgive my multiple postings today, however, I just figured out Putfile, and it's made me all giddy.

As a frivolous contrast to Amina, here is "Don't Look Back" the opening theme song to Sonic Soldier Borgman.

What can I say? I'm on a nostalgia kick this morning.

A nice meditation for a Sunday Morning

Even if you don't know French, the sentiment of the song pretty much grabs you.

Watch the performance that should've won back in 1991.

(Here's the translation, in case you're curious.)

Understanding Your Hikarus

Hikaru Ichijo



Hikaru Utada



Hikaru Sulu



Hikaru Freeman



One is a character from 1980's animated science fiction show. One is a singer. One is fictional (and hasn't even been born yet). One is a boozing left-wing playwright and the only gaijin on this page.

Got it? Sorted.

PS> Congrats on George Takei for coming out.

From the "at least it's not stale urine" department

Strange maple syrup and roasted peanut smell takes over Manhattan. Street vendors surprisingly silent.

The Best Looking Man on Milwaukee Television

Oh, this is just peachy. Eric Braate is now leaving WITI, and the likelihood of him coming to New York in the interim is pretty much slim to none, the weathermen here aren't going to be budging one inch.

So New Yorkers, Floridians, Marylanders, Pennsylvanians, Californians, Illini, and anyone else who reads this blog (very few Wisconsinites come here, I have no idea as to why), make your pick for the best looking man on Milwaukee television. Here are the nominees:

• Erick Weber (WTMJ)
• Paul Blume (WTMJ)
• Brendan Conway (WISN)
• DeMarco Morgan (WISN)
• Patrick Paolantonio (WISN)
• Mike Strehlow (WDJT)

It's kind of a paltry selection. Then again, I'm shocked I could at least find 6.

Madonna Gets Crunk?

Can Madonna crump crunk? Who knows? "Hung Up" is a pretty surprising video nonetheless.

By the way, what are the official rulings on the spellings for "crump" and "crunk?" Does one "crump" while "krunk?" Or does one act "crunk" while "krumping?" Or do they both start with "c?"

12 on 12: Isaac Hayes's "Walk On By"

1. No other song so aptly describes love: Pensive, melodical, discordant, tranquil.
2. It is a measurement of time: 1 full play of Isaac Hayes's "Walk On By" = 12 minutes.
3. Jesse Jackson called him "bad," meaning good (for proof see Wattstax).
4. A perfect description of why we never make eye contact anymore.
5. It really doesn't feel like 12 minutes.
6. Itching to be turned into a movie opener and closer.
7. Is one of the backing singers singing "and the man said..." during the breakdown?
8. All sex should be like Isaac Hayes's "Walk On By;" slow, slow, slow, fast, fast, lightning speed, slow, slow, stop.
9. Evidence that scientology apparently makes the talented crazy and watered down. When was the last good Isaac Hayes album?
10. No guitar solo has ever sounded so ominous.
11. Is it about obsession over someone you can never have or a pledge of undying loyalty?
12. Imagine what Isaac Hayes circa 1971 would do with "Hit Me Baby One More Time."
    

From the people who brought you Carrie: The Musical

I am no fan of musicals, especially those done after 1979. For proof as to why, let me present to you In My Life: a musical where the male romantic lead has Tourette's, OCD, as well as ADHD and all the ladies from the Guyland think the "flaming" angel is just so precious.

I don't normally complain about not being produced, but jiminy cricket! If this crap is on Broadway, then Adam, Frank, and myself ought to be ruling Off-Broadway.

Splash-The View-XES Post Mortem: Independent Hikaru

Initially, I was going to title this "Where are the videos?" However, The View and XES came through with the answer, so that idea was scuppered.

Tonight was...beautiful. I now get the odes to Autumn in New York. Y'see, you want some chill in the air and some light rain. It just seemed so...perfect. The perfect weather to go bar-hopping to. Not too warm, not too cold.

As with many nights, it started off at Splash, which, if they continue to not so videos will stoke my ire. I'm not saying that I'll stop going there--because it's so easy to get to--but I'll be miffed and not stay too long. I'm a big believer in signs, and when I enter into a place and I see the bartenders and some patrions in costume, it's a sign that I need to go. I'm sorry, but I am not a Halloween person. The last time I dressed up it was 1998 and I was in a catsuit going to a S&M Ball. (That story later.) So it was onto The View ASAP.

The View was fortunately not packed, nor full of screaming FIT students, so it was a better fit. Still, there were no videos and I worked up the guts to ask a bartender as to where they had disappeared to. His answer: it depends on the DJ that night. No sooner had I asked the question Madonna's "Bad Girl" came onto the screens. Geez, that's a video that would scare anyone into monogamy. Lest I lose my good spirits, it was onto XES.

If I can get a place to sit at XES I am happy and tonight gave me just that. On the flipside, I was sat next to a Will & Grace couple who just decided to go on and on about the minutae in their life. (I know, pot calling the kettle "black.") Perhaps it's me, but I've never quite gotten the attachment some gay men have to their straight female friends. I'm curious and yet somewhat off-put at the same time. The closest straight female friend I have (let us call her "A") just seems so radically different than the "let-me-live-through-you-vicariously" type or the "worship-at-the-altar-of-me" type. I like her, but I wouldn't go out to a gay bar with her, because the atmosphere just wouldn't mesh. Still, different strokes for different folks. If it makes you happy, then go have a good time, just don't cackle in my ear, okay?

What was interesting at XES--aka land of music videos (HALLELUJAH!)--was that people were shocked to see me alone. Why? I do not know. One man came up to me and said I was brave for being out by myself. I don't think it's brave, I just think it's logical. If I want to go out, then I go out when I feel like it. No waiting for another person and their schedule, it's just me. Perhaps it's selfish, perhaps it's being lazy, but I like that and I'm not afraid to embrace it.

That being said, let me answer some questions for next time:

1. Yes, I am currently single. When you see a ring on my finger, then I'm not.
2. No, I always go out by myself and I don't plan on changing that--at least on Tuesday nights.
3. Yes, I do have an ex.
4. No, I'm not going to talk about why we broke up.
5. I do indeed watch the national and local TV news without fail.
6. I like men period, I'm more interested in personalities than skin colour.
7. At what point did I say that you could access my box?
8. The box is a 6 inch space all around me, I'll invite you in there and until then--just imagine it's electrified.

Got it. Sorted.

Further Erosion of My Stone Heart

Jeez, I may have to kiss my stone heart goodbye now. The Jon Corzine (New Jersey gubernatorial candidate) campaign ad* with the young man in the wheelchair is getting to me.

At least I can still take solace in the fact that seeing people trip on 6th Avenue still cracks me up.

On a slightly related note, why isn't the mayoral race in New York as nasty as the race between Corzine vs. Forrester? Both Ferrer and Bloomie are running the most namby-pamby sugary-happy ads. We want blood and name-calling people.

*Click on "videos" to see the ad.

National Turn Your Sodding Cell Phone Off Day

I don't know if there is a real "turn your cell phone off" day, but I'm declaring today just that.

Walking down the street or even at the gym, it just seems increasingly apparent that a significant portion of US society seems to be deathly afraid of talking to people face-to-face. Somehow, it's more comfortable dealing with a disembodied voice than with the person in front of them. It makes you wonder where this could lead to...children raised by parents who never see them...spouses who only relate to each other when they aren't visible...a society afraid of contact.

I know The Jetsons and science foction gave us a glimpse of a world where we all regualrly talk to each other on little mini-video screens, but cellphone cameras aside, I think the cellphone is in danger of making us quite frankly social retards. (Cane described this perfectly in a recent post.)

Today, go live in the present, and I mean just what is around you. The office can wait. Your friends can wait. If you do get a call, make it under a minute.

Go ahead and delve into the scary world of eye contact.

In Memoriam: Rosa Parks

Much has changed, and much has yet to be accomplished.

G Post-Mortem: Snippy or Absurd

Either the roided bartender (with a eurotrashy accent that was quite likely fake) was being snippy towards me or this was a gay bar version of "who's on first?" You decide:

Me: I'd like a double Martini.
Eurotrashy: I don't have a Martini glass big enough.
Me: I mean Martini & Rossi.
Eurotrashy: I don't have a Martini glass big enough.
Me: Martini & Rossi. Vermouth.
Eurotrashy: Honey, I don't have a Martini glass big enough.
Me: You can use a regular glass.
Eurotrashy (arching his eyebrows): Sure, honey.

It's the little things that are often the most bizarre.

Noah's Arc Made Me Cry

I am not a crying type of person. I have probably shed two tears in my adult life so far, yet seeing Noah's Arc did that to me.

Those who saw it may think "why on Earth did a light show like that set him off?"

In fact, I'm pretty shocked it did as well. The fact of the matter is that it was so suprising to see black gay men and their lives at the center of a series, not just as comic relief (cf. To Wong Foo, Holiday Heart--god, that was bad). That's something that I had been waiting to see my whole life up until this point. You see, growing up in a place where I was the only out gay black male for miles (at least to my knowledge at the time), I often doubted myself, because, frankly, there were no role models to follow.

In this media age that we've been in since the 1960's, most people look answers and clues from television. No such luck there in my case. When I was coming of age in the 1990's gay men were shown on television as either AIDS victims, sociopathic predators (the disturbing effects of the Dahmer case still linger in Milwaukee), or Ralph Lauren-style preppies in either New York or Los Angeles. If the answers weren't going to present themselves, then I figured I'd better get involved in putting them out there. Then and there, I decided to be a writer.

Now, I'm not going to say the series is flawless, but I don't really care about the flaws right now. Let them queen out and have rampant sex! Let them couple up in hierarchy-be-damned relationships! It doesn't matter, because we're becoming more and more visible now. And somewhere out there, this might very well open up a world of possibilities.

This is our Julia.

The Mequon Missives: October Edition

One week's posts in one superpost. Here is my id in Ozaukee County:

Guiding Light: My Wisconsin Affair

It’s a whole other world in Mequon. It’s a strange one where there are 3 hours of local news every weekday, Martha airs on the ABC affiliate, LOGO is only on satellite, and Guiding Light is on in the afternoons.

I have never seen Guiding Light before, since most of the time when it airs in New York, I’m at the gym, and it’s hard to read captions while you’re trying to maintain your dignity on a speeding treadmill. I don’t know what to make of it, since it’s such a strange animal.

Apparently it takes place in this mystical land where there are a bunch of pretty young actors (although one looks like he’s transitioning into becoming a werewolf), stone-faced middle aged men, and some aging good-time gal with the longest name this side of Elizabeth Taylor Hilton Wilding Burton Burton Warner Fortensky. In this fantastical place, the pastime seems to chewing scenery over serious plot lines. The day I turned in, the storyline (I think) was tied into alcoholism. Lord, it was like everyone wanted to remake The Days of Wine and Roses while channeling Gloria Swanson (men and women alike) in Sunset Boulevard.

It’s just so bad that I’m tuning in tomorrow to see how more over-the-top it can get. Of course, like a one-night-stand on vacation, I’ll completely ignore it back in New York.

Ipod Circuit Party in Mequon

I’m a funny person with trends. Sometimes I’m ahead of the curve, other times I’m thoroughly clueless, and other times, I do my best to hold out in a vain attempt to assert my individuality. The latter is the reason behind my long hold-out with the ubiquitous Ipods.

God knows what came over me, but while accompanying my mother at Sears, I finally broke down and got one. I see sodding Ipod ads all over New York, and yet, it’s at a suburban Milwaukee Sears that I give in. My justification? If I get one in Wisconsin, then I won’t come across as a sad wannabe hipster. (The real reason is actually two-fold. My old gym mp3 player was starting to reek of locker room and I wanted to be able to listen to Trunkguy’s podcasts and recommended music. I’m still not going to use it outside the gym.)

So I spent most of the morning trying to figure this thing out. It just sucks up music like there’s no tomorrow. It has almost every single song on my laptop with space to continue. Then I decided to feed it some more. First on the list was the new Madonna song “Hung Up.” Whatever butch pretension that I had in my body just left as I proceeded to just lose it Risky Business style all over my childhood home. (I imagine the sight of me dancing in my underwear was quite unique for the local desperate housewives on the way to their McMansions.) Now I am fully aware this song is basically a remixed version of “Gimme, Gimme, Gimme,” but screw it. I like it. She’s got my money for her album. (Ever wonder why gyms play so much dance music? The songs force you to get up and move.)

Law & Order: SVU – The Aftermath

That episode of SVU aired last night, and frankly I’m just as torn as I was last week. Again, it’s the conflict of “at least they’re addressing the issue” versus “they just set us back a decade.” The basic premise was that a militant activist (the jury is still out on whether the soul patch was stereotyping) went around killing HIV+ men who had the (now debunked) superstrain and were still having unprotected sex. Compounded into it were: meth abuse (being high allowed the victims to throw precaution out the window), a gang of straight youths who bash gays in order to steal their meth, Finn’s heretofore unknown gay son, and one of the most ridiculous defenses (murder as a means of prevention?) ever to air on this show.

There seem to be two schools of thought here: One says that the episode illustrated the complexities of the issue and that it wound up being balanced. Another says that it portrayed urban gay men as sociopathic drug abusers who have no qualms with indulging in anonymous sex on a constant basis. Finn’s son be damned, I really think the writers were edging us towards the latter. A major part of my reason as to why has to do with including the superstrain. Meth alone is decimating America (both gay and straight), and the anti-meth campaigns targeted at gay men are pretty intentionally graphic. Bringing in HIV/AIDS just seemed to be there for shock value and ill-informed judgment (gay men = HIV/AIDS in their minds). Particularly chilling was what the father of the first victim said at the sentencing hearing, a variation of “I don’t condone what the killer did, but I understand it and go easy on him.” One step forward, two steps back.

You’re an adult; you can say “genitalia”

One of the current stories in the local news here is about a man who took Polaroid pictures of his penis and left them on the windscreens of cars belonging to women. For some reason, the local NBC affiliate (WTMJ) has been hesitant to actually say “penis,” or even “genitalia.” They say “private parts.”

Initially, I thought this was just some self-censoring for the evening broadcasts, but come 10 PM, there it was again, “private parts.” How prudish can you get? Are you going to start covering marijuana busts by saying that the police hauled away “wacky tobaccy?”


Watching Local Television

You know, even though I read Tim Cuprisin’s column every day (despite being a thousand miles away from the area he covers), I’m still caught off-guard with the many changes that go on in the television stations in Milwaukee. It used to be that anchors and reporters basically stayed for several years and schedules were rarely shuffled.

Not anymore. I barely recognize half of these people on any of the stations. (And what’s this with the local WB having local news now? Not that much happens here, people.) Has Milwaukee become a hotspot on the tour of second tier television markets (it’s ranked #32)? Another question, are all the ABC stations across the country now touting themselves as #1? The local ABC affiliate (WISN) is doing that here. At least we’re spared the gospel music influenced ads of WABC. (Listen, Mr. Champion, you are not the messiah. Stop highlighting your hair.)

I never realized how addicted I was to Good Day New York until I saw Milwaukee’s equivalent. Good lord, do they give the anchors Codeine? They looked perky and all, but the voices almost sent me back to sleep. Fortunately, they are not trying to fame-whore the local equivalent to Mike Woods, Eric Braate. The man does the weather—on the weather deck, no less—looks very handsome in a leather jacket and that’s all. (I have no hesitation in saying that he’s easily the best looking man in Milwaukee television.)

On the other hand, one thing hasn’t changed—the local commercials. They are still unintentionally hilarious. The deer-caught-in-headlights looks, the accents (“Well ya know ya get de best bargain ‘ere.”), and what is advertised. For starters, funeral homes; I swear Milwaukee is the only place where I have seen funeral homes advertised on television. I know the area isn’t growing by leaps and bounds, but are people dying off that quickly? Less morbid are the ads for Polka-palooza. That’s right, “Polka-palooza,” which unbelievably is restricted to 21 and up. I’m guessing it’s for beer, but seriously, I don’t think you need to worry about Gen-Yers sneaking in to hear 500 different versions of the “Beer Barrel Polka.”

Jerry Done Lost His Mind

And I don't mean La Kilgore (though that one's batty as well). I'm referring to Geraldo Rivera.

For starters, he claims his new show (RIP A Current Affair mk. II) won't be a tabloid show, even though his first subject matter is going to be the current favourite missing young white girl. His dirty old man comment at the end is smack worthy in my book.

Want further proof? Listen to the podcast (with the funky opening music) on the Journal-Sentinel's website.

Out in Novosibirsk

I've always been fascinated with Siberia and the Vostok (The Russian Far East). I have trouble explaining what the appeal is to me, but it's been there for many years.

The Washington Post is doing a series of articles about Russian life. The current one is about gay life in Novosibirsk, it's quite intriguing. There's a companion piece as well.

(On a purely shallow note, I have to admit that I've always found Slavic men extremely sexy.)

Splash Post-Mortem: Breaking The Cinderella Hour

I did it!

I finally went out after midnight. The tricky bit was finding somewhere to get a few drinks in prior.

• The Stonewall: Played hide & seek with the entrance. Was it on Christopher Street or 7th Avenue South? Not in the mood to find out.
• The Hangar: Crowded with a $5 cover. Never again.
• The View: Filled to the brim with either actors, dancers, or FIT students, the kind who have no qualms about SCREAMING IN MY EAR "OH MY GAAAAWD! NO WAAAAY!" And what happened to the videos?
• XES: At least I could sit down. Busy as hell though. Cute faux-hawked bartender probably shaved off 5 lbs. by gallivanting about.

And then I made it to Splash. (Still didn't use the black card.)

Interesting observation: What's with all these twentysomething twinks who are afraid of porn? I ran into two of them who had reactions like "ewwwww, porn!" Idiots. If you're going to a place with shirtless bartenders on a night entitled "Men's Room," you really should expect that you're going to see naked men in front of you. Go back to adoring that waste of space Hilton lady and her handbags.

Passing by the downstairs bar--by this point shirtless (it's true, after midnight, my inhibitions do go down)--I ran into M, who I hadn't seen since in quite some time. I cannot stress how well the two of us really get along. We're both this odd mix of sexual provocateur and slight prudishness. In other words, we'll make out and grope in public, (hell, we both showed our cocks for $2 beer last night) but we're quite content with being perceived as uptight. As lurid as it seemed, it was a little romantic to be honest.

While waiting for my standard post-night-out cheese fries (at 4:50am!), I contemplated several things:

1. Who the hell are all these people out at 4:50 in the morning?
2. Why didn't I start having adventures with M earlier? The sex was good and the post-coital conversation was excellent. (I can live with the smoking differences.) I need friends like that, the kind you can have group sex with.
3. Will I survive spending this week in Milwaukee where the only sensual delights are found in fast food and grocery stores? I'll be miffed if the leaves haven't changed and temperature is above 60.
4. I really should change the byline to "booze, sex, politics, and pop culture rants." Seems apropos.

La Kilgore Goes One Step Too Far

Now he's claiming that his opponent would have spared Adolph Hitler the electric chair.

Somebody must've missed their appointment with Wolf, the leatherman.

A sidenote: Why are all these other political races in New Jersey and Virginia vastly more interesting than the one for mayor of New York City? The only interesting about it is the relative lack of mud-slinging. For pete's sake, this is New York City, people, fling some damn mud at each other! If Ferrer had the resources to just run one critical ad against the closet-case, then people would wise up out of their lemming state.