Wisconsin's Crafty and Bitter Bigots

"It's a very sad song" to quote Akiko Wada.

I honestly am surprised that Wisconsin would let it get this far, but apparently an idiot Republican representative from New Berlin (a place that clearly doesn't want to admit it's got bigger problems) has successfully gotten a ballot initiative that will ask voters to ban same-sex marriage come November.

What's even more surprising is that this is done completely out of bigotry and a Machiavellian desire to bring Republicans to the ballot box in the fall (although 6 Democrats voted with Republicans). The fact of the matter is that Wisconsin's law already defines marriage as between two people of opposite gender. So essentially voters are being asked "how much do you hate homosexuals" at the polls. This is state sanctioned discrimination, make no bones about it.

Did any of the people who voted for this not see this?

How on Earth can you possibly put equal treatment up for a vote? As has been demonstrated throughout the ages, this is not something you go with mob opinion on. If that was the case, then the US would still be a land where Native Americans aren't citizens, women would still be denied the vote, and interracial couples (much like same sex couples now) would be running out of their home state in order to get married.

Has Loving Vs. Virginia been completely forgotten?

It was not so long ago that the phrase "activist judges" and its equivalents were used to describe those who wanted equal rights for women and minorities. Any state legislator who voted for this, has already donned a white cloak over the head whether they want to admit it or not.

Likewise, if you vote for this amendment in November, then you are doing the same. You cannot hide behind any justifications beyond that. You just want to tell gays and lesbians to go away, it's plain and simple.

The fact of the matter is that we aren't. We are not going to go off into sunset, thanking you for not whipping us. Wisconsin was the very first state to have a gay rights law in 1982, and now, 24 years later the bigots in the Legislature want to turn that clock back.

I truly believe that the people of Wisconsin are not their legislators. That in their heart of hearts, they know this is wrong. As some have mentioned, the fact is that in this day and age, people of opposite genders who know each other for all of 15 minutes can get married and divorced or have the marriage annulled in no time at all, while a same sex couple who have built lives together, raised children, and been successful members of their community are denied that right for no other reason than that they happen to be homosexual.

When I was growing up, there were two kids in my school who were stepsiblings because their parents, who happened to be neighbours, swapped spouses...just for kicks. Now, Representative Gundrum, how can you say that pairing is legally valid in comparison to two men out in Eau Claire who raise adopted children? And have been doing so for decades, I hasten to add.

How can you say that two women in Milwaukee who work for community outreach do not have a union that is worth protecting?

You'd rather protect the people who get married out of obligation or "just for fun."

I'm sorry, you can't justify that.

Therapy-Posh-Stonewall-The View Post-Mortem: Laying it all out

For starters: Therapy sucked. I'm just going to be blunt and tell you that it sucked. I have never been in a place with so many pretentious queens in my life.

Oddly enough, Posh right down the street was lively and pleasant with people who actually do want to talk to others. I really do not get these stand-and-model places like Therapy. Don't others want to appear welcoming and open? It makes me wonder about the type of people who do socialise there. Is it a fear of being seen as something less than BCBG? The old axiom about honey versus vinegar is true.

Stonewall was perfect, I won't say anymore lest I bump into you. (I mean that with all the love in the world.)

And The View was the answer to all my prayers: no huge crowd, socialble types and whatnot.

All in all, a good night was had by all. Even though, I'm going to pay for indulging in several $5 hurricanes tomorrow.

And even though he's a misogynist who is avoiding talking to police about his bodyguard's murder, I cannot get Busta Rhymes's "Touch It" out of my head.

If I Was A Fox Network Executive

I would check myself into rehab for thinking that this, this, and this were worth greenlighting.

And I would wonder about my sadistic tendencies.

Monday Jukebox Says At Least Something Went Right

It has been--as my middle school softball coach would say--a "mell of a hess" today.

Aborted flirtations, iPods that refuse to be recognised by my computer, and a new trainer tomorrow.

Still, it's the good things that one should focus on. Things like, the fact that two of my favourites got into the final of Melodifestivalen 2006.

First up, Magnus Carlsson's "Lev livet" and if someone could tell me what the women are singing before the chorus, I'd be much obliged.



Second, the original vibrating bra herself, Kikki Danielsson, and "Idag & Imorgon"

The Cold Slap of Monday

First, I wake up and Good Day New York is live from The Bronx, where they send Mike Woods to his shtick with his nostrils at a hair salon (ponder that for a moment), while Lyn Brown is swaddled like Nanook of the North. If I was Lyn Brown, I'd be pissed. Majorly.

Even worse, I read this. People, the man cannot write. Wise up.

Melodifestivalen 2006 Semi-Final 2: Joy in Karlstad

Well, since SVT isn't broadcasting Melodifestivalen online this year, at least I'm agreeing with the results. (I always reckoned I was a bit of a jinx with it anyway.)

Magnus Carlsson (he of the hairplugs and Alcazar fame) and Kikki Danielsson (she of the vibrating brassiere fame) both got spots in the final with their entries...which happened to be the only songs I really liked out of this semi. Just as sweet, the extraordinarily daft "Oh Yeah" placed last.

If the results keep going on like this, then I may very well give a kiss and a grope for a tape of the final, and I'll go further for a free trip with tickets (hint, hint).*

*This may be the marathon of Footballers' Wives I had today talking.

Friday Jukebox Says Salient Melodifestivalen Horrors Are Back

Believe it or not Electric Banana Band's "Kameleont" made it to the Second Chance round--and placed 3rd. I guess acid-infused children's show performances go down a storm in Sverige.

The Confused Playwright/Activist/Curmudgeon

• Why does coverage of HRC dinners in the gay press read more like a throwback to 1930's celebrity journalism?
• Why don't we ever hear from these organisations outside of these celebrity dinners?
• Why do the most successful gay plays don't feature nudity in their promo material, and the ones that look and read like excrement do?
• Why do reporters continue to say "I-raq" instead of "Ir-aq," despite Christine Amanpour telling us that it gets on her nerves?

A Cast of Daily Characters

I'm a big believer in keeping a detatched perspective when it comes to daily life. Our time here is so short, that it is better to laugh it off than to get aggrivated by all the little twists and turns that really don't alter our path in any way, shape, or form.

One of the things I do is that I view life as like one endless sitcom. Not a star vehicle, but an ensemble show. What I find interesting is that most often it's the unnamed players that wind up being most interesting.

• Pinky & The Brain: A red-headed man (Pinky) and his trainer (The Brain) who I encounter nearly every time I workout. Pinky has a tendency to babble incoherently and sing to himself in a vaoice that must sound like in his head, but like an American Idol reject to the rest of us. It wouldn't surprise me if Pinky drops acid before he works out. As for The Brain, he's also a little bit off-centre. One time I saw him walking down the stairs [from the locker room] backwards. I asked my trainer what the story was and apparently The Brain believes that it makes him symmetrical.
• Napoleon XII: Although Napoleon wasn't as short as the myth would have you believe, the story still lingers and it works here. N12 walks around the gym as if it is his playland and we are mere silent moving statues. He likes to turn on his Ipod and sing along while obliviously lifting weights that seem to precariously dangle over his head. Frequently, I get all high-school and entertain the thought of stuffing him into a locker. Then I start thinking about the potential lawsuit, because we all know Napoleon played for blood.
• Mr. Leg-Out: Mr. Leg-Out hangs out in front of the nearby Citibank virtually every day. He's in a wheelchair with one leg always stretched out. He doesn't appear to have any missing limbs (or at least has a prothesis) and is always engrossed in some conversation. I think he does enjoy seeing people dodge him because he tends to hang around the section of the sidewalk between the bank and the phone booth where there is minimal sidewalk space. I like him for that.
• Sweating Hat: So called not because he's sweating constantly, but because he wears a sweatshirt and hat all the time. Sweating Hat is another trainer at the gym, who I have never seen wearing anything else but a sweatshirt and a hat. I wonder if he even has any physical form beyond what the eye can see. The hat, I guess, is to cover up a receding hairline (though I'm a strong proponent of letting hair recede, since I think it's very sexy, cf. Christopher Meloni). The sweatshirt I cannot figure out. Perhaps it's steroid abuse gone awry or just body dysmorphia. Nonetheless, Sweating Hat seems to be an extremely tolerant fellow because one of his previous clients seemed to suffer a meltdown after every single exercise.
• Laflamme: Laflamme is one of Sweating Hat's clients. Unlike the aforementioned one, she doesn't meltdown after everything. She does however try to beat off aging by dying her hair to an unnatural shade of reddish orange. I think in some way she sees herself as Norma Desmond with Sweating Hat as her Joe Gillis.
• Heckle & Jeckle I: Two men whose machismo never quite meshed with their reality. So named because they would spend more time trying to assert their masculinity vocally than actually lifting any weight. Whenever they did, the fact that they had long since ceased being the uber-jocks they used to be came crashing down all around them. Since I haven't seen them in ages, I'm guessing they dropped one too many barbells.
• Heckle & Jeckle II: Like the circle of life, the void left by the first Heckle & Jeckle was filled with another pair. These two are somewhat younger than the original pair, and are clearly on steroids. Heckle II enjoys posing in the mirror to the oohs and ahhs of Jeckle II. There's a strong slightly depressing dynamic to this relationship, but I doubt Heckle II would change a thing.

More are bound to be added.

Diamonds will never leave you, and neither will hot water bottles

BBC News has a story on the one-woman show causing a stir in Zimbabwe: Hot Water Bottle.

This is my kind of theatre.

Splash Post-Mortem: Of Rude Tourists and Daft Bartenders

Disclaimer: I'm letting the curmudgeon out tonight.

Honestly, I just wanted a low-key night. Note that I wrote "low-key" not invisible. There's a clear difference.

To begin, I started my night out by waiting about 10 minutes to be served by the Cypriot bartender who seemed engrossed by the conversation with some man at the end of the bar. Listen mate, I don't begrudge you trying to get your leg over, but you do realise that your income is kind of dependent on how promptly (if at all) you serve your customers. Speaking for just myself, if I see that you'd rather talk to somebody at the end of the bar than serve somebody, then it's reflected in my tip and--more importantly--my memory. If it was just me, then I'd let it slide, but I saw you do it to several other people. M'dear, you aren't that cute anymore that a simple "oh, I'm so sorry" will suffice. You've lost me for the month of March.

If that wasn't enough, then two tourists from Madrid sat next to me. Now while I use the phrase "sat," it's more like conquered the space. I don't know about you, but my general rule is sit one stool apart from the next person over, if there is enough space. And let me tell you, there was enough space. For some reason, one of them chose the seat next to me and then brought a stool to slide in between for the other. The other one was just pissy the whole entire time. He just sat there glaring and being irritated for no other reason than the fact that I was there. For pete's sake, I was there before you and you didn't have to sit right at that spot at the bar. Hell, you could've sat in a dozen other open spaces, so don't get huffy with me.

Needless to say, it was short night.

Monday Jukebox Says You'd Better Respect Akiko Wada

Case in point:

I'll Build A Building and Call It Mary

Apparently there's a new apartment building going up on 28th Street, right across from the McDonald's. The reason I mention this is because this building: a) looks like it was designed by somebody who played too much with Lego blocks as a child; and b) has got one of the most daft names I've seen so far as a place to live.

By the way, doesn't it look like it's bound to topple over if a strong wind comes along?

Narcissism: The Fourth Sexual Orientation?

Wikipedia defines sexual narcissism as such: Narcissism is the pattern of characteristics and behaviors which involve infatuation and obsession with one's self to the exclusion of others and the egotistic and ruthless pursuit of one's gratification, dominance and ambition.

The reason I bring up narcissism, is that I've been bouncing a crackpot theory recently (inspired by a horoscope that told me that it is "time to think of [myself] first") : Is narcissism itself its own sexual orientation?

Looking at online hookup websites and also just observing interactions in public, I'm beginning to believe it. My barfly self sees it occasionally in both bartenders and their patrons, both of whom strut like peacocks to look the most presentable and lustful to others in order to reaffirm themselves of their own value. I do not believe that this is an exclusively gay thing either. I am certain people on all sides of the sexual orientation spectrum notice this as well. It is the faux cutesy voice, the low-cut or sleeveless shirt. To be honest, we all have our narcissistic moments, myself included. The type of narcissism that I'm mentioning here is when it becomes so much of a factor in daily interactions (as described above) that it does affect how and who one interacts with.

So how is it its own orientation? Here's my theory:

Think of the gay-for-pay "phenomenon" in pornography. Men who identify themselves publicly as heterosexuals have sexual acts with men with clear erections out front and centre. Now, although I've never been on a porn shoot, I know that there are sometimes heterosexual porn films playing in the background, as well as men and women on set who serve as fluffers. Still, this occurrance does make the mind ponder. Monetary issues aside, what is the driving force here? Is it a latent bisexuality or homosexuality? Or is it that the desire to see oneself as an object of lust overrides any hardwired prejudices? I think it is mostly the latter.

It is rare for most of us to receive a substantial amount of accolade on a daily basis. If that wasn't the case, then the self-help pop-psychology industry would go out of business overnight and Dr. Phil would be off the air. Just like we need food to survive, we also need compliments. Some people need it more than others and they seek that fuel out in any way possible. This desire, I believe, can reach across sexual orientation because it becomes less about the gender of your partner and more about what you perceive that partner sees you as.

Now, although I'm making an argument for narcissism being its own sexual orientation, I hope and pray that it actually never becomes recognised as such. Narcissism is quite frankly, a sociopathic state. In fact, I think the majority of the problems that society is really stem from the fact that myopia is running rampant.

That is all, reckon I.

New Week, New Link

My friend Garrett now has his own blog, From the Midwest to Manhattan. Do check it out.

DC Post-Mortem: Our Capitol, Ourselves

For starters, I have to say that any bar (even if it's non-smoking) that has this sign up, is my kind of place. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

This weekend, I was down in Washington for no other reason than it's basically the ground zero for my family. Practically everyone lived there or around it at one time and many still do. That said, I didn't tell them that I was coming because I didn't want to visit them. I just wanted to see what the city was like.

Not to sound like a tourist board operative, but Washington is extremely beautiful at least from an aesthetic viewpoint, especially the subway system. It may not run 24 hours (why on Earth is New York City still the only city with a 24 hour subway system?), but the stations really grab you by the proverbial balls and tell you this is a capitol city, from big central stations like Dupont Circle (which made me feel like I'm slowly being swallowed by a whale) to smaller ones like Shaw-Howard University.

(By the way, that station should not have Howard University in its name. Howard is probably more than a mile away from it. Just call the damn station Shaw.) In addition to the grand entrances, the system of using lights on the floor to signal an arriving train is very cool and not to mention user friendly. They're much better than just listening out for a high-pitched shriek and sparks. On the downside, the trains look like they haven't been updated since the early 1980's, but at least there are electronic signs in the station telling you how many minutes away the next train is. This is something that the MTA is only just getting around to think about doing. (DC even has pedestrian crossings that show you how much time you have to cross an intersection, which is yet another thing that they're only just getting around to doing up here, vehicular homicides be damned.)

Transportation geek serenade over, let's get to the drinking.

Given the fact that it was in the teens Saturday night and I was not about to go gallivanting all about town, I stayed mostly in Dupont Circle, which is apparently Washington's traditional gay neighbourhood that the literature compared to Greenwich Village. Perhaps in terms of social significance, but this was no Greenwich Village. It looked like Midtown East spread out, at least the parts east of the circle did.

My first stop was JR's, a bar touted as the place to be in DC. Well, if that's the case, then I don't need to be in that place. Now, when I see the phrase "video bar," that implies music videos, not videos from musicals. One or two songs from musicals I can stand, but nonstop for an hour is too much. Then there were the patrons. I was the only minority in the whole entire place.

Let me say that again: in a bar in Washington DC on a Saturday night, I was the only person of colour. That boggled my mind.

A good friend of mine (J) happened to be in town at the same time and called me while I was trying to debate how much longer I could hack it in there. (17 degree weather with high winds really makes you think twice before leaving.) When he basically said that it was the hub for Log Cabinettes, I knew I had to go.

Further up 17th street was Cobalt, which was really rather uneventful save for the fact that the place had the aforementioned sign plastered on a wall as soon as you entered.

After a surprisingly non-frostbite inducing trek past the circle, I went to The Fireplace which despite its name was not all that warm inside courtesy of a short distance between the entrances and the bar. Nonetheless, this was finally the bar that felt right because they finally had some damn videos, not to mention it was the first truly mixed (in terms of race) bar I had been in all night. It was here that I met up with J, and this is when the night really kicked into high gear.

J drove to The Green Lantern. Considering that you read and hear about all sorts of kink and raunch going on amongst the political crowd, I was surprised that all the previous bars seemed rather chaste. Well, they must all go to the Green Lantern to scratch that itch, because it was all laid out there. Apparently, it was underwear night and let me tell you, nearly everybody let it all hang out for free booze. I didn't participate, because J didn't and given the wind I figured catching pneumonia was not worth getting free drinks. Of course we were the odd ones out, as this place will be permanently etched in memory as where I saw a man in a harness dance and play with his nipples to Dead or Alive.

To cap the night off, J took me to Bachelor's Mill in the Southeast. Talk about a 180 degree turn from JR's log cabinettes. "The Mill" seemed more like a black gay house party instead of any actual bar/club. I loved every second of it. You can take all the sleek decor and named drinks, because nothing can compare to being in the middle of a throng of pulsating bodies while drinking an Alize Blue & orange juice. (Bougie, Alize trumps Hennessey with me.) Especially when the music is from the orange-haired era of rap and hip hop. I mean, how long has it been since you've heard Chubb Rock being played?

In many ways, Washington is the US crammed into a small former marshland. You have great architecture, a transportation system that looks good but doesn't quite exactly meet the needs of the populace, and a strong social segregation with enough pockets of integration that give you hope that things will change in due time.

Will He Sleep With Bush To Bring The Troops Back?

Personally, I think it's a nice thing that a former hustler is running for office. I like it even better that he admits to it as well and isn't ashamed of it. He could be the American version of Ciccolina.

That said, the history as a Mary Kay man, we don't want those sort of people in office.

Seams from the Economic Struggle in Gotham

Since I work out of my home, and set my own schedule, that leaves my days pretty much open. I like to call the period of the day (late morning) when I workout the "hooker and housewife" hour, because basically who else has the free time to work out and take exercise classes at that time? Yet, I'm always surprised by the amount of people wearing business casual on their way into or out of the locker room.

Shopping is another example. This morning, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to go to the Barney's Warehouse Sale. I'm far from a clotheshorse, but ever since I saw a relatively decent shirt at Macy's that was marked down from $45 to $1, I figure it never hurts to just see what's available. Now experience and observation has taught me that in general men's departments are relatively sparse during the day. It tends to be mostly retirees, house husbands, college students, and freelancers like myself.

Apparently, not at this joint.

Wall to wall of people in suits doing trades and business deals over the phone while going through the racks and bins like they were looking for the Golden Ticket. It was insane. I don't know how they got the time off, because all the white-collar workers I know tell me that they only get time to themselves from 11-1 if they're lucky and don't have a backlog of work.

I realise that I'm approaching this from a level of relative ignorance (given my own situation), but I couldn't help but wonder why these people weren't at work. On the news every night, I hear about jobs being scarce for everyone save the upper classes. Now, I'm the first person to say that your job shouldn't be the focus of your life, and perhaps the fact that people were flocking to a sale as opposed to the regular store is a sign that people want to get a lot more for their money, but there seemed to be a strong sense of desperation in the air at the warehouse. It was like the patrons wanted to buy the clothes that made them look wealthy and devil-may-care, when the reality was exactly the opposite.

The line for the cash registers was one of the longest I've seen outside of theme parks. Nearby, a very prominent sign read "No fistfights." I think this was meant only partially in jest. As I was heading towards the register I heard a man complain to one of the assistants about "the bottleneck." I wanted to point out to him that if he's getting irritated by that, then he really should look into why his life is scheduled to such a frentic state.

They're just clothes, and contrary to famous saying, they do not make the man.

From the "suck it up" department

Some of the acts participating in this year's Melodifestivalen are apparently miffed that their final positions will be learned during the show, as opposed to afterwards.

Oh, for pete's sake, considering that a great many (if not all) of the songs get released as singles, this is pretty decent exposure and a good thing for sales. Remember that the superhit out of last year's MF came from runner up Nanne and not Stenchmark.

Undergarments

There are few shots of me undressed out there, which surprises me, to be honest. I figure with all my prattling about undergarments last night, I ought to just show you (relatively) what I look like.

From 2 years ago: