May 2005 Archives
May 31, 2005
Today is Ryan’s birthday. Let the well wishes commence!
Ryan and I met online before he moved to St. Louis. My reference to Buffy the Vampire Slayer in one of my online profiles caught his eye as he surveyed the landscape of fellas that would await him once he moved here. The Scooby Gang extends to all corners of the world and one knows that an allegiance with a fellow Buffy devotee is a must when moving into a new city. It is especially true for St. Louis, a town that (at times) makes Sunnydale look like a cake walk.
I was, at first, flattered that a cute boy was chatting me up. But then again, I’m always flattered when a cute boy chats me up. But Ryan was different than most of the cute boys online. He had a soul.
With time, that initial feeling of giddy cute boy flattery changed as I learned more about him, his life and his various trials and tribulations. A strange sort of kinship developed as I realized that this wasn’t some typical gay online cat-n-mouse kinda game. It was a friendship that wasn’t wrapped up in the emotional goo of does-he-like-like-me or does he just like me? It was, indeed a first for me – and I suppose it was a little baby step towards a more mature understanding of gay male friendship.
While Ryan is the latest addition to my particular Scooby Gang of beleaguered optimists, I suspect that he doesn’t know that when I think of him, he’s much more Buffy-like to me than anyone I know.
While his ability to verbally eviscerate the inane and the ignorant is as formidable as a mid-season ex-demon who fears only bunnies, he possesses a strength of character that is much more Slayer worthy.
While he entered my little narrative well into its 33rd season, he still impresses me with his thoughtfulness and his principles, which are as fully developed, well reasoned and sensible as anyone I’ve ever known. And while I’ve been a shit-pot stinker to him on a number of occasions, he has never failed me as a friend.
If he doesn’t slay you with his pretty blue eyes, he’ll definitely slay you with his loyalty and generosity. I know that when it comes time to fight the good fight, he's on my side and I feel very lucky and very honored to call him my friend.
Happy Birthday, doll!
Oh...the sweet sense of contentment knowing that there's now eight more of you reading this shit. Or have at least read this shit once. Hey, if the New York Post can inflate their numbers....
Here's a shout out to some fun folks who're blogging away:
Welcome to the Radical writ!
Jewish Iguana Girl
I'm not interesting, I'm not witty and all together, I'm not too deep or philosophical
My Fascinating Life
I work for a repossession company - so if your car is missing I just might have it!
A fellow St. Louisan who is witty and wise!
Hurts so good...
A hand full of ASPD, a tbsp of unipolar, a dash of schizophrenia, a pinch of BPD, mixed with a little OCD gets you...ME!
Boy Band Worship. Occassional Cocks. Hilarity. Wisdom. Now with 60% more ass!
She sings! She cooks! She knits!
And if I didn't believe that the Department of Homeland Security was watching my ass (I know my phone's tapped -- all that clicking and bloopity-beeps)....I've heard from these folks, too:
Chicago Revolutionary Writers & Artists Collective
The CRWAC is a group of young revolutionary-minded writers and artists, proud to follow the wildly liberating communist vision of Bob Avakian.
May 30, 2005
Light up another clove cigarette and get ready for more anti-establishment grousing: MTV and Nine Inch Nails are squabbling, too!
NIN will not be performing on the MTV Movie Awards show, which as we all know, is the bastion of critical, cultural commentary.
"We were set to perform 'The Hand That Feeds' with an unmolested, straightforward image of George W. Bush as the backdrop. Apparently, the image of our president is as offensive to MTV as it is to me," Nine Inch Nails' leader Trent Reznor said in a statement posted on the band's Web site.May I ask a question after reading all these "statements": does anybody believe that "discomfort" was ever "discussed"? Don't you think it went like this:
MTV said in a statement: "While we respect Nine Inch Nails' point of view, we were uncomfortable with their performance being built around a partisan political statement. When we discussed our discomfort with the band, their choice was to unfortunately pull out of the Movie Awards."
MTV: It's a no go on the Dub, yo.....
Trent: ******[UNINTELLIGIBLE SCREECHING FOR 4 MINUTES]********
As we wrap up this Memorial Day weekend, let's take a moment to reflect on the courage of MTV executives who, though "discomforted" by "political statements", do take a stand on what's right in America with shows like:
I Want a Famous Face
...follow the transformations of twelve young people who have chosen to use plastic surgery to look like their celebrity idols
It's one of the wealthiest beach communities in the world and MTV has unlimited access to the tight-knit power clique of eight rich, beautiful teens who live there.
America's favorite couple is back for a new season. Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey has stolen the hearts of audiences everywhere and the success of the show has left people cheering for another season of Newlyweds.
Meet The Barkers
The mohawked drummer of blink-182 has found true love with a former Miss USA turned TV actress, and they've invited the whole world to watch as they begin their hectic lives together.
I guess MTV doesn't believe that they're making any sort of political statement by creating programming centered around rich, beautiful, thin white people who live near a beach or are in a rock group or have been Miss U.S. of A.
And God bless you MTV for providing a haven of self-expression for those folks who will allow surgeons to hack off body parts until they look like MTV superstars who are incapable of not only expressing a political view, but in some cases, a complete sentence.
Thanks, MTV, for protecting us from free thought and individual expression.
Oh, the Goth Girl drama -- played out on the internets, no less!
Bitchy, firey missives being sent back and forth across the digital divide, even though Robert Smith, much like Tom Cruise, is not gay.
The smell of clove cigarettes lingers in the air, as chucks of black hair get pushed back from the furrowed brows of black eyelined faces - black fingernail polish clicking on black keys. Black. Black. Black.
TORONTO (Billboard) - Two veteran members of the Cure have exited the U.K. rock act, which has long featured a revolving door of musicians backing leader Robert Smith.He goes on to say:
Keyboardist Roger O'Donnell and guitarist Perry Bamonte are out, leaving singer/guitarist Smith, bassist Simon Gallup and drummer Jason Cooper in the fold, according to the Cure's Web site.
"As of Tuesday this week I am no longer a member of the Cure," O'Donnell wrote on his Web site. "It was sad to find out after nearly 20 years the way I did but then I should have expected no less or more."
...I wish The Cure all the success they deserve.
Oh the bitterness and passive aggressive melodrama! The 80's are back!
May 29, 2005
I'm getting ready to shut this puppy down and another e-mail, rich with subtext, pops up.
It's titled Swapping Saliva.
Considering last night involved none of that and the BBQ I'm off to is peppered with fellas:
1. That I've already done that with
2. Whose girlfriends would totally kick my ass if I tried...
This little e-mail from Derik Donovan offered promise.
As soon as the stewardess serves the coffee, the airline encounters turbulence.
I shot in there(sic) mouths and then they swapped it back in forth [porn website redacted] i couldn't believe they did it
All I want is a warm bed, a kind word and unlimited power.
Me, too, Derik. Me, too.
Wrapping up today's So Blogged Life* coverage, we're going from Oliver Stone to Oil & Leather to Oliver Wendell Douglas.
Eddie Albert will forever be known to most of the world as the man who drug Eva Gabor off to a Hollywood sound stage to play haus frau to a pig and collection of Hee Haw homeboys.
It was a dreadful show. And of course I own it on DVD.
I stayed home last night and rewatched some of my favorite episodes of Green Acres. It was, to be exact, the most lovely Saturday evening I've had in ages. No drama. No intrigue. No mischief. No MEN!!! And while I usually proceed half coldcocked or totally half-cocked when it's a S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night, I left my roller boogie shoes in the closet and curled up with my kitty and ate a Klondike bar. Or four.
But I was home by midnight, totally clear headed and cogent and loving me some Green Acres until I went to sleep....eww....naturally. For a Saturday night, that is, indeed, a first.
I had to have one evening of thoughtful introspection this Memorial Day weekend. It's funny how these moments always revolve around a farm. It's leitmotiv or something...
Rest In Peace, Eddie.
*Thanks for the inspiration, Brian
I had no sooner posted my previous entry, which alluded to hot nasty leather sex with Colin Farrell, when I was greeted with the dulcet bleep-blop-bleep of a new e-mail message.
I've been waiting for this message for weeks. I've checked my e-mail first thing in the morning and last thing at night...waiting for a message from the object of my obsession.
I knew he was up to something.
And every day, I wondered if this would be the day when I got some news? Would I find out what's going on with him? What's he doing?
My favorite porn star, Arpad Miklos, is in a new movie!
I met him last year in New York and I've been following his career with even more...um...fervor since then.
And the e-mail that arrived at that moment told me that I could pre-order his new film right now! And it's a movie about hot nasty leather sex -- but not with Colin Farrell, of course.
He, like Tom Cruise, is not gay.
I will warn you that this is not porn for the faint of heart and it is by no means suitable for work -- even for those of you who work from home. If porn were coffee, even you Fill It to the Rim with Brim drinkers might not like this blend of nasty hardcore.
I'm really not so sure it's my thing, either. My feeble attempts at hardcore lately have ended with blood poisoning and embarrassment. And in all seriousness, a date at Starbucks followed some heavy petting will get my attention and probably my affection. I can never get caffeine or sweet kisses. The trouble with me is that I have the emotional depth of a rain puddle and even then I can drown in my own sentimentality.
Sometimes I just like to pretend that I can totally detach myself from my emotions. I like to pretend that I'm still not vexed and bewildered by men, by dating, by sex. I like to pretend that there's not a guy that I'd rather hear from -- and all I get are promotional messages from a porn star.
But that's my nasty imagination, for ya.
And its nasty way of playing tricks on me.
Oliver Stone was arrested in Beverly Hills the other day on suspicion of drug possession and driving drunk as a skunk. Speaking of stank, he’s edited out most of the gay references in the Special Edition Director’s Cut DVD of Alexander which is soon to be released.
According to director Oliver Stone, the new version is shorter by an estimated eight minutes, minus, in large part, references to Alexander’s bisexuality to make the film “more accessible” to viewers.
Normally I could give a rat’s ass what Oliver Stone was cutting, whether it was lines of coke or footage from his shitty films. But I've been paying attention to how the media have been covering this shitty film. It's a Colin Farrell thing for me, okay?
Earlier this year, Ollie blamed homophobia, fundamentalism and cultural ignorance for Alexander's failure at the box office:
"Americans don't read about ancient history like the Europeans. And in America there is a raging fundamentalism and morality. From day one the Bible Belt people did not show up because there was one phrase throughout the media and that was 'Alex the gay.' So you can bet your [bleep] the Americans aren't going to see a war hero who in their heads has something wrong with him. But I don't regret what I have made here for a minute. It's the epic of my life."
Seems to me, Ollie, the only thing of epic proportions you’ll find now is the attorney’s fees you’ll have to pay to get yourself outta trouble. And once you do get your license back, oh visionary and arbiter of truth in film, there’s a highway of hypocritical regrets for you to be driving. It’s littered with the gay footage you cut in a lame attempt to sell your boring as [bleep] piece of [bleep]ing [bleep] film.
Usually, I would be the first person to say it’s not nice to kick a man when he’s down (it’s just as satisfying to maliciously gossip about him), but I’ve strapped on my black patent-leather steel-toed 7 inch platform-heeled boots especially for the occasion.
From what I can tell, Colin likes is kinda rough.
May 27, 2005
The Tony's, that awards show that Joan Rivers won't even take off her oxygen mask to attend, has a new sponsor for their June 5th snoozefest: Saab!
The unusual aspect of this integrated deal -- in which the new Saab 9-7X SUV will have a starring role next to the red carpet and stars will pose for interviews on a platform adorned with Saab’s logo -- is that the sponsor brought the buy to the network.Richy Glassberg, senior VP for ad sales at TV Guide Channel says:
"...that’s not enough today because the brand has to break through the clutter. Now Saab will be in every print picture of the red carpet and they’ll be on TV Guide the whole time we’re broadcasting. This is Saab surrounding themselves with their target audience -- great marketing in a fragmented world.”Yes, Richy, the world is fragmented and I am sure the pissy homosexuals who give a crap about the Tony's, sporty Saabs, and strategic logo placement in People Magazine's photo coverage will be thrilled with this news.
And while I'm about a pissy as pissy can be, I think I'll be enjoying a night of live theatre instead of more soul destroying corporate propaganda purchased by General Motors.
But what am I gonna wear?
May 26, 2005
After yesterday’s call for entries, I’ve received one from this fine fella entitled Star Quality. I love the mysterious figure lurking in the lower right corner -- and after another hellish day cleaning, moving and more computer bullshit, I wish I had this superpower to conjure me up that penthouse suite at the Adam’s Mark.
I’d love to get away this weekend, soak in a hot tub and order room service.
Submitted by Brick City with my thanks!!!!!
May 25, 2005
Let’s play a game I like to call “The Imagine Game.”
I’m gonna present a scenario and you have to imagine what you would do. Okay?
Imagine this: it’s the day you’re supposed to move into your brand new office! Yay! New office! You and your co-workers, including one Angry Black Bitch, pack up all your computers and printers and equipment and trek off to set up your new workplace. You pop a couple of Sudafed, gulp down your second Café Americano (with an extra shot) and light up whatever it is you’re smoking these days. You’ve got work to do.
Imagine that, okay?
Now...imagine what you might do if you walked into your brand new office and found that a busted hot water pipe had sent chunks of ceiling flying down on top of your new desks! Desks that would have had your computers on them if you’d set them up last night instead of today. And water is everywhere and is gushing on your newly re-sanded and re-stained hardwood floors! Imagine the FUN of that!!!
It’s even more fun to imagine what you might do after you cleaned up the chunks of wet plaster and ooey-gooey wood only to discover that your business’ server had for some reason mysteriously died, one of your co-workers hard drives had crashed and the wireless network on two of your other computers had mysteriously stopped working. Imagine what a great first day at your brand new office that would be!
Well…you can only imagine what a certain Angry Black Bitch and the resident computer geek (that’s...um...me) did.
We played a game I like to call “The Force Field Game.”
Imagine this (it’s two games in one now...so keep up!): you’ve got a good buzz going (Sudafed, caffeine, nicotine, booze, whatever) and WHAM! here comes some bullshit and aggravation, here comes some trifling queen to wreck your night, here comes some nappy headed children to sit on your car and curse at you….. what ARE you going to do?
You throw up a force field to repel, repulse and repugn any or all of the previously mentioned assaults on your good time or your cheap buzz. The occasion or situation is flexible, but there are times when you need a force field that is not.
ABB was up first to strut her stuff as she demonstrated her force field tactics.
She begins by pointing to her expertly pedicured toes, shod in the cutest of shoes, of course:
She then raises her finger higher, drawing up her force field. The anticipation is exciting. You worry if she points that finger at you if you will be decimated by the energy she’s conjuring around her:
And the camera angle swoops up, a bitch snaps her fingers, flips her wrist and clenches her fist in defiance, cause now, honey, you’ve got:
A Bitch in A Bubble
This is no ordinary sucking-helium Glenda-the-dumb-bitch floating-around wasting-time on some cheap-shoes bubble, either. With a “shoddy-sha” an Angry Black Bitch will float away from your tore-up ass, not thinking about what bullshit brought you around to interfere with her good time. This bubble is also terribly offensive (however you choose to pronounce it). She will roll up over your ass, left-to-right, side-to-side, front-to-back and the damage inflicted is irreversible, irrevocable and irreconcilable. You are done, honey. Go home and heal.
Imagine which strategy she employs most often?
Well, I felt like a rank amateur after a demonstration like that. Granted, I have some fair-to-middlin’ force field powers, but nothing to that scale. When asked to demonstrate my own abilities I decided to take an alternate route.
Rather than quality, I’d choose quantity.
The Two Fister
My first force field is much more offensive than defensive. Clutching my fists and protecting my eyes, nose and mouth, a radiant beam of maliciously hostile insincerity issues forth, rippling through time and space, repelling all who would attempt to gain my favor, waste my time or kill my buzz. It’s not the best tactic, but it does work.
There are also other situations in which two fists come in quite handy: compulsive alcoholic consumption and aggressively nasty mansex. Imagine which one I prefer? You’re right: both!!!!!
The one drawback to the double fisted approach is that it essentially hides my face. And while you may have already gathered that I’m a drunken slut -- I am, essentially, a vain, drunken slut. In those situations when I don’t mind a little attention, but it’s still nice to keep a little distance, I employ:
Glitter Shield! is the best! Its pastel tones warm my just-this-side-of-Wednesday-Addams-complexion and adds a bit of stardust to every occasion. One could say that such an outlandish display is simply a demonstration of an individual with a shocking lack of self esteem and deep emotional problems...but I’m all glittery, so who cares? Do you care? Please tell me you care. Please!!!!!!!!!!
So that’s what we did to blow off some steam after a day of mess and gaum. Oh! And all the computers are working, except for the server – and the computer man is coming early tomorrow morning to fix that. So, I’m off to bed early, with fists unclenched by the way, after a long bike ride.
I imagined that it was better to chase after the sunset than chase after some trouble.
OH!!!! If you want to waste valuable hours when you could be working or teaching children to read and stuff, just to take gratuitous photos of yourself and then test your PhotoShop mettle, please do so!
You can send your images to firstname.lastname@example.org. Tell me about your force field power and I’ll post them lickety-split. That is, if the computers are still working.
Driving home tonight from Star Wars - Episode Whatever, I got a little misty eyed. To counterbalance the sentimentality of the moment, I was also internally grousing about Amidala and Anakin, chain smoking and trying to mentally compose this post. And for those of you who haven’t seen the movie, there’s no spoilers here, per se. There is, however, vapid fashion commentary and a Facts of Life allusion.
Let’s start with the future Darth Vader. Anakin Skywalker really fucked everything up for himself, his wife, his kids, democracy, the universe, dreamy Ewan McGregor (I mean Obi Wan) and especially Yoda. Trouble is, he wasn’t really all that likable as the wunderkind and even when he grew up into a young man with really great pecs, his mealy-mouthed behavior didn’t quite match what we’d expect from “the one” who was supposed to bring order to the Force.
I dunno if it’s George Lucas’ writing that makes Anakin fall short for me or if Hayden Christensen didn’t have the chops to pull off the role. The moment came in the film when Anakin made the choice that we all knew he was gonna make and…um…that’s it? What a let down!
Listen, I know I can go on and on about how getting an extra shot of carb-free Orange Fanta at Quik-Trip reminds me of a cute boy and I’ll blubber and blather on about it…but you’re not paying for this shit. I shelled out $12 for a ticket and a Diet Coke – I wanted some REAL drama, honey.
Instead, it was kinda like, oh…whoops…guess I’m all evil and dark and am now your liege, Oh Great Master of Darkness. The characters on 7th fucking Heaven have more complex emotional journeys. Tootie had a bigger emotional journey giving up her roller skates and that was done off camera!
Amidala is on my shit list, too. With the exception of the one scene where she has great hair and then confesses that’s she’s knocked up – she spends the rest of the movie all doe-eyed with all this curly weave that looks like it just taken out of the Silky-Jumbo bag and pinned on her head. Her negligee – tired! Even her space girl maternity outfit was boring. What happened to the head pieces, Queen? You saved your fucking planet at age 14 and had five costume changes while doing it and you’re about to give birth to Carrie Fisher and you can’t even really jazz it up once?
Speaking of Leia and Luke, for that matter, I started considering how much I liked them as characters and how little I cared for Anakin and Amidala. Princess Leia was a freedom fighter, a smart ass and an off-camera pill popper. Luke was stuck on some dead-end desert farm and wanted to fly spaceships. I understood where they were from on so many levels. Even at age seven.
Despite the very lame, tired and uninspired actions of their parents, these kids rocked. They took out Jabba the Hut, got busy with Han Solo (at least Leia did, although one does wonder about Luke) and saved the universe three times. Yay! Heroes! Something to believe in.
Their parents, on the other hand, started out strong, or at least with great potential and made a slow steady, slide into darkness and death. Maybe that’s the point? Children redeem the mistakes of their parents? Parents want their kids to have better lives, even when one’s been a queen and the other one is reportedly one?
When I start thinking about my folks, I can’t help but get a little verklempt. I’ve had my own little moments of sliding into darkness and I fundamentally know that’s not what my mom wants for me or what my father would have wanted for me. When I was chatting with her recently over being sad my mom told me, “Robbie – your days are numbered, anyway. Don’t spend them sad.” That’s Southern for seize the day in case you don’t understand.
As for understanding, George Lucas did wrap it all up for me tonight: Power corrupts. Loving someone isn’t always about getting what you want. Selflessness and thinking of others is a nobler cause. The dark side will lead to a lot of pain. And Ewan McGregor is the dreamiest boy ever!
Oh. And why I got all misty-eyed?
I was wishing that I had Jedi superpowers so I could make my dad materialize as I zipped down the highway alone.
Wondering what he’d tell me about life in the stars.
May 24, 2005
The FBI wants to know.
The FBI on Tuesday asked the U.S. Congress for sweeping new powers to seize business or private records, ranging from medical information to book purchases, to investigate terrorism without first securing approval from a judge.Read all about it here, while ya still can!
I have firmly decided that the current state of American culture is shit. Therefore, I feel that is necessary to remove myself from this horrible mess of a place. Trouble is, I need money. I’m thinking of pitching an idea for a hot, new movie so that I can raise a gaziilion dollars and go live someplace else. Hard work and determination be damned! I wanna quick fix, just like everyone else.
But what to do? What to do?
Well, I’m mulling over a few ideas and will test them out here.
The first is a tale of discrimination, bias and hatred. Families torn apart by prejudice. Starring international superstar Tom Cruise (who is not gay). And robots (of course). We need to appeal to the young girls out there, too. Hmmm... Young girl... Role Model...
Anne Frank Reloaded
Picture it: we'd update it to today. Young freedom fighter with Kung Fu super powers fighting Al Jazeera.
No....no that won't do.
We cannot have American kids running around wanting to be Jewish, for Chrissakes. Wait! That's it! We'll make Anne Frank not Jewish....
She'll be Ann Franklin! Great-and-then-some-Granddaughter of Benjamin Franklin. He's a totally famous American! He's on money and discovered lightning and stuff.
Oh! This'll be good:
The Ann Franklin Story!
Ann Franklin is a lovely little girl, played by Dakota Fanning who’s trying very hard to keep a secret. Her parents, played by Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are Baptist Creationists living in Boston, Massachusetts.
Poor little Ann. Every day on her way to school the stem-cell-enhanced artificially-inseminated children of lesbian couples pick on her for having morals and being the union of a “mixed” marriage: men and women. If they knew she was a Christian, too -- it could mean death! After all, we're talking about Massachusetts: home of wiccas, homosexuals and Kennedys.
One day after school, Ann is on her way home when she remembers she left her precious Bible in her locker. If the evil, genetically-modified spawn of lesbians find her precious Bible! Oh, no!!!!!
She returns to school only to overhear a conversation with one of her teachers and a “liberal” person from Social Services. SS is, of course, an evil gay, played by someone who isn’t. Evil, liberal, gay SS man has had his eye on Tom Cruise’s chiseled, yet not-gay body for some time now. They were friends in college and the gay once made a move on Tom and of course, Tom refused. Tom Cruise is not gay.
The evil forces are secretly planning to remove Ann from her home for uncertain, dastardly reasons. True to form, it’s not quite clear why these liberals are “evil.” They just are. Don’t question the narrative.
Ann drops her Bible in fear, which triggers a swarm of evil SS robots to chase her. She eludes them and finds herself in a part of town she’s never been in before. It’s pretty and there are flowers and ponies and butterflies. Naturally, this sort of Eden implies that this is where the Christians live. They have those little fish symbols in their window, that’s how she knows.
Using her Cingular Blackberry, Ann is able to relay a message to her parents that there is a safe place for them, too. Both mom and dad have harrowing escapes after members of the SS conspire with liberal, activist judges to issue warrants for their arrests. Their individual escapes are split screened for dramatic effect (just like on 24) and are so awesome! There are 4,872 product placements in this ten minute segment.
Ann, Katie and Tom are forced to hide out among the good Christians of Boston. By accident, Ann’s Cingular Blackberry sends a message that allows the forces of evil to track her location. The evil robots are about to bust in, but
Tom Hanks Michael Clarke Duncan, one of the liberal activist judges, shows up, rescues the family with Matrix-like superpowers granted by God.
See…he had a change of heart about Christians.
Jesus called on the new slim-line camera phone by Cingular and
Tom Hanks Michael Clarke Duncan answered. Note: get Beyonce to sing a ballad.
There is an awesome montage featuring images of Jesus, puppies, the American Flag, Terri Schiavo, ponies, kittens and The Cross upon which you place your trust as an American . You will cry. MCD takes off his “liberal judge” robes of and unveils a form-fitting tee shirt exposing his chiseled, yet not-gay body, with the image of an Eagle, Ole Glory and Jesus. Jesus looks like he’s from the O.C. The shirts will be available for purchase at Wal-Mart.
They move to Texas where life is much better, of course.
The final scene, setting up the sequel...Ann is blogging and she sees through her trailer window a lesbian couple moving in next door!
Do stories about Arctic drilling, ineffective energy policies and outrageous oil prices bum you out?
BP, that little oil company with first quarter earnings of $79.81 billion has issued a little edict to newspaper and magazine publisher demanding that "ad-accepting publications inform BP in advance of any news text or visuals they plan to publish that directly mention the company, a competitor or the oil-and-energy industry."
In other words, any story that reflects negatively on the oil and energy business could garner a retraction of the $21.7 million BP spends in print advertising.
How does that make you feel?
NEW YORK (AdAge.com) -- Days after financial services giant Morgan Stanley informed print publications that its ads must be automatically pulled from any edition containing "objectionable editorial coverage," global energy giant BP has adopted a similar press strategy.Isn't that great news?
According to a copy of a memo on the letterhead of BP's media-buying agency, WPP Group's MindShare, the global marketer has adopted a zero-tolerance policy toward negative editorial coverage.
I, actually, am kinda relieved to hear that.
No more investigative stories that would make me mad and angry and discontent -- I bet there will be more happy stories about blissful white people driving Hummers in the well-lit cities of the future. They live in comfortable, stylish lofts during the week and jet off to exotic locales every weekend. Just like you and me!
As soon as take my bath in BP Gasoline and Dawn Dishwashing Detergent and wash away the residue left behind by some pesky, unreported oil slick, I'll get on living my Jesus-Loving Saving It All for Marriage American Life.
May 23, 2005
I'm sitting here waiting to re-watch Guerilla - The Taking of Patty Hearst and the funniest little e-mail floats in.
Gays with Guns?
Don't worry. I'm not packing heat now...or even later. Words are my weapons.
But Good Lord! Queens running around PrideFest armed to the gills? I'm looking for something fashionable in Kevlar right now.
- - - - -
DESPITE BAN, GAYS WITH GUNS TO ATTEND PRIDE EVENTS
SALT LAKE CITY -- With an expected attendance of almost 30,000 people, the state's annual gay- and lesbian-pride events planned for June 8 through 12 will continue to be one of the largest outdoor events organized in the capitol city. But, the leader of a group whose members own and use legally concealed firearms, and attend the events said that an events rule which would ban "weapons of any kind" is too broad, unenforceable and shouldn't discourage the members from attending the events with their firearms if they choose to do so.
Stonewall Shooting Sports of Utah founder and owner David Nelson said that the rule, which was published in May is a departure from the 2003 and 2004 pride events when their organizers agreed that people with legally concealed firearms could not be denied admission to the events and adopted no such rules. Nelson said that his requests to the organizers to revise the new rule remain unanswered.
"Previous organizers understood that people with Utah Concealed Firearm Permits have met every federal and state legal requirement to choose carrying legally concealed firearms, and welcomed us," Nelson said. "There were no complaints at the 2003 and 2004 events. The previous organizers didn't confuse the difference of legal and illegal firearms."
"New organizers announced their plan to search all attendees and their personal property, but I suspect their 30,000 searches would quickly become impractical and a public-relations disaster," Nelson said. "The organizers might discover some people with weapons -- weapons which would be legal except when they're improperly concealed -- but the organizers may do little more than invite law-enforcement officers to intervene legally, which they're not obligated to do. The organizers may not, however, deny admission to those people with legally concealed firearms or confiscate the firearms."
Previous organizers invited Nelson in 2003 to debate transgender University of Utah Professor Barbara Nash, who also serves as the founder of Gun Violence Prevention Campaign-Center of Utah, about the idea of firearms for self defense.
"Both Professor Nash and I have been issued state concealed-firearm permits," Nelson said. "While I don't know if she carried her legally concealed firearm when we debated, I suspect she'd agree with me that no one who has met every legal requirement including daily FBI criminal-history investigations should be arbitrarily denied the legal, responsible and safe exercise of our human right to defend ourselves if we choose and need to do so."
Seven of the eight announced pride events are planned for the Salt Lake City Public Library, Library and Washington squares, and the surrounding city streets and sidewalks -- all government properties. Because only one of the events is planned for church property, Nelson described most of the events as public accommodations on public properties where legally concealed firearms are permitted.
"State laws are very clear about who, what, when, where, why and how legally concealed firearms may be prohibited," Nelson said. "In almost every instance, the organizers fail the legal requirements that would let them ban our firearms. Law- enforcement officers are, in fact, prohibited from enforcing those local laws and rules that are inconsistent with state firearms laws. If our hard-earned state permits don't protect our Second Amendment rights in the public square -- this city public square, they do no good."
A similar weapons ban was attempted in 2003 by pride-events organizers in Columbus, Ohio. Law-enforcement officers who responded to the call for assistance from events organizers instead protected the right of 12 attendees with legally carried firearms and warned the organizers that their attempts to confiscate the firearms could be considered a federal felony theft of firearms.
"As we did in 2003 and 2004, our members wish simply to attend and enjoy one of the state's big events without complaint and without leaving one of our constitutional rights at the festival gates," Nelson said. "It's ironic that the celebration of a day which is set aside to renew the call for equal rights is threatened with one of them being denied. Banning legally concealed firearms isn't yet the easiest thing to do, but I wonder if those who wish to do so would also assume the legal and financial guarantee to protect everyone."
SSSU is a group of gender- and sexual-minority firearms advocates and owners in the state, and supporters of the Pink Pistols idea that was described nationally in 2000 by writer Jonathan Rauch for the legal, responsible and safe use of firearms for their self defense and shooting-sport competition and recreation, including those who are gay and lesbian, and that of their families and friends. With hundreds of members, they're also the largest such group worldwide.
CONTACT: David Nelson
Stonewall Shooting Sports of Utah
David Nelson Communications
Post Office Box 521721
Salt Lake City, Utah 84152-1721
If you stay up near Shaw, you would have heard some hollering last night. Independently of each other, that Angry Black Bitch and I were each screaming at our televisions over an Ed Bradley report detailing Dubya's Federally Funded Save Your Pussy for Marriage Program Coz Jesus Told Me So.
The thought is this: teach teenagers that condoms don't work and that your spunk must not be spilt until you get married. Having sex will make you "all crazy and depressed" and sex is bad and un-Christian!!! Which is, afterall, the basis for all public policy. What would Jesus do with unfettered control of your tax dollars?
Leading the charge for men not having sex with women is a man that I don't believe has had sex with a woman, either. His name is Claude Allen. He's a cross-eyed lisper, an anti-abortionist and for a (supposed) straight man, he thinks about hot man-on-man action a little too much. Oh...and he's black and worked for Jesse Helms.
Allen's history as a gay-baiter goes back to his days as a top aide to the notorious homophobe Senator Jesse Helms. In 1984, Allen accused Helms' Democratic challenger, then-Governor James Hunt, of having links to "queers," "radical feminists," socialists and unions.Sounds charming, huh?
Don't get me wrong. I love gay black men. I was loving on one (or two) the other night....but they were out of the closet! Hell. I dunno if they're outta the closet or not. They were in my bed and like my mother told me if it looks like a duck and acts like a duck.
I guess I'd get sued or thrown up in some Homeland Security Office for Reprogramming for saying I think he's a mo....so let me quote someone who went to high school with him:
I happen to have gone to high school with both Claude and his brother and upon reading the words he uttered concerning "queers" I find this very odd when in high school he was the "Queen of the Queers" and it is very easy to verify. I'll bet like most republicans, he is a closet homosexual and his family is just for show.Rabid anti-gay folks being secret closet cases?
How preposterous. That's like saying a racist Republican would sleep with his black maid and secretly hide his love child for years. That's crazy talk.
Listen. I could give a fuck who Claude Allen fucks. But this asshole is shaping public health policy that is flawed and dangerous. When these Saving All My Spunk For You teens have sex (which they eventually do), studies are showing they are not protecting themselves from sexually transmitted diseases!!!!!!
I dunno anymore. I dunno what's going on in this country. I'm angry when I find out about it and I'm angrier that most folks don't seem to give a shit what's going on anymore.
Choire Sicha's review of Desperate Housewives has the best sentence of the day:
It put women back on television -- even if, in this case, one of them is a baby-coveting murderer and the other is a junkie mess.
One of the few things that I know that I do well is make pretty flower arrangements.
It was the first job I had after graduating from art school (besides being a club kid, which wasn't as much as a vocation as an intervention-waiting-to-happen).
Every weekend for five years, I designed and/or coordinated weddings from the very simple to the very elaborate.
The last wedding I was involved with had a flower bill that was almost twice my annual salary.
That's when I gave up the biz.
It's brutal, beautiful work, but it's emotionally draining and stressful.
And I wanted more from my life than constant stress and aggravation.
Friday, I poked some posies for a dear friend of mine who was responsible for hiring me at my first "office job."
She's a talented woman who orchestrated and organized one of the best weddings I have ever attended.
You do the math: take a couple of weddings a week at 52 weeks a year, times five years...It was a party and a half.
We worked together to create some really nice touches:
There were handcrafted, Mission Style pedestals with floating candles and huge sprays of Stargazer Lilies and Roses.
The mothers had delicate nosegays of creamy spray roses.
A simple color palette of reds and whites offset the black of the girl's dresses and the contemporary art gallery that hosted the wedding and the reception.
So many things about Friday night linger in my memory.
The woman who officiated the service was wise and thoughtful and presented the bride and groom with a beautiful heart-shaped glass vessel during the ceremony.
There was a chocolate fountain. And strawberries the size of golf balls to dip.
A friend of mine was surprised to see a fella there that he knew...um...well and even more surprised to meet this fella's wife.
The lovely lady next to me at dinner was a character and had me rolling in stitches the whole night.
The night flowed beautifully from one component to the next.
The food was outstanding.
The conversation lively and the music was first rate.
I will admit that I left before they played The Chicken Dance.
Why ruin a good night?
So...here's to love and happiness and all that other stuff that brings passion to life!
Here's to you, Kelly and the life you and your husband have chosen to make together.
I can rant and bitch like a mo-fo on here, but there's one thing I know for sure:
The greatest thing you'll ever learn, it just to love, and be loved in return.
And I'll get back to bitching in just a bit...
All these jokers,
how I hate them
With their groping, grabbing, clutching, clinching,
Strangling, handling, bumbling, pinching
There's gotta be some life cleaner than this.
There's Gotta Be Something Better Than This
- Sweet Charity, 1966
NEW YORK (Adage.com) -- As part of a product placement campaign in Broadway's Sweet Charity, playwright Neil Simon approved a script change to promote Gran Centenario tequila, according to the deal makers.
In addition to having the Gran Centenario mention written into the script, the tequila’s logos are integrated into the show’s set in one scene, and the product has been the drink of choice at Gran Centenario-sponsored parties thrown during the pre-Broadway shows as well as its New York opening, all attended by the cast, their friends and a select group of invitees. Specialty cocktails featuring Gran Centenario created by well-known bartender Dale deGroff are featured at those fests as well as in the Al Hirschfeld Theatre where Sweet Charity plays and at nearby bars.
May 22, 2005
We weren't quite sure...and we had a few doubts...and when Matt Drudge pointed to this story, we were worried:
Protesters Mob Laura Bush in Jerusalem
Strangely enough, the same damn story has a different headline here:
Protesters Heckle Laura Bush in Jerusalem
CNN makes it sound like the poor dear was in danger:
Protesters surround Laura Bush at Jerusalem mosque
First lady whisked away as emotions grow tense
Our friends in Scotsmanland tell it this way:
Protesters Besiege Laura Bush During Jerusalem Visit
And MSNBC almost makes it sound like she sat down with them for some tea and cookies:
Protesters meet Laura Bush at Jerusalem sites
Aljazeera, of all folks, softened the blow a bit...
Laura Bush greeted with Muslim and Jewish protests
But not quite like this from Fox:
First Lady Visits Israel
Got a press release and a photo from the folks over at Magic Smoking Monkey Theatre that I'm just gonna slap up here.
Good Lord! Those kids have been at this for ten years now! I was at that first show back in the day and will no-doubt be back this year, too!
Plus one of my favoritest-actress-ladies-that-I-don't-know-but-always-wink-at-coz-she-makes-me-giggle is in the show.
Yay Amy Elz!
Hell - yay for everybody! It'll be good times.
MAGIC SMOKING MONKEY THEATRE
CELEBRATES 10TH SEASON WITH REVIVAL OF
ED WOOD’S GLEN OR GLENDA:LIVE!
Magic Smoking Monkey Theatre presents its 10th anniversary production, Ed Wood’s GLEN OR GLENDA: LIVE!, June 3 – 18, 2005 at the Regional Arts Commission, 6128 Delmar in University City. Performances are Friday and Saturday at 8:00pm and 10:30pm; tickets are $15 general admission, $10 for students 18 and under. Tickets are available through MetroTix at (314) 534-1111 or at the theatre box office one hour prior to showtime. For reservations or information, call (314) 361-5664 or e-mail email@example.com.
The most legendary B-movie director of all time, Ed Wood, assaulted audiences worldwide with a string of bizarre, no-budget fusions of horror, science fiction, noir and comedy. The first – and worst – of Wood’s films, GLEN OR GLENDA, is brought to life in glorious black and white onstage at the Regional Arts Commission.
After the apparent suicide of a transvestite, Inspector Warren pays a visit to notable psychiatrist Dr. Alton to try to make sense of why some men like to wear women's clothes. Dr. Alton relates the strange case of Glen, engaged to be married to Barbara, who is unaware of Glen’s secret life as Glenda. Will she understand and accept him? Will she try to work through it with him? Will she let him wear her angora sweater? David Wassilak portrays Glen, a transvestite struggling with his addiction to angora, while Bela Lugosi offers inscrutable narration. Stock footage, stampeding buffalo and pseudo hermaphrodites are just a few of the surprises awaiting audiences. Featured actors include David Wassilak, Diane Hartke, Drew Bell, Jim Ousley and David Cooperstein. With Tyson Blanquart, Mike Bowdern, Ian Carlson, Amy Elz, Julie Layton, Benjamin Ritchie, Jill Ritter and Patti Ulrich.
Magic Smoking Monkey Theatre – an offshoot of St. Louis Shakespeare – is the only local theatre dedicated to presenting original parodies of film and television pop culture classics. MSMT is a favorite with St. Louis audiences looking for an evening of unpredictable laughs. “…stylish, silly, late-night comedy,” “…an hilarious evening of off-the-wall, bizarre theatre,” and “…over-the-top, utterly unpretentious fun,” are just some of the comments from local reviewers. MSMT sprang to life in 1996 with its production of Ed Wood’s Glen or Glenda or I Changed My Sex, a huge critical and audience success. The Company went on to produce such “B” movie classics as Valley of the Dolls, Elvis Presley’s Girl Happy and Ed Wood’s opus, Plan 9 From Outer Space, (generally considered to be the worst movie of all time) and The One-Hour Star Wars Trilogy, and is dedicated to presenting parodies of the best of the worst that popular culture has to offer. MSMT’s appeal has cut across the societal spectrum – audiences come from all over the bi-state area (even from out-of-state), and include students, young adults and families - anyone who loves offbeat, fast-paced, campy comedy.
For information, contact Donna Northcott at (314) 361-6703 or firstname.lastname@example.org.
May 21, 2005
Oh, honey.....this one's open letter to the Democratic leadership had me throwing my fists to the heavens and hollering, "Hell, yes!"
I am positively gagging on his accuracy.
Some of my favorite quotes are below:
...your party should be abandoned by the U.S. working class, by U.S. women, by oppressed nationalities in the United States, and by anyone who professes to be a progressive or a leftist.
Since there seems to be a great dark space in the middle of your heads where the notion of opposition should be – a void filled by parliamentary molasses and the pusillanimous inabilty to tell simple truths...
...if you would stop chasing your creepy little careers through the caviar and chicken-salad circuits of duck-and-cover American political double-speak, then not only would people like me not be calling for all to abandon the Democratic Party and take their fight to the streets like good Bolivians… not only that, but you’d have won the last election.
You don’t deserve anyone’s support, not even as a tactical matter any longer, because you end up doing ritual verbal combat then giving the “cornpone Nazis” of the Republcan Party any goddamn thing they want.
Tell the Democratic Leadership Council to eat shit and die. Stop working, stop obeying, block the streets and highways, shut down the capital, and watch them choke on their own sewage. If Americans weren’t so bewildered by television, so addled and soft from junk food and cars and electronic appliances, and so addicted to their own cultural superficiality, they might begin organizing general strikes: women’s strikes, workers strikes (without union bureaucrats to calm them down), Black people strikes, Brown people strikes, info-tech strikes, eco-strikes, all working our way up to One Big Strike.
As if we needed another sign that the cultural apocalypse has begun -- this story, gives the first horseman a name.
Listen, I know that I am prone to hysterical outbreaks. I am likely to say things that I will regret later on. I will declare my stance on any number of issues, change my mind and then back-peddle to my original conclusions.
But Donald Trump - The Musical?
Give me one Goddamned minute to slice off my ears, poke out my eyes, rip out my tongue and plunge a stake into my heart.
Has there ever been a more useless, puerile, woefully-arrogant, self-aggrandizing, totally unimportant, chauvinist asshole who doesn't need to have his greedy, hateful, trivial, bankrupt and replete-of-meaning life played out on the Great White Way?
Mediocrity is one thing, folks. That's everywhere nowadays. But this...this...should be a clarion call to y'all. We're fucked. By an asshole in a cheap toupee, no less. And when Katie Couric interviews his ass Monday, my television is going out the window.
Producers Barry and Fran Weissler and Mark Burnett, with an assist from real-estate mogul Donald Trump, are developing a musical based on "The Apprentice," Trump's hit NBC television series.
"Donald Trump is a larger-than-life character, and the Broadway musical stage may be the only medium large enough for him," Weissler, producer of the current revivals of "Chicago" and "Sweet Charity," said Friday in a statement.
May 19, 2005
From those crazy kids over at MoveOn...
Today, Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith opens at theaters nation-wide. And weirdly enough, the plot of what will undoubtedly be one of the biggest films in movie history revolves around a scheming senator who, seduced by visions of absolute power, transforms a democratic republic into an empire.
We've put together a new TV ad, based on the same theme, that we're launching today. It's our first (and only) political ad to feature both a space battle and an army of judge robots.
The Minnesota Association of Rogue Taxidermists invites you to create a being that has never existed. Blend part of one animal with part of another. And another. The eyes of a deer may see best on the head of an ape. The legs of a cat may move a fish, too. Scale parts to match, not match or rotate parts in different directions.
A head doesn't always have to be up front. A tail, not always behind. Experiment all you want.
It's the artistic turn of form, or the future turn of science.
Princess Leia will be born today. I think.
Well, she should! I hope.
It's all over, then? I guess.
Live long and prosper, doll. Wrong movie, right substance.
May 18, 2005
The first fella that I can remember having a crush on has died.
As a wee, little lad, whenever Frank Gorshin appeared as the Riddler on Batman, I felt a little tingle of extra interest. I didn't know what it was then, and I'm not all that I'm sure what it was now. He wasn't dreamy in the traditional Hollywood manner, but he had a quality about him: a sly, crafty, highly-energetic, dynamic, give-it-til-it-hurts-and-then-some charisma. I couldn't take my eyes off him. I was just talking about how hot he was just the other day.
Maybe I just have a thing for criminals in skin-tight green body suits with maniacal laughs. And I'd always harbored a fantasy of hooking up with some guy dressed as the Riddler, but now the thought of that just creeps me out.
And after reading that his wife of 48 years was with him when he died yesterday, I feel like a covetous creep.
Speaking of that, it's funny how stars can creep into your consciousness. I bawled the day Lucille Ball died. I threw a fit when Bette Davis flipped us the final bird. Gregory Peck's death bummed me out for weeks.
I'm off to bed now to contemplate a time when men were a riddle that I wanted to investigate rather than a riddle I'd rather forget. I'm going to be mulling that one for a while, too.
Rest in Peace, Frank Gorshin.
His other TV credits included roles on "General Hospital, "The Edge of Night" and "The Munsters" as well as guest appearances on "Donny & Marie," "The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson," "Late Night with Conan O'Brien," "Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman," "Murder, She Wrote," "The Fall Guy," "Buck Rogers in the 25th Century," "Wonder Woman," "Charlie's Angels" and "Police Woman."Frank Gorshin's Obituary
Can anyone explain why Photoshop 7.0, which has worked perfectly until now on my P.C., will load and open images, but will lock up when I try to use any menu bar functions? I cannot create new images or change image sizes, etc.
I don't even get an error message - it just stalls. Nada. Zippo. Zilch. Ugh.
I s'pose I could reinstall it - but that just seems DUMB!
Note: Given the recent scandal involving Newsweek, I feel that it is incumbent upon on me to let y’all know that some of the details in this post have been changed to protect the identities of the persons involved and the places mentioned. By no means was this done to deny the sluttiness of certain fella’s actions or the licentious activities that one can find in this metro area. I just keep my tricks anonymous and where I get busy top secret. After all, this is Missouri and I don’t wanna run into your ass or the cops when I decide to get my freak on.
- - - - - -
I’ve lived in St. Louis for a total of 15 years. In that time, I have made some great friends, had a few boyfriends and gotten laid more times that I can remember. As of late, I have forgone a great deal of sluttiness because it’s not as easy to have rampant, anonymous sex in St. Louis as certain right-wingers would like you to believe.
Since I’ve graduated from college, I’ve been fairly social and had jobs that provide me a lot of contact with the gay community. It is very rare when I go out that I don’t know most of the folks who are out, slept with a few of them, or have at my disposal a gaggle of friends who can provide the salacious details of so-and-so’s kinkiness in the bedroom. In addition to being gossips, I am proud that most of my friends are sluts, too.
This past Monday rolled around and I was in a mood.
I really wanted to get laid.
Before the three of you get all riled up and start hollering, “T.M.I….T.M.I!” – don’t worry. This isn’t my foray into pornography. As Ryan once again asserted the other day, “Your life resists all things normal.” Apparently that now includes anonymous sex.
It began sluttily enough Monday morning when I arranged for a quickie before work. It sounded so hot. I’d be dressed in my busy-executive-on-the-go striped shirt, pinstripe pants and power tie, waiting for Mr. Rise-n-Shine. Cum and go, so to speak. Trouble is, he wasn’t so anonymous, after all. We laughed about that when he arrived and he asked me to not “breathe a word about this to anyone.” I couldn’t really say that I don’t kiss and tell, since I wasn’t sure if blogging counted…I just nodded. Things were about to get started when he realized he’d locked his keys in his car. Talk about an immediate…um… let-down. Calls had to be made, excuses and such issued forth. Whatever. It got me riled up for a Monday morning and I trudged off to work looking cute, but sexually frustrated as hell.
I hate to break it to any of you who think that men are faithful. They’re not. Go to any book store, strip club, hotel lobby bathroom, Target, or local Shop-n-Save and you’ll usually find a fella willing to administer, accept or trade blow jobs. I hate to keep it so real for any of you married ladies out there who worry if your husband will stray with cute little Stacie in marketing. In St. Louis, it’s more likely that he’s been blowing Larry in accounting. For years.
Since my morning started badly, I’d hoped that an afternoon delight would be feasible. I knew where I could do to find some daytime dalliance. I arrived at my destination, which was sadly empty, except for one cute fella who immediately asked me upon arrival if I wanted a blow job. “Gimme a second to look around...” I said, “...and get back to me.” I winked at him and proceeded.
I walked around the den of sin and found that it was pretty-much just the two of us so I went up to him.
“Damn…it sure is quiet here…” I said as dark-n-surly as I could manage.
“Yeah…do I know you? You look familiar…”
“Yeah…it’s [blah-blah]. I dated [blah-blah].”
Suddenly memories flooded in of an ex-friend who’d dated this cutie. Cutie’s ex is one of those fellas that drops you when he gets a new guy. We haven’t chatted for years, and it’s been at least five since he and Mister Blowjob broke up.
MB replied, “You look good….you’ve lost weight.”
“Yeah….I didn’t recognize you. You look…younger!” I said.
“Yeah…the years have been kind….” ****awkward pause**** “Well, listen...I gotta go.”
And he split. Just like that. And then I remembered that he may have had some “issues” in the past and maybe he felt guilty and ashamed. Fuck...who doesn’t have issues? I spat out my Double Bubble and lit a cigarette. I could’ve give a fuck about kissing-fresh-breath or somebody else’s tortured psyche. Mine’s tortured enough.
Fortunately enough for me, I know some fellas that if you’re horny and they’re horny and you agree to some mutually agreeable terms, you can be in and out and happy within a certain amount of time.
After getting home from work, I got to work and managed to arrange a rendezvous with a fella that I’ve hooked up with off and off for more than a decade. Finally!
Things transpired and I’ll spare the details, except for these two: when you spend a lot of time in a sling and you’re with a guy who’s really into poppers, you can develop short term methemoglobinemia, which in some cases, is deadly. Basically, my red blood cells stopped processing oxygen! My lips turned blue, as did my fingertips, I turned shockingly pale and passed out!
While the epidemiology of my condition was being assessed, it also was brought to my attention that products containing lidocaine can also trigger a methemoglobinemia incident. And I’ve been slathering lidocaine on twice daily since I was diagnosed with eczema back in January. Yay me!
This sad, sordid tale, sadly lacking in sordidness has been brought to you by my fucked up life. I’m not particularly bitter about it all. Well, that is a lie. But I am mostly annoyed. Annoyed with my friends who happily fuck around all the time. Annoyed with my friends who are single and loving it. Annoyed with the happy, cute couples in the park. I’m probably annoyed at you.
I’ve been in a blue mood for the past month. In one day, I’ve been blue balled, blown off and blood poisoned. The only solution I can see is to slink off to my Fortress of Slutitude to think about my current man-loving-man situation. Once I feel that it’s safe to venture out into the dating-world without being emotionally devastated or into the fucking-world without being physically assaulted, I’m sure I’ll be back, bells ringing.
My blue mood seems to be chronic, so I think I think I’ll just stick to biking. While it’s a bitch on the balls, it’s better for my brain and blood. And better blood is much more desirable than the bitter blood I seem to have too much of at the moment.
May 16, 2005
I just spat out my Spicy Hilton Hamburger when I heard the news that the Corporation for Public Broadcasting has plans to shift funding away from National Public Radio's news programming. Those patriots in D.C. think your tax dollars are more wisely spent on pretty music instead of news reporting and junk like that.
In one of several points of conflict in recent months, the chairman of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, which allocates federal funds for public radio and television, is considering a plan to monitor Middle East coverage on NPR news programs for evidence of bias, a corporation spokesman said on Friday.
Last month, the corporation's board, which is dominated by Republicans named by President Bush, told the staff at a meeting that it should prepare to redirect the relatively modest number of grants available for radio programs away from national news, officials at the corporation and NPR said.
I spent the past three days volunteering at a national media reform conference with 2,500 folks who are actively trying to protect our right to free speech, booze and cheese. I have a ton of photos and stories to recount, but I was distracted this morning by the news that over one in five Americans thinks the government should be allowed to censor this press.
Ya know, that is really a telling reminder that the struggle for media reform begins with.....
Stop the presses...we just got word that Paris Hilton is gonna be in a Hardee's commercial...critical news junk and thought provoking editorial be damned!
See you at noon, five and six....and probably ten! This Paris thing is HUGE!
A survey to be released Monday reveals a wide gap on many media issues between a group of journalists and the general public. In one finding, 43% of the public says the press has too much freedom, while only 3% of journalists agree. And just 14% of the public can name "freedom of the press" as a guarantee in the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, in the major poll conducted by the University of Connecticut Department of Public Policy.
Six in ten among the public feel the media show bias in reporting the news, and 22% say the government should be allowed to censor the press.
May 13, 2005
We're close, but he insists on maintaining his distance and anonymity, for very good reasons.
Bookmark him, blogroll him, say hello. Birthdays are best when shared with random strangers.
Photo ripped from here.
May 12, 2005
There are times when I think I have the sense God gave a goose.
After stopping at Walgreens to pick up some BluBlockeresque sunglasses, I came home and attempted to take a nap. Well, I simply couldn't sleep... I had new eyeware to model. I jumped on my bike and had a great ride. They are ugly as shit - but I seemed to have better depth perception wearing them.
Anyway, I came home feeling all full of spunk and stuff and made a quick dash downtown to the KDHX Midwest Mayhem party at the City Museum to hear Hot House Sessions. There were at least 2,000 folks down there. DJ Alexis is way-so preggers and looked awesome in her flowery halter dress. I will totally admit the hug-hug-kiss-kiss moment we shared made my day a helluva lot better. Umm...I'm with the DJ.
After that, I made a quick jaunt over to AMP to pick up "Waiting for the Sirens' Call," at the New Order CD release party they were having. It's on the iTunes right now.
* * * hyper-critical moment of blog evaluation * * *
This is the most boring-ass post ever!
I have no pix from tonight, since my camera met its demise in West Hollywood and since my eyes kinda hurt, I'm not fiddling with hyperlinks or photos of crazy old ladies wearing my new sunglasses. I have no great insight or conclusions to draw, either. Not that I ever do, but shouldn't there at least be some grist for the mill or some outrageous photo?
I guess a nice night out alone, with few worries, fantastic house music and free shit will simply have to be enough.
It was for me.
While it may seem that my life is an open book on this blog, there are a few matters that I don’t discuss. Some things that happen in my life simply aren’t interesting, some things are other people’s business and a few matters I keep to myself -- knowing that the four of you out there would be disappointed in me if I shared it with you. I don’t mind embarrassing myself, but there’s no sense incriminating myself, ya know?
For the past year or so, every now and then...especially in the morning when I first wake up, I see spots. Well, they’re kinda like floaters. They look like close-ups of viruses, kinda chunky glowey transparent masses that eventually disappear. I’ve also had problems at night judging distances with car lights – but I figured that’s just due to getting older.
Things took a strange turn Sunday when I felt like I really needed to wear my sunglasses to drive. The light outside seemed especially bright. No big deal, I thought, I know lots of folks who have to wear sunglasses during the day.
And then things got weird Tuesday morning. Not only did I wake up to some floaters, but everything looked different. The LED displays on my alarm clock, my coffee maker, my answering machine had changed color. What used to be red looked orange. What was green was yellow green. Driving to work, I noticed that looking at white cars, especially when illuminated by sunshine lost their sense of shape. They just became white glowing masses. And stop lights are no longer red. They’re orangey and kinda glowey, too. Same kinda thing last night when I was out for my bike ride. Lights look weird and I cannot perceive depth in darker, low lit areas.
The thing that flipped me out the most was looking at the white house next door to our office. The white aluminum siding on the side of the house no longer has any sense of depth. I couldn’t see the faint shadow that used to be there when the sunlight hit the siding. It was just all white. The same goes for my computer screens. Sitting here, I’m having trouble seeing the bottom of the screen. The back of my head hurts, my eyes start getting watery and I have to turn away from time to time to rub my eyes. There’s also flashes when I look at the screen too long.
So...I’m off to see the eye doctor, but no one is available until next week. In the meantime, I have convinced myself that I have Rapid Onset Glaucoma or some terrible brain disorder. Everything I know about life, I learned from television, so I’m doing my best to not go all Alison or Mary.
Added to that, this story:
isn’t helping my mood.
I am the first one to admit that I cry wolf at the first sight of fur. But now that the fur is kinda gloopey looking, I’m kicking myself, wondering if I shouldn’t have hollered sooner.
I'm gonna do some preventative things though. I don't think I should be driving at night. Biking home last night was kinda hard. I'm gonna limit my time on here - because if it's just simple eye strain, staring at this damn screen is not helping matters. I guess i could have forgone the pictures for this post -- but c'mon...do you really expect me not to have pictures?
Maybe my body is just telling me to take a break the only way it knows how. I've been in hyperdrive for a while now and maybe what is best for me is just to sit and stare into space, or close my eyes and rest.
May 11, 2005
This press release just crossed my desk and I'm pea green with envy. I used to have a reader in California. Maybe there's another? I'm sure by August, the lithium will be working, I'll at least have arms of steel, or my credit card will be paid off. Two out of three, anyone?
Kung Pao Kosher Comedy Presents... CHARO AND HER LAS VEGAS SHOW
(for the 1st time in San Francisco in 10 years!)
SATURDAY, AUGUST 6, 2005 @ 7:00PM
*** ONE NIGHT ONLY ***
The Herbst Theatre, 401 Van Ness Ave., San Francisco
Tickets: $35, $50, & $75 City Box Office
Charo will take to the stage and play solo flamenco guitar for one part of the show and will be accompanied by a 3-piece back-up band and 4 Las Vegas dancers for a high energy glitzy revue for the other half.
In other words, if your city, college, school or organization has an anti-discrimination policy -- they'd get none of your tax dollars.
to Take a Stand
No stranger to this blog.
Just tell him thanks!
Either way, it's a sick, sad example of how politics in the state of Missouri is about backwoods fear-mongering instead of progressive reform. This should come as no surprise to me, but on a day when two little girls are dead, presumably at the hands of one girl's father, I really fucking wanna know who the hell is watching out for the kids?
I am more than pissed that my state rep (who is the Minority Caucus Chairwoman) didn't take a stand. I guess as long as homos keep renovating her district, we're alright - but those of us getting the shit kicked out of us at school are disposable? And I'm telling her so, too!
While you were sound asleep last night, the Missouri General Assembly was attacking
At 2:00 a.m., the debate over public school funding got sidetracked to a discussion over homosexuality.
Representatives Stevenson and Roark proposed an amendment to SB 287 that would prohibit public schools from having policies or activities that advocate or support homosexuality.
They wanted to ban Gay/Straight Alliances!
"I don't think a majority of Missourians approve of that type of lifestyle," Roark said "There are certain standards when there are state tax dollars involved."
Several Representatives who support LGBT youth rose to our defense.
Rep. Mike Daus grilled Rep. Roark about his comments and stressed the importance of support groups for LGBT youth.
Rep. Rick Johnson said, "Students who are gay are subjected to discrimination and ridicule and violence and death. To say these students should not be supported...in some way is the absolute wrong way to go."
The amendment passed 81 - 47. However, under procedural rules, the amendment was not included in the funding bill and is, therefore, no longer a part of the legislation.
This was a malicious attempt to put pro-LGBT equality legislators on the hot seat and force them to make a public stance in our favor in hopes to use this against them in the next election.
The extreme right wing in our legislature was counting on the fact that you were asleep last night...and they are counting on the fact that you will remain asleep today and in the future so that they can continue to discriminate, ridicule and bash the youth of our community.
The time is now – we must wake up!
Below you will find a list of how the legislators voted. Please email or call your legislator and either thank him/her or demand to know why they voted to attack the youth of our state. You can find contact information by going to www.house.mo.gov.
Also, no matter where you live in the state, take a moment to tell Representatives Daus and Johnson just how much you appreciate their support and attentiveness to our issues at such a late hour of the night.
"Yes" - Supported the amendment to eliminate Gay/Straight Alliances from public schools.
"No" - Opposed the amendment to eliminate Gay/Straight Alliances from public schools.
"Present" - Signifies that the Representative was present but unwilling to take a stand either way on the issue.
"Absent" - Signifies that the Representative was not present and therefore no record exists as to how he/she felt about the issue.
Avery, Baker (123), Bearden, Behnen, Bivins, Black, Bringer, Brown (30), Bruns, Byrd, Casey, Chinn, Cooper (120), Cooper (158), Cunningham (145), Cunningham (86), Davis, Day, Dethrow, Dusenberg, Emery, Ervin, Faith, Fisher, Flook, Franz, Guest, Hobbs, Hunter, Icet, Jones, Kelly, Kingery, Kraus, Lager, Lembke, Lipke, Loehner, May, McGhee, Munzlinger, Muschany, Nance, Nieves, Nolte, Parker, Parson, Phillips, Pollock, Pratt, Quinn, Rector, Roark, Robb, Ruestman, Rupp, Salva, Sander, Sater, Schaaf, Schad, Selby, Self, Shoemyer, Silvey, Skaggs, Smith (118), Stefanick, Stevenson, St. Onge, Sutherland, Swinger, Tilley, Wagner, Wallace, Wells, Wislon (130), Witte, Wright (137), Yates, Speaker Jetton.
Aull, Baker (25), Bland, Bowman, Brooks, Brown (50), Burnett, Chappelle-Nadal, Corcoran, Curls, Darrough, Daus, Donnelly, Dougherty, Fares, Fraser, Harris (23), Harris (110), Haywood, Henke, Hoskins, Hubbard, Hughes, Johnson (47), Johnson (90), Jolly, Kratky, Lampe, LeVota, Liese, Low (39), Lowe (44), Meiners, Moore, Oxford, Page, Schlottach, Storch, Villa, Vogt, Walsh, Walton, Weter, Wildberger, Yaeger, Young, Zweifel.
Dempsey, El-Amin, George, Johnson (61), Kuessner, Marsh, Pearce, Robinson, Schneider, Smith (14), Spreng, Threlkeld, Viebrock, Whorton, Wilson (119), Wood, Wright-Jones.
Bean, Boykins, Cooper (155), Deeken, Densison, Dixon, Goodman, Jackson, Meadows, Myers, Portwood, Richard, Roorda, Rucker, Schoemehl, Wasson, Wright (159)
I'm so self-conscious, I hate showering nekkid, but this made me chuckle.
I was thinking about Morcheeba on my way into work this morning. I compose entries when I'm riding my bike, driving my car, getting uninspired head - ya know, those activities where letting your mind wonder can have really disastrous results.
Anyway, Morcheeba was on my mind because I was thinking about how often-times, when I pre-compose theses little ditties, I feel all Carrie Bradshaw, sitting around in her pink tank top and boxer shorts.
Now, my tank tops aren't pink, they're more likely to be coffee stained and I since No Pants Day has passed, I am sitting here dressed. I am also at work, on break of course, so being dressed is kinda mandatory.
But when I write, I often hear the music of Morcheeba in the background while the internal mental camera pans right, the thoughtful Darren Star or Michael Patrick King utterance issues forth and...ahhhh.....release. It's a lot more satisfying than the uninspired head or the daily commute into work. Biking and blogging are still symbiotic rather than adversarial....thank goodness!
So, I get into work this morning to see that my pal Kelly sent me an e-mail informing me that this import album from Morcheeba was released yesterday and that Mz. Skye is flying solo.
I am so grateful Kelly is my friend for any number of reasons. Top of the list is the psychic tune in we've developed over the past thirteen years. Oh, and his killer music collection. To his credit, his verbal skills could decimate legions of gays with just a few keystrokes, but he doesn't blog. He sends me fun shit to post on here and has put up with more of my irrational behavior than anyone other than my mother. He was my roommate for almost 8 years and this past year on my own without him has been very difficult for me.
I'm not gonna go all Oprah even though I'm teetering on the brink. But I'd much rather embarrass myself than him at this moment. He'd never forgive me. And I wouldn't run the risk of that for anything. There's no antidote for that.
Have you ever had a persistent dream?
It may not come to you every night, week or month.
It may not come to you every year.
But it resurfaces when you need it most -- somehow.
I just woke from that dream. It's a story that's been building and growing in my mind for quite a while. A number of the scenes have been playing themselves out in my dreams over and over for well over a decade, but I didn't understand who all the characters were. It's a tale of growth and challenge and lipstick and murder and glitter. Lots of glitter. Not Mariah Carey glitter. I want my story to be interesting.
On the surface it's not so unusual. People have sex, eat pickles and get their hair did for a special night out at the club. It's a story of normal, everyday fabulous people and a cavalcade of special guest star appearances.
You were there. And you were there, And even you were there.
It's my story of adventure and love.
I'm not sure if my prose is as powerful as the images that my mind conjures up for me, so I think it will work best once it's adapted to the screen. Yeah. I'm dreaming big. But it's....it's...a project. It's an original idea. Or at least I think so.
We've all been told we have a book or story or movie inside of us. I've always believed that...well...at least about me. I just needed to adjust my thinking. Or my mind needed to readjust it for me. I've been trying to write myself into other people's dreams for far too fucking long and even though I just woke up from one - I'm tired and need to get some sleep.
I've got a book to start writing tomorrow.
May 10, 2005
Finally! Some good news before the pills kick in.
The curtains go up [tomorrow] at the Royal Opera in Stockholm for the world premiere of Pippi Longstocking -- The Ballet. She will whirl across the stage in her trademark oversized shoes with her pigtails flying.
Naturally, Pippi refuses to stay within the strict rules of classical ballet. While straight-laced, respectable citizens around her dance en pointe, Pippi alternates between street dance, folk dance and jitterbug.
The last time that I went to PrideFest (when I didn't have to because of employment responsibilities) my friends and I giddily traipsed off one hot June afternoon to go see headliner Joan Jett.
I was way-wicked tickled. See, I Love Rock and Roll was the first 45 I remember buying with my own money. For the younger set, I guess I should explain that 45's were like CD singles and for the much younger set (leave immediately after this condescension) 45's were like an iTune, except that you got two songs per purchase.
Anyway, Joan Jett fucking rocked!
That's why the news today that International Recording Artist Ari Gold will be performing at this year's event left me feeling a little.....um.....how should I say this.....underwhelmed. Listen, Ari has great pit hair, and shows a lot of it in his publicity photos, but his music reminds me too much of when David tried winning Donna back by breaking out the slow jamz junior year.
For those of you who didn't understand that reference (what are they teaching the children?), David, is also known as actor, rapper, and has-been Brian Austin Green. Following his success on 90210, he produced some compelling work of his own.
I've been sitting here tonight listening to Ari's album (while admiring his pit hair) and the pits just don't make up for the lack of hits.*
I'll leave it to you to draw your own conclusions, I just need to find someone to draw an interested look on my face come June.
*Sorry - I couldn't help myself.
I love trying to find meaning from the volume of spam I get. Hell, I try to derive meaning from a good fart.
While I was at volunteer training for the National Media Reform Conference tonight, I got 77 pieces of spam commentary for this blog.
This one really stood out.
A short absence is the safest. Woman absent is woman dead. I love acting. It is so much more real than life.Hmmm.....
Any real man must have real watches.
There is something that is much more scarce, something rarer than ability. It is the ability to recognize ability. [spammy URL redacted] Self-denial is the shining sore on the leprous body of Christianity. The achievements which society rewards are won at the cost of diminution of personality
People with great gifts are easy to find, but symmetrical and balanced ones never.
Any real man must have real watches.
Life altering. I think I want that on a tee. And my business card.
The world is just fucked.
ZION, Ill. (AP) - Investigators looking for clues in the stabbing deaths of two little girls who disappeared on a bike ride questioned the father of one of the youngsters Tuesday and took clothes and a computer from the family home, relatives said.The Whole Sordid Mess....
Police had been holding Jerry Hobbs, the father of 8-year-old Laura Hobbs, since he found the girl's body with that of her best friend, 9-year-old Krystal Tobias, in a park early Monday, family members said.
Hobbs has an extensive criminal history dating back to 1990 in Texas, according to Texas Department of Public Safety records.
He was convicted of aggravated assault after arguing with Laura's mother, Sheila Hollabaugh, in 2001, then grabbing a chainsaw and chasing other residents around the trailer park where they lived, according to Rick Mahler, a prosecutor in Wichita County, Texas. Someone eventually subdued Hobbs by hitting him in the back with a shovel.
"Jerry just got out of prison for aggravated assault and I think they're holding that against him," said Laura's grandfather, Arthur Hollabaugh. "I don't think he did it."
Ripped from the KDHX Newsletter:
If you think you have the talent to produce films with the best of them then get ready, the 48 Hour Film Project is returning to St. Louis. The competition begins on June 10th when teams will have 48 hours to produce a 4-8 minute film. The project requires creativity, talent, nerves of steel and a yen to work behind the lens.
Here's what you need to know:
You can download an entry form at www.48hourfilm.com now. Only 30 teams will be selected to participate. The first 10 teams who sign up are automatically accepted. After that, a lottery will decide the remaining teams. The deadline for applications is May 15, 2005.
The screening of the films will be held on Wednesday, June 15th at The Pageant. A "Best of" screening will be held on June 17th, also at The Pageant and will include an awards ceremony.
Yesterday's plea to Judith Light was answered with this link from Joyce: Tony Danza's Go-Kart Flips During Show Taping.
Last night the phone rang while I was staring up at the ceiling thinking about how stupid I've been the past few weeks. Beating myself up for getting all crushed out on a fella clear across the country. I'm brutal on myself when I'm alone -- my pity party for one has clearly taken on extended cruise status.
Anyway...the phone rang...and a Los Angeles area code popped up on the Caller ID Display.
It was HIS area code - but I'm really bad at remembering phone numbers. I'd deleted his number from the phone last week in my latest salvo to get over my heartache and get on with life.
I freaked the fuck out, going from maudlin to manic in the space of one ring of the phone, since I don't know anyone else there. In the three seconds it took me to answer it the following thoughts raced through my mind:
Is it him?
It's gotta be him!
Why is he calling?
Why the fuck is he calling?
Maybe he wants to see how I'm doing?
What the fuck does he care how I'm doing?
This has gotta be him, right?
It is him!
I am very grateful that I spent five years developing a retail phone sales voice that's always chipper and that I've spent a decade developing a phone sex voice that's down-right nasty. I answered the phone sounding calm, with sultry, butch undertones.
"Hi! I'm Greta with the Girls Gone Wild Video Club and I'm calling to see what you think of Girls Gone Wild....and just for talking with me today, we'll send you TWO hot Girls Gone Wild Video Club DVDs."
"...*cough*...well...ummm...honestly...I don't think about Girls Gone Wild all that much."
"May I ask why?"
"'Coz I'm GAY!!!! But if you have some Guys Gone Wild - I am in desperate need, honey!! You have NO idea."
"Oh, sir....I don't handle that.....but I'll be happy to take you off our calling list....Have a good night! Bye."
And she hung up.
And I laughed and I cried and I watched some porn. No need to go further with that -- but I went to sleep with the phone off the hook rather than on my pillow.
I guess that's progress.
Gay boys smell things just like girls!!!!
The sexual area of a gay man's brain works a lot like that of a woman when exposed to a particular stimulus, researchers say.
In an experiment, men and heterosexual women sniffed a chemical from the male hormone testosterone. The homosexual men's brains responded differently from those of heterosexual males, and in a similar way to the women's brains.
May 9, 2005
While in no way should this be construed as an endorsement for drinking (I don't need a lawsuit or want an intervention), I thought it would be fun to share this site and an event Wednesday night:
Drinking Liberally - Promoting democracy one pint at a time
"The Smartest Guys in the Room"
High Pointe Theater
They will be meeting for drinks and a discussion afterward at the High Pointe Bar next door.
During my lunch break today, I decided that I’ve been thinking about men, love and sex the wrong way.
What would happen if I retrained my mind to think about men the way that I’ve retrained my mind to think about food this past year?
The way I look at it, I like men and food in my mouth. There’s lots of tasty options. Too much of either leaves me feeling a bit guilty and ashamed. Too little makes me very, very cranky.
I was raised Southern Baptist with the idea that there’s one perfect person who’ll satisfy my every need. We'd get married and all my problems would be solved. Praise Jesus! Granted, Baptists aren’t too keen on man-on-man action, but the concept of Christian teachings has always appealed to me, even when the execution has left a lot to be desired.
But if I start thinking of men like food, well…hell’s bells…that sort of traditional values ideology seems like ill-conceived fearful-famine-inducing propaganda.
Think about it -- there are some days when you skip breakfast, make your own lunch, and enjoy a big-ole-juicy dinner, with leftovers in the morning. Some nights, you consider Mexican, or Thai, or a healthy plate of soul food. If it’s Sunday afternoon, you’d really like a big ole buffet to kick off your work week.
Can you really imagine only eating the same thing, day after day after day after day? If men were more like food, then a little indulgence here and there, with the proper utensils, and you could have a grand ole time. You could choose when and where, how many times a day, or week or month. And there would be no worries, or upset, or aggravation.
And you would never, ever, ever have to feel sad when your current dish is done. Because there’s always a new restaurant to check out, a potluck to crash, an order-in to enjoy, a mid-afternoon snack…well, you get it.
So my question now is what kind of man diet do I need to be on so that I don’t have to deal with the hunger of missing someone who satisfied so many of my cravings?
Because, right now, this persistent emotional bulimia is a real problem.
What if we could think of love and sex like food versus this fucked up, convoluted, life-altering, mind-numbing, friend-annoying, blog-invading nightmare of melodramatic and seemingly endless prose and annoying song lyrics?
I dunno. But if some bitch from South Beach figures it out, I’ll buy a first edition and waive my fee for the infomercial testimony.
C’mon Judith....Suzanne…don’t y'all need some work?
Welcome to the Huffington Post, which, as our motto says, has been delivering news and opinion since, well, a few hours ago.
I was driving home from last night’s trick when I suddenly remembered the first person I ever felt romantic love for.
She was amazing.
The summer before I entered 8th grade, this charming, feisty girl spent a summer with her aunt’s family down the road. She was beautiful and smart and from a far away place. She had a different accent and we just had the best time together.
I had the best time that summer. Normally, summers on the farm were terribly lonesome. My mom worked in town, my dad was somewhere on the farm doing farmly things that I never cared much for. But when this dynamite girl who could do back flips arrived, I suddenly had an immediate friend, who was my age and nearby and available every day.
We’d play spies with our tape recorders, we’d wade the creek looking for crawdads, we’d catch June bugs and lightning bugs and play and roam and romp all day long. I’d go to sleep every night looking forward to my next day with her.
But the day came when she had to leave. School was starting soon. And she was suddenly gone, with no big fanfare. I remember the night she left vividly. The way I cried. No. The way I sobbed churning chunks of emotion. The emotional pain was simply physically crippling. My eyes were puffed up and swollen. My lungs hurt from the heaving sobs. I ached because she was gone and I was lost. Lost in fear and doubt and solitude.
I remember how I vowed to never, ever love or care for anyone ever again. I remember the anger and pain and misery. But, mostly, I remember the love I felt for her, which in a way, is the best thing about the memory – it wasn’t all wrapped up in sex. Sex was also on my mind that summer, but that had more to do with a very special Calvin Klein Underwear model.
Maybe some schism formed that summer that has permanently fucked up my understanding of love and sex? It’s something I’ve been pondering for a while now.
May 6, 2005
If you read this blog - you probably have too much time on your hands. But thanks for stopping by, nevertheless. It is kind of flattering when random folks stop me at events, bars and parties and mention they read it.
If you've been keeping up lately, I've been a big ole heartbroken mess. A random e-mail in mid-March from a sexy, smart-ass fella clear across the country got me all hot and bothered and I jumped for it. And missed. And for all my talk about getting on and getting over it, well...that's been a big ole crock of bullshit.
Please feign some surprise. Thanks.
I've been harboring "false hopes" since I've returned from California. And last night's Dresden Doll's performance lit the fuse on the emotional dynamite I've been sitting on since I got back. Music was the way this fella won my heart, broadcasting playlists from me while we spent hours on the phone or on the instant messenger thingy that I didn't even use, until I installed just so we could chat. It was a way to connect with someone so far away. But the power of last night's show (coupled with some cheap booze on an empty stomach) literally lit the match that I needed to have lit. I needed to stop being sad and get mad. Mad that he wasn't calling like he used to, mad that I clearly burned for him much more than he burned for me, mad that he told me a gift I sent him was sweet but not necessary.
Ohhhh......you can only imagine the neck jerking, the hollering, and the verbal tirade that ensued from being told that I was sweet but not necessary. This one and this one witnessed it -- and they deserve hazard pay for dealing with the thermonuclear meltdown I had yesterday.
Now there's just debris to pick up and throw away after going from bittersweet to psycho in just a few hours. Immature or inevitable....who knows?
The IM Buddy list has been edited. The phone has been cleared of phone numbers to prevent a future drunken dial. Credit card receipts are shredded and in the trash, along with plane tickets and a wrapper from a 100 Calorie Pack of Oreos. He liked them and I wanted to make sure I got the right kind for a "surprise care package" I planned to mail next week.
Yeah. I had it that damn bad that I kept cookie wrappers.
I'll keep the e-mails, too. They were so sweet and they're proof! Proof that I wasn't crazy for falling as hard as I did. But, with time....I know the words will lose their potency....but that'll be a while.
The one thing I cannot bare to get rid of is a gambling chip from the Miss Congeniality II premier. I've been keeping it in my pocket since he mailed it to me six weeks ago, when he told me I could "cash it in" when I got to L.A., when romance loomed large and promising in the horizon. It'll go in a box with a necklace, some photos and a mix tape from other lost loves.
I think it's good to keep at least one thing from an experience that has been as gut-wrenching as the past seven weeks have been for me.
It's always a gamble, honey. It just wasn't my time to win.
And that's it. Seriously. End of story. Thank God! Thanks for putting up with me.
This is the song that did me in. Go buy the CD and keep it handy for the next time you're crushed by a crush. It'll help. Word.
so you dont want to hear about my good song?
and you dont want to hear about how i am getting on
with all the things that i can get done
the sun is in the sky & i am by my lonesome
so you don't want to hear about my good day?
you have better things to do than to hear me say
god its been a lovely day! everything is going my way
i took out the trash today and i'm on fire...
so you don't want to hear about my good friends?
you dont have the guts to take the truth or consequence
success is in the eye of the beholder
and its looking even better over your cold shoulder
i'm not suggesting you up and line me up for questioning
but jesus think about the bridges you are burning
and i'm betting
that even though you knew it from the start
you'd rather be a bitch than be an ordinary broken heart
so go ahead and talk about your bad day...
i want all the details of the pain and misery
that you are inflicting on the others
i consider them my sisters and i'd like their numbers
god its been a lovely day! everything is going my way
i took up croquet today and i'm on fire
i picked up the pieces of my broken ego
i have finally made my peace as far as you and me go
but i'd love to have you up to see the place
& i'd like to do more than survive i'd like to rub it in your face.....
hey! its been a lovely day! everything is going my way
i had so much fun today and i'm on fire
god it's been a lovely day everything's been going my way
ever since you went away hey i'm on fire.....
i'm on fire...
i'm on fire...
so you dont want to hear about my good day?
--copyright 2002 amanda palmer
Bruce Springsteen's song about butt won't be displayed next to the bundts at Starbucks.
The offending lyrics are below.
I went to the Starbucks Music Store in Santa Monica that's mentioned in the article a few weeks ago and I have to say I was really impressed with the selection of music they offer, but the customer service was lousy.
Some pissy sales boy, with a if-I-don't-know-about-it-must-not-be-good attitude refused to help me find out info on these folks who Kelly introduced me to months ago. Too Drunk to Fuck with a little breathy salsa twist is in heavy rotation on my iShuffle, as is Love Will Tear us Apart. They're my new anthems.
She took off her stockings
I held 'em to my face
She had your ankles
I felt filled with grace
"Two hundred dollars straight in
Two-fifty up the ass" she smiled and said
She unbuckled my belt, pulled back her hair
And sat in front of me on the bed
She said, "Honey, how's that feel
Do you want me to go slow?"
My eyes drifted out the window
And down to the road below
I felt my stomach tighten
As the sun bloodied the sky
And sliced through hotel blinds
I closed my eyes
Sunlight on the Amatitlan
Sunlight streaming through your hair
In the Valle de dos Rios
The smell of mock orange filled the air
We rode with the vaqueros
Down into cool rivers of green
I was sure the work and the smile coming out 'neath your hat
Was all I'll ever need
Somehow all you ever need's
Never quite enough you know
You and I, Maria, we learned it's so
She slipped me out of her mouth
"You're ready," she said
She took off her bra and panties
Wet her fingers, slipped it inside her
And crawled over me on the bed
She bought me another whisky
Said "here's to the best you ever had"
We laughed and made a toast
It wasn't the best I ever had
Not even close
I was looking for a part-time gig for the summer, too...
...the Food and Drug Administration is about to implement new rules recommending that any man who has engaged in homosexual sex in the previous five years be barred from serving as an anonymous sperm donor.Cumplete story here.
The FDA has rejected calls to scrap the provision, insisting that gay men collectively pose a higher-than-average risk of carrying the AIDS virus. Critics accuse the FDA of stigmatizing all gay men rather than adopting a screening process that focuses on high-risk sexual behavior by any would-be donor, gay or straight.
"Under these rules, a heterosexual man who had unprotected sex with HIV-positive prostitutes would be OK as a donor one year later, but a gay man in a monogamous, safe-sex relationship is not OK unless he's been celibate for five years," said Leland Traiman, director of a clinic in Alameda, Calif., that seeks gay sperm donors.
Feisty girls enter the blogosphere!
We combined our fondness for vintage sewing patterns with our need to be bitchy and mean and cruel.
Thanks to Kelly for the link!
May 5, 2005
Oooohhhhhhh!!!!! No she dihn't!!!!!!!!!!!
This gal Jane-y decided it would be okay to steal this other gal's blog templates and stylesheets, without realizing that when you steal other people's source code and HTML, they can rock your thieving-ass world.
Now, she has this big ole image on her klepto-created blog ---->
The whole sordid mess is here.
My current post at Pop Culture Junkies featuring more glitter than I've seen in a long, long time.....
And I am seething with jealousy!
CNN Celebrity Blog Commentary!
Insider Scoop on Page Six's Arch-Nemesis!!!
Clearly, I have work to do. No more moping. No more thoughtful sensitive prose. No more waiting for the phone to ring, even when I knew it wouldn't, hoping that it still would, but then it did and Jesus Christ! What is wrong with me!!!!! In other words: no more being all crazy and psycho and forelorn and broken-wing-bird. At least until the next time I get all crushed out on a super-sweet guy. If there is a next time....
See... I am back to bitter and as I sat here, the ice fully-forming around my heart, the phone rang...and it was my favorite publicist calling with free tickets to Dresden Dolls tonight.
The Dresden Dolls - whose self-dubbed ‘Brechtian punk cabaret’ genre gives an ironic nod to Brecht’s theater techniques - have been traveling across the modern stages of America, doling out doses of emotional medicine to a country steeped in doubt, fear and a deep un-named sadness over the death of authentic musicianship and entertainment.I've been in need of some emotional medicine for quite a while now.
This whole thing is so..so....British! Just look at the names: Trevor. Bungay. Emma. And it even involves husbands of supermodels, no less. They just do everything better across The Pond.
LONDON (AdAge.com) -- Trevor Beattie, the U.K.'s highest-profile adman and chairman and creative director of Omnicom Group's TBWA London, has quit the agency to start up his own shop, Beattie McGuinness Bungay.
Mr. Beattie is joined by Andrew McGuinness, the chief executive of TBWA London, and Bill Bungay, its deputy creative director. Film director/producer and husband of Claudia Schiffer, Matthew Vaughan, is also involved.
"We have no desire to create TBWA Lite. TBWA goes on. It remains the finest agency in London. TBWA will continue to do what it does brilliantly: creating brilliant ideas for brilliant clients. I will miss the people and the place, but I'll be cheering them on loudly from a little office somewhere".
-- Emma Hall
First Friday is less than 48 hours away!
Time for cheap wine, fine cheeses of the world and cute boys galore. Granted, they're all straight....but keep the wine flowing and you and Arthur Art Boy of Doom might just enjoy a night you'll never remember anyway....
Night clubs saw lines spilling onto the sidewalk and restaurants had nary an empty table during prime time. A few of those folks may have been a touch tipsy and a bit boisterous, but the overall energy and excitement were something to behold.
Read Thomas Crone's article here.
May 4, 2005
I am in great need of distraction at the moment...so Colleen and I are headed to this event tomorrow to make some mischief:
The Fashion Forum STL is hosting a cocktail party on Thursday, May 5, 2005 at the Philip Slein Gallery at 1319 Washington Avenue.
At our cocktail party you'll have the opportunity to learn more about the Forum and its upcoming exhibition, "Dressed for Thrills - 100 years of Halloween Costumes and Masks," by photographer Phyllis Galembo, opening October 7 at the Philip Slein Gallery.
The cocktail party is FREE and features hors d'oeuvres, drinks, and a silent auction that includes such must-have items as a private concert by Saint Louis Symphony musicians Heidi & Erik Harris, FYLO cosmetics, and art work donated by the Philip Slein Gallery and Phyllis Galembo. People who become a member of the organization receive a gift as well.
The event will be from 6 pm - 8 pm.
Be part of the in-crowd and join us for an evening of fashion, art, drink & food!
Ummm...I dunno about the in crowd part...but free food and a hundred years of Halloween costumes...that's a party.
Someone who has recently entered my life has suffered a great loss. We chatted at length tonight -- during the conversation I found myself with great peace of mind, and I truly hope he found some peace as well. Maybe today was a little bit better than yesteday. Sometimes, it's just baby steps.
On my way home, I realized that the folks that I hold near and dear to my heart are contrary idealists like me. We're a rag-tag team of cranky optimists that seems to be populated by the fiercely independent. Yet, so many times, our conversations turn to loneliness. Well, at least my side of the conversations will...inevitably...especially at 1:34 a.m. Don't fret: I'm not spilling anyone's tea on here, except for mine...well and maybe some asshole official's.
Anyway, back to the thoughtful stuff...a lot of us seem to skillfully balance and navigate along the emotional high-wire, taking baby steps that, in this scenario, are motivated by fear. Truth be told, taking the plunge and jumping, not knowing what is going to happen is maybe the bravest thing anyone can do.
I'm reminded right now of how many times I should have jumped off, without caring how I could have landed and what would have happened if only I believed that someone would catch me.
May 3, 2005
Back in the news...
Republican Alabama lawmaker Gerald Allen says homosexuality is an unacceptable lifestyle. As CBS News Correspondent Mark Strassmann reports, under his bill, public school libraries could no longer buy new copies of plays or books by gay authors, or about gay characters.
"I don't look at it as censorship," says State Representative Gerald Allen. "I look at it as protecting the hearts and souls and minds of our children."
I guess what I'd like to know if Mister Allen is so damn concerned about protecting children why doesn't he do something about the fact that:
Children in Alabama are not protected from habitual child abuse, even from their hetero parents.
Children in Alabama are not protected from habitual child molesters who keep getting light sentences.
Children in Alabama are entering foster care at an increasingly alarming rate because of crystal meth -- their strung out parents won't put down the pipe.
Children in Alabama can't read the damn books anyway, because the Alabama legislature, filled to the brim with all sorts of traditional-lifestyle-espousing assholes cannot agree on a budget for the school system.
The full story is here and I cannot claim Missouri is any damn better.
Gay couples here are being denied the opportunity to be foster parents. And these gals are educational consultants who train people how to be a foster parent and a chaplain at a treatment center for young people with emotional and behavioral disorders. Sounds like whacky foster parents to me.
Sometimes....one wonders who's really looking out for the kids.
Yesterday was an atypical Monday. I was clomping around the office trying to get our wireless network to work (ugh), hollering about the looming deadline for our telephone directory (argh) and trying to recover from my weekend (huh).
Note: I mighta been hollering about it, but I need some new shoes! There's still a week left for your business and your mama's business to get into the 11th annual Pride Pages. Non-profit organizations can even get a year's worth of advertising for around $100. Click here and scroll to the bottom for more info.
My co-worker was very nice and offered to go pick up lunch for us at the corner deli, only to come back mad at me.
"Here...come get your damn food," she said, throwing my salad down on the countertop. My salad (which is always HUGE and very reasonably priced) was especially huge today and there was a 14" by 8" drawing tucked into the saran wrap.
"All they wanted to know is where you were...where have you been...." she said. "They said they loved you, that you're sooooo nice, that you were one of their favorite customers and were always so agreeable and all this other bullshit 'coz they don't really know you...."
The ice around my bitter little heart melted just a little bit when I saw the drawing. They're all a bunch of 20-something eyebrow-pierced hipsters and they're all cuties (especially the fella with the goatee)...and just look....they made me look thin...that's so nice.
My friend Mary once remarked that I treat the drive thru lady up at the Del Taco like my best friend (I do love Miss Vickie who works the late shift...but that's another post for another day). I just think it makes life a helluva lot more enjoyable to treat folks with some kindness.
At least to their faces.
I'm from the South, remember. We're a bunch snakes-in-the grass when we got a tale to tell or somebody's pissed us off. I've found that even when you have a smile on your face, it's still quite easy to expect the worst from people.
Sometimes, though...people not living up to your expectations can be the best thing about a Monday.
5224 Columbia Ave
Saint Louis, MO 63139
Get a salad....or the meatball sandwich. If you dine in, they'll even give you a homemade cookie. For real!
May 2, 2005
Jenny Wilbanks (that loopy lady that did a lame ass job running out on her wedding) needs a better stylist. C'mon now -- her return outfit (right) is absolutely wretched. And her man, John Mason, is defending this dizzy broad, saying he wants her back!
Today, he said, "Haven't we all made mistakes?" and "... my commitment before God to her was the day I bought that ring and put it on her finger, and I'm not backing down from that."
Too bad she is gonna have to be committed, otherwise her ass is gonna be incarcerated (or at least sued) for being another over-hyped over-blown media spectacle pain in the ass.
I want to shake that man and tell him, "Folks thought you killed her, John! That's not a mistake....that's manslaughter. "It's all here.
In all reality.....I have to admit I understand where John is coming from. He still burns for Jenny. And people do all kinds of crazy shit for passion and l'amour....or so I've heard.
This whole scenario reminds me of a story about Agatha Christie, who scooted out on her man for 11 days in the 1920's. Folks thought she was dead, too, until they found her ass and then all her tea got spilt:
...writer Jared Cade claimed...that her disappearance had been planned by the writer herself as an elaborate method of humiliating her unfaithful husband. But the episode backfired spectacularly when her private revenge became public property and her wretched husband was suspected of murdering her.
--Golden Age Mysteries
I think that sounds fabulous! Revenge through better story telling!
I just wonder who is going to play her in the Lifetime, Television for Women version of this story? I'm going to try opening up comments again to see if you have any suggestions.
As I was sitting down to write this post, I had the most overwhelming sense of deja vu. It made me more than a little sick to my stomach. Webster's defines deja vu as, "the illusion of remembering scenes and events," but there's nothing illusory about these spooky psychic moments that happen to me from time to time - they're very real and very unnerving.
In the interests of full disclosure, I suppose my hallucinations and onset-nausea could also be blamed on the 2 A.M. trip Miss Celene and I made to the White Castles this morning after carrying on all night.
It was one of those weekends, honey -- real or imagined.
Yesterday, I volunteered for Food Outreach and attended Hairball. There is a seemingly benign ring to saying that I attended fundraising events for a food pantry and a domestic violence shelter.....but as Ryan has often told me, "your life resists all things normal."
Every week, Food Outreach hosts a Monday Lunch program that offers folks living with HIV/AIDS a chance to sit down and eat a warm meal in the Food Outreach dining hall. For a lot of folks, especially those that are very ill, this weekly event is their only social outing. Volunteers come in and prepare the food, chefs from amazing restaurants come in on special occasions and it's an extraordinary experience.
My task yesterday was to get folks to give money to directly fund the Monday Lunch program. My cohort Joe and I raised over three grand and I'm still waiting to see how the event did overall. I met this lovely man that designed the table that I wore -- and was thankful to have a prop. I considered myself the Traveling Old Country Buffet and Hee Hawed it Up. Lotsa photos here.
If the rumor mill is correct, the 3K I raised over at Tasteful Affair wouldn't have paid half of RuPaul's 30-minute, "Everybody Say Love (again...and again....and again)" performance at Hairball. I'll admit that I felt a great sense of satisfaction from knowing I had helped put food in people's mouths rather than supporting a drag queen's softer-side-of-Sears megalomaniacal moment. I'd just heard it all before -- the "I'm a seven foot black drag queen with a dream," and I wasn't all that thrilled with his set. In fact, I was very disappointed. My cohort Medusa was much more entertaining to watch and Celene rocked my world all night in this dynamite dress and the earrings I gave her for her birthday. A certain Angry Black Bitch has, as always, a good read on RuPaul:
Miss Ru, why are you such a greedy bitch? Why won’t you let people take pictures during your concerts? Why did you need to be paid in cash before your ass would take the stage? Why did you have a tired ass stage show and weak assed outfits? Did you borrow that deflated wig? Can a bitch still be considered a Diva after roaming about the stage grabbing dollar bills like a starving refuge at the U.N. food distribution site grabs a bag of rice?
Nuf said? I think so.
Here's my little photo gallery...just for fun. Click on a image for a bigger version....if you're into that kinda thing.