My next tattoo

Is going to be THIS image tattooed on my chest directly over my heart

Courtney Love @ The Boom Boom Room, NYE 2010

Even though I'm really annoyed and pissed off with Courtney AGAIN (for abruptly deleting her Facebook page after people had put so much time and energy into helping build up her photos, commenting on her opaquely repetitive posts, etc) I would give almost anything to be at her NYE concert tomorrow night at the STandard in NYC! Well, anything except air fare to NYC, the loss of my job (working New Year's Day), and the $250-and-up price of a ticket. (And that's just for standing room...to get a seat you have to pay $500-750, I hear.)

So I won't be attending the concert. In fact, I won't be attending any concert, since I'm getting up at 5am in order to work New Year's Day. I'd love to hear all about it, though!

On a related note...Courtney will NOT be releasing her album "Nobody's Daughter" or even a single from it on 1/1/1o as mentioned, promised, and hyped many times. In case any CL fan hasn't figured it out yet...you should not get your hopes up, or believe a word Miss Love says. Bless her wicked, lying, empty heart.

Homicide slump

The recession appears to be affecting that previously inviolable trump card of criminal activity - murder. To wit: I just read a newspaper headline saying San Francisco saw the biggest single-year drop in homicide on record in the year just past. Allow me to posit two theories:

1) People were just too depressed to report the murders

2) The additional killings migrated to Oakland, boosting its already impressive score

Cozy socks!

Last night, with some time to spare before work, I browsed Old Navy downtown and ended up spending $5 on TWO pairs of "cozy socks." (At one point they were selling for a dollar a pair...Old Navy's prices are still hard to beat. Although if you want to spend more for practically the exact same clothes, you can cross the street to The Gap....owned by the same corporation.) They really are cozy. They were in the women's section, of course, and come only in colors like lime green, yellow-and-white-striped and pink, to insure that only females will wear them. But did that stop me? (Photo above...yes, those are my grotesquely elongated flipper-like feet.) "I don't see why men can't enjoy cozy socks," I said to my co-worker afterwards.

"You can do whatever you want, kid, you live in San Francisco," she replied.

Yes, and I love that about this place. Of course, I was going to wear them either way, but you know, it's always nice to have permission.

(My co-worker also said, "Of course you had to buy elf socks, you big gay elf." Or some words to that effect.)

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS, one and all! I will be working on Christmas Day, which I don't mind at all, since it will take my mind off the fact that I'm an orphan for the holidays. And making double holiday pay won't hurt, either. More money for my rapidly approaching move out of Oakland and into The City.

THE City.

Bruno

All hail the insanity of Sacha Baron Cohen! The other night I finally watched "Bruno," Cohen's feature-length shocku-mockumentary based on one of the three characters he developed for "The Ali G" show years back. It was way more shocking, offensive and hardcore than I expected. Honestly, I didn't think it was still possible this late in the day for a film to make my jaw drop to the floor like that. I don't know if I can legitimately claim that I enjoyed watching the film - well, parts of it, definitely, but watching it is a fairly ulcer-inducing business, since it keeps you on edge and biting your nails with one painfully awkward episode after another. It gives you plenty of moments of laughter and hilarity, and you need them to release the tension of watching Cohen incite an African American audience of one of those tabloidy daytime talk shows to near violence by parading his adopted black baby in a miniature S/M outfit, or turn an interview with Libertarian presidential candidate Ron Paul into a harrowingly botched gay come-on. I don't know if I've ever seen an artist place his or her self in so much real physical danger as Cohen does in this film. By the end you're amazed he didn't suffer serious injury, so good - and so fearless - is he at pissing off his interview subjects to the point where they want to beat him senseless. I don't see how Cohen could possibly be straight after making a film like this! This is not the sort of movie you want to take home to Mom. I'm sure it must have been unrated. Maybe the single most surprising moment is the extreme close-up of Cohen as he rocks out with his (shaved!) cock out and shakes it all about for the camera. Talk about pulling out the stops! I can understand the generally ambivalent reaction of the gay press to the film (is he friend or foe? Helping or hurting our cause?), but I personally have to respect someone willing to go full-throttle to make their film, no holds barred. Cohen is the opposite of someone who "preaches to the choir." He tackles the most hostile audiences time after time, and in doing so creates at least one moment of odd beauty amidst the warped hilarity. I'm thinking of the scene where he and his male admirer make out, grope one another and begin making love in the middle of a wrestling ring surmounted by a steel cage, outside of which churns a positively apoplectic audience of the sort of semi-animal, violently aggravated redneck thugs who consider watching two men beat the shit out of each other in a steel cage match the greatest possible entertainment. There is a slow motion shot in which Cohen and his man toy roll about and embrace on the floor of the ring, as hurled water bottles, chairs, every other object in reach showers down on them: a weird moment of peace inside a seething cyclone of hatred and fury projected at them by the enraged audience, who can't believer their rabid eyes. "Bruno" even offends me - and I consider myself pretty hard to offend - but I'm glad it was made. I just won't be watching it with Mom any time soon.

Rescue me from Oakland

Ever since being mugged at GUNPOINT here in Oakland a month ago, I've been eagerly looking forward to the day I move into The City - to be closer to work, and just to live somewhere I feel that I belong. My quality of life has suffered considerably lately. I now see menace and danger where I used to see ethnic diversity and think how cool (and sort of typical of me) it was that I was the random tall gringo living with a Mexican family. (I still love Latino families and the way they stick together and live together in an extended group, from grandparents to little kids, and my roommate's sister cooks authentic Mexican food good enough for any restaurant. Their familial bonds are sort of what I've always dreamed of, and never had, having grown up with a small fractured family - basically just my single mother, my sister, and me - and my Cousin who lives on Maui - that's about all the family I have.) Well, I'm making it my foremost goal now, to move into San Francisco by February 1st. I need to save a bit more money, but will begin aggressively looking for a shared living situation at the beginning of January. Before I came to the Bay I envisioned a great job - utilizing "The Secret" (watched it on Maui), and I scored a really good job with great benefits shortly after arriving. Now it's time to apply that to my living situation. Because it's hard to be happy with anything else in your life if you aren't happy with where you live. At least in my experience.

I've had a nearly lifelong dream of owning a fabulous Victorian home, and in the meantime, renting a room in one seems a nice conceit. San Francisco is certainly one of the most likely places for that to happen. I did live in the attic of a Victorian in Portland, Ore. during the summer of 1997 (the summer that inspired so many William S. Burroughs-style writings that have thankfully perished with the passage of time), right across Ash Street from 3 Friends Coffeehouse, but my circumstances at the time were not auspicious. I'd like another chance to do it RIGHT this time.

Let's just see how well this quantum physics, "manifest your destiny" thing works.

Christopher Plummer

I love well-written memoirs. For a while now (I'm so slow these days) I've been reading Christopher Plummer's "In Spite of Myself" which came out a year or two ago. It's a warm, funny, appropriately theatrical account of the author's career in show business, starting with the stage, moving into the golden era of TV (the 50s) and then films. Plummer paints loving portraits of the vast galaxy of eccentrics, show-stoppers and stars he's shared the stage and screen with over the course of his life. You sense him exaggerating sometimes for dramatic effect, which gives the book the tone of a play or performance, and when the curtain goes up at the end you want to stand up and give it an ovation. Plummer makes you miss bygone worlds you never knew, swept away by time but leaving such raucous memories and impressions. For someone who loves theater and the eccentric personalities and tall tales that go along with it, this book is a jewel. There are a number of passages where the writing becomes very moving and poetic, touching on deep sadness, then always galloping back into the comedy and spectacle of life that obscures and alleviates that sadness. One concerns the death of Plummer's mother. Another early passage (p. 88-89) that illustrates the excellence of the author's style describes Myrta Guinness, an oddball recluse, member of the famous Guinness family, who lived alone on an island in Bermuda, where he collected mechanical music boxes and lavishly entertained the young artists he liked to surround himself with. The anecdote continues:

He was, I discovered, a sad, shy and lonely soul, bereft of purpose and blessed with no particular gift of any kind save one: he played the musical saw more brilliantly and more hauntingly than could be dreamed possible. In the half dark, he would bend that menacing saw over his knee and with his bow delicately brushing the shining metal, he would transport us to another world, a world of high-pitched unearthly beauty. It was the song the Sirens sang - it had wrecked ships, it had lured men to their watery deaths. As he played, an extraordinary thing happened - his face visibly altered, he was suddenly vibrantly alive, he had brought his own youth back.

Picture of the week!

Thanks to Damien for sending me this photo. Love it!

R.I.P. John Lennon

29 years ago today, John Lennon was murdered by a disturbed individual with no apparent motive. I still think "Imagine" is possibly the most perfect song ever recorded by a human being. On December 8th, 1980, the world lost a genius for whom there simply is no replacement. R.I.P., John. May you bliss out in strawberry fields forever.

Courtney reminds Britney who invented the term "Celebrity Trainwreck"

Oh, my goodness. With her second solo album "Nobody's Daughter" FINALLY due to be released January 1, 2010 (a most intriguing looking date, 1/01/10, let's hope it's binary code for MAJOR COMEBACK!), Courtney Love just made headlines by claiming that Britney Spears' dad molested her. The Spears camp has replied in an amusing fashion.

Bill Murray's brilliant cameo

I saw "Zombieland" at the Red Vic MovieHouse in the Haight the other night, and really enjoyed it. Not a work of high art, necessarily, but a very entertaining flick with an endearing "alternative family" message. Woody Harrelson and Jesse Eisenberg (sort of "the other Michael Cera") make a most amusing contrast. (Interesting to see two men - well, one man and one boy - play a dynamic that would traditionally be portrayed by two people of different genders. Wellllll, OK...maybe they're not exactly Bogie and Bacall.) But the best part of the movie is Bill Murray. His cameo is so brilliant, it would make the movie worth seeing even if the rest of it was pure dreck - which it isn't! Go, Bill! This scene should be used in college courses on filmmaking under the title, "How to write a stupendously brilliant celebrity cameo."

Cirque in Union Square!

Cirque du Soleil, in the City right now with their new show "Ovo," made a public appearance in Union Square this afternoon. Since I work two blocks away, I took my lunch break at the right time to dash down there and catch them in the action. "Ovo" is insect-themed and the performers were acting very insect-like, copying the mannerisms of ants, praying mantises, etc. It was a fun sight to behold. Suddenly, without warning, they fled en masse to their tour bus (Bus du Soleil?) and drove away, waving from the top of the double-decker! A fun way to spend a lunch break.

I fell under the potent spell of Cirque when I ushered for their show "Corteo" in Portland early last year, before I went to work in Glacier National Park. As an usher - unlike the poor kids in concessions who had to spend their whole work shift in the outer tents hawking popcorn and hot dogs during intermission - I got to watch the show every night inside the Grand Chapiteau, which is truly grand. I never lost my sense of awe at the vast size of that huge tent, especially when we met before showtime for a pre-performance huddle before any audience members entered to fill the vastness of the space. The show was beautiful, something I'll never forget. Even after seeing it a dozen times, my heart always picked up the pace when the first act after intermission ("Paradise," the trapeze act) started. The amazing soundtrack, the dramatic lighting, and the perfectly timed buildup to the act's climactic moment, which always made the audience gasp. I didn't gasp, but I marveled, and felt proud of the performers, of how good they were, and happy to be part of something so magnificent, even in my humble capacity.

The Obama Deception

Today on BART I glimpsed the newspaper headline, "Liberals distance themselves from Obama." I'm afraid it's true. Cynicism is realism at this point. Obama is owned by the same people who owned Bush. They are people who make money off war (hence 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan! Although I think Obama's lack of emotion or enthusiasm during the speech at least shows his conscience is conflicted about doing the bidding of the Emperor), and engineered our recent economic collapse (and others before it). That's why Geithner is Secretary of the Treasury, Bernanke is being re-confirmed, and we haven't taken any serious steps to change our economic structure so that a major recession like this doesn't happen again. The bail-outs are a band-aid on a third-degree burn. Huffington Post, led by Arianna Huffington, has published one article after another on this subject for a long time now.

Fuzzy Little Drunks

From my Mom's favorite publication, SMITHSONIAN Magazine, Oct 2008: "Pen-tailed tree shrews [one pictured above...cute!] and at least six other small mammals in Malaysia imbibe naturally fermented bertam palm flower nectar, which is up to 3.8 percent alcohol, like beer. The animals are the only ones (aside from humans) known to drink regularly, say the researchers, from Germany and elsewhere, who saw no 'motor incoordination or other behavioral signs of inebriation.' The animals appear to have a high alcohol tolerance."

My movie genres

I have compiled a list, using the categories provided by Netflix (except Cult Movies, which doesn't get its own separate category from Netflix, but does from me), of my preferences regarding the various film genres and subgenres, listing those that I like. I list each genre followed by (after the :) the subgenres of that genre that I enjoy.

Action & adventure: Blaxploitation, Martial Arts (especially classic Kung Fu movies), Westerns (rarely)

Animation & Anime: For Grownups, Horror, Fantasy. I admit I struggle with this genre, knowing it's all the rage, now, but I'm very finicky when it comes to animated films.

Children & Family: not so much

Classics: I love old movies from the black & white era. Also Classic Sci-Fi/Fantasy movies (like Invasion of the Body Snatchers), and Film Noir.

Comedy: British Humor, Cult Comedy, Black Comedy or Horror-Comedy, Slapstick, Satire/Mockumentaries, Stand-Up

Cult - Probably my favorite genre in general, with a sidenote for Asian Cult, Cult Classics (like Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!) and Cult Horror

Documentaries: Historical, Biographical, Indie, PBS/Science & Nature (can't get enough of the nature docs), Political (sometimes)

Drama : Depends

Faith & Spirituality : Difficult

Gay & Lesbian : Maybe it's time for it to stop being its own separate genre?

Horror: tied with "cult" as my favorite genre, especially B Movie Horror, Creature Features/Monsters, Cult Horror, Foreign Horror, Horror Classics (House of Hammer, e.g.), Satanic Stories, Slashers, and Vampires/Zombies (although the new mainstream "teen horror" genrre, like "Twilight," leaves me cold...or maybe just old)

Indie - it's a mixed bag, but I do enjoy good experimental and art house films

Musicals - questioning

Romance - gotta be dark, quirky or queer

SciFi/Fantasy - love this genre in general, with special emphasis on Alien, Classic, SciFi Horror, and JAPANESE MONSTER MOVIES of the Godzilla variety

Special Interest - Art & Design, Dance, Food & Wine, Theater Arts, Mind & Body

Sports & Fitness - not so much. Ice-skating, when Johnny Weir is involved.

Television - hit and miss, but yes, I'm not a Teeveetotaler

Thriller - NO.

Ben wins Emmy / Happy Thanksgiving!

Congratulations to Ben Whishaw on winning the International Emmy two nights ago for best actor for his recurring role on British TV series Criminal Justice! (Julie Walters won best actress.) There's little doubt this guy has a bright future ahead of him. He missed the awards ceremony because he's currently appearing on stage in Mike Bartlett's play "Cock" at London's Royal Court. (Production photo above shows Ben with co-star Katherine Parkinson.)

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, one and all. Don't eat too much, or you'll get super fat and no one will love you.

xo

glam aka Tony

I Love You Man! or: Evolutions in the Homosocial Continuum.

Check out this Craigslist ad. I love that we live in a time when straight guys can post ads on Craigslist seeking each other out strictly for friendship and "normal guy stuff." (And I liked the movie "I Love You Man," too. Where was Andy Samberg's character when I was in high school? Or more to the point: where was Andy Samberg when I was in high school?)

If I may momentarily delve into the jargon of feminist/queer theory academia, I would say that "I Love You Man," unlike a yucky little dud like "I Now Prounounce You Chuck and Larry," indicates that we as a society may be healing the schizophrenic break in what Eve Sedgwick refers to as the "homosocial continuum" that has been caused in the past by homophobia. (Note homoSOCIAL. Not "homosexual.") What that means in plain English: due to our puritanical heritage, we've had a double standard in this country where women being affectionate and intimate friends can lead into women being "more than friends" without any major backlash or outcry, while the same is not true of men. This doesn't mean that the homoerotic subtext of "I Love You Man" invalidates its heterosexual plotline. It just means that maybe we're reaching a point of maturity and acceptance where the POSSIBILITY of men being "more than friends" isn't something we have to automatically regard with revulsion or distaste.

I'm proud of us. We're growing up. FINALLY.

Christmas Fever!

I walked past Macy's on my way to work and DAMN it's amazing looking, all garlands and wreaths and magic, it called to me, whispered with a voice like powdered sugar, I want to sleep in their bedroom department and spend all day soaking in Christmas splendor! And never return to the real world again!

And after Xmas I'll just turn into a little ceramic figurine of myself and stay that way until the holidays roll around again next year, and so on forever...

Good Taste

I am starting a new, casual dining group to meet once or twice a month at a restaurant of the group's choice for breakfast, brunch, lunch or dinner. The objective is merely to meet some new people, eat some good food (which I can then recommend to customers at the hotel I work for), and have some stimulating conversation. I've started a Google Groups page for the club. If you're in the Bay Area and may want to join us, let me know! It's a public group, anyone can join.

My food tastes are diverse. I can enjoy everything from a dive-bar to an ultra ritzy place with sommeliers, lengthy wine lists and cloth napkins. I can honestly say I've never met a cuisine I didn't like at least a little.

Good Taste will have our first session at Le Central, San Francisco's first French bistro, founded in 1974. Former San Francisco mayor Willie Brown is known to be a big fan and to dine there regularly. Their roast chicken w/ pommes frites is supposed to be To Die For. Check them out here.

Courtney Love + Bill Clinton: Too good to be true

Check out this article from NY Mag's Culture Vulture, covering some Love-ly behavior at the 8th Annual Benefit for the Elton John AIDS Foundation. This woman's entire life is one sustained work of performance art. I love her so. And I would pay $$$ for a transcript of the conversation that took place during her breakfast with Hillary Clinton. (There's a photo of the two of them together published in Love's interesting scrapbook, "Dirty Blonde.")

Panic! At the Doctor's Office

Wonder of wonders, a BALANCED article (from HuffPost, again, now officially my preferred online hub for news and opinion) on the question of vaccines (albeit with a couple typing errors), by Bill Maher, that doesn't go to either one extreme or the other! How refreshing! Personally I find this guy far more palatable than, say, Alex Jones or other more extremist conspiracy theorists. Maher is a pretty sharp and reasonable guy, with a multifaceted perspective on various issues, and also a flair for controversy...which never hurts.

How about a vaccine for being a panicky American?

Carlin's Last Words

Tony Hendra has written a wonderful little piece on the late, great George Carlin for Huffington Post, arguing that Carlin was/is "America's Greatest Comedian." This comes as the book "Last Words" which he co-created with Carlin is about to hit the shelves. When I first saw an HBO special of Carlin's back in the early '90s it was life-changing: I'd never seen a comedian SO funny who at the same time provoked so much thought and tackled the huge cosmic issues that most people shy away from. He made me laugh til I cried, think about things more deeply and be righteously (but not self-righteously) pissed off all at the same time. (He also forever opened my eyes to what a boring, elitist "sport" golf is and to this day I can't abide it.) I will miss his raging, scorching commentary as he raced about the stage with amazing energy for an older dude (he'd already been at it for quite a while when I first saw a video of his stand-up). I have always had a special appreciation for stand-up comedians. I think performance in general is an art form I have a great deal of respect for, and comedy adds a further "plus" of respect, because I think making people laugh is not easy, and to make them laugh in a smart way, even less so. I think I would venture to say that great stand-up comedians are some of the greatest human artists. (And laughter itself so uniquely and spiritually human.)

Read Hendra's HuffPost article, buy the book, and treasure the memory of a true American original who won't be replaced any time soon.

The Butch Factor

Last night I caught a screening of a very interesting documentary at the LGBT Center, The Butch Factor, presented by Frameline. It explores the issue of masculinity - how it is constructed by society and ourselves - particularly in reference to gay men, who are really left to construct their masculinity - or lack thereof - on their own, since male homosexuality is not generally compatible with "manliness," at least in our society. (Socities in the past, like the Ancient Greeks and Romans, didn't seem to have this problem so much...) The subjects interviewed for the film - a number of whom were on hand for a Q&A afterwards - covered the masculinity spectrum from effeminate sissy and FTM transgendered to a number of brawny, hairy specimens more overtly masculine than most straight guys I know. They all articulated themselves quite well. Jack Malebranche, author of "Androphilia," appeared in an interview segment, asserting his feeling that gay culture is all about trivial shit like fashion and has no place for integrity, a sense of honor, pride in one's accomplishments - a view I still have a problem with and see as rather simplistic: I like clothing and shopping and more on the sissy end than the butch one in the masculinity spectrum I'm sure, yet I like to think of myself as a person of integrity and, dare I say, even HONOR, and I don't see any necessary conflict there. I noticed that, in contrast to Malebranche's obvious antipathy for queeny gay guys, a couple of the other very masculine, Lou Ferrigno-looking guys not only didn't express any dislike for effeminate gay guys, but even complimented them a couple times, saying they were really the tough ones, since they'd had to learn to defend themselves from an early age and "don't take shit from anybody." One of the two "sissy boys" interviewed made a very interesting point about how this very condition has resulted in him developing the BITCH side of his persona, which is unfortunately then carried over into relationships with others WITHIN the GLBT community itself - a reality I've thought about and commented on myself in the past. All in all, an excellent documentary, and I'm looking forward to the spin-offs it may produce - "The Adonis Factor," which director Christopher Hines said will deal with issues of body image, and maybe others that could take the issues touched on in "The Butch Factor" in other directions, such as adding the element of race, and also maybe a flip-side doc dealing with the (de)construction of femininity amongst lesbians. That I want to see, since I've always had a fondness for butch women.

You down with MSG?

In Portland when I lived on scenic N.E. 82nd Ave (that's sarcasm) there was a pho house not far from my house that I'd eat at sometimes, and I noticed I generally got a weird, unpleasant sensation starting after I'd finished a big bowl of pho, continuing for an hour or two. I thought maybe there was some unusual herb or other they used that gave me the weird feeling, but my friend who ate there with me said, "I bet they use MSG." (Vietnamese Restaurant Syndrome?) Alternately, when I worked in Glacier National Park in summer 2008 we sometimes had these virtually unidentifiable MEAT SLABS served in the employee dining room. They didn't look very good but tasted amazing, and I'd go back for seconds and thirds. The cook later told me they were so tasty because "they have tons of MSG," which according to him isn't really as bad as it's hyped up to be, but rather "just a type of flavored salt." So, what gives? Is MSG really the scourge of Asian cuisine, or not really such a big deal? From what I've read, it sounds like some people who have a special sensitivity to it should avoid it, since in that case it can lead to serious consequences, but that all in all, it's not as bad as it's made out to be. I mean, lots of Asians eat it regularly, right?

Franco at the Castro

James Franco is going to be at the Castro Theatre on Sunday, for a film screening + discussion, only $7, but I can't go 'cause of work!

Here's Johnny!

A couple weeks ago I caught a screening of "Pop Star on Ice," part of the San Francisco Documentary Film Festival, at the Roxie Theater in the Mission District. I didn't know much of anything about Johnny Weir before, other than that he is currently my mother's favorite figure skater (and "the new version of Rudy Galindo," according to her, which also signified nothing much to me, since I've never followed figure skating any more than I've followed football). But the blurb about the film piqued my interest, and the fact that it returned to the DocFest after screening for the first time LAST year seemed to indicate a fan favorite. And so it was. The theater was small, but packed, and enthusiastic, for the screening (one of only two) that I attended. There were a number of moments when we all laughed together, and I joined in the ovation at the film's end. Johnny Weir is a young athlete of great charisma. His press conference antics, youthful fearlessness and outspoken individuality do not obscure his amazing and innate talent as a skater, but only enhance and embellish it. I came away feeling - and hoping - that he could indeed one day "take the Gold." I always respond passionately to people brave enough to really communicate who they are to you without the fear and boundaries and inhibitions that most people have. It makes them vulnerable, but also uniquely lovable - because there just aren't that many of them. It's so much easier to play it safe. As far as the question of his sexuality goes: on the one hand, I do think it's a little silly for Weir to play coy about officially coming out of the closet, when a CHIMP watching "Pop Star on Ice" would think it blindingly obvious that he's gay. On the other hand - it is UP TO HIM, public figure or no, and in the times we live in, when announcing that you're gay to the press results in People Magazine covers titled YES I AM! - in other words, it amounts to a press conference and exactly the sort of "spectacle" Weir has spoken of in interviews, as something he wants to avoid - I can't blame him for not wanting his sexuality to overshadow his talent as an athlete and performer. Of course, when he does finally make the statement - if only to appease those tiresome enough to require such a statement of the obvious - I will be his loudest supporter. Let your bright light shine, baby! You are beautiful! It's true.

And you just took second place in the first day in the Grand Prix at Nagano.

Now, when will 'Pop Star On Ice" be released on DVD stateside, eh?

Not gaga for feminism

"I'm not a feminist. I hail men, I love men." So said Lady GaGa recently. I wasn't too into her before I read this quote. She strikes me as an obnoxious club kid pandering to the gay community as an easy way to build an instant support base. And reading this quote seems like a contrived way to stir up controversy, while at the same time revealing the mind of an ignorant youngster who doesn't really know what she's talking about. I realize my gender may preclude my having a relevant opinion on this subject, but is it not possible to be a feminist AND love men? In other words, to love women as well as men.

Of course it is.

Here's an interesting discussion on the topic from Bitch Magazine.

Caligula Remake?

So, this is weird, and the more I read about it, confusing...apparently it's the trailer for a remake of Caligula directed by Gore Vidal, in which both Francesco Vezzoli and Courtney Love play Caligula (?) But then it turns out that it's not an actual film, just a trailer for a film that doesn't exist, sort of a joke trailer made for the Venice Biennale several years back. It's worth watching, if only to shudder at how awful it looks like it would be as a fully realized film.

Meaning no disrespect to Gore Vidal, whom I love and respect. Actually, as a sort of in-joke conflating the current worlds of Hollywood and high fashion with decadent ancient Rome before it fell, it's pretty satirical and funny.

Ben Whishaw's "Cock"!

Oh, I wish I could see this on the stage!

"Cock, a new play by Mike Bartlett, will open in the Jerwood Theatre Upstairs at the Royal Court on 18 November (previews from 13 November). Directed by James Macdonald, the cast will include Ben Whishaw, with design by Miriam Buether and lighting by Peter Mumford."

Here's the link.

Thank you, Oakland!

Residents of Oakland, California (probably my future home, although now it looks like I may be staying on Maui longer than originally planned) just passed a measure to tax medical marijuana to generate income for the city. Pot advocates hope it's a first step towards legalization.

Read the story on Huffington Post.

Godless Geeks!

This is my favorite atheist web site for geeks! (thank you Richard Dawkins)

Illegal Abortion Barbie

Barbie struggles with one of life's toughest decisions, and the strain shows in her mascara. That hanger isn't for one of Ken's ironed work shirts!

Anorexia Barbie

Oh dear, Barbie! I can see your kneejoints! What are you eating these days, raisins and cigarette butts? What happened to your sex appeal?

Barbie Turns 50!

Hi everyone! In the spirit of good fun and bad taste, I found these hysterical Barbie knockoffs (I'm pretty sure Mattel didn't authorize them) on the net. First off, BARBIE TURNS 50! Wish Barbie a happy birthday, everyone! But not TOO many more!

Veljo Tormis

First of all, today is le quatorze juillet, so HAPPY BASTILLE DAY, French people and francophiles! Joyeux Fete Nationale.

And now something completely different. Part of the reason I like having friends is that they introduce me to all sorts of new things. Their obsessions and interests become mine, and thus I expand and enhance my horizons. My favorite actor, Ben Whishaw (hot), is into this composer, Veljo Tormis (photo above). He says of him, "I'm enjoying this Estonian composer, Veljo Tormis. It's strange choral music based on Baltic folk melodies. It's very intense, pure and hypnotic."

Listen to a clip of this haunting, epic, spectral music here. The song is "Raua needmine / Curse Upon Iron," from the new CD "From the Baltic Coast." Reminds you of something from the soundtrack of Baraka, yeah?

Earth Magic and uncertainty

Walking in to town just now, it was raining and I was getting soaked, which sucked, ‘cause I was carrying my laptop in its bag, and had a job application in my backpack which I knew would be destroyed. Then a big native islander guy named Art (Arthur) picked me up in his truck, just when the rain was coming down hardest, and drove me to Mama’s Fish House. On the way he told me how he likes to go to Little Beach (the naked beach) with a metal detector on Monday mornings ‘cause all the people who were there for the Sunday night festivities (dancing, fire ring, drum circle, etc) leave all sorts of stuff that he finds, like watches, bunches of change. Once two girls had lost the keys to their rental car and were devastated and he asked “what part of the beach were you on” and they showed him and he found their keys with his metal detector and they were overjoyed and offered him anything – money, sex – and he said “How about a smile.” Seemed like a really nice guy, I got that feeling from him (and other native islanders I’ve met here) that I normally associate with Native Americans, of their spiritual earth magic connection, some of them are positively angelic, although they can also be demonic if crossed. As long as you don’t do anything underhanded or malicious, though, you have nothing to worry about. Anyway, I think every time I’ve been picked up hitch-hiking (or just walking) here it’s been by a native person, never by old mistrustful whitey. There’s an odd dichotomy here. You hear about the resentment the natives have for us usurpers (understandably, when you read about what the missionaries did), you see signs reading “Reinstated Hawaiian Government” which means the natives want to take their land back and secede from the U.S. (fine with me...can you do it while I’m on Maui?), and yet I’ve yet to have an interaction even approaching negative with any native person; they’re the ones who give me free rides and answers questions from strangers in a friendly manner and go out of their way to be nice to me, a tall, bottle-blond (bleached my hair a week or two ago...it looks really cute) white boy. What gives? I guess maybe it’s obvious that I’m not “overly privileged” if I’m walking three miles each way every time I leave the house...

12/21/12

Dec. 21st, 2012 better be a big day. Everyone from the ancient Mayans to the Romans to Terence McKenna and Drunvalo Melchizedek (whose occult, sacred geometrical texts I'm currently absorbing) has predicted big things for our planet on that date, 12/12/12. The way I see it, it's going to be a wake-up call either way. Either there's something to this occult apocalyptic endgame stuff, or it's time for us to seriously leave the voodoo shit bhind and evolve into more rational, nonreligious, humanistic beings. (Photo above: flower of life matrix overlaid over something else, from some website I found with a Google search. I include it because I think the Flower of Life emblem will be my next tattoo.)

On a completely unrelated note, I'm reading, and enjoying, Barbara Walters's memoir "Audtion." She had a retarded sister named Jackie. She and her mother both had a phobia of driving and Barbara hasn't driven since her college-graduate days. (This is interesting to me since I'm not a driver either, have never had a license, and find it revealing how much pressure you get from so many different directions to get a license...our culture practically requires it, so I feel a bond with other non-drivers.) She writes memorably of her father, Lou Walters, who started a chain of nightclubs called The Latin Quarter that were very successful.

"The bad thing about my father is that he was, by nature, a gambler," she writes in Audtion. "The good thing about my father is that he was, by nature, a gambler."

ALSO...I just saw "Super Liza" on the Big Gay Sketch Show on Logo, and that shit is FUNNY, yo.

My new conspiracy theory

I think there's a serious possibility Michael Jackson faked his death. Think about it...he was "awash in debt," from what I've read...didn't have the energy to make it through all 50 dates of his comeback tour...he's exactly the kind of weird guy who would do something like that, especially since it would put him alongside Elvis and other pop-rock royalty...it is the ultimate media comeback, in a way, I mean look, the media isn't going to shut up about this for at least another few months. He's back on top. And he's so weird looking it wouldn't be hard to put a fake mannequin or something in a casket and say it was him.

It's possible.

By the way, this is my 100th blog post on this site! Go me.

Dire predictions

Billy Mays is dead now, on top of poor Farah and Jacko last week. Not that I really know who Billy Mays was (did he do those OxyClean commercials?) (Yeah, he did, I looked it up.) Drunvalo Melchizedek, who wrote the Flower of Life books I'm currently poring over, has added his voice and mystical insights to the chorus of voices who claim that we are near “the end of time.” I’d say either that, or we’re near the end of the time of mysticism, apocalypticism, maybe religious fanaticism and cultishness in general: if the Mayan cosmogenesis and predictions of a major change or end of things in December 2012 turns out to be another Y2K, I think even people who are now fanatical believers in that sort of thing will finally become skeptics and “get real” and maybe we can move on with actually healing and fixing the planet and ourselves by our own means, rather than hoping for divine intervention to take care of it all for us.

Or maybe I'm wrong and we are close to the end of all things as we know them, in which case....I feel fine? At least we'll all be in it together.

Oh, I forgot...

I've also started reading Chelsea Handler's hilariously titled bestselling memoir, "Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea." Probably another source of inspiration for our book.

Although I myself have kicked alcohol out of my life for the foreseeable future. It was like a guest that had overstayed its welcome.

Now I suppose I have to get locks for all the doors.

What I'm reading right now

I've always loved and felt at home in libraries, ever since I used to hide out in them to escape the terror of middle/high school in Hillsboro, Oregon and other lovely places where I got to grow up. What kind of world would we have if there were no public libraries? (Well, there would still be bookstores, which are even better in some ways, but they aren't free.) I always loved the quote from Jorge Luis Borges etched in the stone vestibule of the magnificent Central Library in downtown Portland:

"I have always imagined heaven to be a kind of library."

I know exactly what he means. An endless library, like a labyrinth of books and shelves and floors without limit, that never closes, and that contains every book, zine, magazine, newspaper, and publication ever written by anyone ever anywhere. I used to read voraciously, and nothing pleased me more than spending hours with a big glass of iced tea and maybe some cheese and crackers reading inside by candlelight, or outside by sunlight, feeding my head, growing wiser as I absorbed the knowledge and experience and imagination of other people, places, and things.

Lately, after losing my love of literature and reading to various other worldy pursuits and difficulties that diverted my attention elsewhere, I'm regaining my love of reading. Here are a few things I'm currently reading:

THE HYPOCRISY OF DISCO, by Clane Hayward. A memoir of her hardscrabble hippie childhood and how she broke out of it and rebelled by joining the mainstream that had always been denied her by her hardcore macrobiotic hippiedippy mom. I've been looking on it as inspiration for the memoir my cousin and I are writing (which is coming along nicely now). My first impression was that the writing (I don't know if Clane had a ghostwriter or not, I'm guessing no) was adequate, workmanlike, but struck me as one draft short of a final draft, and could be improved in terms of grammar, punctuation, and the general arrangement and quality of the writing. But since I've read more of it I've come upon some passages of beauty and warmed up to her bare-bones style. I've always enjoyed memoirs and autobiography.

THE ANCIENT SECRET OF THE FLOWER OF LIFE, VOL. 2, by Drunvalo Melchizedek. I don't have volume one, so I'm probably starting at the wrong end of the pool, but this was loaned to me and it's the sort of arcane, mystical text treating of paranormal matters past and present, hard to find I'm told. The theory goes that there is a sort of basic geometric shape, The Flower of Life, which is reflected in everything from celestial bodies to human bodies to intangibles like human consciousness to the Ancient Pyramids of Egypt. I definitely have a certain predisposition for mysticism and this book is feeding it. Lots of fun if you're the type of person who likes watching TV shows about UFOs, "unexplained mysteries," crop circles, Ripley's Believe It or Not, et. al. Seek it out and unlock its secrets!

BRIDESHEAD REVISITED, by Evelyn Waugh. I know, you know. But I'm almost finished with it now. I've found it immensely enjoyable reading and would class it as high literature. But it's too bad Waugh wrote at a time when he had to avoid direct mention of the fact that Sebastian was gay, and that's why I remain defiant in my passion for the film version which came out last year, with un-closeted Sebastian played by beautiful actor Ben Whishaw.

AUDTION, by Barbara Walters. An avoirdupois memoir by the queen of sappy TV interviews and elderly View co-hostess. It'll be a guilty pleasure, when I actually start reading it. It's a few down from the top in the stack right now. I laughed when I heard my Cousin talk about how Barbara uses Elisabeth Hasselbeck as her puppet to voice the conservative views that Barbara herself doesn't want to spout on The View, since she doesn't want to come across as the old person baffled by the progressive state of modern culture that she is. But hey, beneath all that hairspray and makeup beats a heart of solid brass.

The Return of Hole!

NME (my favorite oversized British rock mag) has an exciting new article and video footage of Courtney Love and Micko Larkin, the new Eric Erlandson, talking about her long-awaited second solo album. Turns out it won't be a solo album at all, but will be released as a HOLE album. That's right, Courtney is resurrecting Hole, one of the best bands of the 90s in my humble opinion. Their trio of albums - from Pretty On the Inside to Celebrity Skin - form an excellent conceptual trilogy of this enigmatic woman's ascension from ugly duckling wannabe to one of the most famous (or infamous, but those are only two sides of the same coin) women on the planet.

Watching the clip you can sense Courtney's charisma and humor and the force of her magnetic personality, scorched and battle-scarred as it may be by her epic tragedy of a life. I've been obsessed with CLove for years, since around the time she starred in The People Vs. Larry Flynt. (She really is a good actress, it's too bad she destroyed her film career along with her music one after about 2002.) Call me crazy, but I really see her as the last real rock star, part of a dying breed. Gay guys always have to have their divas, I suppose, and while others may go with more traditional models - Barbra, Liza, Madonna, Cher, Bette, etc. - I like Courtney because she is this weird blend of grande dame/female drag queen plus ROCK N ROLL, like REAL rock n roll, not dance music, not pop music, not American Idol, but something that is raw and real and confessional and RARE these days, to say the least.

I got tired of waiting for her follow-up to 2004's America's Sweetheart (HALF of which is actually very good and inspiring and almost spiritual) a long time ago, but I can't help feeling a little twinge of the old excitement when I see these clips.

Rise again, crazy phoenix. The show isn't over yet.

Check out the article and video clips here.

I think that will work. If it doesn't, just go to www.nme.com and type "Return of Hole" in the search field.

Succulent Sunlight

This is my latest, Maui-inspired painting, titled "Succulent Sunlight."

Aloha!

R.I.P., Danny La Rue

Danny La Rue, aka Daniel Carroll, the famous British female impersonator (I think he preferred that term to "drag queen"), died on May 31st. I just read an article about it. Didn't hear much about it stateside. Another example of the gap that separates us from the Brits? Or maybe I just wasn't paying attention.

Bob Hope once referred to Danny as "the most glamorous woman in the world." His/her life story is pretty amazing, from what I've gleaned. I'll have to see if there's a good bio.

Fake meat in a can (better than it sounds!)

The editor of the Gay & Lesbian Review Magazine responded to my pitch for an in-depth comparison of the different versions of Brideshead Revisited - novel, miniseries and film - by saying he liked the pitch but it won't work out because it just so happens that they've published a piece on the movie version, featuring an interview with Julian Jarrold, in the issue that just came out! It's a bummer since of all the suggestions I got, that would probably have been the most perfect venue for the piece. So I'm kind of at an impasse with that. On a slightly more positive note, though, Out Magazine just wrote to tell me they're publishing my letter on the same topic in their next issue - the one I wrote in response to their piece on the recent re-issuing of the miniseries in a new DVD package.

Now to skip from obsessions present to obsessions past: I tracked down and ordered a case of Choplets and a case of Veja-Links, the hard-to-find meat substitute products I was introduced to by the Seventh-Day Adventist farm family who babysat me as a child back in Minnesota. They arrived today and were a delicious treat when I came home from job-hunting. They taste just like I remember them and I had an entire can of veja-links, then turned it over to see that serving size is "1 link." (Riiiight.) What IS it about textured vegetable protein, wheat gluten, etc. that is so compulsively scrumptious? And why is this particular brand (Worthington/Loma Linda) so hard to find? It's like one little lady is making them in a cottage in the Midwest or something, and she only supplies a limited number. Anyway, we'll eat well for a while.

Gay pride goeth before a fall

Adam Lambert from American Idol (which I've never watched) is on the cover of Rolling Stone talking about how he's gay and took psychedelic mushrooms at Burning Man. It's always kind of funny, and kind of annoying to see how long it takes the mainstream to acknowledge things that many of us have known about/experienced for so long that we're kind of bored by them now. I'm really tired of hearing people say they're "proud" to be gay.

Look. Being gay is not something you should have to be ashamed of. But it's not something to be PROUD of, either. Let's find a nice middle ground where you don't have to be either ashamed or proud, you can just be yourself without going to either extreme. Stonewall happened a long time ago, you know. Dick Cheney just came out in support of gay marriage, for chrissakes. (Not that it matters, since Dick Cheney no longer - thank God - holds any public office.)

Speaking of which...this weekend is Gay Pride. I may attend some of it, out of curiosity. It's really just an excuse to party for a couple days, drink, and possibly hook up, right? That by any other name would be as fun.

Smells Like Aloha Spirit

The other night at a party I was explaining to a guest the difference in attitude between people where I come from - Portland, the Pacific Northwest - and the Islands (Hawaii), where I currently reside. Basically I said that people in the Pacific NW protect themselves inside shells of hipness, while people here seem to have no use for such armor. People here are generally very friendly and open, more so than in Portland or I suppose than most any city on the mainland. People here give good directions, greet strangers they pass in the street, and go out of their way to help you when they work in customer service - and often even if they don't. Hitch-hiking is big here, and whenever I've seen someone thumbing a ride, they've always been picked up within minutes. There is no attitude, no standoffishness, no hipsters. I find myself rather aloof by comparison - old habits die hard - but I'm coming around.

This is interesting, because I've heard people from Seattle and other "big cities" talk about how friendly and quaint people in Portland are. Just like incest, it's all relative.

Lou Perryman murdered with an ax

OK, this is really weird.
Lou Perryman is - or rather was - an Austin, TX actor who was an assistant photographer on the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre, shot in the Austin area back in 1973 (and a lifelong obsession of mine, in case you didn't know, which you did, because I talk about it every 5 minutes). Then in the nauseating sequel released in 1986, he played L.G. McPeters, a radio station sound tech and good ol' Texas cowboy who comes to a bloody and disturbing end beneath Chop Top's claw hammer. (This scene, probably more than any other in any film, scarred me for life as a child.)
Well, I'm just finding out about this now, but apparently a couple months ago Perryman was murdered with an ax by a bipolar man in his Austin home. The motive isn't known other than that the man needed Perryman's car and other items and decided to kill him to get them.
With an ax.
Yucko.
It's really bizarre since he played this character in a film (Texas Chainsaw Part 2) who comes to a memorably gruesome end.
I just don't know what to make of this. I almost want to believe it's made up.

Here's a link to an article on the topic from Fangoria magazine.

This just in...

My editor, Ariel Gore, tells me Just Out has a nice little write-up on the book "Portland Queer," which I contributed to, and which has now been released. If you're in Portland, attend the readings! (Wish I could.) Go here for info, or to order your copy!

Now, Just Out, please take this in the loving spirit in which it's intended...and I know you know this already...but you really need to get a better website and get away from the PDF file versions of the paper. That shit is laborious and antiquated.

kiss meow

glam

Suggestions, please!

I want to pitch an in-depth article (anywhere from 1000 to 5000 words) comparing/contrasting the different versions of "Brideshead Revisited" - novel, miniseries and film - and need ideas of a venue for such a piece.

Something literary, highbrow, intellectual enough. It'll have a gay slant to it, so gay publications seem an obvious choice, but magazines (I'm thinking Out) are usually fluff pieces; they don't go in depth and they aren't overly literary. It's more about clothes, cocktails and other ephemera. Or politics. Book reviews are usually blurbs. I'm part of a dying breed, I suppose....the literary intellectual.

It could be a film magazine.
A literary magazine.
A British publication of some kind.
Just a high-end publication in general that publishes essays, such as The New Yorker. (And I'll send it to them, but they'll send a form rejection letter if they reply at all. I mean, they're THE NEW YORKER, and I'm just...me.)
Does McSweeney's publish this sort of thing? I forget.

Thanks for any ideas you may have

xo

glam aka tony

Cardassians!

Post-script to my post of last night...weren't the Kardashians an alien race on Star Trek: The Next Generation?

Someone with more motivation than me should really jump on that idea for a parody. Just give me an "associate producer" credit or something.

Faggots

Has anyone read this book? (FAGGOTS, by Larry Kramer.)

Is it any good?

Reality Bites

So I have NEVER BEEN a fan of reality TV - well, maybe The Real World waaaay back in the day, but I can't think of a single one since - and had prematurely rejoiced to think it was in its death throes. But it seems the viewing public has developed a taste for this dreck.

Whenever I'm flipping through the TV guide channel I see numerous episodes of this show called The Kardashians on the E! Network. WTF. I resent the fact that I have a vague idea who these people are just because they're talked about and someone considered them interesting enough to give them a TV show. I've seen a few clips and it looks like a group of self-indulgent, spoiled little bitches who graduated from the Paris Hilton school of stardom and actually believe that their every move is interesting enough to warrant scrutiny from the viewing masses.

I have no idea who these fucking people are, and I really don't care.

One thing's for sure: they aren't Pedro Zamora. If "Generation Me" was, what, the 90s? Then I guess we must now be living in "GENERATION NO ONE EXISTS BUT ME."

So...could you please pass me the remote?

Land of Lost Childhood

The other night I stumbled upon an ancient episode of the 1970s TV show "Land of the Lost" on...I think it was the SciFi channel. I haven't seen this show since I was enamored by it as a child. It's a really weird feeling to revisit a totem of your childhood and see it through adult eyes as the shoddy, cheap production it was. Watching the intro segment, with its cheap puppet dinosaurs and weak theme song, I said, "Is this really what it was like?" I remember it so differently.

The Sleestaks still had kind of an eerie dark glamour to them, though. It was funny to see that this show was produced by Sid and Marty Krofft, the same people who made "Sigmund and the Sea Monsters," another show I vaguely remember through the nebulous cocoon of early consciousness.

Also funny: the character named "Chaka" (pictured above - idn't he cute? like a balding sasquatch midget) would seem to be a forerunner of Chewbacca in Star Wars, which came out three years after the TV show.

The lesson here, I suppose, is that AGE (both mine and that of the program) is key to the definition of camp. In other words, it didn't appear campy to me as a child, in the anything-goes 70s, but now it's incredibly campy. Which doesn't necessarily diminish the "fun factor." If anything, it may increase it.

Incidentally, I see a film called "Land of the Lost" is about to be released. Will Ferrell stars. Although I gather it doesn't have much to do with the TV series.

Something about eating the eyeballs from a deer carcass.

Le chemin de l'amour

Did you know "anti-Semitic" means not just anti-Jew (as many Americans in our pro-Israel country think) but also "anti-Arab"? An Arab friend of mine pointed that out to me recently, and he got me, because I only hear about the Jewish side of things, never the Arab side.

I just watched a movie called "The Road To Love" (Le chemin de l'amour en francais, dir. Remi Lange) about a French-Algerian "straight" guy who sets out to make a documentary on gay Muslims in the modern Maghreb region of North Africa. My first impression was that its production values were harrowingly low, the entire thing being shot with a shaky-hand home video camera. But knowing from first-hand experience how much inspiration and motivation it takes to realize even a short film when you're operating in a very independent, no-budget, making-it-up-as-you-go-along context, I shelved my initial impression and watched the entire film. It makes up in sweetness and novelty what it lacks in sophistication. I learned some things, too, particularly about the Siwa Oasis of Egypt, which in ancient times had a reputation for being what we would now call very "gay friendly," acknowledging marriages between men, and with its chieftain/pharaoh/whathaveyou keeping harems of boys for his pleasure. Towards the end the two main boys, Farid and Karim, make a pilgrimage to the grave of Jean Genet. (The film is in French.) There's also a segment where they go to Marrakech (Morocco) in search of gay bars which they don't find; instead of organized establishments exonerating and enshrining homosexuality like we have stateside, they happen upon covert roaming bands of homo people who acknowledge one another with subtle (or not so) cues. It's all quite fascinating to see how other (religiously biased) cultures deal with this issue that we've more or less come to accept in our secular capitalistic way.

I remember a friend of mine back in PDX telling me about going to the big market called the Medina in Marrakech and how it's like a labyrinth that can be scary because if you've never been in it before you can become trapped and frightened, and gangs of gypsy children will offer to show you the way out for money, but if you refuse them, they'll help make it a nightmare for you that you won't soon forget.

Hmm. I might have to go with a seasoned guide, if I do go.

ALSO, the new issue of OUT has a page on the reissue of the 1980s "Brideshead Revisited" miniseries, as though pointedly spitting in the face of my verbose love for the film version that came out last year. They give one indirect and dismissive mention of Jarrold's film, only to assure us there's no way to match the way Jeremy Irons and...whatsisname, who played Sebastian Flyte..."languorously inhabit" the characters from Waugh's novel.

Well, I just moved the DVDs of the miniseries to the top of my queue on Netflix. I'll be seeing them soon. I already have a good idea of what I'll think. I'll probably find it intoxicating, addictive, lots of fun, sexy in a restrained way, etc etc, and of course a more faithful and in-depth treatment of the book.

But that's not going to make me love the film version any less. I like its bold revisionism.

And only the film version has Ben.

But I will withhold judgment until I've given the hallowed 1981 series its due.

Waterboarding: not just for illegally detained prisoners any more

Just now on Keith Olbermann: a conservative radio host (I believe the nickname is "Mancow") who volunteered to be waterboarded to prove it isn't torture caved after 6 seconds, admitting that it was "absolutely torture" and that he would admit anything under such duress.

Excellent. Now let's get Dirty Dick Cheney on the board. That I want to see.

Art: it's on your plate and in your yard

I'm relieved/pleasantly surprised to be seeing rooms in the Mission / Castro / Upper Market area of the City that I should be able to afford. I was originally aiming for N. Oakland/Berkeley area, but if I can live right in the City, why not? Of course, it'll be a room, not an apartment, but that's fine to start until I get my college-grad job and can move on up.

My conception of the boundaries of art and creativity has been expanding lately, as a result of living here, and seeing Cousin's landscaping work, the way he's built an empire of real estate here in this tropical paradise, the way he takes flowers from the yard and arranges them into beautiful living indoor sculptures. Five acres of land are a giant green canvas to him. Although I have been painting, I'm beginning to look beyond the edges of a canvas and thinking of new forms of creativity. I'm starting to understand Warhol's statement that "business is the best art." I made an experimental stir fry last night out of things left in the crisper and it came out good, and I thought "this is art, and it's art you can eat." It's more useful than a painting on a wall, although of course, it also has a much shorter shelf life, so there's the trade-off, I suppose. The little tree Cuz trimmed into a martini (complete with pimento-stuffed olive on a giant toothpick) at the Hana house is art, on a larger scale than I've thought of before.

Now when I look at paintbrushes and palettes I'm starting to see garden shears, sickles and weed-eaters instead.

Auntie Mame!

Saturday is our eagerly anticipated Auntie Mame party out here on Maui, and we're decorating the house, and I'm hot-glueing flowers to my dress for my transformation. I'm going to start out as little Patrick Dennis (above, from the original film, precociously mixing cocktails), Mame's unwitting nephew, then halfway through the party, become something much more glamorous. Wish you were here!

xo

glam aka tony

Bright Star Ben

So, in case you didn't know it, I'm totally gay for Ben Whishaw. His new film "Bright Star" (directed by Jane Campion) recently premiered at Cannes and is an early favorite for the Palm d'or. Here's a link to a video clip from the Guardian UK with Ben talking about what he relates to in Keats (the English romantic poet who died at age 25 that he portrays in the film). You can tell how articulate and sensitive and intelligent he is. Doesn't it just make ya swoon? The rest of the world can have Robert Pattinson. I'll take Ben. (Although I am looking forward to "Little Ashes," as well.)

Great Britain gets even greater

I heard same-sex marriage is legal in Britain (the country I should have been born in) now. Does that mean I can meet a nice English boy over the internet, we can romance over the telephone, and I can then move to England and attain citizenship by marrying him?

'Cause, uh, I think I want to do that.

Have you seen Chelsea, lately?

My cousin has gotten me into Chelsea Handler, whose entertaining gossipfest airs nightly on the E! Network. She's sort of like a blonde Parker Posey. I wasn't sure at first, 'cause it struck me as more shrill, brittle, bitchy celebrity gossip, a la Perez Hilton, and don't we have enough of that already? But unless I'm mistaken, I think Chelsea and her co-commentators are a cut above. I think it's because even though it's still shallow celebrity gossip, it somehow avoids being as mean-spirited and juvenile as Hilton and others of his ilk. It's a little more mature and sophisticated, and even though they ARE being bitchy and dishy and dissecting the minutiae of famous peoples' lives (a parasitic occupation if ever there was one), you sense that beneath the shallowness they're really just having a good time and not taking any of it too seriously. Or maybe I'm deluding myself, and there's really not much difference, in which case I'll just have to add "Chelsea Lately" to my ever-present list of guilty pleasures.

Crawford's End

Yesterday as a little break from cleaning, housework, yardwork etc. I put on "Trog," Joan Crawford's hilariously campy antepenultimate, made-for-TV film from 1970, in which her male co-star is a superhumanly powerful neanderthal unlocked from ice in which he'd been preserved. It reminded me a bit of the SNL skit "Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer" from the 80s (we miss you, Phil). It's really sort of "King Kong" with a smaller budget and made for a smaller screen. It is both sad and funny to see the imperious Joan cling to her last remaining shreds of dignity as she explains to the dense male authority figures that Trog has the mind of a child and only she can reason with him. There is such a look of tightly controlled anguish and despair and tenseness in her face and eyes. I understand that after "Trog," Crawford appeared in two other TV movies, started drinking a quart of vodka a day and then died of cancer in 1977.

One striking scene involves Trog on a rampage in a butcher shop, hanging the butcher on a meathook. Four years before Texas Chain Saw Massacre (one of my lifelong obsessions). Innnnnnteresting.

Three Dancing Slaves

Last night, after a tasty dinner of corned beef, asparagus and mashed potatoes (You can take the boy out of the Midwest, but you can't take...) we watched a movie I'd just got from Netflix, "Three Dancing Slaves" ("Le Clan" en Francais directed by Gaël Morel, who also made "Wild Reeds"). It falls in the apparently burgeoning subgenre of Intensely Homoerotic French Indie Films. (Damn, I was hoping that would make a nice acronym.) It was a strange, sexy film, about three HOT brothers whose mother dies while they still live at home (although two of them look like they're in their late 20s at least) with their workaholic, distant father. The entire cast is made up of beautiful young men, in fact I swear there wasn't a single female in the entire movie. If that wasn't enough, they worked in a meat-packing plant (!) A certain someone (who speaks from experience) said, "I didn't think there were that many attractive bodies in all of France." The film was very homoerotically charged and at the same time very much about the bond between brothers, which gave it a borderline incestuous quality that was very provocative and un-American (but maybe that's not fair...there are American directors who push the limits of taboo that way too, like Todd Solondz). It reminded me of discussions in a class I took at PSU a year or two ago, "Same-Sex Desire in Renaissance England," in which we discussed an article by Eve Sedgwick on how there is a schizophrenic break in the continuum of homosocial desire with men in American culture, but not so much with women. (Basically means that women are allowed to hold hands and be more affectionate with one another than men; male-bonding is not allowed to have overt erotic elements in our culture.) As with so many French movies I've seen, there were weird moments I still don't understand (what was up in the scene where a couple thugs forced the bald brother to throw his dog over the cliff and kill it?) In the film's last 20 minutes it broke out into full-fledged homoeroticism with an EXTREMELY hot (albeit brief) sex scene between the youngest brother Olivier (Olive) and his, uh, buddy which includes the line "Rape me, but don't hurt me."

A line like that could get you out of a speeding ticket, I'm guessing.