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.