What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Monday, May 11, 2009

   SAD BUT TRUE

Yes, with my tenure at the Xtra blog nearing its one-year anniversary, it's been a while since I wrote anything here on my own site but, in truth, life's okay these days -- I've little to process, ha ha.

But as Darcy and I begin dating in earnest yet again (third time's the charm!), my surprise and delight at it all is tempered just a little by the nagging, niggling worry that we're just each other's enabler. Drinking? No, worse!

Tonight was a case in point, with quotes as true as I can recall:

ACT ONE: The telephone

DARCY (on phone): Hey, I'm heading downtown. Have you eaten yet?
ME: No, I'm fighting this insane urge to walk down to the Burger King at the Eaton Centre.
DARCY (excitedly): To get the new Star Trek glasses???
SCOTT: Oh God. You're not going to talk me out of this.
DARCY: Why would I? Let's go!

ACT TWO: Crossing Yonge and Dundas

DARCY: They said you could pay $7.50 for all four glasses instead of $1.99 each but no store has all four. How can they advertise that?
SCOTT: Well, they want people to keep coming in and eating their crappy food every week.
DARCY: I don't like it.
SCOTT: We'll make them give us all four! I'll tell 'em it's a violation of Starfleet regulation 4702 dash 6-4-J stroke alpha...umm...subsection 12. Why, even an Orion slave trader would have...umm...better...
[DARCY looks on in open-mouthed horror]
SCOTT: Yeah, that's all I've got. Where's Dan Ackroyd when you need him?
DARCY: Well, you're doing the talking when we get there.

ACT THREE: At the counter

MANAGER (befuddled): All four? No, I'm sorry -- we only have these two.
SCOTT: Kirk and Uhura.
DARCY (opening backpack to reveal two "Nero" glasses): And these! I bought them up at Yonge and Eglinton!
SCOTT: Amazing -- that just leaves Spock.
DARCY: So it's The Search for Spock!
SCOTT (laughing): Yes, the Search for Spock!

ACT FOUR: At the plastic dinner table

SCOTT: I can't believe we travelled out of our way to have dinner at a Burger King. Still, these really are pretty -- hey, wait a minute...Uhura's glass has the USS Kelvin on the box.
DARCY: So?
SCOTT: Well, each character is paired up with their own ship, see? But Uhura never served on the Kelvin. She probably wasn't even born when it...oh God.
DARCY: What?
SCOTT: I'm Captain Sweatpants.

Labels: insanity, movies, oh l'amour

i love this blog. it's a good kind of enabling :)

-- Reply posted by  danielle at May 12, 2009

 

This is where I can say, "I'm so happy/concerned for you!"

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at May 13, 2009

 

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I thought my 15 minutes were up after my slew of media appearances (okay, three) concerning Harry Potter's gay wizard but hooray for Jiri Tlusty, the horny hockey player. Some gossip blog got a hold of nude photos the 19-year-old Maple Leaf had sent to a girl on the Internet and the ever-classy Toronto Sun gleefully made a spectacle of them today.

The news station AM 640 called up fab for a comment but editor Paul hates doing these things and suggested that host John Downs talk to me, "the resident pontificator." Ouch! Truth hurts. Soon, the AM640 website read:

Wednesday, November 14 2007
Scott Dagostino - FAB Magazine Managing Editor
Leafs winger Jiri Tlusty is the center of a whirlwind of controversy after being spotted online both nude, and mock-making out with a boy [though not at the same time]. John detects an undercurrent of homophobia running through the coverage of the story, and who better than Scott to comment on that?

Who indeed. Sweet of them to write that.
But my latest radio stint was difficult because the host and I were in total agreement. As with the "gay Dumbledore" saga, there's little to this story and we both thought the media's treatment of Tlusty today was ridiculous at best, cruel at worst. Chumminess doesn't make for gripping radio debate and I find that, when I'm out of my element like this (I prefer asking the questions), I basically fall into two modes: earnest or wisecracking. At my best, I do both but today I didn't get as many quips in as I would have liked. I was just too annoyed that this kid was forced to apologize. As the host said, 'apologize for what?' He has every right to kiss any buddy he wants, send any photo to any girl he wants.

His only crime, I said (if you can even call it that) is indiscretion. Tlusty didn't understand that, as an NHL hockey player, he's now a celebrity. He's now, like Bowie said, there where things are hollow. How could a 19-year-old from the Czech Republic understand North America's deep sexual hypocrisy, its double standard of both hyping and condemning sex, and its bizarre demand that anyone famous should be a role model to children? The poor guy was just partying and trying to get laid like any other 19-year-old.

As for the "gay" angle, bitch please! Trying to out this guy is the silliest thing I've seen in a while. I've made out with women -- that doesn't make me straight. I maintained on air, as I have in the past, that the gay rights movement has never been just for gay people. Sure, we want to be free to live our lives as we want without being attacked for it, but it's also about freeing straight guys from the homophobia that shackles them too. Two friends can't be physically affectionate with each other or (god forbid) say anything with real feeling for fear of seeming gay. It's a trap that European guys like Tlusty have mostly avoided. Hell, have you ever seen Czech Republic porn? These guys have cheerful sex with other beautiful guys, then take the money home to their girlfriends. Tlusty's drunken tongue play with his buddy is as hetero as it gets over there.

Thanks to the moral guardians of the Sun, Tlusty now says, "I have learned a valuable lesson." He did learn a lesson, but not one with any value in it.

Labels: fab, insanity, media, sports, Trawna

Tschye -- "Boyz Gone Wild."

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at November 15, 2007

 

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Normally, I'm in awe of San Francisco Gate columnist Mark Morford, who twice-weekly dispenses his unique blend of fiery sarcasm and Yoga wisdom, but this man who steadily and sharply rails against the worst excesses of American culture has gone too far this time -- he's picking on Wendy's:

The burger is this: two sickeningly brownish-gray, chemical-blasted 1/4-pound beeflike patties, intersliced with two slabs of neon-orange cheeselike substance, slathered with mayonnaise, all topped with the big kicker: six (yes, six) strips of bacon. Oh my, yes. It's like a giant middle finger to your heart.

This product's name? The "Baconator." You know, like "Terminator," only for, uh, a huge stack of cow/pig meat that celebrates your impending coronary/impotence/cancer with every bite. Genius.

Morford is stunned at the way "this insidious concoction is simply startling in its shameless toxicity" and wonders how people could possibly be stupid enough to eat such garbage.

Let me just wash down this last bite with some Coke and I'll answer that question. It's not stupidity that fools people into eating the Baconator, it's courage. It's the stubborn willfulness of saying, "Hey, I know exactly what a terrible idea this is but I'm gonna go for it anyway!" It's why people smoke or skydive or drive too fast or listen to Meatloaf's Bat Out of Hell II. It's the thrill of knowing you did it and SURVIVED.

Once you've eaten a Baconator, you will actually feel the sensation of your intestines shutting down for two hours but you will also feel the blood rushing through your veins. You'll feel ALIVE.

Labels: America, health, insanity

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little...

-- Reply posted by  The Guy in DKNY at November 12, 2007

 

I love the last sentence: You'll feel ALIVE... lol

It's absolutely true that many people are desperately trying to do something extraordinary or revolutionary so they can feel alive, or even prove their very existence in history.

Other than that, it's still just temptation to cross the line, to challenge oneself, to stimulate the senses and to feel satisfied. It's just human nature.

I'll stay away from the scary Baconator but I won't even bother trying to stop people from feasting on it.

Wingo

-- Reply posted by  Anonymous at November 17, 2007

 

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You know, if the stakes weren't so high, this would be the funniest thing ever:

Like Hansel and Gretel hoping to follow their bread crumbs out of the forest, the FBI sifted through customer data collected by San Francisco-area grocery stores in 2005 and 2006, hoping that sales records of Middle Eastern food would lead to Iranian terrorists.

The idea was that a spike in, say, falafel sales, combined with other data, would lead to Iranian secret agents in the south San Francisco-San Jose area.

Unfortunately, knowing that these are people supposedly protecting us from Islamic evil is just pathetic and sad.

Labels: America, insanity, Orwell says hi, politics, war - what is it good for?

The shopping carts are cartoon yellow
Isn't yellow a frill?
Almost everything in it is blue
Bluewater fish, blue corn chips, 2% milk

Even this little kid is blue
He's whining in the cookie aisle
Running his fingers along the packages
As though they were lovers

His father marches over, steaming
He's from India, accent still thick
"We cannot afford cookies!" he shouts
He makes 'cookies' sound like something ugly

The boy is dragged away, crying
I push my cart past the security guard
His eyes follow me, his hand resting on a billy club
Has he ever used it? In the produce aisle?

I see a red-and-yellow tube on the shelf
It's bacon-and-tomato-flavoured mayonnaise
Mayonnaise with bacon and tomato already inside!
The 21st century is everything I hoped it would be

Labels: insanity, Orwell says hi, Trawna

Halfway through this video, I was completely horrified but, as such insanity often does, it eventually tips over into the blackest comedy:



What the Government Doesn't Want You to Know

Best of luck with that march tomorrow...

Labels: homo-a-go-go, insanity, politics

...last summer, I wondered if the entire country wasn't insane.
Fortunately, this TV clip from 1978 lets me see just how much progress they've made!

Labels: comic books, insanity, Japan, silliness, the 70s, TV

ah the 70s what a time. Just passing through and thought I'd say hi.

-- Reply posted by  Brian FInch at March 03, 2007

 

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Larry King Live had Laura Bush on last night, trying to make her hubby look good as a cheerleader for the Great War on Terror. It didn't quite work:

"Many parts of Iraq are stable now. But, of course, what we see on television is the one bombing a day that discourages everyone."

It's that evil media again, pointing out how Monday's bomb killed 6 people, the other Monday bomb killed 14 people and Tuesday's bomb killed 18 people. Most of these 38 were women and teenagers. Doesn't sound stable to me but I'm not being fair.

Many parts of America are concerned now. But, of course, what we see on television is the one sociopath a day that discourages everyone.

Labels: George W Bush, insanity, media, Middle East, politics, war - what is it good for?

There was an old Saturday Night Live fake commercial for "BAD IDEA Jeans" in which basketball buddies make comments like, "Now that I have kids, I feel a lot better having a gun in the house," and the screen flashes BAD IDEA.

I guess the ad was successful because there's many, many pairs of those jeans being worn now. And, for the most part, we're used to it. When I inevitably stop over the latest insane headline of a newspaper and inevitably rant, "Wow, can you believe this shit?" someone will inevitably say, "So what? It's just someone's opinion. Who cares?" Those people will undoubtedly live longer than I will but I still have to argue with them because we're never just dealing with one wrong opinion. A bad opinion stems from a bad idea and, like an untreated infection, will lead to bad actions, even from well-meaning people.

Here's my two favourite recent examples: last week, Joe Biden announced his candidacy for the US Presidential race. Like a typical politician, he did so not with a speech explaining why he'd be the best choice but with a speech criticizing his opponents. Biden now-infamously described his fellow Democratic presidential candidate and strong up-and-comer Barack Obama as "the first mainstream African American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy. I mean, that's a storybook, man." BAD IDEA. As blogger Atrios said, "I believe we've just witnessed the shortest presidential run in history."

While most of us howled over Biden's unconscious racism with his use of "articulate and bright" and puzzled over what the hell he was thinking with the word "clean," others were pointing out that he'd made previous racial comments, like this gem: "You cannot go to a 7-11 or a Dunkin' Donuts unless you have a slight Indian accent. I'm not joking." And remember, he's the left-winger. The only thing worse than his foot-in-mouth disease was what happened next, as the foot-in-head crowd dissected his comments. Two days ago, Bill O'Reilly actually said this to Temple University professor Dr. Marc Lamont Hill:

Now you got to feel sorry for us white folks here, because I’m telling you now I’m afraid to say anything...Instead of black and white Americans coming together, white Americans are terrified. They’re terrified. Now we can’t even say you’re articulate? We can’t even give you guys compliments because they may be taken as condescension?

Oh Bill, for the love of God, shut up! Don't you see the big neon BAD IDEA hanging in the air? Dr. Hill predictably, gorgeously, tore Bill a new one though, as usual, the host didn't notice. He was probably still marveling at how articulate Hill was. Meanwhile, on that same February 5th, national radio host, CNN anchorman, ABC correspondent and walking example of the "liberal media" in action Glenn Beck also used the presence of a black author on his show to confess:

I don’t have a lot of African-American friends, and I think part of it is because I’m afraid that I would be in an open conversation, and I would say something that somebody would take wrong, and then it would be a nightmare. Am I alone in feeling that?

No, of course not, Glenn -- there's lots of bigots out there. I love that Bill and Glenn suffer from the same fear: that their hearty pronouncements of "the truth" will be met with hostility by those confused, uppity Negroes. Why must the blacks be so sensitive? This is the ultimate BAD IDEA.

Beck infamous called the Katrina survivors "scumbags" and demanded that Rep. Keith Ellison, the first Muslim elected to Congress, "prove to me that you are not working with our enemies." Since he's dumber and more arrogant than Bill O'Reilly(!), I could go on about Glenn Beck all day (BAD IDEA) so I'll just point out Media Matters' extensive listing of his horrible opinions.

I have to move on to my second example of how well-meaning people can be roped in by bad ideas, courtesy of William Saletan, a columnist for Slate who's written excellent pieces explaining stem-cell research, cloning, the abortion debate, etc. He shocked me this week with his column on the New Zealand 'gay sheep' study. For the first time, we have hard evidence that homosexuality is biologically determined (at least in sheep, anyway). Neat! Until Saletan goes all Frankenstein on us:

"Roselli offers lots of evidence that human homosexuality is linked to biological conditions, some of them genetic. If he figures out how to manipulate sexual orientation in sheep, will others try to manipulate it in humans? We already have. Doctors used to "treat" homosexuality with hormone injections. Some still do. This idea failed miserably in adults, but it might work in fetuses, since their brains are forming. And if we can't engineer sexual orientation, maybe we can select it. Millions of Asians have used modern sex tests to identify and abort female fetuses. If we learn how to recognize gay brains in development, look out.

But killing is the horror scenario. The more likely path is gentler. Science will gradually convince us that sexual orientation is innate, more like the color of your skin than like the content of your character. Condemnation of homosexuality as a sin will subside. Freed from the culture wars, we'll turn to the biological differences between race and sexual orientation: Homosexuality defies the aspiration to procreate with your mate, and it's easier to isolate and alter in embryonic development. Resentment will give way to pity. We'll come to view homosexuality as a kind of infertility —- a disability, like deafness. The rhetoric of "acceptance" will shift from liberals to conservatives. We'll inoculate our offspring against homosexuality out of love, not hate."

Saletan's column had me quaking in horror at the notion of eradicating homosexuality by genetically-altering fetuses. I swear I could hear the hospital page for Dr. Mengele, Dr. Mengele to the operating room. For decades, we've had to listen to bigots go on about me and my friends being "unnatural" -- now they want to practice altering the chromosomes of babies? BAD IDEA. Isn't that an awful lot of work just to prevent the next Elton John? Is any of this making sense?

But that's science fiction, one might say. Calm down. Even if the whole world hated gays, we've proved pretty tough to eradicate over the centuries, no? Why not relax? If a bunch of people have racist or homophobic views, that's their problem -- we're dealing with it just fine. Well, I have to ask, are we?:

"The Ku Klux Klan, which just a few years ago seemed static or even moribund compared to other white supremacist movements such as neo-Nazis, experienced "a surprising and troubling resurgence" during the past year due to the successful exploitation of hot-button issues including immigration, gay marriage and urban crime, according to the Anti-Defamation League (ADL).

The League, which monitors the activities of racist hate groups and reports its findings to law enforcement and policymakers, has documented a noticeable spike in activity by Klan chapters across the country. The KKK believes that the U.S. is "drowning" in a tide of non-white immigration, controlled and orchestrated by Jews, and is vigorously trying to bring this message to Americans concerned or fearful about immigration."

So let me make sure I've got this: it's the 21st friggin' century and we have a spike in membership for the Ku Klux Klan? Because the good ol' boys have put away their bedsheets and learned to make nice with Nazis? Wow, Molly sure was right about the ATM and the garlic press! But, as I've said, all these 'concerns and fears' simply stem from bad opinions made up of bad ideas -- notably the tired old canard that everything is the Jews' fault. The Jews I've known can't agree on bacon, let alone running the planet, and the KKK are trying to convince people that America is being overrun with Muslim fanatics because that's what Jews want? Yeah, good luck with that.

But Barnum was right -- there's a fuckwit born every minute (I paraphrase, of course) and John Rogers' 27% Crazification Factor theory still seems apt to me. All we can do to stem the tide is to come up with better ideas, or at least make savage fun of the bad ones.

I admit the latter is more fun but almost as necessary. How, for instance, could I -- growing up in white-bread Hamilton -- ever have a problem with black people? I grew up watching Bill Cosby on TV, hearing Martin Luther King's famous speech, dancing to Aretha Franklin and, perhaps most powerfully, learning about black history from Eddie Murphy on Saturday Night Live:

"So, Professor Carver's two dinner guests...Edward 'Skippy' Williamson and Frederick 'Jif' Armstrong -- two white men -- stole George Washington Carver's recipe for peanut butter, copyrighted it, and reaped untold fortunes from it. While Dr. Carver died penniless and insane, still trying to play a phonograph record with a peanut.
This has been "Black History Minute". I'm Professor Shabazz K. Morton. Good night."

I was 13 years old and Murphy's hilarious delivery burned into my memory, just like the BAD IDEA jeans sketch. Ultimately, bad ideas are useless and silly so I like a useless and silly response. Fight fire with fire. Like the two nimrods who shut down Boston last week -- I might have disagreed with their hare-brained corporate marketing stunt if not for the wildly-paranoid overreaction from the city's mayor and administration. It was so ridiculous that I could only applaud the two goofballs for their Dada press conference. Listening to the reporters getting angrier and more self-righteous in their questioning is still funny a week later.

As for the gay sheep -- implications aside, the story is kind of funny but leave it to wisecracking playwright Paul Rudnick to bring it home. His New Yorker piece, you see, was a very very Good Idea. And, in the interest of fairness, so is the end of Saletan's piece (mainly because he agrees with me, of course -- ha ha). Having hastily lumped him in with Bill O'Reilly and Glenn Beck, I give him the last word:

But bad ideas —- communism, eugenics, wars of liberation -— don't happen because they're bad. They happen because, in the beginning, they're good. What we do with the biological truth about homosexuality, for good or ill, isn't written in our hormones or our genes. It's up to us.

Labels: America, evolution, homo-a-go-go, insanity, politics, religion

Last week, I mocked the Boston authorities for over-reacting to the light-up cartoon character devices scattered throughout the city, but this clever clip illustrates both the awesome power of the Lite Brite and the horrifying consequences of their misuse:

Labels: America, insanity, Orwell says hi

I admit it -- I have a sick fascination with bigots. Most sane people just avoid them, for fear of being tainted, but I have this perverse desire to try and understand where that all that hatred and fear comes from. Most times, however, I just end up hating and fearing them. Is that a cycle? Am I a hater if I hate the hater?

I ask because liberal radio host Stephanie Miller received a letter from "Sock," a faithful Fox News viewer after she did a guest-spot. She apparently said something to tick him off, as the death-threat letter he sent her is full of words you certainly won't hear on TV (even Fox) and, oddly, his home phone number.

So she called him -- and I still can't decide if the conversation is horrifying or hilarious. Is it wrong to call up and harass a pathetic, bigoted old man because he mailed you a death threat? Or is it justice?

Labels: insanity, introspective, media

DOOGIE IS GAY! THE WORLD IS ENDING!

-- Reply posted by  Your Old Teacher Sister Margaret at November 04, 2006

 

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So Republican congressman Mark Foley got caught trying to sexually exploit the teenaged pages who worked in Congress, but wait -- it wasn't his fault! Foley's lawyer held a press conference to say that his client had entered alcohol rehab and that Foley had been sexually abused by a priest as a teen.

This week, Foley named that priest -- Rev. Anthony Mercieca, 69 -- who immediately faced up to his sin:

"I had a nervous breakdown and was taking some pills and alcohol and maybe I did something that he didn't like."

Maybe. He just doesn't remember, people! It's like poor Mel Gibson -- a little too much to drink and suddenly you're an anti-Semite! Fortunately, Foley's boss and Republican Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert didn't drink when he covered up the whole scandal for nearly a decade. But wait -- it wasn't his fault! As President Bush explains,

"[Hastert's] done a fine job as speaker, and when he stands up and says 'I want to know the truth'...and I believe yesterday he said that if somebody on his staff, you know, didn't tell him the truth, they're gone. I respect that and appreciate that and believe him."

Blaming underlings is odd, coming from the party of personal responsibility. After all, when Bush was nominated their leader in 2000, he said,

After all of the shouting and all of the scandal, after all the bitterness and broken faith, we can begin again...An era of tarnished ideals is giving way to a responsibility era, and it won't be long now.

Maybe that'll be November 7th, when Americans have the chance to finally kick some of these weasels out of office. Maybe they'll take responsibility then.

Labels: America, George W Bush, insanity, religion, repair

I've said for years that, as nervous as my big gay heart gets around the evangelical Christian movement, I could never hate people who believe they mean well. My wrath is reserved for those who've manipulated them for their own gain, those working to abolish the separation of church and state that's allowed Western civilization to accomplish so much these last couple centuries, for Christians and non-Christians alike. Yes, I've been saying it for years -- I just never believed that conservative bow-tie guy Tucker Carlson would, too:

CARLSON: It goes deeper than that though. The deep truth is that the elites in the Republican Party have pure contempt for the evangelicals who put their party in power. Everybody in...

MATTHEWS: How do you know that? How do you know that?

CARLSON: Because I know them. Because I grew up with them. Because I live with them. They live on my street. Because I live in Washington, and I know that everybody in our world has contempt for the evangelicals. And the evangelicals know that, and they're beginning to learn that their own leaders sort of look askance at them and don't share their values.

MATTHEWS: So this gay marriage issue and other issues related to the gay lifestyle are simply tools to get elected?

CARLSON: That's exactly right. It's pandering to the base in the most cynical way, and the base is beginning to figure it out.

Yep, guys like Chris Matthews and Tucker Carlson are now in complete agreement with me. Is that a sign of progress or a sign of serious FUBAR?

Labels: insanity, media, religion

Wow, where did two weeks go? Oh yeah, the new job as fab magazine's Number 2. In a word, awesome. I'm so happy. In a perfect world of better luck and smarter choices, this is the job I would have had after Glad Day books a decade ago but who cares? I'm thrilled and very busy working to advance the Dreaded Gay Agenda.

I only half-joke because this is the secret issue I have with my magazine in particular and a good chunk of homo-dom in general -- it's all a bit silly, no? Skim through an issue of fab and it's all parties and dancing and sex and art and music and joking and costumes and sex (yeah, I know, twice). But so what? I've read Maxim magazine, I've watched NASCAR, I've listened to 'bitches'n'hos' gangsta rap -- 'straight culture' is plenty ridiculous too.

The difference, however, is that heterosexuality never has to justify its existence. Oh sure, that Gay Agenda notion is thrown around by people who find it less funny than I -- people who think that the human race is dying off because Vermont lets men marry one another. In reality, however, the world has been, is and will be 90% heterosexual. If I have to justify the content of fab magazine to myself, it's because I have to justify myself to the rest of the world. Why? Paris Hilton doesn't have to. But then, she's not a fag.

LAND OF A THOUSAND WORDS

Yeah, it's hard not to sound snide but I've been bristling all week over the gay witchhunt spawned by Florida Congressman Mark Foley's gruesome e-mail exchanges with the teenage boy pages on Capitol Hill. The media's calling it Foley-gate; I'm calling it Where-the-hell-have-you-been?-gate (April, people!). The pleasure I'd take from the imminent and long-deserved collapse of the Republican party is quashed by the disgust and sadness I feel over this whole mess.

Plus, it ties into an e-mail I got from my old friend Darrell, responding to the "Jesus Camp" post below. Darrell has always provided a thoughtful and eloquent counterpoint to my 'Christian-bashing' (like that time I passed legislation to stop them from teaching, or marrying, or joining the army). With all honesty, I say that his own blog is far more interesting and well-rounded than mine but, before you rightfully click on over to it, stay with me for a while as I think it's past time I answered his honest, wise and pertinent thoughts. He's had me mulling for a long while so it's only fair I try to get it all out. Let's go:

IT CAN'T COME QUICKLY ENOUGH

Re: the questions you raise on your post - I'm thinking you know the answers to most of them already, which makes them rhetorical. I'll raise one of my own, which we touched on in an earlier e-mail exchange: what are the chances the North American Gay Community (a term I use without irony), given its singular and revolutionary experience in the last half-century, will promote a sexual paradigm of trust, respect, sensitivity and safety - a commonly recognized "manifesto" for humanity at large?

This ploy might seem cagey of me, but I think it touches on surprisingly common ground. The religious impulse and the sexual impulse are not that far removed (I still blush to recall a Pentecostal meeting I once attended). I do, in fact, grind my teeth when I see footage of this woman and her vile little camp. But turning tables: if some evangelical had the fortitude for it, he could walk into a bath house with a video camera and put together a documentary designed to get His People similarly "put off".

I'm the quiet guy in the corner who considers sex a sacrament, as well as marriage, and thinks the two work best when they're purposely housed beneath the same roof. To my mind, the bath house is not a physically or spiritually (I don't separate the two) healthy environment in which to experience the sacrament. I believe a human being actually needs to recover from (as a for instance) group sex.

Furthermore, it would sadden me if either of my daughters' coming-of-age experience included some time in a bath house.

But the human spirit is a resilient thing. It can survive a Warrior For The Lord boot camp; it can survive extended exposure in a bath house. But I'd say in both cases, there is more than a little "figuring it all out" required when the tenure is up.

My question to you is this: what purpose does this video serve on your blog? My guess is that most of your readers don't need convincing of the malign intentions of Evangelicals and Republicans, just as most of their number don't need convincing of the unhealthy lifestyle of the Gay Community. I'd propose that the truths which both camps need to face lie in a very uncomfortable spot between the two extremes. If we can't be the first ones (sorry - I'm gay now) to take tentative steps in that direction, I don't see much hope for progress.

But I'm just a crazy liberal that way!

Much love,
Darrell

LIGHTS

So snarky, this talk-back from that brainy Mennonite. I'd slap him but he'd just go and turn the other cheek so where's the fun in that? Seriously though, much love to Darrell in return for standing up to my ranting. Contrary to popular belief, I don't blog just to force my own opinions on people, I'm aiming at a dialogue here (for years now, I've been hoping some irritated American will write me and explain exactly WHY the Bush Republicans must remain in power -- just ONE good reason, please! -- but, alas, only silence).

Let me move along through Darrell's questions with each paragraph. First, he asks:

what are the chances the North American Gay Community...will promote a sexual paradigm of trust, respect, sensitivity and safety - a commonly recognized "manifesto" for humanity at large?

Hmmm. I'd say the chances are not bloody likely. No, I'm just kidding. Half-kidding. See, don't ask me -- I'm a misanthrope. The problem with gay people is that they're people -- they carry forth the same trust, respect, sensitivity and safety as their heterosexual friends and family, no more and no less. And, watching the evening news, I'd say hopefully no less whatsoever.

LOVERS IN THE BACKSEAT

But I'm being snide. It's unattractive. More importantly, I'm dodging the real thrust of Darrell's question which is, why do gay men have cheap, anonymous, unhealthy, promiscuous sex more often than straight people do? Sorry, my homo brothers, it IS a legitimate question but -- ah! not so fast, my straight pals -- not THAT legitimate -- I've been on craigslist lately and I also know that gays did not (as rumoured) invent the sexual revolution, we just happily rode on its coattails. No, as always, the truth is somewhere in the middle so let's talk promiscuity.

I'll get the self-blame out of the way first -- it's easy 'cause it's flimsy. We're men. We're pigs. One of the big 'Mars vs. Venus' differences I always hear about men and women is that, when it comes to sex, men want quantity over quality; women, vice-versa. That seems generally true to me. Take the ladies out of the equation and guys will happily have sex in gas station washrooms. Women only do that in movies and even then only with Brad Pitt. So yeah, there's just a lot more of it with gay guys. Variety is the spice of life and we want the whole rack. In one bowl. Now. A little self-control wouldn't be such a bad thing once in a while, fellas.

But here's where -- having cheaply attempted to exonerate slutty men based on weak theories of biology -- I now return to the more fun side of the blame game and point my finger at religion. Whether it's Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism or what-have-you, religion has always served as a handy check on sexuality. Every horny adolescent has been stopped dead in his tracks by a lecture on how God watches everything (eeeeeeverything) a person does, that He thinks sex before marriage is sinful, that He finds your masturbation horrifying, that He absolutely hates those faggots, and that He created AIDS as a punishment for all of it. Personally, I think this makes God sound like a miserable and sadistic bastard but that's just me.

BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME

What does all that have to do with gay men not keeping it in their pants? Plenty! We get the worst of it. From the moment somebody thinks that we're gay (always before we do), we're told that our very feelings are disgusting, that it's impossible for men to feel love for one another, that every wildly-depraved sexual act possible (or impossible) is only performed by gay men, that we'll inevitably contract AIDS and deservedly die and that, because we just didn't learn our lesson from all this, we'll go to hell and burn forever in a lake of fire. Hey, they're just trying to keep us from making the wrong "choice"!

Given that twelve-ton-loaded-against-us scenario, damned either and every way, it's no wonder most gay men reject religion altogether but the real dirty secret is that their internalized belief in it all never truly goes away. Imagine how those years of self-loathing, that fear of damnation, simmer away until you're just screaming for sex, drugs, something, to quiet the voices in your head telling you how sick and filthy and worthless you are.

The people who did this to you have a solution, of course -- just accept Jesus Christ as your personal saviour, give up your life of sin and live a celibate life! Wow! I could've had a V8! Of course, your heterosexual friends and family won't be joining you. They'll get married, raise children and have a healthy sex life. Everyone but you, because you're a filthy faggot. Hey, stop that crying! God loves you!

KISS YOU OFF

That's not a solution. So we're back to option B: if you're going to lead an unhappy, loveless, diseased life leading to the pits of hell, you might as well have fun on the way down. Gas station toilet sex, here we come, woooo-hoooo!

This leads us neatly into Darrell's next point about bathhouses and yeah, they're not actually spiritual places, are they? The first time I went, I envisioned a brave adventure deep into the heart of darkness. I was actually disappointed to discover, well, just another bar scene -- only with towels. There was a very fine room of weightlifting equipment and a truly gorgeous little hot tub that was literally better than sex. I left feeling a bit gutsier but with little desire to return.

But I've always been a little more...flexible in a couple. Years ago, on a dare, I went to a spa with my little blond boyfriend and we discovered certain accessories and equipment that we'd never have been able to try at home. We felt supremely naughty about it all and laughed over it long afterward. And, just this summer, I ran into someone I'd gone on a disastrous date with a couple years ago. Reunited, we danced at a club before he suggested going for a swim. "A swim?" I asked. This was downtown Toronto. What I didn't know was that the bathhouse down the street has a large outdoor pool. At 3 in the morning, we swam under the stars and soaked in a hot tub afterward as he told me his stories. I found it all very soothing.

COMFORTABLY NUMB

But enough romanticism. I'm not trying to sell anyone on a bathhouse -- far from it. If you never go, dear reader, you're missing nothing and probably gaining. The problems with bathhouses are obvious -- they're geared towards quick, anonymous trysts between people too shy, too impatient or too creepy to chat someone up in a bar, and that sheer pace makes them breeding grounds for disease. But so is the Internet. And before bathhouses, it was public parks and toilets. None of it's right, you can argue, but it's happening (for reasons I'm saving for my Big Finale coming up). Bathhouses, at least, are controlled environments with attentive staff and bowls of condoms everywhere. The debate has been going on for two decades now and there's been no 'smoking gun' either way. Personally, I think the cons outweigh the pros but, in the end, bathhouses are simply venues -- what goes on within them is as friendly or as horrible as their patons' motives. Play or prey.

That's what leads from our bathhouse conversation into the bigger picture. After telling the good and the bad, there's still the ugly: I caught a relatively minor but wildly-unpleasant sexually-transmitted disease from a guy I went home with one night. No bathhouse was needed; this was a clean, comfortable condo that was home to a tall, blond, fun-loving guy I felt comfortable with. Until things got frisky and his games proved less open to negotiation than most. I put a halt to things but only long after the encounter had gone south. Finding out I'd contracted a disease from it was the cherry on the cake.

Now I can easily imagine some uncharitable type out there saying, "Well you see? Sex with a stranger? A homo? You were asking for it!" I can imagine it because he's in my head somewhere, actually. This is where I must be clear on this -- I didn't blame anyone during this. Not Republicans, not the Christian Churches, not gay advertising egging me on, not even the guy himself, really. It was my choice. I decided to go, I decided what I was comfortable with, I decided when to leave. No one controls me.

RETURN TO OZ

But there is one nagging thought in all that -- why did I let it go on so long? Why did I (why DO I) have so much trouble standing up for myself? Why is there always that inner voice that asks me, "Who cares what YOU want? A good person wouldn't be so selfish. Who do you think you are, anyway?"

Where does that voice come from? My parents? My teachers? Eight years of Catholic grade school? I feel we're getting warmer. My scientific curiosity about the world always quashed by people who insisted that the Bible must never be doubted, that the ones holding the Bible must never be doubted. The only person I could doubt was myself. And I did. And I do. Unlike them. They've got all the answers right there in that book.

But they've never been able to answer my questions and certainly not the ones in regards to sexuality. That's the crux of the problem here. Telling a gay teen to shut up and not be gay is not an answer. Telling him he's an abomination is not an answer. Telling him he's going to hell is not an answer. If that's all the Bible has to offer, then how can anyone be surprised when people reject it and seek answers elsewhere?

I got out when I was thirteen. Faced with the prospect of going to a Catholic high school, I snapped and told my parents I had to go to a public one. My first brave act of self-protection. One of my classmates called me a traitor. He meant it.

THE OTHER SIDE

Looking back on my religious upbringing, I don't think my childhood was a bad one -- I was a bit banged-up but not damaged. Nothing severe. Beaten by nuns but not molested by priests. As Bill Maher once joked, frankly I'm a little insulted. I can joke about it, inspect the dents in my psyche like it was a car fender, but I fear how much worse it's been for others, the ones who stayed.

To stick around, trying to reconcile two utterly conflicting worldviews, leads to a particular kind of soul-death. And I could never dream up a more apt, more grotesque example than this sad bastard Mark Foley, a man who devoted his career to crafting legislation for harsher penalties against paedophiles, while secretly trying to lure his teenage congressional pages into having sex with him. The news media is horrified at this bizarre double-life, this shocking self-destruction. Idiots. I remember what I was like at eighteen, screaming in my closet, and imagine what I'd be like if I stayed like that for the next twenty-five years. I'd be Mark Foley.

I imagine him spending his days working alongside Republican family-values conservatives like Marilyn Musgrave who -- in a time of war, torture, terror and lies -- says that gay marriage "is the most important issue that we face today." Foley wants to be one of these people, he always has been, but he goes home to an empty house, drinks a few glasses of alcohol and thinks of that beautiful 16-year-old page who smiled at him yesterday. I'd feel really sorry for him except that he's a grown man who chose to hide from these people and, well, those e-mails really are gross.

The real scandal, of course, is that Foley's right-wing buddies knew how pathetic and creepy he was but, as long as he stayed quiet about it, he was still useful to them ($100,000 useful!). They just ignored the chatter:

Mark Beck-Heyman told The Washington Post warnings were circulated to steer clear of Foley, R-Fla., after he began inviting pages to his office for ice cream in notes and e-mail.
...
"Mark Foley knew that he could get away with this type of behavior with male pages because he was a congressman," said Beck-Heyman. "But many people on Capitol Hill," including many Republican staff members, "have known for over 11 years about what was going on and chose to do nothing."

Well of course not, Mark -- Republicans couldn't possibly have devoted any attention to a possible sex scandal involving one of their own trying to molest teenage boys because they were all too busy with a certain sex scandal involving Bill Clinton and an adult intern. Maybe you heard something about it. While Al-Qaeda was growing like a malignant tumour in the Middle East, America's guardians were holding month-long hearings about the President's penis and quietly hushing any talk from the congressional pages about that creepy old guy from Florida being "overly-friendly." One can't let the safety of teenagers take precedence over a big juicy impeachment.

MIGHT TELL YOU TONIGHT

My point (yep, here we are!) is that all of this nastiness might have been avoided if Foley had been allowed to come out as gay a long, long time ago. He would have run for Congress with Florida's support and found himself a solid conservative 40-year-old banker (okay let's face it, a 30-year-old banker) and settled down, leaving the teenagers alone. They could be as friendly to him as their ambition allowed and he wouldn't care. He's a married man, after all. The opposite of this is what we see far, far too often -- closet cases trolling parks and toilets, bathhouses and chatrooms, looking for intimacy-free ways to get what they need so badly. Such encounters are fleeting and rarely fulfilling so they have to keep going, faster and with greater desperation until something terrible happens. The closet kills.

EVERYBODY WANTS THE SAME THING

Darrell talks about 'sex as sacrament.' I believe that too -- or at least I used to. Clive Barker wrote a lovely book called Sacrament that took that theme, celebrated it, shook it around, warped it and came out the other side into beauty. Such a wonderful guy. I've been lucky enough to have had that feeling of sinking into another person on every level -- physically, mentally, spiritually -- and frowned at the big city 'sex as handshake' model. I used to try and see their side when right-wingers railed about gay sexual excess. Big warehouse orgy parties ARE over-the-top and safe-sex is not practised nearly as much as it needs to be. Road to hell and all.

The gay marriage revolution seemed to be the compromise we needed. Homophobes would have to accept our relationships, while we gays 'settled down' into comfy pair-bonds just like them. Couples would all be united in suburbia together, waving over the fence and inviting each other over for barbeques. But, like the joke goes, a liberal is someone who thinks his opinion IS the compromise. Suddenly, the conservatives were no longer complaining about gay promiscuity; they were complaining that faggots dared to equate their relationships to their own. What nerve! Suddenly, the compromise I saw was instead the end of civilized society. Was I wrong? Should I doubt myself? Nope, because I realized that this wasn't about marriage, this wasn't about society, this wasn't about rights. This was merely the same old song: shut up, go away, who do you think you are, anyway?

Conservatives don't really care about the health of gay people or the well-being of society or the state of marriage -- they just want us gone. Or at least tucked away in silence like Mark Foley. They knew for years that he was a quiet, pathetic, predatory pervert and they liked him that way.

Well, sorry kids, but I thought we settled this argument years ago -- silence=death, remember? We're here, we're queer, get used to it. This is what frustrates Darrell as much as myself -- the louder and angrier the Christian Right gets, the louder and angrier the militant gay activists become, and vice versa. The crazier the right gets, the more frustrated I get; the more I spout off, the more threatened they feel (and they feel threatened by everything). In a time of jihad, the reasonable middle ground seems shakier than ever.

But hey, I've got a little magazine now. It's silly and shallow and generally worthless but it's up against Newsweek and Fox News and billionaire Pat Robertson's 700 Club. Feels almost like a fair fight.

TAKE YOUR MAMA

My only real obstacle is that hoary old lie that 'the gays are coming for the children.' That's what all of this is about. Even the most violent homophobe could accept me if I'd just 'keep it to myself' (whatever that could mean) but they panic when they realize that the teenagers are listening. They think our tales of ribaldry are SO fascinating, SO intoxicating that entire high schools will go queer overnight. How flattering! Such a delightful notion but an utterly impossible one. Darrell can rest easy knowing that I'll never be able to lure his children into a bathhouse [attention crazy people: I am SO kidding! xo!]

You see, Mark Foley notwithstanding, we've never wanted the children -- at least not all of them. We could never turn their children gay (How? I was never turned straight) but, in the long run, we WILL take their children. We'll take the gay ones. The ones they teach to hate themselves, the ones they toss aside as worthless, the ones to whom they offer no hope. We'll take them in and give them the answers their parents never did.

Me, I'll be doing what I've always done -- listen to them, talk to them, rant at them and help them look at the bigger picture. I won't even have to work that hard -- they're coming out younger and younger now, with less and less damage. Many of them don't even like being called gay, even though they'll openly hold hands with their boyfriend in the street. Yes, I've worked hard to destroy society and replace it with this: young people happy in love. Read the paper lately? We need more of them, not less.

FILTHY GORGEOUS

I wrap up with one last anecdote, surprised at how chatty I'm being for someone who's never wanted to discuss his sex life on a blog. See? Repression! Look what it leads to...

A few years ago, I was madly, madly in love with that little blond boy who, well, just didn't feel the same. He did at first, I know that, but not after a year or so and I was too stupid or too in love (same thing?) to understand the change. I wanted to marry this boy -- sex as sacrament -- but there was one night too many lying in bed with a stranger who looked like him. No cheap one-night-stand could ever be as grim and soulless as this.

Finally facing reality, I broke up with him. I was 30 and convinced that my life was over. My love was gone, my youth was gone. Yeah, I know -- I was an idiot. But a dismally-unhappy one and I tried to make myself feel better by 'getting right back on the horse.' So I was at a dance club one night and found myself being eyed by someone really adorable. I felt hopeful again for the first time in weeks. We got to talking but, as it often happens, he had a boyfriend. I slinked away, only to soon find the boyfriend wanting to dance with me. In my lingering fog of heartbreak and disappointment, it never occurred to me that one of them would want me, let alone two, but I was invited back to their hotel room.

Now again, there's always risks. They could've turned out like a double-version of that horrible one-night-stand guy; they could've just been leading me on for kicks; they could've even robbed, beaten and left me for dead like Matthew Shepard. I only knew I had to try. We stayed up most of the night before I fell asleep tucked between them, arms and legs everywhere.

The next morning, we heard the cleaning women talking out in the hall. One of the guys sat up in a panic. "Did you put the 'do not disturb' on the door?" he blurted. "I thought you did!" said the other. He leapt out of the bed, down the hall and locked the door just as the cleaner was turning the handle. Hollering an apology through the door, he hopped back into bed and, a moment later, the three of us erupted with laughter, picturing the woman's face if she'd walked into the room. We chatted, we had breakfast and I went home.

It was a bright Sunday morning and I walked down Bay Street with a huge goofy grin on my face. I felt big. I felt brave, I felt funny, I felt sexy, I felt healed, I felt whole. Mournful thoughts of my ex-future-husband, like cobwebs in my head, were brushed away. I'd had a lovely night of trust, respect, sensitivity and safety far better then anything in the past year. This skanky little encounter in a bar had given me hope. It was fun and open and honest and it felt like a sacrament.

Labels: back in the day, evolution, fab, friends, health, homo-a-go-go, insanity, introspective, politics, religion, Trawna, writing

And somehow you manage to meet deadline, too! Thank you for this, Scott - it's quite an honour to have one's words given this sort of consideration. In the future, though, I'll keep my e-mails shorter and less provocative (the better to avoid carpal tunnel syndrome!)

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at October 06, 2006

 

I've been thinking a lot about this post (and not just because of the brilliant use of Scissor Sisters), but especially in terms of the belief of sex as sacrament. Like Scott, Clive Barker's Sacrament is one of my favourite books. But I've also deconstructed a lot of the false value that society has placed on the sexual act, mostly through the study of history and ancient religions. Traditionally, marriage was a property transaction between a thirty year-old man and the father of a fourteen year-old girl, and it was imperative that the woman have sexual fidelity in order to ensure that there was a proper line of inheritance. How this is exactly sacred I'm not sure, other than the religion built up justification for the social mores of the day. But looking back at ancient cultures that placed tremendous value on the sexual act for the very act itself, who didn't fill it with all kinds of artificial value judgements and who saw the beauty in it for what it was, I really think that perhaps we as a society need to recall that ethic and reclaim it for what it is. Casual sex is only really empty or damaging if we tell ourselves that the only "proper" way to have sex is within the confines of marriage. It doesn't have to be empty or damaging if we treat it for what it is, and honour it for what it is. Adding value judgements only serves to mystify the process and creates the very harm that it seeks to prevent.

-- Reply posted by  The Guy in DKNY at October 10, 2006

 

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Because I don't yet know of any other way to stop what's coming:



Any ideas? Reason seems a bit tapped out right now...

Labels: insanity, politics, religion

Other than the statement that they are worshipping George Bush, I see nothing wrong with it.

-- Reply posted by  Your Christian Buddy at September 21, 2006

 

This post has been removed by a blog administrator.

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at September 21, 2006

 

Sorry - I removed my earlier comment and tweaked it a bit, thusly:

Well, I won't be sending either of my kids there. But having endured a smidgen of what we're shown at roughly the same age as these weeping youngsters, I can't get too exercised about what's going on. The "secular liberal feminist" (BOO! HISS!! GET THEE BEHIND ME, SATAN!! sorry - a little flashback happening, there) doesn't seem too fazed, either - possibly recognizing that it's typical of kids to adopt their parents' religious tenets to a degree that their parents cannot. The more likely scenario is these kids, once they reach late adolescence, will transform into either unendurable hell-raisers, or into moderates with an above-average grasp of reasonable discourse who mostly eschew the emotional indulgences of their childhoods.

Having said that, I (Your OTHER Christian Buddy) believe the matron of this camp could seriously stand to have her world-view get a biblically-based readjustment. But that could just be the "liberal" in me, coming once again to the fore!

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at September 21, 2006

 

Thanks for chiming in, guys, and talking me off the ledge. I'm glad my Christian buddy agrees that worshipping a President (any President) is a really bad idea and I recognize Whiskey's point that, yeah, a lot of these kids will naturally rebel and cast this stuff aside when they're older.

Oddly though, that part bothers me a bit -- given that this zealous indoctrination is bound to fail in the long run, why not try and keep them 'in the fold' by teaching them religion in the same way we teach philosophy, science or math? Reasonably, and with discussion.

I went to a Catholic grade school and was intrigued by religion until the nuns started strapping my hands when I asked legitimate questions about the faith.

Or later, when my fascination with science bumped up against some of the religion's sillier aspects, I was told by teachers to shut up and obey. Even as a kid, I found that authoritarian, undemocratic and, well, creepy. I decided on my own to go to a public high school after that.

And I was lucky. I have gay friends who were raised in fundamentalism and, however happier they are now, the church still did serious damage to them. Damage they've spent their lives recovering from.

Somewhere in that video's roomful of crying children is a future gay teen, who'll have to choose between his innate sexuality or God. Why must he? I'm not telling him to be an atheist or some Enemy of God so why does he have to be a Warrior for Jesus? Who's he going to war with?

-- Reply posted by  Scott at September 21, 2006

 

You're just jealous because there are Christian training camps but there aren't any Gay training camps...

...err...there AREN'T are there?

-- Reply posted by  Your Christian Buddy at September 22, 2006

 

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By now, it's common knowledge that the media was useless in investigating the run-up to war with Iraq but, as the US now unbelievably tries to start the same thing with Iran, it's good to see CNN asking the tough questions:

WOLF BLITZER: So you think it's realistic to assume if [Iran]had a bomb, they would actually use it?

JOHN BOLTON, U.S. AMBASSADOR TO U.N.: I think it's realistic in a regime that is the central banker of international terrorism that is seeking a ballistic missile capability far beyond any legitimate defensive needs they might have, but which also puts arms and weapons in the hands of terrorists today. We've got a threat if they had the weapon, they could not make it with a ballistic missile, they could give it to a terrorist group like Hamas or Hezbollah as well.

BLITZER: Well that sounds very ominous, even much more dangerous than what the United States feared going into the war with Iraq.

'Gosh, Mr. Bolton, that Iran is so scary!! We'd better let our manly President do whatever he feels is necessary!'

Oy vey.

Labels: America, George W Bush, insanity, Middle East, war - what is it good for?

This is my final two weeks as a human being. On September 25th, I will start work at fab magazine as an editor -- a move that will hopefully boost my career while apparently reducing my humanity. Yes, I will be a Professional Homosexual. That's the term people use when you're "too gay," when you're a gay man with a gay job, living in a gay neighbourhood with a dog that might be a lesbian.

People who say these things are usually gays who wish they weren't (because they're still gay), or straight people who have issues with us (because they're probably gay), or Christianists who feel we're taking over and then panic (because they're totally gay):

...another Amazon fan has caught the Internet behemoth promoting "Gay & Lesbian" programming for downloads..."Nestled nicely between 'Educational & Learning' and 'Kids & Family' is 'Gay and Lesbian,'" Luffman told WND. "They allow you to expand on this section of selections to include many more genres but curiously 'Gay & Lesbian' is among the smallest of offerings in the long list. Given this, why the effort to promote G&L in the short list?"

...the short list includes "Action & Adventure" with 77 choices, "Animation & Cartoons" with 35, "Reality TV" with 51 and others, including "G&L" with 3 choices and "Classic TV" with 5. In the expanded list, but unpromoted in the short list, are "Documentaries" with 110 offerings, "International" with 13, "Mystery" with 38 and even "Westerns' with 14.

I like the "nestled nicely" bit -- given the pattern of E-G-K, my da Vinci Code tells me that the Amazon conspirators are using the arcane system of alphabetical order to brainwash America. Kudos to WorldNetDaily for unveiling the secret threat posed by 3 whole films!

I tease these loons, even though they and I are oddly united in our struggle -- I too oppose this unseemly "Gay and Lesbian" category. Get rid of it, I say! I want gay "Action & Adventure," gay "Animation & Cartoons," gay "Reality TV," gay "Documentaries," gay "Mysteries" and yes, gay "Westerns" (must Brokeback Mountain and Red River be the only ones?). Not EVERY movie has to be gay, just -- oh I don't know -- 10% of them. Because I believe that dropping that G&L category will better reflect reality, while the Christianists believe that dropping it will alter reality. Hey guys, let me know how that works out for you.

In the meantime, I'll be spending my gay dollars at the Internet bohemoth that supports me and my category (there's your conspiracy, dumbass)...

Labels: fab, homo-a-go-go, insanity, religion, Tegan the Jack Russell Terrorist

Congratulations on the new job, and on becoming a Professional Homosexual! I expect more good things from you out of fab.

-- Reply posted by  The Guy in DKNY at September 13, 2006

 

Well, what did you expect when you named her "Tegan"?

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at September 13, 2006

 

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I confess I've never been a fan of Japanese culture. I've never been to the country and my only Japanese friend was a self-proclaimed 'banana' so all I've really encountered is the zany kitsch, the perverse comics, the irritating cutesiness, the creepy vending machines and the deeply-disturbed horror movies. In short, I feared the entire culture was insane.

But now I know better -- I've been blaming the victim. A new study shows an alarming rise in the rates of mental illness in Japan -- and it's our fault:

Statistics indicate that 60 per cent of workers suffer from “high anxiety” and that 65 per cent of companies report soaring levels of mental illness...The trend is put down to Japanese companies’ attempts to globalise by adopting working practices more closely in line with US and British models. Larger numbers of temporary staff, a greater willingness to sack people and greater pay disparities are the downside.

A spokesman for the Mental Health Institute said that the emphasis on individual performance was driving Japanese workers — particularly those in their thirties — to mental turmoil. “People tend to be individualised under the new working patterns,” he said. “When people worked in teams they were happier.”

This is especially awkward news when one factors in this trend:

The increasing incidence of breast and colon cancer in Japan following the Westernization of the Japanese diet. The rising consumption of milk and milk products, meat, eggs, oil, and fat that has occurred in Japan since World War II correlates with an increase in the incidences of breast and colon cancer over the past several decades. According to the National Cancer Institute, this increase is “consistent with the Westernization of the Japanese diet during recent decades, particularly with an increased intake of fat.”

And having recently honoured the 61th anniversary of our dropping atomic bombs on Japan, I think one big, massive "gomen nasai" is in order. The mayor of Hiroshima, Tadatoshi Akibi, suggested one way to apologize: "that nuclear arms-possessing nations fulfill their obligation to sincerely carry out negotiations aimed at nuclear disarmament."

Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi agreed, saying, "We will observe the pacifist clause of the constitution, maintain the principle of nuclear nonproliferation and lead international efforts to achieve lasting global peace."

My apologies, Japan -- you may not be so crazy after all.

Labels: insanity, Japan

It's tough to find romance in Toronto, especially if you're this guy:

"Toronto Police have issued a warning about a pervert they believe is behind a series of increasingly strange sexual assaults. He comes up to his victims and introduces himself. He then offers to shake their hands. But when the unsuspecting ladies good naturedly offer him theirs, he refuses to let go. He then kisses the startled females on both cheeks, licks their necks, claims he's their boyfriend and then leaves hurling numerous obscenities at them."

Most of my relationships have played out like that. I think he just sounds lonely...can't imagine why:

"Police have been able to come up with a sketch of the bizarre brutalizer, who's said to be:

White, Possibly Greek, Portuguese or Italian, 60-70, 5'7", 170 lbs., Short, greying hair, Dark eyes, Thick European accent.

He wears a beret with a peak on the front."

Well, there's your problem, my slobbering friend! Berets are so Iraqi military, not at all fashionable these days. Try a raspberry one (I hear they work) -- that way, the Girl of Your Dreams will be able to spot you a mile away!
Hopefully.

Labels: insanity, Trawna

Even by recent standards, the news this week has been insane:

Vice President Dick Cheney made an unusual personal appeal to Republican senators this week to allow CIA exemptions to a proposed ban on the torture of terror suspects in U.S. custody...
-- Associated Press headline, November 5, 2005

Italian state TV, Rai, has broadcast a documentary accusing the US military of using white phosphorus bombs against civilians in the Iraqi city of Falluja.
-- BBC News, November 8, 2005

Secret torture rooms? Chemical weapons?
Obviously horrifying yet oddly familiar...

The danger is clear: using chemical, biological or, one day, nuclear weapons, obtained with the help of Iraq, the terrorists could fulfill their stated ambitions and kill thousands or hundreds of thousands of innocent people in our country, or any other...Many Iraqis can hear me tonight in a translated radio broadcast, and I have a message for them...In a free Iraq, there will be no more wars of aggression against your neighbors, no more poison factories, no more executions of dissidents, no more torture chambers and rape rooms.

-- President Bush in an address to the US nation, May 17, 2003

Do Iraqis listen to The Who?
"Meet the new boss, same as the old boss..."

Labels: George W Bush, insanity, Middle East

TEACH YOUR CHILDREN WELL

Irish 'bad-boy' actor Colin Farrell (who you think would be getting tired of that label by now -- we are) has once again shocked people in an interview by admitting that he's used heroin in the past:

In a candid interview with GQ magazine, he says, "I've smoked it a couple of times, but I knew where I was going. For some reason it seemed pretty f**king nice at the time." But drug prevention workers have blasted Farrell for acting irresponsibly in the knowledge his young fans look up to him. Peter Stoker of the National Drug Prevention Alliance says, "He should not be bragging about taking heroin. Farrell is a role model for children. If he thinks it is so cool he should go to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting and see the harsh reality."

Well, that's sensible enough and...wait. Did Stoker actually say, "Farrell is a role model for children"? Is that what I read? "Farrell is a role model for children"? Whose children? Is someone looking at his son and thinking, "He's too dull -- he needs more booze, more swearing, a bit of heroin and a fling with Britney Spears."

Oh, wait, that's my dad. Never mind.

Labels: family, insanity, media

RIDING IT OUT

The Sunrise Records Operations Manager popped by yesterday. I know it's a cliché to go on about the oily evil of corporate head office people but, really, talking to this guy is like standing in front of a KFC fat fryer. His level of helpful advice for our flagship Yonge Street store was to tell our beloved Ruby to alphabetize the wall of sale DVDs because, and she quotes, "the customers and staff aren't smart enough" to find individual titles. "Well, I would alphabetize everything," she replied to him, "but I'm not smart enough." Ah, a big wet kiss for Ruby!

I can't stand this kind of garbage but it seems to be everywhere. My friend James told me last night that he wishes I'd quit because working for these people is making me bitter. "Fuck you," I said.

No, James is exactly right. Our poor little record shop gets nothing but grief from the brothers who own it because the sales are lower than they'd like. Anyone with a brain, however, can see that this is an industry-wide problem (thanks, Napster!) and that this particular chain is so badly run that its demise seems all but inevitable.

Right now, DVD counts for nearly 70% of the store's sales but, when our store buyer pleads for more support and flexibility in ordering, he's told that "we're a music chain." Not for long you're not. Every memo we get screams for better customer service but everything we try to get for our customers takes weeks if not months to arrive -- and that's all the customer service they're concerned with, ultimately.

Yes, I'm indeed bitter. I can say without ego that I'm very good at my job and I love being there but I'm sick of working for morons who make a decent living while giving their workers little respect and less pay. Nevertheless, I'm possessed of some sick determination to keep their leaking ship afloat. I've invested too much effort and caring to just walk away. Plus, I think I get some perverse kick out of catching their mistakes.

I talked to our guy at Universal Home Video today about an order gone wrong. The owner's son -- oh sorry, "Sunrise DVD buyer" -- apparently only faxed him page two of our order. How do you manage that? Especially when it's almost all he does? "He seems to have trouble with that fax machine," said Stan, "Maybe you guys should send him over a manual." The owner's son is the ultimate example of the crime of nepotism -- a scarecrow with a head full of money not straw. Watching him in action is a recipe for bitterness, it's true, but I'll ride it out.

I guess I'm just too curious to see how much water this ship can take in.

Labels: friends, insanity, working girl

THE NIGHT THE LIGHTS WENT OUT IN TORONTO, NEW YORK, CLEVELAND, etc.

Well, wasn't that something?

Nothing's better for the soul than an occasional reminder of how fragile our little existences can be, and I'm proud of how well our beleagured city dealt with its latest crisis. People were spontaneously walking out into street intersections and directing traffic -- you gotta love that. If you're curious what I saw during the blackout (and why else would you be reading this if you weren't?), here's a rough timeline:

4 pm
After five hours at the store, I headed over to the sub shop on Dundas for a late lunch. The counter guy put my sandwich in the microwave to heat it up a bit and -- no word of a lie -- the power went out when he pressed the microwave button. He looked like a deer in the (lack of?) headlights. "You seem to have blown a fuse," I finally said. "No, no," he stammered, "It's the whole store! Why the whole store?" I poked my head out the door to see his neighbours doing the same and another customer came in and told us the street traffic lights were out. "I just got a call from a friend at Yonge and Eglington who says the power's out up there, too," she said. Figuring the record store would be dark, I scarfed down my sub and headed back.

5 pm
Feeling pretty smug in that my tasks require no computer or electrical devices, I was brought down to earth by the near-total lack of light in the store. The emergency lights just weren't bright enough to work by and we all decided to go home. The entire black-polo-shirted staff of World's Biggest Bookstore were lined up at the ice cream truck so I joined them. The sidewalks were crammed with people, motorists were all grid-locked in around us and one guy got out of his car and started screaming at the truck in front of him. It occured to me that these were the two main ways to handle a crisis: relax and get some ice cream, or break down and start ranting. Chocolate soft serve has never tasted better.

6 pm
Stood around with Stan on Yonge and Richmond, trying to hail a cab for Gabe, the assistant manager. At nearly six months pregnant, she was in no condition to walk home to Queen and Roncesvalles. I suggested she go over to the Sheraton and rest in the lobby while the staff (hopefully) helped her get a taxi, but Stan insisted that one would have to come along. Many did, but the ones that weren't full already out-and-out refused to stop. I ran over to one Chinese driver, stuck in traffic, and he started wailing that the boss had insisted he get the cab back to the garage. "I have problem! I have problem!" he yelled with his hands in the air. I agreed with him and looked elsewhere, running out into the street to plead with drivers to at least radio their offices. One guy simply drove away from me but, with the roads clogged, I easily jogged up beside him, matching his speed. "I have a pregnant woman in thirty-degree heat for over half an hour now! She can't take this!," I yelled, "Can't you radio for another cab down here?" "It doesn't matter," he yelled back (with two Indian women cowering in the back seat from me, the crazy man), "The dispatcher won't answer!" Nice. Stan finally told me that he'd walk Gabe down to Front Street -- between the Royal York hotel and Union Station, there would have to be at least one empty taxi. Right?

7 pm
After filling the big Brita filter in the fridge with water (just in case) and cracking open every window in the apartment, I flopped down on the bed and wondered if I'd be at the pub later. I called, but there was no answer. I called my boss at home, but there was no answer. I called my worry-prone father to let him know that everything was fine but he seemed puzzled over why I'd bothered. I explained what I'd just been through with Gabe and the entire story. I paused at one point and he said, "Is anything wrong?" "What do you mean?" I asked. "Is anything wrong?" he repeated. "I just told you what's wrong!" I said. "Oh, it'll be fine," he said, as if I were panicking. I still never get my dad -- he always seems to think there's some terrible problem going on but stays totally unperturbed when an actual problem arrives. Maybe the constant worrying keeps him cool in a crisis, I don't know. Meanwhile, I kept calling the pub -- no answer.

8 pm
Feeling that impotent desire to help without any real means of doing so, I decided to see if my neighbours had enough candles. I'm quite fond of the odd candlelight dinner or reading on the sofa with lots of warm light, so I keep a couple boxes of the ones from Ikea on hand. I went door-to-door around my floor and a couple others and was dismayed at how my neighbours first thought I was trying to sell them the candles. "No, no," I kept insisting, "I just want to make sure you have some if you need them." They seemed to find that peculiar, which disappointed me, but many were grateful. I went down to the courtyard last, where a large group of people were sitting out in the fading sunlight. "I hear you're the Candle Man," one neighbour said and, though I cringed at the thought of that nickname sticking with me, it felt good to be helping out, even in this tiny way.

9 pm
After making an "executive decision" to stay home, I waited for the pub's inevitable "where the hell are you?" call, but nothing came. I put batteries in the radio and listened to the news station for a while, laughing out loud at Mayor Mel's usual idiocy. On the subject of water conservation, he reminded the listeners not to water their lawns or wash their cars for a while -- clearly, the two priorities at the top of any ordinary person's to-do list during a nation-wide power shortage. "And don't use candles!" he blurted out. I obviously leaned forward at that point. "We have to preserve our resources right now," he continued. "Candles? A resource?" I thought. Lastman instead recommended going out to the hardware stores for battery-powered flashlights because "a kid could knock over a candle and start a fire." If Mel wasn't so busy washing his car, I figured, he'd have noticed that the hardware stores -- and everything else -- were all closed. Meanwhile, Michael Coren was busily downplaying his callers' terrorist-attack theories with tact and good sense. I hate it when he makes me like him.

10 pm
Basked in the candlelight inside and the remarkable darkness outside my window -- even with the bank towers lit up with their own generators, the dark city felt gothic. I turned to the jazz station, made some tuna sandwiches and resumed reading the third Harry Potter book. I was actually enjoying myself until the jazz station abruptly went to static. I literally didn't like the sound of that. There was a knock on the door and I opened it to see a wide-eyed young black woman and her small boy. "They said at the office you might have some spare candles?" she said very hesitantly. I glanced back at my living room, lit like the Police's "Wrapped Around Your Finger" video. "Of course!" I announced and handed her a few, feeling most magnanimous. This was the ego equivalent of deep-tissue massage and I enjoyed it, guilt-free like frozen yogurt. After a while, I climbed up the stairs to the roof-deck, astonished by the black city spread out before me and by the amount of traffic still out there. I wouldn't be out driving in that even if I were being paid.

11 pm
Called Gabe to see if she got home in one piece but got a machine. Called Stan to see if he got Gabe home in one piece and he explained how that nightmare had continued. No taxi at Union Station was taking anyone, except for one guy who was demanding $100 for each ride. "That prick!" Stan snarled. He finally walked her over to the Co-op Cab garage at King and Spadina. "King and Spadina!" I said, "She could've nearly walked home!" "I know!" he hollered, "It was awful!" But she did make it home -- like my roommate, who slammed the door shut behind him and began huffing about the three-hour trip home on a crowded bus. "From Mississauga?" I said, "In three hours? You were lucky, I'm afraid to say." He began the typical "how-could-the-powers-that-be-allow-this-to-happen?" rant. "There's too many people and too many cars," he declared, pausing to make fun of all the candles in the apartment. "What would you prefer?" I asked, and told him about the mayor's "out-out-brief-candle" babble. Jerry listened, then went to take a shower, which I found mind-boggling after a discussion of conservation. Feeling wide-awake and frankly a bit trapped, I decided to check out the dark streets. "Is that a good idea?" Jerry asked, "Aren't you afraid of being mugged by looters or some trans-gendered persons?" I'm convinced he either says this stuff to piss me off or he's insane. Probably both.

Midnight
The downtown was deliciously eerie. On Richmond Street, the only light came from the sweep of car headlights or the extra-strange red glow from their tail-lights as they passed. The giant, classic Sam the Record Man sign was dark, the entire Eaton Centre black. With so much "light pollution" gone, you could see the stars in the sky. It's been a long time for me and they were beautiful, especially the bright orange dot of Mars, so visible for the first time in 60,000 years. I snapped photos of the downtown -- not knowing if any would turn out -- because the sight of the abandoned streetcars was too peculiar not to try and capture. I walked over to "the ghetto" where, as always, gay people were making their own fun: a near-campfire on a streetcorner, making out in the street and a group of people dancing in the parking lot across from my pub to a portable CD player. As I stood in front of the pub, I was surprised by a hello-tap on the back from the-boy-I-have-a-crush-on, the latest in an apparently-endless line of guys younger than me and not terribly interested in me. This is not a good pattern but I can't seem to help who I so-very-occasionally fall for. Fortunately, he's one of those preferred guys who is in his early twenties but thinks like someone in his early thirties (unlike me, concerned that I'm the exact opposite). We chatted with Miss Jackee Baker and Amanda Roberts, the two drag queens who were supposed to perform at the pub that night, before moving on.

1 am
The two of us continued on our stroll and he asked me for advice regarding a crush of his own. It's the classic story: boy meets boy, boy likes boy, boy likes some other boy, so first boy keeps his mouth shut. In my too-many years of dating, however, I've learned to relax about these things. I liked being his shoulder to lean on and there will always be someone else coming along later -- maybe even someone my own age. Meanwhile, it's strangely comforting to know that, even as the Premier declares a state of emergency in Ontario, some things in life never change. I walked home and smiled at the big condo tower next door, just a few of its dozens of black windows lit by tiny flickers of candlelight.

2 am
Laid on top of my sheets, trying to get to sleep in a heat I am just not used to (except for that AC fiasco at the store, but I wasn't trying to sleep then). Didn't realize just how spoiled I've been by central heating and cooling, nor by how much happier I am under my blankie.

This afternoon
Back to normal? Sort of. Stan, Gabe and I sat in the dark store with the doors locked from ten till noon -- well, okay, 10:30, since I was late after trying to get my fish-tank pump working again in my home's restored power. "It was either be late," I told my bosses, "or have my fish die choking on their own excrement." I got no argument, only jealousy that my building was back on-line but not much else.

So I've got the day off -- a healthy chunk of it spent detailing all this -- and I plan to go home, make some iced tea, keep the AC off (okay, maybe just really low), avoid using much water and get back to that Harry Potter book. Let's hope the pub's open tonight so I don't go broke. In the meantime, drop me a line and let me know how your evening went.

Labels: bookworm, family, friends, insanity, oh l'amour, Trawna, working girl

DEMONS

After my friend James and I finished working at the pub late last night, we walked to his place nearby to chat for a while over a cup of tea. We do this once a week or so -- co-workers at the pub think "tea" is some kind of euphamism for drugs or something but, no, we are actually having Twinnings tea and watching whatever DVD he's recently picked up. James invested a fair bit of money in a new surround-sound system and, this week, "The Lord of the Rings" is sounding fantastic in his apartment (here's hoping the neighbours' walls are as thick as he thinks).

As I left James' place sometime before five in the morning, I cut through Allen Gardens, as I usually do. It's a large park between Carlton and Gerrard Streets and, like most parks, it's creepy at night but thankfully empty for the most part. Last night, however, I stopped upon discovering a wheelchair standing beside a park bench. There was absolutely no one around. The wheelchair seat held a small clear bag with a candy bar wrapper and an egg inside, as well as a crumpled paper bag that I decided not to open. As I looked at the chair, wondering what had happened to its owner, a spider came creeping along the strands of web that I then noticed all over the armrests. Something about all this weirded me out completely and I backed away.

As I continued along the park path, still wondering if someone out there needed this wheelchair, two guys in their twenties were coming up the other path. They were wearing jeans and grimy T-shirts and one idly scratched at his stomach as I gave them a wide berth. Passing the round fountain in the middle of the park with benches circled around it, I saw a burly man with a goatee sitting on one as he turned to look at me. Silently, he turned away again to face another man on a bench on the other side of the fountain. He too was just sitting there silently. They were like men at a bus station but waiting for what? Sex? Drugs? Rock 'n' Roll? I didn't want to know; I just kept on moving.

Something about the park made me feel a curious sort of fear. Not fear for myself -- I could tell I was in no danger -- but something vaporous, hard to define, and this uneasiness stayed with me all the way down Jarvis Street as I passed various lonely people, a couple of wobbly alcoholics and a man with suitcases trying to hail a cab in front of the hotel. I had turned up the volume on my headphones since the park -- a batch of Fatboy Slim tracks -- and, as I finally reached my block, an elderly Asian man with a straggly grey goatee and wearing a toque walked towards me with his hand raised to catch my attention. As I tensed up, wondering what he wanted, he suddenly started waving his hand hello and he broke into a broad smile as he passed by. It was the last thing I expected. Meanwhile, Macy Gray was singing into my ears:

"All of my demons have withered away
Ecstacy comes and they cannot stay
You'll understand when you come my way
'Cause all of my demons have withered away"

Labels: friends, insanity, working girl