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)...


   Tuesday, August 26, 2008

   FIRST LADY

Michelle Obama speaking at the Democratic National Convention in Denver earlier tonight:

Barack and I were raised with so many of the same values: that you work hard for what you want in life; that your word is your bond and you do what you say you’re going to do; that you treat people with dignity and respect, even if you don’t know them, and even if you don’t agree with them.

All of us driven by a simple belief that the world as it is just won’t do – that we have an obligation to fight for the world as it should be. That is the thread that connects our hearts. That is the thread that runs through my journey and Barack’s journey and so many other improbable journeys that have brought us here tonight, where the current of history meets this new tide of hope. That is why I love this country.

Okay, pardon my French but that speech was FUCKING AWESOME. This woman has taken a lot of undeserved flack this year and come back with grace and, dare I say it, hope.

Labels: America, politics, repair, tributes

Still feeling sickly after anything I eat. No fun.

Nothing like impulse shopping to cheer myself up and hey, X the new Kylie Minogue album is here. Braving a sudden and intense blizzard that hit for (I kid you not) five minutes (and just the five my dog and I happened to be outside), I ran to Sunrise records and picked it up.

I got a funny email from my friend Mark, who wrote:

You're really going to go and buy a CD? Really? Are you living in 1999? Well, enjoy your compact disc. Just don't try to play it on your 8-track, luddite! :)

I replied that I can pirate as easily as the next man but the people I love get my money. Make a CD, DVD or book that moves me in some way and I will happily hand over my money. Besides, after all this time, there's still a spark of pleasure in tearing open the plastic wrap, opening the jewel case and placing the new disc in the tray and hitting play.

I bought Kylie's CD because I think she deserves my money. Not that X is essential, of course; it's all totally predictable, utterly disposable electro-pop but damn, these songs are fun and sometimes you just want a cheeseburger. I especially love this one:


Kylie -- "Like a Drug"

It's hilarious -- the lyrics are a cliché-a-thon of dancefloor cheese but still that irresistible synth line and sugary chorus just makes me want to get all sorts of inappropriate.

Why do I give Kylie a pass on the nasal-voiced sex kitten purr that makes Britney look so ridiculous to me? I think it's her age (all this "woman of experience" vibe is far more credible coming from a late-thirty-something), her looks (she's a gorgeous late-thirty-something) and her silence. As a pop star, Kylie is a throwback to an earlier era where we don't have to hear about her every rehab stint, redneck boyfriend or opinion on the Middle East peace process. Kylie just gets on with making fun music.

Oh, and if she decides she wants to act again and signs on for Doctor Who?
Even better!

Labels: music, technology, tributes

"She deserves my money" - now that's a sentiment you don't frequently hear voiced about sexy pop singers! Nice.

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at November 29, 2007

 

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One of the many joys of living in Toronto (assuming you've got the cash for it) is the plethora of singers and bands who make it a stop in their world tours. (Bruce Springsteen may have added a Hamilton date this week but he's still in the minority.)

So I was pleased last night to go see Australian pop singer Ben Lee play at the Mod Club. At the age of 29, he's a pop veteran, having released his first album with his early band Noise Addict when he was 15. My old friend Josh introduced me to his music back when we were flatmates and Lee was a teen grunge boy, his songs sounding like Liz Phair and namedropping the Pixies whenever possible.

These days, Lee's lightened up considerably, going for a heartfelt Jack Johnson kind of vibe. There's nothing new here, just a classic guitar-pop sound, and his 2005 album, Awake is the New Sleep, is one of my favourites -- stuffed with catchy hooks, charming lyrics and quirky instrumentation. Through the magic of YouTube, here's the boy at work last night:


Ben Lee - 'Into the Dark' (live at the Mod Club, Toronto)

What I love about this is the way Lee's precociously cute sing-along smacks right up against Toronto's icy refusal to never, ever show enthusiasm. I've witnessed so many train wrecks in Toronto concert halls, the squirmy result of artists trying to force the jaded crowd to give back. My favourite examples:

-- Peter Gabriel, who tried to lead a Euro-football-stadium-style chant to an Air Canada Centre crowd that resolutely refused to get on its feet. Scowling at us, he proceeded to lie down on the stage, fold his fingers together over his chest and stay that way until the worried crowd got to its feet to see if he was alright. He then bounced up and resumed his demand for chanting.

-- Bruce Springsteen (only days after that at the same venue), who had to announce to Toronto that, "We are having a HOUSE PARTY! And the FIRST RULE of the house party is that you have to get up off your ASS! You're not that old! GET UP!" This from a 53-year-old man who'd been racing back and forth across the stage, even up on a piano, for the last two hours. Shameful.

-- Chumbawamba, who did their punk-pop left-wing-anarchy thing with a full horn section and numerous costume changes to a Warehouse crowd that sullenly stood waiting for That One Song. When the band finally began, "We'll be singing..." the crowd gave up the screams and applause it'd been withholding for the last hour.

-- Mr. Bungle, who perhaps unwisely denied the Opera House audience the manic carnival heavy-metal of their first album in favour of the atmospheric prog-rock of their second. The crowd just stood there through song after song and the passive-aggressive battle between the band and its own fans peaked when singer Mike Patton announced, "Fuck it -- let's give you what you want," and launched into a pitch-perfect rendition of "Working For the Weekend" by Loverboy. The crowd roared with delight, while I looked around, feeling like Kevin McCarthy in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Couldn't anyone see how cruelly we were being mocked? During the cheesy guitar solo, Patton raised his fist in the air and screamed, "Canadian ROCK!"

By the end of his show, Ben Lee was standing on a Mod Club bartop, strumming his guitar and encouraging the crowd to sing along to his up-with-people anthem, "We're All In This Together." Half the crowd (mostly men) resisted entirely, creating an awkward vibe, though I'm not quite ready to condemn them like Peter Gabriel just yet.

I love "We're All In This Together" but, well, it is a bit TOO cute and worse yet, it's become inescapable after being licensed for a Telus commercial. Yuck. Licensing music for commercials has become the only way for a lot of bands to get heard nowadays and Lee himself jokes in another song, "They don't play me on the radio." Instead, he's shopped himself out to Hollywood, his music the kind of happy light-rock perfect for TV show endings or upbeat movie trailers (like this ad for Heroes airing in Australia).

So it's not entirely inappropriate that Lee has become loathed by hard rockers and Pitchfork critics but, hey, sometimes a feel-good record should make you, you know, feel good. As he puts it:

I think people like to hear a songwriter that reflects the realness of being a human being and at the end of the day, I leave my audience hopefully with the fact that it's worth it. And just to keep giving some hope.

See? That's the kind of statement that just makes you want to slap him.
But secretly? I kinda like it.

Labels: Australia, music, Trawna, tributes

Yikes! That makes me worry a little about the Spice Girls concert in February...

-- Reply posted by  The Guy in DKNY at November 28, 2007

 

I wasn't there, but I heard stories about Duran Duran being booed off stage in Toronto when they opened for David Bowie's Glass Spider Tour. That was still during the biggest years of their career!

-- Reply posted by  hot tea at November 28, 2007

 

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Look out, everybody -- here comes an Old Man Rant!
Years ago, I found this great little lamp in Chinatown. It's a little brown cube with rice paper sides and even a scented oil warmer up top (adorable!). It appears in that first 'day in the life' video I made:


Thursday, September 22, 2006

A few months ago, tragedy struck. The halogen bulb burned out and those are tricky to replace. I went to Canadian Tire, showed them the old bulb and left with a recommended replacement -- one that instantly popped and burned out when I plugged it in. I went back, got no further advice from them and began trying a couple bulb variations but with no luck.

I began to think the lamp itself might be the problem so, earlier this week, I brought it to Dudley's Hardware in my neighbourhood. Frank, I'm told, does small appliance repair. He explained to me that the wiring in the lamp is fine but the voltage of the bulbs I'd been recommended was too low. Since this little store doesn't carry such bulbs, I went back to Canadian Tire. I had questions about some other things too but, for the first time in a while, I found the staff there even less help than usual. Everyone just kept passing me off to someone else who didn't know either -- my favourite being the girl who directed me to an empty counter. "Just wait around here," she said. "He'll come back." When I got home, the new bulbs didn't work either.

In desperation, I decided to schlep out to Gerrard Square, where there's a Home Depot. I loathe Wal-Mart and its big-box ilk but here I found someone who instantly took an interest in my wiring problem, hooking my lamp cord up to an electrical reader and testing the bulbs. Everything worked fine, just not together, and he too was stumped. Another Home Depot employee came over to see if he could figure it out. In the end, nothing was solved but it still felt great just to have people at least try to help. And during my time spent in the store, I could see a much more interesting and varied collection of things for the home than at CT. I hate having to lose a perfectly good prejudice but Home Depot won me over.

Monday, I'm going to Paul Wolf industrial lighting supply. They're my last hope. In the meantime, however, I'll remember that Frank at Dudley's looked at my lamp the same day, gave me solid advice and didn't even charge me a nickel. I certainly know where I'll go next time.

Labels: money - lack thereof, repair, technology, Trawna, tributes

Oh, I completely felt for u for the C.T. comments. I shop there all the time due to their weekly sales and wide variety of choices. However, their staff are just so little trained. They always point me into a totally wrong direction when I asked to find something. Furthermore, sometimes they're just too exhausted or too rude to even talk to me. They told me to wait there and just left to finish their work, leaving me standing there waiting like a fool.

Since then, whenever I shop at C.T., I depend on my own senses and observation and it worked better than their staff most of the time. ;-P I could be more familiar with the shelves and location of products at the downtown and Queensway store than some staff there... lol

Good luck, Scott!

Wingo

-- Reply posted by  Anonymous at November 19, 2007

 

I generally prefer Home Hardware to Ca-knucklehead Tire, partly out of convenience (got one in the village) but also because they're usually smaller stores with a staff that's geared to help in any way they can. After all, they're competing against the big Home Cheap-os and all their ilk.

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at November 19, 2007

 

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The Colbert Countdown will let you know the exact minute the "Best of" DVD arrives this Tuesday. Viral internet marketing in its purest, truthiest form!

Labels: media, politics, silliness, tributes, TV

[also printed in issue 327 of fab]

Earlier this summer I went with a group of friends to the True Colors concert tour, organized by Cyndi Lauper and featuring Erasure, Debbie Harry and the Dresden Dolls. It aimed to entertain and inspire people to fight for gay rights and, for us, it succeeded wildly—-except in one case.

As the lead singer of Blondie and an actress in cult favourites like the original Hairspray, Debbie Harry is a pop icon, no question. But when she meandered out on stage in a black pantsuit and a short haircut that made her seem like a rockin’ Hillary Clinton, Debbie changed the whole tone of the show. As she tore through a set of unfamiliar and uninspired tracks from her upcoming album, Debbie made it clear that the other performers may have been there to celebrate us gays but she was there to have the gays celebrate her.

But why would she try harder? We gay men have always been loyal to our divas. Too loyal. Martha Wash and Crystal Waters played Toronto Pride this year. Straight people have pretty much forgotten who these women are, but not us. We love them so much, we ignore the fact that neither singer has done anything new or interesting in nearly two decades. Just like Gloria Gaynor, recently quoted saying she loves gay people and wants to "lead them to Jesus." Okay, just as long as she sings "I Will Survive" on the stairway to heaven.

Madonna is, of course, the gold standard of gay pop diva. The Advocate magazine named her the biggest gay icon of all time and her pioneering efforts to include us have made her a hero to two generations of gay men, even the ones who say, "Judy who? Barbra what?" But we must remember that our relationship with Madonna is symbiotic. She was created and maintained by the talents and hard work of many gay men—-producers, stylists, musicians, dancers. Like Cher, she is a bionic woman—-super-strong, made of plastic and built by us. Our talents, our money, our loyalty. Cyndi Lauper understands this. Her tour helped raise money for gay rights advocacy because, as religious and political authorities fight to undermine our lives, she wants to repay her gay fans with a bit more help than Christina Aguilera telling us we’re beautiful.

But what do I know? Personally, I’ve always loved Kylie. She makes the kind of campy disco records the boys love and merrily refers to her stylist William Baker as her "gay husband." She’s built up so much good will, she could cook and eat the little gay boy on Ugly Betty and I’d still line up to buy her next album.

Labels: fab, homo-a-go-go, music, tributes

Agreed--Kylie seems far less cynical and industry-driven in her relationship with gay men than the likes of Madonna.

-- Reply posted by  The Guy in DKNY at August 23, 2007

 

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Molly Ivins died this week at the age of 62 from what she joked was "a scorching case of cancer":

"Having breast cancer is massive amounts of no fun. First they mutilate you; then they poison you; then they burn you. I have been on blind dates better than that...I had been in great hopes I would become a better person as a result of confronting my own mortality, but it actually never happened. I didn't become a better person."

This was the kind of quip she was famous for. Ivins was a Texas political journalist who described her early career in the late '60s as "making heroes of militant blacks, angry Indians, radical students, uppity women and a motley assortment of other misfits and troublemakers." She became a nationally-syndicated columnist but never a rich and famous TV pundit like so many lesser writers (though she's great on camera in this 1986 commentary on "fine ort" in Texas and in this amusing video on their sex laws). TV didn't know what to do with her -- she was too outspoken, too Southern, too sharp and too liberal.

Molly Ivins could listen to tedious speeches, read thick and dull budget reports, wade into the most polluted swamp of political spin and then explain, with wit and punch, what it all meant for ordinary working people. She knew a liar when she heard one and a fool when she saw one, and she'd write about them both, but always fairly: "I believe that ignorance is the root of all evil. And that no one knows the truth." I'd agree, if not for the fact that, well, Molly always told the truth. She did it well, she did it often and, on the occasions when she did make a mistake, she owned up to it in print (check out this incredible exchange between Ivins and famous misanthrope Florence King, for instance). Her obituary for her father both charms and haunts (it's well worth the annoying newspaper registration) so, rather than try to match that, the best tribute I can give Molly is to show you why I became a fan:

"I guess that was the first shock. Ronnie and Kaye had prepared me to find all manner of vile, venal types in the Legislature, villains without scruples and self-interested dastards without remorse. I didn’t find them. I found only stupid men. I found representatives so dumb they can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. There are no villains: there are only asses."
-- June 18, 1971

"I have long maintained that Texans are not easy to love: we are, like anchovies, an acquired taste. I myself feel that we should be given points for our enthusiasm...At least Texans retain a capacity for awe in the face of something as awesome as the Colorado mountains."
-- December 30, 1977

“If [Rep. Jim Collins'] IQ slips any lower, we’ll have to water him twice a day.”
-- sometime in the early '80s

"Satire is traditionally the weapon of the powerless against the powerful. I only aim at the powerful. When satire is aimed at the powerless, it is not only cruel -– it's vulgar."
–- December 9, 1991

"Many people did not care for Pat Buchanan's speech; it probably sounded better in the original German."
–- September 14, 1992

"I am not anti-gun. I'm pro-knife. Consider the merits of the knife. In the first place, you have to catch up with someone in order to stab him. A general substitution of knives for guns would promote physical fitness. We'd turn into a whole nation of great runners. Plus, knives don't ricochet. And people are seldom killed while cleaning their knives."
-- July 19, 1994

"Politics in this country isn't about left and right; it's about up and down. The few are screwing the many."
-- September 8, 1994

"Sometimes I think I made Warren Chisum up for my own amusement...The egregious Representative Chisum is once more trying to get gays taken out of coverage under the hate-crimes bill because, he says, gays bring violence on themselves...'They go to parks and pick up men, and they don't know if that someone is gay or not.' Sure. Right."
-- February 9-23, 1995

"If it weren't for the automatic teller machine and the self-cleaning garlic press, we'd have no evidence of progress at all...Let's face it: the evidence is always on the side of the pessimists. In fact, one of the few pro-optimism arguments that work is to point out that things can always get worse, which means we should be cheerful right now, because now will eventually be the Good Old Days."
-- May 7, 1995

"I have been attacked by Rush Limbaugh on the air, an experience somewhat akin to being gummed by a newt. It doesn't actually hurt, but it leaves you with slimy stuff on your ankle."
-- May 30, 1995

"I have wasted more time and space defending Clinton than I care to think about. If left to my own devices, I'd spend all my time pointing out that he's weaker than bus-station chili. But the man is so constantly subjected to such hideous and unfair abuse that I wind up standing up for him on the general principle that some fairness should be applied."
-- from the introduction to her 1998 collection, You Got to Dance With Them What Brung You

"Arguing against the death penalty in Texas is such a bootless enterprise that over the years, I have worn down to merely advocating that we not kill (a) the innocent; (b) the mentally retarded; and (c) people who are so mentally ill that they think they’re black dogs in the seventh circle of hell and run around on all fours barking. As you know, these arguments have not prevailed, and we continue to bump off people in all three categories."
-- February 5, 1999

"The sponsor of the tax break in the Senate, J.E. 'Buster' Brown, explained simply, 'The oil industry is hurting.' And there’s nothing like pain in the oil industry to touch off compassion in a conservative."
-- March 5, 1999

"George W. is the unexamined candidate, and the extent to which he is unexamined gets eerier as Election Day approaches. At least half the country is prepared to vote for the guy; if asked why, they reply, 'Seems like a nice fella.' I like him myself. But he is often clueless, he does not have a nice record, and the idea of electing him president scares the living fantods out of me. I like my nephew, I like my mailman and the lady at the dry cleaners. That doesn’t mean they’re ready to be president."
-- November 3, 2000

"If killing more people were the answer, there would have been peace in the Middle East 50 years ago. The answer is justice, and there is nothing weak-kneed about it."
-- October 26, 2001

“I assume we can defeat Hussein without great cost to our side (God forgive me if that is hubris). The problem is what happens after we win. [Iraq] is 20 percent Kurd, 20 percent Sunni and 60 percent Shiite. Can you say, ‘Horrible three-way civil war?’”
-- January 16, 2003

"I have never lost a political storytellin’ contest in any category: crooked pols, dumb pols, out-goddamned-rageous pols. We win -— and we never have to make up anything. How can I lose with material like the time Rep. Mike Martin paid his Cousin Eddie to shoot him in the arm with a shotgun, and then claimed it had been done by a Satanic and communistic cult. You think I can find stuff this weird anywhere else? This is why I’m still in Texas."
-- December 3, 2004

"We can now safely assert that W. has stacked much of the federal government with people like himself. And what you get when you put people in charge of government who don’t believe in government and who are not interested in running it well is...what happened after Hurricane Katrina.
Often in the past six years I have bit my tongue so I wouldn’t annoy people with the always obnoxious observation, “I told you so.” But, dammit all to hell, I did tell you, and I’ve been telling you since 1994, and I am so sick of this man and everything he represents -— all the sleazy, smug, self-righteous graft and corruption and “Christian” moralizing and cynicism and tax cuts for all his smug, rich buddies.
Next time I tell you someone from Texas should not be president of the United States, please pay attention [emphasis mine, of course]."
-- September 23, 2005

"On the general subject of political corruption, do not fall into the fatal error of cynicism. You do your country a great disservice by saying things like: "Eh, they're all crooks. Nothing anyone can do about it. Money will always find a way."
The answer is perpetual reform. Fix it, and if corruption comes back again, you just whack back at it again."
-- January 11, 2006

Those last two are the ones that really get me. She spent a decade warning her fellow Texans about their useless Governor, yet they and the rest of America elected him President, with disastrous results. Nevertheless, she never lost hope, she never went silent and she never stopped believing in the decency and, yes, power of ordinary people. This is the end of her last column, published January 12, 2007:

"We are the people who run this country. We are the deciders. And every single day, every single one of us needs to step outside and take some action to help stop this war. Raise hell. Think of something to make the ridiculous look ridiculous. Make our troops know we're for them and trying to get them out of there. Hit the streets to protest Bush's proposed surge. If you can, go to the peace march in Washington on Jan. 27. We need people in the streets, banging pots and pans and demanding, 'Stop it, now!'"

Yep, Molly Ivins went out the way she came in -- kicking at the pricks with a grin on her face. I discovered her columns during the Clinton impeachment, loved her ever since, and regret that I've never praised her in print before. Somehow I believed that, despite the cancer, she would outlive us all. As she famously wrote:

"Keep fighting for freedom and justice, beloveds, but don't forget to have fun doin' it. Lord, let your laughter ring forth. Be outrageous, ridicule the fraidy-cats, rejoice in all the oddities that freedom can produce."

Goddamn, what a woman.

In tribute, the Texas Observer has reprinted many of her classic columns, including the one she penned when leaving the paper to join the New York Times in 1976. It was charming then and appropriately lovely now:

"And for me, it’s leaving time. I have a grandly dramatic vision of myself stalking through the canyons of the Big Apple in the rain and cold, dreaming about driving with the soft night air of East Texas rushing on my face while Willie Nelson sings softly on the radio, or about blasting through the Panhandle under a fierce sun and pale blue sky, laughing at Clarence Zugenbuler’s stock report. I’ll remember. I’ll remember the way the printer’s feels at 4 a.m. What it’s like to read The Dallas Morning News editorial page. Sunsets, rivers, hills, plains, the Gulf, woods, a thousand beers in a thousand joints, and sunshine and laughter. And people. Mostly I’ll remember people...
I wanted to call this The Long Goodbye, but Kaye wouldn’t let me. She wanted to call it, Ivins Indulges in Horrible Fit of Sentimentality.
I love you. Goodbye, my friends."

At her memorial today, Andy Ivins told the crowd that he'd once asked his sister why she always walked so fast. She told him, "What you do is you look up at the horizon, and you go quicker." Then, blues singer Marcia Ball sang Jerry Lee Lewis' "Great Balls of Fire." Perfect.

Labels: America, evolution, politics, religion, tributes, war - what is it good for?, writing

At the risk of sounding like an incredibly lazy man, I love my sofa. It's a happy place, home to some of my favourite activities. Number one, of course, the occasional make-out session with a Gentleman Caller; number two, lovely evenings chatting with friends over tea; and number three, watching a movie with my little dog curled up beside me. These things are bliss.

On an evening a few months ago, I took a night off, flopped down on the sofa and put on a movie. At one point, there was a scene with a dog crying in distress and Tegan suddenly sat up in alarm, staring wide-eyed at the screen with her head cocked to one side, and she started to quiver. I'd never stopped to consider what effect the TV had on a dog before. I found Tegan's reactions fascinating and a bit sad as I rushed to grab the remote.

Thinking of that moment in what was an otherwise delightful evening, I am very grateful that Tegan has been asleep on my bed for the last couple hours. There's a video clip exploding around the 'net right now, a video of US soldiers in Iraq abusing a maimed dog. I watched it and immediately wished I hadn't. There's a reason the phrase 'curiosity killed the cat' was coined. At the moment, it seems especially ironic. I won't link to the clip but if you should stumble upon it, keep surfing. Please don't stop and watch the dog & soldiers video. You just don't need that in your head, trust me.

Now, of course, part of the presumed appeal of this video is that it shows American soldiers at their most cynical and cruel. "You see?" people will say, "Look how horrible the Americans are!" but as a devout bleeding-heart liberal, I think that's crap. For one thing, nothing could ever be worse than the Iraqi's hostage-beheading footage (still haven't seen any, knock wood) and, even as a dog lover, I find it again fascinating and sad that people are getting so worked up over a animal while many still shrug at the supposed inevitability of a fiasco that has cost the lives of tens of thousands of Iraqis and, yes, American soldiers.

I have great sympathy for what the troops are enduring, trying to beat the odds so heavily stacked against them from the start, and I can certainly understand the desire to take out their frustrations on some lesser creature. But as Mark Twain said, "Heaven goes by favour. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in." I'm not giving these soldiers a pass -- they disgust me -- but I will keep my blame squarely where it belongs: the war cheerleaders who put these men there through jingoism and lies, the kind of people Molly Ivins worked to stop, as it happens.

I've been thinking about Molly a lot this week as that "scorching case of cancer" finally took her from us. She was the kind of person who could probably watch that dog video and know exactly what to say -- something smart, angry, funny and compassionate, all at once. Tomorrow: some of my favourite Molly!

Labels: introspective, Middle East, Tegan the Jack Russell Terrorist, tributes, war - what is it good for?

But enough about Ted Haggard. Or Mark Foley. Or Ken Mehlman. Or Charlie Crist. Or any other of the seemingly-endless parade of right-wing anti-gay closet-cases (as comedian Bill Maher joked last week, if any more Republicans come out of the closet, they'll have to change their symbol from an elephant to a moth!).

I come not to bury cowards, but to praise Doogie, as actor Neil Patrick Harris came out on Friday. I phoned my friend Tara on Saturday to say hello and see if she'd heard. Before I could say a thing, she said, "Did you hear about Doogie?!" We're fans.

Long ago, Tara and I worked at a movie theatre in Hamilton with a boy named Darryl, of whom Tara was fond and I was...fonder. He was a fantastic guy -- funny and overly-confident but just decent enough to keep from being an outright jerk. It helped that we all thought he looked like Neil Patrick Harris' TV character so the name 'Doogie' stuck to him like glue. Doogie Howser MD was by means great TV but we liked Darryl and became fond of the show by extension (there's a soft spot even now -- Doogie was the first blogger, after all).

It helped that Harris was a wonderful kid actor and, by all accounts, a good guy. After the show ended, he got stuck in that image but, even so, he didn't go bad like the Diff'rent Strokes gang or the Coreys. He did a lot of theatre and later appeared in Starship Troopers, wearing a long black coat and looking like the leader of the Hitler Youth. There, I thought, is an actor desperate to get un-typecast!

Sure enough, he did it, by developing a Shatneresque sense of humour about himself. He first tweaked his image, playing the "white culture" expert in Undercover Brother ("I owe all of you a huge apology. I just watched this show...Roots? Maybe you've heard of it?"); he then destroyed his image, playing a horny, drugged-out asshole named Neil Patrick Harris in Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle ("Yeah, I've been craving burgers, too. Furburgers. Come on, dudes, let's pick up some trim at a strip club. The Doogie line always works on strippers!"). The producers of the sitcom How I Met Your Mother were looking for a Jack Black-type actor to play Barney, a disturbingly-cheerful womanizer, but they liked the 'White Castle' bit enough to audition Harris and he won them over. Barney's a jerk but Harris' dorky charm makes him funny and oddly endearing.

I'm whittering on like a fan but here's the point: Neil Patrick Harris has paid his dues and has a solid career. He's only 33 and he's on his second hit TV show, making lots of money and playing a wildly-popular ladies' man. Actors, singers, athletes (anyone making money, really) are only allowed to come out after their careers have run dry, not right in the middle, so following some press speculation (you just can't trust those Canadians), his publicist issued the usual weird Hollywood non-denial: "Neil Patrick Harris is not of that persuasion."

I saw that in the paper last week and was disappointed. I prefer it when actors just avoid the question rather than lie -- kind of like how Ricky Martin was interesting when people wondered if he was gay, as opposed to how boring he became when he kept going on about the ladies in that completely hypothetical 'who are you kidding?' way. It's sad. In Harris' case, the denial was especially pointless, considering how people had been commenting for a while now on the guy he keeps being seen with around New York. I could understand why the publicist would try to suppress the story but it irritated me that, in 2006, a TV actor still can't say he's gay.

Happily, it seems that Harris was annoyed, too. Rather than start playing that fame game -- hiding his boyfriend, showing up at parties with random women, jumping on sofas and yelling about his lady love -- he silenced his handlers and simply issued the briefest, classiest statement possible:

The public eye has always been kind to me, and until recently I have been able to live a pretty normal life. Now it seems there is speculation and interest in my private life and relationships.

So, rather than ignore those who choose to publish their opinions without actually talking to me, I am happy to dispel any rumors or misconceptions and am quite proud to say that I am a very content gay man living my life to the fullest and feel most fortunate to be working with wonderful people in the business I love.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it's done. I can only hope the Republican party is paying attention. Bravo, Doog!

Labels: back in the day, evolution, friends, homo-a-go-go, movies, the 80s, tributes, TV

You really are a good writer ole pal. I enjoy reading your posts.

-- Reply posted by  Vinnie Delpino at November 08, 2006

 

Sigh. You always sound the way I should have but didn't. Its a wonder I don't put arsenic in your Tapioca. ;)

Marvy article darlin'....

T.

-- Reply posted by  Trev at November 14, 2006

 

Pet Shop Boys on Dancing With The Stars: the musical equivalent of Jumping the Shark.
Neil Tennant just had this look of "please, someone shoot me now" as he sang West End Girls, 20 years after it was popular.

RIP Pet Shop Boys
(1981-2006)

-- Reply posted by  Chris Lowe at November 15, 2006

 

I like that I have a better shot at Doog then my female friends do. Giggity Giggity Giggity Go!

-- Reply posted by  Dave at November 17, 2006

 

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The "controversy" over Michael J. Fox this week has been absolutely appalling. After he filmed a political ad advocating for stem-cell research, Fox was slandered by Rush Limbaugh, who actually accused him of faking his symptoms ("He is an actor, after all"). Fox responded with the low-key grace, humour and charm he's always displayed. This clip'll take a bit to load but it's worth it:



Fox's story could've been a tragic one -- charming comic actor struck down in his prime by Parkinson's -- but the way he's played the cards he's been dealt is incredibly inspiring. I've felt nothing but admiration for him and never more so than this week.

Labels: media, politics, tributes

That was a wonderful clip and rather inspiring. I am impressed by the fact that Fox very poignantly and pointedly demonstrated his respect for those who would "prayerfully" reject stem cell research. In other words, he called both sides to the table in the debate and asked for respect of the majority. How very democratic and measureds.

-- Reply posted by  Christos Tsirbas at November 01, 2006

 

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I fear YouTube is making me soft.

For a man who calls himself a writer, there's been precious little writing lately! While I love my new job, I also worry that most of my energy has been going into improving the work of others rather than my own. I get home and there's nothing left. Plus, like I said, making these little YouTube clips has been great fun, a terrific distraction. It had to stop. So I decided to hold a little TV party here, showing you the stuff I've loved lately, before I hunker down and start working on the next article.

First up, I was blue for a day because a perfect storm of work, schedule and money conflicts kept me from catching the Pet Shop Boys' visit to Toronto last week. Having seen them twice now soothed the sting, but along comes a YouTuber named uccbob who apparently recorded the entire show in little 2:57 bursts. Shame about the sound but hey, look at that stage set...



The link I'd posted to a Six Feet Under promo a couple years back is long gone, so coming across it again feels like a little present. It's the only ad not included on the DVDs but, more importantly, it's a cool blast of Nina Simone...



This of course left me wanting more, and this one's a tiny gem...



I adored Stephen Colbert's brilliant visual aid explaining the media's coverage of Republican political scandals (Josh Marshall has been keeping a list of indictments and wow, it's even bigger than I thought!)...



Pixieish singer Lily Allen's new ode to London is utterly delightful and completely depressing at the same time -- just like the city itself...



There are smarter, funnier comics than fratboy Dane Cook but do they fight monkeys? I didn't think so...



I think everyone on Earth has now seen Matt dancing everywhere on it but, in case you haven't, give the guy a cheer...



I'll never travel that much, sadly, but my name is well-known in New York City, thanks to the D'Agostino supermarket chain. Move closer!



In a follow-up to my last post, here's Russell T. Davies talking about Torchwood -- I love that a guy writing a sci-fi show is so set on telling stories about ordinary people. I find his enthusiasm endearing and infectious...



And finally, my own little creation. I actually got an e-mail from someone who loved my Doctor Who video and asked me to make more! Flattered, I began thinking of a stream of Who videos I could craft but reason thankfully kicked in. While I would've absolutely adored and exhausted all this YouTube video editing stuff when I was a repressed and dorky teen, these days, I do have a life (okay, sort of). I just don't have the time.

So I decided to take everything I love about Doctor Who -- the character, the show, the institution -- and cram it all into one clip. Whether you love it, laugh at it or don't have a clue, consider this a tribute, a warning or a primer. I called it 43 years, 10 Doctors, 5-and-a-half minutes and it does what it says on the tin:



That's it! I'm spent! No more TV!
Well, except for Heroes, which Josh tells me I should be watching.
Oh, and Dexter, which looks nastily funny.
Oh, and Lost Of course.

Sigh.

Stephen King says that people are always asking him where he gets his ideas. I want to know how he writes 1400-word novels every month and still finds time to write essays on Veronica Mars!

Labels: Doctor Who, England, MeTube, music, Pet Shop Boys, Trawna, tributes, TV, writing

British writer Russell T. Davies is one of my pop-culture heroes.

First, he creates the original (and still superior) version of Queer as Folk.
Then, he upsets his new gay fans with Bob and Rose, a comedy-drama about a gay man and a straight woman who fall in love.
Next, he scandalizes England with Christopher Eccleston as the reincarnation of Christ in The Second Coming.
Then, just to finish up, he transforms the entire UK TV industry by not only deciding to revive BBC's silly relic Doctor Who but making it a massive success, proving that Saturday night family viewing is still possible (or Monday on CBC, hint hint).

Now, he's throwing his whole career into a blender (along with a splash of The X-Files) as he debuts his sci-fi/horror cop show Torchwood, with John Barrowman reprising his instantly-beloved role of Captain Jack Harkness from the first season of Who. When I mentioned the proposed show in an article a few months back, I quoted Davies promising a "dark, wild and sexy" series and now, as BBC 3 starts its promos, we can judge for ourselves:

Labels: Doctor Who, England, evolution, tributes, TV, war - what is it good for?

Goosebumps!

(Let's just hope it doesn't take the CBC another year before they air it...)

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

 

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I'm lucky to have a small but diverse fanclub here as we ramble on, so I imagine many of you will have little interest in Philip Olivier. The rest, however, certainly might. Allow me to introduce you to the man who, as I said to Robert today, would be my husband in a perfect world. "No," said Robert, "In a perfect world, he'd be my husband."

While we armwrestle, I'll let the rest of you know that Mr. Olivier is a British soap opera actor, athlete and Doctor Who sidekick -- clearly a concerted plan to make me fall in love in him. Plus, he has the endearing habit of apparently leaving his clothes behind whenever he leaves the house. Last year, he posed for his own beefcake calendar and a gay magazine recently informed him that 70% of the buyers were men. "I've never known why gay men like me so much," he says, "but they've kept me working!"

More importantly, this straight man has hosted Pride parades in the UK and said, "I used to think my gay friends had a choice, but it isn't their choice. When you are gay it affects your whole life."

You see? A concerted plan! Now here he goes, dropping his pants again. Thanks, Phil!

Labels: comic books, Doctor Who, friends, homo-a-go-go, tributes, TV

And to think I came here for the Pecan Pie recipe...

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

 

That's filled my head with the image of Philip Olivier feeding me pecan pie.


I can die now!

-- Reply posted by  Scott at October 13, 2006

 

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It took a while but I've grown to completely adore the South Park guys. The endless stream of lowbrow poop jokes and snide cheap shots left me cold until, after being exposed to enough of it, I began to see the sharp minds and warm hearts lurking behind the construction-paper animation.

This little highlight reel of last year's "Trapped in the Closet" episode makes me laugh out loud -- who knew such a cheap yet devastating takedown of Scientology could be kind of sweet?

Labels: religion, silliness, tributes, TV

Boston Globe writer Johnny Diaz deserves huge credit for being out on the job but, as he reports from this year's National Gay and Lesbian Journalists Association conference, it's Thomas Roberts from CNN who deserves huge applause: "Being a panel speaker at a gay journalists conference, he said, was the biggest step he took to really being out in public."

This, however, is not the bravest thing Roberts has done. Years ago, he came forward to testify against Jerome Toohey Jr., a Catholic priest who'd molested Roberts and another high schooler back in the eighties. Roberts' mother feared that her son might be gay and sent him to the priest for counseling.

Roberts told the audience that he's discussing his sexuality now because he's "proud of his partner" and, while people continue to speculate about the sex life of another CNN anchor, Roberts advises, "When you hold something back, that's all everyone wants to know." Exactly.

Sadly, there may be a point to that hiding -- mere days after his announcement, Roberts' 6 o'clock newscast has been cancelled. I hope there's no connection there but, either way, congratulations to a man who not only deals in the truth but lives it.

Labels: homo-a-go-go, media, religion, tributes

As his career begins its third decade, the genius of Morrissey is that we've never really known if it's all been a joke or not. The Duke of Despair, the Sultan of Self-Loathing, he became an icon to a generation of self-absorbed black-clad teenagers growing up lost and lonely in the day-glo dismal 1980's.

Yet, as a mellow 21st-century adult, I listen to those Smiths albums and I still love them because they're so very, very funny. Take the lyrical crescendo from possibly their greatest song, "How Soon is Now?":

There's a club if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home and you cry
And you want to die

That over-the-top wallowing is shriekingly hilarious to me now and yet I'd be lying if I said there was never a night when I came home feeling exactly like that. When the world kicked you in the teeth, Morrissey was there. He understood. Even while, quite possibly, he knew how ridiculous such despair would seem in the light of the next morning. Total genius.

The secret to The Smiths' massive success was the way Johnny Marr piled on the friendliest of jangly guitar-pop while Morrissey's lyrics tugged the other way with outlandish moaning:

I know I'm unloveable
You don't have to tell me
I don't have much in my life
But take it - it's yours

After the Smiths broke up in 1987, many predicted Morrissey would flounder without Marr's talent but he proved to be a savvy judge of collaborators and issued a run of solid albums like 'Your Arsenal' and 'Vauxhall and I' until, somehow, that wisp of humour in his material faded.

Maybe it was the court case: Mike Joyce, former Smiths drummer, sued Morrissey and Johnny Marr in 1996 for royalties acknowledgement. The judge awarded him a million pounds in back royalties and branded Morrissey "devious, truculent and unreliable".
By 1998, 'the Mozzer' was writing songs like this:

You pleaded and squealed
And you think you've won
But Sorrow will come
To you in the end
And as sure as my words are pure
I praise the day that brings you pain

Meanwhile, England was now in love with itself -- celebrating 'BritPop' and 'Cool Britannia' with Oasis, Blur and the Spice Girls. Morrissey's brand of epic gloom was now decidedly out of favour. So he vanished, moved to LA and dropped out of the music scene he was starting to hate. Most of us fans fondly closed the book on a fine career.

Six years later, Morrissey suddenly reappeared -- stockier, healthier, greying at the temples and, well, older. It was a jarring sight but he had come back with 'You Are The Quarry' -- his boldest, sharpest, funniest, saddest album in a decade. All of his legendary solipsistic self-pity was in full effect -- "How Could Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?" indeed -- but now there was a trace of anger, a newfound sense of purpose in his politics, notably in the bold-at-the-time "America is Not the World."

During a concert last summer, Morrissey announced that Ronald Reagan had just died and infamously added, "Bush should have died, not Reagan." Following that comment, he revealed earlier this year that "the FBI and the Special Branch have investigated me and I've been interviewed and taped and so forth. They were trying to determine if I was a threat to the government, and similarly in England. But it didn't take them very long to realise that I'm not."

But the most intriguing thing about 'Quarry' was that a couple of the songs sounded almost...happy. The jaunty rocker "First of the Gang to Die" was a odd little gift to his large Latino fanbase and the bubbly electronica of "I Like You" sounded like the closest thing to a pop love song we would ever get from him. Since announcing he was celibate way back in 1983, people had wondered if Morrissey was truly as miserably lonely as he proclaimed or if -- given all the homoerotic imagery threading through so many of his songs -- this was just a ploy to keep his closet door shut. In a candid 1992 interview, he said :

I feel completely open. If I met somebody tomorrow, male or female, and they loved me and I loved them, I would openly proclaim that I loved them, regardless of what they were...One of my physical encounters was with a man. That was 10 years ago. It was just a very brief, absurd and amusing moment. It wasn't love. I have never experienced that.

Until 'Quarry', he didn't seem to mind so much but the album's high-point was an epic confessional anthem, "I Have Forgiven Jesus":

Why did you give me so much desire
When there is nowhere I can go to offload this desire?
And why did you give me so much love in a loveless world
When there is no one I can turn to to unlock all this love?
And why did you stick me in self-deprecating bones and skin?
Jesus, do you hate me?

For perhaps the first time, Morrissey's despair seemed entirely genuine -- an anger at the world, the Church, himself, for a life spent without love.

Until now.


Morrissey's new album arrives this week -- with the crazy title 'Ringleader of the Tormentors' -- and it's the sound of a man who's apparently stopped "turning sickness into popular song" and embraced life. While his misanthropy is firmly intact -- "I see the world, it makes me puke" -- it's twisted through with declarations of love:

Can you stop this pain?
Even now in the final hour of my life
I’m falling in love again

That bit is set against pounding, apocalyptic kettle drums and a gorgeous string section. With the help of legendary Bowie & T-Rex producer Tony Visconti, Morrissey sounds more vital than ever and, in case we've missed the point, the final song is called "At Last I Am Born":

I once thought I had numerous reasons to cry
And I did, but I don’t anymore
Because I am born, born, born
...
I once was a mess of guilt because of the flesh
It’s remarkable what you can learn
Once you are born, born, born

It's shocking to hear Morrissey sing about being in love, being happy and -- frankly -- getting laid. "Dear God, Please Help Me" is a sort-of-sequel to "I Have Forgiven Jesus," only the despair has been erased by sex and love:

Then he motions to me
With his hand on my knee
Dear God, did this kind of thing happen to you?
...
And now I am walking through Rome
And there is no room to move
But the heart feels free
The heart feels free
The heart feels free

His voice soars. It's exhilarating because, having followed his career for so long, I know that if a miserable, self-absorbed, vain misanthrope like Steven Morrissey can learn to love at the age of 47, there's hope for any of us.

Labels: homo-a-go-go, music, the 80s, tributes

I went to visit my family in Hamilton this weekend and my dad and I watched HBO's "Real Time with Bill Maher" (love that satellite dish!) My dad likes Maher because, well, he's a bit of an asshole but one of the few TV pundits who values common sense over left-wing-right-wing dogma. He's mean, he's funny, he's usually right.

As a long-time critic of Bush's obvious faults, Maher was clearly bewildered by the results of the election, notably the exit polls citing moral values as the chief issue among Bush voters. "The election is over," Maher announced, "and all I can say is, 'Praise Jesus!'...Tuesday, George Bush was elected president of the United States. You know what they say? The first time is always the sweetest."

In conversation with his guests, he was clearly as irritated as I was by the assertion that atheists or non-Christians have no morals or values:

Am I not entitled to the opinion that science should have precedence over faith? That rationality should have precedence over belief in Jesus? That the Constitution is more important than the Bible, at least as far as running a government goes?...When we talk about values, I think of rationality in solving problems. That's something I value. Fairness, kindness, generosity, tolerance. That's different.

Let's be honest - this electorate has switched because that Christian right has taken over the Republican Party. They started it in the '80s with Reagan and Pat Robertson. And like a parasite on a host, they now own it...But when we have an election in the middle of a war and an existential fight about terrorism, and we’re fighting about boys kissing, I’m sorry, there is a big problem in this country.

Yes, Bill Maher became my hero last weekend and wrapped up his show and season with this:

So, Democrats - Democrats and liberals - stop saying you're going to move because Bush won. Real liberals should be pledging to stay because Bush won. Trust me, you can't get away from Bush by moving to France. Because that's where we're invading next.

Labels: family, George W Bush, religion, tributes, TV

SUPERMAN

There's not much else I can add to the eulogies for Christopher Reeve, except that he accomplished something few other actors in his position have.
Sean Connery resented being typecast as James Bond.
William Shatner has struggled to maintain the icon status he once enjoyed as Captain Kirk.
Jeremy Brett nearly lost all separation between himself and his legendary character, Sherlock Holmes.

But Christopher Reeve not only embodied Superman in his film series but became a real-life superhero after his devastating horseriding accident in 1995. He became a symbol of hope for people with disabilities, for scientists working on treatments and everyone else who marvelled at his determination and good humour.

He became bigger than the icon he played in the movies.

Labels: comic books, tributes