Don't get it twisted, y'all! Ebony--who I never thought was attractive to begin with--got ousted last night on ANTM. Maybe if she had taken one good picture, she would have beaten plus-sized latina Diane. Best picture last night--Nicole. Runner-up--Nik. My money's still on Lisa for the win.
To get you up to speed, some young Hollywood actor is a homo who has been seen around town being all kissy face w/ boys (or, at least one boy in particular).
Big ups to my girl K for pointin' me to this site. Apparently, Puberty: The Movie will be coming (ahem) out sometime next year. It features Joe Lo Truglio of "The State" and Wet, Hot American Summer, Todd Barry who is wikkid funny, David Wain also of "The State" and "Stella", and Eugene Mirman who is kinda funny.
I never really think of myself as a TV person, but here it is, the beginning of the fall season, and I find myself entranced by the glowing light box.
Last night's Arrested Development sealed the deal--this is the funniest show that has ever been on television. The set-ups are funny, the payoffs are funny. Everything goes for the joke and few (if any) miss the mark. Will Arnett as GOB was definitely my favorite last night. Not as much Lucille as I generally like, but Buster's hand in the dishwasher was (another) stroke of genius. I've been waiting with bated breath for Scott Baio's return to the small screen (he was recently in the abhorrent Cursed) and next week, he'll join the cast the Bluth family's new lawyer--Bob Loblaw. And, in case you're bored at work, check out this funny site erected for the shows debut.
You know what is different about my viewing habits this year? There is a communal element that has been missing since college. Matt and I watch Arrested Development on Mondays. Kelley and I watch Gilmore Girls on Tuesdays. Bill, Cam, Derek, and I watch America's Next Top Model on Wednesdays. Its been really great to bond with people over a TV show, rather than just watching at home by myself and talking with people about them the next day.
I think that after So You Think You Can Dance? ends, I'll have to add Veronica Mars to my Wednesday night viewing. My much beloved Joss Whedon is doing a cameo in episode 3. Charisma Carpenter is joining the cast, and Allyson Hannigan is doing a guest spot.
Oh television, I love you so. (Much more than Wm. Steven Humphreys.)
Lighter subjects: My weekend in review.
Friday night I hit up the War Room for Andy Caldwell. The usual suspects were there along with a ton of really annoying people. You know, the kind that elbow their way onto to the dancefloor just to stand around and talk. The kind that grind all up on the ladies then act pissed when they get rebuffed. I almost burned a girl's hair with my cigarette--twice. I often contend that the major reason for maintaining my smoking habit is to exact revenge on the dancefloor.
You know the crowd was annoying if Paul was screaming at some girl, "TRASH!! TRASH!!" Well, he said what all of us were thinking. The track selection was actually really good, and like K pointed out, it was like he was throwing away perfectly good music on total retards. Ah well, all nights can't be amazing, right?
Saturday day, did a bunch of nothin'. Tried to go shopping at Fred Meyer's but just got the feeling that all the people there were related to the people who were at the War Room. If you couldn't tell, I get peeved easily. That night K invited me to use an extra pass for the Decibel Festival. HELL YES!! Deadbeat was adorable wearing pants that were too big and a shirt that was too small. He chain smoked behind his laptop and smiled so big when the crowd applauded him. For me, he was a little too dub, and that's just not the kind of music you dance to (smoke to, maybe). Then came Akufen who threw the dirtiest basslines and bassiest kick drums right through me. It was one of those sets where your heartbeat takes on the beat of the music. If the bass had been any heavier, I'm sure people on the dancefloor would have evacuated their bowels. Here comes the lame part: I left early. I couldn't do it. I'm getting too old. I only made it through about forty-five minutes.
Sunday: Went to the car wash. One of the guys working there was scrubbing down the outside of the car before I went through. We made eye contact. I smiled. He smiled. I came out the other side and the towel boy is drying me off. Here comes the guy who was scrubbing me down. He asks me to roll down my window. I do. "I get off at 8:00," he says. "You should stop by around 8:15. My name is Francisco. What's yours?" Made. My. Day.
Did I return, you wonder? Did I go and have some hot car wash sex?
You know me better than that.
Y'know what I think is funny--how he knew I was gay. I mean, for me, I always feel like I have "FAG" tatooed across my forehead--but there was nothing, just a smile. Maybe I just have a gay face.
And, for your edification, a parody of the Paris Hilton car wash video.
Last night I went over to Matt's for the season premiere of Arrested Development and both of us were pleased with the opener. Lucille, Buster, Michael, GOB, Lindsay, and the gang delighted us with their silly antics. My favorite line had something to do with a "dusty old claptrap." Seaward, indeed.
Friday. Went on third worst date ever. Upon returning from the restroom, my suitor asked me if I wanted to "bust a nut all over his face." Guh-ross.
Saturday. Caught up with Netflix movies.
Sunday. Brunch at the Wild Mountain Cafe with Geoff. Hellbent later that evening with Bill, Geoff, Cameron, and Cameron's sister Ashley. Then the Cuff with Bill, and finally Re-Bar.
First I'll give you my review of Hellbent. My expectations were low. Said expectations were met. There were also a couple clever constructs--like a glass eye. All in all, there wasn't enough boy-on-boy action although there was plenty of flesh. The gore was pretty good and the scares were non-existent. This is the longest review that a film of this caliber warrants.
Now, about the date.
That, my friends, would be the Golden City. The first time I went to the Golden City, I was treated to a stabbing. This alone does not make the Golden City the dive-iest. It merely puts it in the company with the pre-hipster days Crescent. One time Maggie and some of her Elliot Bay cohorts had the same request as Bill. Dive-bar. Ballard. Go. As we arrived, an altercation between two drunken men was taking place outside the bar. The gang opted for the second seediest dive bar. Ah well, their loss.
Luckily, the bar lived up to the reputation on Saturday. Neither Bill nor myself were disappointed. The nicotine stained painting of a riverboat, replete with the Negroes playing the banjo, welcomed us. The bartendress was aged beyond her years from hard-living. An old man sat at a stool on one side of the bar. A middle aged woman at the other. His glasses were thick and rimmed with square black plastic. Her discman provided her with tunes (thankfully) inaudible to the rest of the bar. Both were well into their cups.
Bill and I ordered and grabbed a seat. We each chose songs for the jukebox. When Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper" came on, the woman at the bar ripped her headphones off and lazily exclaimed, "I love this fuckin' song!"
And she did, too. She gyrated and sang-along--when she remembered what she was doing.
She gyrated all the way to the old man who told her to, "Keep [her] filthy fuckin' harlot hands off of [him]." She was dejected then ejected. She tried to run back in, but the bartendress kept her at bay.
The next colorful character was a man selling steak and cheese from his backpack. Had I known that he had a block of Tillamook, I gladly would have purchased it from him. As it stood, the bartendress got to the booty well before me. Everyone passed on the steak, though. There;s just something a little oogy about purchasing beef out from someone's backpack.
The final person to grace us with his presence was an artist. A real live artist!! He was a poet, too. Well, more of a rapper. He had this Eminem schtick down. He regaled us with not one, not two, but three different poems. Each misogynistic and bigoted in its own unique way. He, apparently, was on drugs. ("My toxicology report would look like a phone book," he said multiple times.)
But that was about all I could take. Dive right in, everyone, the bar is fine.
|You're a Freaky Kisser|
When you kiss, you want to experience something new
A new technique, a new partner, a new piercing...
And your own personal kissing style is very unpredictable
There's no saying where your tongue or hands will go
I meant to post on this yesterday, but I'm glad I didn't. At the end of NBC's newscast yesterday, Brian Williams mentioned that they would be referring to the people left devastated and homeless after hurricane Katrina as "survivors" or "evacuees" rather than "refugees." Article here. Apparently, some people wrote in bothered by the word refugee.
Fuck Jesse Jackson and his belief that the word refugee has race implications!!
And fuck those right-wing, kumbayah singing, we're-all-gonna-make-it-through-this douche bags!
Oh my god, did I just say that?
Here's what I'm talking about.
refugee - One who flees in search of refuge, as in times of war, political oppression, or religious persecution.
Now let's look at the verbs on which these nouns are based.
Protection or shelter, as from danger or hardship.
A place providing protection or shelter.
A source of help, relief, or comfort in times of trouble.
To withdraw from or vacate a place or area, especially as a protective measure.
To excrete waste matter from the body.
Sorry for that second definition of evacuate, but I can't resist referencing poop.
Anyway, I know that those people are thinking, We don't have refugees in our country! Refugees are those poor people we don't care about in Africa.
Well, guess what? We do have refugees. Perhaps if there had been more preventitive measures taken, and these people weren't surrounded by death and disease for over five days, we would merely have evacuees. The government fucked up. Across the board--fucked up. And, unlike Harry S. Truman, Bush's buck starts at the President's desk and gets passed to just about everyone. I see the change in words as a way in which these blind people are continuing to pass the buck and lessen the severity of the disaster. And the fact that the "liberal media" kowtows to these cross-huggin', bigoted fuck-ups only exacerbates the matter (and validates their screwed up beliefs).
We have refugees. We are not above having refugees. We need to focus on providing refuge.
In other news, Arnold has decided to veto the CA gay marriage bill. Woohoo! One small step (backwards) for mankind! I could go on about the principles of equality and our founding fathers' belief in a secualr government, but I'm sure other people have already done a better job than me. So I just want to say "Fuck you" to people like BoiFromTroy (Sept. 7th entry) and other self-hating queers that actually believe they can have a voice in a party whose constituents wish they didn't exist.
So, "Fuck you!"
And, you, gentle reader, thanks for listening to me bitch.
I didn't get off work until midnight on Sunday (Monday morning), but as a I drove up, the kick drum summoned me through the door. Matty, Dominique, David, and Jared were outside each sweaty from dancing and genrous with hugs.
The selections weren't the tightest, and Wesley was so blotto that Papa spun a few. For some reason, it didn't matter. The place was packed and after downing a couple of drinks, I was out on the floor. Moments later, I found Bill and the two of us tore up that old dancefloor.
Its really hard to describe how house music can change your mood. How it is much more than the kick drum and hi-hat. How dancing brings you closer to people and to community. Its hard to describe those things to someone who doesn't know it. So, I hope you come out sometime and experience it. I don't don't go to church as often as I should, but when I do, I gotta thank God for the music.