It has begun

The Seattle International Film Festival kicked off last Thursday with a film entitled Son of Rambow. So many factions of friends had contacted me about going to see different films, that I caved and got a package for 20 films. I know, it sounds like a lot, but if you consider that most of the time I will be taking a companion, that only amounts to 10 films.
That still sounds like a lot which is why I will most likely be selling (at bargain basement prices) other pairs of tickets to friends, roommates, or strangers.

Phil and I made it to the midnight showing of Them on Friday. Them is a French horror film that is acted ably by its two leads, Olivia Bonamy and the very attractive Michael Cohen. The fact that the film was in another language did, for some reason, add to the suspense, but overall, the film was a major bomb. In fact, I can't think of any effective French horror film. Brotherhood of the Wolf and High Tension were both mildly successful exports, but neither truly understood the mechanics of scaring. Them can be added to this list of unsuccessful French horror films.
Basically, the story is of a couple who are tormented by someone (or some ones) in their French provincial home. It is purportedly based on a true story, but the big "twist" at the end pales in comparison to horror masterpieces like
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre's cannibal killers.
From an aesthetic standpoint, I was disappointed in the desaturated images. Color had been all but banished from the film. The set, which very well could have been an actual house, was quite nice. It, more than anything else, lent itself to horror. The whitewashed walls were uneven and the tall doors frequently broke the top of the frame. The story really lost momentum once the couple left the house.
Before the film, a short entitled
The Eyes of Edward James played. The runtime on it was fifteen minutes and, through the use of voice over and a first person point of view, the director quickly sets a mood. The story is basically that of a hypnotist walking someone through a traumatic event they experienced. Unfortunately, there isn't enough visual cueing for the ending to really be effective. Additionally, we never get a sense of what happened in the house so the revelation at the end doesn't pack a punch. I believe the production company was called "Rue Morgue," and the story is much like a Poe tale, but could have been rendered a little more clearly.

Saturday, I met
Keith and Risa for Judd Apatow's highly anticipated Knocked Up. It was a great film with tons of laughs. The entire cast hit their notes, and with the exception of one un-needed scene pushing the run time over two hours, the film was great. The theater was packed and laughing non-stop. I think it gets its wide release this Friday. You'll probably like it. (I know this guy will like it.)


I, Prostitue

The FDA recently called me an intravenous drug user and prostitute. Well, what they really said was that any man who has had sex with another man since 1977 is a drug-using prostitue. Okay, what they really said is that gay men still cannot give blood. The Red Cross, international blood association, and America's Blood Center all recommended a lift on the ban because modern HIV testing methods make the archaic rule obsolete. [article]
But the FDA, that lovely governmental workhorse headed by Andrew von Eschenbach, whose nomination for the position, consequently, was opposed by my senator, has chosen the path that this administration has taken over and over again--the path of fear.
Fear based discrimination is the easiest to spread and it is a choice this administration makes over and over again.
On a similar note, more gay linguists have been discharged from the army. [article]
And, of course, we have the contingency of African-American pastors lobbying congress. [article]
I'm tired of being made to feel like a second-class citizen. I'm tired that these drops in the bucket aren't overflowing--that we're all just taking it.


And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest

Last night a tiny piece of me died. My very beloved Veronica Mars ended its run with a two-hour finale. I thought both episodes were quite good. They were a throwback to the early episodes and brought back many of the shows characters for a final goodbye. Many of the shows mysteries will go unsolved, but I'm okay with that. I will miss the show greatly, but the three stellar years it had on the air were satisfying.
Cheers to the cast and crew for demanding quality--even when kowtowing to the suits.

You probably noticed that the look of the vault has changed. I wanted to utilize the archiving and labeling functions more effectively, so I downloaded a new skin. I will be tweaking it over the coming weeks. Currently, I am going through my old posts and labeling them. My labels are kind of all over the place and I hope to consolidate them sometime after they have all been labeled.



As I was watching Cheaters this weekend, a revelation came to me. It was as though the heavens opened up and revealed a tiny secret.

Being one of the few, proud bloggers who have met
GayProf, I am frequently asked to describe GayProf's Gravitas. Besides the fact that it warrants a capital 'G,' his Gravitas has heretofore been ethereal. Sure, you can glean the tone from his stellar writing, but besides the occasional (skewed) reference to Stone Phillips I've never been able to put it into words.

Let me do so now.

GayProf=Joey Greco=GayProf=Joey Greco (ad infinitum)

We're just talking Gravitas here, tho. All other similarities end there. Obviously, Prof is much more attractive and intelligent. Some people even say he's the most desirable man on the internet. (No argument here--mainly because I couldn't take the weight of his Gravitas berating me for disagreeing.)

Here's an example of what I mean:


Tonight I wanna house you

So the new computer's here and that means I might be able to actually get a handle on my music collection. It also means that I can finally do screencaps and that I will (eventually) return to the canon of queer cinema. I know, you're totally stoked. Me, too. I'm finally going to clear my work computer of things like MixMeister and I'll start doing more picture stuff. I swear.

So I just spent a lot of money on Beatport. The least I can do is offer up some tracks for review purposes. As always, these tracks are not to be distributed and are for reviewing purposes only. They will remain on the site for a short time.

I would love to hear your takes on them, so feel free to comment.

First up is Chin Chin on Dialect records. I wasn't familiar with Chin Chin at all. I found the tracks because Chicken Lips remixes Appetite. Anyway, I was more fond of the original mix. The xylophone in the middle makes me think of a dance sequence from Love Boat or Fantasy Island. Another track on the EP is You Can't Hold Her which is more a tip of the hat to mid-70's soul with its horns. Really nice releases and a reminder that house music can be sexy and tongue-in-cheek all in one fell swoop.

So those two tracks are a bit of a departure from the sounds I've been ingesting lately. Much more on-par w/ my typical tastes is Ritch & Collins track on Get Physical, Fortuna. I really like the rave-y synth that comes in around 2:50. And I like the sorta bouncy (breathy?) bassline. All four releases on this EP are stellar.

What's that? You want all 4? Greedy bastards. Fine!

Perhaps one of the strongest releases I've heard in a while comes from Tom Mangan on Souvenir. My Mysterious Ex-Teacher and the b-side, Texas are wonderfully constructed and expertly executed. If the real Texas were even marginally as beautiful as this track, chances are 7 days would not have been enough.

I got tons more, too, but I'm not gonna blow my wad all in one post. I'll stretch it out. (Oh, and in case you're paying attention, there's now a Box widget in the sidebar which contains all the tracks.)

So, in music news of a totally different vein, the Tony nominations were announced on Monday.

I'm sure you know that Grey Gardens, the documentary you know and love, has been made into a musical starring the amazingly talented Christine Ebersole.

Check her out singing "Revolutionary Costume". Tell me she's not channeling Little Edie.



Its funny how a week in Texas can feel like a year. It was hot. I slept inverted on the bed so that my head was directly under the fan. I tossed and turned like I haven't since I was an adolescent--I was in the room the room that was once mine, but now had the bed frame from my grandmother's house not my waterbed. The Billabong charcoal drawing that adorned the southfacing wall (a remnant from the times when my brother slept in the room) has been painted over, a lovely shade of green. My Catwoman poster has been replaced with some antique baptism gown or baby doll gown. Its luminesence in the night makes me think of the ghost of a dead child.
Beads of sweat materialize to dampen my pillow moments later because, and I think I've mentioned this, it was hot.
I drank a lot but only got drunk when I added tequila to my Bud Light (a trick my brother and his friend use at Jimmy Buffett concerts).
If there had been cigarettes around, I would have smoked them. Well, maybe.
This weekend also brought sad news about my mom's sister. She may have cancer of the pancreas. I saw my mother sob like I haven't in since--well, since the times when I made her cry. So I promised her that I would pray for my aunt. I promised my aunt that I would pray for her.
Those are lies that I still tell. I think coming out as an atheist to my family would be much more difficult than coming out as a homo was.
My family's lives feel like willful ignorance. They feel like Texas.
I also had dinner with three people I was in choir with in high school--1 guy and 2 girls. I slept with the guy on a regular basis. We never kissed. Seeing him again was bizarre. He looks just like his father, but acts just the same as when I knew him. He burst into some of the songs we sang in choir. All three of them remembered things of which I had no recollection.
He likes Buffy and Battlestar Galactica, and he's getting married for the second time in July. See? Experimentation during adolescence is completely normal--and I'm glad I had someone to practice on.
I told him that I was ordained and could perform his wedding ceremony.
All three of my dinner companions gave me a look like I was a little bit heretical.
My allergies were out of control. On the way to the airport this morning, I sneezed more than I have in the past year here in Seattle. The plane was delayed two hours because we needed a part. We weren't allowed to de-plane until 45 minutes later. Old women were complaining and children were crying. It was hot.
I am spent.

(More tomorrow, like what the new banner's all about.)


Like a prom dress

Well, I know things haven't been too exciting on ye olde blogge lately, and I apologize for that. Hopefully now that I have a computer at home again, I'll have time to blog more. You know, when this whole thing started, blogging at work was really easy. These days, I hardly have time for it at work.

I'm one week smoke free. Friday and Saturday nights were tough, but overall, it hasn't been as difficult this time around. My willpower and resolve are much stronger for some reason. I have this mindset of, I can't have a cigarette because if I have one I'll be smoking again. I really don't want to ruin the momentum that I've gained.

Anyway, I'm off to the scorched piece of earth known as Texas. My dad's turning 70. I really can't believe that. I'll get to see the nieces and nephews which is great.

So, I'm gonna leave you with "Turkey Lurkey Time" from the musical Promises, Promises. This clip is actually from the movie "Camp" which is cute, and you should check it out if you get a chance. Please watch it at least five times in a row. I hope it gets stuck in your head for as long as its been stuck in mine. Damn you Burt Bacharach!!!



4 more episodes of Veronica Mars left. (Chances of it getting picked up are VERY slim.)
13 hours without a cigarette.
2 days until my new computer arrives.
1 week until I leave for Texas.