I need to say "our" more.
I want him to be comfortable, too.
So, in the meantime, young master Phil had never heard of Ann Jillian but was familiar with her turn as the Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland. So, for a trip down memory lane, I give you two intros 80's sitcoms that sorta kinda made me queer(er).
Now I can direct them to this video, which is accurate for both the music and fashion chosen to represent each style.
Oh, and I don't think I mentioned waaaay back in October that the documentary about Arthur Russell played at the Gay and Lesbian Film Festival. I wish I had gone to see it. It would have kept in the tradition of Godfather of Disco from the year prior. And, along with Mel Cheren, Morricone, Moroder, and others, Russell was a founder of some of the best music I've ever heard. Anyway, here's the trailer:
And as an added bonus, one of Russell's brilliant tracks.
And I don't know if you caught it, but Rodney King extinguished any doubt of the love homos have for their melanin enhanced brothers and sisters on this week's Celeb Rehab.
Keith Olberman just made an emotional plea regarding Prop 8. It is quite good and I recommend passing it along to anyone who maybe doesn't quite have a handle on the issue.
Obviously, I believe that if two people can enter into a civil contract called marriage, that that contract should not be predicated on the basis that the two parties are of the opposite sex.
Add to California's misstep Florida and Arizona's similar amendments. Then Arkansas' refusal to allow "unmarried cohabitating adults" to foster or adopt a child, and finally Kansas' repealing of Affirmative Action and all I see is white man's rage--oh and a lot of self-righteous Christianity.
So . . . I'm just waiting out these final days of the Bush administration.
I'm waiting for President Obama to repeal Don't Ask, Don't Tell.
I'm waiting for Supreme Court Justice Hillary Clinton to write a majority finding that states cannot write bigotry into their constitutions.
I'm waiting for . . . Wrath of the Lich King to be released on Thursday--when I'm playing my video game, I almost don't care that there is much work to be done.
If you ask me about it in person, I will deny it.
But I had to say something, because today, Sherri Lewis (ok, I know that's not her real last name, but I can never remember her real last name) got into it with that dumb bitch Elisabeth Hasselhoff (ok, I also realize that is not her last name, but I like to imagine that her husband is the Hoff and not some football player).
So as I was watching them hiss and show their claws, I thought, "I would really just like to give that highstrung, uptight bitch a hit of ecstasy, hold her in my arms, stroke her hair, and extol the virtues of analingus to her."
Also, I would like to encourage the studio audience to begin booing Elisabeth.
The night ended with C2's killer remix of ultra-classic "Good Life" by Inner City.
I wish I could say that Sunday's show was as solid, but Supermayer, while raising the bar from ear-numbing opener Flying Lotus was only mediocre. Their set never really took off and they seemed more intent on branding a sound than on shaking the dancefloor. That's ok, though, leaving early gave me time to watch the newest episode of Mad Men when I got home. Plus, I was still recovering from the work over Carl Craig gave me.
Decibel Festival '06
Decibel Festival '07
I'm only making a point of going on Saturday and Sunday.
Saturday for Carl Craig and Matthew Dear as Audion and Sunday for Supermayer.
I plan on dancing--a lot.
I hope you lost your new job now that investment banks are going tits up.
I hope your fat girlfriend annoys you one tenth the amount that you annoyed me.
You were never a friend, and if I had known that all it would have taken to get your fat ass to move out was throwing out your food, I would have done it sooner.
The place doesn't stink as much.
The place is generally picked up.
It is significantly quieter.
Things are looking up.
Jim Henson's The Muppet Movie
Tarsem's The Fall
Paris Hilton's The Hottie and the Nottie
And if you have a life that doesn't revolve around chasing the dragon (of sleep) then I'd recommend going to see the director's cut Donnie Darko tonight at the Egyptian.
It features a cover of this song:
I prefer the original.
Some of you know that she was in town for the week. Her 81 year-old great-grandmother lives in West Seattle, so Lauren and her aunt and uncle from Fort Worth came to spend a week with the octagenarian. I had planned to keep her occupied on Thursday.
So I picked Lauren up from the airport on Saturday. She was an unaccompanied minor. USAirways managed to keep me detained at the kiosk check-in for over an hour. I didn't have a confirmation number or pass because I was picking up a minor, so the ticket agents kepts shooing me away. My niece called me agitated--was I ever going to come to the gate? After the two ticketing agents checked in three flights, they asked me if they could help me. Yes, I informed them, my niece is waiting at the gate for me to come get her.
"Really," asked one of the ticketing agents, "Why didn't you just tell us that you were picking up an unaccompanied minor?" I muttered under my breath that I had, and that this "service" cost my brother and sister-in-law two hundred dollars.
After standing another half hour or so in security, I made my way to the gate where my niece was waiting. She was wearing the same outfit that she wore to my aunt's funeral. It was very formal and, I later learned, very uncomfortable. She had her iPod and issues of MinX, Seventeen and Cosmo Girl.
We descended to the baggage claim as the piece of luggage that read, "Final piece for USAirways" made it way onto the carousel. Of the luggage still in rotation, none belonged to my niece. This put her nearly over the edge. "It'll be fine," I told her. "It probably just got on the next flight. We'll go to Target and get you some sweats, pjs, and a toothbrush." And that's what we did. I left her with her great-grandmother, and returned home for a few days of work.
I met Lauren, her great-grandmother, her aunt, and her uncle for lunch on Wednesday everyone's favorite, Blue C Sushi.
Thursday, I came over around noon and Lauren and I bussed into the city. This was my day to show her the city. We got sandwiches at Salumi and took them to the UPS/Waterfall park. Then we went to the library, and then we made our way to the Seattle Art Museum. Her fingers were rarely away from her phone, furiously texting a battery of friends back east. I showed her her first Warhol, Rothko, Pollack, Manet, Monet, Degas and others. Between pieces, she texted.
Somehow, I doubt the texts looks like this, "omg! pollack sux da big one!!!1! lol!" or "rofl warhol wtf?" or "manet ftw!!1111!!!!"
Then it was up to Seattle Center where she had been before, so I didn't have to waste precious money on a trip to the top of the needle. For dinner, we went to one of my favorite places, 611 Supreme. Lauren only had soup. The topper for the evening was the world-premiere of Shrek: The Musical at the 5th Avenue theater. The show is Broadway bound and I was happy that my niece and I could see it together.
Needless to say, Thursday really wiped me out. Her great-grandmother had mentioned taking us to Tillicum Village on Friday, but I told Lauren to get me out of it. So when the phone started ringing on Friday morning, I ignored it, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
I could not, however, ignore the knocking at my door Friday morning.
Lauren's aunt was standing at the door with Lauren. "Guess what! You just gave birth to a 13 year-old girl," she said as she pulled Lauren's suitcase onto the porch. I was still out of it and didn't really understand what was going on. It turns out that Lauren's great-grandmother had a bout with dementia and accused all of them of stealing from her. There was name-calling, and overall it sounded like a pretty crummy time.
I removed The Big Penis Book from the coffee table and tidied up as best I could in a short amount of time. So I got to spend a couple extra days with niece. My niece who likes Guns'n'Roses and Marilyn Manson and Celine Dion and Shania Twain. We talked about video games and I let her play some of my World of Warcraft characters. She's the first member of my family to meet Phil. "Phil's really great," she told me on our car ride to the airport on Sunday.
"Yeah, he is, isn't he," I replied. So maybe this is that summer for her--you know the one like in those coming-of-age stories--the kind that change your life. Maybe its that kind of summer for me.
And then I heard this story on NPR. I liked it quite a bit, but it added to that feeling.
A couple lines about this summer's comic book exstravaganza--
Iron Man -- Mostly enjoyable but no real sense of an enemy until the final third of the film--I mean, sure, we all knew the Dude was gonna be the bad guy, but he wasn't really that bad until the end. Some fun sequences and really Robert Downey Jr.'s show.
The Incredible Hulk -- Took itself a little too seriously for my tastes. One joke about purple stretch pants was about the only moment of levity. The Abomination fight at the end was pretty anti-climatic. There wasn't even the "Oh no he's really not dead" take.
Hellboy 2 - All around great time. Had some fun B-movie nods with outstanding special effects. The expository dialogue was peppered well with characterization which adds to the completeness of the film's universe. The only storyline which seemed a bit forced was the Duala/Abe love story. It existed in too few scenes or the intensity of their meeting when they pressed hands wasn't played up. A genuinely fun film.
The Dark Knight - Kind of a mess. Some glaring plot holes and poor character development all-around with the exception of maybe James Gordon. I saw it on IMAX and I couldn't tell what sequences were filmed for IMAX which was a bit disappointing. As for that character development--Rachel and Harvey never quite seemed in love, therefore Harvey's transformation seemed implausible. The implications that the Joker manifested as a result of Batman's hubris were pretty laughable because we never get anything other than an action hero.
As for those plot holes--who took care of the Joker after Batman saved Rachel?
And I'm sure it was glossed over in some dialogue from a news anchor or something--but how did those people end up on the ferry boats?
I liked them all well-enough, though, and I'm probably being a mite hard on The Dark Knight because I felt a wee bit ripped off and let down. I think if I had seen it this weekend after the first wave of mania subsided on a normal sized screen that didn't cost (Phil) $15 a ticket, I would have been a little more forgiving--or rather could have given into it a bit more.
There were text messages and phone calls and facebook wall-writing and comments left on the previous post and even a rather embarrassing blog post replete with picture. So thanks for thinking of me, for making me feel valued. I swear I'll feel up to speed sometime soon, and I swear there will be a party--not a birthday party, but a gathering of those near and dear party. 'Cause lord knows I like to party.
Yeah, so does everyone else--except for the asshole Papa John's on Holman Road that took the time to send out "Neighborly" coupons and then wouldn't redeem them.
Screw you. Your pizza sucks anyway.
Maybe if I had heard about the show before today, I would have planned something for my birthday.
As it is, I'll just hum along as their songs play through my headphones on the bus ride home.
Sometimes I wish mp3s got worn out like my old TDK mix tape that got creaky and shift-pitchy from rewinding and playing Only You over and over.
The song after Only You on that mix tape was Sparks--who also had a comeback of sorts this year.
Speaking of . . . isn't Comfort on SYTYCD, like, the greatest reality TV personality ever?
More impressive than their latest album, however, is their pairing with K-Swiss to make limited edition sneaks.
You can add these to the list of other limited edition sneaks I want (like these and these).
I hope it wins lots of awards--its a fun, bright, silly show with a wonderful cast. But maybe its too gay . . .
Ha! That number is so completely outrageous for their tiny little houes. Its 650 sq. ft. with a 700 sq. ft. unfinished basement. The city only lists it as a one bedroom--so you can just imagine how tiny and crappy rooms 2 and 3 are.
These are the same douchebags who go out of their way to tell us that we CAN'T PARK ON THE STREET!
I hope this listing sits. And sits. And sits.
Oh, but the guy who lives there, even tho he's a total dick, has a smokin' body. Phil and I were getting the mail last week when he was cleaning out the eaves. He was shirtless and his back was to us--we both couldn't look away.
Oh, and to give you an idea about our "friendly and safe" neighborhood--we have section 8 housing next door. They nearly always have an empty grocery cart in their yard. When there was a shooting at the QFC by our house, the standoff ended at the neighbors with our neighbor's friend surrendering to the cops.
About a month ago, the cops had our block cut off to traffic and there were two police helicopters overhead.
So I packed my bag, bought the issue of the New Yorker with the David Sedaris article on quitting smoking, and left for Cleveland.
My mom had flown in the day prior, and she and my aunt picked me up at the airport. If I didn't know differently, I wouldn't have thought that my aunt was wearing a wig. If I didn't know differently, I wouldn't have thought that she just finished her 6th round of chemo the previous week. She looked good.
I had considered writing her a letter and leaving it for her to find after I left, but instead, I played it by ear, hoping I would be able to find the courage to verbalize my thanks to her. The first day my mom, she, and I played Blokus and Skip-Bo. We laughed. We reminisced. My aunt asked me about Phil.
What's he like?
What's he studying?
Where does he work?
How long have you been dating?
My mom, I think, didn't want to seem out of touch with me, so she acted like she knew things about Phil--about his work and school schedule, about how much time we get to see each other. Maybe its my fault, I thought, Maybe my mother is truly curious about my life and not ashamed of it. But there has already been so much damage to our relationship. I destroyed any trust and hope my mother had in me. She destroyed the safety and security I felt in my family. So my aunt, who has never been encumbered by the dynamics of my relationship with my mother, was able to sidestep those land mines and just show genuine interest in my life.
The next day my father and uncle arrived. My uncle works out of town and comes home on the weekends. My father came to see me. We made small talk. My uncle told me the "What's better than roses on your piano?" joke. When a commercial for National Treasure 2 came on, my dad told me he had seen it with the grandkids. He liked it--"You'd like it, too," he said. Then, realizing who he was talking to, he added, "I think."
I found it interesting that the men seemed the least well-equipped to handle the situation. They go stir-crazy quickly and look for any excuse to leave the house. I went with them once on an outing to get snacks before dinner. We didn't go to the grocery store around the corner. We took a twenty minute drive to a mom and pop place that sold "trail bologna." I would have rather spent the time sitting in the same room with the person I came to see, even if she were sleeping.
Every night I rubbed my mom and my aunt's feet. Both appreciated it, but my aunt, who uses crutches because the cancer is now in her legs and the chemo causes numbness in her legs, would close her eyes, lay her head back, and sigh. Those sighs, to me, held the secret of how much pain she was actually in. In fact, by the time I left, I got the impression that most of her behavior was just show--she was in a great deal of pain.
Sunday was the Kentucky Derby. We all picked a horse. I picked the longshot. My mom picked the surefire thing. My dad and uncle went for ones that had decent odds, but weren't supposed to win, place, or show. My aunt picked the only filly.
When the race was over, the filly was in second. As she crossed the finish line, two of her ankles shattered and she had to be euthanized.
It was moments like that acted as the counterpoint to any normalcy we felt. The spectre of death that was biting into my aunt's femur shattered the ankles of that horse--he wasn't going to let us forget that he was there.
Sunday night brought the shows they all watch--"Desperate Housewives" and "Brothers and Sisters." I watch both shows at work. "Brothers and Sisters" was the episode where the gay guys get engaged. It was torturous--sitting in the same room with my mother and father watching two men kiss on TV. And not just kiss, but full-on, spit-swappin' kiss. Everyone was silent.
"Chuck and Donna, friends of ours, have two sons--both are gay, and they introduce their partners as 'husbands'," my aunt said, "Do you think that's strange? I mean, I always hear 'partner' but 'husband' sounds like a man and a woman to me."
"Well, most of the people I know," I answered, "Use the term partner."
My father almost doesn't squirm at talk like this any more. Recently he told me that he really liked Ellen DeGeneres. Some progress is better than none (and dude is 71).
Monday morning everyone left--mom and dad for Texas, my uncle for work. My flight wasn't until the next day. I had an entire day with my aunt, and I knew what I wanted to say. I didn't know if I'd find the right time to say it.
So she and I played Skip Bo. We sat on the porch as yet another rain storm came through. She told me how angry she was. How she's played over and over in her mind things that she might have done differently to avoid this impending painful death. I told her that my mom had always wanted to grow old with her--even moreso than my dad. She said that more than anything she wanted to see her grandchildren grow up and get married. I told her that she would, but she wouldn't be in pain.
And I don't remember exactly how it came up, but the moment presented itself.
"Out of all the members of my family--your daughters included--you are the only person who never made me feel less than or different because of my sexuality. You always welcomed me and had a place for me at your beautiful Thanksgiving table. And I just wanted to say thank you for that."
Maybe it wasn't exactly as eloquent as that, but I told her most of what I wanted to tell her.
"No, but both of them are messed up like her . . . I was thinking of . . . 'I can be sexy, too, Dawson.'"
Its been a while.
Sorry for that.
Keepin' this one pretty short and sweet. Heading out of town in a week. I'll try to post a few more before, but I've been so focused on saving gold for my epic flying mount . . . and on getting 75 badges (yeah, I nerded all over the place).
So a couple interested readers have been curious about what music I've been listening to lately.
Well, thanks to Thomas over at AM 180, I dicovered Wye Oak. I really like their sound. Good for a rainy day, and lord knows we get enough of those around here.
I also recently picked up Fabriclive 36 mixed by James Murphy and Pat Mahoney. Its a great mix with some choice old skool cuts as well as some nice contemporary tracks with a nostalgic feel. If you need disco, but like your music a bit more quantized and poundy, then you really can't go wrong with this mix.
Booka Shade has a new mix out on Studio K7!'s long-running DJ Kicks series. Now we're nowhere near the series' heyday of Kid Loco, Kruder & Dorfmeister, and Theivery Corporation, but that's not a bad thing. Booka brings their sound and are pushing their label's newer tracks, like Lopazz's "2 Fast 4 U" and they are able to find a nice balance between what Get Physical produces and what K7 brands.
The mix I just can't get enough of these days is Body Language vol. 5 by Chateau Flight. It culls electro basslines and transmutes them into noiz pop and nurave and back again, but the scorcher that puts the whole disc in place is Ceramic Hello's "Sampling the Blast Furnace." If you don't get splinters from tearing up the dancefloor after that track, then you're not listening to it loud enough.
The most disappointing mixes I've listened to lately are M.A.N.D.Y.'s Fabric 38 and Junior Boys' Body Language vol. 6. Both mixes have some killer tracks, but really what sinks them are the tracks the just don't fit. The Junior Boys disc is also marred with some crummy mixing (I do better with my crap program). M.A.N.D.Y.'s mix tries really hard to include so many sounds that it becomes mind-numbing around track ten and flatout aggrevating by track 15.
The Junior Boys fare a tad better mainly because their track selection until the last five tracks are phenomenal.
If you want a good M.A.N.D.Y. mix, grab their At the Controls album (which admittedly is more track than mix oriented, but still a better disc).
And the JB's, as much as I love them, should stick to producing their own brand of crooner meets synth-pop.
Then, last October I was tipped off by now-defunct QTA to the premiere of Skull & Bones which was timed just perfectly with my visit to Tennille and NYC. I went expecting a film on par with Hellbent, but I was pleasantly surprised to find a film with a guerrilla attitude and queer sensibilities. Sure, the production values were far below Hellbent, but the budget was significantly less. And, yes, some of the scenes could have been tightened by a better editor for maximum comedic payoff. But some great ideas and social commentary carry this film--as well as some sick jokes that, if you're like me, will have you in stitches. And one joke in particular that made me a little uneasy--and it takes a lot to make me even slightly uneasy.
The story is pretty simple--two gay dudes who are fed up with being cast aside by the Ivy League upper crust and who are obsessed with serial killers, decide to balance the scales by offing a few of the douchetards in Yale's Skull & Bones society. Its pretty simple for them to infiltrate the ranks--it only takes some liquor and blow before the secret society members are licking and blowing members. The killers fuck, castrate, murder, and zombify the hapless Ivy leaguers and end up with the docile, cock-hungry shell of a Skull & Bones member. As the film ends, their killing spree is still underway.
Skull & Bones is the type of independent film that there needs to be more of today--silly, energetic, gross, and most importantly addressing ideas at which the mainstream is not willing to look. Support truly independent film by dropping 20 bones on a copy for yourself--I did!
I'm sure all the queer geek blogs 'round the 'sphere are buzzing about how excited they are for the new season of BSG.
There was a time when I would have been equally as ecstatic, but as they slowly sucked the life out of the show last season and flattened metaphors with their ham-fisted storytelling, my interest waned.
Actually, it more than waned. I lamented the fact that I had told so many people that it was a good show because all of that goodness was thrown out the air lock as the show turned to flashback episodes, inconsequential stories about peripheral characters, inconsequential stories about characters that only got one episode, and the biggest let down of all? The two-hour long TRIAL as season finale. It was snooze city and how the writers abandoned character! Both Katee Sackhoff and Jamie Bamber's limited acting chops were laid bare for all the world to see.
So, yeah, I'll tune in tonight. The season opener can't be nearly as good as last season's (the only really good thing about last season), but the first two years were so good and so nuanced and so prescient that I'll forgive the 3rd season, but they better make it good!
In other news, I will officially be back on Tuesday with the LONG OVERDUE review of Skull & Bones. And I'm going to try to do one feature per week for the rest of the year, normally out on Tuesdays with smaller updates when I have the chance/impetus.
Hope you have a painless move and a fruitful and fruity life in San Francisco!
Thanks to Bill and Derek for the pics!
(Why is my mouth always open in pictures? Oh yeah, for penises to go in!)
First off, if you didn't notice, the countdown timer on the right sidebar now says, "In Stores Now" for Scott Heim's trippy, dark family affair We Disappear.
I got my copy just over a week ago. I've been reading it on the bus on the way to work. If you know me, you know that it takes just the right author or just the right mood to compel me to pick up a book. I enjoyed the opening of the book, but now I'm in the meat of it--just started chapter 5--and I find myself putting it down occasionally and just processing.
The basic story is a guy goes home to visit his mother with cancer. She has a preoccupation/obsession with missing children, and he has a meth addiction.
What the story is about for me, so far, is how we can hold up pictures of ourselves as children and try to write the story of how we have become who we have become. And the part of that that is hard is that the child has disappeared and the people who remember the child remember him differently or want to keep him as their own. The whole time these ideas are being addressed, they're couched in sort of paranoid meth addicts' fever dream, and also in the dementia brought on by treatment for cancer.
As dark as I'm making it seem, though, it is not without humility and humor. For example, one passage has the narrator describing vapor trails across the Kansas sky and how they change from white to pink to red with the setting sun. The description becomes more and more lavish until the trails are the claw marks of an angel trying to escape heaven. Then, a couple paragraphs later, he makes fun of his outlandish descriptors for a tomato--and inevitably comes back to just referring to it as a tomato.
So, I'm not done with the book yet, but I wanted to remind you to go out and get your copy today. Scott will be reading at the Elliot Bay Book Company on March 20th.
He has also graciously agreed to answer a couple questions from me for this ol' site! Yippie!
Also, I wanted to point you to a new weekly at Havana. TJ Gorton aka American Athlete has a new weekly there. It should be tons of fun. Its disco based and the name of it is "Studio".
Click the picture for more info.
Last night was the innaugural night and I would have let you know about it sooner, but I've been slacking in my blog duties.
If you're not familiar with Havana--its up on the hill. Kiki has a Thursday night there that is quite a bit of fun. The place can be too self-conscious and the layout isn't that great, but a good time can be had.
Speaking of music-y stuff, local act The Fascination Movement, half of whom I read regularly at Red Room NW, recently signed to Aube records and put out their first release which features vocals from one of my all time favorites, Marc Almond. The release actually came out a while ago, but like I said, I've been slacking in my blog reading lately. Anyway, great track. Dig the Peter Hook-y bassline and, of course, those vocals.
In case you weren't aware of this tragedy, he's a six minute piece from the first mainstream source to really address what happened.
And seriously, don't you want four years of Amy Poehler as Hillary Clinton as opposed to four years of Fred Armisen as Barack Obama?
However, I do like how prObamans are railing against Armisen and calling his impersonation unfunny, etc. He had the facial tics down and his continual looking down on Hillary was spot-on. Who cares if when he opens his mouth he blows the impersonation? (Slow down more, wait for applause more.) The words he was given to speak were actually pretty funny--and if I find a clip of that, I'll put it up, too.
Jason alerted me to the Great Performances showing of my second favorite musical, "Company."
I've posted about the show and this production in particular.
Apparently the show aired tonight and I totally missed it.
That's ok, though, because its coming back on Friday at 2 in the morning.
Guess what you get to watch this weekend, honey?
Go for the carbs, stay for the eye candy.
Seriously, I thought I was the requisite homo up on Crown Hill. Earl and Bucko get Ballard, I'm just north of 85th, so I'm Crown Hill. Turns out there's lots of 'mos amblin' around Crown Hill. At least six, not including servers, were making eyes at Phil, Matt, Bird, and myself on their way to the bathroom. Matt and Bird were straight-ly oblivious, but I had to put arm around my man's shoulder to mark my territory.
So back to politics because that stuff is always on my mind.
My mother, who would have voted for John Edwards for President, is backing John McCain--but only if Barack Obama runs. If the vote comes to Clinton and McCain, my mother will skip her first election in a very long time.
My mother is one of those women who holds Hillary up and pastes stories onto her as she sees fit or as suit her political needs. She is worried, she says, about just who Hillary has for advisors and who she would choose to fill her cabinet.
Then I asked my mom the tough questions--can you name the positions in the presidents' cabinet and who currently fills them?
Well, she has faith in her president, and that is what really matters.
My mother and faith. If wonder if she recognizes how restricted and small her life has become because of her faith.
Faith in the president.
Faith in the south beach diet.
Faith in Jesus.
Now, back to my complete disillusionment with the DNC. Change is just sloganeering and Clinton is just beaten down.
The message of hate is getting through to our kids, loud and clear. It's okay to
kill someone who freaks you out because they don't fit a gender role to your
That is, if they haven't killed themselves.
Ten years old and
full of so much shame he hung himself. Is anyone listening?
In my LGBT
community, we argue about who is more pro LGBT rights, Obama or Clinton.
It's been days since Lawrence King was shot dead. Neither candidate has
issued a statement or said a word. The national media has done a complete pass
on the story.
Both candidates make me sick. Don't worry. I get the message,
loud and clear.
Just one more dead faggot.
American politics while I am alive will always be about straight men.
From All that Heaven Allows to A Zed and Two Naughts
Keep the River on Your Right, Last House on the Left
Blue Sunshine, Sunshine
Eraserhead, Blue Velvet, Lost Highway, Mulholland Drive, INLAND EMPIRE
Videodrome, Eastern Promises
The Royal Tennenbaums, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou
CQ, Lost in Translation
Disco Godfather, Disco - Spinning the Story
Dottie Gets Spanked, Velvet Goldmine
tie - The Collected Short Films of Maya Deren, The Collected Short Films of Jan Svankmejer
There are many holes in my dvd collection, including many of my favorite films. I own a lot of movies I have only seen once. I have purchased many mediocre movies but find myself purchasing less now that I can send movies to my Tivo from Amazon.
"Wasn't the first one called 'First Blood'?"
"When did they just start calling them Rambo?"
"Technically the third installment, which was Rambo 3."
"What was number 2 called?"
"Rambo: First Blood Part 2."
"Wouldn't that make it 'Second Blood'? So shouldn't this one be 'Fourth Blood'?"
If you're not doing anything this weekend, please stop by Temple Billiards in Pioneer Square tomorrow for a billiards tournament. The proceeds raised will go to help Risa's step-brother pay for his leukemia treatment.
This, I believe, is Patrick's second time dealing with the disease. The medical bills are surely outrageously expensive. Every bit donated will help lessen his burden.
So come out for a good time!!!
In case the image below isn't loading, Temple Billiards is located at 126 S. Jackson
Hope to see you there!