The Wednesday wiggle

So I guess I'm going to become one of those blogs on Wednesdays.
I know that So You Think You Can Dance is a huge hit and it gets tons of ink spilled about it, but I can't help myself. I love dancing so much that I feel it is my obligation to post about the show.

Last week I completely overlooked Anya and Danny's jive from the previous week. Let me just say that ballroom, in general, doesn't really do it for me. The jive, thankfully, is a high energy, complicated footwork dance. Danny was perhaps preoccupied with getting the steps, but Anya really let loose. Their performance was stellar. Couple that with last week's oh-so-yawn-inducing, but technically flawless Vienese Waltz, and I think they're the couple to beat.



But let's get back to my favorite--little miss Sabra. She got to dance in her style last week and if her partner Dominic had just a tiny bit more oomph, it would have been the breakaway performance.


Another standout performance was Pasha and Jessi. Unfortunately, they ended up in the bottom three. Neither one was let go, but it looks like the end is nigh is for Ms. Jessi . . .


And, speaking of dancing, I've signed myself and my beau up for hustle lessons at the Washington Dance Club in July.

All Fridays parties

Thanks so much for all the emails alerting me to the Buffy Sing A-Long this coming Friday. (And the comments in the comments section.) I think Tennille wins the prize for alerting me to it first--all the way back in February!
Thanks, Nilla!
So, Phil and I will be going this Friday. I'd love it if you came along. The more, the merrier, I say. We can grab a beer at Bill's Off Broadway beforehand or something!

Last Friday, we were at the Henry for the opening of the new Doug Aitken exhibit. I liked it quite a bit. It was pretty similar to his last piece. Lots of stuff about rhythm. There was room full of dolls which was cool (different artist). I'll be going back soon with my new toy . . .

Next Friday is my birthday! And you, gentle reader, are invited to join me and my peeps at Golden Gardens. Phil is making prepartions for reserving a table. I don't know exactly how the whole grill thing works--so most likely I'll just bring food that doesn't require grilling. As for alcoholic beverages, all Seattle parks have a no alcohol policy. This translates to bringing a sippy cup of some sort. There will be alcohol, but its gonna be on the down-low, like Matthew McConaughey.
So please come stop by and say 'Hey!' I'd love to see you. And bring a present. And not something cheap and meaningless, either.

As for that new toy.
Let's just say that this is a sign of things to come . . . (Its been in my possession for less than 5 hours)

Dancing about television

Summer is more or less here and with the arrival of sunshine comes a dearth of quality television programming. You would think that would be the impetus to get me out from behind the keyboard. You'd be wrong.
This is the time of year when I turn to the television for some quality dancing. So You Think You Can Dance is back. Risa is the only person who takes it as seriously as myself, but I've gotten Phil and Matt on-board as reluctant viewers.
Anyway.
Let's do a recap.
Last week the two best routines were Mia's and Wade's. Mia's looked all emotion-y. Wade's looked all rip-off-y. Consequently, they were probably the best danced, as well.

But, and its taken me two weeks of poring over the videos, I've finally selected a favorite female dance. That dancer is Sabra. Maybe its the afro, but more likely, its the techinicality and clena lines she brings to kitschy disco. Fun, fun!

New life in print

Seems that Rob Thomas, creator of Veronica Mars, would like to start shopping a screenplay for our heroine. Also, following in Buffy footsteps, DC hopes to turn my favorite sleuth into book a la the Dark Horse and Buffy pairing. [article]

But if you just can't get enough of the lovely Ms. Kristin Bell, here's a pic from her upcoming film Fanboys. And if the sight Ms. Bell as Princess Leia doesn't get the fanboys goin', I don't know what will.



Right now she's filming a film with a horrible title ('Forgetting Sarah Marshall') directed by it-boy Judd Apatow ('Knocked Up'). [article]
I hate movies w/ titles like that. Regarding Henry, Finding Forester, Teaching Mrs. Tingle, et al.

Oh, and Matt named the painting from the previous post--The Pugilists. Pronounced PUG not Pyoo.

Dog fight tonight!

I know I don't write about him very much on here,--I guess that's cuz he can speak for himself (and does so through several outlets)--but my boyfriend rules the school.
One drunken evening, while standing on the patio and smoking (so it was over six weeks ago because I haven't smoked in nearly six weeks), Matt, Steve, Phil, and I somehow got into a discussion about a boxing match with little dogs, like pomeranians or pugs, as the boxing gloves. Yes, I realize that we were talking about fisting little dogs, but it was drunken conversation so we are all relieved of nearly all accountability.
Anyway, Phil gifted us with this lovely watercolor which now hangs framed on the wall next to the kitchen.


Awesome. Damn, my boyfriend is talented and smokin' hot!

And for some reason, this painting reminds me of the Julie Brown song 'Girl Fight Tonight'. So you get this for today, as well:



Oh, also you'll notice that I changed out the tracks in the Vault. I recently recieved a cease & desist from an artist and his label, so I won't be offering direct downloads anymore. Instead, if there's a track that interests you in the vault, shoot me an email and I'll send you the link.

Have a lovely weekend!

My weekend of penis mutilation

Matt and I watched Sick this weekend. Sick is a documentary about performance artist Bob Flanagan. His art centers on his infatuation with pain and masochism. A large majority of his pieces are video installations in which he mutilates his genitals.
I'm glad I was playing Warcraft and only occasionally looking at the screen. Even when I was looking, my eyes were generally shielded by my hands. I watched him hammer a nail through the head of his penis into a block of wood. Then he removed the nail with the claw of the hammer and blood spewed onto the camera lens.
My stomach was a knot of tension and nerves while I watched him perform. Shock value is definitely one aspect of his work, but more than that, as he explains, is a need to control pain. Bob suffers from cystic fibrosis (CF) and has felt varying degrees of pain his entire life. When viewed through this filter, his art becomes much more meaningful. He has learned to love pain, and through his control of it, he became the oldest living person with CF.
The film ends more horrifying than it begins, however. No matter how many pictures of his burnt, sewn, whipped, chained, weighted cock have been shown, the images of him dying in a hospital bed resonate more deeply. The documentarians do not turn the camera away from his last hours. They show him gasping like a fish out of water, eyes bulging. A nurse rubs his arm and tells him that its ok to let go. His wife and torturer beg him to hang on. In the end, he lets go.
If you can stomach it, Sick will do what all great documentaries do--it will provoke thought. I watched it two days ago and I'm still rolling it around my mind.

Saturday night, Phil and I watched Keep the River on the Right. It tells the story of Tobias Schneebaum, an artist and anthropologist who lived with a tribe of cannibals in Peru for a year. In many ways, Schneebaum is Flanagan's foil. Where Flanagan was trapped by disease and forced to be introspective, Schneebaum is unencumbered and is often just an observer. When the movie begins, Schneebaum is working on a cruise ship. Its how he makes his living, and even though his politics don't really jibe with those of a cruise, it is the only way in which he can visit New Guinea--another locale in which he spent much time in his youth.
It is during one of the excursions in New Guinea that I witnessed another mutilation of the penis. This time, it was young boys getting circumcised. I winced again, but had already become somewhat desensitized after viewing Sick.
What I found fascinating about Schneebaum's story was the matter-of-fact-ness of it. He never explains why he hitch hiked from New York City to Peru, but explains it instead as something he had to do. He never explains why he ate human flesh, but instead insists on his duty as an anthropologist. The film contains some great archival footage including a guest spot he had on the Mike Douglas show. While the Keep the River on the Right doesn't contain as many arresting images or a sense of urgency like Sick, it is still highly recommended.

This weekend I also caught Broken English at SIFF with Risa, Keith, Phil, and a couple of Keith's friends. Truthfully, my expectations weren't very high. I am a Parker Posey completist, though, so I was happy to attend.
Broken English is Zoe Cassavetes directorial debut, and what a disappointing debut it is. Like her brother Nick, she lives in her father's long, important shadow. They will never escape the fact that their father, almost single-handedly defined American independent cinema. (And, for my money some of the best films of all time including Faces, Shadows, A Woman Under the Influence, Opening Night, and The Killing of a Chinese Bookie.) So what kind of film did she make? One that should have been lighter than air, but that suffers from a trite screenplay and poor direction.
Parker Posey plays Nora, a 30-something hotel employee who feels the need to be coupled. Justin Theroux and Josh Hamilton play failed prospects, but Melvil Poupaud (Le Divorce) is the paramour in whose arms she falls. Drea de Mateo plays her best friend and Gena Rowlands plays her mother. The story has been told a hundred times--and told better, I might add. Glimpses of fun dialogue give way to longer shots of the couple walking around New York and Paris. So, unless you're a Parker Posey freak like me, you can skip this movie.

And, real quick, here's the leaked poster design for I'm Not There, the new film by fave director Todd Haynes. (I think its one of the best poster designs I've seen in a while.)

Knocking at my chamber door

I was talking with Phil's roommate the other day. He suffers from ornithophobia and was relaying a story of being dive bombed by a raven the other day. The poor guy ran down the street screaming like Tippi Hedren.

I told him about Kelley's old porch where birds used to nest. They'd swoop down and try to intimidate us as we smoked butts. Their little nestlings chirped away.

So I told him that maybe he had gotten too close to a nest.

That's when it hit me--I've never in my life considered that ravens nest. Bluebirds, sure. Woodpeckers, you bet, but those forboding ebony creatures? Never.

I always imagined that ravens just, I don't know, emerge from the darkness of night. They could never be hatchlings, right?

(And, in case you're keeping track, one month five days without a cigarette.)

Marry me a little

I'm making it a point to watch Regis and Kelly this morning when I get home from work. Its shocking, I know.
It must be something pretty special for me to put up with those two, and it is.
Raul Esparza and the cast of Company will be performing. So I get a little obsessive about things, sue me.
The Tonys are Sunday, and, yes, I will be watching and/or recording them.
Hey! Lay off! Watching the Tonys absolves me of most of my homosexual duties until the Christmas holiday season. Couple that with marching in the gay pride parade, and I'm clear until Valentine's Day.

Not only is he interminably handsome (especially with a beard). He also has the most angelic voice around.



I know I've put videos of him on here before, but here's another.

It's a family affair

First of all, I wanted to thank everyone who has expressed concern and sympathy for my aunt's illness. Last week was very rough. A week ago Wednesday, my aunt recieved impossibly good news. The tumor, the doctor said, was benign. That euphoria quickly gave way to resignation when she learned on Friday that the benign result was from a fat deposit around a much larger cancerous tumor.

My aunt is the member of my extended family to whom I am the closest. I would not be who I am if it weren't for her--when I was three days old, she gave me the name Jeremy. I will choose to look at her illness in the best possible light until all avenues of treatment have been exhausted. Thanks so much for your kind words and prayers, she can most definitely use them in this trying time.

So, speaking of family, this weekend I saw 'For the Bible Tells Me So' at SIFF. It's a documentary that chronicles five families who have grappled with their faith when one of the children comes of the closet. The film hit very close to home, and tears were literally streaming down my face for at least the last half hour. The film is never condescending, but definitely looks down on biblical literalism. It features some great interviews with some of the world's most progressive Christian thinkers, including Nobel Peace Prize winner Desmond Tutu, Peter J. Gomes, and Rev. Larry Keene. They are beacons of sanity making the rational counterpoint to the hellfire and brimstone that Jimmy Swaggart, Jerry Falwell, and their ilk espouse.

I truly feel that the reason I exist on a plane that is "less than" in my family structure is because of the church. My parents cannot reconcile my sexuality with their religion, and, as a result, I am not as worthy of their love as anyone else in my family. I have always placed the blame for this separation squarely at the feet of religion. This film helped me to remember that not all organized religion demonizes gays, and, in fact, the Episcopalian church recently confirmed a gay bishop.

I will be buying a copy of this film for my parents when it released on DVD--chances are they won't make it through the whole thing. They'll shut it off and consider it left-wing propaganda, but this film gave me hope that one day, I will be considered equal to my brothers. That's a hope I haven't felt in a very long time.

(Pictured is me and my niece at my dad's 70th birthday.)

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.

Anyway, 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.

Revelations

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!

Pumkin (Original Mix) - Ritch & Collins

Waldorf - Ritch & Collins

Motion 12 - Ritch & Collins

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.

Spent

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!!!

Counting

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.

May all your wishes come true

Happy birthday to a great guy!



Please do not use the baler.

Style council

Congrats to Paul for finally getting props from The Stranger!!

He's a supa-phly dresser and a wikkid-rad dancer. He was one of the first house headz I befriended in this town.

Watch men -or- lazy blogging

-or- what Phil and Jeremy pass back and forth to each other in the middle of the night (along with sweet nothings).

Zach Snyder (director of 300) talks about his take on Watchmen

2Xist runway show

and, for Bill, is this the commercial you remember?