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| September 30, 2003
Is This How Donatella Got Her Start?
I've been scouring the web for this t-shirt that I remember from my youth. Unfortunately, I can't find it anywhere. Basically, it's a light blue heather ringer that reads "Maryland is for Crabs" in navy (I believe the font was Cooper Black or something very similar). It also has a picture of a crab. But it is not this. That is a hideous piece of shit that soccer moms would wear as they gorge themselves on hush puppies at an all-you-can-eat seafood place. No, the shirt I'm thinking of has a certain retro, ironic cache that the urban hipsters are crazy about these days. I guess I'll just have to make my own. In fact, the shirt may exist the way I want only in my mind, so it's probably for the best. A certain glitterful gal (whose birthday I'm celebrating tonight) and her office mate were the first to put one of my digital doodles on a t-shirt, but I've never really done one myself. Maybe I could intern with him? Oh wait, things don't usually turn out that well for interns in this city. Never mind. Here's a good fill-in-the-blank: Virginia is for Lovers. Maryland is for Crabs. DC is for _______. And the black sheep of the day is AOL-Time-Warner-Turner-Broadcasting-whatever-the-hell-your-name-is for this. Who wants to watch cleaned-up versions of Sex & the City? September 26, 2003
9 1/2 Weeks
It's not just a Kim Basinger/Mickey Rourke movie, it's also the amount of vacation I have right now. Nine and a half weeks or, more specifically, 386 hours and 17 minutes. I guess I need to take more time off of work. It's sort of depressing to see that I have that much leave accumulated. I really have to start taking more of it soon or I'll lose it. We can only carry 400 hours of leave into the new calendar year. On the ride in this morning, I realized that my inner child can be such a goodie two-shoes altar boy sometimes. I was driving up Rhode Island, not far from Catholic University. At a stoplight, I looked over and saw two nuns walking down the sidewalk just next to my car. It was then I realized that my CD player was quite loudly spitting these words their way: Suckin' on my titties like you wanted me. I immediately turned the volume down and looked forward, hoping the light would turn green. Nuns scare the shit out of me. Maybe it's because in fourth grade one dragged me from the lunchroom, down a flight of stares, and straight into the principal's office. By the ear. My crime? With my lunch, I brought a picture of a breast that I ripped from one of my older sisters' magazines. I believe the article was about self-exams, and, looking back, it wasn't very sexy. But I knew that it would be a way for me to impress the ten year-old boys at the table. At that age nothing is really sexy anyway, just forbidden. So, twenty years later, why do nuns scare me? Apparently, this phobia doesn't have a name--but a quick search of google shows there are many sharing their pain online. Many more may suffer in silence. The search also came up with a strange song Rufus Wainwright's father wrote about breast feeding, entitled 'Rufus Is A Tit-Man'. Hmm, back to the breasts. Maybe I should take that 9 1/2 weeks and find a good therapist to work all these breast and nun issues out. Black Sheep of the Day dishonors go to Bravo, for refusing to air an ad for MyGaydar.com during an episode of Boy Meets Boy. Gee, what could be more controversial than an ad for one of those sick gay dating web sites on a wholesome gay dating tv show? My stars. September 25, 2003
Shirtless Everybody!
Last night over some lovely desserts at the new Love Cafe with some lovely ladies, the topic somehow turned to Wesley Clark and searches to this very site for "shirtless Howard Dean" (don't ask how those two topics came together--I think we were on a sugar/chocolate high). I've decided that I will list all of the Democratic presidential candidates here and tally the number of searches for them shirtless. This will surely be a better predictor of who will win the nomination than any Wall Street Journal/NBC/CNN/Gallup/Zogby poll. We are led by our libidos whether we know it or not. (Although if that were true, based on the unscientific evidence I have, we would be pulling for Jake Gyllenhaal or "preppy boys." Then again, when put that way, I realize there are probably a lot of people out there 'pulling' for Jake.) Who will be paired most with "shirtless"? Carol Moseley Braun, Wesley Clark, Howard Dean, John Edwards, Dick Gephardt, Bob Graham, John Kerry, Dennis Kucinich, Joe Lieberman, or Al Sharpton? Thanks to Jonno, I can proudly say that someone coming here for a shirtless Wesley Clark need look no further.
Well After The Day After
Last night I was trying to recall the name of the Postal Service's album. I couldn't remember whether it was Get Up or Give Up (it's Give, btw). So I hopped on google and did a search for "postal service album" which resulted in this album review coming up first. While I understand that our faithful reviewer here is a college student and therefore learning his trade, I was sort of pissed off after reading this review. First, how do you not even mention the band or album being reviewed for seven paragraphs? That little anecdote may have been a nice way for the writer to "get in" to the review but should have been pared down (or eliminated completely) for the reader's sake. The thing that really got under my skin was his critique of the lyrics. I've listened to this album for months and have always found the lyrics to be charming and smart. I'm a sucker for puns and enjambment, so of course I'll love any group with a song that starts off "I was waiting for a crosstown train in the London Underground when it struck me / that I've been waiting since birth to find a love that would look and sound like a movie." But Rocky Ramirez disagrees. He thinks the lyrics are "absolutely pathetic" and "certifiably idiotic" (note to young Rocky, you don't have to modify every adjective with an adverb--it kind of steals the thunder from the construction). His attack on the lyrics of "We Will Become Silhouettes" made me think he was just a moron: Things continue to tumble downhill with track seven, "We Will Become Silhouettes." Thus far, the lyrical content of the album has been absolutely pathetic, but on this track, things just get weird. Gibbard crones, "I stay inside because the air outside will make our cells divide, at an alarming rate until our shells simply cannot hold all our insides in, and we'll explode." For those unfamiliar with it, here are the lyrics to this song. It seems pretty evident to me that this song has to do with bomb shelters and nuclear war. It occurred to me after some time cursing Rocky Ramirez that maybe he just doesn't get it because he's too young. If he's a traditional aged college student, he probably wasn't even born when The Day After aired. The images of bodies disintegrating to dusty silhouettes would never have been burned in his memory. When I was a kid, my friends and I used to talk about nuclear war all the time. We said we were lucky to live so close to DC and various military targets because that would mean we would die instantly. Even at ten, we knew a quick death was preferable to wasting from radiation sickness or starving from lack of uncontaminated food. Maybe, I can forgive him not seeing the meaning behind those lyrics as easily as I did. He still could have done a little research before trashing it. September 24, 2003
I Feel Like a Pink Lady
Google search of the day: met a cute guy in Ocean City, Maryland Labor Day 2003. Tell me more, tell me more!
In Spanish It Means Don't Go
Based on her official endorsement, I went and joined this new site. It looks like it has potential and is great for someone like me who finds out about too many things after they've happened. One thing I would like to point out, though. Northern Virginia is not in the District of Columbia. There should be no need for "The District Proper" under "District of Columbia." If you live in Alexandria or Arlington, you were once part of the District, but that all ended in 1846. To put it another way, if you pay Virginia taxes and have voting representation in Congress, you don't live in the District. NoVa, a lovely place in its own right, is not DC. Here's an SAT-esque analogy that may clear things up.... Bridge & Tunnel : Manhattan :: ____ : the District of Columbia. September 23, 2003
Watch for Falling Tragic Young Men
This weekend, I popped into my favorite local used book store. As I perused the shelves, I made my way to the poetry section. Truth be told, I compulsively look for books from a former teacher of mine just so I can think, See, you are such an overrated asshole that people are trying to get rid of your books. No, that's not true. As I reached for a book on a shelf just above my head, another book fell from above it and grazed my nose. Serendipity dropped my old friend Rupert in my lap, or rather at my feet. Rupert Brooke was a British poet who died in World War I. When I was in high school, I came across some of his poems in an anthology. And here's where I get all sorts of shallow. I saw this picture of him. I was fascinated by him. It may be the first time that I remember being stunned by the beauty of a man. It all hit me--his hair, his eyes, his lips, his poems, his dying so young. I was caught up in the romantic, tragic, Edwardian sexiness of it all. Of course, I ended up buying the book--it was only $10 (though it originally sold for $2). There are two things that make me really happy about it. One is how the barrier sheet opposite his portrait has picked up a mirror image of it over the years. It creates this neat effect where he looks like he's at himself above the title page. Also, the previous owner claimed the book by scribbling her name on it. And while it's most likely not her, it still gives me fever. Black sheep of the day: people who are still feeding that publicity black hole known as Benifer. Can't we move on to hotter couples? What's going on with Kirsten and Jake? What about Melissa and Tammy Lynn (I so **heart** Nicole Julian). Hell, even Ashton and Demi are more interesting at this point. September 22, 2003
When It Rains
Peaches 10/1 @ Club Five Huey Lewis and the News 10/2 @ Washington Convention Center Interpol 10/18 @ 9:30 Club Death Cab for Cutie 10/20 @ The Black Cat Belle & Sebastian 10/28 @ 9:30 Club
Customs vs. Customs
You may have heard by now about this story involving a married, same-sex Canadian couple denied entry to the United States by a customs official. The official's rationale was that the US doesn't recognize same-sex marriages so the couple would have to go back and fill out forms stating that they were single (in essence, forcing them to lie on official documents). I can't help but wonder if this has ever happened before with polygamy. Say a sheikh from a country where polygamy is legal wants to visit the U.S. with a few of his wives. How would they fill out the forms? Addendum: Oh, also, what about this scenario. Bubba and Cheryl are first cousins who were legally married in the great state of Alabama (where such things are legal). For their anniversary, Bubba and Cheryl take a trip to Japan. On the way back to Mobile, the couple lands in Seattle. As they go through Customs, they fill out the card stating they are married. The state of Washington doesn't allow first cousins to marry, however. Shouldn't they have to go fill out a new card too? September 21, 2003
Turned Outside Like an Old Umbrella
I've posted some photos from the aftermath of Isabel. Lots of downed trees. It's actually quite boring. Sometimes reading craigslist just breaks your heart, don't it? September 19, 2003
Four-Day Weekend
You may wonder why I woke up at 5:30 am today? Maybe because unlike almost every other place in the DC area, my beloved employer didn't announce their plans for closing down until just before 6:00. And now I can't go back to bed. But I am off today. My new favorite spam subject line: Affordable L|p Plumper that works I'm going back to bed. September 18, 2003
RAIN DAY!
Okay, so it doesn't have the same ring as "snow day!", but I'm off work so what the hell do I care what it's called? Of course, as is common for DC and "weather events," everyone's acting like Armageddon is nigh. The shelves are empty in grocery stores and Home Depots around the area. That familiar mantra--"bread, milk, toilet paper"--has been supplemented with "bottled water, batteries, and duct tape." All the local schools systems are closed. Colleges and universities, too. The federal government shut down (which is the gauge many local employers use to decide if they will close). The Metro system is shutting down at 11:00 am this morning. I guess this means we should be preparing. Glenn and I are doing our part. We slept in. He's now playing Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic on Xbox. I'm typing this missive and wondering if anyplace is open so I can get an ice coffee. Our cat is begging for food and attention. As you can see we're all pitching in. I would batten down some hatches, but I don't think we have any. Somewhere up the coast is a young man we all may have misread. Yes, you may think from reading his escapades or hearing others talk about his sexy phone voice that he's totally butch. Truth? Last night on the phone, he used that sexy voice to tell me, "When I grow up, I wanna be Jessica Simpson." Think he knows what tuna is? September 16, 2003
Isabel's Coming, Look Busy
Isabel is waiting In a room of many shadows Her eyes like flashing diamonds Shining brightly from the sea I was going to post about my weekend trip to Fallingwater, but instead I'll write about falling water. So, this one is getting off work tomorrow because the whole region is flipping out. My niece has posted a helpful Hurricane Survival Checklist. A meeting at work for Thursday was cancelled (the presenter was coming from the Research Triangle). Everyone's in a tizzy ovah Izzy. I don't get it. Yes, it is a big storm and we should do as much as possible to be prepared, but it just seems that lately every normal occurrence is trumped up by the news. Hurricanes happen. They happen every year. This is a bigger one than most, sure, but do we need wall-to-wall coverage? The advent of 24-hour news channels and the Internet has meant more news (or more rehashing of the same stories) but it also has brought more competition. I fear it's this competition (coupled with the average American's lowered attention spa...) that has turned rational reporting into the rash of shark attacks, [rich, white] child abductions, and West Nile/SARS/LordGodKingBufu virus warnings. Oh yeah, and there's also that whole war in Iraq thing... great job with that one, kids. You dug deep into whatever the press release Tori Clarke handed you said. [Sorry, I'm working out some issues brought up from the Al Franken book.] Back to Isabel...I love the name. It's kind of sexy in that "Inquisition/I'm-having-an-affair-with-the-hot-Italian-explorer" way. I decided to take a look at some of the upcoming names for storms. I see that in 2006, I have another chance to be a big star storm. Last time I think I fizzled out into a tropical depression somewhere east of Bermuda. There are some other upcoming storms I hope win big... 2003 Mindy (then we could campaign for a Hurricane Mork) Peter & Rose (I'm hoping these two storms will combine and make landfall in Philly) 2004 Gaston & Hermine (again, these two should combine and knock down "Freedom Fries" stands up and down the boardwalks of the east coast) Shary (because then I could relive my college days of waiting in line at the bar and hearing a girl named Jennifer from Long Island scream "Oh my god, Shary! Some TEP just spilled beer on my scrunchie!!") Virginie (oh, like I need a reason to want to hear the newscasters say that name) 2005 Ophelia (it's about time that girl got her revenge) Philippe (cause he's so cute in Cruel Intentions oh, wait, never mind) Tammy (Kids in the Hall fans everywhere could sing along, "Condensation... Cloud Formation... Precipitation... and dance!") ***** And what would it be without a Black Sheep of the Day? Today the dishonor goes again to my neighbors to the north, the Canadians. I feel like calling up Chretien and saying "In college I knew like twelve people who could get better stuff than that in less than an hour--what's your damage?" September 15, 2003
If Glenn and I Turned to a Life of Crime We were nowhere near Indiana this weekend. Honest. Dumb and Dumber: Robbers Foil Themselves The Associated Press Sunday, September 14, 2003; 11:14 AM MISHAWAKA, Ind. - Two would-be robbers left an Indiana convenience store empty-handed after getting into an argument about the contents of a note they handed to the clerk. The two men entered the 7-Eleven store in Mishawaka, just east of South Bend, early Tuesday morning. They left the store and came back a few minutes later. One of them handed the clerk a note saying, in part, "put it in the bag." When the clerk said she didn't understand what that meant, the man who handed her the note said he didn't know either because his buddy wrote it. The two men began to argue and left the store. They are still at large. September 12, 2003
My Neck, My Back My morning began at 5:00 am. I threw on some clothes, popped half a vicodin, and made my way to K Street. Normally I wouldn't take drugs at the start of the day, but I knew I was going to be stuck in an awkward position for a while and that if I didn't do something, I'd end up in severe pain. It was a good thing. For about thirty-five minutes, I was forced to lay back and have a machine whirl around me making loud clicking noises. And my arm started to kill. But I closed my eyes and thought of England and somehow made it through. As I left, they handed me an envelope with four big sheets of pictures of my insides. On the street, my curiosity piqued, I held the films up to the sky just starting to fill with sunlight. That's my spine. Somewhere, one of those vertebrae is making me wince. Fucker. Then I noticed the lobbyists in powerties sipping starbucks, the secretaries waddling down the steps of the metrobus, the security guards unlocking office buildings. It felt like I had been out all night partying. Really I had just been inside a magnetic resonance imaging machine. But when I closed my eyes and drifted away, the clicks picked up a rhythm. Like an obnoxious queen soul clapping in your ear. But I am starting to feel better already. That neck traction thing seems to be helping, even if it looks ridiculous. This weekend I'm headed here for some quality time with some quality friends. I had hoped to go water-skiing, but I'm not sure I'll be up for it. Black Sheep of the Day goes to those who continue to practice the politics of personal destruction. My dear, sweet Canadian friends, have you learned nothing from Ken Starr? September 10, 2003
I want a doll! I want a doll! This morning I went to see an orthopedic surgeon about my nerve issue. After poking and prodding (and making me do a push-up on the office floor) he's determined I have a pinched nerve that is causing the pain, numbness, and muscle weakness. Well, duh. I'm getting an MRI to determine where exactly the damage is (C6 or C7 or some such nonsense). I also have a device like this to use twice a day. And I'll be taking some steroids since the NSAIDs I was taking didn't help. Woo-hoo. Maybe now I can run for governor of California. Then there was one last thing. The doc asked how bad the pain was. I said, well it wakes me up and I haven't had a good night's sleep in a while because of it. He asked, "do you want something for it?" Suddenly I felt like Neely O'Hara. Shhure Doc, hit me up. I'll take some of the blue ones, the red ones, and throw in some green ones for the morning. I hemmed. I hawed. I left with a scrip. There's something unnerving to me about taking painkillers. Maybe I've lived too long with the "suck it up" mentality. I know in the long run, it will only help me live a normal life while my body recovers. Still, there's part of me that feels a little strange about taking them. I wouldn't pay any attention to that. You know how bitchy fags can be! Speaking of bitchy, today's black sheep of the day is Montana's Julie Millam who said "A really good reality show for gay people would be five gay men dying of AIDS." You know what Jules? I think an even better show would be the one where you were forced to make that comment in a room full of drag queens and dykes on bikes. Now that's entertainment. September 08, 2003
The Nerve of Some People I've been having much trouble sleeping lately. It seems there's a nerve in my body that wants attention. The little bugger that runs from the forefinger on my right hand up my arm to somewhere past my shoulder blade waits until I'm just into the good parts of sleep to act up. It's been quite a problem for the last few weeks, but over the last couple of days I’ve been averaging three hours of sleep a night. Me without sleep is not pretty. It's one of the most unpretty things I can imagine. I owe any semblance of normalcy today to the gods of the coffee bean. Normalcy being a relative term with me, mind you. In other news, today's black sheep of the day is Dennis Kucinich. Okay, not really him so much as one of his supporters. Yesterday, my friend N. and I were at the Adams Morgan Festival. We had stopped by the Howard Dean table and were given stickers. I like a lot of what Dean has to say, but I'm not officially supporting anyone. I thought what the hell, though, I'll wear it. Later, N. and I are walking up 18th in search of funnel cakes when a Kucinich supporter approaches us and hands her some of his literature. "You know those stickers come off." I roll my eyes behind my sunglasses. N. looks at the literature. "So what is it you like about Dean? The fact that he doesn't support gay marriage or is it that he doesn't want to cut the Pentagon's budget?" Now, I'm all for debating and being passionate about politics, but this guy seemed to think confronting us in the most abrasive way possible would make us fall instantly in love with the Ohio Representative. Yes, please assume that I know nothing about the intricacies of each candidate's platform. Berate me for a decision you disagree with rather than discuss these details with me. Talk to me like I'm your battered spouse. Abuse me and I will love you and your candidate forever. Or I'll just laugh at you and walk away enjoying a delicious funnel cake. One of those. September 03, 2003
Music Makes the People It's nice to know that even on a gray, rainy day when I had to get up much earlier than usual that I can feel this good. My secret? Coffee, a bagel, and hearing this: L-O-V-E love, it's coming back, it's coming back L-O-V-E love, it's coming back, it's coming back Get out of the city and into the sunshine Get out of the office and into the springtime September 02, 2003
No Comment Apparently the web is falling apart. My comments aren't working (thanks, enetation!). People using YACCS for their commenting system also seem to be having a bit of trouble. I, for one, blame Madge and Brit's makeout session. It's the new "in" scapegoat. Look at what Rush says about it: "Isn't it possible, some might ask, that some Al-Qaeda thug could see this kissing (and more of them are watching in their caves than will ever admit it) and decide to punish us? Who knows what they might do!" What Rush doesn't see is that if pop stars can't flirt with lesbianism to punch up the sagging sales of their albums then the terrorists have won. The Best Man I Know Friday was my father's 64th birthday. Twelve years ago on his birthday, he helped me move out of my mother's house to college. I've never been good at telling people how I feel about them unless it's in writing--somehow it's less embarrassing. So I wrote my father a letter for his birthday and slipped it to him as he left my dorm room. It said, among other things, "in my life, if I'm half the man that you are, I'll accomplish more than most people ever do." I feel that way even more now. The Future Is Now Guess what? Glenn went and bought a webcam this weekend. If you didn't know this by now, he's very impulsive. He saw it, he wanted it, he bought it. I would have spent days finding the best value I could. Actually, I don't know that I ever would have bought it. I'm sort of indifferent to the whole thing, but I do love to play with toys.... like this: 
or my Sick Boy pose: 
Look at the size of her head. She must be enormous. (Much respect to the person who first identifies that movie quote). |
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