... But Enough About Me

"Trying to find gold in a silver mine... trying to drink whiskey from a bottle of wine." —Elton John

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

I Heart Betty White

We're down two Golden Girls, with two to go. Oh, it pains me to think of losing Rue McClanahan and Betty White. Yet it's hard to resist the speculation: Who will be the last Girl standing?

Meanwhile, this is hilarious! Betty White calls Ryan Reynolds an "ab-crunching jackass," and he tells her to suck a hot cock. And Sandra Bullock slaps Reynolds around for picking on poor Betty.



I know I'm totally falling for this viral marketing, but I'll probably never see the movie its meant to promote. The worst part: I have an irrational dislike of Sandra Bullock, but this clip is actually making me like her.

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Friday, May 01, 2009

You Better Work

Start with a strong-woman ensemble piece like the 1980 film 9 to 5. Add music written by gay-fave country diva Dolly Parton. Throw in an orchestra, some sequins and a bit of razzle-dazzle, and you should have a recipe for a little slice of gay heaven.

"9 to 5: The Musical," which opened at New York's Marriott Marquis Theater last night, comes pretty close.

More

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Monday, March 23, 2009

Mission Accomplished

The dirty little "secret" about RuPaul's Drag Race is it doesn't matter who wins this competition. RuPaul is not passing on any crown. Are you kidding me? She's just gettin' started! This entire season has been all about one person: RuPaul.

And I'm not saying that's a bad thing.

Fittingly, Season One closed on one more example of the contestants acting as co-stars warming their hands on RuPaul's fire. The girls had to learn new choreography for a guest role on RuPaul's new video and they had to record a rap for inclusion in her single. However, I think what we saw this week firmly placed Nina and Bebe among the fiercest of the fierce.

Bebe Zahara Benet
Camaroooooon!
[www.bebezaharabenet.com


Tonight Bebe won the crown and our hearts. I had always hoped Nina would win. She's the only one who has never had to lip-synch for her life, and her heart and charisma enriched the experience for everyone. But I would have been satisfied with either of her or Bebe. And Bebe's plans to start a charity for kids in Camaroon with HIV/AIDS is, frankly, one of the highest marks of a true champion.

Rebecca's lucky star, on the other hand, seemed to have faded this week. From the start of this episode (and frankly before), the race was down to Nina and Bebe. Through every step this week, Rebecca just couldn't cut it. She didn't hit the choreography, she had half as much rap as she needed, she couldn't pull herself (or her wig) together for the video shoot, and she had no capacity for taking direction from Mike Ruiz.

Either she's finally feeling the pressure, or it's just a bad day. Or maybe it's because she shouldn't have gotten this far in the first place. "You never, ever rush a queen," she says. But the other two seemed to manage just fine. She's full of excuses this week, but even she knows her time is up.

In this week's "Under the Hood," Nina confronts Rebecca with a few things. It's a classy moment: Rather than part ways with bad blood, she calls out Rebecca's shadiness and makes peace with her. Nina and Bebe bend over backward to give her the benefit of the doubt: "You probably don't know you're doing it" and "you probably don't do this intentionally." But it was a real barrier to her ability to make any friends on this show, and it did a lot to keep people from trusting her. It's nothing personal, but it's an important lesson for them to impart.

And they seal it with a kiss. Mwah, mwah. "Ay, Loca. Work it out."

Rebecca concedes a few times this season that she probably appears standoffish to the others, but it's not intentional. "It's just the way I am."

But when asked about the others' reactions to her, she always says something like, "I'm used to it." In other words: I am a victim, those bitches don't like me, they're jealous of me, and I'm used to it, so whatever. She recognizes she's improving her look or her performance, but she's not improving herself or her professionalism: witness her Viva Glam breakdown, tonight's disastrous video shoot tardiness.

Ru asks her point-blank, "Do you think it's this kind of behavior that alienates you from the other girls." And her response is either ugly or just thoughtless, I'm not sure: "I think it's maybe because they're a little older..."

Nothing to do with her, of course.

When Nina and Bebe are talking about staying in touch and working together after the show, Rebecca says nope, I'm here to win, and "I can't let things like friendships get in the way." If this is just "how she is," it sucks, and it will always hurt her.

So, while she's fixing her wig and being friendless, Nina and Bebe are holding hands, blowing kisses, and forging a friendship that will carry them through their success in ways Rebecca can't seem to imagine.

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Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Absolutely Fabricated

   ab fab first look
Sweetie, darling, does mummy's script need surgery?
A friend of mine who is always in the know sent me this picture of the new American Patsy and Eddie. While I'm grateful for the first look, I'm also a little scared.

OK, so you can't judge a book by its cover, and all that, but please, please, please tell me it's not going to look like a couple of women dressed up as Patsy and Eddie at a Halloween party!

I don't even know why this is being taken on now. It was so right the first time around. My greatest fear is that this new series will either be so similar that it looks like a poor reproduction, or so different it will be pointless.

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Monday, March 09, 2009

Shannel, No. 6

Shannel   
I'm beautiful, dammit!
[www.poptower.com]
Oh, Shannel ... Say it ain't so. A sixth contestant has been cut from RuPaul's Drag Race. And she was wronged!

I'm a little mad at her for giving up the fight. Her "I don't want to be here anymore!" was a major disappointment for me. Week after week, she has taken harsh, often meaningless criticism with dignity and respect. Even tonight, Santino said she's "saying everything right," but she's just not connecting with him. What does that even mean? I think it says more about the judge than the contestant.

It's hard to say how much her announcement affected the judges' decision. I think it was honest exasperation, not a strategy. And who could blame her? You can see it in this week's "under the hood" and, sadly, her exit interview. What more can she do?

When she got pitted against Rebecca in the lip synch, she put up a fight again. I think she saw a light at the end of the tunnel. I did. And maybe I'm no judge of these things, but I think her performance was better than Rebecca's.

Maybe it all went wrong when she lifted up that dress and shook her little butt. That and the Hannibal Lecter-esque lip-smacking earlier on, which was met with the sound of crickets chirping, may have been just a step too far. Oh, I wish she'd just hold back a bit and let her talent carry her forward. Instead, she always resorts to a trick: snakes, juggling, those assless chaps. I picture her as a trained circus animal, with Merle Ginsberg tossing her lumps of meat after each jump through the fire hoop.

Everyone wants to ditch Rebecca this week — even 47% of the audience! I wanted her to get far, but her time has come. She was so overrated during the vogue-off. Shannel characteristically pulled a cartwheel out of her ass, but her posing was better. I thought the whole drag ball/vogue theme, a nice nod to the drag history, would have given an advantage to the more seasoned of the girls. But that Rebecca has nine lives, and I think RuPaul has a soft spot for her.

The best part of the vogue-off was RuPaul's commentary: "Paint your face, honey!"

"Face! Face! Face!"

"Why you all gagging so? She bring it to you every ball!"

This was a tough episode: swimsuit, evening gown, and business suit. Forget about Miss America, honey. And these ladies aren't even ladies! Plus, these colors were truly awful — more Froot Loops than mango mojito.

The inclusion of Charo was a stroke of genius on so many levels, not the least of which was a welcome lightening of the mood. I don't know where she went, but I'm glad she's back! (Looking strangely the same as the last time I saw her — on Pee-Wee's Playhouse!) Who can resist her? She even got the pit crew to dance. I wish to god she had stayed on as a judge, but the flamenco diva magic ended far too soon.

The runway question, "Why should you win?" was a telling moment. Bebe led with a dignified answer: "There is pride and dignity in dressing up." Nina said she wants to inspire others. Shannel answered like a politician, saying a lot without ever really answering the question: "I love myself," essentially.

But I hate, hate, hate Rebecca's answer. When someone asks why you should win, you need to have a real reason, something personal and meaningful. I want to make my grandma proud. Or I need the money to buy a house for my mom. But the best Rebecca can come up with is "I want this."

That's not a reason; it just restates the question: I want this because I want this. OK, obviously she's working hard. This is not easy. So, let that be her reason. It would have been better if she'd said simply, "because I deserve to." At least that speaks to the competition, not just some childish sense of entitlement.

Line of the night: RuPaul's repeated declarations of "Extravaganza eleganza!"

Charo, on the dance: "Be careful. Spooning leads to forking."

Charo, on the posture: "Even if you don't breathe, nevermind. If you drop dead, you drop dead with class."

Charo, on the walk: "Uno, dos, uno, dos. I am the biggest bitch in the world."

Nina: "How am I gonna place a mango in an evening gown?"

RuPaul, to Shannel: "Yes... something to wash down the fava beans."

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Monday, March 02, 2009

Dress You Up

This week the girls get to play with some real live dolls. These fierce fairy queens have to drag five tomboy bruisers out of the fight and into the light — and down the runway. How hard can it be? Women wear drag all the time: Dolly ... Cher ... Edina and Patsy.



After last week, Rebecca is clearly public enemy Number One. Shannel, for one, can't wait to see her go. It sets up another nice rivalry. Shannel wimps out at first, when the lady fighters lead the queens in a boxing ring workout. But then she rallies and comes back swinging, ultimately putting up the best fight against Rebecca.

But Rebecca pulls out ahead. Her reward for winning the mini-challenge is decide which boy gets paired with which girl. But all of those women look like a challenge to me. How much can she really stack the deck?

Since episode two, when Rebecca said she'd eliminate Shannel, she has shown herself to be a fiercely smart competitor. Of course, the assumption is that Rebecca is sabotaging the others. But behind the curtain, and "under the hood," she says she tried to split them up fairly.

It's touching to see the boys coaching the women. You get the impression that they're giving the lady fighters real life advice, not just runway pep talk. And to their credit, the fighters are game for this challenge. They do their best, but it's not like they'd normally be seeking this kind of "help." It's as much work for them as the workout was for the queens. These women are not gonna go back home and put these new skills to use.

This episode plays with the meaning of drag. In the runway show, the real women look no different from men in drag. Is this show about men teaching women how to act like women? Or is it about men teaching women how to act like men acting like women? How many layers are there?

What's real? It's almost as if the women have to exaggerate more than the queens do to "act like women."

What's natural? RuPaul says Mia has a "natural beauty" — but only after Mia has been all dolled up by Nina.

The results are impressive, and this is a tough one to judge. Clearly it's getting hard on RuPaul. He has said many times in the press that he was surprised by how close he got to the competitors. He excuses himself before he can give his verdict this week. I just want to know where he goes. To meditate? Is there a chapel in some corner of the studio where he prays? Does he call in a life line? Does he consult the Psychic Friends Network?

The lip-synch showdown was a disappointment with Bebe practically tearing herself to pieces. Is everyone going to flip their wigs from now on? Is this what it takes to win?

What made Shannel's performance remarkable was how she ran with an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction and turned it around. I don't think ripping off your hair shows passion; I think it's just kind of ugly. But someone has to go. Au revoir, Ongina.

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Sunday, March 01, 2009

If You Were In My Movie

If there was ever a movie just screaming to be remade, it is Hush ... Hush, Sweet Charlotte.

Just get a load of the synopsis on Netflix:
After her betrothed died from multiple ax wounds 40 years ago, everyone in town thought Charlotte Hollis (Bette Davis) was guilty. But with no evidence to convict her, she walked. Since that time, holed up in a crumbling Southern mansion with her devoted servant (Agnes Moorehead), Charlotte's been a recluse. But when an ambitious cousin (Olivia de Havilland) comes along to get her hands on the plantation, Charlotte has to defend herself.
It is irresistible.

And check out the trailer:


Magnificent. Thunder and lightning! A shameful affair with a married man! Bloody murder! A madwoman hiding away in a decaying mansion! Shattered glass!

Agnes Moorehead is marvelous as the loyal maid with suspicious motives. (I had only ever seen her as Endora on Bewitched, a role I see now she was clearly overqualified to play, but apparently her masterful if not subtle turn in Charlotte is nothing unusual for her.)

Olivia DeHavilland is the perfect villain, a charming and respected city slicker career woman, and eternally jealous.

And of course the inimitable Bette Davis, well into the creepy autumn of her career, is still on top of her game, capable of both the most grotesqueoverreaction and the highest subtlety of movement. Through most of the film, she (actress and character) is a sad case, in an almost humiliating role, getting slapped around and tricked into madness by the people she trusts most. But she utterly carries the climax of the film and has such a satisfying triumph, that all the cliches of mid-'60s psychological melodrama are enthusiastially forgiven.

A remake of this movie with a slightly modernized point of view could be something really dark and gorgeous. So I got to thinking: Hey — fun party game! Load up on mint juleps, pop in Bette Davis' cultish masterpiece, and go around the room asking everyone who would play each of the characters if the movie were to be remade today.

My picks:
Charlotte Hollis, the protaginist, a recluse, mad with grief after the brutal murder of her married lover 40 years prior. Did she kill him? Did her overprotective father?
Original: Bette Davis
Remake: Susan Sarandon or Sigourney Weaver

Miriam Deering, the jealous cousin with a long memory and a deep grudge, the outsider, the villain.
Original: Olivia de Havilland
Remake: Annette Bening or Marcia Gay Harden

Drew Bayliss, Charlotte's cousin and trusted doctor — a little too eager to pump her full of sedatives.
Orignal: Joseph Cotten
Remake: Billy Bob Thornton

Velma Cruther, the faithful servant, looking out for Miss Charlotte's best interests 'til the tragic end.
Original: Agnes Moorehead
Remake: Shirley Maclaine

Harry, a charming, snooping British writer investigating the true story behind Charlotte's legend.
Original: Cecil Kellaway
Remake: Ian McKellen or Michael Caine

Big Sam, Charlotte's papa, who sets off this whole murder business in the opening scene.
Original: Victor Buono (Anyone remember him as King Tut in the 1960s Batman series?)
Remake: Tommy Lee Jones

Jewel Mayhew, the wronged widow with the shocking secret around which the entire story turns.
Original: Mary Astor
Remake: Meryl Streep

Luke Standish, the sympathetic sheriff who has been humoring the presumed murderess for far too long.
Original: Wesley Addy
Remake: Peter Coyote (who else?) or maybe, if you want more quirk, Johnny Depp

John Mayhew, Charlotte's unlucky lover, who gets hacked to pieces early on. (We just need someone forgettable and disposable.)
Original: Bruce Dern
Remake: Keanu Reeves

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Monday, February 23, 2009

Ryan Ong Drops a Bomb

Ongina   
Ongina: Good things come in small packages.
[tv.yahoo.com]
What a shocker this week! Not the win, but the reaction. And the drama is kicking up a notch.

The "dolls" are competing to a be a spokesperson for M.A.C Cosmetics. It's a pretty cool deal. She'll be the public face of the M.A.C AIDS Fund. Each queen has to demonstrate in a screen test what makes her a Viva Glam girl.

We start with a round of constructive criticism. The self-analysis is a bit tedious, so thank goodness it doesn't last long. The take-away is that Rebecca is feeling isolated, partly out of shyness, partly because she thinks the other girls are hogging the spotlight. Everyone wants to see more Rebecca. Quien es esta niña?

The focus on Rebecca and Jade is interesting, because it begins to bring out the conflict. I've always thought of them together as the dark horses, because they are always the safest: not bad enough to go home, not good enough to win. They are probably competing with each other more than with the other queens. And now that their group of rivals is shrinking, they are more and more exposed. Some shit is gonna hit.

The girls pair off to do each other's makeup. You know Shannel thinks it's in the bag, just because she does good makeup all the time. The importance here, however, is not the skills but the results. Jade wins the mini-challenge, but all it gets her is five more minutes for her screen test.

For the screen test, Nina pulls out another pants suit, but she works a sort of exotic, regal glamour. This looks a little to me like her audition video. When she gets the words down, she's a real charmer.

Meanwhile, whatever Rebecca has done to her face is not working. Has she been out in the sun too long with her oversize D&G sunglasses? Even worse is her breakdown.

Apparently, like many of us, she has a friend with HIV. But in her case, it's so emotionally overwhelming that she can't even finish her screen test. I have a hard time believing it's real. Look at how sensitive I am! Look how in-touch I am! Whatever. She's taking someone else's tragedy and making it about herself. So not "viva." So not "glam." So not winning.

Jade's screen test is a worthy effort, but a little too "Welcome to my Home." It's well-prepared, but the words don't match the whip.

Bebe's grande dame Africana is gorgeous. I thought she might win this week. But even this could not match the effervescent Ongina, who I thought looked like a boy in mom's makeup. But her tone and her optimism wins me over. She stages the shoot red balloons, an empty picture frame, a silver tea tray. Where's the party? And, OMG, I want learn how to write backwards, too!

Shannel, once again, is all talk. Even the models are rolling their eyes. "You might want to try something that actually fits into 30 seconds," RuPaul says. It's like pouring your soul out in a phone conversation after the person on the other end has hung up. I'm so glad you understand me. No one else listens like you do. Hello? ... Hello?

In the runway show, many are clearly safe. Bebe is glorious as Cameroonian Ascot Gavotte. Ongina looks to me like she did in the first episode. Nina, winging it literally this time, is an exotic bird in a punk-rock pants suit and feathered gauntlets. But she is not very womanly. Merl complains about the arms, but it's the chest that kills it for me. And I wonder which intern's head rolled over the slippage on the stage. (Maybe it was from Rebecca's hysterics.)

I still think Jade looks manly, too. He's going for dominatrix, but all I saw was permed lion-tamer. By the way, what is it with RuPaul's obsession with his junk? "There's still a lot of snakes on this motha-fuckin' plane!" she shouts.

The runway's more dramatic changes are born of desperation. Rebecca takes a risk as a glam-rock KISS roadie. And we see that her screen test didn't go nearly as badly as we were led to believe, though it is rather artless.

Shannel moves on from last week's huge jugs to juggling. The circus has come to town! She teeters between supreme overconfidence and abject failure every week. I wish she'd stop talking so damn much and just see what's happening around her. Again, the screen test was not awful, but she is lucky to escape the bottom two.

Jade and Rebecca face off for the lip sync elimination. Jade is a little too precise, not enough Annie Lennox, but Rebecca is all rock 'n' roll. And she gets a little ruthless, pushing Jade down to her knees — a little too harshly. Jade walks out of the show full of piss and steam, and Rebecca stays on to feel the survivor's guilt another day.

The most dramatic moment is the announcement of Ongina as the winner. He breaks down and confesses to the world (and his parents) that he is HIV positive. It immediately changes the tone. Ru's shoulders drop, and she melts into an icon of compassion. Merl is crying. Santino is shaking his head. But Ru brings it back with a simple acknowledgement: Ongina is an inspiration, and these kids are all sisters.

Ongina's screen test and personal philosophy seem all the more remarkable and meaningful in this light. And it makes Rebecca's freak-out moment all the more bizarre and insincere. Rebecca says, "It's not a challenge. It's personal." That may be true. But while others may witness the disease, Ongina is living it full of happiness and energy and strength.

This is why I love this show, these surprises. I am continually amazed that a competition ostensibly about surface and image is so revealing of inner beauty. When these girls bounce back, they are not just picking themselves off the floor. They are elevating themselves six inches higher — and further.

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Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Drag Queen of the Damned

Akashia   
What, me work?
[www.rupaulsdragrace.com]
Poor Akashia just cannot catch a break! And for once, I feel sorry for her.

Her exit interview segment is incredible. She opens like a flower and spills out a shower of jaw-dropping humility: "Shannel deserved to win..." "I had so much fun, and I'm so happy to be here, and I'm so happy for the other girls..." It goes on and on.

"I have not cried in, like, four years," she wails. Honey, maybe there's something to that.

I think she's relieved. All that pressure to out-bitch everyone else. They're not crocodile tears. Now she can be a real girl.

We started out a little weak in this episode. Jade took the Oprah challenge way too literally, all but smearing a burned cork on her face and putting on a minstrel show.

And then Shannel proclaims herself expert of all things Winfrey. "There's no challenge for me here," she says. No challenge? Oh, you know that's the first sign there's a problem. The moment you get that comfy, you're in deep enough to drown. I'm noticing that the ones who are convinced that they've won don't typically do so well.

I'm still a little disgusted that not a single one of them could pronounce "Ahmadinejad." OK, it's a hard word at first sight. But it's not very Oprah-like to blurt out in its place any old random combination of letters, is it? At least be a sport and sound it out. It's the vocal equivalent of pounding out the middle row of keys: "sdjfjsdkafajkdsfjkasdfhkasdf"

Then it gets a little better. Nina Flowers with a blow dryer: priceless. And Ongina's Connie Chung crack exposed enough white guilt in me to make me laugh out loud. (There's a little bit more of her in the video extras online. Worth watching.)

Unfortunately, I have zero interest in seeing Tori Spelling and her hubby interviewed. I would rather have seen her as a judge. Instead, this insertion came off as poorly executed cross-promotion. Dean does get one point, though, for painting his toe nails and trying on a pair of heels.

Akashia was the predictable diva bitch on the floor. No grace at all. On the opposite end, was fur-festooned PETA nightmare, Nina Flowers. Her language barrier worked against her at first, but her playfulness won me over. Of all the contestants who screwed up her lines, she was the best at admitting it and moving on.

Shannel — what a talker, again. She was interviewing herself. She says she was being sincere and true. Yes, but sincerely and truly a self-indulgent bore.

It seemed poetic that she should be covered in snakes in her runway session. She is so slick and untouchable, poised and still, and very sharp and dangerous. Total Las Vegas surface. Meanwhile, pixie-like Ongina was a cutie pie in baby-doll chic. Some girls need the big hair, but I love how good this one looks bald.

Rebecca Glasscock is g-g-gorgeous, statuesque and classy, but I still feel like she is holding something back. She is so safe. She doesn't fail the challenge enough to get cut, and she doesn't succeed in the challenge enough to win. How long can she hold out?

Jade makes me feel the same way. In her swaying, flossy nightie, she was a little too Eva Longoria-meets-Joan Crawford accepting the Oscar at home. It was an odd shape for her body. And that enormous belly-button bauble — a huge distraction. I love the wink, though, when Ru says she can stay.

Bebe Zahara Benet pulled out some Lion King on us again. God help me, but I still love it. She deserved to win. I bless the rains down in Africa, because we are on fire up in here!

When Nina walked out, Ru totally nailed it: Madonna at 50. It's the first thing I thought. (Are you there, Madonna? It's me, Nina.) She has proven herself to be more versatile than I would have expected. In the "Under the Hood" segment, after the girls make fun of themselves for about 10 minutes, Nina walks in.

Loca! (my new favorite catch phrase of the show)

She rips off her wig, looking for all the world like Uncle Fester just stepped away from the M.A.C counter at Macy's, and blows the roof off the place. I think her linguistic challenge has made her into an excellent improviser. She is always Nina — but show Nina is is constantly unfolding in ways that I think surprise her as well as us.

And then Akashia. I'm mad she fell, mainly because there were already enough reasons to cut her. To add that shame makes the whole thing sadder somehow; she's almost less deserving of the hook.

The whole time during the runway show, I was wishing we had Tammie Brown back! That would have been her strength. And I can see her wackiness shining through in the interviews. What a loss we suffered in episode two! Shannel rightly gives Tammie props at the top of the episode. (Shannel may be a loquacious know-it-all, but she is also very graceful.)

So, it came down to now standard baseline-setting Akashia and a clearly shocked Shannel. And what an amazing Lipsynch For Your Life it was! First of all, how incongruous for that big-tittied medusa to be singing "I believe the children are our future." Girl, she believes the children are our lunch. And I never thought I would see a white girl from Vegas — even with a headdress — out synch the Queen of the Damned with a Whitney Houston standard. But she was on it. And when it all fell apart, how inspired — to tear off that drag. Just keep going. Peel off the layers, dig down with those press-on nails, and find the greatest love — something human and vulnerable, inside of me.

Both girls fell and both girls dusted themselves off and got back up and gave us everything we needed — and made the final decision as tough as it should be.

"This is not then last you'll see of me," says Akashia, peeling off her bumps later in the green room. I desperately hope not.

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Wednesday, February 04, 2009

The 'M' Word

The discovery of Tom Daschle's whopping unpaid tax bill of $146,000 is a big let down to say the least. I always liked Daschle, his goofy red glasses, his cogent and clear-headed leberalism, his class and demeanor as Senate majority leader. I loved that he was respected (dare I say it?) Democrat during the Bush administration. But he is reduced in an instant to a rusty old Washington crony. His specs are cracked and our president's vision is blurred.

One bright spot in the whole mess was Barack Obama's admission on half a dozen networks that he made a m— ... a mmm— ... mmmistake!

"I think it was a mistake. I think I screwed up," he said.

I nearly choked on my coffee when I heard it on NPR. In the last eight years, I cannot recall a single instance of George W. Bush ever admitting to a mistake. The word never even got stuck in his throat, because it apparently never even entered his mind. Even his press secretaries would infuriatingly admit nothing more than "mistakes had been made," but no one ever was culpable — except the scapegoats he expelled from his administration after they had done all they could to undermine the will of the people.

I respect a man who knows when he screws up. Whether or not Obama was cornered by the press, whether or not his mea culpa was a calculated move, this signifies a major turn in the conduct of the nation's highest office. It is a turn toward the light.

But there is still a major problem in Washington. OK, first of all, who are these people not paying taxes? It defies explanation in obvious ways.

And do they seriously think it won't be discovered? Especially following the scandal around the confirmation of the new treasury secretary, Tim Geithner, who owed $43,000 himself? Daschle probably would have made it through if he hadn't stepped out of the process, and it's a good thing he did. But the real kicker is he probably would have been tremendously effective as head of health and human services. We are all losing out here.

There must be a common root to this problem. Why does all this scrutiny happen during the cabinet confirmation process? Why not earlier? Why is their no indication of their "error" until this confirmation process begins? The damage is done when the taxes are not paid, not when the non-payment is discovered.

Maybe some good will come out of all this exposure, and the president will look into some measures to prevent these people from not paying their taxes. Serving in the government is a privilege, not a free pass. How about we set up a new branch of the IRS to go after these people — not the little people like you and me. Let's guarantee that senators and representatives and other elected Washingtonians are paying their taxes from the beginning? Don't they count? Certainly they do, and I'm sure there are legions more of these folks, each owing hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Getting wind of Daschle's planned withdrawal, Nancy Killefer, a nominee to a lesser position, chief White House performance officer, pulled out as well because of unpaid taxes on a household employee. I guess she owed no more than $900. Not a big deal. She could write a check right now. But the principle stands, and in this climate she was wise to disentangle herself from the administration.

Let's hope the others in line for the cabinet wise up and start putting their fellow citizens before their wallets and their careers.

There's always hope, I guess.

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Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Checkered Flags and Polka-Dot Panties

Watching Logo's new reality show RuPaul's Drag Race on DVR, you can't vote for which queen you would eliminate via SMS (I would have voted to cut Ongina) — but at least you can skip past the Oxy Clean guy. Oh my god, I hate him.

RuPaul   
"Chantez, you stay" or "sashay away"?
[www.rupaul.com]
I am not accustomed to seeing much of RuPaul out of drag. I seem to remember an episode of HBO's Real Sex in the late '80s or early '90s that featured him among several other queens, and I think there were scenes of the boys undergoing their transformations. Who knows which episode it was. My hormone-addled memories of those days, watching "dirty" TV shows in the dark with the volume turned down after mom and dad went to sleep, are not what I would call clear or reliable.

I had a chance to meet him today. In person, he is about a mile tall without the heels. He is fierce without the wig. He is tall and lanky and angular. He is striking. And I know he's as real as it gets, but I can't avoid thinking of that male body as a mere canvas for the feminine persona.

On the show, playing in turns the host, the mentor, and the ultimate judge, Rupaul is so classy and together. In his pinstripes and conservative (if slightly oversize) spectacles, he lends a professional, practiced air to the proceedings. One can almost hear him in the dressing room practicing all the sponsors' lines. American Airlines. M.A.C. Absolut.

Hey, a girl's gotta pay the bills.

In his tucked-and-plucked getup, he is every bit the good-old RuPaul I have frankly been missing for a long time. It took this show to remind me.

One thing that surprises me is the good chemistry among the contestants. I expected a cat fight, but I didn't get it. They dish on each other a little bit, but they outwardly express heaps of break-a-leg support. And it feels real. It's a nice change. It takes balls to be a drag queen — even if you are tucking them up and under. The grace and humility in front of the judges, so far, even when the opinions come off as a bit harsh, is refreshing. They are all so young, and there is much to learn — even for the barbecue-seasoned elder statesman Pork Chop.

The show comes off as a bit earnest yet extremely self aware and playful. Like drag, it doesn't take itself too seriously —l from the ferocious eyes to the wicked painted-on lips; the soft lighting and warm colors to the frosted lens; RuPaul's melodramatic pronunciations ("Don't fuck it up") to the whole "Gentlemen, start your engines ... May the best woman win" thing. It is one long catch-phrase.

There is no shortage of aggrandizement for host and judge RuPaul. Even the workroom clock is an image of him. He makes Heidi Klum look modest. But that larger-than-life ego is also very drag. He's got two people inside of him. You try to contain that.

So, Pork Chop is gone. I'm disappointed the fat girl got cut first. It would have been nice to have a diversity of size up there. But as it turns out, whatever her skills as a performer, Miss Victoria Parker can't sew a stitch. And that will never do. What was she thinking?

(Plus, all those skinny bitches are making me hungry. Have a chicken wing and a plate of ribs, honey. Don't try to look like one!)

Nina Flowers looks promising, but I wonder if she's a one-trick pony. I like Bebe, but I'm always gonna pull for a girl from Minneapolis.

I'm looking forward to seeing some growth from Jade. As a boy, he is a cutie, but a little girly. Strangely, as a queen, she looks like a boy in a wig and makeup.

I think the underdog so far is Tammie Brown. She looks like a coked-up Bette Davis with a Great Plains forehead, but there's something I like about her. She's got a fire in her, and I think we'll see it come out before long.

Best lines from tonight's show:
RuPaul: "Ooh! This ain't no truck stop, honey!"

RuPaul: "... hotter than Tyra. In a fat suit. In July!"

Akashia: "Jade is real cute. Um, I might be a lesbian wit' him."

Merle: "Hmm..., 'Ongina.' This sounds like a cross between a heart attack and a yeast infection."

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Monday, February 02, 2009

The Toke of Hope

 Michael Phelps
His abs still go on for days. Clearly he's not a pothead. Who cares?
[www.thelifeofluxury.com]
Michael Phelps has smoked pot.

Next.

His swimming career will be unaffected, but he will probably lose endorsement money on this, which is a bummer, but only a temporary setback.

We've hung the hopes of a nation around his neck, weighing him down with each gold medal (as if his success has anything at all to do with me or you). How dare he betray us? How dare he be capable of error?

Whatever. Speaking of him strictly as a public figure, I'm glad. He may be a genetic freak marvel, born to torpedo through chlorinated waters and mug for the Wheaties box. He may have more focus and drive in one day of training than you or I could muster over a lifetime. But in a backward sort of way, his one-time-only (as far as we know) toke should give us all hope. It is proof positive that he is human — and that maybe we all have a shot. Any other attitude suggests staggering hypocrisy to me.

Barack Obama is another one we have built up to impossible heights. And he's a smoker. Dirty, dirty smoker! A producer for This American Life recently begged the American public: Please do not, by public outcry and hypocritical posturing, drive those American Spirits from his lips! Barack Obama is a hero, a savior, an untouchable. We adore him because we are not like him. He is better than us.

Bullshit. He is us. And his clandestine tobacco habit proves it.

As our friend Judy Bernly once said, "I smoked a marijuana cigarette at a party once. I could never figure out what the big deal was." One thing's for sure: Phelps is a man, not a mouse. Well, he's definitely not a wouse.

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Friday, January 30, 2009

Anti-Materialism is a Girl's Best Friend

This is a great update on "Material Girl." Remember that one? We owe so much to Madonna. And Marilyn.



I love Lily Allen. And I love the dancing presents!

And just for old time's sake...



Still a great little video. I remember how thrilled I was as a young lad when my mother admitted to me that she liked "Material Girl." It was a moment only a mother and her gay son could share.

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Thursday, January 29, 2009

U. S. of Ab Fab

Eddie and Patsy
Sweetie, darling! I mean ... like, dude.
[www.guardian.co.uk]

Absolutely Fabulous is heading to the states! Again?

After Roseanne Barr's aborted attempt to make an American version a decade ago, apparently someone else is willing to take up the dangerous, possibly career-chilling mantle of developing for an American audience a hit British TV show that only enjoyed cult status in the States. (There are so many. Do you watch BBC America?) Fox has bought the pilot episode of a new Ab Fab series.

Translating English to English, er — British to American worked for a while with some game shows. It worked with Harry Potter. It's working with The Office, though it is a wholly different show from the UK original. But can it work for Ab Fab, a show that was so stuck in the moment and instantly dated that it failed to reinvent itself across five series even for its own adoring audience?

Apparently brassy boozers Eddie and Patsy will be living it up in Los Angeles this time — as ever under the disapproving eye of daughter Saffy. No word yet on casting, but we know Jennifer Saunders will be executive producer. Will the girls be American or British? Is this a new television show altogether? Or should we just think of it as Series 6?

I can't imagine the cast is the same. They were getting to be a bit past their sell-by date even in series 4 and 5, which I think saw a general erosion of the concept and was genuinely less funny.

I have loved Ab Fab from the beginning. My friend first told me about it in 1994, upon his return from a year in England. They hadn't even gotten through the original three series by then. I was a young-buck college freshman and hungry for gay, gay, gay — and here it was! I had the entire three-series set on VHS. Now, of course, I have all five seasons on DVD. Plus the specials. I adore it. It makes me all warm and gooey inside.

This clip goes all the way back to the first episode of the first series, but I think it is still my absolute favorite. You never want the party to end ... but I fear that the longer the show ran, the more diluted, the less funny, the more bizarre it got. This contains some of the best lines of the entire show.

I love Ab Fab like I love '80s music. It is classic, it appeals to my baser nature, it fills me with joy, and it is surrounded by a cultish enthusiasm. You had to have been there when it was new and relevant, when it was a phenomenon, in order to understand it and care about it. People just a few years younger than me, who have never seen a single episode, usually don't care to. The accent is hard to understand. They don't get the humor. And who are those celebrities they are making fun of, anyway?

(Sometimes even I have trouble with that one.)

But maybe those are precisely the folks who will go ga-ga for this new round. Who knows. For some reason, the idea of a couple of 40-something women, boozing it up in L.A., in complete denial of their age, their desperation and their destructiveness, doesn't necessarily sound funny to me. It just sounds accurate.

Good luck to you, Ms. Saunders! I will certainly be watching.

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Monday, January 26, 2009

Better Than Haggis?

Because this is New York and you can get virtually every kind of food at virtually any time of day, I suppose my coworker's euphemistic reference to "Scottish food" lends a certain credibility to an otherwise nutritionally meritless McDonald's lunch.

Even funnier to me is his reluctance to eat any meat product from McDonald's, hence his characteristic cheeseburgers with no beef. They're like a soft, sugary grilled cheese sandwich with ketchup and onions.

With standards so peculiar, I imagine it takes a number of visits to a consistent McDonald's to get the counter staff to stop giving you that look.

cheeseburger

To each his own.

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Tuesday, January 20, 2009

44th and 1st

The inauguration, as witnessed through my friends' Facebook status updates:
is anticipating noon

is having an inaugural pizza party

is thrilled, less than an hour to go before we come out of the darkness.

is wishing she was in D.C. right now!

is all about the transfer of power.

presidential pizza!

is thinking that both of her parents would have loved to see this moment.

is excited for change in Washington D.C., but it's beginning to resemble a circus.

is a little choked up already.

thinks Bush is loaded. did he have a few bloody mary's this morning?

wonders what'll happen when they haul George W. out there.

The millions of waving flags are gorgeous.

Don't worry...they will call him "Barack Hussein Obama" when they swear him in. No more of this "H" crap.

People of Earth...Miss Aretha Franklin!

agrees that Cheney being wheeled in looked like Mr. Potter.

is soooooo glad Cheney is gone!!!

What must Sarah Palin be doing now??

thinks Rick Warren could at least have gotten a decent haircut for the occasion.

Ladies and gentlemen ... the Racial Inclusion Chamber Orchestra!

is a giant goosebump.

is STANDING!!

aw... hes stuttering :).

Unflappable Obama is a little flummoxed. As are we all. God bless.

has a new President!!!!

YAY!

HURRAY!

AWESOME!

is pretty damn proud to be an American today.

sssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhh The Prez is talking.

liked the shoutout to "data and statistics".

is thinking we all need a little HOPE right about now.

wonders if Clinton taught Obama that thumb thing.

is wondering where Oprah is....

is proud that Obama did not omit his middle name when he took his oath.

is in awe of America

is moved

is ready

is happy happy happy!

It must be a difficult day for Hillary, but here she is...chosen to be tentpole for the "big tent."

thinks we're going to kick some ass now. America is BACK!

says now THAT is a president!

thinks the US turned this one out. Work.
Welcome home, Mr. President.

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Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Celebrate Drag History Month!

Get more Drag Queen history.

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Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Now This is Change We Can Believe In

I wasn't a big fan of the dress Michelle wore to her husband's acceptance speech. But — big deal ... I'm just thrilled the Obamas are going to be taking up residence at 1600 Pennsylvania.

Here's hoping for something a little prettier at the inauguration! She should take a leaf out of RuPaul's book! This is just gorgeous.

RuPaul as Barack and Michelle Obama

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Saturday, December 13, 2008

'Tis the Season (4.5)

There are such long breaks between seasons of Battlestar Galactica that I've forgotten what the frak is happening in the series. That half-season tease last year was a rotten, dirty trick.

I remember something about finding Earth, though in considerably poorer shape than anyone had anticipated. But there's still a great deal of speculation about who the missing cylons are. And I don't remember many remain to be revealed. (Or have they been revealed? I don't remember!) Is Roslin still dying? I'm finding it hard to recall who's dead and who's still alive. That air-lock sure got a lot of use last season.

Currently, I'm enthralled by a series of webisodes (oh, how I dislike that word) taking place after the last season 4 broadcast. It's all so deliciously familiar: the spaceship sound effects, Tigh's crusty Canadian voice.

Plus, apparently, Gaeta's gay! I've been wondering why a show depicting a society sexually liberated enough to have men and women share the same bathrooms, has been so completely absent of gay characters. But I am a little suspicious. The last time they dragged out a gay character, it was during a lull between seasons. Remember Admiral Cain from Galactica Razor? And she ended up dead!

There was no hint of her love life during Season 3, but in a between-season TV movie, we find she had an affair with a Six!

And now a freshly amputated Gaeta has a revelation. Is it a cynical plea for attention? Are the homos not good enough for the regular seasons? We'll just throw them an extracurricular bone here and there? We'll see.

For now, I miss this damn show so much that I am perfectly willing to live through another tease. And it gives me plenty of time to pick through the site and catch the frak up. There's an excellent eight-minute recap of the first three seasons.

I'm so hooked, I'll even put this widget on my blog:

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Monday, December 01, 2008

Shave and a Haircut

MR. VALDERGELDER: I've got special reasons for looking my best today. Is there something a little extra you can do? A little special?

JOE: What?

MR. VALDERGELDER: You know, do some of those things you do to the young fellas. Smarten me up a little bit. Face massage. A little perfume water.

JOE: [shocked] All I know is fifteen cents' worth, like usual. And that includes everything that's decent to do to a man!

Hello Dolly!, 1964
At my last haircut, my barber made me an offer I regret turning down. He swiveled me to face the mirror, and held a hand mirror to the back of my head to show me the neat shape he'd made at the base of my skull. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Nope. That'll do it," I said.

He poked my chin suggestively. "A shave, maybe?"

I noticed earlier that day how scruffy I was looking. I was a little embarrassed, like my careless grooming was an affront to his professional sensibilities. I was curious about what it would be like to get a professional job, but it always seems like an extravagance. My mom always said she could never hire a maid, even if she could afford one, because she'd be too embarrassed to let a stranger into an untidy house. A haircut — sure I'll pay someone to do that for me. I'd just make a mess of it by myself. But a shave I should be able to handle without help.

"Uh, no. No," I said.

"Have you ever had a barber's shave?"

"No. Actually, never," I said.

"Oh, you should try it!"

But I was in a hurry. I didn't have the time — even if he'd offered a freebie. And, I noted, he wasn't offering.

I pretended to consider it. "Maybe next time," I said.

"Definitely," he said. It was emphatic. Like we had made an ice skating date or he had invited me over for stuffed cabbage. Like he was looking forward to it. "You should treat yourself every once in a while," he continued. "And it's very good for the skin. Opens up your pores."

A man's relationship with his barber is a solemn, sacred thing — intimate like a secret, as masculine as pissing your name in the snow. Sometimes it's friendly, sometimes it's just business. But it's not merely a service. It's a transaction of trust. It takes some letting go to sit back and allow another man to stroke a blade so close to a major artery. It makes that thin line between life and death much more appreciable.

But I admit to having a little bit of a crush on my barber, which can play tricks on the mind. My barber makes a living by laying his hands all over my scalp, my face, my chin and neck. My friends don't even touch me so much.

Make no mistake, he's straight. He opened a barber shop, he told me once, because he didn't want the temptation of a ladies' hair salon. And thank God, frankly. A gay barber would totally intimidate me, but to daydream about someone off limits is perfectly safe.

He's not even what I would call handsome. But he has a dark, serious confidence that's undeniably sexy. He'll lean in and accidentally brush his chest against my ear. I can feel him breathing close. Sometimes I can catch an improper glimpse up his shirt sleeve at the hair under his arm. The thought of his hands on my chin, my eyes closed, my face steaming and tingling, his quick but gentle hand running that steady razor against my neck, is maybe a little too thrilling.

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Friday, November 14, 2008

A Perfect "10" Historical Moment

Of the artifacts brought back from my husband's recent trip to D.C., the thing that delights me the most is the Veterans Day National Ceremony program (the same one that lists, ironically, "the honorable George W. Bush"), that reads:

Mistress of Ceremonies, Ms. Bo Derek.

What else can one say?

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Thursday, October 16, 2008

The meek shall inherit, bitch!

Leanne Marshall absolutely deserved to win tonight. I love that the mousy librarian-looking granola girl had such a lion inside of her! Screw all those mouthy shrews.

(Run)way to go, Leanne!

And Kenley was a totally graceless sore loser.

I still miss my Wesley. :(

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Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Support Marriage Equality

Thanks, Towleroad.

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Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Half-Pint Lives! Little House on the Prairie — The Musical!

Here's something I wrote for someone else.

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Sunday, August 31, 2008

Don't See This Movie

Testosterone would seem to have everything going for it. The director, David Moreton, did Edge of Seventeen, which is a cute little coming out movie. Stars include marginal but talented TV actor David Sutcliffe, a hot former soap star Antonio Sabato Jr., comic character actress Jennifer Coolidge, and Latino cinema grande dame Sonia Braga. Equal parts eye candy and substance. Just what we want in gay films.

Unfortunately it is an unmitigated mess. The plot is incoherent. The characters are inconsistent. Character development is so poor that I don't believe any of their actions, or their reactions to major turns in the story. Jennifer Coolidge is the only good thing about the movie. She plays a brassy editor with a dirty mouth. Chalk up one point. But the rest of it? Sorry.

The protagonist, Dean, is a graphic novel writer. His hot boyfriend, Pablo, goes missing inexplicably one night. Dean, apparently feeling that his boyfriend is a piece of missing property he must retrieve, follows him two weeks later to Argentina. He finds out that Pablo is from a rich and powerful family. He befriends a woman, Sofia, who works in a cafe across the street from Pablo's family's house. With her brother, Marco, who was Pablo's lover a few years prior, and who we learn is supposed to kill Dean for reasons yet unclear, they reluctantly agree to help him find Pablo.

Up to this point, the movie is merely plodding, awkwardly paced, and annoying. Dean goes from frustrated graphic novel writer to spurned lover to ugly American to unhinged stalker. At one point, he pulls a gun on a cop who is called to the scene when he begins harassing Pablo's mother. We lose a little sympathy for him, but we are led to believe that certain facts will be revealed, and Pablo's disappearance, Dean's irrational behavior, and the strange connection to Sofia and Marco will all make sense in some big payoff scene at the end.

As it turns out, we are misled.

I get that the filmmakers were going for an unconventional arc, revealing plot points strategically to build suspense and achieve a sort of allegiance with the protagonist. And this would be commendable if it could manage to pull itself together into a coherent story. There is enough to work with to make this a suspenseful, unconventional (i.e., not just soft-core porn) gay film. Instead we are left with a disastrous, nonsensical collection of scenes that will leave you wanting two hours of your life back.

It starts out promisingly, even artfully. But the moment we learn that Pablo has gone missing, not only does the protagonist come unglued, but the entire film goes to pieces. Again, thematically interesting — the state of the story mimics the state of mind of the protagonist — but only if you are able to make sense of it for the audience. Otherwise you are wasting our time.

We learn that Pablo has left two weeks after it happens. Dean runs into Pablo's mother at an art gallery, and after manhandling her to get some answers, she reveals that Pablo has returned to Argentina (so why is she in L.A.?), but she refuses to say why.

Rather than helping Dean, Sofia and Marco delay and distract him (and us), promising to take him to Pablo, but instead taking him to places where they know he won't be, e.g., their house, Pablo's country home. Dean's resolve to find Pablo — and win him back, get an explanation, shake his finger at him (it is anyone's guess what he hopes to achieve) — grows exponentially.

Dean sleeps with Marco, in a classic fist-fight-leads-to-sex moment at Pablo's country house. Then the next morning, for no reason apparent to the audience, Marco kills himself. Or, has someone else killed him? (And, importantly, do we care?) Sofia seems mildly disappointed that her brother is dead, and she half-heartedly blames Dean. But they don't report the apparent suicide. (What happens to the body is anyone's guess.)

Despite all this, she continues to hang around with Dean, who has now decided, after remembering a story Marco told him about his and Sofia's ancestors, to cut off Pablo's head. We are left to wonder what Pablo has done that is so terrible that he deserves death. Maybe something juicy to look forward to later on? (Nope. Wrong again.) Dean looks over the chainsaws but opts instead for a machete, which he carries around like a lunatic adventurer. He also picks up a sporty red cooler to store Pablo's head. We finally lose any sympathy we may have had for Dean.

When he finds out that Pablo and Sofia are in phone contact with each other, Dean pulls a gun on her and accidentally shoots her in the hand, vowing not to miss next time. Under threat of death, Sofia arranges a time and place for Dean to meet Pablo, which turns out to be Pablo's wedding 𔃉 to her.

Dean crashes the reception, which is remarkable, because every time he so much as showed up at Pablo's house, his mother called the cops. He grabs a piece of cake, winks at Sofia from across the room, and kidnaps Pablo, who is getting it on with a waiter in another room.

This is our pay-off scene. So we can piece together why he left: Rich family needs to save face; gay heir marries some woman from a cafe across the street so the family is publicly proper, while he goes on sleeping with Argentine waiters and insane Americans.

Dean, who could barely communicate with a taxi driver three days ago, but who now displays a remarkable facility for Argentine highways, drives Pablo to his country house and — we are led to believe — hacks off his head.

Then, back in L.A., we see Dean's editor showering him with accolades for writing another winner (which we must assume is based on the events we have just witnessed). Conveniently, the cooler arrives at his editor's office via air mail while he is there. (Can't get a severed head through customs, I guess.) He snaps it up, tosses it into his driver's side seat where his dog playfully gnaws on the lid. And Dean drives off into the sunset.

So why was Pablo's mom at an L.A. art gallery at the beginning of the movie while Pablo was in Argentina, apart for plot convenience? Why did Sofia toy with him instead of telling him the truth? Why was Marco trying to kill him? It was Sofia's refusal to send Dean away that led to her brother being killed. And when she saw how crazy he was acting, and that he was literally out tom kill her future husband, why did she continue to help him? Why did she intervene when he pulled the gun on the cop earlier and convince him to let Dean go? (And what cop would have allowed it?)

None of these questions is answered. And by the end of the movie, I don't even care.

No one has acted in a remotely plausible manner. No one has any discernible motivation, except Dean, but he is just crazy and, frankly, a little tedious. Basically, all that happens is he gets unceremoniously dumped and he can't take the hint (It's a pretty big hint. He moved back to Argentina.) So he goes to another country feeling entitled to interfere with other people's lives just so he can ... again — what is it exactly that Dean is looking to achieve?

Then, to make matters even worse, infuriatingly, the final scene of the movie shows Sofia and Marco at their house sitting on the porch smoking. So Marco is alive. Great. Whatever. This at least explains why there was no funeral, which we now realize made no at all sense earlier. It also explains why Sofia was so untroubled by his death. (It wasn't bad acting. It's just that he really wasn't dead!) But what possible purpose was there in faking his death?

The director is throwing us plot twists for the sake of plot twists, apparently to distract us from the train wreck of the rest of the movie and to create some sort of illusion that there is something deeper and more interesting at play that we can puzzle out with enough review and careful thought. Watch the movie again, he seems to say, now that you know the wacky ending and see if you can figure out what's really happening. No thank you. It may have worked for a truly cinematically interesting movie like Memento, but I'd rather attend a sing-along screening of Mamma Mia than sit through this again.

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Monday, August 25, 2008

Golden Boy

This is old news, but I'm just getting to it now. Cute-as-a-bug's-ear Australian diver Matthew Mitcham won gold on Saturday. I don't think he was favored to win, and any one of the top scorers might have gotten it. On his own merits as a diver, this is impressive. According to 365gay.com, Mitcham earned the highest-scoring dive in the history of the Olympics — big news for diving and for Australia. And a break in China's winning streak. But one of the main reasons this is so important is that he was the only out gay male athlete in Beijing.

I was in a bubble all weekend, at a rugby tournament in New Jersey on Saturday, and on the Jersey Shore with some rugby buddies all day Sunday. When rugby is happening, the world stops, doesn't it? And if I had access to TV at the time, you know I'd have been all over those yummy divers. So I think I can forgive myself for missing the historic moment.

Someone went to the trouble of capturing all of his dives, the medal ceremony, and the following celebrations in one long clip. His final medal-winning dive comes in at around 6:16, but don't miss the other amazing work that comes before.

Following the dive, you can see him raise his arms and looks across the crowd and sees the scores coming in. I think you can see the moment when he realizes he's won a medal, when he brings his hands to his face and begins to cry.

At the medal ceremony, it's fun to see him so excited next to the stoic Russian. And it's sort of thrilling to see him leap up into the stands and climb up to kiss his mom and his partner and greet his other supporters after, like a good boy, asking permission from his doll-like usher.

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Thursday, August 21, 2008

Paper Trial

Everyone at work who stops by my office lately is making a grand pastime out of teasing my office mate for the state of his half of the room. They used to do it when he wasn't there, but lately they have taken to mocking him to his face. As a result, I have been shamed into cleaning up after myself at work.

A colleague recently stopped by on the way to her office and asked if it bothered me how messy he is.

"Not really," I said, regarding the loose stacks of paper on my desk. "I'm not much better."

"Yeah, but he takes it to a whole new level," she said.

I turned to look at his half of the room. "Though I am intrigued by his stacking of papers," I continued.

"It's not so much "stacked,'" she noted. And I had to agree, they were more or less a pile, like leaves in autumn. There was a hint of organization, or intent, but the result seemed more accidental. I had spent the better part of the previous day, unavoidably, rolling over his papers with my chair.

"And," she continued, "I really love the whole ...," she paused searching for the best word, gesturing like a conjurer toward a stack of IN boxes and OUT boxes, each with at least half a dozen loose leaf sheets hanging over the edge by at least three inches. "Waterfall effect," she concluded.

"Yeah. It's very kinetic, isn't it?" I said.

She backed out the doorway and laughed as she continued to her door.

I have always thought that, as long as you know where things are, you should not be considered disorganized. Untidy, maybe, but not disorganized. But I realize that there is another side to it. The trick at work, which is almost more important, is to get your colleagues to believe you are organized. It is all in the appearance of tidiness. Without it, you will not inspire confidence.

"What if there's a fire? And poor Eric slips on your pile of papers and bangs his head and dies?" a co-worker asked him recently. "Do you want that on you conscience?"

I would have to jump behind his desk first, the opposite direction from the door, in order to slip. But it is a good point. We all have our own styles and systems. And it is clearly a temporary situation. I can appreciate his method, but I prefer not to leave myself in a situation where I am tripping over my inbox. I prefer to leave it in piles on my desk, where it can slide and topple onto me, putting me instead at risk of suffocation from burial.

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Monday, August 04, 2008

What French Fries Can Reveal

While he shakes his ketchup out of the bottle into a neat puddle on the side of his plate, I always drizzle it Jackson Pollock-like across my own nest of French fries. It reminds me that no matter how long I have known him, and no matter what lies ahead of us, sometimes we two are strangers.

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Friday, July 04, 2008

Les Liaisons Timides

Laura Linney, brilliant in nearly everything I've seen her do, is the entire reason I bought tickets to see the Roundabout Theater's production of Christopher Hampton's Les Liaisons Dangeureses. So it's a good thing that Ben Daniels and not she was replaced by the understudy in the performance I saw.

   Laura Linney and Ben Daniels
Laura Linney and Ben Daniels don't open their mouths without first calculating what damage they can do in this revival production of Les Liaisons Dangeureuses.
She was calculating and precise, demanding, even cold at times, but not strong-sounding enough. Her voice faltered in a few lines, which in other characters and at other times she has used to great effect, but in Merteuil, it just seemed weak.

The Valmont understudy did fine, but only fine. He seemed more of a smirking, cocky American boy than the "conspicuously charming" and ultimately dangerous European I am sure Tony-nominated Ben Daniels carried off a bit better. For Valmont to be effective, he needs to seduce not only his female prey but also the audience. He needn't have been better-looking, necessarily — just more ... irresistible.

Linney seemed to be alone out there, even with the other actors on stage. This isolation is clearly part of Merteuil's character, as she even explains in great detail in a late scene. It felt like the was against a blank canvas at times, with little to react to, except when paired with the clownish Madame de Volanges or the mousy Cécile. I'd like to think there was better chemistry with her intended leading man.

The swordplay toward end between Valmont and Danceny was a letdown, too. Notably, these were the only two actors to appear on stage on separate occasions fully nude. (Damn my obstructed-view box seats!) So, naturally, their pairing for a sword fight was perfect! Unfortunately, their thrusts and parries seemed flaccid and uninspired. Seems to me the passions that would stir two men to draw their weapons in mortal combat should result in something looking more hot-blooded, less practiced — less poorly practiced. By contrast, they seemed sloppy, like two actors missing their marks.

The costumes were gorgeous, inspirational. And the Tony-nominated sets were lush and evocative. A series of curtains and drapery sculptures shifted from scene to scene, unfurling and tightening to match the action on the stage. By the final scene, just before Merteuil reaches her downfall, they had resolved themselves into something resembling a spider web. I feel safe saying this now, as the run is nearly at an end. However, I wish the "theater talk" dramaturge guy before the show had held his tongue and not given away this little confection of scene craft. It would have been far more effective to see it first for myself.

I so love the story, the dialogue, the humor, the moral philosophizing, and of course the Glenn Close/John Malkovich movie, that I am willing to let my petty complaints go. I won't compare the play to the wholly excellent (with the exception of Keanu Reeves) film. It seems unfair somehow. Every actor has a different interpretation; there are some things Linney did that I actually like better than in the Close performance. I only am grateful that I have her and Malkovich, and Uma Thurman and Swoosie Kurtz and Michelle Pfeiffer at home to refer to again and again as the defining example of bad behavior and truly dangerous liaisons.

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Thursday, June 26, 2008

Shh! I Can't See!

One of the finest examples of those things that make remember why you love New York City is the New York Philharmonic's free Concerts in the Park series. (Other cool free stuff in parks includes Shakespeare in the Park, Broadway Under the Stars, Bryant Park Summer Film Festival and the River to River Festival.)

One could go for the performance alone. It is one of the world's finest concert orchestras. But plunked down at one end of Central Park's Great Lawn, and playing to a crowd in excess of 60,000 and relying on a speaker system distributed throughout 13 acres, the full range and power of the orchestra is lost. The music on Tuesday night was fine, a simple roster of crowd-pleasers, a little "1812 Overture," a couple of standard-issue Sousa marches — nothing too challenging.

But what makes the event is the gathering of friends, the wine and cheese and chips and wine and baguettes and wine, the crossover of strangers from picnic blanket to picnic blanket. It's a rare moment when we all stop fussing with our super-important lives, take a breather to appreciate some of the beauty we literally pass by every day, and come together like a real community. It's when New York is New York. Thousands of us all there for one thing: each other. And, by extension, the other guy. And, by extension, the other guy...

I brought five bottles of wine with me, a nice mix of reds and chilled whites, including a nice soave my friend Jamie seemed particularly delighted by. So much picnicking! So much conversation! So many people wandering around on cell phones trying to find their friends!

Seriously — "What did we do before cell phones?" We arrived on time.

A star-filled night (as star-filled as you get in the City) overtook the dusk, and soon we were surrounded by citronella candles and miniature flashlights and glowing cell phones and those infernal multi-colored phosphorescent plastic whips parents are powerless against purchasing for their kids. The Philharmonic stopped, and the fireworks began.

Fireworks never fail to delight me. They are so pointless and wasteful ... but they are so brilliant! It's like, we're so happy to be alive and to be there that all we can think to do is light stuff on fire and hurl it up into the sky and watch tiny bits of metal burn and fall back to the earth.

The funniest part about the fireworks was the silence in the crowd. All through the performance, there was a low roar of chatter. People were talking about the workday, their vacation, their friends and family, the performance. Laughing. Shouting, "I'm right here waving my arms. See? No. Next to the tree on the other side of the speaker. No, the one with the pink and blue balloons — yeah — see me n— Yeah. Yeah. I'm right here. See me?" into their bloody cell phones. We even saw some guy propose to his girlfriend. We presume she said yes. Or at least that she would consider it.

But as soon as the instrument cases were latched tight, and the Philharmonic loosened their neckties, and we all turned southward to face the fireworks, everyone shut up. It was as if we had to ... so we could see.

It reminds me of that line line in Ghostbusters when Ray says, "Listen! Do you smell something?"

It makes the eventual "Oh!" and "Ooh!" stand out. It sounds funny. Like we're surprised. Like we haven't seen it all a hundred times before. So my drunk friends and I started saying other vowel sounds, just for the sake of variety. "Aye!" "Uuuuh!" "Eeee!" They seemed as legitimate as the old standbys.

Then we moved on to consonants. "Fffff!" "Kkkhhh!" (which sounds a lot like a sneeze.) "Mmmm!"

It quickly degenerated into animal sounds. "Baa-aa-aah!" "Rrreeow!" "Waak waak!" "Moooo!"

We had killed the silence with our own performance. And the people nearby could hear us more clearly than they could hear the orchestra. I secretly dared someone to shush me. "Why?" I would ask. "Can you not see over the noise?" Annoyance with us would seem hypocritical to me, following a performance that many of them hadn't even really listened to.

But apparently they had not come to see us, and no one said a word about it. They just continued to gaze back up into the sky, their eyes and mouths wide open, holding each other or holding themselves in the chilly summer night air.

And then it was over.

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Sunday, May 18, 2008

So Vein

I owe a big thanks to my friend Jon for pointing this out to me. It is a brilliant observation that requires really very little further explanation.

Separated at birth?

You're So Vain
Carly Simon

Bleeding Love
Photobucket

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Friday, April 25, 2008

Faith in Gay Humanity: Safe for Now

The recent finale of "Make Me a Supermodel," or rather more specifically, the fact that Ronnie did not win, has bolstered my faith in gay humanity.

You know the homos were coming out in droves to watch those boys love themselves week after week. And week after week, polished, hairless gay hero Ronnie Kroell, glowing like a like a spring pig scrubbed in buttermilk, was snatched from the jaws of death.

Ronnie is hot, but not supermodel hot, whatever that is. And he's nice. And he's one of those people we hate who will be successful at everything he does. Yet there can be no other explanation than an army of gay well-wishers with cramped thumbs and light hearts sending text messages from far and wide to vote him back on the next week.

I was one of those gays. No matter the options, honestly, shirtless boys will win out every time.

His not winning was one of the few things that gave that show any credibility. I have a hard time feeling sorry for really beautiful people. I have a hard time believing that it's so hard to walk down a cat walk. But after watching the show, I am willing to concede that there is in fact a skill to modeling. Not a terribly complicated skill, but a skill nonetheless that clearly comes more naturally to some than others.

So, now I can believe that the contestant with the most — a-hem ... skill won. As long as Holly avoids talking to her clients, I think she has a long and successful career ahead of her.

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Thursday, April 03, 2008

Keep it Complicated, Keep it Real

The most interesting thing about this election cycle — apart from historical significance of the Democratic party putting its hopes and dreams into a race between an African-American man and a former First Lady — is that for the first time in my lifetime the Primaries matter.

Whether you want Obama or Clinton, it's good to have the debate. I'm sick of people who are saying one or the other should just give up. I think my Clinton-supporting friend's exact words the other night were "The Democrats need to wake the fuck up."

But this is naïve and oversimple and short-sighted.

I may have voted for Clinton, but I'm glad Obama is in this. It's good to have a real race. This is how it's supposed to work. It's those years where it's all sewn up months before the conventions that are the anomalies. Nothing can be taken for granted.

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Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Keepon Dancing

This is an old one I forgot to post.

I don't want to be one of those guys who mistakes commentary on YouTube videos for original thought, but this one is too cute to pass up.

This thing dances better than most people.

Here's that little robot, Keepon, again in Spoon's video for "Don't Evah," one of my favorite songs at present. It's crazy how a pair of google eyes can trick you into having an emotional response to a motor and a pair of sponge balls.

Someone at work turned me on to Spoon. I'm scared to buy a whole album, so I just picked up a few tracks from iTunes. (Who buys albums anymore, anyway?)

I made that mistake once before when I fell in love with Combustible Edison after seeing Four Rooms, which featured their music in the opening credits. I only saw the movie because Madonna was in it. I bought one of their albums and sort of hated it.

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Monday, February 25, 2008

Approaching the Road to Recovery

UPDATE FROM THE JOURNAL:
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 2008 03:53 PM, CST
Wain just went past the waiting room on the way to his room. He waved at everyone as he went by and said "bring me my guitar". Yai is up in her room, she's talking and smiling-has to be expected post-op discomfort. It's been a long but great day for the McFarlane family.

01:36 PM, CST
The surgeon came out and said Wain's new kidney is in and functioning well!!!!!! Surgery is over!!! Wain will be going off to the recovery room where he will be for about 3 hours. Many family members are at the hospital waiting out the day. Very excited about the encouraging news-praising and thanking GOD!!!!

12:58 PM, CST
The kidney is "in and running"!!!!! All continues to be going perfectly. It will still be a while until Wain heads off to recovery. Keep those prayers coming!!!!!

11:50 AM, CST
Yai's surgeon just met with everyone. He said she donated a "lovely kidney" (her left one) and that everything went wonderfully. Yai will be headind to recovery soon. Wain should be in for a couple hours yet.

11:17 AM, CST
Yai's kidney was removed and "hand delivered" to Wain's OR. Expect at least 1 more hour for Yai's surgery and 2+ for Wain's.


A dear friend and my former Minneapolis neighbor, Wain McFarlane, is being admitted to the Mayo Clinic tomorrow, Feb. 26, for a kidney transplant. Some of you know the long road Wain has traveled to get to this point; in the end his niece agreed to give him a kidney.

A journal of Wain's surgery and recovery is being kept at http://caringbridge.org/visit/wainmcfarlane. In addition to video and other details about Wain's ordeal, there's a guest book, and I'm sure he and his wife Catherine would appreciate a note, regardless of how well you know him.

We're told Wain will not be allowed to have flowers or any other gifts in his room at the hospital, but when he is released he will be staying with a family in Rochester, and if anyone wants to send gifts at that time I can pass along the address.

Please keep Wain in your thoughts. (The above is from an email sent by Jeff.)

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Saturday, January 19, 2008

Something Fishy Going On

The Little Mermaid
In a Philadelphia Inquirer article about Broadway's The Little Mermaid, the reviewer gushes:
I saw the show with my own Ariel, who's 16, shares the mermaid's name .... I was delighted she wanted to see it with me — not least because of what The Little Mermaid says about women, under the sea or above it.

You have to hand it to Disney, purveyor of the dependent Cinderella, now championing girls who seek to take charge: Pocahontas, Beauty and the Beast's Belle, and Ariel. "Bright young women, sick of swimmin', ready to stand," is how Ariel sings it, and how I hope my Ariel will sing it, too.

Pardon me? Which mermaid is he talking about?

The Ariel I remember abandons her family and friends to chase a pipe dream in a different ecosystem. She may be portrayed as a young woman who refuses to settle for less — whatever "less" is (presumably safety and a home and wealth and her pick of the merman litter!) — but in fact, she stops at nothing to become what she is not. After she rescues the prince from drowning and he sees her face and falls in love with her, she does not insist that he love her for who she is. She wins in the end by transforming herself into something more like other people, to fit in, to abandon herself to appeal to someone else's sensibilities. Maybe the prince would love her as a mermaid. Will she ever know? Does she ever come clean? No: She is a fraud.

She may trade her voice for those legs, but she gets it back in the end — and she gets to keep the legs, too! What has she sacrificed? Not much. She has nothing of the integrity of the original Hans Christian Andersen mermaid, who at least pays a price for her alteration.

For her, getting her legs feels like a sword cutting through her. With every step she takes, it feels like she's walking on sharp knives. The sea witch takes her voice by literally cutting out her tongue! Before she does her magic, the witch even warns the mermaid about all that will happen. She tells the girl she is a fool for going through with it, but the mermaid ignores her.

Despite all the suffering, Andersen's mermaid loses everything. The prince marries another girl, and the mermaid dies and is transformed into sea foam! It is terribly sad. In her losing, Andersen's mermaid becomes a kind of martyr. The story plays like a morality tale. She is portrayed as a mere foolish girl, and she is punished in the end for reaching too far. (How dare she have self determination!) But the lessons from Disney's red-haired Ariel aren't exactly any better.

Andersen's mermaid doesn't simply want the love of a human prince. In the old story, though merfolk can live to be 300, they do not have immortal souls as humans do. It is the prospect of eternal afterlife with her prince, even if her earthly existence is cut down to a human scale, that truly motivates her.

Say what you want about coercive religious subtexts or whatever, this is at least a higher-minded reason to crawl ashore than to find out what a snarfblatt is or how a dinglehopper works.

The quotation above was used in a full-page, full-color ad in this Sunday's New York Times, where I first saw it.

Without doubt The Little Mermaid is a fun movie. In fact, I love it. And I'm sure the Broadway show is equally delightful. But it's bizarre and backwards that parents should put such stock in Ariel as someone for their daughters to mimic. What exactly are these fairy tale movies teaching kids about life? Don't love who you are. Success is only possible if you make irreversible changes to yourself to be more like other people. Being different is wrong, and it must be corrected at any cost.

"You have to hand it to Disney"? As if Ariel is some great improvement on the typical Disney princess? All you have to hand Disney is your money.

Ariel is more free-spirited than Cinderella, true. Bookish Belle improves on the theme by being unafraid of what makes her different from others around her. Belle is actually a far better example: She is compassionate toward the beast and finds something dear in him. And to her credit, she falls in love with him before he turns back into the hottie prince. Jasmine is even more fiery and independent, to the point of being shrewish. But in the end, their happiness all depends on marrying the right guy.

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