Saturday, January 31, 2009

Lesbians, Does This Appeal to You?

You might think this description of life in a lesbian community sounds like the work of David Sedaris -- I know I hoped it was -- but alas, it's a real article from the Times:
BEHIND the gate at Alapine, about five miles from the nearest town in the southern Appalachian mountains near Georgia, the women live in simple houses or double-wide trailers on roads they have named after goddesses, like Diana Drive. They meet for potluck dinners, movie and game nights and "community full moon circles" during which they sing, read poems and share thoughts on topics like "Mercury in retrograde — how is it affecting our communication?"
I would sooner kill myself than live in a community like that (the first time someone asked me how Mercury in retrograde was affecting our communication, I'd snap "Are you fucking kidding me?"), but I guess it takes all kinds.

"We're the Stains, and We Don't Put Out"

Lady Gaga will revive this look any day now.

ESPN2's live broadcast of the women's final of the Australian Open doesn't start until 3:30 a.m. ET, and having just finished listening to the audio commentary Diane Lane and Laura Dern provided for the DVD release of "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains" (who knew Diane Lane said "Bless" so much?), I'm running out of things to do in the meantime. The question, I suppose, is whether it's worth staying up for the match, which will re-air at a more reasonable time later in the morning. Dinara Safina and Serena Williams are thrilling to watch when they're in control of their heads, but what if only one of them shows up mentally today? It could make for a terribly boring one-sided match, and who wants to lose sleep to watch one of those -- especially with Federer/Nadal coming up tomorrow night. I'm so conflicted!

P.S. You know the only thing "Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains" was missing? Some "Times Square"-esque lesbian overtones. That the screenplay made that impossible by having all the band mates be related was kind of lame. Aren't girl bands always better when one or two members give off the vibe that they could go either way? That's the only reason I ever watched a Spice Girls music video: to determine which Spices would be the most likely to hook up with each other. It's been a long time, but I think my conclusion was that Ginger and Scary were skanky and up for anything, that Sporty was so eager for approval that she'd do whatever they told her to do, that Baby was a boring heterosexual, and that Posh's lesbian experience was probably limited to making out with her own reflection in the mirror while lost in a starvation-induced haze. If any of you disagree with that assessment, feel free to let me know where I went wrong.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


Woody Allen and Tony Roberts never filmed a scene like this.

Shame on you, Allan Stewart Konigsberg, for being so stingy with the Scarlett Johansson/Penélope Cruz scenes in "Vicky Cristina Barcelona." Don't get me wrong, the movie was good, your best since "Sweet and Lowdown." It's just that a lot of us are still upset about "Scoop" and "Cassandra's Dream," and you could have tried a little harder to make it up to us.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Is Elijah Wood Safe and Accounted For?

Significant ice accumulation is expected in my neck of the woods tonight, which I'd normally welcome because I love horrible weather*, but I just saw "The Ice Storm" for the second time a few months ago when it was re-released on DVD and now I'm worried that my parents might be at a key party and my brother might accidentally drug Katie Holmes with sleeping pills intended for someone else.

The Katie Holmes thing is troubling because she's probably already being drugged by Tom Cruise or someone on his payroll, and if the pills mix and they're not supposed to she could break out in hives or grow a second head or something. (On the upside, having a second head might expand her dramatic range.) The key party possibility is especially disconcerting because, c'mon, they're my parents, and just thinking about that makes me want to throw up more than anyone has ever thrown up in the history of the world. I'm not sure where I'm going with this; I think the moral is to never watch "The Ice Storm" if you live anywhere that might experience severe winter weather.

* When driving conditions are difficult everyone becomes anxious, and when people are anxious they're more likely to be terse than chatty. Since I hate when people say things like "Good morning!" and "How are you?", I wish everyone was terse all the time.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Like Anyone Watches "The L Word" for the Stories

Mia Kirshner (on the set of "The Black Dahlia") tearfully asks God,
"Why can't I catch a break?"

Does anyone else find it a bit odd that the L.A. Times is questioning whether killing Jenny Schecter on "The L Word" will drive viewers away from the show? As much as I hate to defend any of the decisions made by the hackety-hacks (don't talk back!) who write for "The L Word" (assuming it isn't written the way I've long suspected it was: by putting typewriters in front of oversexed zoo animals and handing the resulting drafts over to escaped mental patients for polishing), aren't they just finally, after five long years of mind-boggling mediocrity, giving the viewers what they want by killing Jenny, one of the most widely loathed central characters in the history of television? (Is it not true that all twelve of the people who paid to see "The Black Dahlia" in theaters were rabid Jenny-haters who wanted to pretend it was a movie about Schecter's violent death?)

Mind you, I watched "Big Love" last week instead of the season premiere of "The L Word," so I can't comment on the particulars of this "Oh my God, they killed Jenny! You bastards!" plot development yet. It just seems obvious that the viewers who have faithfully watched (and almost as faithfully complained about -- not that that ever stopped them from watching) this train wreck for the last five seasons aren't tuning in for the storytelling.

Grouse as they might at the prospect of Jenny's death spurring a season-long game of Clue, these viewers come from hardy stock, having suffered through missteps including but not limited to voyeuristic roommate guy; drag king Ivan; the Max debacle; the Betty invasion, which happened over and over again; Jenny turning into a self-harming stripper/Talmudic scholar when repressed memories of childhood sexual abuse came to the surface (she wasn't really a Talmudic scholar, but I still laugh when I think of her breaking out the Hebrew); Dana's death; Alice fucking a vampire; Tina's ill-fated return to man-cock; Kit getting pregnant at the age of 87; Shane having sex with every woman she meets (and not seeming to care when it's hinted that one of them might be an arsonist); and freaking Papi.

In other words, the people who watch this show -- and I know because I'm one of them -- have no respect for their own intelligence, don't care about decent writing or acting (if the fans cared about decent acting, they wouldn't have spent so much time complaining about Mia Kirshner and Marlee Matlin on assorted message boards over the years; and they wouldn't have been so invested in the Tina/Bette pairing), and only watch "The L Word" because lesbian characters are almost impossible to find anywhere else. Hell, the writers could probably kill off several more characters and while the viewers would complain, they'd likely keep tuning in as long as every now and then a hot actress appeared and (to borrow a phrase from an SNL sketch) hugged another woman with her legs in friendship.

The real crime in all of this (if the character is actually dead) might be that Jenny wasn't killed off years ago, which would have served the dual purpose of pleasing viewers and freeing Mia Kirshner to pursue more work with directors like Brian De Palma and Atom Egoyan and less with visionless goofballs like Ilene Chaiken.

It's a Good Thing It Is (Or Was) Saturday

Because my nerves are going to need a day to recover from those Safina and Federer matches.

(Yes, this was a paltry post, but I'm still too jittery to write anything else. Give me a few hours to calm down and sleep a little, and then I'll try to scrounge up something to complain about.)

Friday, January 23, 2009

Odd Decision of the Day

TCM is inexplicably honoring terrible actor/"soft Corinthian leather" aficionado Ricardo Montalban with a seven-film tribute today. I fear this portends a full 24-hour block of William Shatner's greatest non-hits when he kicks the bucket. Hopefully Shatner's immortal and this will be a non-issue.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

About the Whole Jane Addams Lesbian Thing

What's next, saying these two were just friends?

As Michael Abernethy notes when mentioning Addams' recent induction into the Chicago Gay and Lesbian Hall of Fame: "That Addams was a lesbian is a matter of speculation, as Addams wasn't gracious enough to leave an entry in her diaries that said 'I'm a big ole lesbian.'" Still, I can't believe that in the year 2009 grown men and women continue to debate whether she was gay.

Let me tell you a story about Jane Addams. When I was in fifth grade, my history class learned about child labor legislation and settlement houses and female involvement in social and political activism and all of that. Jane Addams was a big part of the unit. At the time I was an oblivious kid who'd yet to pick up on the fact that my aunt and her female roommate were more than roommates, but after reading a few paragraphs about Addams my gaydar started going off like Fannie Flagg -- "Match Game" era Fannie Flagg, the queerest of them all -- had entered the room.

The people who think Addams wasn't gay, the ones who can somehow keep a straight face while trying to sell us that "romantic friendship" line, they'll say that a ping (or twelve) on the gaydar is meaningless. Sometimes they'd even be right. But aren't they also being kind of deliberately obtuse?

The fifth-grade teacher who taught me about Jane Addams was a mild-mannered man in his mid-thirties who had never been married to a woman, professed not to have a girlfriend, but wore a wedding band anyway. He shared a house with, and routinely traveled with, his long-term male roommate. What would the historians who are reluctant to concede that Addams was likely gay (after all, they've never seen Paris Hilton-style video footage of her having sex with Mary Rozet Smith) make of my teacher and his "roommate," a man who was still in the picture years later when a friend's sibling took the same class and had the same teacher. Would they try to act like the two men were just very close pals, or would they do a collective spit-take and shout "Bitch, please!" if asked to believe they weren't a couple? I'm not a historian myself, but you can mark me down in the "Bitch, please!" camp when it comes to both Addams and my teacher.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Oy Vey! Ex-Gays!

From an interesting article written by Matt Kennard about ex-gays and ex-ex-gays:

Randy Thomas, 39, is the executive vice president of Exodus and an ex-gay himself. "I became a Christian at 24, but I didn't come to Christ to not be gay," he said. "It was only after a few months, I realized I didn't have to be gay, so I decided to live according to my faith. That was 16 years ago."

In the ex-gay movement there is spectrum of success. On one end are those who purport a full conversion to heterosexuality. On the other end are those plagued by guilt, unable to cleanse themselves of their urges. Thomas stands somewhere in the middle. "I have not experienced a full orientation shift," said Thomas. "But I went from 100 percent exclusively homosexual, to where I would feel OK being a husband and having a wife."

Isn't that romantic? Imagine you're the lucky woman who reels in this catch, and he proposes to you by saying that he, uh, really likes you and thinks he'd be OK with being your husband. The tears of anger and resentment happiness would never stop flowing!

And ladies, he's single. His relationship with an ex-lesbian girlfriend went bust last year because, in his words, "we weren't meant to be husband and wife." (According to my handy Ex-Gay to Gay-Gay dictionary, that means: "She didn't have a penis.") And, as he told Kennard, "She was particularly ex-gay." (Translation: "I vomited every time she tried to touch me.") If you guessed the pair never had sex, you're correct. But Thomas swears they had definite chemistry, which is easy enough to believe -- I'm sure they were the Edmund Lowe and Lilyan Tashman of the ex-gay set.

Monday, January 19, 2009

Where's This Movie on DVD?

Reunited: The stars of "Double Indemnity,"
minus Edward G. Robinson

Criterion will release a 2-disc edition of Douglas Sirk's "Magnificent Obsession" tomorrow, which is all well and good (it's been years since Criterion released "All That Heaven Allows" and "Written on the Wind"), but when is somebody -- anybody -- going to release "There's Always Tomorrow" on DVD? It's a Sirk film I've read wonderful things about but have never been able to see, and some of its posters (not the one pictured above, obviously) bore the tagline: "The dangerous years are those married years ... When love is taken for granted!" How can you not release a movie with a tagline like that on DVD? Especially when it stars Barbara Stanwyck! That's just criminal.

BTW, for anyone who finds this while searching the internet for information about a "There's Always Tomorrow" DVD release, the film is currently available as part of Sirk collections that can be purchased from stores in France or Germany. But before you go looking either of them up on or, make sure the discs are compatible with your viewing equipment. And note that neither comes with attractive artwork, which is just a slap in the face when you consider the cost of each set in U.S. dollars.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Weekend Weirdness: The Great Tintin Debate

Who would have guessed there are still people who think Tintin is straight? British journalist Matthew Parris devoted a column to the character's sexuality earlier this month, making such a strong case for Tintin being a 'mo that more than a week later, people around the world are still talking about it. One paper, the Times of India, asked Tintin fans in Chennai to weigh in on the subject. Hilarity, inevitably, ensued. Sample response:
Kicking off the debate on Tintin's orientation, actor Shaam confesses to be quite astounded on hearing this news. "Never in my dreams would I have thought Tintin would be gay. Just because his best friend is a male sailor, it does not mean that he shares any romantic feelings for Haddock. I simply cannot digest this theory," he says.
The male fans arguing in defense of Tintin's alleged heterosexuality are the comic geek versions of Claymates. What will they say when Tintin announces that he's expecting an in vitro baby with Bianca Castafiore?

Finally, There's Something to Watch on TV

"I hope my TiVo remembers to record the season premiere of 'The L Word.' "

The Australian Open starts in five hours (the official website has a countdown clock), and I'm so excited about it that I feel like an honorary Pointer Sister. American viewers, here's the TV schedule. And readers, be warned: If Roger Federer makes an early exit, I'm going to be even crankier than usual. Enough so that the Department of Homeland Security will have to raise my crankiness alert level to red, scaring schoolchildren and delighting Wolf Blitzer in the process.

Friday, January 16, 2009

A Date Which Will Live in Infamy

The woman who inspired a thousand drag queens
(and one irritable teenage lesbian)

On this day in history three of the great American women of the last hundred years were born: Ethel Merman, Susan Sontag and yours truly. No need to send me a present, I don't want anything and hate having to feign enthusiasm when opening gifts anyway. But if you want to bake me a cake, that's fine. Just wash your hands first. And no chocolate cake, please. (There's such a thing as too much chocolate.) And no ice cream cake, because there's just no reason for that. Ever. No cheesecake, either. Cheesecake is fine if you're a character on "The Golden Girls," but I'm not on "The Golden Girls" and so it isn't for me. Until I'm in my sixties and have my own lanai, I'm staying away from cheesecake.

On second thought, let's nix the cake idea altogether. Cake is overrated, in addition to being the name of a sucky band. The only thing it really has going for it, at least in my book, is its importance to the excellent lyric "I want to be the girl with the most cake." So let's let Courtney have her cake, and we can have cookies and toast my parents for not aborting me or putting me up for adoption. That was very generous of them, and it's something I'll take into consideration when the time comes for them to be put into nursing homes.

In honor of Ethel Merman's birthday -- she'd have turned 101 today -- here's a clip of her singing "There's No Business Like Show Business," from the film of the same name. When I was a kid I used to torture my dad by watching it every time it was on AMC, and in retrospect I probably owe him an apology for that. It's a horrible movie, and 55 years later it's still impossible to imagine why anyone ever thought it was a good idea to cast Mitzi Gaynor in anything, but I was fascinated by Ethel -- and by Marilyn Monroe's "Heat Wave" performance. Two early signs that I was a giant lesbian, but it would take a while longer for me to realize that.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

10 Things You Didn't Know About Me

Black Mamba wields a mean Hanzō

Did any of you realize this lame-ass website turned one year old earlier this month? I'd forgotten all about it until I saw an ad for "The L Word" the other day (its reign of ridiculousness is almost over; an abbreviated final season starts on Sunday) and remembered that I'd started this blog in January of last year with the intention of using it to complain about the new episodes that were about to air.

As it turned out, the fifth season of "The L Word" was so execrable that it wasn't worth watching, much less commenting on, and so I found other things to complain about instead -- everything from the religious right to Rivers Cuomo's awful mustache. Now, as I look back on a year of posts (something like 30% of them had to do with my thinking Thandie Newton is hot, so I'll try to mix things up a little in '09 and drool over a wider array of actresses), it occurs to me that as far as personal blogs go, this one hasn't been very personal at all. With that in mind -- and because there's been nothing going on in the news to talk about here, STDs aside, and I don't want this page gathering dust in the meantime -- I'm going to reveal ten things about myself that most of you don't know.

You might want to prepare yourself before reading these. They're the kind of explosive, emotionally devastating revelations normally found in a Tennessee Williams or Edward Albee play. You've been warned.
1.) Marie was my favorite Lubbock sister on the late, lamented "Just the Ten of Us," which seems an unlikely choice until you consider the fact that I've always been partial to nerdy characters. That's why Elizabeth was my favorite Wakefield twin (though I've never understood what she saw in Todd, who was a massive tool), and Mary Anne my favorite member of the Baby-Sitters Club. (Speaking of the BSC, was anyone else annoyed when Kristy dated Bart? That character was so dykey that her last name might as well have been McNichol. Pairing her with a guy made no sense. Same with Stacey having that boyfriend who was always on Fire Island. Why didn't Claudia ever pull her aside and tell her she was dating a queen?)
2.) Sometimes, just to keep myself amused, I like to pretend I'm a character from an old film noir whose every move is accompanied by preposterously hard-boiled voice-over narration. You know, something like: "I never saw her in the daytime. We seemed to live by night. What was left of the day went away like a pack of cigarettes you smoked. I didn't know where she lived. I never followed her. All I ever had to go on was a place and time to see her again. I don't know what we were waiting for. Maybe we thought the world would end." (That's from "Out of the Past," which also has the classic line: "Build my gallows high, baby." Everyone should say that at least once in his or her life. Next time you're at the grocery store and the bagger asks paper or plastic, just ignore the question and put on a Robert Mitchum voice and say "Build my gallows high, baby.")

3.) I hate the words "snark" and "dawg," and love the words "kerfuffle" and "obstreperous."

4.) For some reason, I don't know why, I'm fucked up about my pillowcases. I want to sleep on a freshly laundered pillowcase every night, and by now my pillowcases are so sick of being washed that they start sobbing like Meryl Streep in "Silkwood" (or Amy Poehler in "Baby Mama") every time I throw them in the washing machine.

5.) If I were a member of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad, I would want to be Black Mamba. Not because she's the last one standing, but because she has the coolest name.

6.) The single biggest regret of my life is that I wasn't alive and working as a Hollywood screenwriter in the 1930s, because back then I would've maybe, just maybe, had a shot with Greta Garbo. It sounds crazy, I know, but if she was up for a little Mercedes de Acosta and Salka Viertel action, then who's to say there wouldn't have been hope for the rest of us as well?

7.) I'm alarmingly uncoordinated and frequently spill, drop, and walk into things; I also have enough difficulty walking in a straight line that my dad has been known to warn me, "You'd better hope you're never pulled over on suspicion of drunk driving..."

8.) It is my fervent belief that blue M&Ms are hideously ugly and should never have been introduced into the M&M family.

9.) The most listened to song on my iPod is Otis Redding's "Try a Little Tenderness," but the song I spend the most time trying not to break into in public is the Fifth Dimension's cover of "Wedding Bell Blues."

10.) I've had an irrational fear of being buried alive ever since it happened to Carly on "Days of Our Lives" in the early '90s. My mom would watch that and "Another World" every afternoon (Linda Dano's shoulder pads and dramatic rouge-streaked cheekbones still haunt me), and while Marlena's demonic possession story line never freaked me out, I was so shaken by Carly's plight that I left a note marked "Read This If I Die" in my top desk drawer instructing my parents to have me cremated. I was ten at the time, and my plans haven't changed in the intervening years; I still shudder at the thought of Carly being trapped in that coffin every time I hear the word "burial."

St. Louisans Love Toasted Ravioli, Unprotected Sex

Kudos, fellow St. Louisans, on continuing to infect each other with gonorrhea and chlamydia at rates the rest of the country just can't keep up with! And let's not get too self-congratulatory about the news that these most recent numbers are down 500 total cases from 2006 just yet; all it means is we're running out of people to infect locally and soon we'll have to cross the river on the weekends to spread the wealth (that's what we're calling painful burning these days, isn't it?) to our friends in Illinois.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Another Reminder: Fire Bad

I know you've all been busy with the not being gay in Senegal thing, so I hate to add more to your plate, but this is very important: Make sure you don't set your ex on fire. And make sure you're not set on fire by your ex. It might not seem like it in the heat of the moment, but there are better, less criminal ways of expressing yourself. (Personally, I'm more the silent treatment type, but others have found great success in collaborating with Timbaland on kiss-off singles or in writing one of the worst films Mike Nichols ever directed.)

Lesbians should pay particular attention to the no-fire edict; between the Celestia debacle and 40 years' worth of negative portrayals in film and television, enough people already think we're bonkers without yahoos like this tabloid-courting heiress broad -- whose name I won't mention because I like security guards not knowing who she is -- fanning the flames. So to speak.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

A Reason to Rent the Remake of "The Women"

Eva Mendes silently wonders, "What did Meg do to her face?!"

O.K., so the movie isn't particularly good. But it isn't as bad as many critics made it out to be, mostly because Annette Bening and Jada Pinkett Smith can make anything watchable. It isn't something I'd recommend to everybody, but for a certain segment of its potential audience (and by certain I mean lecherous) ... well, I think the screen grab speaks for itself.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Congratulations, Tony Sottile, on Being a Major Asshole

From a story MSNBC picked up about another marriage equality march that was held this weekend in California, in which the obligatory quote from a gay rights activist who wants the Defense of Marriage Act repealed is followed by the obligatory quote from a total moron:
"The homosexuals and lesbians want equal rights. They don't deserve equality," passerby Tony Sottile said.
Good job, Tony. I'm sure you'll be very proud when, many years from now, your grandchildren or great-grandchildren Google you and see this.

Friday, January 9, 2009

Reminder: Don't Be Gay in Senegal

Engaging in homosexual acts in Senegal can get you eight years in the hoosegow. Which brings us to two questions that I'll now pose in no particular order: Why does the word "hoosegow" only appear on approximately 71,100 web pages (per Google, and if you remove the quotes the number is an only slightly more respectable 77,000)? "Hoosegow" deserves more love than that.

And what constitutes a homosexual act? If you're a guy in Senegal and you try to watch "Funny Girl," is that enough to land you in the joint? (Watching "Funny Lady" would naturally carry a lengthier sentence.) Or what if a gay guy ties his shoes. Is that a gay act? I was gay this morning when I made the bed and fed the cat. I was gay a few minutes ago when I signed for a UPS package. How many years in a Senegalese prison is that good for?

And another reminder: Stay away from Nigeria and Gambia while you're at it. From the New York Times:
Antigay sentiment has been on the rise across Africa in recent years. Nigeria's Parliament tried to pass a law last year that would restrict the rights of homosexuals to even meet to discuss their rights. Gambia's president threatened to behead any homosexuals found in his country. And even in Senegal, one of the most liberal and tolerant countries in Islamic Africa, tensions over homosexuality have been on the rise.
Makes our homophobic Republican politicians seem Kathy Griffin league gay-friendly in comparison, doesn't it? At least they'll sit down and chat with known homosexuals without decapitating them or having them arrested.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

Let's Get Something Straight (So to Speak)

Rachel Griffiths and Toni Collette ABBA it up in "Muriel's Wedding"

Celesbianism was not the buzzword of 2008, and don't let the Australians, who spend all their time shoplifting and listening to ABBA records*, tell you otherwise. The "celesbianism" movement is as dumb as the "gayelle" revolution. If we have to talk about this subsection of the gay community at all, let's stick to fauxmosexual, another word the Australians, who spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about how to best label seemingly bisexual female celebrities, recently promoted.

* During the course of my previously mentioned vacation, which is now drawing to a close, I saw "Muriel's Wedding," and I've been waiting for an opportunity to say "You're terrible, Muriel" ever since. So far nothing has presented itself, but I remain optimistic about what the coming week might have in store.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's ... William Hurt?

Hurt, all dolled up with no place to go, in "Kiss of the Spider Woman"

Who knew William Hurt was so gabby? (Or that he calls Glenn Close "Glennie"?) He's been one of my favorite actors since the first time I saw "Body Heat" on TV as a kid, but I had no idea the guy talked this much -- or that he has a role on the upcoming second season of the FX show "Damages." When Dave Itzkoff of the Times asked him about it and what it was like to reunite with his "Big Chill" costar Close, his long-winded answer kicks off with a "Yeah, you know. You get older and people start passing away." That's a bit of a Macon Leary thing to say, isn't it? As I read it, I imagined Kathleen Turner's character from "The Accidental Tourist" getting pissed off and leaving a second time.

Friday, January 2, 2009

Say What?

The characters in "Maurice" tried to fight their gay "temptations,"
and we all know how that turned out.

I kept waiting for this article to take an Onion-esque turn, but ... no. I mean, WTF? Is it really considered newsworthy when a "religious gay man" promotes celibacy in an article that was posted to his personal blog after it was rejected for publication elsewhere? I don't know what made my head hurt more, Ed Pacht's blog post or Kilian Melloy's regurgitation of it.

Here is a sampling of Pacht:
I have been strongly urged to forget my inhibitions and live the ‘gay’ lifestyle, and I have felt the rejection that arises when I admit what temptations it is that I experience, especially when I admit that, though I have never had improper dealing with a minor, my attraction is far stronger toward boys than toward men.
That's major "oy vey" material right there, is it not?

And then with Melloy it's all "Pacht describes," "added Pacht," "Pacht writes," "Pacht wrote," "wrote Pacht," "declared the writer," "continued Pacht," blah, blah, blah. We get it! It's all Pacht, all the time. (There's also "Pacht went on to suggest," "for his own part, Pacht wrote," "Pacht went on to write," "Pacht stated" and "summarized the writer.") Except the guy's not freakin' Tolstoy, and he wrote nothing to merit all of that space.

There wasn't even an attempt by Melloy to analyze any of the things Pacht wrote, described, declared, continued, suggested, stated, etc. No pithy asides or anything. You can't let a guy tell gay Anglicans to stop sucking cock without at least attempting a pithy aside! I'd give it a go myself (the pithy aside thing, that is; the oral-sex-with-guys shebang is something I'll leave to my gay male brethren just as God intended), but my own background is more of the Reform Judaism variety, which leaves me ill-equipped to deal with this sort of thing. Our religious leaders, despite their lingering obsession with foreskin, tend not to be so hung up on what we do with our genitals.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

So This is the New Year

And much like Death Cab for Cutie's navel-gazing, flannel-clad frontman Ben Gibbard, I don't feel any different. My height, my weight, my sour disposition, they're all exactly the same now as they were at 11:59 p.m. last night. (And it's a good thing, too, because I'd hate to have to update my wardrobe or start being pleasant to people just because it's 2009.)

Or has the new year changed me already? My neighbors added a twist to their boisterous New Year's Eve revelry last night when a family across the street spent much of the evening encouraging their children to play brass instruments outdoors, for all of us to hear. The results, which it would be generous to say were something less than musical, frequently sounded like the ignoble, pleading moans of an elephant in the throes of death. But rather than take to the porch, megaphone in hand, and bellow something like, "Hey, kid, take that trombone and shove it up your ass," I chose instead to remain quiet.

This decision was partly influenced by the regrettable fact that I do not own a megaphone, and mostly by my belief that the kids weren't really at fault; their parents were the ones who, without any regard for the eardrums of the rest of us, allowed this weirdly avant-garde concert to go on (and on, like Celine Dion's heart or the Energizer Bunny) like that. I suppose I could have changed my message to, "Hey, kid, take that trombone and shove it up your parents' asses," but that didn't have quite the same ring to it and so I didn't see the point.

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