I thought I was free. I thought the show went down the crapper, and I wouldn't be spending another season calling my best friend at every commercial to bitch about how much we hated so-and-so or worshipping Todd Glass. I quit the livejournal community, I threw out my personal stand-up notepad, I stopped freaking out every time Gary Gulman or Rich Vos passed through Providence. How did I not know they shared a producer with Project Runway? The addiction tastes the same.
Roooooar! I am the cookie monster!
Ahem. I'm geeking out about this show being back on the air. I know the person who isn't supposed to win always wins, but it's the journey I love. I'm big on comedians. The boy and I had our first magic moment when we realized we could both quote Mitch Hedburg verbatim.
Check out the judges this season!
How stoked am I? More stoked than when I bumped into Cory Kahaney in New York City. She was buying a case of cigarettes. True story!
If I end up making this a weekly occurence, it will be less picture-heavy than Project Runway and more analytical. But not in a creepy Dat Phan chart-making kind of way.
Glee!
Saturday, May 27, 2006
I LIKE ATTENTION: THAT'S WHY I WROTE THE ATTENTION SONG.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Oh yeah, and I don't like American Idol, either.
I don't have any exciting news. I'm just writing so I'm not tempted to watch the season finale of LOST. The boy is obsessed. Not in the totally extreme, taping-every-episode and watching-with-a-notepad kind of way, but in the watches-every-episode, goes-over-theories-in-commercial-breaks kind of way. I've watched for the past two weeks with him. This week, I didn't invite him over on Wednesday. Because the damn show stresses me out. As tempting as the twists and turns may be, I can't stand two hours of build-up that never gets resolved.
Seriously! Why do I want to watch the adorable fat guy's struggling girlfriend get shot up with heroin, mutter her murderer's name and die? I understand, the intrigue, the mystery, ooooo. However, I was sincerely depressed about it the next day. Of course within the story it was sad that Libby died, but more personally, I was bummed that I couldn't get away with ogling Michelle Rodriguez instead of following the plot.
At least Ana Lucia was already dead on the inside.
What crap is it that Michael just-so-happened to shoot the two characters whose actresses recently had their drunken mugshots on the internet?
And Michael! I'm already sick of his melodramatic storyline.
Of course, they're all melodramatic bu-
...wait a minute. Get out of the way, Michael, who is that behind you?
Hello there Alex, also known as Tania Raymonde, also known as my new reason to watch the show. Can you believe it's that nerdy little girl from Malcolm in the Middle, all growed up? Maybe I'll go catch the second hour to see if she makes an appearance. Don't worry, the boy knows I'm an avid lady ogler.
If you're sick of me ogling girls and complaining about tv shows, you can go read about how awesome my state is.
Great news, but it doesn't affect me much- I got comprehensive sex ed at church camp. I actually heard about this a little while ago, but Feministing made a note of it today, and I felt the urge to brag. Rhode Island is, in fact, cooler than you.
Monday, May 22, 2006
In Which My Friends Are AMAZING
I love being surronded by such inspiring humans.
Some girls that I love are doing good deeds in a fabulous way: raising money for kids in Africa by hosting a big show for local artists and bands this weekend.
You can check out their beautiful website. If you're not of Rhode Island (as many people are not), don't fret, I'll be taking plenty of pictures.
Later, babies.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
In Which I Question The White Hollywood Machine
Ok. I wasn't sure if I ought to post this in "Congrats" or here. It's not really anyone being an asshole- it's more so a face-into-palm, you-can't-be-thinking-clearly situation.
Looking for creative ways to waste my time, I played this game a few days ago. I'm not promoting the game- it's a Nickelodeon game, who apparently think kids are too stupid to do more than play one level, so they made essentially the same level with ten different themes. The thing is, it's based on their new show, "Genie on the House", which I couldn't find much internet information about. Why was I looking up a kid's show no one (my age, at least) has yet heard of? Because I care.
If you clink that link, you'll be greeted with this image:
Now, you may be wondering why "Adil" looks like someone photoshopped his face to match his shirt. If you look at his hand, it's not hard to tell that his skin has been tampered with. This was not the image that appeared when I first played the game. You can see what the kid is supposed to look like in this tiny picture, the only one that comes up when you search for "Genie in the House":
It seems someone has painted the young white actor playing the genie a light brown. I guess this only struck them as insensitive a few days after they released an online game about it. I was hoping, in vain, that it was his natural skin tone, and only looked like brownface due to lighting or something. The touch-up just added to my worries. They can filter out their bad idea on the internet, but what are they going to do with the show? Digitally edit every scene? Claim it's a natural tan?
Look, if you're going to do a kid's show about genies- and first of all, why are you doing a kid's show about genies? As if genies haven't been done a million times, there's already a popular show on Nickelodeon about kids getting wishes.
Now let's pretend having a show with a genie is still an original idea. Why oh why would one put a teen actor into that puffy, creepy, old-timey, stereotypical genie outfit? Thankfully they omitted the typical pointy ears and bizarre ponytail, why not just totally westernize him and throw him in jeans and a t-shirt? You could give him wild green hair or something to identify him as "supernatural".
Of course, most importantly, if you're really committed to that classic Western image of the ornately dressed Arabian genie, why not get an actor of Middle Eastern descent? They do exist, and would probably be delighted to get a role on a widely viewed television station. If you've been watching TV lately (or, well, ever) you might noticed the dearth of Middle Eastern (and Indian, and Asian, and Native American, and etcetera) performers in major roles. Unless, of course, they did try that, and every single kid walked out in horror when introduced to the creepy outdated genie costume he would have to wear. So they hired a white teen actor, and by paint or by lamps, changed his skin. I guess the minds at Nickelodeon thought kids are also too stupid to tell the difference.
edit: Genius as I am, I neglected to click the "Nick" logo above the game and figure out that this is currently only airing in the UK. I'm no less worried- aren't they supposed to be smarter than us?
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Lisa Loeb wants no scrubs.
A friend with mutual swooning tendencies when it comes to the lovely Ms. Loeb pointed me in the direction of this late night talk show performance. Oh, wistful sigh, Lisa Loeb was my first celebrity girl-crush, and I love when the special place in my heart devoted to her (quite near the special place for Oscar Wilde, and alongside others for Alan Cumming and Sarah Silverman- the "long-standing nerdy crush" section of my heart) is warmed by little reminders- "Stay" comes on the radio at work, I catch an ad for her reality show, a friend sends me a video of her covering TLC (who, coincidentally, did their own part in causing young, queer swooniness)...
If you're not as enraptured by Lisa Loeb as my friend and I, you'll have to wait out the first song to get to the cover. But, come on! How can you not enjoy it? She's adorable.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Geek Gone Wilde
Can I give quick props to Rich of FourFour for referring to Oscar Wilde during his ANTM piece this week? As if Rich needs props from li'l old me, but it really made my day. I know I only mentioned it in passing, but I have a special place in my heart for Oscar Wilde. Sure, I "like" Virginia Woolf and Samuel Beckett, in that I own a few works of theirs, but that's half for intellectual street cred. I haven't even gotten through a third of Orlando- too damn long! Oscar Wilde, however, graces my bulging shelves only once- with a hardcover collection of his complete works. I don't read Oscar Wilde to sound like a good little English major. I read Oscar Wilde with extreme affection. Excuse me while I geek out:
Could this mention in FourFour mark a new trend among blogs? Bitching about Tom Cruise out, quoting Oscar Wilde in! Just kidding, bitching about Tom Cruise will never be out. What would D. Wils do if her arch nemesis fell from the public eye? Besides perhaps hold a party. Actually, I hope this switch comes to pass, I could go for some cake. Keep an eye out for further Oscar Wildeisms in the blogosphere, my friends.
...did I just use the word "blogosphere"?
Friday, May 12, 2006
So, what have I been up to this week?
Oh, the average bohemian this-is-a-new-stage-of-my-life rituals before the summer job grabs me by the throat and drains my will to live. Or at least, my will to wake up at three a.m. every morning and escort kids to the bathroom. I think the weekly updates over the summer will be a good means of venting about the childrens, and of course the summer camp drama. It's way more involved, frustrating, and ridiculous than high school drama, of which I largely chose not to partake. Unfortunately, camp counselor drama is above all impossible to avoid.
Speaking of camp, I put in my two weeks on the waitressing job. Being a camp counselor is stressful, but it makes one more responsible, compassionate and inclined to hugs/soulful group cries. I'm not exaggerating to say that waitressing has made me a worse person. On the job I get irritable, spiteful and judgemental. They had a thirty dollar check and left an eighty cent tip? Fuckin' cheap hicks! Drink less beer next time! I hate everyone, and the bitches on the night shift didn't thaw the strawberries!
So, sticking it to the man is step one of the bohemian transition from small-town existence to independence. Step two requires a public act or physical transformation. Some people I know get tattoos every time their life changes, some people chop off their hair, Kevin Smith makes another Clerks, and I got this:
This nose piercing represents the pain of my adjustment into adulthood!
Just kidding! It represents looking awesome.
Step three? Why, a futureless passion!
A zest for painting! I found out they sold canvas at the dollar store, and I was hooked. I'm submitting this and three others to a friend's art show. I've submitted to her shows before, but usually, you know, in a medium in which I was either talented or educated. I suck at painting, it just feels good. Listen: I know the breasts are messed up. I'm just going to tell everyone I intentionally left them imperfect as an additional statement on body image, and soak up the pretentious hippie street cred.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
No Time To Blog!
Seriously. I'm blogging during dinner right now. I'm working late tommorow night and even skipping out early to attend a rally at Jen's college, but then I've got to rush home to get my preliminary shit together for an event this weekend and deliver it to someone who can actually make it to that event. The boy comes home on Friday night, though I probably won't get to see him, which is alright because we'll need sleep that night, as I have to work in the camp kitchen for the third weekend in a row at seven thirty, and we won't be sleeping all weekend due to volunteering for an event in support of the already aforementioned event. If that doesn't make a lick of sense, don't worry about it: the point is, I'm frigging busy. On Sunday I'm probably either going to church with the family for the one-year anniversary of the death of my grandfather or I am, drumroll, getting my nose pierced with a friend for her birthday. I'm debating if God would smite me for that one, or at least if my Poppy would wag his finger at me from the heavens. But then, I don't imagine he'll be watching the service if they get baseball in heaven. He's probably still too busy cursing at Johnny Damon to be upset with me. Fucking Johnny Damon.
So, I'm leaving a minimal-effort something to hold you over until next weekend. Why do I even bother? Because, Congratulations, You're an Asshole is back up, and apparently better than ever. It's been linked to from The Church of Annette, which is linked to from FourFour, which is linked to from Queerty- there is a chain from Queerty to this blog! Long and obscure as it may be, there is a chain. CYAA has been getting steady comments, and what if I'm next? I can't deal with more than a half-dozen people checking on my shitty corner of the internet! At least not until Season Three of Project Runway starts and I actually have something to write about regularly. Oh, woe, angst and agony, I might have an audience.
I've got to run, but as I've not made my love for the Man in Heels explicit enough, I'll leave you with pearls of wisdom to keep you chuckling in my absence. If you want the full expirience, run to your local quality DVD provider and buy everything he's ever made, now, please.
from Dress to Kill:
"The National Rifle Association says that, 'Guns don't kill people, people do'. But I think the gun helps, you know? I think it helps. I just think just standing there going, 'Bang!' That's not going to kill too many people, is it? You'd have to be really dodgy on the heart to have that... 'Bang! Rat-tat-tat! Boom!' I think they should just try that, you know. But yeah, shooting clay pigeons, I think, go for that! Shooting clay pigeons, they’re fuckers! Come round your house, whiz through- they do nothing, they don't even eat flies! You know? Spiders eat flies, so they're all right, keep them, you know? Flies don't eat fuckall, so kill 'em! And clay pigeons - everyone shoots them in the air. Wait 'til they land! Then go up to the clay pigeon... pow! Much easier."
from Unrepeatable:
"Nowadays, we’re more sophisticated as consumers. We go into supermarkets and we read the labels. ...This jam is made by Nazis with dead trees, bits of mud and spit. Well, I don’t think I’ll have that one. This jam was made by groovy people! And fruit who agreed to be in the jam in the first place."
from Sexie:
"Guide dogs, they are bright, they get chosen especially chosen: You! You have the look in your eye, the look of intelligence, you’ll become a special dog.
And the dog goes, Food?
You know what I’m saying, don’t you? Come, and I will make you a leader amongst dogs!
Food, now? With marrow? The yummy bit of humans?"
Thanks to auntiemomo for the transcripts and picture. Except this one:
Did I ever mention that he flirted with my mother?
Thursday, April 27, 2006
In Which I Break My Own Rules!
I usually refuse to grab items from other blogs without having something original to say about the content, but, this link I just spotted at feministing really must be passed on.
Some apparently really cool kids wrote some really good speeches for President Bush (that may or may not contain the phrase "doo-doo head"), and got them recited by an impersonator.
This next item was featured on bookslut, but I was directed to it from someone else, so it's not (so blatantly) stealing. The judge who acquitted the author of The Da Vinci Code of plagarism charges worked his own secret code into his ruling. If you're not registered for The New York Times website, you can read the full text as posted by some nice kid on livejournal.
Odd! Inspiring! Right?
Monday, April 24, 2006
I Lied, Again.
Monday-Wednesday-Friday set? That was a bit of a lie. I didn't realize I'd be visiting a college all day on Friday, and working at church camp all weekend. I've been so busy, just be thankful I can still form coherent sentences.
I do have treats for you, my pretties. If college fails to provide inspiration to my mind or spirit, it will at least surely inspire my blogging material.
I caught this mess during the three-hour ride. You can just see the corner of the giant tipi to the left. We passed at least three Native American (specifically Mohawk, I think) themed souveneir stores, but this was the most outrageous. I had to wonder if there was actually a solid Mohawk population around, if they were involved with these shops, or if other people were just exploiting the fact that, you know, "Native Americans used to live sort of nearby, maybe I can sell some shoes, blankets and cheap plastic shit".
Oh, and by the way, guess what I found during spring cleaning?
Creepy.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
An Item That Falls Directly Between "Freaking Bizarre" and "Inspiring".
As you may or probably do not know, I'm a playwright. An award-winning playwright, at that. (Try to guess which one I am! Hint: I have a vagina.) I've got a fucking plaque and everything. I know I'm not a genius at it or anything- I'm definitely not one of those drama kids who say things like, "You know, my professor is simply fascinated with O'Neill, but I don't understand how she can call herself a drama lover when she says she's never cared for Beckett." I'm actually glad I haven't read a lot of classics, because I can write without worrying that I'm taking too much inspiration from other work (read: ripping off better writers). My first play was about lobsters, my second was about mimes, and currently I'm writing a carthatic piece about the college process. I'd just gotten to thinking I'm good at it this sort of thing, when I stumbled upon a piece that makes me ashamed of my lack of creativity. It's not Beckett, it's not O'Neill, it's not even Wilde- whose fandom I would belong to, if more 19th century writers had fandoms- it's this.
A Very Merry Unauthorized Children's Scientology Pagaent.
I haven't seen it, I haven't (yet) heard the soundtrack, I haven't read the articles in New York Times or The Village Voice. By the way, why am I only hearing about this now? It's apparently been around for years, and my so-called "friends" never thought mention it to me?
No, I have only gazed upon the website- which I initially thought to be a really cool hoax. When I realized it was legit, just reading the title of the play caused me to utter that phrade that tears at every artist's heart: "Why didn't I think of that?"
In costumes slightly resembling The Polyphonic Spree's robes (creating some kind of meeting of the bizarrely brilliant), children- God bless them, children play L. Ron Hubbard, Tom Cruise, John Travolta, and, of course, the great Xenu (pictured above, in more Conehead-esque garb). They sing songs such as "Hey! It's a Happy Day!" and "Mister Auditor". Who doesn't love a musical? Well, probably not actual Scientologists.
An unwanted but obligatory rant about scientology itself: I try to be open-minded about Scientology. It would probably be much easier if they ever tried telling anyone what they actually do. Seriously, scientologists. First of all, thank you for visiting my blog. Tell your friends. Secondly, I know being all secret and exclusive is your "thing", but you're hurting the cause. Your founder, the guy who wrote Battlefield Earth, simply looks shady. I don't know if The Simpsons modeled the Leader in their cult epsiode after L. Ron or if it was just a happy coincidence because he looks like a cult leader. I'm afraid famous people keep defending scientology because they can afford it. I know Christians pass around a collection plate, but there's not a thousand-dollar tab on baptism and confessional. We will stop treating you like a cult when you stop acting so damn culty. When one of your famous members jokes about eating his baby's placenta and people automatically believe it- it's time for a change.
Really, Scientologists, this pagaent is probably the most positive cultural reference you're going to get. Start letting your kids put it on around Christmas or L. Ron Hubbard Day or what have you. Everyone likes kids. They're adorable.
By the way, the one image that qualified this play for Bizarre Week:
Nothing more fantastically creepy than emotionless twins in rainbow socks and a giant brain costume.
I love it.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Freaking Bizzare Dead Thing. Warning: Pictures.
Personal life issues are slowly settling down, so hopefully I'll be back to semi-regular updates. That is, until summer hits, at which point I'll be away five days a week to work with brats lovely children at that God camp I've mentioned. I am at this point praying that Project Runway doesn't launch a new season in the middle of the summer, as I have heard they're rushing to start season three. Oh well, at least I hope I'll have interesting stories on the weekend. As for now....
It's been occuring to me that, while definitely a bit fruity, my blog is not as totally bizarre as it could be. Look at my subtitle- shouldn't I be blogging about robots or leprachauns or robot leprachauns or something particularly out of the ordinary?
It turns out it's pretty hard to find inspiring topics to write about several times a week. But, I think I've gathered up enough material for at least a Monday-Wednesday-Friday set, and so I announce this week to be
FREAKIN' BIZZARE WEEK.
Let's start with what I did on Easter. While my hippie, vegetarian, antique-collecting aunt and uncle's giant, museum-like house where horses occasionally run through the back yard might be bizarre to some people, that's just one piece of the puzzle that is my upbringing. What really freaked me out this weekend was stumbled upon at a nearby beach.
I've seen horseshoe crabs, regular crabs and shellfish in general washed ashore plenty of times. I live in the ocean state. These things happen. However, Sunday afternoon, my uncle took my brother and I to a lesser-known local beach, where we witnessed what we initially guessed was a dead seal.
Now, maybe I should, but I do not know how to make cuts, jumps, or in any case, post a picture without you seeing it right away. Do I provide a wimpy link? Of course not, friends, I improvise. Here is a preview of a picture that I took of the thing, the gross bits tastefully blocked out by something slightly nicer to look at.
On closer inspection, we decided it was a shark. The problem being, we live in Rhode Island. You know how many sharks are around Rhode Island? Neither do I. I don't know because nobody cares, because there are so few sharks around Rhode Island that it isn't worth caring about unless you're a shark enthusiast, a title which I vehemently deny.
It's also only mid-April. Do you know how many sharks are around in mid-April, in Rhode Island? The answer, by all human logic, should be "none, silly!"
It was also pretty far up the beach. I would like to know the mathmetic probability of a shark washing ashore and dying, in mid-April, in Rhode Island. Someone get back to me on that.
Our third guess was that it was a porpoise of some kind, of course, that entails all of the problems with the idea that it's a shark. I described it to the boy, and he suggested that it could be a barracuda, but I find the wreckage hardly barracuda-esque.
WARNING: I am going to post the pictures now.
Seriously.
They're a little bit gross.
Stop scrolling if you're the squeamish type.
Exposed ribcage and everything, don't you know.
It's gross.
For real.
Here come the pictures.
Of the decaying animal carcass.
...
Ta-da.
Freaking bizzare, eh?
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
A Few Items of Interest Pour Toi.
First of all, if you don't read Queerty (and why the hell not?), and you know anyone in Massachusetts, I must direct you to www.knowthyneighbor.org. I've already found one very close friend with his name on the petition to ban gay marriage and dropped him/her a note about it. Maybe he has leanings I'm unaware of, or maybe he's a victim of fraud. Why take the chance?
Also, I've got further support for the Santino as Gay Vampire Jesus theory thanks to pictures from the GLAAD awards. Santino is on page two. Though he appears more preist-esque than Jesus-like, come on. Look at him. Tell me this outfit and pose don't scream "queer religious undead". Is he trying to supply me with material?
(I did have a picture displayed here, but it was too damn huge and water-marked for my liking. Aesthetics, thank you!)
Last, and probably least, am I the only one who's been getting really good spam lately? You know, that kind of ranting, nonsensical stuff with a link slipped in the middle so they don't get picked up by filters? My inbox has been stuffed with it this week. Most are too long and mind-numbing to post, but I got one a few hours ago that had no ad, and was all of one sentence. I'm not sure what they're trying to acheive with this one. The spam in question, in its entirety:
"After the stuffy city, Judas was struck by the stupefying smell of the
dog's head."
I know these things are probably blogged about all the time, but when someone gives you an incomplete thought like this, everyone should share the magic.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
In Which I Have Immature But Legitimate Worries About The Cool Kids Not Liking Me
Links to Witch Doctor totally fixed. Why doesn't anyone point these things out?
The five of you are grounded.
Sorry, I've been in a bad mood the past few days- I was rejected from my top choice college (Ithaca, if you hadn't guessed) and facing a fast decision between my back-ups. It's pretty much down to Massachusetts College of Liberal Arts and SUNY Purchase. My aunt, who's very invested in my education, sent me to their respective Wikipedia pages of all places. Purchase had the most detailed page, and it sounds like an artistic culturally-subversive haven. However, it's not very aeshthetically pleasing. I wonder if my aunt was trying to steer me in a particular direction when she sent me this link....
And that's from an allegedly bright female. Of course naming something "the gay capital of the world" only draws me closer to it. However, I'm terribley afraid they're overjudging my abilities. The only accept thirty-one percent of applicants (much, much less than the other schools I applied to), and for the love of Parker Posey, look at their alumni! Moby? Wesley Snipes? One of the Petes from Pete and Pete? I'm pretty sure I am not hip enough to be going to this school. Just the fact that I used the word "hip" proved my point.
I'm away this weekend, and I'll be stressed out until this college problem is resolved- I fear the five of you might have to entertain yourselves for a little while.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
There Were Also An Inordinate Amount of "C.C. IS SO F-ING HOTTT" Threads, Who Knew?
I missed this week's Surreal Life- how awful, right? I was in New Hampshire all weekend. Do you suppose I should start recapping it? What would I say? Episode four- everyone still frustrated with everyone else. Signs point to future breakdowns and weird hook-ups.
Anyway, I watched some clips online, and then I decided to venture in to a place most people with, well, better-shit-to-do fear to tread. I've been tragically short of shit to do lately, and the VH1 message boards are not the bottom of the bottle. The bottom of the bottle is, in fact, watching an entire 5-hour block of VH1 countdowns cuddled up to several pints of ice cream.
I expected to see some moderate Alexis-bashing, and my expectations were fulfilled. But, I was pleased that for every "he is a dude, not a chick!" threads, there was about thirty "STFU, and don't call her he!", and several "whatever, man, she's pretty hot" replies. Ah, and this little gem made me miss my old days as a message board junkie:
By the way, "Alexis Saved My Child" is from the mother of an eight year old boy who wears his sister's clothes and asks his mother why God gave him a boy body and a girl brain. She finally "got it" when she watched Alexis on the Surreal Life. Of course, Daddybull The Troll replies to the effect of "either you made that up, or that kids needs an ass-kicking". If the story is authentic, I suggest to the mother the movie Ma Vie En Rose- it imagine it will pull very familiar heartstrings.
...is that even an expression?
Monday, April 03, 2006
In Which a Well-Known PR Fan Has a Webcomic, Creating an Intersection of Sorts
Remember my internet friend Oolong, who did the lovely caricatures of the Project Runway designers?
Seeing as I mentioned my zest for webcomics in my last entry, I thought I'd plug his new webcomic, Witch Doctor. It's a bit more, hmm, comprehensive than his previous, titled Faggot House. It's still in the exposition stage, but the art is nice and the characters seem likeable, so I'll be following it for a while.
A sneak peak? Sure, why not? Hopefully he won't eat my face or anything for not mentioning this to him.
Give it a peek, support the guy- webcomics are definitely harder to keep going than lousy blogs like this.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
True Story!
There's a story that I'm pretty sure I have to share with the world. But there's a problem: I'm a webcomic geek. Hardcore. Every day I check two email accounts, one personal journal, one or two social network sites, three or four blogs, and eight to ten webcomics. I could try to defend my habit, but I'd just be securing my spot on the Geek Hierarchy: "It's not, like, the funny papers or superhero comics. Webcomics are, like, art SLASH comedy."
I run a blog and not a webcomic for lack of artistic talent and patience. I could always go the Ryan North route, but that would be ripping off Ryan North. I write well, but some stories I just feel would be best conveyed in pictures. Such as this story, that I am pretty sure I need to tell you. It will be slightly amusing to read, but it would be much more affecting to see. I would make a half-assed series of illustrations, but my scanner is permanently busted. Thus, I present to you, the first of possibly many True Stories, as accompanied with beautiful MSPaint illustrations.
I couldn't have been working in my restaurant more than three weeks when this happened. I had a few tables, all served and happily eating, so I was hanging out by the cash register when a voice from the take-out area beckoned to me. I turned around and see a very, very short man with a shining bald head, a curly red beard, great round glasses and business attire. If hobbits hired accountants, this would be their man. Now, I'm not saying he's a loser because he was short and bald and sported a curly beard. There are definitely very awesome, short, stout, bald, bearded people. I just needed you to create a mental picture to combine with his further inward creepiness, thus you get the full idea of the great weirdness of this encounter. This man said to me:
He was referring to the sign between the cash register and the take-out window that reads "WE DO NOT ACCEPT CHECKS!" Not completely understanding why we didn't accept checks, but obviously knowing there was a reason, I just shrugged. Then, he asked if he could hang up some flyers. He was, he informed me, a DJ. Yes, this hobbit-man made a living playing music at parties. I know a DJ. I think old guys who own a bunch of speakers and switch CDS for two hours should be called something else. Like "expensive fleshy jukeboxes".
Anyway, he hands me some of his flyers, which are a bit hideous because he used tiled dollar bills in the background. He made sure he pointed them out to me. He sure was proud of those flyers. "Only two-hundred dollars!" He insisted. "That's very cheap!" I nodded in vauge agreement, but I was distracted. In the corner of his flyer, there was a stamp that had nothing to do with disk jockeying.
No matter what you opinion about abortion is, if I know it within ten seconds of meeting you, you are probably an asshole. I told this story to the boy and he cried, "Why didn't you call him out on being ridiculously forward?" Well, I couldn't really call him out on that or, you know, not having a vagina in front of my other customers. Being paid below minimum wage and making half your salary on based on a stranger's opinion of you has its down side. Oh well. Maybe he was actually just a fan of WHAM?
He gave me his card, which was also graced with the Seal of Making Me Uncomfortable. Seriously, how much time did he have on his hands to stamp all of these flyers and cards? Was that part of his pitch? "I shouldn't just be a cheap middle-aged DJ. I should be a cheap middle-aged DJ that preaches pro-life. I'll have to keep the customers off me with a picket sign!"
He shook my hand. He stopped, and he smiled at me. Not in a friendly way. You know what I'm saying. He said, exactly:
He pointed to his ring to prove it, thanked me, and left. Even after he gave me the old creepy eyes, I didn't have the heart to throw out this odd little man's flyers, so I gave them to the boss's son.
He threw them out for me.
True story.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Yes, dad, she is.
Whereas my mom goes dancing every week, offers to lend me her books on dirty talk and openly prefers men on motorcycles, my father is roughly a New England version of Hank Hill who likes skiing instead of hunting and appraises houses instead of selling propane, but still has that small-town good-dad sensibility to him. Case in point: tongiht I was invited to join him and his ladyfriend (definitely a Peggy Hill, but less feminist- FYI, I adore Kathy Najimy) at a historical society presentation to watch an hour-long slideshow about, I kid you not, the history of main street. I'm open-minded and everything, but I have to draw the line somewhere.
Anyway, I being my mother's daughter, I enjoy testing his limits occasionally. He's not a racist homophobe in the slightest, but he does refer to his ladyfriend as "domesticated". In his company, I've enjoyed explicit CDs (the less offensive eliciting "what-is-this-junk"s, Blink-182's "Family Reunion" met only with uncomfortable silence from the both of us), Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle (my brother informed me that he was pulled aside and asked, "how could you let your sister watch that trash?" to which my brother proudly replied, "dad, shut the fuck up"), Project Runway ("Keep it on, I want to see that gay guy cry", in reference to Austin), and To Wong Foo, Thanks For Everything, Julie Newmar. Though, that last one is actually intended to be Staight Man's Intro to Crossdressing.
Tonight, before pancakes for dinner, I sat down and flipped channels, eventually landing on my girl Alexis Arquette. I decided to watch for a while and gauge the reaction.
"That woman has a deep voice." Dad points out. "Is it a female impersonator?"
"Um, well, that's Alexis Arquette. She's transexual. David Arquette's sister?"
"Oh. That name sounds familiar, David Arquette."
"Yeah, he's married to Courtney Cox. He was in Scream."
"I don't know. Hmm. So, he was his brother, and now he's his sister?"
"Yep."
"Oh." A pause, he raises his eyebrows. I'm expecting either the familiar sound of uncomfortable silence, or a mumbled weird! Instead:
"She's a pretty good-looking woman, huh?"
Thursday, March 23, 2006
In which I rediscover that bald is beautiful and sex toys are not a sin.
Remember when I said there might be movie reviews in this space occasionally? I probably lied, Unless of course, I happen to see an absolutely mind-blowing movie that I can summarize and praise without spoiling its surprises or over-hyping it to the point that it's a dissapointment were any of you to actually see it, and I also happen to be three feet away from a computer with an internet connection when the credits finish rolling.
I'm just not a movie person, or rather, a movie theater person. The other day, my brother told me he wanted to see "Inside Man", like, a lot. Resisting an eye roll, I asked an honest question: what is that movie about? There's like a bank robbery or something, and that guy (Me: "Denzel Washington?" Brother: "Yeah, I heard he's a pretty good actor." Mom: "Yeah, he is. Do you know the movie Philadelphia?" Brother: "No.") is a hostage negotiator, but there's (I quote) more depth to it than that. I then correctly inferred that he drew this conclusion from Denzel screaming "This ain't no bank robbery!" in the last four seconds of every commercial. It's a clever trick, really, but overused. They don't tell you what the movie's about, but they promise a twist, and you fork over upwards of nine dollars to find out what it is. Call me cheap, but I'm spending my ten dollars on something I actually know I'll like, say, a pizza, or a vibrator.
Totally unrelated note: I had a revelation about sex toys and television the other day while I was meditating. Yes, I gave up meat for Lent, and now I'm trying for yoga and meditation every night. I would undergo full hippification and stop shaving my legs for Lent, except I already did that around November. It's winter, people, and I work in long-legged uniform. Who's going to care? Anyway, my epiphany. I set up my yoga mat (yes, I own one) in the middle of my living room, and was at one point facing the family television in the lotus position. My family went without cable for a year or two, and now that we have it back, it fells dirty. Sure, I watch, but I always feel bad. I realized in a calm, clear moment that watching television was an equal sin to an affection for vibrating silicone- it was unproductive, perhaps even a waste of time, but it did no harm to the person watching/coming, and most importantly did no harm to others. There are better things to be doing, sure, but unwinding by watching fashion designers rush towards a deadline is not a wrong, nor is twisting one's toes in the privacy of one's own bedroom. Of course, the most revelatory bit of this was not the fact that vibrators were probably ok by the higher power. It was the fact that I shouldn't be getting angry with myself or others for watching TV, lest I be a hypocrite. If I demand to be allowed to relax by pleasuring myself, it's only right that I let others sit back and worry about the CSI unit's problems instead of their own for a few hours without complaining. Treat others as yourself, the golden rule, and all that nice hippie stuff.
Of course, if sex toys are ever outlawed in my state (as they are in Mississipi), I'm calling out cable TV as equally masturbatory and campaigning for it to be outlawed, too. I can legitimately tell everyone that I was told so in a vision. I wonder how long dildos would stay illegal if half of the population's glowing fetish went down with them.
Right, so, anyway. My original point was that I don't go to movie theaters more than once a year, and that's if I'm feeling adventurous. However, I might have to fork over nine dollars pretty soon. Why? Because the boy is away at school for a record eight weeks, and V for Vendetta is in a theater near me. It's not that I'm bored without him, and interested in seeing a film to satisfy my casual interest in graphic novels. It's that I'm longing for someone to oggle at, Natalie Portman is a total hottie, and I want to see her get all bald and angry.
I saw this picture in a magazine at least six months ago, and my tingling loins told me that no matter what this movie was about, I was going to see it. I later learned that I had heard of the story, and that Natalie was actually playing a lesbian. That should be a plus for my lust, but I was actually a little disappointed that lesbians in action movies keep getting short haircuts in what seems to be a cheap method of getting a point across. Hey look, they're not a damsel in distress- they're butch!
(edit: a reader pointed out that Natalie herself is not playing a lesbian, just that lesbians and gays are part of the plot. Well, someone lied to me. Thus, my point is invalid, but my disappointment relieved.)
I probably won't work out the logistics to actually see this movie, but I swear I'll be renting it the day or so after it comes out. Until then, I have a perfectly beautiful woman to oggle at on DVD.
Oh, Clea Duvall, you get me every time.
That review for But I'm A Cheerleader? It's still in the works, I just always get distracted somehow while I'm watching. I usually end up in the privacy of my own bedroom.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Gay, gay, gay, gay, gay.
Is this a gay blog? I didn't really intend on that to happen. It just sort of did. Ok, so it was created to blab about Project Runway, so the shift to caring for the gay community isn't out of left field or anything. Well, among the things that inspire me, feminist and queer politics are high on the list. You know, idealistic (soon-to-be) college student that I am.
Anyway, if you ever visit those blogs to your right, you'll know that two of them recently reported on The 16th Annual Barring of Irish GLBT Groups from Marching in the NYC St. Patrick's Day Parade. Of course, being bisexual and Irish, this makes me quite sad, but I also couldn't get a funny thought out of my head. Both funny-odd and funny-haha. I thought someone would point it out at some point, but it seems I'll grab the opportunity.
When you search "St. Patrick's Day" on the internet, what do you think you find? Leprechauns, copious amounts of leprechauns. And, who is anyone kidding? Leprechauns are gay. They remind me of bears, but shorter and with a preference for green. They always seem giddy, and beyond physical stereotypes, they hang out around rainbows. Just look at this little guy. What a cutie.
Also, it's time for disclosure. I watched the premiere of The Surreal Life tonight.
It's not like I planned it or anything- VH1's weird reality TV just sort of sucks you in while you're changing stations. I stopped for Alexis Arquette. I wanted to see how her role would unfold. I didn't catch the beginning, so I didn't see any cheesey coming-out scene or shocked reactions, if there were any. Thus far, it seems to me they're treating Alexis like a woman. While she's got a little bit of a big-assertive-queen vibe, she's showing other sides. In the previews, it looks like she gets to be genuinely sexy. It's promising- maybe I'll take note on it again.
Oh, and I watched part of the second episode of Top Chef, because they went to a sex shop, and I caught sight of RuPaul in a preview. I think they're trying to trick me into watching. RuPaul! I love RuPaul.
It's like I said. My blog is getting exponentially gayer.
