Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Ooh, life is juicy, juicy and you see, I gotta have my bite, sir

So I was at my totally tricked out dentist's office today for a "prophy" in the lexicon of the trade. That's a cleaning to you and I. Did I mention this joint is tricked out? We're talking plasma screens hanging all over the fucking place, butter leather chairs you'd like to date steadily and those window treatments I love where I can see out but you can't see in. The one thing missing? Male hygienists. Is that so much to acks for? If I'm paying good money to have your pit in my face while you shove vibrating instruments into my pie hole, I'd like you to be a man, OK? I know that shit ain't happening in the USA. Maybe if I travel to the gayest city in the gayest country in the world, I can get my guy-gienist there. If only there was someone Dutch around to ask. Where's Marjon when you need her? And sure, the dentist is a dude, but he don't do shit but charge you an extra $30 for five minutes of small talk with no penetration.

Tangentially, my friend called me the other morning and asked if I'd watch her kid for a few minutes while she shopped. I said I would if she'd give me a half hour or so to clean up. She was all, "You're a guy, it should only take five minutes." Well, I don't know about you, but just the Oral Hygiene segment of my routine alone can take ten minutes. Keep that in mind, kids. If I do just pits and crotch in the shower and skip the flossing, maybe I'll see you in twenty five, but no sooner.

If you close your eyes because the house is on fire....

I wouldn't annoy you by sending this as an email forward, so why am I about to put it up here? Well, I'm a sucker for an old chestnut, and nothing is older or chestnuttier than a screw in a lightbulb joke, no? Combine it with hatred of the Bush clan and I just can't stop myself. So, without further ado, I bring you the following:

Q: How many members of the Bush administration does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: Ten.

1. One to deny that a light bulb needs to be changed;
2. One to attack the patriotism of anyone who says the light bulb needs to be changed;
3. One to blame Clinton for burning out the light bulb;
4. One to tell the nations of the world that they are either for changing the light bulb or for eternal darkness;
5. One to give a billion dollar no-bid contract to Halliburton for the new light bulb;
6. One to arrange a photograph of Bush, dressed as a janitor, standing on a step ladder under the banner 'Bulb Accomplished';
7. One administration insider to resign and in detail reveal how Bush was literally 'in the dark' the whole time;
8. One to viciously smear No. 7;
9. One surrogate to campaign on TV and at rallies on how George Bush has had a strong light-bulb-changing policy all along;
10. And finally, one to confuse Americans about the difference between screwing a light bulb and screwing the country."

Please don't be frightened away. I promise not to make a habit of this.

Damn, shorty lookin' good and I'm thinkin' bout gettin' at her

This is not the first place you'd expect to find a post about a Playboy pictorial, am I right? Less surprising maybe when you realize it's of Janelle from Big Brother then? Love her! Seriously, if I wasn't such a full on manly man among men, I might wanna be her. Head on over via the link above to D-Listed, but know ahead of time you'll see her naughty bits, though she's demure with the nethers. Did I mention I LOVE her? She is really hot in these pics. I mean, I'd do her. No, seriously.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Sky rockets in flight, afternoon delight

I was a verbally precocious child. You're probably wondering, "So why do you brutally massacre the language now, Mike?" I'd like to spin a sordid tale of brain damage from drugs and alcohol, but I'm just lazy is all, folks. Back then though, I was reading often and way beyond my age and that probably contributed to an advanced vocabulary. My fourth grade teacher, a delightful Filipino woman wider than she was tall, used to beg me to stay in at lunchtime to play Scrabble with her. Though already a budding gay, I did love football and baseball, so she sometimes had to twist my arm to forgo the playground with my friends. Looking back, some might consider her actions unseemly, but I think she was just lonely and when you consider that, even in our youth, the queers are unusually adept at polite conversation, can you really blame her? More importantly, I could occasionally kick her English-is-my-second-language ass all over the board, and she got off on that shit. OK, a little unseemly again. I'm not sure why I thought of her today. She's gotta be dead by now. Thanks for listening.

Knock me down it's all in vain, I'll get right back on my feet again

It's U.S. Open time again, kids. Bring it on! I love tennis and this is a great time for tennis. Our Open may hold less cache than Wimbledon, but for a spectator, I think, there is no better tournament. It's loud and wild and filled with drama, just like the city it calls home. Flushing. Umm, can we just say it's in NYC?
This year we have some of the old guard making a last run at a Grand Slam title. You can't really help but root for Lindsay Davenport, can you? As for Agassi, I never really cared much for him, but he was cast in a new, better light for me when Steffi Graf found him worthy. Can he dethrone King Federer? Grab the stick away from the Maestro? Prolly not, but it'd be fun if he did. There is a young gun (and boy, what guns he has) who does have a chance to derail the Federer Express, though. Young Rafael Nadal, flexing the pythons above, is one of the most exciting players to come along in years.
Who LOVES this shit besides me?

Now's the time that we need to share

The devastation after Hurricane Katrina is looking worse by the minute. If you're so inclined, this is a good place to lend a hand.

Monday, August 29, 2005

You've been hit by, you've been struck by....

Can anyone explain this debacle to me? Seriously, R Kelly put on the most embarrassing display of a live performance at the MTV Video Awards that I've seen in, well, ever. And I use the word "live" loosely here as he was lip synching some of the time, but other times miming or acting or some crazy shit. The annual Thanksgiving Day skit show my nieces and nephews put on seems inspired and professional by comparison. And easier to sit through.

picture via fourfour

Sunday, August 28, 2005

I never meant to make you cry, but tonight I'm cleanin' out my closet

I was looking at a list of books coming out this fall and saw that Anne Rice, the pop fiction equivalent of a Pez dispenser, is offering us Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt. You know this shit is going to suck, right? It'll rile the holy rollers, I'm sure, but that's not really enough of a justification for mo of her drivel. Seriously, has Miss Anne written anything good since Interview With the Vampire? Hell, maybe Interview is crap, too, because I was young and impressionable when I read it and by "impressionable" I mean "ravenous for anything with a homo-erotic subtext".

When you see Now More Pistachios! on the mixed nuts label you may not be immediately impressed, but then you realize, "Hey, less hazelnuts by weight!" and you're happy.

I haven't mentioned books in a while. I'm slogging through something. It's not so bad, it just hasn't made me want to pick it up at every juncture. I went to a cross country meet yesterday and it reminded me of an old favorite, though. Running hasn't contributed many strong entries to the sports book genre, but Running With the Buffaloes by Chris Lear is one of the best. It details a season of cross country at the University of Colorado. This held a special interest for me because a member of my family is a collegiate All-American in cross country. Trust me that most of what happens will be interesting to anyone, though. It's about running and racing but it's about life. Don't get me started on all my racing/running as life analogies, kids! ::crickets chirping::

I just saw a guy on CNN, a tourist in New Orleans, and he said he was just going to stick around because he's never seen a hurricane. Is it OK that I come away from that feeling better about myself and my long-term prospects in life? Sue me, but I'm always heartened by encounters with stupid people. I was in Orlando during Hurricane Jeanne last fall. Granted it was only a Category 1 when it hit there and was soon downgraded to a tropical storm, but it was still WAY nastier than anything I'd seen in all my thirty some years of life before. Back to our tourist, let's do a little figurin'. x feet below sea level in New Orleans times y feet of storm surge plus 150+ mph winds = u fucked. Hmm. Make sure you report back to us on how that was for ya, bro.

I have a little anecdote that doesn't shine such a nice light on me. It deals with television. You know how I love to suckle at the teat of the cathode ray tube, right? Well, a few years ago, I stunned myself with how resistant I am to weaning. I was in Italy on holiday (I like to say it that way to make me seem more continental). It was a few days into the trip before the jonesing began. It's not like I sat indoors and watched the damn thing instead of experiencing la dolce vita. I was in one of the cradles of our modern civilization for chrissake. I did that, too. Anyway, it was just the one evening (OK, maybe two, but definitely not three!). Not only did I watch television, but I watched it in Italian. I don't speak any Italian. Not only did I watch television in a foreign language I do not speak, I watched Big Brother, or Grande Fratello rather, in a foreign language I do not speak. Let me tell you, their version is way sluttier, way nastier and with way more nudity than ours. It was pretty awesome. Does it help me that I was sipping local wine and eating leftover ravioli while I watched?

Giving you the choke hold, this flirting with disaster is modern love

Speaking of flirting with straight dudes, I don't do it specifically to make them uncomfortable like this guy does. I like it better when they like it. Especially when they like it while riding a Harley. The postcard is from Postsecret. You've all been there already, right?
I mean, even a straight guy prolly gets a certain itch he needs scratched sometimes, right?

But that was long ago, I don't wanna cry no mo

It's early Sunday morning as I write this. Remember how I said I'd make coffee and we'd share the paper while we listened to one of my iPod mixes? The windows are open. A nice breeze, carrying just a hint of autumn, is sliding in. Birds chirp. What sounds like the faint tolling of distant church bells is actually the kick-ass windchime I recently hung outside my little den (aka the cockpit). PS the windchime was recommended by my favorite porn star, Gus Mattox. So multi-faceted, that boy. Insert yourself into this scene. Go ahead. I'm waiting. What's it gonna take? A foot massage? Well, forget it.

So randomly, Kitty Carlisle Hart is turning 95 this week and is looking hot. How much do we love her? Bitch is still performing! This is via Parade magazine and you know I wouldn't be reading that shizz if you were here to distract me. Well, I actually would because Jodi Foster is on the cover.

I know it's a complete waste of my too much free time to be surfing the gay personals online, but they carry a morbid fascination for me in a "there but for the grace of God, go I" fashion. I'm teetering on the precipice of that, saved only by the nubby grips of my kick-ass driving loafers. A few profile thoughts from your kindly queer editor ::dons half specs:: Hint, guys, let's just assume that "no drama" is implied. Unless I see the phrase "Queeny drama? Yes, please!" spelled out, I won't assume you wantin' it. Also, being a man encompasses so much. We can be anything we want. We can express many feelings that seem to cross traditional gender lines. We can be very masculine (like me ::winks:: cuz you know I'm hairy, low-voiced, pec-tacular and tres-butch)(the "tres" kind of negates the "butch", doesn't it?) and still have some feminine characteristics. Saying that you are "straight-acting" just sucks. It's offensive. Finally, to the dude that has posted a picture of himself all lubed up in boxer briefs, sucking his gut in, standing in front of his PT Cruiser, how's that working out for ya?

Can you handle a little more gay today? Boy, I need to stop talking about it all the damn time and get some or I'm heading toward being my own version of the 40 y.o. virgin. Isn't there like a statute (not statue, mofos)(you know who you are) of limitations on that shit? I think it's something like two years without sex and you're considered newly minted (6 months if you're gay). Anyway, I'm so flippin' horny and aggressive now that I have resorted to shamelessly flirting with straight dudes, practically daring them to bash me. Well, not really. I pick small ones who pose a minimal physical threat to me. I'm in the sporting goods store yesterday and start in on this adorable little married dude in the running gear section. Unsurprisingly, he plays along. Seriously, they do more often than you'd think. Flattering for them maybe. I had to bail out first, though, because brotha started playing dirty. He started shopping for an Under Armour jock! Hurt me, pretty boy.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Bad times choke us all once or twice on this sweet up and down

I'm driving along today listening to one of my new favorite stations, BPM (XM 81). It's all dance music, a long dormant need of mine, recently awakened. The new dance remix or cover or whatever it's called of Annie Lennox's Why comes on. It's by DJ Sammy in this iteration. It's some goodness. I loved that song then, loving it all over again. Her voice really is incredible, isn't it? So I'm flying along the interstate, weaving my way around, downshifting when there's no need cuz the stick just feels good in my hand, with a huge smile stretched ear to ear. Then the thumping sweetness fades into The Pussycat Dolls Don't Cha. That is a three minute pile of poo, isn't it? Buzz interrupted. The Dolls are like older, sluttier and less happy Spice Girls. The real Spice Girls are older, sluttier and less happy now, too, I suppose, but at least they have the courtesy of being that more or less out of the public eye. Oh well, I guess the highs wouldn't be highs if we didn't have poo with which to compare them.
PS There must be a prettier way to leave that last infinitive unsplit, yo.

Friday, August 26, 2005

The highway's jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive

I seem to post about television all the time. Interesting. Well, to me. This is SO worth it, though. Do you LOVE 24 like I do? If you don't, just keep quiet. You don't want to be one of those people who harshes my mellow happy, do you? So USA Today has a little preview of the next season of Jack and Co. It does give some information regarding who will be around for the next national crisis (would you like global impact with that?), so if you consider that shit spoilerish, best not to click on this link. I suppose the picture I added to this little missive could be considered a spoiler too, but just relax will ya? Geesh. You're like my friend who puts his fingers in his ears during the trailers at the movies and starts making with the lalalala's. Seriously. He's like 40. Where was I? This article has me completely in a lather about the upcoming season and it's not starting until January fucking '06. I can't wait! Who am I kidding? I can wait. Delayed gratification is one of my hot buttons. Drag it out until you can hardly stand it and then prolong it some more, yo. And the payoff? Curtis is back!!! Oops. ::places pinkie finger next to lips:: It just slipped out.

Godspeed your love to me

OK, I've already admitted this week to watching Ellen and Oprah so I really have nothing to lose. When you already have a picture in your head of me as a 50something suburban matronly type in a housedress and curlers, why hold back now? I just saw one of the most fucked up (read: awesome!) things ever on The Young and the Restless. First, I don't watch this shit regular-like, I swear. I sometimes flip it on for a few minutes, which I did today as I was getting ready for my daily foray to church (read: the gym). Gay, remember? So anyway, as I tune in Victor and Nikki Newman are dancing. Nikki is crying (natch) her huge Demi-in-Ghost sized tears as they are being serenaded in their very own backyard (at the Newman Ranch) by Il Divo for chrissake! It's not just Il Divo, it's Il Divo singing Unchained Melody, brothas. Nicholas and Sharon, the junior versions of Vic and Nik, show up. They swoon a moment at this spectacle and then join the spontaneous dancing, mirroring the elder Newmans, tears for her and brooding that looks suspiciously like bm straining for him. Quite the tableau, huh? Drink it in. I did. The mind boggles at what chain of events led to this delicious cheesy goodness (and hey, non-dairy cheese, so no regret or bloat after)(OK, a little regret). Can anyone explain this? PS If Victor paid for this bidness, he should be pissed cuz I.D. was totally lip synching. Where was the fucking string section we were hearing? Debacle!
Yes, yes, I swore that I don't watch the show and yet I know all the character's names and relationships. So maybe I watch for 10 minutes or so on my lunch hour and that's all it takes to catch up on the last 50 from the day before. Il fucking Divo. Ah, that was good. ::sighs:: They are muy caliente, though, no? I do hunger for their touch, now that I think about it. Righteous.

Thursday, August 25, 2005

If God had a face, what would it look like?

I know one thing for sure, if there is a God, he/she doesn't look like this nasty fuck. Are you aware of the Fred Phelps? I should say, are you aware of the abhorrent batshit crazy Fred Phelps? He's a preacher. He's charged with guiding the morality of his flock. He has a lovely website for his Christian congregation. Forgive me if I'm wrong, it was the late 70's the last time I was in Sunday school, but wasn't the main gist of Jesus' gig that you love your enemy and judge not and whatnot? Even if you don't cotton to man on man action (though I doubt you mind much if you're reading this blog), do you really care what I do? Why do you think Fred cares so much? I suspect it's because either he's a money whore, and this putrid bile he spews brings in the Benjamins OR he's a preacher-from-Poltergeist lookin', call-me-Mary-on-the weekends, self-loathing closet case. Most likely both. Just so you know that he's not just calmly and justifiably on the other side of this issue from me, check out this article where he feels pious enough to condemn the entire country of Sweden, saying it is "a land of sodomy, bestiality, and incest" and adding that their beloved King "looks like an anal-copulator, and his grinning kids look slutty and gay." Should I really give this much thought or time to such a virulent sack of hate? Probably not. Don't you think, though, that if God was one of us, just a stranger on the bus, he'd go all Bernhard Goetz of Fred's ass?

Added: Fred and his wacky troupe have now decided to head on over to Sweden, and Phelps promises the Swedes he will "hunt down your king. It doesn't matter where he tries to hide." Check it out.

via towleroad

And plunged them down a thousand feet below

I hesitated only a moment, concerned about repeating myself, and then I remembered it's what I do. If you really know me (and I like to feel that you do cuz it makes me feel warm inside and even between), you know that I rehash the same old tired jokes and stories ad nauseum. Why should I blog any differently? So today, like yesterday, I'm going to post about a daytime talk show repeat featuring adorability. Matthew Fox was on Ellen during lunch and he was absolutely charming. And very giggly. If he is going to act like a schoolgirl, then I am too. He's awesome! So cute and he seemed kind of shy and you just know you could getting him giggling so hard that he would snot. Is there anything hotter?
Also, who else is tingly with anticipation for LOST? All y'all? That's what I thought.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Let us be lovers, we'll marry our fortunes together

I think I may have just outgayed myself. Is it possible to blow a gay fuse? I think I felt a pop. I am a grown man and I just spent an hour watching Nate Berkus redecorate Jerry O'Connell's apartment on Oprah. I swooned a bit. It wasn' t over Oprah. This time, anyway. Rebecca Romijn seemed sweet. Seemed like she put on a few lbs. Jerry is fucking adorable. So much so that it didn't even bother me when he had to do his flamer impression when describing how excited he was about his new digs. Also, per usual, I would be happy to take Nate home and hug him and squeeze him and pet him and love him and call him my bitch.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

I can be all three, plus I can lay the pipe

Have you checked out the new version of the Google desktop? It is doing so much for me in that little sidebar. Things that I didn't even know I wanted before. I haven't been so instantly in love with something in a long time. I'm having autonomic nervous system responses usually reserved for imminent tail. If I had less couth, I'd be talking about leakage.

Cuz it's gettin' harder and harder to breathe

It would be crazy offensive, but I was thisclose to telling a dude in my office today that it's past time he took a sickle to that thatch roof business he had sprouting from his nose holes. Seriously, I don't want to get all Queer Eye on your ass, but it's just common courtesy. Granted, when yours truly starts shaving things, Lord only knows where I'll end up. Rest assured that the mere sound of a clippers will send Manny and Esteban ducking and running for cover. I'm not suggesting that for y'all. However, if it looks like you have the business end of a basting brush hangin' out your hole, trim it up at least a little, son.

Monday, August 22, 2005

La la la, la la la la la

Even if Kylie isn't, I am daring to think about it. As long as I'm dreaming big with the smelling and the book sharing and the knowing all his orifi with my tongue (I didn't mention that one before, but I'm adding it now, as I can and will without prior notice at my discretion) it wouldn't hurt if he looked like this morsel of pan-Asian goodness. Apologies in advance if that is offensive to anyone in the pan-Asian community. My dick and I think he's a tasty bit so it was just a little reference to some of our favorite gustatory weaknesses. He's Carl Ng.

Boy it's more than I dare to think about

I fold him up in my arms every day when I get home from work. We laugh in bed together. Sunday morning I make us coffee and we share the paper. We trade books. I love the way he smells. I know every inch of his body. He's smarter than me.

Too much to ask for?
I'm actually very happy and I have friends and family and a good job and random acts of gay kindness and I'm totally not one of those freaks that have pictures of sad clowns on their checks, I swear. But still.

Go on, get outta my life

I wish there was a filter on personal profile searches that could exclude anyone who uses the sentence, "I don't bite.... unless you want me to! LOL".

Oh, and the filter should also exclude people who use fucking "LOL" to cue you, laugh track style, when they are being funny.

Sunday, August 21, 2005

Oh you speak to me in riddles and you speak to me in rhymes

My car talks to me. He doesn't jabber on all the time like the toaster, but every lil' while he pipes up. The car came with this voice recognition system that is mainly useful for the navigation option, for which I did not shell out the extra grand or two (I'm cheap, but you already knew that). Seriously, I'm all man, and I don't need no fucking navigator. Plus, I have an amazing ability to find my way. An uncanny directional sense. As long as I can remember, I seem to innately orient myself to the poles. Where was I? Anyway, I only use the voice recognition for phone calls in the car, using the built-in Bluetooth handsfree business. Until yesterday, I was managed by a man's voice. He accepted my commands just fine, but with a non-descript, milquetoast Midwestern accent. It was like talking to myself, frankly. Even though I like the idea of my car being a man, a sleek and fast dude with the growl of a big, predatory cat, I decided to swing off another vine yesterday. He is now a she. And what a she he is. Her words are clipped and commanding. Faintly British. Odd in a Japanese car, but in a hip, Harajuku way. She says the same things he did, but implicit in her words is that she will take no shit from me. I'm cowed by her. And pleased. She efficiently makes my calls for me, but I won't be surprised if one day, when I say, "Call the office" she'll come back with "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Well you can't always get what you want." I think I'll call her Carolyn. I heart her. Of course I'd trade her in a second if they come out with a car that has Jerry's voice.

See the pig dressed in his finest fine, the believers stand behind him and smile

He's at it again. Folks in Crawford are scrambling and they are going to justify this mess we're in one way or another, truth be damned. Check out Bush (I can't type "W" anymore because it seems too endearing) linking the war in Iraq to 9/11. Again. Seriously, read the story because there is some macabre fun in finding all the inconcistencies and ill logic. It's like one of those pictures where the horse is wearing a sock and one of the wagon wheels is a pie. Of course in those pictures you don't have tens of thousands of dead people, so perhaps it's not an apt analogy.

Saturday, August 20, 2005

Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?

You better run, you better take cover Posted by Picasa

It was blistering hot action tonight, folks, as the big American finally topped the Australian sprite. In other less personal news, Andy Roddick beat Lleyton Hewitt in the tennis match. Ah, it never gets old, does it kids?
What a great day for tennis, both the playing and the spectating. It was a bit sweltering in the afternoon (almost a hunnerd ackshul dergrees)(them there is Fahrenheit dergrees in case all you fancy metric-fied gits was wonderin') as world #1 Roger Federer took on American upstart Robby Ginepri. Ginepri, shucking off his journeyman status just lately, boldly took the first set. The second looked to be heading to a tie break when Federer turned it up a notch, as he is wont to do. He broke in the 12th game to take that set and then spanked Ginepri with a firm hand, both fore and back, in the third. Just as that match ended, a storm ripped through, clapping all round with thunder. Shakespearian. The temp dropped 20 degrees and the humidity disappeared. Just as quickly the skies cleared. Time for round 2. The nightcap had Hewitt and Roddick closely contesting nearly every point, save those 15 or so where Roddick unloaded the cannon serve for aces. Roddick won in two, so baby if Lleyton's the bottom, Andy's the top! (..the Mona Lisa...) Ahhh, I love this sport. I don't smoke, but after that last tangle on Papa Lindner's DecoTurf, I felt like lighting one up. Followed by a banana, of course, in a polite homage to our kind, former Chiquita owning host. His shit used to be bananas, I suppose.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Jerk my fountain, ice cream mountains

A picture over on D-listed of the lithe and spritely Jared Leto has me revisiting the love for My So-Called Life. I was a little out of the target demographic for this girl-centered high school drama, I could suppose, but who am I trying to kid? We've all heard the trite comparison of gay men to teen girls, so I won't repeat it. Won't deny it, but won't repeat it. Angela and Rayanne and Ricky and of course Jordan Catalano (like she always said it), I loved them all. Hell, I even had space left in my heart for dorky neighbor Brian and strangely confused teacher, Mr. Katimsky. This was good stuff, wasn't it? It never felt real, mind you. Real live kids didn't talk or act like this where I grew up. Wish they had. I'll always remember a sweet lil' exchange between our star-crossed lovers, not so noteable for the actual dialogue if you didn't see the way they pulled it off. I try to cue folks with the first line. If some hotness ever chimes right in without missing a beat, I'll know I'm finally home.

Jordan: "Why are you like this?"
Angela: "Like what?"
Jordan: "Like how you are."
Angela: "How am I?"

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Move it til you feel sumthin hard in your back. Huh?

Y'all should check out the fourfour for some prime south Jersey shore chunk. I think I've discovered a new predilection, guys. It's about like when you stumble upon a great book and then find it's a fucking trilogy. New vistas. Is it a contradiction that I would absolutely die if I got a gut like dat, but I still find it kinda hot? I posted about Paramount's Kings Island (sounds dirty but it's not) a while back, and that joint is crawlin' with dilf like this.
P.S. Is it OK that I borrow fofo's picture if I credit him? I'm new to this stuff. Brotha has the most hilarious Being Bobby Brown recaps you'll wanna check out while you're there.

C'mon, hit me with your best shot

I'll be heading to the Tennis Masters Series-- Cincinnati tomorrow. I check out the professionals doin' what they do every year down there. Love it. It's a big tournament. Lots of matches going on....most of the top players in the world...some of them shirtless on the practice courts. I'll have a camera phone on me, so put in your requests for a shot of your favorite player in action now, folks. If you're watching the coverage on ESPN2, look for me in the stands. Oh, and I'm not eating at all today to prep for all my Cincy favorites: Skyline chili, LaRosa's pizza and Graeter's ice cream. Umm, well, oh, I gotta be what I am so: Whee!

Monday, August 15, 2005

Just a kiss, just a kiss, I have lived just for this

I'm loving the action seen here stage left, but dreading its use as fodder for the herd of religious right.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Hey Mr. DJ, put a record on

Lest you think I'm old and jaded and grumpy after the review below, you should have seen the excitement writ on my face when I realized the hotel room alarm clock would hook up with my MP3 player! Within seconds, it was a wet-headed happy towel dance. You'll not be surprised that a naked dance (while Sonicaring)(What? He uses props?!) ensued when the shuffle mode stopped on RECYCLED. Ah, life's simple pleasures. Would you have joined me?

Love me, that's all I ask of you

Sometimes a night at the theater can be electric. The production is wonderful, the venue spectacular, and there is a palpable energy in the audience. Woulda been nice.

I saw The Phantom of the Opera for the first time this weekend. This show has been selling out for twenty years. I don't get it. There were a couple of good songs and then lots of flashy effects. Seriously, is this shit where we got the phrase "smoke and mirrors"? I did think the cast was great, from the top down. I especially enjoyed my triple-dubbed brotha, Michael Shawn Lewis, as Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny. Boy, that last bit is fun to say, huh? Vicomte de Chagny. Now, the next time I wanna say something Frenchy, I'll have something else besides Guy de Maupassant. Great voice, good actor and just seems like he'd be playful and energetic in the sack. That's a potent cocktail.

If anyone loved this play and knows how good it is, call me out. Enlighten me. Is it a girl thing? Funny moment near the end as Christine and the Phantom are singing his opera. From my seat in the fourth row, I jerked awake from nodding off, and I swear she saw that shit. My name is Michael and I am a Philistine.

Friday, August 12, 2005

There it go, baby don't stop now

Naked as they came
Is how you make my feet feel.
Are you even there?

Andy asserts we're the same person, and who am I to argue? So, I feel I should haiku on Friday, just like him.

When it's time to change you've got to rearrange who you are and what you're gonna be

A few weeks ago I didn't know what a template was, and now I've found myself changing mine. The old one got all wonky with links and post titles disappearing. Does this one look OK on me? I'm really going for tailored but not body-conscious, continental but not check my basket. What do you think?
I'm off to Columbus for the weekend. Hours and hours of sitting in classes and presentations, subsisting on only ice water, starlight mints, and my namesake pipedreams. I can think of only one way to temper the monotony. You're with me, right? Yep. I've already hit the appropriate sites and hooked myself up for the roadtrip. Gym workout then tickets for Phantom on Friday, massage and then strolling (trolling?) the Short North or Arena District on Saturday. We were on the same page, I know. Of course, if you wanna meet and you know, go for a walk or shopping, arrangements can be changed. Yeah, I'm talking to you, random. Oh, also, is this River On Fire thing any good?

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Will you find me when the tide decides that I got to leave?

Res ipsa loquitur (the thing speaks for itself)

I said he speaks for himself and he does, but I should note that he is Billy Bean, former pro-baseball player and still faggoty-ass faggot. I can say that, can't I? He has an interesting tale. As with most professional athletes, he came out only after he retired. He even chose not to attend his partner's funeral for fear of discovery. He says his story is a cautionary one for others. It's not worth it to hide. (also see: Maupin's words on the BIG CUP below)

via towleroad (again, I know, but seriously, he's a fine piece ain't he?)

Look at the stars, look how they shine for you

For those about to skim, I'm commencing with another entry of What Has Mike Been Reading Now? It wasn't in my stack at all, but Michelle (are you still out there?) twisted my arm and I decided to check out The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. Also, I'm the guy that Target is aiming for with those endcaps. I mean, $9.99! It's starting to look like I love everything I read, but it's not like this was gonna miss, right? Michelle recommended it, remember? It's a quick and giddy read. Wanna spend a few hundred pages finding out what it might be like inside the head of an interesting young man with autism? No, you're not getting in my head. Said young man is the narrator in the book. Clear the area of brown or yellow things, sit back, and enjoy the read.
Oh, since I seem to be working my way back through Katie Couric's reading list, did you all like The Time Traveler's Wife? I loved that shit, too. Vous?

Did you make mankind after we made you?

What are we going to do about all this religion, guys? Isn't it the root of most of what is fucked up in this world rather than the solution for our problems? I'm starting to equate religion with hate. I see it in everything.
I was heartened to see that Europe has seen a drastic reduction in the number of practicing Catholics over the last quarter century. Heartened even when it's the tradition in which I was raised or especially because it's the tradition in which I was raised? Yes.
Well, it was only minutes ago that I pulled out Maupin, but I'm dipping into my quote sack again (ooh, it's still warm) to pull out one from my brotha, Gore Vidal on religion:

"The great unmentionable evil at the center of our culture is monotheism. From a barbaric Bronze Age text known as the Old Testament, three anti-human religions have evolved--Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. These are sky-god religions. They are, literally, patriarchal--God is the Omnipotent Father--hence the loathing of women for 2,000 years in those countries afflicted by the sky-god and his earthly male delegates. The sky-god is a jealous god, of course. He requires total obedience from everyone on earth, as he is not just in place for one tribe, but for all creation. Those who would reject him must be converted or killed for their own good. Ultimately, totalitarianism is the only sort of politics that can truly serve the sky-god's purpose. Any movement of a liberal nature endangers his authority and those of his delegates on earth. One God, one King, one Pope, one master in the factory, one father-leader in the family at home."

Sing it, sister Gore.

And you can sing the title line here, too, if you remember the old XTC song, Dear God. These boys felt the same as Mista Vidal and sang it like this:

Dear god,
Don’t know if you noticed,
But your name is on a lot of quotes in this book.
Us crazy humans wrote it, you should take a look,
And all the people that you made in your image,
Still believing that junk is true.
Well I know it ain’t and so do you.

OK, I'm putting my sack away now, I promise.

I don't wanna be anything other than what I been tryin' to be lately

I am loathe to make this ALL GAY, ALL THE TIME, freakgirl already has that base covered ;-) , but apparently resistance is futile. Especially when the permed bitches in sequined track suits are all up in my face. Now they are up in arms over Starbucks having the unmitigated gall to use a quote from Armistead Maupin, author and faggot, on their "The Way I See It" cups. The venti cups, I think (hey Andrew!). My boy Armistead (what a cool name, huh?)is not saying it's the way YOU should see it. He's expressing his opinion with this:

"My only regret about being gay is that I repressed it so long. I surrendered my youth to the people I feared when I could have been out there loving someone. Don't make that mistake yourself. Life's too damn short."

The Concerned Women for America, in large part made of the very people he feared I suspect, think he should shutup and pretend. After all, it's what most of them do if you rephrase it as "lay there, shutup and pretend", so they think it should be good enough for him. Get a job, get a hobby, get a real outlook where you don't rely on a few lines from a Bronze Age text written to scare people into submission. And step off, bitch.
While on the Maupin tip, if you've never checked his stuff out, you should. He's famous for Tales of the City, I believe, but I also really enjoyed Maybe The Moon.

Finally, I'll end with another Maupin quote I like. Evil, evil man.

The chief ritual of growing up has to do with finally reinventing yourself in your own image, becoming the person you are, as opposed to the person you're supposed to be.

via towleroad

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

The union of the snake is on the rise

Over on D-Listed they were making joke captions for this picture. The winner: President Bush proving he also does not have a Weapon of Mass Destruction...
Funny, yeah. But seriously, what was going on here? And who is that leering dude giving it backdoor to the POTUS?
Now granted, I've found myself in virtually the same position, but behind a highway rest stop like a respectable person, not right outside the flippin' White House for chrissake.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

I wanna feel you from the inside

So now I sit here anxiously waiting to see if Anderson Cooper and Sanjay Gupta sandwich my nocturnal submission into their 360 segment tonight on dream analysis.

Added: Alas, technical glitches (this is live television, folks!) have conspired to make me wait until tomorrow to see video from Anderson's night in a sleep clinic (mmmm) and also to learn what it means when I recurrently find myself naked near beloved national monuments in my dreams. Tune in Wednesday, kids.

P.S. Have you all noticed how my pathologic straining for sexual double entendre has rendered me nonsensical? Recognizing it and stopping myself are apparently two very different animals.

Added: For those who want MORE on Anderson Cooper, check out what Gawker has to say about him today. Page down to just below my man, Peter Jennings.

There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be

I'm not espousing Christianity by any stretch of the imagination, but I think the United Church of Christ is doing a good thing by holding open arms for everyone to enter and praise. Isn't that what babyjesus wants? You don't want to make him cry like Fred Phelps does, do you? Slide on over to check out their Ad of Tolerance since you won't be seeing it on the broadcast networks.

via towleroad

Monday, August 08, 2005

Just like a pouring rain, make it rain

We're buds, right? I don't ask for a lot, do I? IMAGINE where this is going. Tomorrow morning, someone as dear to me as she can be is having surgery on her little heart. She and her little heart aren't even four yet. She'll be fine. She's tough as nails. Still, if you have a few minutes, how about saying a prayer for her. Or send positive thoughts to her. Or tap into the energy of the universe and direct it her way. Or just think about a box of kittens. Will ya? Gracias. Oh, her name is Rachel and she's in Ohio, in case you need to know which direction to send the energy waves and stuff.

Sunday, August 07, 2005

Just to share its pleasures and belong

In that book which is my memory,
On the first page that is the chapter
When I first met you
Appear the words:
"Here begins a new life...."
Dante Alighieri (La Vita Nuovo)

Do you find this sweetly romantic, too, or am I just pathetic and full of sizzurp?

I came from the mountain, the crust of creation

Am I going to go on about every damn book I read on here? ::shakes:: Sources say yes, according to my Magic 8 Ball. I just finished Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner. I found myself picking it up even when I knew I had only a few minutes. I tore through it. I'd recommend it to friends, conditionally. It was fascinating and never slow for me when giving a glimpse of Afghanistan through the eyes of its people over the last 100 years or so. If you're like me (and I kinda hope you are cuz it makes it feel like we have a family here, you know, kinda homey), you'll come away with a new appreciation for what these people have gone through in a relative blink of history (military coup of their monarchy, invasion by the Soviets, takeover by the Taliban and invasion by the U.S.). It might make me sound naive/stupid, but I just kept feeling kinship with these folks who, after all, are just like us. No kidding, right? Still, it's how I felt. All of this is the historical backdrop to what is really a family story that illuminates the deep divisions that existed in Afghan society long before any of the rest of the world came sniffing around. The writing is spare and powerful. Some passages are stark and uncomfortable. Oh, the conditional part of my recommendation is that, toward the end, the book suffers from a spate of incredulous coincidences. Seinfeldian loopy stuff. Distracting. Still, it's worth your time. How'd the rest of y'all like it?

So if you're walking down the street sometime, and spot some hollow, ancient eyes

Hello In There by John Prine is one of my favorite songs. The title above is a line from it and I used another line in a post a while back when I was crying about being bored and needing a life change. This song is simple but to me it aches with beauty. I have a crude recording of it sung live by Natalie Merchant and Michael Stipe, haunting voices both, that is magic. I'd offer it up to y'all if I wasn't such a dumbass about the mechanics of such things.
John's voice is not for everyone, but I enjoy his songs, a curious blend of humor and pathos. He has a new CD out called Fair and Square. A local paper mentioned some lyrics from the song Some Humans Ain't Human and they typify his wry, simple style.
Have you ever noticed / When you're feeling really good / There's always a pigeon / That'll shit on your hood? / Or you're feeling your freedom /And the world's off your back / Some cowboy from Texas /Starts his own war in Iraq.

Saturday, August 06, 2005

Come out of the cupboard, you boys and girls

I have a newfound fascination with tiny houses thanks to Max and Andrew. This may be an extension of that or maybe just my innate frugality (am I still a cheap bastard if I just don't like waste?) or maybe just the serious travel jonz I've been nursing, but I am loving the new easyhotel that opened in central London. The room is only as big as the bed and the bathroom is teensy, but it's in a great location and it's clean. TV is extra. Hell, a window is extra. Go barebones, though, and you may just snag a room for 20 pounds/night! Yeah. That sound you hear? It's London calling.

Friday, August 05, 2005

I said young man, put your pride on the shelf

Beaver Shot Posted by Picasa

Those of you who know me might be surprised to hear that I was on a beaver hunt this afternoon. Well, maybe not so surprising for those of you who knew me in the early 80's (aka The Denial Years) (aka The Years I Tried To Make a Point)(often, the point had a whole other agenda in mind). Anyway, the beaver shot was promised for a favorite member of the Queer Nation, Sapphic tribe. Less surprising, that, eh? Beavercreek, OH is celebrating some anniversary and they are aping the time honored tradition that I believe started with cows in Chicago by placing giant themed beavers about town. Witness one of them above, my friends. I guess it's apropos that if a big homo snaps a beaver shot, it's of the construction worker.
PS I have a full frontal view but I can't figure how to get it off my flippin' phone. Just think. More beaver to come! And Jen? Muah!

I start makin' a deal, inspired by gravity

Over at freakgirl I was trying to demonstrate my aptitude as a partner for her on The Amazing Race, so I was bragging up the reverse-bungee shiz that I did a few weeks ago at Paramount's Kings Island. It used to just be King's Island when I was a kid, but that's not nearly as fun to say (especially in a sentence where I splits the infinitive, yo). Pictured is the Slingshot, folks. The acceleration was fierce, and the recoil bungeewhillickers. Afterward, I mistakenly thought I had kept my shit together proper. That is until I saw the video they hawked post-ride where my face looked like what Burt Reynolds must see in the mirror every morning. Oh, also my sister said she was worried I had infarcted somewhere because my legs were so randomly floppy (the cage spins when it reaches the peak, each time). Flatley-style is the word she used, I think. Picture me in that little cage at the bottom of the photo, strapped in supine, legs in the air. Dress me as you see fit. When the man says "Clear" you fly 260 some odd feet into the air.
Note: After I seriously considered bailing on work for 5 weeks (read: forever) of TAR and strapping on the freak for the ride of her life as the fierce gay/str8, man/woman, commenter/blogger, occasionally catty/occasionally weepy combo, I find we missed the deadline. Maybe next time, huh?

That's me in the spotlight losing my religion

I'm gonna sidle on over and watch the video of CNN's conservative pundit Robert Novak just losing his shit. Wanna come with?

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

It's a state of the heart when you're a soldier of love

I find this picture incredibly hot. OK, commence with the judging. Seriously. Like the Velveteen Rabbit needs loving so he knows he's real, I need judging.

Added: I couldn't remember where this came from when I first posted it, but now I have. If you'd like more, head over to Poseable Thumbs.

Closer I am to fine

Ain't nobody who don't like gay porn, am I right? I don't consume it in volume, so I like to choose my porn stars like I choose my music and my underwear, via Details magazine. No, I like to choose them very carefully. The latest object of my affection is Gus Mattox and y'all should check out his website. Wait! Even if you don't enjoy the thought of man-on-man action (it's OK, I'm not here to judge you), you should give him a look. Skip the naked pictures (if you must, but he looks FOOIINE in a jockstrap, brotha) and head over to Gus Writes or his Calendar entries (his blog is there). Interesting guy. He's a johnny-come-lately to porn. His other name is Tom Judson and Tom, Tom, Tom, he is one fine piece, too. My boy sings, he composes music and has acted on Broadway (and also in the touring production of Cabaret, I think). Whip-smart and funny guy who is totally worth checking out.
P.S. FYI, I'm a whore for a whore with a big vocabulary, so I should mention that after reading his blog the first time, he had me at foudroyant.

Last night I had another restless sleep, wondering what tomorrow might bring

I know everyone needs a break. I know he will continue to work while on vacation. Still, call me judgmental, but it strikes me as unseemly that Bush is on holiday for the entire month of August while this is going on. It's the longest presidential vacation in the last 36 years and it's the deadliest roadside bombing yet in Iraq. Milestones. No sleep for so many mothers and fathers tonight in Cleveland. Have a great trip, GW!

Monday, August 01, 2005

Our eyes wide open, naked as we came

You must rent this movie! If you've seen it (I'm often late to the party), then chat me up about it already. I just finished watching Tarnation, a most incredible directorial debut by Jonathan Caouette, and now you must watch it, too. It's the disturbing tale of Caoutte's troubled upbringing and the bizarre, tragic life of his mother, Renee. This shit is unflinching. Dude is bold and has a bit of genius. He had a camera when he was eleven, so you see his life firsthand in some of the most amazing scenes of the film. He lived this, and it had to be incredibly difficult to dissect and assemble into a movie. Did I already say he's a brave mutherfucker? It's like nothing else you've seen. Well, if you've watched MTV, you've seen plenty of the quick cut bidnaz, but it's all very cool here, I swear. You know you can trust me. Use my excited incoherence as further proof of the goodness.

Please, please tell me now

Isn't your week always a little better knowing you're getting a haircut? I looked at my schedule this morning and noticed I have a 1:30 on Friday. Mmmm. Is it the sleek loft-y interior of the salon? The scent of all those Aveda organic botanicals? The sight of young Alan outfitted in boots, jeans and tightness? Getting your hair washed by someone else? (I sighed just then) It's all that and feeling a little lighter and a bit hotter by the exit. You know?