What I'd tell myself back in 12th grade - the last of the series. (Part 1, part 2, and part 3 all here.)
-- College applications! Fun! But please, please, make sure to protect that application from Brown with your life. And if it gets kinda shredded in your backpack (and yes, it will), don't hesitate to call and ask for a second application. I doubt they'll hold it against you. It'd be a great school to go to, right? Your (up to now) first choice? Yeah. Go after it.
-- (added months later) Will you please promise me that you'll apply to at least one more college in the Northeast? Middlebury is pretty awesome. Bowdoin, Colby, and Amherst are, too. Besides, it's fucking gorgeous up there. You'll quite possibly love it more than...oh...oops. Better not say. Let's just say that you have a chance to alter your future right now...and quite possibly for the better.
-- Oh, God. I'm sorry about the Silver Skating Dame. She still is every bit as awesome as you know she is. But yeah, as great as she was, there's just that one little aspect of your life that got in the way. I will say it looked like (just between you and me), you were looking for an excuse to call the relationship off. Call it inspiration from James Dean and Route 66. Whatever. I know you can't be there for her the way she would really like.
-- FINALLY you're not doing speech. Good for you. It's not like you had enough on your plate before. Enjoy sleeping in on Saturdays, finally. (Oh, and same goes for not doing swim team.)
-- So Deep Springs called your bluff. Really, though, you did come across that well on paper. That essay on Woody Guthrie? Brilliant. Whoda thunk? Anyhow, get ready for one of the best...uh...four-day periods of your life. Seriously. I'd love to relive that trip over and over again.
-- Prednisone is EVIL. Don't do it like you did last year. Really. It will have some effects this time that will render All State Choir no fun at all. Cutting your vocal range in half is the least of it.
-- I know this will fall on deaf ears. But really, you shouldn't call your neighbors to see if you got the letter from Deep Springs. Trust me on this. Sit on it over the weekend. (and then...)
-- Man, I'm sorry about Deep Springs. I know how much you had your heart set on it. And yes, falling from that place to the land of Malt-O-Meal is quite a drop. Take it easy on yourself.
-- I know you're extremely anti-censorship. Me too. And I know you need to yell out the frustration you feel. But keep in mind that there's a fine line between expressing yourself and adding gasoline to the fire. You don't want to get so hung up on being so angry and all that it consumes you. In a nutshell: don't let your struggle become your identity. Then again...
-- Your anger. There's a great way to channel it. Hit the goddamned gym. Hit the free weights. None of this circuit crap. Chow down on some ginger while you're at it to boost your appetite. And don't worry about the big football jocks there who may be mocking you. You know where they started? Where you are right now. The good guys will respect you for working out. The assholes (and there are many fewer of them than the good guys) can just fuck off. So start off easy, and build up from there. And by "start off easy," I mean start off absurdly, insanely easy. But be consistent, and you'll see some awesome results.
-- The Metallica album? Get it. Just do. Good shit to listen to while you're lifting weights.
-- I just want to plant a seed here, amidst all the - honestly - misinformation and prejudice you're telling yourself, and absorbing from your dad. What I'm saying is coming from a struggling self-employed businessman, too...so keep that in mind. "Business" really, truly, honestly is not a four-letter word. Neither are "responsibility" or "professionalism." And here's why. The majority of businesses out there started as dreams and ambitions and hopes. Lofty and worthy ones, often. And ideally, they remain so. Business is the nuts-and-bolts work of making that dream a reality. Responsibility is a commitment to making that dream a reality. And professionalism is the outward manifestation of making that dream a reality. If people call you professional, they're acknowledging your commitment. It's honestly a compliment. Those words do not comprise a straitjacket. And conversely, you do not need to wear a suit and tie, or even business casual to be professional.
-- So now that you're back on good terms with the Silver Skating Dame, be cool to her. You know how awesome she is. You do know why she's following you to college, right? It's not because she thought that the Lutheran land of cows, colleges and contentment was her ideal place. (You KNOW that she couldn't have picked a worse fit if she'd tried.) So hang out with her every once in a while, let her know you still care. She'll appreciate it more than you know.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Pushing maximum density...
And the award for the bitchiest off-the-cuff remark of the day goes to...yours truly. Why?
Picture it. Sicily. 1917. (Okay, not really.) A suburban brunch spot in suburban Denver specializing in bacon and all its appurtenances. (Seriously...these guys have a bacon flight.) After food and many mimosas and bloody marys and plenty of laughs and sassy comments, someone points out to me that a mutual friend, who was also a closeted gay boy back in the day in high school, thought that I was quite a looker at the time. (No word on what he thinks now, but that's beside the point; he's partnered and quite happy where that's concerned.)
My immediate response? A mean side-eye and a caustic "Well, shows how much he knows."
Silence. Then plenty of "ooh! that's harsh!"-like comments.
So let's back up, shall we? Did I mean to slam him? No. Definitely not. But this comes from recognition that very few people in high school are good looking - or at least, as good looking as they would like. We're all adjusting to bodies that are suddenly shooting skyward and out...and often in pretty embarrassing ways, sometimes beyond our control. Or they aren't growing quite the way we were hoping they would. For my part, I was a pencil-necked stick figure, cursing my physique - or lack thereof. I had a hard time thinking that anyone would find me attractive. Particularly - years later - said guy, whom I found also kinda cute, in a beefy/nerdy kind of way.
It's an interesting conundrum. One of my best friends in college was a self-professed chubby girl who was also insanely brilliant, tremendously sensitive, and utterly punk-rock. I could always rely on her for some great ultra-leftie polemic or an update on her latest self-published fanzine called Anarchy Penguin. And she always called me her little pumpkin blossom or some other sweet nothing. But combine all of the above qualities, and man, you have one painfully self-conscious girl on your hands. She did not fare well in the dating scene. Such was her shame, she told me that even if the girl of her dreams showed up and found her equally as appealing, she would run away, because who in their right mind would even give her a second look? And my heart ached for her. But I got where she was coming from, so I couldn't stand on a pedestal and say "Why can't you just accept that others will love you for who you are...and if they're physically attractive to you, so much the better?" I could feel it, but it would be really disingenuous and hypocritical to say it.
(Years ago, the story seemed to have a happy ending. She began growing out of her "chubby" phase, mainly due to a job that was accessible by bike, so she rode all the time. She also found a guy who loved her for who she was. And I breathed a joyous sigh of relief. Haven't seen her since, though, which is a shame.)
Picture it. Sicily. 1917. (Okay, not really.) A suburban brunch spot in suburban Denver specializing in bacon and all its appurtenances. (Seriously...these guys have a bacon flight.) After food and many mimosas and bloody marys and plenty of laughs and sassy comments, someone points out to me that a mutual friend, who was also a closeted gay boy back in the day in high school, thought that I was quite a looker at the time. (No word on what he thinks now, but that's beside the point; he's partnered and quite happy where that's concerned.)
My immediate response? A mean side-eye and a caustic "Well, shows how much he knows."
Silence. Then plenty of "ooh! that's harsh!"-like comments.
So let's back up, shall we? Did I mean to slam him? No. Definitely not. But this comes from recognition that very few people in high school are good looking - or at least, as good looking as they would like. We're all adjusting to bodies that are suddenly shooting skyward and out...and often in pretty embarrassing ways, sometimes beyond our control. Or they aren't growing quite the way we were hoping they would. For my part, I was a pencil-necked stick figure, cursing my physique - or lack thereof. I had a hard time thinking that anyone would find me attractive. Particularly - years later - said guy, whom I found also kinda cute, in a beefy/nerdy kind of way.
It's an interesting conundrum. One of my best friends in college was a self-professed chubby girl who was also insanely brilliant, tremendously sensitive, and utterly punk-rock. I could always rely on her for some great ultra-leftie polemic or an update on her latest self-published fanzine called Anarchy Penguin. And she always called me her little pumpkin blossom or some other sweet nothing. But combine all of the above qualities, and man, you have one painfully self-conscious girl on your hands. She did not fare well in the dating scene. Such was her shame, she told me that even if the girl of her dreams showed up and found her equally as appealing, she would run away, because who in their right mind would even give her a second look? And my heart ached for her. But I got where she was coming from, so I couldn't stand on a pedestal and say "Why can't you just accept that others will love you for who you are...and if they're physically attractive to you, so much the better?" I could feel it, but it would be really disingenuous and hypocritical to say it.
(Years ago, the story seemed to have a happy ending. She began growing out of her "chubby" phase, mainly due to a job that was accessible by bike, so she rode all the time. She also found a guy who loved her for who she was. And I breathed a joyous sigh of relief. Haven't seen her since, though, which is a shame.)
Monday, April 1, 2013
Blog Posts I Have (Almost) Known
I have grand ambitions to make blog posts as fulfilling as I can, both for myself and for the reader. Sometimes they just don't reach muster, but at the same time, they also don't reach the waste bin. So they sit in purgatory, waiting for...I dunno...I guess a blog post like this. So, a small compendium of what you could have been reading instead of this, and why it never came to fruition. So damned meta it hurts.
1. A reflection on Copper Mountain, one of my favorite ski areas of all time.
Why not? Seemed too facile at the time, no real point to it. Yet for some reason, this post seemed much more important to me. Now I feel like I really should post it. Oh, and it included a mildly time-sensitive component to it. Probably innocuous now.
2. Why music from the '90s sucked.
Why not? I really couldn't get inspired. Basic point: Nirvana was awesome, but laid the groundwork for some truly hoarktastic music. Also, do we really need to reconfirm how awful Hootie & the Blowfish or the Dave Matthews Band were back in the day?
3. An album review of Rufus Wainwright's Release the Stars.
Why not? Because it sucked. The album, I mean. Key passage: "At his worst (especially on his first album), he's incredibly nasal and effete. (Of course, that last is unavoidable if you're singing songs about matinee idols, operatic tragediennes and snobbish boarding schools.)"
4. Cool-ass men.
Why not? Maybe a work in progress more than anything. Maybe I just don't think there are that many out there. Either way, I'll keep ya updated.
5. Notes from a gay bar, 4/14/12.
Why not? Must have just fallen by the wayside. It's short enough that...well, here ya go.
(Evidently meant to inspire some blog post, but now they're here in skeletal form, and there they'll stay.)
- Duck you I'm awesome.
- $5 tip to hot stripper
- Gladiator costumes
- I'm texting Pandora Boxx?
- Getting too old for this kind of shit.
- Sauna + 70 degree pool = HEAVEN.
6. A huge rant about how a friend of mine was unfairly shut out of the process of interviewing to become director of the Denver Gay Men's Chorus.
Why not? Because it warn't purty. Oh, and looking over it, because I never even got to that point. Shot my wad while bitching about how much I already hated the organization, and couldn't stay hard to continue. Key passage: "Much grumbling and annoyance ensued, and the rehearsals were really uninspiring. I was so disgusted, I ended up leaving a month before the concert. (A song about a kid who saved Christmas in a snow-bound town by urinating all over it so Santa would see it was the proverbial cherry. No, I'm not kidding.)"
7. A post in defense of Lance Armstrong.
Why not? Began to ramble too much. Also seemed to pass its expiration date. Lance is already so last year. But so many people jumped on the bandwagon to vilify him. Maybe it was my contrarian coming out, but I did not see all that much that justified everyone thinking he had such a huge fall from grace. Also - and this may really be where I got into trouble - I started looking at the definition of a sociopath, and tried to show that sociopathy really isn't all that awful. I got bogged down in the detritus.
1. A reflection on Copper Mountain, one of my favorite ski areas of all time.
Why not? Seemed too facile at the time, no real point to it. Yet for some reason, this post seemed much more important to me. Now I feel like I really should post it. Oh, and it included a mildly time-sensitive component to it. Probably innocuous now.
2. Why music from the '90s sucked.
Why not? I really couldn't get inspired. Basic point: Nirvana was awesome, but laid the groundwork for some truly hoarktastic music. Also, do we really need to reconfirm how awful Hootie & the Blowfish or the Dave Matthews Band were back in the day?
3. An album review of Rufus Wainwright's Release the Stars.
Why not? Because it sucked. The album, I mean. Key passage: "At his worst (especially on his first album), he's incredibly nasal and effete. (Of course, that last is unavoidable if you're singing songs about matinee idols, operatic tragediennes and snobbish boarding schools.)"
4. Cool-ass men.
Why not? Maybe a work in progress more than anything. Maybe I just don't think there are that many out there. Either way, I'll keep ya updated.
5. Notes from a gay bar, 4/14/12.
Why not? Must have just fallen by the wayside. It's short enough that...well, here ya go.
(Evidently meant to inspire some blog post, but now they're here in skeletal form, and there they'll stay.)
- Duck you I'm awesome.
- $5 tip to hot stripper
- Gladiator costumes
- I'm texting Pandora Boxx?
- Getting too old for this kind of shit.
- Sauna + 70 degree pool = HEAVEN.
6. A huge rant about how a friend of mine was unfairly shut out of the process of interviewing to become director of the Denver Gay Men's Chorus.
Why not? Because it warn't purty. Oh, and looking over it, because I never even got to that point. Shot my wad while bitching about how much I already hated the organization, and couldn't stay hard to continue. Key passage: "Much grumbling and annoyance ensued, and the rehearsals were really uninspiring. I was so disgusted, I ended up leaving a month before the concert. (A song about a kid who saved Christmas in a snow-bound town by urinating all over it so Santa would see it was the proverbial cherry. No, I'm not kidding.)"
7. A post in defense of Lance Armstrong.
Why not? Began to ramble too much. Also seemed to pass its expiration date. Lance is already so last year. But so many people jumped on the bandwagon to vilify him. Maybe it was my contrarian coming out, but I did not see all that much that justified everyone thinking he had such a huge fall from grace. Also - and this may really be where I got into trouble - I started looking at the definition of a sociopath, and tried to show that sociopathy really isn't all that awful. I got bogged down in the detritus.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Springtime in the Rockies! Ain't nobody got time for that.
Oh boy. The posts across the country from my friends about spring are just givin' me a case of the facepalms. Yes, it is spring. Has been now, too, for about...oh...less than a week now. At least from a calendar standpoint. And because it is now the season of bunnies and daffodils and crocuses and robins and finches and new beginnings, said friends are assuming that spring also means, with little variation, warmer weather. And less/no snow. These are friends that, I must hasten to add, live in such temperate locales as New Hampshire and Wisconsin and Colorado. And when we get snow...OMG what's happening it can't be happening here it's SPRING not winter that dadgum groundhog lied to us all!!!
Please. Snow in spring - even large storms - are as common as Easter. Every year we get 'em. March is the snowiest month on average in Denver...and this year has proven this statistic right - the storm from two days ago gave us 10 inches of glop, a week or two after another 8" storm. I've seen big snowstorms hit Denver as late as late April. Snow can hit us in May. There's even been a trace of snow measured in June here before. And I'm certain that the aforementioned locales have similar weather patterns. So hesh, you. Bitching about snow after March 20th makes as much sense as bitching about summerlike weather after September 20th.
Besides, I'm no fan of shoveling snow (did I REALLY have to forget taking down the snowblower AGAIN this winter?), but at least at this time of year, it's nice to have light at 7:00 while you're shoveling.
And apropos of nothing, here's your dose of late '70s yacht rock. Some songs you forget about for years. Then you hear 'em, and either they promote involuntary reverse peristalsis, or they just hit you all kinds of right. This one's the latter for me. (With apologies for that damned ad before it.)
Please. Snow in spring - even large storms - are as common as Easter. Every year we get 'em. March is the snowiest month on average in Denver...and this year has proven this statistic right - the storm from two days ago gave us 10 inches of glop, a week or two after another 8" storm. I've seen big snowstorms hit Denver as late as late April. Snow can hit us in May. There's even been a trace of snow measured in June here before. And I'm certain that the aforementioned locales have similar weather patterns. So hesh, you. Bitching about snow after March 20th makes as much sense as bitching about summerlike weather after September 20th.
Besides, I'm no fan of shoveling snow (did I REALLY have to forget taking down the snowblower AGAIN this winter?), but at least at this time of year, it's nice to have light at 7:00 while you're shoveling.
And apropos of nothing, here's your dose of late '70s yacht rock. Some songs you forget about for years. Then you hear 'em, and either they promote involuntary reverse peristalsis, or they just hit you all kinds of right. This one's the latter for me. (With apologies for that damned ad before it.)
Thursday, March 21, 2013
RAPE CULTURE MUST DIE.
There. I said it. And I fully believe it, too.
I haven't been camping out at the Steubenville courthouse, so anything I hear has been second-hand, but the media aren't looking too good for making the boys out to appear victims. As well they shouldn't. As far as rape goes, that looked awfully premeditated and...well, isn't that the definition of "first-degree"? And yet again, the young woman was blamed for being...what? Overly seductive? Too much of a tease? REALLY? Have some respect - for yourself and DEFINTELY for her. Think about her family. Her friends. Her future. Think beyond your crotch and the next 15 minutes.
So. How not to annihilate rape culture: Exhibit A.
A good friend posted this tonight, and again, I agree with the sentiment. But GOD. As a man (and yes, I place myself in the company of all my brothers, straight and otherwise), this reeeeeallly rubs me the wrong way. Allow me to retort to certain of these 10 tips to end rape.
1. Don't put drugs in women's drinks? Fine. (Already biting my tongue to hold back the snark here.)
2. Got it. The next time I see a woman walking alone, I will leave her the HELL alone.
3. I will do my damndest to hold back my animal urges when I pull over to help a woman whose car has broken down. Actually, tellya what. I won't even bother pulling over. My animal urges might get the best of me.
4. I will make sure not to rape a woman if I happen to get in a lift/elevator and she's the only one there. In fact, I will just stay the hell away from her. Won't even get in the goddamned elevator. Who knows what awful impulse could come over me?
5. I will stay the HELL away from the window of a woman's house. I will stay the HELL away from a woman if she is anywhere near two parked cars. And I SURE AS HELL will not rape her.
6. I am so fucking stupid and violent that I can't keep from assaulting myself, let alone assaulting other people. I am the very embodiment of why the buddy system is so badly needed to protect the citizenry of our good society. Ya know, why don't you just arrest me on account of I may do something rash anyway. Probably better for all involved. Consider it a preemptive strike in the war against rape.
Okay. I can't go on. You see how twisted and perverse I get? This graphic is so incredibly demeaning and condescending and disrespectful and sexist that it just makes my skin curdle. Makes me want to have absolutely NOTHING to do with women. And it definitely makes me want to have absolutely NOTHING to do with anything rape-related. Including helping those who have been raped.
I know that my sentiments come across as infantile when compared to the very legitimate anguish that a rape survivor has to deal with for the rest of his (yes, I said "his"...it's not a crime exclusive to women) or her life. And I admit that I have my emotional funny bones - hit me in just the right spot, and you'll cause a deep, irrational, lingering response. This graphic does exactly that. This is NOT the way to address the issue of rape. It may be a way for women to get their anger and frustration out, but it's perilously close to counterproductive.
Reminds me once of seeing a woman on the college lecture circuit. She was incredibly brave to come forward and talk about her experience of being raped repeatedly one night in college. It was brutal to hear. It was also tremendously unnerving to hear how she had to muster up the courage to report to her RA about it. His response? Silence, at first. Then getting up from the chair, and punching a hole in the wall. Because that's what she really needed to experience after such a violent attack: another indirect form of violence.
Annihilating rape culture. As if that's something that could just be permanently and quickly erased. But here's a start. Once again, our man Hank here to save the day. Key quote: "To me, the problem that needs to be addressed is where in the information chain were the two offenders made to understand that what they did was not wrong on every possible level?" Another key, kickass quote: "...let young people understand that women have been kicking ass in high threat conditions for ages and they are worthy of respect." THAT'S what I'm talking about.
(No. Seriously. If you didn't click on Hank's link above, fucking click on it and read it in its entirety.)
I haven't been camping out at the Steubenville courthouse, so anything I hear has been second-hand, but the media aren't looking too good for making the boys out to appear victims. As well they shouldn't. As far as rape goes, that looked awfully premeditated and...well, isn't that the definition of "first-degree"? And yet again, the young woman was blamed for being...what? Overly seductive? Too much of a tease? REALLY? Have some respect - for yourself and DEFINTELY for her. Think about her family. Her friends. Her future. Think beyond your crotch and the next 15 minutes.
So. How not to annihilate rape culture: Exhibit A.
A good friend posted this tonight, and again, I agree with the sentiment. But GOD. As a man (and yes, I place myself in the company of all my brothers, straight and otherwise), this reeeeeallly rubs me the wrong way. Allow me to retort to certain of these 10 tips to end rape.
1. Don't put drugs in women's drinks? Fine. (Already biting my tongue to hold back the snark here.)
2. Got it. The next time I see a woman walking alone, I will leave her the HELL alone.
3. I will do my damndest to hold back my animal urges when I pull over to help a woman whose car has broken down. Actually, tellya what. I won't even bother pulling over. My animal urges might get the best of me.
4. I will make sure not to rape a woman if I happen to get in a lift/elevator and she's the only one there. In fact, I will just stay the hell away from her. Won't even get in the goddamned elevator. Who knows what awful impulse could come over me?
5. I will stay the HELL away from the window of a woman's house. I will stay the HELL away from a woman if she is anywhere near two parked cars. And I SURE AS HELL will not rape her.
6. I am so fucking stupid and violent that I can't keep from assaulting myself, let alone assaulting other people. I am the very embodiment of why the buddy system is so badly needed to protect the citizenry of our good society. Ya know, why don't you just arrest me on account of I may do something rash anyway. Probably better for all involved. Consider it a preemptive strike in the war against rape.
Okay. I can't go on. You see how twisted and perverse I get? This graphic is so incredibly demeaning and condescending and disrespectful and sexist that it just makes my skin curdle. Makes me want to have absolutely NOTHING to do with women. And it definitely makes me want to have absolutely NOTHING to do with anything rape-related. Including helping those who have been raped.
I know that my sentiments come across as infantile when compared to the very legitimate anguish that a rape survivor has to deal with for the rest of his (yes, I said "his"...it's not a crime exclusive to women) or her life. And I admit that I have my emotional funny bones - hit me in just the right spot, and you'll cause a deep, irrational, lingering response. This graphic does exactly that. This is NOT the way to address the issue of rape. It may be a way for women to get their anger and frustration out, but it's perilously close to counterproductive.
Reminds me once of seeing a woman on the college lecture circuit. She was incredibly brave to come forward and talk about her experience of being raped repeatedly one night in college. It was brutal to hear. It was also tremendously unnerving to hear how she had to muster up the courage to report to her RA about it. His response? Silence, at first. Then getting up from the chair, and punching a hole in the wall. Because that's what she really needed to experience after such a violent attack: another indirect form of violence.
Annihilating rape culture. As if that's something that could just be permanently and quickly erased. But here's a start. Once again, our man Hank here to save the day. Key quote: "To me, the problem that needs to be addressed is where in the information chain were the two offenders made to understand that what they did was not wrong on every possible level?" Another key, kickass quote: "...let young people understand that women have been kicking ass in high threat conditions for ages and they are worthy of respect." THAT'S what I'm talking about.
(No. Seriously. If you didn't click on Hank's link above, fucking click on it and read it in its entirety.)
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
"...and morally...uh...straight?"
Let it never be said, much to my chagrin, that I was ever a consistent blogger. I feel like perhaps I should do the hackneyed "answer one question every day for a month" routine, just to keep my quill semi-sharpened...and you, my adoring few fans, on the edge of your seats. On to the pithy stuff, shall we?
The new pope: Meh. I'm not Catholic, and only by the most tangential of tangents Christian. I should care exactly why? The whole thing reeks of an insanely ornate drag pageant, anyhow, with no links to the real world. The pope is the closest person to God? Please. I'm sure Jorge is a perfectly fine individual...in fact, on the surface, he looks infinitely better than Ratzinger ever did (not that that's a high bar to clear), but I just...Look. Much ado about nothing, in my book.
Retrograde Mercury: c'mon, people. Get realistic. It's a planet. Because a planet looks like it's reversed its course in the sky for a bit does not mean it's the cause of all manner of communication and/or transportation snafus that may occur at that time.
Boy Scouts of America has sent out a survey to pretty much everyone associated with them in re: how to wring their hands about the whole gay thing. Yours truly got the survey as well (I was an Eagle Scout), and you best believe I filled it out and sent it back. I had to laugh about the whole "is it okay for a homosexual to share a tent with a heterosexual" questioning. Well, it hasn't seemed to be an issue up to this point, and this sort of thing has been going on since...oh, since the beginning. We're just now out about it. Honestly, I'm glad the dialogue is taking place. I reiterate what I originally said about the potential ramifications of undoing DADT: if a gay boy/young man is coming on too much and disrupting the morale of others in their patrol/troop, then that's an issue that should be addressed by confronting said guy. If others are just really freaked out about OMG ONE OF TEH GAYZE IZ AMONGST US! AAAIIEEE!, then that's a whole other issue, and those guys need to sit down and ask themselves exactly why they are so freaked out. I expect that as time goes on, this will approach the level of non-issue. At least amongst the more rational of those associated with BSA.
Today's Grumpy Cat post brought to you by a mom who once thought - and bragged to her friends - that I read through the Bible three times. (Nope...not even once. Really not sure where she got that.) Also brought to you by the friends of mine who, despite their wits about them, still lean on astrology as a crutch (and believe that retrograde Mercury is the source of all their woes a few times a year). Finally brought to you by a fellow summer camp counselor back in the mid '90s who fantasized with me about just fleeing to Mexico together and shirking our duties as aquatics director and wilderness survival counselor...and who let on that to him, homosexuality was not an issue. (Still smacking my head over totally missing exactly what he was saying to me.)
The new pope: Meh. I'm not Catholic, and only by the most tangential of tangents Christian. I should care exactly why? The whole thing reeks of an insanely ornate drag pageant, anyhow, with no links to the real world. The pope is the closest person to God? Please. I'm sure Jorge is a perfectly fine individual...in fact, on the surface, he looks infinitely better than Ratzinger ever did (not that that's a high bar to clear), but I just...Look. Much ado about nothing, in my book.
Retrograde Mercury: c'mon, people. Get realistic. It's a planet. Because a planet looks like it's reversed its course in the sky for a bit does not mean it's the cause of all manner of communication and/or transportation snafus that may occur at that time.
Boy Scouts of America has sent out a survey to pretty much everyone associated with them in re: how to wring their hands about the whole gay thing. Yours truly got the survey as well (I was an Eagle Scout), and you best believe I filled it out and sent it back. I had to laugh about the whole "is it okay for a homosexual to share a tent with a heterosexual" questioning. Well, it hasn't seemed to be an issue up to this point, and this sort of thing has been going on since...oh, since the beginning. We're just now out about it. Honestly, I'm glad the dialogue is taking place. I reiterate what I originally said about the potential ramifications of undoing DADT: if a gay boy/young man is coming on too much and disrupting the morale of others in their patrol/troop, then that's an issue that should be addressed by confronting said guy. If others are just really freaked out about OMG ONE OF TEH GAYZE IZ AMONGST US! AAAIIEEE!, then that's a whole other issue, and those guys need to sit down and ask themselves exactly why they are so freaked out. I expect that as time goes on, this will approach the level of non-issue. At least amongst the more rational of those associated with BSA.
Today's Grumpy Cat post brought to you by a mom who once thought - and bragged to her friends - that I read through the Bible three times. (Nope...not even once. Really not sure where she got that.) Also brought to you by the friends of mine who, despite their wits about them, still lean on astrology as a crutch (and believe that retrograde Mercury is the source of all their woes a few times a year). Finally brought to you by a fellow summer camp counselor back in the mid '90s who fantasized with me about just fleeing to Mexico together and shirking our duties as aquatics director and wilderness survival counselor...and who let on that to him, homosexuality was not an issue. (Still smacking my head over totally missing exactly what he was saying to me.)
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Love devastation!
Suicide Blonde - INXS: I never really had a huge, huge draw when this song came out originally. It is definitely one of INXS's best and most visceral songs, and the video is appropriately sexy. But when you're just 20, turn onto the main drag just after sunset in Satellite Beach, Florida during your spring break, driving a fabulous white convertible BMW, this song comes on the radio, and every light in sight suddenly turns green in front of you, it just hits you in the gut: you are SO in the right place at the right time, and you own the goddamned world. Flooring it never felt so liberating.
This Used To Be My Playground - Madonna: You know what's really sad? Knowing just how gracelessly Madonner is aging nowadays, pandering to the kids and forcing them to worship her in the least attractive way possible. (Seriously: I think M.I.A.'s flipping off the cameras during the Super Bowl concert was meant in every way toward Madonna...and to steal her thunder, too.) But doubly sad is listening to this lush and poignant bit of adult contemporary, and hearing what she could have been capable of, had she just accepted that people get older, and life moves on. And considering what a soulless wasteland adult contemporary music can be, that's high praise. (More high praise: this is the best of her late '80s-early '90s ballads, including the stunning "Spanish Eyes" and "Take a Bow.") Then again, maybe she took the lyrics too much to heart: "Say goodbye to yesterday/Those are words I'll never say." Compare this to the shite she's putting out there now. It's embarrassing. Still partying like she's 29, I guess. Sigh.
iTunes v. 11: MUST DIE. Dramatically simplified player, my ass. I know the desire to stuff every last medium into what was once a strict music player, to make a product all things to all people. I'm over it. This is enough, seriously, to make me seriously consider giving up my iPods (yes, plural) and just stick to my Android goods. Steve Jobs, we hardly knew ye.
El Alem Allah - Amr Diab: If this guy - pretty easy on the eyes, BTW - had any stateside exposure back in 2000, he would have seriously ruled the pop charts for a bit. As it is, Egypt got the spoils. And traditionalists in defense of Islamic culture screamed bloody murder because ZOMG WESTERN INFLUENCE MUST DIE!!! But hey...it's a breezy, bouncy, and insanely catchy pop tune in the vein of Ricky Martin. Besides, melding Arabic and Western music seems to be working for this guy - he's been the top Egyptian pop star for nearly 30 years. I found this one about three years ago, and it's been in heavy rotation in the car ever since.
This Used To Be My Playground - Madonna: You know what's really sad? Knowing just how gracelessly Madonner is aging nowadays, pandering to the kids and forcing them to worship her in the least attractive way possible. (Seriously: I think M.I.A.'s flipping off the cameras during the Super Bowl concert was meant in every way toward Madonna...and to steal her thunder, too.) But doubly sad is listening to this lush and poignant bit of adult contemporary, and hearing what she could have been capable of, had she just accepted that people get older, and life moves on. And considering what a soulless wasteland adult contemporary music can be, that's high praise. (More high praise: this is the best of her late '80s-early '90s ballads, including the stunning "Spanish Eyes" and "Take a Bow.") Then again, maybe she took the lyrics too much to heart: "Say goodbye to yesterday/Those are words I'll never say." Compare this to the shite she's putting out there now. It's embarrassing. Still partying like she's 29, I guess. Sigh.
iTunes v. 11: MUST DIE. Dramatically simplified player, my ass. I know the desire to stuff every last medium into what was once a strict music player, to make a product all things to all people. I'm over it. This is enough, seriously, to make me seriously consider giving up my iPods (yes, plural) and just stick to my Android goods. Steve Jobs, we hardly knew ye.
El Alem Allah - Amr Diab: If this guy - pretty easy on the eyes, BTW - had any stateside exposure back in 2000, he would have seriously ruled the pop charts for a bit. As it is, Egypt got the spoils. And traditionalists in defense of Islamic culture screamed bloody murder because ZOMG WESTERN INFLUENCE MUST DIE!!! But hey...it's a breezy, bouncy, and insanely catchy pop tune in the vein of Ricky Martin. Besides, melding Arabic and Western music seems to be working for this guy - he's been the top Egyptian pop star for nearly 30 years. I found this one about three years ago, and it's been in heavy rotation in the car ever since.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
He says the sun came out last night. He says it sang to him.
Whenever you talk about something that transcends the limits of our five most well-known senses, people tend to get creeped out unless you are given the proper context or enough advance warning. Or, if you're lucky, they are already on board, and willing to hear you out. Which, my legions of followers, you may consider my "enough advance warning."
In high school, during my speech and debate years, I would dread meets. Waking up at gawdawful hours on Saturday mornings to take a bus ride sometimes a town or two down the road, sometimes nearly two hours away. I'd then either give three speeches or debate three times (topic: Established: that the United States should significantly expand space exploration beyond the earth's mesosphere) over the course of the next eight hours, then take said bus back. And in the process, stress would be running high, and health would be running down.
So on Friday nights, while tucked into bed with the lights turned out, I began kind of "reaching out" to the next day, to see how it would go. And almost always, I would get a really good idea of how the next day would go. If I felt smoothness, like a canoe gliding over a glass-calm lake, then I knew the next day would be a success, in whatever way. It always meant I'd do well in my meet, but would usually mean I was in good spirits during the day, too. If it felt turbulent, then things would not go well.
For some reason, I tried it a few nights ago, and it was pretty dead-on. The next day felt somewhat turbulent, and true to form, yesterday was a fairly jagged day. The afternoon got better, but the morning was definitely not fun at all. Inspired by this, I decided to do the same last night. What I felt was utter chaos and madness, the likes of which I've never felt before, and I almost doubted myself. Felt again a few minutes later, and it was still the same. And...yup. Unfortunately, today has been AWFUL. Type of day that gives you Facebook remorse. You know how you just want to yell your troubles out to the world, and FB seems like such a perfect place to do it? Yeah, I've made that mistake before a few times, and made an utter fool out of myself. But where do you yell it out? On a semi-public blog, where people could find out who you are if they really tried? That skirts the line, too. Let's just say that a fight is a really crappy way to start a day, particularly if the one you're yelling at really didn't deserve it, but you needed to get out some massive frustration somehow. Add on a frightening phone call from work and a broken commitment from a friend (trivial though it was), and I've been playing "How to Disappear Completely" over and over in my head today.
So yeah, this quasi-ESP thing, sensing the near-future in the vaguest of ways is a bit creepy but pretty cool. But it does beg the question: if I can sense it, can I change it somehow if a bad day is coming on?
In high school, during my speech and debate years, I would dread meets. Waking up at gawdawful hours on Saturday mornings to take a bus ride sometimes a town or two down the road, sometimes nearly two hours away. I'd then either give three speeches or debate three times (topic: Established: that the United States should significantly expand space exploration beyond the earth's mesosphere) over the course of the next eight hours, then take said bus back. And in the process, stress would be running high, and health would be running down.
So on Friday nights, while tucked into bed with the lights turned out, I began kind of "reaching out" to the next day, to see how it would go. And almost always, I would get a really good idea of how the next day would go. If I felt smoothness, like a canoe gliding over a glass-calm lake, then I knew the next day would be a success, in whatever way. It always meant I'd do well in my meet, but would usually mean I was in good spirits during the day, too. If it felt turbulent, then things would not go well.
For some reason, I tried it a few nights ago, and it was pretty dead-on. The next day felt somewhat turbulent, and true to form, yesterday was a fairly jagged day. The afternoon got better, but the morning was definitely not fun at all. Inspired by this, I decided to do the same last night. What I felt was utter chaos and madness, the likes of which I've never felt before, and I almost doubted myself. Felt again a few minutes later, and it was still the same. And...yup. Unfortunately, today has been AWFUL. Type of day that gives you Facebook remorse. You know how you just want to yell your troubles out to the world, and FB seems like such a perfect place to do it? Yeah, I've made that mistake before a few times, and made an utter fool out of myself. But where do you yell it out? On a semi-public blog, where people could find out who you are if they really tried? That skirts the line, too. Let's just say that a fight is a really crappy way to start a day, particularly if the one you're yelling at really didn't deserve it, but you needed to get out some massive frustration somehow. Add on a frightening phone call from work and a broken commitment from a friend (trivial though it was), and I've been playing "How to Disappear Completely" over and over in my head today.
So yeah, this quasi-ESP thing, sensing the near-future in the vaguest of ways is a bit creepy but pretty cool. But it does beg the question: if I can sense it, can I change it somehow if a bad day is coming on?
Saturday, January 26, 2013
And banana pudding...mmm...
It is an injustice universally acknowledged that when invited to a birthday party at which über-creamy mac and cheese mixed with andouille sausage is served, one should ideally be able to snarf down at least a whole plateful, yet the richness thereof coupled with the limits of the human stomach make such a delicious and heavenly endeavor fruitless.
Bah.
Bah.
Friday, January 25, 2013
What is this that stands before me?
My God...have you heard what the kids are listening to these days?
Along with my fancy new wheels (which totally rock despite the MAIN HOLY COMPUTER DYING ON ME only one week in), I got the requisite free trial to Sirius. They really have everything on there, don't they? I've been bopping along to the '80s, enjoying the new wave station, occasionally indulging my classical jones, and very occasionally dipping into the Studio 54 station (which...the more I listen to it, the gladder I am I decided not to pursue being a Studio 54-ish DJ a few years ago). But I also discovered Ozzy's Boneyard, and fell in love. Mr. Man doesn't understand the appeal, but when I need to get my anger on, that station is golden. Besides, who ever heard of a touchy-feely natural doctor yelling along to Black Sabbath on the way to work? (One of many stereotypes I tend to smash.)
But WOW. I turned on Liquid Metal recently, conveniently skipping over the hair metal station, and my mind was blown. That shit is HEAVY - a tidal wave of mud, with distorted low rumblings and howlings that pass for vocals, lightning-fast drumming, and guitars that will pummel you into submission - if they don't pulverize your eardrums first. Makes Ozzy's Boneyard sound quaint in comparison. In particular, I heard a band called Suicide Silence. Yeah. That band'll scare off all but the most diehard aggro adrenaline junkies. But they weren't the first I'd heard to indulge in pure noise. That honor goes to a band with a name so crude and obscene, I'll just abbreviate it - as most people do - as A.C. Some of my favorite, uh..."songs" from them: "Flower Shop Guy," "Stayin' Alive (Oi! Version)," and "I'm Still Standing." (They do their fair share of covers, but compress them into blocks of sludge, usually with a healthy slab of humor to leaven the proceedings.) Thanks go to my college roommate for introducing me to them back in the land of pastor's kids and good Lu-the-ran folk.
Back to my "they really have everything on there" statement: on second thought, maybe not. I'd LOVE to see an industrial station on there. Some of the bands I'd entertain:
In not-so-related news, doing shrugs with 185 lbs hanging off your shoulders is tough. Holy crap, but my traps are killing me today. Or they would be if I didn't indulge in ginger and turmeric in my morning smoothies. I'm convinced of it. As it is, it's just a dull ache.
Along with my fancy new wheels (which totally rock despite the MAIN HOLY COMPUTER DYING ON ME only one week in), I got the requisite free trial to Sirius. They really have everything on there, don't they? I've been bopping along to the '80s, enjoying the new wave station, occasionally indulging my classical jones, and very occasionally dipping into the Studio 54 station (which...the more I listen to it, the gladder I am I decided not to pursue being a Studio 54-ish DJ a few years ago). But I also discovered Ozzy's Boneyard, and fell in love. Mr. Man doesn't understand the appeal, but when I need to get my anger on, that station is golden. Besides, who ever heard of a touchy-feely natural doctor yelling along to Black Sabbath on the way to work? (One of many stereotypes I tend to smash.)
But WOW. I turned on Liquid Metal recently, conveniently skipping over the hair metal station, and my mind was blown. That shit is HEAVY - a tidal wave of mud, with distorted low rumblings and howlings that pass for vocals, lightning-fast drumming, and guitars that will pummel you into submission - if they don't pulverize your eardrums first. Makes Ozzy's Boneyard sound quaint in comparison. In particular, I heard a band called Suicide Silence. Yeah. That band'll scare off all but the most diehard aggro adrenaline junkies. But they weren't the first I'd heard to indulge in pure noise. That honor goes to a band with a name so crude and obscene, I'll just abbreviate it - as most people do - as A.C. Some of my favorite, uh..."songs" from them: "Flower Shop Guy," "Stayin' Alive (Oi! Version)," and "I'm Still Standing." (They do their fair share of covers, but compress them into blocks of sludge, usually with a healthy slab of humor to leaven the proceedings.) Thanks go to my college roommate for introducing me to them back in the land of pastor's kids and good Lu-the-ran folk.
Back to my "they really have everything on there" statement: on second thought, maybe not. I'd LOVE to see an industrial station on there. Some of the bands I'd entertain:
- Skinny Puppy
- NIN
- KMFDM
- Einsturzende Neubauten
- Cabaret Voltaire
- Pailhead
- Ministry (Twitch through Psalm 69)
- Throbbing Gristle
- Front 242
- Combichrist
- Rammstein
- VNV Nation
In not-so-related news, doing shrugs with 185 lbs hanging off your shoulders is tough. Holy crap, but my traps are killing me today. Or they would be if I didn't indulge in ginger and turmeric in my morning smoothies. I'm convinced of it. As it is, it's just a dull ache.
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