Duck Amuck

The funniest cartoon I've ever seen, this one was included in the original, brilliant Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Movie. Here it is in all its Merrie Melodies glory.

If you haven't seen this: You know how short a temper Daffy Duck has. Well, just imagine how nettled he gets when the cartoonist himself starts to play games with him. Damn near busts a spleen.

With no further ado...

Misplaced apostrophes or a misplaced blog title?

A little history about the name of this blog: I was never a fan of bad grammar, syntax, and punctuation. Call me a language snob. I own it proudly. Yet I also love turning language gaffes on their sides and using 'em subversively to mock those who can't master the English language. Granted, English is a very difficult language to master. Here's just one example, explained brilliantly by my former Russian professor:

"I have..." You have what?
"I have got..." You have got what?
"I have got to get..." You have got to get what?
(Selfish, grabby people, we Anglophones, right?)
"I have got to get going..." Ah.
"...if I am going to get..." Get WHAT?
"I have got to get going if I am going to get there." Yeesh! Well, go, then! And don't forget to get...um...whatever it is you were going to get.

You can understand why English is so tough for foreign speakers. But for those who grow up with English as their primary language, I have much less sympathy and much more mockery. Hence the title of this blog.

But skewering English maligners was never the main intent of this blog...or any intent of this blog in the first place. I just thought the title looked cool...post-cool, even. Joe Cool would appreciate it. I even wanted to form a college rock band called the Misplaced Apostrophe's. Most people would get the joke, some would scratch their heads, and some would be completely oblivious. But it would raise a lighthearted conversation, perhaps.

So get this. Click on the "Next Blog >>" link at the top of this page, and you will quite possibly be taken to some literary-based blog. Could be some excellent poetry, could be some boring ramblings about - yup - grammar. Whatever. Guess it comes with the blog title. (You should have seen the REALLY random results back in the day when I originally titled this screed "Po Diddikai.")

Anyhoo. Now that you've read through all this, I'm sure you'd like to know exactly how not to misplace an apostrophe, right? Here ya go. Don't say I didn't do nothin' for ya.

The best years of your life (or something...) (part 1)

For the fun of it, a few things I'd tell myself through 9th grade:

-- Seriously, I know it's so fresh in your mind and you're still soaring on endorphins, but move on to life after the bee, okay? The sooner, the better. And for GOD'S sake, do not write that letter to you-know-who!

-- So, um, if you're so against popularity contests, then why the hell are you running for freshman class president? Let stuco go.

-- I know you'd like to think you're all badass, but a single shot of Bailey's every afternoon does not a rebel make. Especially if you're concerned that your parents will find out once the bottle's empty.

-- You want that cashier job at Alfalfa's? Get it. Damn your parents. They just want you to get a job that's socially acceptable. Catering is sooo high society snooty Muffy Piddlewaters and Skippy McGillycuddy, Esq. Not your scene, right? And by the by: the whole Alfalfa's gig will be very influential in the future, in a tangential but awesome way.

-- Dunno what to say about that 2.9, ol' buddy. Let's head out to Perkins for some coffee and shoot the shit. Get away from the parents and let their heads stop spinning. I'll buy.

-- Don't do speech and debate. You’re destroying yourself for no reason and learning absolutely nothing in the process. Honestly. Find something else to do that won’t require you to wake up at oh-fuck-early on Saturday mornings and subject you to long, boring, useless days that aren’t doing jackshit for your speaking skills. Not doing speech and debate doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re respecting your health. And fuck how it looks on your transcript.

-- Speaking of respecting your health...so you hate these colds that last forever, right? Jeebus, where to start? You love sleep, right? Do it. REST. (See above about quitting speech and debate already.) Have lots of the herbal tea that you're gonna get at Alfalfa's with your employee discount (hint, hint). And, uh, notice how you feel after you eat those pork chops with tons of gravy and a full glass of milk for dinner, ok?

-- Get into the Who over the summer. As much as you are into Led Zeppelin, the Who may possibly rock your world even more. I haven't heard much, even at my age, and I think I'm too old now to totally appreciate 'em. Still, "Behind Blue Eyes" and "Won't Get Fooled Again" are pretty awesome, no? Oh, you haven't heard them. Hmm.

-- I know and you know the real reason you're staring at your girlfriend's big burly linebacker brother as you pass in the hall. (By the way...dating someone simply because she looks like Julia Roberts? Seriously?) And yes, you can tell yourself it's because you're afraid he'll squash you into a grease spot on the sidewalk. Which is a remote possibility. But that's all I'll say and your secret's safe with me. Until college. Then it's open season. (Just kidding.)

-- And for God’s sake, print out your journal! You know, the one that starts “Do you suppose anyone out there can hear me?” Save it. Put it in a safe deposit box if need be. You’ll want it.

Don't I wish...

I love this church...

"I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."
- Mahatma Gandhi

"For all of those who don't fit in; who follow their instincts and are told they sin...this is a prayer for a different way."
- Neil Tennant

======================

Last night, I found myself down at the Wrangler, perhaps my favorite bar in Denver, where the types of guys I like (big beefy bears) tend to congregate. One of my friends, a fellow choir queer and director of Mosaic, the only queer youth chorus in Denver, happened to mention that a very, ah, shall we say interesting service was gonna go down at First Plymouth Congregational Church the very next morning. I knew the director of music down there, so I put it in my mind to perhaps go.

As it turned out, I was singing at another church down around the area, so once we sang our (maybe 90 second-long) spiritual, I meandered on down to this church to see exactly what was going on.

The last thing I expected to see was this music director clad entirely in his übermasculine tight-fitting black leather Tom of Finland regalia. (That link is rated R, by the way.) But there he was, looking...good god-DAMN, hot as hell! And what a mindfuck it was to see him behind the organ, playing the doxology and hymns with all the flourishes you'd expect from a serious church organist. A really cool mindfuck.

It's one thing to have a church claim that it's open and affirming, which is your standard basic code for "welcoming all sexual orientations." And most churches that claim this really do follow through on it. But the service today totally blew away any other service I've been in.

First off, the pastor was wearing a rainbow-colored stole. Second, his sermon could not have been any more affirming and accepting of us queer folk...not to mention his continual linking said sentiment to what Jesus taught and how he acted. And third, he invited a woman to come up front and tell her difficult story of her struggles with being a lesbian, growing up in pre-Stonewall America, trying to exorcise her demons with alcohol, and finally accepting herself for who she is, and kicking alcohol to the curb once and for all. (She is now getting married to her partner in Iowa next weekend. What a beautiful thing that is.)

But it was the music that really brought the house down. After the sermon, the choir did an awesome version of Toby Keith's "I Love This Bar," reworded as "I Love This Church," echoing all the inclusive language that the original song has. So fun. But seriously, how can you top an affirming service like this that uses a wicked version of "It's Raining Men" as the postlude? With choir members dancing in the aisles and handing out rainbow-colored scarves for everyone to wave around? Damn. You'll never see this in a good Lu-the-ran church, like I'm so used to.

Afterward, I talked with a few women, none of whom could have been any less than 70. They all talked about how they couldn't wait to start on their "bar ministry," going to gay hangouts and...well, not proselytizing per se, but just establishing their presence as a church that is on our side and welcoming. First stop: Hamburger Mary's.

Mindblowing.

======================

Now. I've been to other affirming churches all through my life. Lutherans are genuine and willing to debate the question of how sexual orientation fits into the Christian tradition, and I give them major props for that. The Religious Society of Friends (aka Quakers) have a long-standing tradition of radical social activism. They may have been the first Christian-based church to consider unions between two men or two women as equal to a union between a man and a woman, if I correctly remember what I read years ago. (Alas, Quakers as a whole are deeply divided on this issue.) And the United Church of Christ (jokingly sometimes referred to as "Unitarians Considering Christ") also is quite welcoming, including openly gay men and lesbians as pastors and other clergy. Indeed, one of my favorite churches up to this point (a UCC church) has been Spirit of the Lakes in Minneapolis, with Rev. Rebecca Voelkel as perhaps the most excellent and passionate pastor I have ever had the great fortune to worship with, regardless of sexual orientation. I've been blessed.

Incidentally, the Metropolitan Community Church is also a fully affirming church, though I've not been to their services as much. I've also been blessed to worship as part of the community at a "More Light" Presbyterian church in Portland called St. Mark Presbyterian - small, tight-knit, and wonderfully welcoming and compassionate.

I have never experienced first-hand any Southern Baptist, pentecostal, or charismatic bigotry or homophobia in my life. Maybe I've been sheltered, but at some point, I just wanted to see for myself if there were churches that really were welcome and affirming of who I was - a gay man who had recently come out. The good news is that there were, and still are, all over the place.

The evil view that gay men, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgendered folk are hated by God and condemned to hell after their sinful life on this plane is deeply wrong, but unfortunately still alive and well. It's seriously damaging Christianity as a whole, and is being used as the basis for breaking apart families. It's permanently and needlessly wounding individuals who otherwise could be whole. It's causing untold amounts of fear, anger, and anguish. And in some cases, it's contributing to murders and suicides of our queer brothers and sisters. It needs to stop.

Churches like the ones I've described above are wonderful, and so highly recommended to anyone who, because of their sexual orientation, have been cast out of their church and feel like their God has condemned them. Not all Christians are homophobic. Some do take Jesus' teachings to heart and openly show love and compassion for everyone, regardless. And this, really, is what Christianity is, and should be, about.

Amen.

OK Go - Here It Goes Again

In which our heroes create one of the most perfect videos ever. Who knew that treadmills and bright pink clothes could prove so central to choreography?

(Damn the powers that be for prohibiting embedding this video.)

"I thought Europe was a country."

Stupid is as stupid does, and here, stupid don't do much but just look stupid (and a bit purty) and provide unintentional humor for everyone around her. Frightening, this video. Makes me laugh a bit, but mostly cringe.

Paging all unemployed geography and social studies teachers nationwide...you have just been rehired effective immediately. (If only.) At least if I were benevolent dictator of this here land, this would be the clarion call.

Lime Starbursts (and Conejos Cabins)

It pains me that 1) I can't find a single picture of the glorious candy that was once lime Starbursts, and 2) that so many people nowadays have no inkling that there was such a creation. But yes, way back during the disco era, when Starbursts first happened on the scene, they included lime, and cherry was nowhere to be found. I was sore, SORE disappointed one day in the early '80s to find that lime had disappeared forever. Have to admit that cherry was a pretty grand substitute...for about six months. Then the suckitude took over the novelty, and cherry has sat at the bottom of the pile for me ever since. Strawberry has always reigned supreme, with orange, lemon, and lime (back in the day) jockeying for second. Really, they all were good.

Just like food can transport you if you let it, I can imagine the taste, smell, and texture of lime Starbursts, and immediately I'm taken back to summer trips down to southern Colorado, in the middle of nowhere a stone's throw from New Mexico. Conejos Cabins was the place to be, and you got there via a LOOONG drive south from Denver through South Park (yes, there really is such a place, and it's truly gorgeous) and along the Arkansas river, past the Great Sand Dunes, and even still a few hours further south. (Obligatory soundtrack: The Carpenters' Horizon. Oh, and probably some John Denver and Mac Davis thrown in there, too.) Then you took a dirt road for 20 miles(!) or so until you hit the Conejos River, in the middle of a beautiful valley. Heaven. The rustic cabins all smelled a bit like natural gas, and Mom always served slightly crunchy and perfect Krusteaz pancakes with bacon for breakfast, alongside Tang (and coffee for the grown-ups). The skies were seldom flawed with clouds, and if rain fell, it was usually a quiet, comforting rain. Board games like Sorry! and Parcheesi came along for the ride, as did my Speak & Spell. (Fast forward 10 years or so to see the end result of my obsession with said gadget.) Dad went fishing virtually every day with our golden retriever Duchess, and our sandy Jeep Wagoneer perpetually smelled like wet dog and freshly-caught trout. My brother and I, the best of friends at this point, would wander the side of the frigid Conejos and throw seaweed-covered rocks into the river, scaring away fish and inevitably angering our dad, trying to catch dinner for us all. And the air was as clean as you could ever hope for, aside from the road dust which coated your mouth as you drove off with the windows open. But those luscious lime Starbursts took care of that.

I will admit that the lime Tootsie Rolls do offer a very good approximation of what I've missed for years and years, both in flavor and texture. But I just plain miss opening up the square candies with the wax paper folded just so, seeing the light green jewel in my hands and biting it in two to see how white the center got. (I was always convinced that Starbursts were white in the center. Such a silly kid.) Until Mars/Starburst decides to bring back lime (and not in a limited-time, retro sort of way, but for good), I'll always feel like my life is somehow incomplete.

Thus ends the solipsistic trip down memory lane. I now return you to your regularly scheduled life.

Pet Shop Boys - Love Etc.

Simply because I'm a Pet Shop Boys queen. They really do provide the soundtrack for guppies. My full verdict for Yes is still out, but so far, it seems quite good. I think PSB is pretty much stuck in a holding pattern of producing better-than-average pop music, but it seems they've been getting steadily better with each album since Nightlife, which, I guess, would make this the best since Bilingual. Which is no mean feat.

As good and over-the-top as this song is, I'm waiting for a video for "All Over The World" or "Pandemonium." Or especially "Beautiful People," which starts vaguely like a menacing rockabilly tune, then morphs effortlessly into the lushest mod fashionista Statement Of Purpose ever.

And seriously? Super Mario Bros. meets Soviet propaganda-style art meets...um...some fabulous ornate art movement I'm not privy to? Whoever thought this one up is beyond creative. Droll, wry, brilliant. Perfect PSB, in other words.

But enough commentary. Here ya go. (With apologies for the video running off the side.)

Freedom fries

Exhibit A in mockery of stupid, ugly, mindlessly patriotic Americans, or what Kathy Griffin calls people who are "proud of their aggressive ignorance": Freedom fries. The Francophobia in this country seemed to hit historic highs in 2003, when France stridently opposed the invasion of Iraq. And this was our childish way of protesting their opposition?

First off, French fries didn't originate in France. Belgians seem to take pride in being the originators. So there's that. But also? French fries get that name from the way they are cut: they are "frenched." In other words, they are sliced into long, thin strips. (But not that thin, lest they be julienned.)

So the whole "freedom fries" thang began as a result of a few Republican senators from Ohio and North Carolina who just had their panties in a snit over these damned French who opposed a multinational invasion of Iraq. (Um, if memory serves, so did that sniveling wimpy country full of quislings, Germany. Or something. Just sayin', if a country with a war-strewn past like Germany says ixnay on the arway, I'm listening. Anyhow...) The use of the word "French" in one of our country's most cherished foods was so offensive that they mandated that henceforth, the House of Representatives' cafeteria would only serve "freedom fries." Oh yeah, and "freedom toast." Heh.

Can't you just picture it? Nathalie Loisau, who spoke on behalf of the French embassy, was probably trying her best not to laugh her sweet little freedom heinie off as she made an official statement. "We are at a very serious moment dealing with very serious issues and we are not focusing on the name you give to potatoes." You know the whole embassy was collapsing in laughter. Probably all of France was, too. Or at least the part of France that focused on the name we give to potatoes.