I almost pulled a Cho

I was in a good mood. I swear.

I was driving to the laundromat this morning to do some laundry for work.

No, Kim, not that kind of laundry.

Anyway, there was a bumper sticker on the minivan in front of me. Suburban soccer mom was still waving thanks to me for letting her in despite the fact she almost totalled the passenger side of my car. At first, I just saw the boldface, all-caps words.

SCOUTING

(tiny tiny words)

AMERICA

It's been a while since I've seen any kind of Scouting bumper sticker.

But then I got closer. At the stop light, I pulled close enough behind the van and, in disbelief, read the rest of the bumper sticker.

SCOUTING

reinforces the values of

AMERICA

I swear to you the following is totally true.

I took off my seat belt. I put the car in park. I pulled the hand brake. I opened the door.

Margaret, our dear Cho, talked about how she was so offended by a bumper sticker that she pulled up next to a car, rolled down her window and YELLED until the driver made a quick turn to get away from Cho The Great.

At that moment, I realized that what I was about to do wasn't worth whatever might follow. Shorewood, Wisconsin, is not the kind of place that one makes a scene. Especially someone who isn't white. And the "victim" is.

For some reason, I'm still steaming mad.

My Eagle badge is just as good as her spoiled, sheltered, homophobic, probably-will-turn-out-gay-cause-karma's-a-bitch, son.

I guess this ramble hasn't really screamed MATURE.

I'll get over it.

And, believe, I'll be a-writin tonight.

We waited for two hours for a table in the back...so she wouldn't be gawked at.

From time to time, I've used this space to express my frustration with some of the more colorful characters that I've had the privilege of serving or watching other people serving. But, thanks to the intoduction of meditation and tofu into my life, I've turned over a new napkin.

In the interest of public service, I thought I'd begin a new section called "Eating Out For Dummies." I don't really know who it speaks to, but hopefully it does some good in the world.

Chapter 6: Restaurant Etiquette According To Kaballah

Before you say or do any of the following things, just remember. Don't. Seriously, don't do it.

1) Swearing. This includes any word that would cause any of your elementary school teachers a moment of self-reflection on what the hell was wrong with your parents.

For those reading this in Russian translation, "fucking" is never the appropriate way to initiate a dialogue with a waiter. In everyday conversational English, the use of the word "fucking" indicates one of two impending actions: a serious beatdown or insertive sexual intercourse. Your waiter will, in all likelihood, not be particularly receptive to either. Especially if you're, say, over 60. That is, until your waiter has verified the amount of your gratuity. Only after you've given a generous gratuity and gotten your waiter pretty well lubed up can you, the diner, successfully accomplish either type of "fucking." So remember, before you throw out a big bag of "fucking," buy your waiter a drink. See where it goes from there.

For those reading this in the original English, there are more productive ways of phrasing: "This tastes like ass." Remember back to the ass you tasted that was similar in nature to what you just put in your mouth. Assuming that the memory of the ass in question was not particularly pleasant, describe in greater detail to your waiter your problem with your food's texture, odor or other sensations that caused your unease. As you do this, point to the parts of your meal which resembled the offensive ass, but don't talk about the actual ass.

If you happen to be dining with the person to whom the original offensive ass belongs, you may find it productive to tastefully intiate a dialogue with that person about the ways in which both your food and their ass may be improved. See folks, everyone wins!

If you intend for the phrase, "This tastes like ass," as a compliment to the food, we have ourselves an altogether different ballgame. I suggest that you try to communicate to your waiter your feelings and emotions instead of announcing that you are thorougly enamoured by both a particularly memorable ass and the food you have just consumed. In certain circumstances, a diner and their waiter will have developed a close relationship. But, rest assured, this does not mean that any discussions of an anus or several anuses is appropriate.

2) Food Depositories. There is a difference between dining at a restaurant and receiving food from any number of benevolent non-profit organizations. This difference can be observed by various and plain-sight signage.

(a) The sign at the front door. If a certain establishment's sign does NOT involve the words "Food Depository" or "Food Bank," you should expect to pay money in your immediate possession in exchange for food.

(b) The menu. If you announce that you would like to consume food that you did not enter the particular building with, and you are given a list of items from which you may choose with numbers indicating a price of some kind, you should expect to pay that amount. This must be done in the currency issued by the particular country wherein the particular restaurant is located.

There are items in these things called restaurants that will be provided to you with no expectation of payment. However, these items should not make up the entirety or majority of your meal. Some establishments provide you with various condiments that you may enjoy with your meal. Grated cheese, for example. But, you should not open the bottle of said grated cheese and dump the entirety of its contents onto your meal. On one hand, you have become quite a chef in your own right. You have turned 'Spaghetti with Marinara' into 'Grated Cheese with Spaghetti." However, this is considered uncouth. And not good.

These complimentary items are provided to you because you have agreed to pay for other items. Some establishments offer these items as a meal unto themselves. However, just because a certain Italian restaurant offers "Breadsticks and Soup," it does not mean that EVERY restaurant offers a similar item. Especially when they don't serve soup.

I would like to take this time to warn against some common faux pas. The following questions and statements should be avoided during the entirety of your dining experience.

"What can I get for free?"
"Is there anything for free?"
"That isn't what I thought it would be. It should be free."
"What can I get for $(insert any amount)?"
"The menu says this is $12.99. If I don't want the whole thing, can you charge me for less?"
"It's my birthday. What do I get for free?"
"I don't remember paying for this the last time I was here."
"Your bread is free, right?"
"This coupon is for a free appetizer. I thought the appetizer came with an entree."
"I couldn't find parking. This should be free."

Restaurants will, from time to time, offer a diner an item for no cost. Do not take offense that someone with, say, the same hair color or name as you received something at no cost and you did not. Do not approach someone to state that you feel left out and demand something for free.

There are several restaurants that are tickled rosy pink to hear that your birthday was last Tuesday. They climb over themselves to give you whatever your heart desires and expect nothing in return except that shiny happy smile of yours. Take careful, accurate note of the names of these restaurants. If you enter a restaurant with a different name than the one you previously notated, chances are pretty good that they will not react with the same intense zeal.

I heard you were a good pet. Little trouble with the wheel...

I've made a plan to go back to Hawaii. I want to finish school. Actually, I know I need to finish school. But, the thought of moving back to a place called Paradise scares the shit out of me.

I thought about going back to Champaign, which I recently found out is a viable option. But, I think that ship sailed a while ago. I would have to major in social geography at the U of I. Irrelevant as it is, the most interesting class I would be taking for 2 1/2 semesters would be "American Landscapes," which is all about the changing landscape of rural farming architecture. As much of a dork/nerd as I am, I'm having a panic attack just thinking about spending a semester staring at slides of barns.

I think I had a nightmare that looked a lot like that.

I think it was last night.

I woke up crying...

in a barn...

with a herd of angry cows...

yelling "let's see you tip us now, bitch."

Then I woke up for real.

Mental note: No more tofu before bed.

Part of me thinks it would be great to move back to Champaign for a year to just up and finish. I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And I know not to buy anything orange this time around. The whole anaphylactic shock thing is probably my gay gene's way of getting the point across.

For a while, I thought I needed time and space away from all things Illini to deal with some kind of psychic trauma. As I was editing and rewriting my piece for Brotherhood Revisited, I remember thinking that I would be satisfied with my narrative only when I reached something like 'closure.' Of course I was just being way too dramatic. And neurotic.

There are people from my past that I'd like to get to know again. There are people I'd like to stay the hell away from. And a lot of people somewhere in between.

I doubt I'll ever forget how quickly and decisively some people turned against me. But only insofar as I know what true friends really are. Some people will throw boxes of your stuff in a dumpster just to see you fish through trash. True friends convince you that nothing is worth that. And provide a friendly reminder that you still know the combinations to every lock inside and outside of the house. Oh, the things nobody notices go missing.

But, if I were to go back to Champaign, there is the issue of money. The new FAFSA is a little distressing. I may or may not have to sign over the rights to either my first-born or a kidney, the left one, that still works.

So, the best option right now is to move back home for 2 semesters in American Studies at the University of Hawaii. Academically, it's exactly what I've wanted to do. Economically, it's the most feasible. From what I can tell, it would be about $2000 a semester in Manoa versus $15,000 at the U of I.

I started looking at all my options not too long ago. I came to the understanding that my current job was never meant to be a career or anything like a career. The restaurant has been great to me in a lot of ways. But, the fact that I've been there almost three years hit me about a week and a half ago when I waited on a family. They come in once a year to celebrate mom's birthday, and I've waited on them in one form or another the past three years. They asked if they could make a reservation for me to wait on them next year.

I got chills.

Turns out the air conditioner had kicked in and i was standing under the vent.

Nevertheless, something gave the appropriate kick and I started seriously weighing my options of going back to school.

He's here, he's Weir.

Yes, that was a newspaper headline. Pretty catchy methinks.

I started another post a little while ago that turned into a master's thesis proposal called one of the following:

"I Swear I Read Sports Illustrated For The Articles: The New Generation of Gay Athletes"

"He's Weir, He's Q***r: You*g G*y At*letes and Th* New C*ming Ou*"

"Quidditch Is Soooo Last Year, Real Men Play Wizard Chess: Sexual Ambiguouty (?) in 21th Century Sport"

"And The Band Played Christina Aguilera: Men, Sport and Society" (not so great, I'd have to work on that title)

"The Gay Olympic Games; Neither Gay, Olympic Nor Much Of A Game: Discuss." (yeah, I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel.)

"Spandex, Jockstraps And All That Glitters Gold: Sport and Sexuality in the 21st Century."


Much to many a writing teacher's chagrin, I always start with a title. The piece (of something) usually flows from there.

The whole point of the now-unpublished post was that everything about Johnny Weir seems to me to be indicative of a new generation of young, successful and celebrated athletes whose sexual orientation has become a part of the whole story. Not the subject of the story. Not ommitted from the story. Part of the story. "It" is wrapped up in the whole image.

It can be understood that Weir is gay. But, that doesn't seem to matter. His flamboyance, if one were to try to describe it in a word, is refreshing in its honesty. His words, honest to something less than a fault, are almost comforting. His skating at the Olympics may have left something to be desired, but his short program was just short of brilliant and inspiring.

And, for American figure skating, it's about damn time.

I felt like a sentimental fool, but the more I read about Johnny Weir, the more I feel inspired. Although I don't plan on wearing sequins, giving up the volleyballs or adopting a Weir demeanor, I'm all about Johnny Weir. Or, at least, his message.

I've known those who may or may not have been labelled "big nelly queens" all the way back to high school.

One of my best friends was that guy. In P.E., when we had to do all those track & field events, even I made fun of him when he attempted the long jump. He tried to do it the way it's supposed to be done. On his second try, he said, "fuck this," and when he planted his foot on the board, he sprung forward into a ballet split and flew into the sand. Of course, he went farther than everyone except the school's star long jumper. But not by much.

Throughout high school, he wore Prada and Gucci and Ferragamo. Yes, even in Hawaii. He had a Coach handbag and Louis Vutton flip flops. He took ballet and dance and, from time to time, would break out into a tap dance routine in the middle of the quad.

The thing I'll always remember, and the thing that bothered me the most in high school, was that he was 110% unabashedly himself. What you saw was what you got. He was the most loyal friend anyone could have. The most honest. The most insightful. The most. The most. The most. Now, he's getting his Ph.D. from Yale and the sky's the limit. But, he's the same guy I knew when I was a bratty, frustrated and angry 14 year old.

I've matured, maybe, and changed a lot. The kids that used to call him names and make fun of him have grown up. But, he's been true to himself for a lifetime, and that takes more balls than I'll ever know.

The first year I went to volleyball camp, there was this one coach. I'll call him Spock. Everyone had something to say about him. Including me. And I'll admit that I wasn't his biggest fan for all the wrong reasons. No one will ever find me tattooing a rainbow onto any part of my body.

I had a rainbow sticker on my car once. Once. For about 5 minutes. That's another story, I guess.

While Spock would get all primped at coifed to head out to the gay bar, I was in my room "bonding" with my roommate and, as embarassing as it is to say now, talking about how hot some of the women's college players were (and still are!). While I spent most of the two weeks worrying about whether or not I could find a coaching job if I became known as the homo, Spock was living it up. Not necessarily in the way that I would live it up, even now, but having a great time nonetheless.

I'm still not Spock's biggest fan. He's kind of an ass to me. But, I have a pretty deep respect for him. He was unabashedly himself among people who could have created all kinds of problems for him professionally and maybe personally. But, he didn't care. I'm sure he thought, "why should I care?" And that's admirable.

There are still more than a few times in the past couple of years that I've butched it up and gone back in the "closet." Lies by omission, I guess. It's what's comfortable for me. Especially when it has to do with my professional goals.

I cringe when I remember April of 2000. I was coaching the Illinois women's club volleyball team. Before the first practice back in September, I told the team that we were going to be playing in the National Championship match on center court in Reno in April. I told them that, by the end of the year, the Floridas and Purdues and Marquettes and Colorados and Miami of Ohios were going to be gunning for us because we would clearly be the team to beat. And, they bought it.

When we got to Reno, we were as confident as we had been all season. On the final day, we got by #8 Kentucky, swept #1 Florida and #6 Marquette and got by a good Washington State team.

But, while the team was prepping themselves to play Texas in the National Championship match, I was outside and around the corner. Practicing my wave.

The national championship game is the only time a club team will be introduced. I had to wave when the said my name. I went into the bathroom and waved in front of the mirror. Too nelly. Too fem. Too. Too. Too. I finally got it when I put all my fingers together, put my hand up and shook it once. I did it again. And again.

My team was prepping themselves for a collegiate national championship and I was in the bathroom trying to practice a wave that wouldn't announce to the world that I was a big homo.

I probably should have been looking at Texas' hitting patterns by rotation. Or trying to figure out how to match up our blockers against their hitters. Or figuring out a way to stop their two All-American middles. Or coming up with some kind of speech like "Well. Here we are. Right where we knew we'd be. Now we can relax and play our game."

I'd like to think that I'm not going to be consumed with regrets. But I have them. A bunch of them.

Well, Johnny Weir didn't get a medal. He's pretty pissed about it too. Vancouver, look out. The Weir is a-coming.

Oh, and I'm sure he'll skate the hell out of it, too.

Oh great...the only straight guy in the place. You hit a gay guy in the head and all he does is say, "Eh, all in a day."

T minus 2 hours to the men's long program and... Well, not a whole lot else.
(Edit: Okay, so it already happened and the results are posted, but I'm trying not to watch it until tonight)

No really. Here in Milwaukee we've had record 10+ inches of snow, large hail, sub-zero wind chill, closed or undrivable highways and roads, freezing rain, 235 car accidents by 2 pm, school closures. And of course, the weather's not making any sense in general cuz I see that there are tornado warnings in Michigan. Really?

By the way, if anyone watched The Runway last night, don't tell me. My tofu and I are quite happy.

I'm all giddy with anticipation about the men's figure skating long program tonight. Russia's Plushenko skates an inspiring program. Sometimes it's difficult to watch figure skating and know the difference between a gold medal and a 9th place performance. Not the case with Plushenko. Even without the sometimes annoying and vulgar commentating**, it was obvious that Plushenko had the gold and everyone else was a clear also-ran.

Interestingly, one of the best stories at the Games is the U.S.'s Johnny Weir, currently in second (for all those living under a rock, or in Charleston, WV. Not Huntington, that's the U.S.'s hidden gem). He's an insurmountable 11 points back from Plushenko but with a chance to walk with a medal.

Of course I have to be drawn to the stories about Weir. He's referred to another skater's program as "a shot of vodka, snort of coke." His short program costume is that of a jewelled swan with a red "beak" of a glove that he calls "Camielle." U.S. Figure Skating officials have tried to censor him and major newspapers are hesitant to fully quote or poetically describe him, calling him "outspoken" and "eccentric" more often than not.

Over at Outspots.com, their commentators/columnists are still "speculating" that he may be gay. On the discussion boards, opinions about Weir range from the greatest admiration, to anger that he won't say he's gay, to labelling him a "bitchy diva" who just needs to shut up. Really folks?

Isn't this what progress looks like for gay men in (the gayest) sports? Weir is accomplished and decorated as the best male figure skater in the U.S. for the past how many years. And he's still improving. He's honest to a fault and a great story for the media. He's confident and self-assured.

He hasn't spoken the words, "I'm gay." But, he doesn't have to. It's just understood as part of the whole story. In the past he's said that training has made it impossible to keep seeing someone in Boston. His expressive skating style is refreshing on the men's side of the sport, but even led to one NBC commentator to say how comforting the masculinity of another American skater's routine was for "audiences."

Malcontent has the video capture of NBC's Weir feature as well as his short program. Check it out.

Some Weir quotes:

"I know that a lot of people, especially the more Republican [Edit: sorry John!] style people, are very afraid of what I mean to the sport and what I'm going to say, what kind of revolutionary, crazy things are going to come out of my mouth. And...good for them. They should be scared."

"I'm not for everybody. There are going to be people that like you and people that hate you. And...there's nothing I can do."

"My harshest critics will probably just say that I'm full of air and fluff and I don't mean things that I say. But for now....., my critics can...eat it."

Of course, it's all about performing and competing. If you can do both, then everything else becomes the background and a nice story for the media to tell. I would think that's what one type of progress looks like.

Uuuuuuuoooouuuuuuu

I loves me some curling.

It only makes sense. I like well-designed sweats. I like brooms. I quite enjoy rocks. I enjoy circles. I'm not too shabby at geometry. And, when need be, I don't mind a good yell. Plus, you're supposed to drink while you curl.

Seriously now, what's there not to love?

Maybe it's the tofu, but I believe I've turned over a new stone.

I spent all night watching Telemundo, worried sick about you.

I've finally decided on an appropriate reaction to what used to be my favorite show, Project Run-a-f-ing-way.

Until there is vindication for Nick, I am starting The Great Tofu Fast. I've now wholly adopted tofu and henceforth reject all meat.

All this came to me this afternoon. I needed to find a place to release my anger and remember my inner Zen, so I found myself at Outpost. I felt cleansed upon entering. I walked the aisles, searching for a way to explain this crazy crazy sans-Nick and Michelle world.

Then it came to me in the organic whole grain cereal and oatmeal aisle.

Fight ridiculousness with ridiculousness.

There, on the top shelf sat my inspiration. In response to all of the crazy fundamentalist ultra-orthodox Bible-thumpers, I decided to commit myself to Ezekiel.

Ezekiel 4:9 Sprouted Grain Cereal.

The front of the box says:

As described in the Holy Scripture

"Take also unto thee Wheat and Barley and Beans and Lentils and Millet and Spelt and put them in one vessel and make bread of it..." Ezekiel 4:9

A Complete Protein Crunchy Cereal

I didn't really see anyone to whom I could point out the fact that the product isn't, in fact, bread. You know, like Ezekiel 4:9 says. It's cereal. Bread and cereal----two completely different food items. Similar ingredients, but different foods.

Eh, I bought it.

In the very next aisle, I found boxes of tofu and soy milk and soy chocolate milk and what may or may not have been a soy cow. Eh. At that moment a guy who looked a lot like Nick walked by, picked up a box of soy milk and continued on his merry way. I had found my calling, right there in the soy aisle. I grabbed a number of boxes of tofu and made my vows.

Do you know how many things you can do with tofu?

No really, I'm asking.

I have no idea.

You doubled your pleasure, not you better double my fun...

I'm trying to get excited about the Olympics. I really am. Trying. So. Hard.

It's not working.

The only event I'm looking forward to is curling.

That's sad.

I know that living in Wisconsin means I have to get excited about winter sports. And beer. And cheese. And hating everything Illinois.

Eh.

I blame Project Runway.

Why be gay?

I'm here at work. I've just been informed that Michelle Kwan has withdrawn from the Olympics.

Between this and Nick Verreos on the sham of a show formerly known as Project Runway, I'm at a loss for what to think.

Seriously now, why be gay?

Betwixted

Dear Bravo,

Henceforth, forthwith and a little dippety do, I am boycotting your network. You allowed this week's episode of The Runway to be a fiasco of the highest order. I was planning on using a more obscure word than fiasco from the French, German, Spanish, possibly even Swedish, Latin or English language, but I'm not that invested anymore. I considered just sending you a picture of a gesture. If the gay mafia and I were on good terms right now...

It has become quite obvious that you have taken the purity of The Runway and applied your television witchcraft. You have allowed The Runway to slink and sludge into a flaky triscuit of a show. I believed The Runway to be the only good in this mad, mad world. Instead, I have to see the last great hope for reality shows become a ghost of its past self.

With each passing week you have shown that which started as a competition based on talent, endearing itself to our hearts, has de-evolved into a parody of Survivor. No matter how many celebrities you try to lure me back with, I'm not biting anymore.

You can try and draw me back in with Bonus Videos of Dan Vos in his underwear and shots of what may or may not be outlined in the tight fit of the pants Nick made for him. Okay, I'm not gonna lie, that might work. But, no. No more.

I'm also angry that I couldn't use the latest Jack quotes in my latest post. "I'm against this whole charade. Did I pronounce that right? A--gainst. Yep."

Okay, maybe I got to use it, but I'm still flaming mad.

Run all the Criminal Intent marathons you want. Nothing can bring me back to you.

Except Kathy Griffin. I'll come back if you gives me some of that Kathy Griffin.

(spit)

I'm done.

Love,
Brent

P.S. I tried rearranging my roomate's rainforest into something "vulgar." The farthest I could go was "white trash." Plants being "vulgar" is impossible. Now, tell Nick you're really really sorry.

(spit)

Done.

February 9, 2006

Tomorrow will be Nick Verreos Day.

I will speak only in quotable one-liners.
I will demand that everyone around me butch it up.
I will find a safe space to imagine Paris Hilton in Mykonos.
I will shun all bearded men.
I will try to get excited about Sasha Cohen.
I will play with a Barbie.
I will rearrange my roommate's plants in a vulgar way.
I will begin and end every conversation with "Shut uuuuup!" and "wickety-wack."
I may or may not get up early enough to watch the Today Show.
Sorry Nick, I have to draw the line somewhere.

Tomorrow, I will celebrate Nick Verreos Day.

Dear Sirs and Madams

Dear Bud Light,

Bud Light Daredevil Ted Ferguson needs to go.

Now.

At least Miller gives us eye candy to look at.

Best wishes,
Brent

Runway Crazy

Ahhh, Wednesdays. Time for The Runway.

Many people have the Runway as well, but it's all because of me. You know who you are. You tried to come up with excuses not to watch. Or you tried to make me look all crazy....okay, more crazy. But then you watched, and you're more invested than I am.

Apparently, we're not the only ones. I read on one of the 3.2 million articles listed on Blogging Project Runway that the Runway season premier was the #1 show at their time slot across all networks. Then again, it's up against "Three Midgets, A Tranny and a Sweaty Puffy Coke Whore," "Everyone Kind Of Doesn't Mind Ronald Fitzgerald" and "Christians That Spin."

Eh, #1 is #1.

This past week on our #1 rated Runway, I was prepared for the worst episode of the season. The figure skating episode was forgettable in my mind. "Garden Party," "Flower Power"or "Red Lobster" as I've seen this past week's episode called, could have been another strike, but it turned into one of my favorite episodes. While they showed very little of the actual planning or construction (seriously, how did Nick's dress come to be?), they did manage to catch Daniel V, Chloe and Nick's Hallmark Precious Moment.

No, really, there'll be dolls coming out. Two mini-homos and a fag hag.

Of course, I went to the Runway website to look at their Bonus Video section. There are three videos there that made my week.

1) Daniel V. on coming out (3:15)
D.V.: "My mom teaches Sunday School...I sometimes feel more comfortable walking around New York City at 2:00 in the morning than I do walking around my own small hick town."

D.V.: "I've been shouted at walking down the street on a random afternoon,"faggot," because I had a messenger bag...The stupidest little things will just label you."

2) 80/20? Girls can only hope. (3:30)
D.V.: "Doing this in front of the camera, my relatives still don't know. But, at this point...I'm done. I'm just done....But, my ex-girlfriend still doesn't know."

D.V.: "If you want to consider me bisexual, I guess you can. I'm like 80/20....My parents think that this being bisexual is just a stage. Like I'm...trying things out."

Nick: "He's shopping."

D.V.: "And the gays will judge you just as bad for being bisexual."

And, we get final confirmation that Chloe is a true fag hag.

Chloe (to her gay friends): "That's okay, I wouldn't sleep with you either. Gross. You ho, I know where you been."

3) Nick, you know what camp you're in honey. (3:30)

Nick: "If I was on a desert island and I had to do it...for something. For food money. It can happen."

Chloe: "Those models are waiting for you to turn. Those models are dying to have you honey."

D.V.: "It's true they are. I heard them talking about it."

Nick: "Okay, back to Daniel."

Chloe: "I always have my gay radar on. That's my biggest fear...to date a gay guy."

I loves me some Chloe. And, really, the parents would love for you to be my girlfriend. There are technical and logistical problems with that, but I'm sure we can figure something out.

On a final note, I am still checking the site meter for certain keyword searches that would necessitate me taking certain parts of this blog down. I don't want to embarass or cause trouble for certain people or groups that I've blogged about. Except John and Mike. You bitches are S.O.L. And Smeagel. Screw him. But, not literally.

About 90% of the visitors to this blog are referred here by some combination of search engine keywords involving Daniel Vosovic. I'm not going to say what the other keywords are, but let's just say that I'm not the only one smitten by one Mr. D.V. Yeah, let's leave it at that.

Hella sad

Which Project Runway designer are you?

Awww. hell no.

I ain't even gonna say who it turns out I am. Where the hell are my meds?

Maybe if I keep saying

"It's simple in a JC Penny kind of way..."

I can channel DV.

I love me some eye candy on television. But, I get a little confused with all the straightys or maybe not so straightys playing gay, then playing gay basher, then playing straight best friend, then... Maybe that's why I don't mind reality tv.


Huntley Ritter. On Popular, he played the gay-bashing football/baseball player with that scary look in his eye.

Then in Bring It On, he was the gayish cheerleader who gave an Oscar-worthy performance highlighted by a scene where he got all nervous about telling some blondey that he was "great." Oscar, I tell you. Not totally true to life, but, eh, all in a day.


There's Charlie Hunnam. He was the boytoy "Michael" of the U.K. version of Queer As Folk. Whereas the U.S. QAF was a little past softcore, the U.K. pushed past hardcore. I'm not complaining, I'm just sayin...

Then in Young Americans, possibly the best television show of all time, he played the rotten apple that hated on the turned-out-not-to-be gayish couple. When one person is crossdressing, though, I'm not sure what to call it. That's the brilliance of Y.A. Why, oh W.B. execs, did this show end?


Of course we'll move onto Ian Sommerhalder.

In Rules Of Attraction, we wished casting had found someone other than James Vanderbeek. But, eh, we'll take it. With his dancing scenes in front of the mirror and on the bed, Ian made us forget about Crazy Cruise. Thank Scientology God.

In MTV's Anatomy of A Hate Crime, he played Aaron McKinney, one of Matthew Shepard's murderers. Busy Phillips, one of the gay's favorites on The Creek College Years, also played McKinney's girlfriend.

On Young Americans, he thought he was gay when he fell in love with a guy. Turned out to be a girl crossdressing as a guy to piss off her parents. Not really sure how that one worked out. Who cares. He took his shirt off a lot.


There's John Driscoll. On the Creek, he played the Frat rush chair who HAD to have Jack join the house. Then, he turns and not in the good way. He leads the charge to push Jack's boy-loving out of the house's memory.

And then, he appears on Book Of Daniel. He flirts with Christian Campbell after their church choir performance. He's sweet and believable as the masculine, metro straight guy.



Of course, me loves me some Christian Campbell. Trick will always have a special place in my heart. It wasn't the best movie, but it was one of the first. It wasn't really comforting and there wasn't much in the way of plot, but at least it seemed real. And, they showed in in Champaign-Urbana. I couldn't believe it.

In Trick, he played the young, naive, showtune-writing, go-go boy-chasing, living day-to-day-in-NYC twink.

In Book of Daniel, he plays the chess-playing, dorky, son-of-a-preacher-man, church choir-singing gay boy who isn't against sleeping with women.

Disconnect? Nope. But, me loves me some Christian Campbell. Have you seen those dimples?

I'm guessing the problem isn't so much that I don't know whether they're gay or gay-bashing characters, but that I'm watching things like Bring It On and The Creek. Just a guess.

Sometimes I'm not supposed to understand

From time to time, I'm reminded how there are people out there in the world that I just cannot understand. I try to understand where people are coming from, try to listen to their opinions and to think logically about different ideas.

But, maybe there are time when I'm just not supposed to understand.

A certain Topeka, Kansas, defrocked Baptist minister has announced that he and a small, but vocal group of followers are planning on protesting the funerals of Wisconsin soldiers killed in the Middle East. The group is infamous for protesting the funerals of gays and lesbians as well as those who have passed as a result of complications due to AIDS and HIV.

But, as far as has been verified by the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, none of the late soldiers were gay. I believe that the military actively screens soldiers for HIV/AIDS in their routine physicals. However, the group has posted images of the signs they plan on carrying.

They include:

"Thank God For 9-11" and "God Hates America."

Mr. Defrocked claims that God killed these Wisconsin soldiers in the Middle East because the United States "harbors gays". These soldiers were fighting for a nation that "harbors gays" and were rightfully struck down by God. Therefore, their funerals should be protested.

.....

Anyone?

Anyone?

The Wisconsin state legislature and Governor Doyle are considering legislation.

Preventing Mr. Defrocked from protesting? Nope. First Amendment issues. If the KKK could do it in Skokie, then....

Forbidding him from entering the state? Nope. But, wouldn't that be just swell.

No, the governor and legislature are considering a law to require a certain distance to be maintained by protesters and funerals. I guess when I go and protest some KKK funeral, I'll have to stay a certain distance as well. Eh, all in a day.

However, Republican senators are calling any legislation a restriction on free speech. Exactly what needs to be said that will piss off the suburban/rural moderates enough to get as angry as I and more than a few people are?

Then again...

1) Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell blamed the 9-11 attacks and murders on "the pagans and the abortionists and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way -- all of them who have tried to secularize America -- I point the finger in their face and say "you helped this happen."

2) Bush and every Republican that can get near a microphone, tape recorder and camera has said that gay marriage is a threat to the institution of marriage. Didn't The Bachelor, Married In America, Brittany Spears #1, Brittany Spears #2 and all the divorced couples already pretty much seal the deal? Bill Maher hypothesizes that Bush may be correct because gay marriage looks more fun. However, as Maher points out quite eloquently, political speeches and laws aren't the only thing keeping male-on-male blowjobs from breaking out in sports bars across the country.

Oh well.

Brokeback Soreass

From today's LA Weekly and one of a number of blogs:

How Gay Will Oscar Go?

Given that it's Oscar time, I nominate the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for Best Bunch of Hypocrites. That’s because this year’s dirty little secret is the anecdotal evidence pouring in to me about hetero members being unwilling to screen Brokeback Mountain...

Frankly, I find horrifying each whispered admission to me from Academy members who usually pose as social liberals that they’re disgusted by even the possibility of glimpsing simulated gay sex. Earth to the easily offended: This movie has been criticized for being too sexually tame. Hey, Academy, what are you worried about: that you’ll turn gay or, worse, get a stiffie by just the hint of hunk-on-hunk action?

It doesn't look like the Academy members will have much of a choice.

Felicity Huffman in TransAmerica seems to be the clear frontrunner for Best Actress. Reese and Charlize could cancel each other out. Both were inspiring performances. Though, never count out the British, I guess.

Philip Seymour Hoffman has won both the Golden Globe and SAG Award. His Capote was spectacular and fabulous in every way. I'm not the only one in thinking this one isn't even a race. Heath Ledger can take all the clothes off he wants and Joaquin can sing his little heart out but if PSH doesn't walk home with little ole Oscar, it's a travesty of justice. Then again, Bush is still our president.

From there on out, though, the Academy could give a collective "that's enough." Well, maybe the Cinematography award to Brokeback. The geezers like their nature. And sheep. Baaaaaa.

To be completely honest, I'm not the biggest Brokeback fan. The landscape was breathtaking. The acting was honest and, I hate to say it but, pure. I bought it. From the very beginning. Heath and Jake and Michelle and Anne were the perfect ensemble and the bit parts were meticulously groomed and perfectly placed.

Now saying I'm not the biggest Brokeback fan is just to say that I'm not about to call it "groundbreaking" or "monumental" or "a breakthrough for gay (or sexually ambiguous) cinema" or "the most important film of the 20th century."

I saw the film on Milwaukee's opening day. I ordered tickets online and went with my friend Jamie and fought the huge crowds. I considered driving to Chicago because, I'll admit, I cried when I watched the preview online and I thought I had to go and see it right then and there.

"There are places you can never go back to..."

I mean, come on. Seeing that line on the screen and listening to the theme music, I lost it.

But, I didn't have the same reaction that most people seem to be having about The Mountain.

1) My ass fell asleep at the 45 minute mark. Right about when Heath and Jake were still "coworkers" and bitching about eating beans. I spent the next 14-1/2 hours of the movie wondering if working my gluts at the gym would have helped me to be more comfortable. A little more cushion for the pushin? Or more hard for the guard?

2) I didn't cry. Not once. At three points during the movie, it sounded like the theater itself was crying its eyes out. Complete emotional breakdown. I didn't feel a thing. I cried more watching 54. Now, I loved the performances and I really forgot that it was a movie. But, I didn't ever feel a tear even thinking about rolling out. Well, I'll admit that I felt a little coming on at the end when Jack's mom opened that brown paper bag for Ennis. That one hit a spot. But other than that, it was 15 hours of wondering if I still had a soul.

3) The previews before the movie freaked my shit out. For five minutes, all I saw were boxes and assembly lines carrying dolls in various stages of construction. They all started out looking the same and later in the process some of them were cute little Cabbage Patch Kids, some were bloody amputated messes, some were My Buddy (remember that one? My Buddy, My Buddy, My Buddy and meeeeee....ha!) and some were disgusting half-headed monsters. I don't think Ang would like that preview freaking the shit out of audiences before his movie. Someone should look into that.

4) I should have waited. Obviously, on the first night, the theater was packed for the first showings in Milwaukee. It was the Great Wisconsin Homo Migration. Pridefest doesn't have that kind of draw. I'm not complaining about that, but it stressed my shit out a little. I kept wondering if what I had on looked expensive enough. I went with a light Gap sweater over a collared shirt and my Gap jeans and decent looking loafers. I even wore dark socks. That's huge. Monumental, even.

5) I spent quite a while, 2-1/2 hours or so when nothing was really happening onscreen, thinking about how easy all the porn-adaptations were going to be. It's really not that difficult. But, I think I laughed inappropriately.

In the end, I enjoyed The Mountain. I was thrilled at Michelle Williams and Anne Hathaway's performances. I was impressed by Jake and Heath. I loved the cinematography, score and music. But it still wasn't, to me, "groundbreaking." It was an excellent movie and most deserving of a few Oscar nods. Definitely Cinematography and Directing and, considering the other nominees, I think it could squeak in for Best Picture with all things being equal. Unfortunately, I doubt that the gays will be happier than normal come Oscar Day.

Project V

As much as I didn't want to be the biggest fan of the Foliage Is Fun challenge, there were many many highlights. Overall, I'd have to say I was pleasantly surprised that the show is back on track - true to fashion design and entertaining to watch.

The new title of the show should be Project Vosovic.He's now won more than half of the challenges and the judges (even the guest judges) just seem like they want to make out with him. As soon as Heidi kicked it over to Daniel to talk about his dress on the runway, her face lit up faster than Giniqua at a strip club. I couldn't tell if the two guest judges were talking about D.V.'s dress or Daniel himself.

"I think this looks great. I think it's adorable....Love the proportions..."

They both looked like they were about to stick a couple of bills in his g-string. Eh, who can blame em?

D.V. also revealed that he only recently came out to his parents. Being from a smaller town and a religious family didn't help. I'm pretty sure there are more than a few people out there in Michigan...(cough) (cough) who wouldn't mind being his best friend whenever he returns home.

The absolute best quote though:

Heidi: "I have no problem with it being shiny."
Michael: "Because you're German..."

I guess you had to be there.

Walk it

T minus 4 hours 20 minutes to the Runway.

I've been losing a little faith in the producers. Barbie stands as THE BEST challenge of the show over a season and a half. Lingerie was a good idea even though the designs didn't exactly live up to the exciting potential.

Then came the challenges for the Republic and Sasha Cohen. While D.V. and Andrae's outfit worked it and Santino/Nick's was actually quite interesting, there wasn't much room for creativity or any kind of "breakout" performance. The skating challenge offered ZERO room for any kind of creativity. Sasha basically chose the outfit that most looked like a skating outfit. And we all know what kind of bullshit that caused. Good riddance Zuzu.

Thankfully the designers, Michael and Nina and the fabulous Tim Gunn (look out Anderson Cooper!) have saved the day for the crappy challenges. Nick and Daniel V and Chloe are so endearing. Santino is the Jerry Springer Show that keeps me coming back for all the bullshit I can't stand and can't stand not to watch. Nina works it and rocks it better than any reality show judge. And Tim Gunn is just...Tim Gunn. Love him. Love everything about him.

I'm not feeling the whole "nature" theme that seems to be this week's challenge. It's kind of corny. It's a little cliche. It's not very original.

Here's hoping this week's show gets a Hogwarts E: Exceeds Expectations.