Wednesday, November 30, 2005

In the news...

Today is World AIDS Day. You can visit AIDS Combat Zone for lots of info and Brad's run-down of events.

Today is also the 50th Anniversary of the day that Rosa Parks did not give up her seat. Transit Authourities all over the country had seats "reserved" for Rosa Parks today. (Though on my crowded bus this morning, somebody sat their fat ass right in it.)

In other news, "scientists believe they have worked out a formula to calculate how 'beer goggles' affect a drinker's vision".

And on a final note, there is now a convenient pill to cure male effimenancy. Side effects include obsession with sports and uncontrollable public belching. [via Lady Bunny]

525,600 Minutes


sarahschulman2
Originally uploaded by butch stroll.
The musical Rent is one of Broadway's most well-loved productions. It has made gazillions of dollars, and is now a major motion picture. I haven't seen either yet.

Sarah Schulman was my professor of Gay & Lesbian Film, a random course I took among the philosophy that I very much enjoyed. She is a very political, anti-establishment type woman, to put it simply. I liked her. She once reminded the class that it was drag queens and flamboyant fags that made it possible for there to be such a thing as "gay republicans". In her class I saw, for the first time, one of my favorite films, Portrait of Jason.

Our first assignment for the course gave us some choices, one of which was to compare her book Stagestruck: Theater, AIDS, and the Marketing of Gay America to Rent. The first chapter of her book details the "dirt" on Rent -- that half of its plot was ripped off from her book People in Trouble. She tried to sue, but found going up against a billion dollar industry to be futile. And as the Salon article puts it, "It seems fairly clear that her plot, characters and setting were stolen, but alas, only words are copyrightable."

Slate has an interview with Schulman just in time for the movie's release.

Sarah Schulman's point in much of her criticism (not just of Rent but all "mainstream media") is that the people who do the fighting and suffering are transformed into "secondary characters in the story of their own lives." In mainstream productions like Rent and Philadelphia, for example, we are given a scenario in the early days of AIDS where heterosexuals swoop down and save the queers (and a gay Tom Hanks dies). In reality, gay men and their allies, like Schulman, were the ones who banded together, all alone in the world, to create a movement that changed the way we understand AIDS, gay people, and the politics of disease.

"Bravo" Shows Too Wong Fu Like 40 Times A Month

Possibly the best line from a movie ever: "Lorretta, you betta check yo'self. [Long pause] Before you wreck yo'self."

Strange Dreams

Last night I had the strangest dream...I dreamed that my boss retired, and Joe Simpson, father of Jessica and Ashlee, took her place. I don't remember much else, except that I hated him, and he tried to push me out a window at one point.

Anyway. What the hell is going on in France? Havn't heard much since the unreported end of the rioting, but lately France has gotten its own version of the Patriot Act, stopped letting immigrants in all willy-nilly, and has state-sanctioned "official history" of the "positive role" it played in its former colonies. All the while, Jacques looks stressed out:


"Birthday brings little to cheer about for Chirac"

In other news, C.S. Lewis apparantly opposed a movie version of his Chronicles of Narnia, so I will feel a tinge of guilt when I go see it. I'm a fan of ole C.S., so I am excited to see the movie. However, I think the video game of Narnia is...well...a bad idea. The irony is that Disney is behind both the movie and the video game, while C.S. said of the live-action film translation of his books, "Cartoons (if only Disney did not combine so much vulgarity with his genius!) would be another matter."

Monday, November 28, 2005

Sick & Tired

On Sunday, I started feeling a little sickness coming on. I went to Rite Aid to buy medications for such at thing. I thought it was only Wal Marts in the sticks doing it, but apparantly you can't buy any of the good stuff strait off the rack anymore because somehow you can make crystal methamphetamines out of it. They keep it behind the counter of the pharmacy, and the pharmacy was closed at that hour. So what was I to do? I figured you can't go wrong with Dayquil and Nyquil. You have both halves of the day covered with those.

I took a shot of Rite Aid's knockoff of Dayquil this morning. (It really comes with a little plastic shot glass.) "Non-drowsy" is a big lie. I felt drunkish all day, and started telling people that I am loopy on Dayquil, but then started thinking they might start thinking that's just an excuse for what I'm really loopy on, so I just hid in my corner and tried to work through the increasingly blurry stacks of papers and to do lists.

Then my boss asked me if I wanted "one of these pills" that she poured out of the prescription bottle for me. Her husband apparantly gets them from the VA. They looked like green M&M's. I took one and she gave me two for the road, which I took on my way home. They pack a punch. Yay antihistimines!

I just took a shot of generic Nyquil but it's not kicking in.

It was also Christmas decorating day. I'm kind of glad I was on drugs for that.

This poor kid is never going to get a prom date now...

Teen With Peanut Allergy Dies After Kiss

Friday, November 25, 2005

Turkey, Kitty, Skull, Fetus

My roommate hunted down a turkey, killed it, made a pillow from its feathers, and then cooked it. I was proud of him on his first attempt at cooking a bird. It turned out great and was thoroughly cooked and delicious. One of my New Year's Resolutions is to become vegetarian, but I figure as long as we used it to its full extent, this turkey is not extremely morally problematic.

Turkey

Meow Kitty is a tiny stuffed turkey herself:

Meow Kitty

This is my favorite thing ever:

Skull Charm

I don't know if you can see that the eyes are filled with rhinestones. Very "One Eyed Willy", though it has two eyes.

My roommate had this plastic fetus in the "goes to the homeless shelter" pile of things in our hallway. I siezed it. It is not only disturbing in and of itself, it is disturbing that he had this in his posession. And now I do.

Plastic Fetus

Thursday, November 24, 2005

Happy Thanksgiving!

What are you thankful for?

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

The Passion of the Stroll

I have written here before about my life long source of despair, having an extreme insecurity about interpersonal and social interactions, even those with my own family. Thanksgiving is coming up and as much as I love them and would love to be with them, a part of me is happy that I "get out of it" so to speak. I will be here in the illustrious Queens NY working on my thesis and dealing with this time without all the scheduling and preperation that puts the holidaze ON EDGE.

We have had a recent death in the extended family, which when I was growing up was always as close as the immediate family, so I have been communicating more than usual. But this is not just because of the death, it has been happening because I realize that at the end of the day blood is thicker than water. As much as I loathe my brother I am envious of his relationship with the extended family. He has kept in touch with everyone, even with my dad's side of the family which we never hear much from except for my Grandma and her other son. He knows people I havn't seen in 20 years. Some of the people I saw just like Christmas I sometimes feel like I don't know anymore, and most of those people dang sure don't know me. Even from my own mother, who growing up I would tell everything, I can't be completely honest about my life. I'm not talking about sex or drinking (things you might imagine would be difficult for anyone to share with their mother) either, I'm talking about just the day to day. My family is not ready for The Butch Stroll.

And I would never want them reading this blog.

In fact, I wouldn't want anyone I know reading this blog. As someone once told me, my sense of humor doesn't translate well over the internet. I can understand that and actually like that when people read some of the shit I say, they might have to scratch their heads for a minute over whether I'm being serious or not. In the Real World, by the way, people often laugh when I'm being completely serious.

But I digress.

Of course it is voyueristic and egotistical to have one of these newfangled blogs. If you are posting shit on the internet, be it about politics or your personal life, you want somebody out there to be interested in it. You want to be watched. But the thing about voyuerism is you usually don't want people you know doing the watching. That is either gross or embarassing or both.

That said, I know that there are a few of you out there in North Carolina, and perhaps some New Yorkers too, who do know me in Real Life. You've found your way here because I've told you about it, so it's not a surprise or revelation. But when I told you about it, I also decreed that you must never tell anyone else about it. So don't. You should never mention this blog, or anything that has to do with it such as links to any form of information about me, to anyone I know or don't know, except me. Allow this to serve as a source of updates on what's happening with me, but The Butch Stroll is heretofor the website That Of Which Shall Not Be Spoken, except to me. *gavel slam*

And now that I say that I'm going to not talk about my own personal melodrama so much anymore.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States of America:


Separated at birth?
Originally uploaded by TerranceDC.
This is from The Repulic of T, and it is absolutely brilliant. Unlike the expression on George's face.

Quebec: The Butch Stroll of Canada

Canada is our nice, quiet neighbor to the north who keeps its lawn nice, but not too many of us are sure what's ever going on up there. The only time most Americans really became "informed" about Canadian politics was when they said they wouldn't blow up the middle east with us, and our boys in Washington were pissed.

Well, being a college educated young man (you didn't think just any jackass was writing this here blog, didja?), I know a thing or two about Canada. For one thing, a lot of people in the French-speaking province of Quebec have been wanting to bail for awhile, and become the independent State of Quebec. Quebec is the Butch Stroll of Canada. They don't speak the same language, they think of themselves as different than the rest of Canadians, and they wanna fucking secede, man. Whether or not they have the moral right to secede is another question altogether. Let me know if you have any questions, I took a class. ;)

Well, just the other day the Guardian reported that Quebec's separatists are counting on a politician who admits to snorting cocaine to win independence, writes Anne McIlroy , further solidifying their hardcore status. He is also openly gay, which was the article reports was "a non-issue" as it should be.

More interesting than the fact that the leader of Quebec's separatists is a coke-snorting homosexual, is the decades-old imagining of an independent Quebec.


Quebeckers are still torn about their future in Canada, but a strong majority believe the province will secede after a third referendum. A recent poll found that the sovereigntists would narrowly win a referendum if voters were asked the same convoluted question about forming a new partnership with Canada that was put to them in 1995; but if they were asked a straight question about independence, as federal law now requires, only about 40% would vote to secede.


In my opinion, this is never going to happen. Canada is a huge land mass, and no matter how different the "culture" of Quebec is, I don't see Canada ever willingly compromising the congruity of its land based on the vote of Quebeckers alone.




Before he can realistically contemplate being the first prime minister of an independent Quebec, however, Mr. Boisclair has a fractious party to unite and inevitable questions about his drug use to answer.




The expression on his face in this picture is not going to help. That is a smile that says "jacked up"...and there's something in the eyes, too...

[thanks to Brad for bringing Canada's Butch Stroll to my attention. Also please note that I am entirely kidding about being at all qualified to write about this, so you should probably trust other sources.]

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Super Juicy

After spending a lot of time in New York City, people become desensitized to those "only in New York" moments. An immunity to the unusual develops, because you come to expect it.

I never developed that immunity. I still get a little tingle when I come out of the ground and see the daylight-at-nighttime of Times Square, when I hear the hustle and bustle of a Saturday night downtown, when I buy my paper in the morning and wait for the bus to take me across the Triboro bridge, when I see the skyline behind the river a thousand feet below. When I realize it is 11:59 and I go to my window and wait for that last minute when the illuminated Empire State Building flicks off. It's a crowded, frustrating and hateful place, but I still love New York. Sometimes, I even stop and watch the street performers. After you've seen fifty different Silver Robot Men it gets tired, but sometimes there are...people of interest.

The other day I finished up at work and got on the subway. I was tired and irritable, happy to have a seat, making a to-do list and balancing my checkbook in my head. Everyone else was similarly involved in their own minds, expressionless, wrapped in their scarves and absorbed in their reading materials.

The doors opened at 103rd Street, and two dreadlock rastas came on board with their big ass drums and fold-up chairs. They took their seats right there in the middle of the train and announced that they intended to bang their drums for us. Before they started, they gave a little tag-team hype-up for the crowd. Some people looked up from their books. Some people tried to ignore it. But they were having no such thing. The bigger of the two insisted the woman across from me smile. The skinny one pointed out the lovebirds who were grinning ear-to-ear. The big one said something in Hebrew (?) to a young guy in a yarmuckle.

Then the doors closed, and they started banging on those drums. Everyone was at full attention. It was the most compelling display of musical talent I have experienced in a long, long time. The skinny one looked directly at me and smiled the whole time. It seemed exhausting, all that drumming, but to those of us on the train, it was energizing. The train stopped, and there was a moment of applause. I put the change from my pocket in the raggady ass hat as they came around for the tips.

The girl member of the lovebirds put a handful of candy in the hat.

The skinny one took one out, unwrapped it, and ate it immediately. He read the wrapper: "Super Juicy!"

The big one made some comment about love and the beauty of it. Then he said, "You see, it's these gifts that mean the most to us, because there are a million things you can give someone besides money."

No sooner had it all started than they were off to the next car, to entertain another slew of dispondent passengers.

I love New York.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

There's not a shortage, just a shortage into me...



I live in New York City. Finding a gay man has never been a problem. [via myspace.com]

Friday, November 18, 2005

MY HOMEGIRLS GONE WILD

I was happy to see ole Madge Ritchie on Primetime Live last night, between stories about violence on college campuses (particularly UNCW where people's parents apparantly think that dorms in the UNC system have "check in desks" and "security officers" and students apparantly don't know how to lock their doors), and Anna-Anna-Anna-Anna-Anna-Nicole-she's-so-outrageous and her crazy ass going all the way to the Supreme Court over her dead husband's money, which, by the way, I have little doubt he ever intended to leave her a cent of.

With Madonna, it's usually the same ole tired ass questions (Kaballah, her husband, how "different" she is these days), and you can tell even she is somewhat irritated with it. Nonetheless, I loved that she regulated on the Primetime lady when she asked "what's this about you having given up the material world?" Madonna said, and I paraphrase, "Look at my house and my clothes, bitch. Do you really think I've given up the material world? I'm just saying I try to put things into perspective these days."

speaking of Kaballah, way way way before I ever heard the word come from Madonna's mouth, there was this batty lady I knew that was all into it. She preached it and would always say how "it's older than the Bible!" Last night on Primetime Live (which was not really live because it was an interview she taped weeks ago when she was in New York) Madonna said that Kaballa "predates religion". I'm telling you, they teach you that line at the Kaballa meetings. Never mind that that is an appeal to tradition, a favorite fallacy of mine, and one that Madonna, if anybody, should be careful to avoid.

In fairness to her though, they do always ask her about it. And whatever trips your trigger, even if I happen to think it's stupid, you know?

In other news, Courtney Love has a daughter to support, a lot of lawyers to pay, and a rehab bill, so she's been working on her new album. This fills me with joy.

Courtney has also returned to Buddhism which strikes me as both a WTF and a very Tina Turner thang to do.

Earlier I ate at KFC, where I ordered a big ole plate of fried grease. It was delicious.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Can't we all just get it on?


Rode Hard, Hung Up Wet

Oh Heidi.

Now I may be proven wrong here, but I don't think Heidi Fleiss is working with a good business plan for the opening of the Cherry Patch Ranch, a legal Nevada brothel that offers the services of "studs" to women. You see, Heidi, the male prostitute industry pretty much depends on the gays. And whether it's gay men or strait women, calling it a "stud farm" is so cheesy (on the same level as stripper "break away" pants) that the proverbial penis of interest in such a thing becomes immediatly flacid. Will rough trade be on the menu? Or are these "sexiest men on Earth" going to be cheese grinning crotch-shaved dorks?

Know your market, that's all I'm saying.

More Dubiously Proud Moments in Blogging

Snow recently pointed out that I am in the top thirty returns for "Riding that train, high on cocaine" on Google. Today via ye olde Sitemeter I discover that I am the number two return.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

For Kevondrala: Council of Divas

This is an email from my dearest Kevondrala, and sheds light onto the metaimaginary fantasy world in which the people in my life live.


from: xxxxxxxx@aol.com
Date: Wed, 16 Nov 2005 19:35:08 EST
Subject: EMERGENCY COUNCIL OF DIVAS MEETING
To: councilofdivas

The DIVA Den's doors are officially opening at 5pm this Saturday, please have your Council of Diva's ID cards and certificates ready upon arrival (not quite sure how this will effect you Jo-Jo, considering that you have yet to do the dance of the seven veils and do not have your official certificate as a result).

Dinner will be served promptly at 7:30. The Grand Empress and Jo-Jo Kaps will be providing and preparing the meal. Mattachine Brooks has be gracious enough to offer to provide baked goods for desert (store bought I'm sure) and The Diva Empress and Robinowitz have been put in charge of alcohol (they will probably get carded and don't you dare go to 7-11). Jo-Jo Kaps has suggested white wine in addition to beer.

Mattachine Brooks will be leading a "sing-a-long" with Madonna's new CD. Drugs, hot men and additional food items are, as always, welcome.

Looking forward to another meeting of the Council of Divas.....


My favorite part is "sore bought I'm sure" because that is of course absolutely right.

In other news, Madonna's new CD is fabulous. When I bought it at Tower Records I asked for the limited edition, but that apparantly does not come out until December 6. I also asked for the "free disco ball" as advertised, but alas, they were out of them.

Tee Dee Dee

Sometimes I get on differnt "kicks" with this little blahg, and what it's about, but it's always about what I call "The Butch Stroll", which is indefinable. In short sometimes it's just about me and what's going on in my life, or "the hum drum", or "shit nobody cares about but me." I'm on one of those kicks. Feel free to skip through those for the good ones. By the way, this is going to be one of those.

The reason I post this little disclaimer is because there are a lot (well, a few) people coming here from my website with my papers (a couple of which I think are pretty good, most of which I think are half ass, many of which are just basically notes on books, and some of which on Wikipedia and are probably much better on that site now than my original or near-original versions). Come back! Sometimes it's interesting, I promise! And email me and tell me how my fabulous little website helped you in English 103! Also, click on a Google ad or two while you're there.

I can tell it's about the middle of the semester and midterms and even finals are in the air. I can almost hear the essay questions of your take-home final exam by your search terms.

And to the person who saved the voodoo paper to your C drive: I know who you are and I saw what you did. You better use that paper for good and not evil. And if you even think about plagiarizing it...well let's just say there might be a lone chicken foot clawing into the screen in your window shortly thereafter. And that's only the beginning of what I will do to your immortal soul. 8-|

In other news:

Got some good work done on my thesis last night, only about 600 more hours and 70 more pages needed to put into it.

Going to purchase Confessions on a Dancefloor today.

Got laundry to pick up.

Might buy a pair of pants today, possibly shoes.

Get out of the cube in 14 minutes and counting.

Our Regularly Scheduled Pogrom

The Butch Stroll word of the day is: pogrom.

Here at The World Church of Assimilation, there are countless times per day that I have to type the word "program". The word "program" is pretty close to "pogrom", only the matter of a transposed letter here and substituted vowel there. So I have this nagging, irrational fear that I am going to type "pogrom" instead of "program" and spell-check won't catch it. I cannot imagine having to explain to the WCA Board of Directors why they recieved a mailing updating them on the finances and implementation of any "pogrom" we're conducting: "Immigrant Services Pogrom a Huge Success!", "Substance Abuser Pogrom Fundraiser" and so on.

Monday, November 14, 2005

One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you...

Everyone knows I love Madonna. As I have stated countless times before, I have a loyalty to her like no other entertainment figure or celebrity. I have been a fan and supporter since I was a young child. If her image is on a magazine, I have to purchase it. If her machine is going on tour, I will financially cripple myself and steal from my future in order to aquire tickets. I listen attentively to her interviews. I humor her (to an extent) with the Kabbalah rambling. Tomorrow I will sneak out of work to purchase her new CD. I'll even get behind her on this outfit:

madonnapurple

But, even I can criticize Our Lady. I honestly can't sign my name to this:

madonnasilverymess

It looks like she should be singing "These Boots are Made for Walking", not "Hung Up". I think there are some seventies fashions worth salvaging--I mean, bring back bell bottoms, but keep this shiny poofy sleaved high colored pony in the stable.

(Photos from Madonnalicious and Madonna.nu)

The Things I Tell Myself

Got my school computer account up and running, paid my tuition, and patiently waiting for my validation sticker via USPS. I'm here in the lab just testing things out, because tomorrow I'm going to sit my ass here until I have ten pages of thesis written. I'm only about three months behind. I work well under pressure...right? What's motivating me is not academic integrity or intellectual ambition. At this point, I just want the signature that says "pass" so I can get tuition reimbursement and BE DONE WITH THIS SCHOOL SHIT TO NEVER BE SEDUCED BACK INTO IT.

Meanwhile I am having a profound sense of insecurity regarding my job, and major performance anxiety. Sometimes I feel like the kid who never learned to read that bluffed his way all through high school, then gets to college and finds it's harder to keep up the front. Maybe that's the case with graduate school itself for that matter. Maybe I really can't read...maybe I'm just one of the lucky infinite monkeys in front of infinite typewriters?

Sunday, November 13, 2005

I have been known to throw the goat myself...

Metal Council Convenes To Discuss 'Metal Hand Sign' Abuse


"The metal sign, or 'sign of the goat,' has all but lost its impact as a token of respectful recognition for something truly 'rocking' or 'metal,'" SMC president Terence "Geezer" Butler said. According to Butler, members are upset that their sacred gesture is being used to acknowledge and celebrate "favorable but clearly non-metal events."

Saturday, November 12, 2005

The damn French, always having a revolution...

I just wrote the most brilliant thing ever about France, but it was lost in the posting process. I had solved all of their problems and ours here in the U.S.A. Damn you blogger. Note to self--start writing your diatribes in notepad first.

Basically, what I was saying is that what is happening in France is the perfect opportunity for Brits and Americans alike to say "nya-nya-nya-boo-boo" to France. Since its refusal to join the "War on Terror", France has been held up as this model of peaceful, liberal society. Now, with the explosion of rioting that is largely downplayed by the media, we see that France, like the U.S., has a huge problem of race and inequality. I will venture to say that the idea of what a "Frenchman" is is more ingrained in the minds of the French than the idea of what an "American" is ingrained in the minds of white America. Further, the fact that the rioters are Muslims provides the opportunity for those who support the Iraq war to say, "Should've joined up, bitches!"

That the rioters in France are Muslims, however, is only a part of the reason they are rioting. The relation between Islam and the riots is that they are rioting because they feel the injustice they deal with stems from their being Muslim, which it does. I think to most French the huge people-of-color Muslim population is an issue of both "out of sight, out of mind" and "as long as they're not in my back yard." Their Muslim problem is different from the Islamic terrorist problem. Their Muslim rioting is different from the Islamic terrorism that the "War on Terror" purports to be ending.
It predates 9/11, the War on Iraq, and Al Queda's jihad against the West. Indeed, it goes back for thirty years.

Here is a quote in which the commentator takes some pot shots but I think he's right:


Alain Duhamel, political commentator: “The French Republic wanted to show the world that with its secular values, its schooling system, its language, its history, its universal principles and its strong State it was capable of transforming any foreigner, from any continent, whatever the colour of his skin and whatever his religious beliefs, into a true patriotic Gaul with a moustache and a tendency to moan.

“This methodical assimilation is one of the keys of the famous, indisputable French exception.

“Other countries — the United States, Great Britain, Germany, Holland, Canada — had chosen the different route of multiculturalism and communitarism. They accepted, they encouraged immigrants to cling to their culture, their language, their memory, their original habits. They gave them a margin of autonomy, of self-organisation. They admitted, they proclaimed, they facilitated these differences.

“In France, the republican melting pot, this mysterious and unique receptacle, sought the opposite. From multiple immigrants, it strove to form a single type of citizen. For a long time, Paris observed race riots and fighting in countries having opted for communitarism with gloating superiority.

“Today, it is its turn to cry over its burning model.”


While I think he is overemphasising how well these other countries "facilitated these differences", and while I do think that a certain degree of assimilation is necessary to fare in any new place, I do agree that in the U.S. and other countries, the policies of multiculturalism have fared better than the French's assimilation. They were a little too proud about how well that worked.

I'm in no way endorsing what the rioters are doing, or that France should blame itself (which it has been doing indirectly). Frankly, I think the French should squash it. Put the curfews into effect, and arrest anyone breaking the curfew. Deal with the problems from which it stems after you've secured your cities from burning to the ground.

But to be gleeful about this is a sign of American arrogance. We should have nothing against France, a country that has historically helped us and that we have helped as well. The thought that we don't have our own problems of inequality and race is itself the manifestation of racism. Hurricane Katrina exposed a part of that, and the ensuing violence is a cousin of the kind of violence that is happening in France. Our racial problems are not only focused on recent immigrants and second generation immigrants, but people who have been here for generations, and are just as American as apple pie and baseball. Do people who are knee slapping and saying "see!" in regards to France think that we don't have huge blocks of people that have the same reasons to get pissed off and go buck wild? I think many people do. These are people that also wrongly believe we don't need to clean our own act up or face a riotous revolution of our own...

Friday, November 11, 2005

BREAKING UP IS HARD TO DO

Nedstatbasic, aka Webstats4u, is dead to me. It took me a while to figure out that by adding their code to this here blog, not to mention about four million webpages, I gave them the entry way to throw pop ups (pop ups!) at my visitors. I have washed my hands of them. They will soon be removed from all of my internet property.

In other news I am in passport hell, as my boss has changed her name after her recent marriage. For the women out there let me advise you to keep your name, not to make any feminist statement about your identity but to save yourself a fucking hassle. If anyone knows any secrets of navigating the State Department's Passport Agency, I'm all ears.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Stop Bitching

I have been interested in the growth of "hip hop's" "stop snitching" movement for a while. The most popular of the "stop snitching" t-shirts is the one that has a stop-sign on it, with the word "snitching" underneath.

Another of my many t-shirt ideas is to make a parody of this shirt that says, "Stop Bitching".

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Professor...uh...

I guess you'd just call him Professor Fun.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

"The Republic Is At An Hour Of Truth"

The above sounds so surreal, like something from Star Wars or Mad Max. But it is in fact a quote from French Prime Minister Dominique de Villepin regarding the continuing riots happening all over France. There is, or at least has been, concern that they may erupt in other European countries. Indeed, France is in deep shit.

The reason the quote sounds so surreal is that there has been no real "moment of truth" in my memory. I remember the Berlin Wall coming down. I remember the collapse of the Soviet Union. But I havn't been around for any real government overthrow, at least not in Europe. It wasn't that long ago, in 1968, when, from what I understand, the government was basically ran out of office. When the Prime Minister says, "this is the hour of truth," that, to me, sounds like "holy shit, they're going to run us out of office."

At risk of being offensive or conveying opinions that are easily misinterpreted, I won't address the Muslim aspect of this, which is basically that most of the rioters are Muslims, except to say that there is something to be said for advocating a degree of assimilation into the culture, and regulating immigration. Inequality or not, I hardly doubt that if the shoe were on the other foot the Muslims governments would blame themselves.

Anti-Democratic Activity In Queens.

So I just voted. And I was totally rushed by an impatient jackass of an old man who came in behind me. There was no one in there when I arrived, so I was a quick zip through after a brief explanation of why I'm on the roll twice. (Actually I don't know how that happened, but I told them to take one off and make sure no one impersonates me. Perhaps my evil twin is behind this, or the aliens.)

Anyway, there are four ammendments to vote on, so I'm reading them carefully before I give them the go. Jackass Oldman behind me, says something, and I'm like "Huh?" Then the little mildly retarded polling man (I don't say that to be mean, he really was mildly retarded)stops him from basically harassing me. So I continue reading. Then J. Oldman says, "How long does it take to push the buttons?" and I, being very frustrated by this affront to informed voting, announce, "I'M READING THE AMMENDMENTS." To which M. Retarded replies, "There are other people waiting, sir." Is it my fault they have ONE booth at PS 171? Is it my fault I was a few minutes earlier than J. Oldman and Random Girl?!

So I felt all rushed and I'm not sure I made the right decisions on the proposals to ammend the ammendments. Of course I should have been more knowledgeable about them before I got to the polls, but I'm busy, just like J. Oldman -- who was apparantly in a big fucking hurry to get the 99 cent store, where I saw him when all was said and done.

Monday, November 07, 2005

IN THE NEWS.

France to impose curfew to quell rioting. Seriously, I've been saying this should be the next step for days. I should be running France.

Meanwhile, Riots Not Yet Hurting Tourism in France. However, it is only a matter of time before marauding rioters and burning towns leads to a cancelled flight or two.

In Texas, the town of White Settlement is Split Over Vote to Change Name. I say, call it "Cracker City" and ruffle feathers all around. ;)

Alien abduction and other matters

Recently, a rapist posing as a firefighter has been a Top Story of the New York tabloids. Today, the New York Post featured an article entitled "Loser Lusts for Front Page". Of course, this is on the front page of the NY Post, which thereby actively satiates the rapist's lust.

In other news, Pink Is The New Blogger Trent has a New York Times article about him. That might be the ultimate mark of blog success.

In other news, when I bought the down comforter I didn't know the ghosts of the dead birds would take their revenge by making it painfully pokey. Seriously, some of the stems of those feathers poke through the fibers and pierce my flesh. I've bled. It's getting intolerable. I need a duvet cover.

Speaking of my flesh, I have this little round circle-thing hapening under my left pectoral/breast. It bothers me, though it is not painful or itchy. It is flat, perfectly round, a little smaller than a penny. It kind of looks like those scars people from the Old School got from their polio shots, though it is not deep like that. The only sense I can make of this thing's sudden appearance is that I was abducted by aliens, they did some tests, and marked me for future studies.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Texas Mac & Cheese

I smoked a cigarette, put a beer in a coozy, popped a speed pill and went and ran the New York Marathon today. I came in a close second. It felt great.

Here is a secret recipe, I like to call "Stroll's Texas Mac & Cheese":

Fix Velveeta Mac & Cheese.
Dump a jar of Tostito's salsa in.
Stir.
Serves two, despite the box saying it serves four.

A Night Out: Definately Not The Butch Stroll

I'm tired of hearing how Astoria is this "up and coming" neighborhood. Come UP already. Let's get some action in this neighborhood, can we do that, girls?

Last night S.D.A. and I went to the new gay bar (which makes it the gay bar) here in A-town. At the door they pat you down. Then you enter and there are about ten people there. Seriously, who is there to shoot? What's with the pat down?

By the way, if I hear that 4/4 salsa beat one more time I'm going to lose my shit. When I lived in Washington Heights, at any hour of day or night, if you listened closely, you could hear it. The bar, known as "Trends", gave me flashbacks. I had to drink like 18 vodka-sodas to tolerate it. Goes down easy but what a bang.

The male bartender was hot. I'll give 'em that.

The female bartender motioned for me and S.D.A. to come closer together so she could take a picture. I imagine this is to put on their website or in the local publications to give the illusion that a lot of people were there, that they have a little scene or whatever. I declined the phot-op because, after all, my brand comes with a price. I mean, I don't put my name on just anything. God knows I don't want to show up in Twist magazine or some shit like that. It's hard enough trying to be photogenic in general, much less in glossy pages of gay rags.

We stopped for a slice on the way home. Some loser yelled "faggots" at us from a dirty white SUV. I thanked him for noticing, and then went to bed.

Saturday, November 05, 2005

You're only coming through in waves...

I have done everything possible today to keep from writing my thesis, and I have succeeded in doing just that -- not writing my thesis.

Today I had Dim Sum, The Butch Stroll of Brunch, with Kevondrala.

Then we did a little shopping. I was going to buy one of those graffittied hats that the kids are wearing these days, personalized with "Butch Stroll", but I decided against it.

Then I came back to Queens, where I fiddled around, finally started cleaning up my room, took the trash out and cleaned the trash can in which something brown and nasty had spilled, and sat around smoking cigs and downloading random shit on the internet [quicktime].

And while I could not bring myself to write on my thesis, I have all the papers, documents, emails, and websites that will go into it nicely organized. Well, not so nicely, but somewhat organized.

From The Saints' Guide to Happiness by Robert Ellsberg:

Like St. Augstine before him, Pascal saw human beings as torn between a desire for happiness and an innate confusion about where to find it.


I know that's right.

The Butch Stroll word of the day is slugabed.

Saturday Song Lyrics
"At Seventeen"
by Janis Ian

I leaned the truth at seventeen
that love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear-skinned smiles
who married young and then retired.
The valentines I never knew,
the Friday night charades of youth
were spent on one more beautiful.
At seventeen I learned the truth.

And those of us with ravaged faces,
lacking in the social graces,
desperatly remained at home,
inventing lovers on the phone
who called to say, "Come dance with me,"
and murmured vague obscenities.
It isn't all it seems
at seventeen.

A brown-eyed girl in hand-me-downs
whose name I never could pronounce
Said, "Pity, please, the ones who serve;
they only get what they deserve.
The rich relationed hometown queen
marries into what she needs.
A guarantee of company
and haven for the elderly."

Remember those who win the game
lose the love they sought to gain.
In debentures of quality
and dubious integrity.
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
in dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received
at seventeen.

To those of us who know the pain
of valentines that never came,
and those whose names were never called
when choosing sides for basketball.
It was long ago and far away;
the world was much younger than today
and dreams were all they gave away for free
to ugly duckling girls like me.

We all play the game and when we dare
to cheat ourselves at solitaire.
Inventing lovers on the phone,
repenting other lives unknown
that call and say, "Come dance with me,"
and murmur vague obscenities
at ugly duckling girls like me
at seventeen.

Friday, November 04, 2005

Zzzzzzzzz

I want to write about the spreading Muslim riots in France, the violence in Ethiopia, President Bush's visit to Argentina and the ensuing protests, and all about Plan B, but I'm too dang tired. So I'm going to bed at 9:30 on a Friday night.

Like the song says, "She works hard for the money so you better treat her right."

Tomorrow I'll be thesising.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Dubiously Proud Moments in Blogging

I am the fourth site returned from the MSN search for "riding that train, high on cocaine."

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Halloween Kicked Ass


Sith Drag 11
Originally uploaded by butch stroll.
On Friday I told the Big Big Boss that I would like to take Monday off. She laughed and asked if I were planning on going to the parade. I said yes, an she said, "Of course you can have the day off."

I loved the attention that only an eight foot tall Darth Vader in black spandex and gold dangly things can attract. At first I was a little timid about, um, exposing myself as such on these here streets of Queens, but once I wisked past the neighbors--none of whom I ever see except when I am in a fucking cat suit of course--I got on the street and realized I shouldn't be scared--I'm scary. I was menacing. Getting downtown was full of gasps and oohs and ahs.

I was with my cousin Lito, the Starfleet Captain. People continously snapped pictures, shouted out to us, stopped us on the street, and in general celebrated the Sith.

Though I could only see the fuzzy blur of camera flashes through the tented eyes of the mask, I managed to hold my own and give a little runway or two down the streets as people parted like the red sea. Jaws were kind of dropped. Of course, my entire head was concealed under a two piece black plastic helmet, but I gave the body honey. Mama gave the body.

I have to say I worked it out with my costume, and sadly the batteries in my camera died so I only have photos from the night before courtesy of S.D.A. and my hallway. Please don't notice how dingy the walls look. We're gonna paint soon.

In other news I have gathered a variety of papers I've written over the years to insert directly into my thesis, which should have been started about three months ago. It will be a Frankenstein-like thesis, but it'll do. I'm going to start writing more this weekend. The temptation to just quit is almost overwhelming.

At work, I busted balls today. I'm running that place and I think they all secretly know it.