Friday, September 29, 2006

Blogger's being all wierd.

Won't post and won't republish. :(

The Internet Surfs Back...

The other day I visited the website for Lane Bryant (the plus size woman's store, I have a perfectly reasonable explanation and no, it wasn't for anything I planned on wearing). Now several sites throughout the internet are showing me Lane Bryant ads...a lot of Lane Bryant ads. Freaky.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Re: America's Next Top Model Elimination

Her momma died keeping her warm on a crashed plane and now this.

This world is so unkind.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Bedbug Update: Ralph Lauren

In my continuing effort to bring you information on bedbugs and their ilk, I turn you to the NY Post's report that fashion house Ralph Lauren is infested with bed bugs! (Remember, they're not just for beds anymore.) The article does spread some disinformation, though. Bedbugs are not invisible, Page Six, they are just small and hard to find/see. As they do not tend to come out in the daylight (unless it's a really bad infestation), it is unusual that the staff are having bites. If that's the case, the sad part of this story is not that they have to exterminate the offices, but that the staff probably all have them in their homes now. They're known for hitchiking. Cheers, RL.

I mean, it wouldn't stop me from shopping at Ralph Lauren (not that I would anyway). But this might stop me from shopping at Marc Jacobs.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Scene: Boss Lady is Away at Big Event.

1:15 PM: Speak to hotel regarding difficulties and confusion regarding rooming list for Big Event, and, as directed every five minutes via telephone from Boss Lady, am in contact with the events coordinator there who has the voice of a twelve year old girl. At end of conversation she mentions how nice Boss Lady is and what a pleasure she is to work with.

4:30 PM: Recieve reports that events coordinator has been reduced to tears by Boss Lady.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

50's Gay Scare in Greensboro, NC

This article from the Greensboro News & Record is a fascinating look at the lives of gay people in Greensboro, NC in the 1950's. Greensboro is no gigantic city today, but in the 50's it was much smaller, I'm sure, and light years away from the relatively "nice" area that it is today even though it was still then the third largest city in NC.

Greensboro is also famous for the sit-in movement--the original Woolworth's is now a civil rights museum.

From the article:

In 1957, Greensboro was, as now, the third-largest city in North Carolina. The difference was, instead of 238,000 residents, it had less than a third of that population.

It was just a town, a town poised, like the rest of the country, on the brink of a social sea change — civil rights, women's rights, sexual revolution. And as if braced for the floodwaters, the 1950s were the most rigidly conformist decade of the century.

In the society pages, women continued to be identified by their husbands' names — "Mrs. John Smith" — and any story mentioning a black person took care to specify race — "a Negro."

At a time when newspapers had only recently ventured to publish the word "rape," and when the discovery of a moonshine operation could still lead the local news, the word "homosexual" never appeared. It wasn't merely taboo. It was practically unheard of.

"People talked about 'sissies' and 'queers.' But we had no idea what they did," recalled Eleanor Dare Kennedy, who in the mid-1950s was a college student and a police reporter for the Greensboro Daily News.

On her morning rounds to gather items for the police blotter in the years before the '57 trials, Kennedy one day happened upon a report of a "crime against nature" and asked the shift commander what that meant.

"I honestly thought someone had done something to a tree," Kennedy said, recalling the commander snatching the report out of her hands. "He said, 'You can't write a story about that. Send a man over here.' "

Not that homosexuality was unknown on the national scene. The massive mobilization of World War II created what many historians conclude was the first awareness by gays that they were part of a group.

File under Fascinating WTF

I really want everyone I have ever known and will ever meet to see this, because it has changed my life forever, and I'm not sure why.



"Little Superstar" is, I hear, an Indian sensation, the Shirley Temple of Bollywood. The full grown man is Rajnikanth, a star of Tamil (not Bollywood) movies. Also please note in the back, the darkest skinned of the bunch (the one with a mullet). A "little person" too, I believe, and jammin his damn self.

PS, if you listen closely, it's "Holiday" to which he's dancing. Not sure who is rapping over top...please fill in any and all blanks for me on this bizzare, amazing piece of footage.

He kills me with the slow-motion, the snake, and that big ass grin.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

The Dog Days of Summer

Last night I went out drinking a little, and afterwards, a little buzzed and feeling the pretty night, I walked to the park. I sat on a bench for a minute looking at the river, when I noticed a dog without its human roaming around. It was sniffing through the grass and after comtemplating this for a minute, I whistled for it and it came over to me. It was some kind of golden retriever mix, seemed a little old, but very sweet. I checked it's collar, which said its name was Casey and it had a cell phone number. It also had a tag that said it had its rabies vaccination which was reassuring.

Thinking that if anyone had intentionally abandoned their dog in Astoria Park, they would have had the sense to remove its collar, I called the number and got some dude's voicemail. I left a message saying that I was with his dog in the park, and would wait with the dog--making sure it didn't run into the street to get splattered by the crazy drivers on that strip despite the whale sized speed bumps--until he called me back to come get the bitch. After a little while Casey grew tired of me holding onto its collar (his? hers? With a name like Casey I was unsure and wasn't ready to do a gynecological inspection through its shaggy fur).

So I walked alongside Casey around the sidewalk, and she (let's call it a she) crossed the street to a fenced in yard on the corner. She was sniffing around the fence, and then walked around the edge to the gate, which was loosely closed and kind of rickety. She stuck her head through, and tried to enter, but couldn't fit.

I asked Casey if this was her house and of course she did not respond. I saw through the window some man sitting at a computer, but rather than call through the open window asking "IS THIS YOUR DOG?!", I called the cell phone again which again went unanswered. So I pulled forward a little bit on the gate and Casey went through, around the side of the house where she pushed the door open and entered. Then she came back out and just sat in the yard, content. I figured she knew what she was doing and that it must be her house, and if not at least she was inside a fence away from the traffic.

I called the number again, left a message about what I had done, and went home smelling like a damn dog.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

WOP (With Out Pimps): My Otha Ride (Is Your Man)

"To the KFC...down the BQE...I'll ride your fvckin' man through the next century..."

lol

So in love with this:



You can see the documentary on WOP here.

[Thanks to Jo Jo K]

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Baby Cried the Day the Circus Came to Town...

There was some HEAVY drug use going on in the 80's, not the least of which was on the set of The Muppet Show:

Don't Cry Out Loud...Just Keep It Inside...Learn How To Hide Your Feelings...

Newsflash: The Pope is supposed to think the religion he leads is superior to Islam. And that's not even what he said. I am not a fan of Catholicism or the Pope for that matter, but the man, in his capacity as Pope, is just doing the job he's expected to do by the billion Catholics of the world. The Muslims act like they want him to convert to Islam...oh yeah, they do. They do not show Catholicism the reverence they expect Christians et al to show Mohommad and their religion--people who are not practicioners of that religion.

There is already violence erupting from the Muslim outrage over the Pope's statements
(of course there is), similar to what happened regarding those damned cartoons. The thing that irritates me the most about the "debate" over the cartoons and the subsequent violence is that most of the non-Muslim world who support freedom of speech emphasised the fact that they weren't meant to offend! They were just making some kind of point. I hold that it doesn't matter if they were meant to offend (which maybe they were). In the free world, outside of theocracies, where freedom of speech is a right and a value we hold dear, people can say things that are going to offend you, and you don't get to blow shit up because you're a fucking cry baby. There are endlessly offensive-to-Christian things in the popular culture and the media, yet there is not an expected wave of violence and jihad that follows.

The thread at Unfogged is interesting, and number 15 of that thread "gets it exactly right", as the kids say.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

I see her a lot on the West Side being very ... normal.

This morning at 9:00 AM I saw Cynthia Nixon of "Sex and the City" fame on an uptown #1 train with her cute kid on her lap, both soaking wet from the rain, as I got off at 116th Street. Where she could have been headed above 116 with her kid, who knows?

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

In case you did not know or have not yet been made aware of the fact that...

You can now reach this blahg via thebutchstroll.com.

(I had $8.99 burning a hole in my pocket.)

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Six Degrees of Seperation

Wow.

I never knew that "six degrees of seperation" is an idea that actually came from experiments done in the social sciences, and has long been believed to be a well-documented, proven theory.

As soon as I learn this is as soon as I learn that it has recently come to light that the academic who "proved" it by sending letters from people through at-least-first-name aquaintences to total strangers on the other end, and thereafter coined the term "six degrees of seperation", fudged his results.

Man...where was "peer review" when this "study" came out? It seems like even a casual look at the research would have spotted red flags.

Still, as the article says, the concept of "six degrees" is a "reasonable hope"...just not a "fact".

via blog.bioethics.net

Monday, September 11, 2006

Do I have a speech impediment?

I like to remain relatively anonymous on this here blahg, but I’m going to tell a story about my first name, which I have not disclosed herein, but which is not that hard to figure out if you are even the tiniest bit sleuthy.

When I tell people my first name, people hear all kinds of things, from Thad, to Brad, to Jack, to Chit, to Chat, to Chet, to Shad to countless other variations (which are not even really variations, just four random letters that are not the four random letters of my actual name, which is Chad).

I can’t figure this out. Some people at work have called me “Jack” for years. And at this point, I just don’t correct them.

Similarly, my regular drink order is vodka and soda. Somehow, bartenders inevitably hear “vodka and 7Up,” which is fucking nasty. Upon first sip you just think they squeezed the lime really hard, but after the second you realize they’ve made you a disgusting beverage of “all natural” carbonated soda and el cheapo vodka.

Obligatory 9/11 Anniversary Post

On 9/11/2001 I was in my office building on 120th Street and Broadway watching things unfold. Within minutes of the news getting out, I had received instant-messages and emails from countless people, people as close to me as my mom and dad, and people that I hadn’t heard from in years, people I only knew from the internet, etc.

As I work for a religious organization, everyone was summoned, first, to pray. Then everyone was summoned to Human Resources where we were all told to try to get home. I walked about fifty blocks and all the way across Central Park to meet my friend, with whom we tried to figure out how to get back to Astoria. Finally the 7 train was running, it was stuffed full of people, all of them sitting and standing in silence, looking out the window at the hole in the skyline filled with smoke as the train comes above ground at Queensboro Plaza. When we got to my house, we went up on the roof and stood in awe at the destruction that was so far away, but so close.

The next day I took the mayor’s direction, which was don’t go to work if the place isn’t going to shut down without you. At the time I had my own apartment on Broadway (the Queens’ one) and I looked out the window on 9/12 at the sea of American flags that had emerged over night. I bought a little American flag myself. I still have it in a cup of pens that sits on the shelf of my cube.

I will always remember sitting in the 15th Floor Conference room, which has a huge window that faces downtown, with all my co-workers, watching the World Trade Center Twin Towers--The World Trade Center!--crumble into the ground leaving behind a mass of smoke. I remember having thoughts that bothered me, thoughts that it was too soon to be having, thoughts that I couldn’t keep from popping into my head—thoughts like “does this mean I’ll be able to afford an apartment downtown now?” and “I wonder if my flight to Florida later this month is ever gonna leave the ground now”. Selfish thoughts.

I told my co-worker and dear friend K-rock, as we left work that day, that I wasn’t feeling any emotion about what was happening. She and I being more alike than different in the ways that matter wasn’t either. It wasn’t that I didn’t care what was happening, I just wasn’t emotional about it beyond a little bit of fear and a little bit “those poor people” and a little bit of “I love my country…whatever’s good or bad about it, I love this fucking country, man.”

But somehow here we are five years later, everything has sunk in, the world has changed, and I have changed, and the future is never certain and more uncertain than it has ever been, in my lifetime at least, on a personal and a global level. My eyes tear up a little bit now, on September 11, 2006, when I think about September 11, 2001.

What has become of this City when you can’t find thigh-high black leather boots with a five-inch heel in size 14?

Friday I went looking, and there were many styles that I liked, but none in large enough a size for my hooves. One man said he could order some but seemed resistant to doing so, and he also pissed me off by implying that I’d do better with a four inch heel in terms of being able to walk. There are very few things in this world that I’m good at, but I can walk in heels, thank you very much.

I found a pair online, at the no-confusion-about-product-or-population-served named website drag-queen.com, that would work nicely (the need is Halloween related by the way), but the problem with buying things online is of course that you can’t try it on first.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Doing a Little Test Here

What the heck is a Linky Winky?

It's not a Tinky Winky, that's for sure.




Main Page

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Willi Ninja's Obituary in the NY Post: Irritating to Say the Least

Similar to their article on the Kevin Aviance gay bashing wherein he was referred to as a "drag queen" [a term which he himself may use to describe himself, but which minimizes the fact that he is not a lipsyncer but rather a #1 Billboard recording artist among other things], the NY Post has a brief article about the death of Willi Ninja today, and its really kind of irritating.

September 6, 2006 -- The godfather of "voguing" has struck his final pose.

Dancer Willi Ninja, the star of the documentary "Paris is Burning" and the man who inspired Madonna's "Vogue" music video and a fad for posing, model- like, mid-dance, has died at 45, relatives said yesterday. He died Saturday of AIDS-related illnesses at New York Hospital, Queens.

"He was a great cultural influence to me and hundreds of thousands of other people," Madonna said.


First of all, as Madonna herself said at the end, he was more than a “Madonna muse”, he was a “cultural influence to … hundreds of thousands of … people.” I suppose that a subcultural and/or counter-cultural figure like Willi Ninja would have to be presented by a mainstream media outlet as something relatable to the majority via his relation to household name that made famous his art form. What’s more irritating is that the Post refers to voguing as a “fad”, when it has in fact been around since before Madonna and has carried on long after her song “Vogue”, albeit mainly in circles of urban black gay men. As a post I linked to earlier says, “Bette Davis [or Madonna for that matter] had little to do with”, what is known as ball culture.

Monday, September 04, 2006

It's so much more than a cheese.

I've had this inexplicable craving for pimento cheese for a few days now. This brought about the realization that your average deli does not serve pimento cheese sandwhiches. If I ever owned a deli or a bagel place or something like that, I would definatly offer pimento cheese. Now I'm going to go to the grocery store which hopefully will have Stans in their cheese section.

Update: Neither of my two neighborhood grocery stores carry it!

This is the reason I love Jackson Heights so much:

It is absolutely random. For example, last night at that bastion of class and illustriousness known as “The Music Box”, the Latin American hits ceased playing, and all of the sudden Simply the Best came on. Not just the song “Simply the Best,” but the entire CD. I wondered if the bartender was responsible. Is a love of Tina Turner something we have in common? He is a very pretty man, though very masculine, relatively speaking, and good looking enough to intimidate me but friendly enough to make me feel like that special drunk at the bar. And I ask you, really, what does love got to do with it?

I believe that all this going out and being rowdy is in fact related to the death of summer. Today it looks like someone has put the jumper cables on summer’s heart, but I know that, as the song says, the summer is out of reach. So I’m just trying to round out such a fun summer with some old-fashioned drunken ass slapping and bad decision-making. For example, last week I innocently wound up in LeFrak City, which is surprisingly nice on the inside. Just has what we call a “bad reputation”.

When I left, I stopped by a deli to buy a soda before trying to find a cab, and this young white guy came in all filled with machismo and anger, and when I tried to slide by him against the drink refrigerators, he was all puffed up and seemingly hostile. I was like, "whatever", because I am generally not afraid of heterosexual aggression and "bad neighborhood" thug types unless they expose weapons. Anyway, as I was paying and fixing to leave, he announces to the Arab store clerk that his "diamond" encrusted cross necklace cost "SIX G'S! SIX G'S! WHAT?" and kept going on and on about it, concluding with, "WHO WANTS TO ROB ME? WHO WANTS TO ROB ME?" It was truly baffling, because there were a few other people in the store who looked like they in fact would want to rob him. For that cheap ass, tacky necklace. I mean, if you have to brag about what's hanging around your neck, valuable or not, then you have self-esteem issues that no amount of money could fix. And if you're so rich then why the hell are you living in the LeFrak neighborhood, probably with your mom, instead of, say, Astoria Queens? (I kid.)

Earlier that night this guy that had been looking at me and came up to me, shook my hand, and said something to me in Spanish that I couldn’t really hear over the loudness. Then he and his friends disappeared into the night, as did I.

Well when I stepped out to smoke last night I saw him again in a total “Papa Don’t Preach” moment, the part where the chulos walk by and Madonna and her girlfriends are being all coy against the railing. Later, after losing interest in the bar, I went down the block to Atlantis, inside of which I saw them again, and then caught off guard, I felt a tug at my arm and it was him! Sadly it as a crowded area near the dance floor, he was with friends, and it was all too claustrophobic for me so I gave my signature wink and kept moving. Then their little drag show started and it was all over. I went to Tacolandia which is delicious but probably not living up to any kind of Department of Health standards as it is an open air style grill. Then I saw the police blocking off the block that Friends Tavern is on. I received two separate reports about what was happening. 1) a “suspicious package” was inside, and 2) Stonewall 2006.

In other news, Willy Ninja died. Here is a nice tribute.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Okay, Two.

In the previous entry in which I offered up my two cents on the most recent episode of Project Runway, I have to admit that I had only caught the end, the final elimination in Paris. Now that I have had to the opportunity to see that episode about 600 times in re-runs, I have a better appreiciation for the fashions created. I still kind of stand by what I said, but...I guess the judges are right that Uli is a one trick pony. Also, Michael's outfit was not so plain, it was actually kind of cool, something I would wear though I avoid white pants in general. Whatever.

In other news, have you seen that painfully cheesy Bailey's commercial with the young, upwardly mobile black urbanites at a casual gathering/party type thing, and the one guy keeps dropping the ice while the woman from Girlfriends looks on? Then all the other party-goers start with good natured jabs at him for not being able to get the ice out of the ice bucket with the claw, and then he finally pours the Bailey's into the ice bucket and drinks directly from the bucket with a straw? Then all the partygoers are like, "Hey man," "Oooh SNAP," "I hope you got more ice," etc? As if it were brilliant and funny, and such a Kodak moment of humor among friends?

I imagine that as a Dave Chappelle skit in which the partygoers are all like, "YO, my n*gga, WHAT THE FUCK?"

Cause you know that is more realistic.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Okay.

Because on Wednesday night I was busy getting drunk, biting someone's tounge, slapping someone in the face after accusing him of trying to steal my wallet, being told that one should never rub a black man's head, and in general being way, way too rowdy at least for a weeknight, and because on Thursday my little co-worker friend said to me "You look like you had a long night," while I was thinking that I actually looked quite good considering the facts of the night before and amazed that I was on time (only two minutes late, thank you), I missed Project Runway. I just saw the episode because Bravo likes to give viewers the option of watching each episode hundreds of thousands of times.

I have to say:

Michael (who is my favorite--I am absolutely in love with him) sadly did not deserve all that praise for his outfit, as it was pretty simple. Nice, but just kind of plain.

Similarly, Jeffrey (who is not my favorite) kind of won me over with the skull as I'm a fan of incorporating skeletal remains into fashion, but still. The pants were tabby, the little half-jacket thing was TIRED and it was overall unflattering, but of course he has a heinous paragraph that no one is sure what it says other than Detroit on the whole front of his neck, so flattering might not even possible for him.

Uli should have won! Her dress was fabulous! It travelled well, it was colorful, and it fit her beautifully. I reitterate: Uli should have one.

I'm sad to see Angela go because I did like her, I think she's gotten a bad rap throughout the show, and she sometimes was surprisingly good with the outfit-making. Her outfit this time was indeed ridiculous but, I'm still sad.

In other news, it's been rainy and nasty here, and it looks like it might be like that for the next few days over the long weekend. Everyone at work asks the standard "what are your plans for the weekend" question, but for me, I make my big plans during times when people are generally not leaving the city. During times, like Labor Day weekend when everyone leaves, that's when I like to be here. It's kind of surreal. Hopefully everyone had made their plans and put their deposits on their rentals in the Hamptons or whatever the fuck people do for Labor Day, and the rain won't keep the masses in town. I am going to use this time to clean this pit of despair. But tonight fun will be had...shall it be the Heights of Jackson, or the Depths of Astoria? We shall see. The night is young.

Also, yesterday in the cube I watched the documentary Living Dolls: The Making of a Child Beauty Queen in its entirity on you tube. I am absolutely fascinated with children's beauty pageants, though thoroughly creeped out by them (the adult ones as well). Still, the narrative of the documentary is compelling. I couldn't help but root for little Swan and her crazy mother, who seems sincere in wanting a really awesome future for her daughter, though misguided. As her mother notes in the movie, beautiful Swan really does look a lot like Jonbenet, which, given the new "developments" in that case is wierd-out city. The creepiest of them all is Leslie, about whom her gay father proclaims "is and always will be a legend in this industry". She is so sexualized, right down to the look in her eyes.

Wait, I take that back: the creepiest of all are the eighteen months old little girls who are carried out onto the stage by their mothers to compete in pageants. That, to me, crosses a line that children's beauty pageants for "older" kids only comes close to crossing.

I am up for a promotion.

Given that a certain someone in a certain position, one that I really really want, gets a position that he has applied for, I will be able to apply. In answer to my question as to whether or not I would even be considered for the position based on my experience and work history, my boss's reply was, "Absolutely."

In the meantime, so many nerves to work, so little time.

Was just talking about this with Scatty a few weeks ago

Seahorses are said to mate for life, but the NY Post reports on a study that is investigating this matter, which they title "Seahorse Sluts".

Anyway, what is more interesting than their supposed lifelong monogamy is this little tidbit.

It is male seahorses that get pregnant and give birth to live babies.


So why are they the males again?