Queer Building

Lover please do not fall to your knees, it's not like I believe in everlasting love.

2009-04-04T16:58:00.004-06:00

Subject line care of Laura Marling.

So, The L Word went down in flames - so much so that I actually haven't felt compelled to write about how horrible everything ended. I don't want to dignify that with a response. Ilene Chaiken (of creating The L Word and then effectively setting it on fire until it became a charred stub of its former self) was steamrolling everything in order to get to the Alice spin-off The Farm that Showtime showed interest in. Well... apparently Showtime isn't buying it. Heh! That makes me happy.

Delightful Things Going On
- In Treatment: Season 2. I had a two-day marathon of watching the first season, so now I'm excited.
- The United States of Tara. I was holding out judgment and... it's actually quite clever. Certainly some bits are too clever for their own good, but eh - it's Diablo Cody, after all.
- RuPaul's Drag Race's finale - which I've already cried at twice - and Season 2 confirmation. Woo! Now this is some quality reality TV!
- Oscar Nominated Films. The Reader? Yup. Doubt? Yes. MILK? Absolutely. Slumdog Millionaire? Guiltily, yes.
- Sex and the City 2 with a May 2010 release date! Yay! I drank the Kool Aid ages ago, and I got all weepy at the series finale, so all the rest is icing on the delightful, fashionable, gay cake.
- Rachel Maddow. I don't think there's much elaboration that's needed - if you're not acquainted, you need to be.
- A new season of Is It A Good Idea To Microwave This? on YouTube. Yay, explode-y things!
- Finishing No More Heroes. I was delighted by the animation (and the gore was... fine), but the story definitely had me enthralled. I'm still sad I didn't get to play Letz Shake :-(

Less Delightful Things Going On
- The U.S. Economy. I am hopeful, but only because of President Obama and Democrats.
- Rush Limbaugh. 'Nuff said.
- The L Word, as mentioned above.
- Diablo III's lack of release date.
- The fact that I don't have an Xbox 360. Yeah - I've had no Fable 2, no Fall Out 3, and severely limited Rock Band exposure.

The end of an era.

2009-03-08T06:54:00.002-06:00

Tonight, the final episode of The L Word is airing. And it still shocks me that I stuck it through this long. The end of last season... okay, I've seen worse - totally seen worse. But this crap? Oh my god. Having every single solitary character in the cast say "you're dead!" does not a murder mystery make.

It did clarify one thing for me: am I watching poor man's Bad Girls, the Alice spin-off in prison? Hell no. Well... maybe I'll watch an episode or two, test the waters... but don't count on a commitment for me to watch it.

That is, if I can even make it through tonight's episode.

And if you want to kill yourself, remember that I love you.

2009-02-27T01:03:00.001-06:00

Okay... almost two months between updates. Not the worst it's been.

There are some things that really need to be talked about. Like how one woman's weave stopped a flying bullet. And how Ilene Chaiken is out of her mind. This blog was started, in part, because my LiveJournal is vastly friends-only - for the past few weeks, the posts that have been public have been specifically my reactions to the ridiculous mess that The L Word has become: feel free to take a look. I just... wow. Top Chef... I understand. I'm disappointed, but I understand. I was on Team Hootie Hoo all the way, but... sadly, Hosea had to win. On the more positive side of television, The United States of Tara is remarkable, though I think that may have a large amount to do with the great skill of the actors involved (and the fact that John Corbett was basically asked to play John Corbett).

I was alright with the Oscars - I figured Slumdog Millionaire would sweep, and it did - I still haven't seen it. I did see The Reader, and feel Kate Winslet's win was well-deserved (though, I haven't seen Doubt yet - it's on my short list, believe me - and am always delighted by Meryl Streep). Sean Penn's Oscar is mixed politically, but emotionally, I'm there. The original screenplay win for MILK was well-deserved. I felt very thankful that there were so many good Best Film nominees, and I've heard good things about Slumdog Millioinaire - at least it's not a repeat of 2005, which is an Oscar season that will forever live in the horror of my deepest nightmares: Crash (anvillicious racism/classism/...ism flick) vs. Brokeback Mountain (mediocre gay and maybe-bi cowboy romance flick), Crash winning for whatever reason, the inevitable backlash from Brokeback Mountain fans (who I really didn't want to defend - it was a very pretty moving, and, yes, moving... but not Oscar-worthy). And the film I wanted - nay, needed - to win that year? Children of Men. Which wasn't even nominated. I saw The Dark Knight only recently, and have to hold off on my instinct to say it's overrated - I entered the fray after an insane amount of hype, so there's probably nothing that could have reached those expectations. There are three upcoming movies (all in vastly different stages of development) are The Watchmen (from the graphic novel), Haunted (from the Chuck Palahniuk book), and The Riches (from the television series), since I have very high opinions of all of the source material, I will have a certain degree of expectation.

In books, I'm reading about Zen and poets, because I'm sort of in that mode. I also want to read Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, because I saw the movie, loved it, and I'm an enormous dork like that.

Music is seeing some odd developments on my part as well. I've been listening to a lot of new music, including the likes of 3oh!3 and Shiny Toy Guns. I've been having strangely mixed feelings about bands I used to adore with all my heart, like The Killers. A band that's been in my life since I was, oh, 11 is getting restructured: Steven Page left Barenaked Ladies. In the next 17 or so hours, my task is to make a big gay mix with which to head down to Chicago with my friend Jess to go to the going away party of our mutual ex, Becca. This is precisely why I've set up my Twitter feed - there may well be things that I need to say, and I'm not toting a computer down there.

Presently I'm experimenting with 5 Hour Energy drink - which, I was not warned about the fact that it looks, smells, and tastes like Absolut Citron and 7-Up.

In life, I had thyroid tests (which came back slightly abnormal, but not abnormal enough to have something to treat, so... eh), cholesterol tests (all normal), and rather extensive blood sugar tests (all of which look perfectly normal - in particular, I do not have diabetes or pre-diabetes). This is all prima facie good news, but it also means that my body is effectively all messed up for a reason that no doctor has been able to find [yet]. I'm feeling good right now, though - though, I also just came off of yet another UTI and subsequent treatment. I'm slowly trying to eat healthier and simpler. I'm still on my job hunt, though I did get through a second-round interview that I haven't heard back from yet - I have my fingers crossed.

There are also some upcoming events - like QueerCamp in Milwaukee, Queer Convergence in Chicago, and WisCon in Madison that I'm attending that may well add to the usefulness of Twitter. So, ideally, this blog will be more active than previously thought.

I don't want the world, I just want your half.

2009-01-06T21:52:00.002-06:00

I haven't posted a real update-style entry in quite a while, and I'd like to blog here more often, so... no time like the present.

Media's probably most prominent.

Television-wise, I've finally given in to my instincts about House, so I'm catching up on that slowly. I'm staying current with Top Chef, even though I'm not very invested in this season - it falls to the Sickboy theory of inevitable deterioration. I was delighted by this season's cycles of Real Time With Bill Maher, Dexter, and True Blood. Coming up in just a few short weeks is the premiere of the final season of The L Word, which kind of excites me - they could do anything! It's Ilene Chaiken - she WILL do anything! Kill off all the characters! Eh, yeah, I know that won't happen, but still. A goodly few moons ago, I got addicted to HBO's mini-series version of Generation Kill (about the beginning of the war in Iraq within a platoon of recon Marines), and I more recently got hooked on the HBO/BBC collaboration House of Saddam (following Saddam Hussein's rise to power, delusions of grandeur, murder and more murder, and ultimate destruction). Frankly, it probably would have been enough to have actors who could pronounce the hard 'k' ending of "Iraq," but among many mediocre performances, there were a few better ones, like the portrayal of Saddam's right hand man Hussein (yes, really) and Saddam's son Uday (who you might know from the gruesome photos of his and his brother's corpses).

Music hasn't been the most pressing thing in my life, but it's certainly there. I'm getting further into Damien Rice and Joshua Radin, have been better introduced to Bon Iver and William Fitzsimmons, and continue my love for Dido.

Movies have been plentiful. I just watched Wristcutters (which was better than average for what it was, IMO). I saw Saw V at The Budget Cinema near my house, which was better than anticipated (especially with H!ITG major roles for Rita from Dexter and Brian's ad agency boss from Queer as Folk). The most moving and, frankly, good movie I've seen in a while was MILK - I saw it at a preview showing at The Oriental, and it was pretty fantastic. It's one of three movies that, during my initial viewing, I thought about how I needed to buy it on DVD (the others were RENT and Sweeney Todd). I also received The Sex and the City Movie for Giftmas (which completes my universe) and Boys In the Band (because I am forever the King of Queer Commerce).

My dad and his girlfriend got a Wii a few months back, so besides playing fairly mundane Wii [Whatever] fare, I've been slowly chipping away at No More Heroes which, btw, is an awesome game. It's everything a geeky teenage boy (ignoring the fact that I'm a geeky 20something boy) would want in a video game - blood (LOTS), ladies (and gentlemen), villains, a purpose, random crap, and geekiness.

I've been a bit activist-y, a bit crafty, but nothing's quite come to fruition yet, so I'll post a link to an awesome blog from Sars at Tomato Nation, Yes, You Are.

I'm currently on a job hunt for something that I can do that someone will pay me for - unfortunately, at this point in my resume and educational experiences, it will probably end up being a mid-level office job. Which is fine, just not ideal. I just need something that will pay for the things that need to be paid for, hopefully give me some necessary benefits (like health insurance), and keep me going while I get my school and career back on track.

The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy,

2008-11-24T18:10:00.002-06:00

it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.

Severely bloated subject line care of Elie Wiesel. Because I have Something To Say.

On this belated 10-year anniversary of the Transgender Day of Remembrance, I've found myself at a loss for words. I came out as FTM in a world where the only visible FTM for reference was Brandon Teena as portrayed in the film Boys Don't Cry. I don't often celebrate TDoR events, because I don't want the trans community to be defined by our dead.

To the best of my knowledge, I've never known anyone who was murdered by another individual because of their gender expression. I've only known people who have been killed by our society as a collective, and those who have been harmed by individuals.

I know transmen who have been sexually assaulted while their manhood was insulted. Finding a space that will accept survivors who are men, let alone trans, is a gauntlet of systems and references. Those transmen survivors I know have vastly not received the same kind of support that their cisgender female counterparts have readily available.

Over the years, three acquaintances of mine have died thanks to being, at best, ignored by our culture. One was under 18 in an unsupported family and started taking birth control pills without being monitored by a doctor. She had an undiagnosed heart condition which was complicated by the birth control pills, and she died. Being under 18, black, with an unsupportive family, and feeling like her body didn't express her gender, she felt her only option was to take illegal, risky birth control pills. She did what she had to do to feel whole, and we - as a nation - failed her. She was buried in male clothing - a final insult of a person who I always remembered for having cute outfits and enjoying all the beautiful female-centered things in our culture.

Just this past spring, another young person died because his country failed him. He enjoyed dressing in fuzzy, light-coloured women's tops when I saw him - I'm not sure if he would have identified himself as trans or not, but I do know that the average straight cisgender person would have identified him as such. He was socially awkward, was barely maintaining a small, lonely apartment, and was having trouble keeping up with myriad medications. He was found in an alleyway surrounded by enough meds to kill him - or for someone else to.

A number of years ago, another youth - slightly older, but still far too young - was shot at a bus stop the week after premiering his drag alter ego.

They were not murdered for being trans. It was much more insidious: it didn't matter if they died because they enjoyed varying degrees of gender expression. Yes, there are countries that are worse, who outright execute gender variant people. But the U.S. is not supportive of trans people - it is tolerant. To tolerate is "to put up with," "to endure," "to be able to withstand." Tolerance is what is killing gender variant people in this country, especially in the same country where we accept people who are scared or sickened by gender variant people.

The first FTM I ever met in real life told me that I should never tell anyone about being FTM - that whoever I had told thus far was already too many people. He lives in a perpetual state of fear. After working through lots of my own issues with my gender, I've come to my own resolution: I will not be afraid. I will be visible. I will be authentic. If he was right and this will be my undoing, at least the person being undone will have been happy and real, and will have been a good example of a responsible, educated trans person living a truly big life.

Non-trans - usually non-queer - people who ask me about my experiences as an FTM usually think that being trans is the absolute, tip-top of the bizarre things about my life. And they would be wrong. Being a big geek, being extremely accident-prone, being just plain weird... these are the things that give my life the freak show quality that it has. The trans part? Is somewhat interesting to people who are unfamiliar with trans people, but (in general) it's probably the most straight-forward, boring part about me.

So, for this first Trans Day of Remembrance that I'm celebrating in any sort of way, I want to remember all the people who didn't make headlines. Who weren't murdered by another person. The people who were forgotten. The people who we have no statistics on. The people who were going about life the best they could, when the rug was pulled out from under them.

Happiness is just around the corner.

2008-08-04T22:24:00.002-06:00

I've been spending a lot of time in areas of media at the moment, partially because it looks like I'm going to experience the joy of my gall bladder seeing the daylight and going into biohazard waste. NPR is constant, of course. Here's some more currents:
- Generation Kill and Weeds
- Shear Genius and Project Runway (though, admittedly, the most recent episodes of both were wretchedly, horribly bad)
- Movie recs care of J. Robert at Framing Device - film snobs, rejoice.
- Watchmen at Joe-prah's Book Club
- Call of Duty 2: Big Red One
- Vicodin - prescribed and utilitarian, unfortunately. I'd love to enjoy them later with a cocktail, but feeling like my abdomen isn't going to rupture is also a very valid use
- Movies that don't include superheros: still looking for Darkon (care of J. Robert), December Boys, The Boys and Girls Guide To Getting Down, etc.

She's not afraid, she just likes to use a night light.

2008-05-16T14:50:00.003-06:00

Since Pridefest is coming up, I've been working on my annual Pridefest Mix, which will (for the first time) be featured in my car, not on a CD, but on an iPod mini. I'll still be burning copies for interested parties, as usual.

I'm slightly disappointed in not being able to see the full entertainment lineup yet, but the headliners are: (Friday) Comedian Wanda Sykes, (Saturday) Singer/Pop Star Natasha Bedingfield, (Sunday) Band The Indigo Girls. Being featured sometime during the festival will be FTM comedian Ian Harvie (check him out on YouTube), Bearapalooza, etc. There will also be a New and Improved Youth Area, as well as the new Health and Wellness Area; you'll find me working at the latter.

I'm also super-excited for a few additional things:
- The Sex and the City movie! Aaaarghhwoo!
- Company Revival with Raul Esparza. On DVD. Yum.

I wanna roll with the gangstas, but so far they all think I'm too white and nerdy.

2008-02-09T15:13:00.000-06:00

Handbook for the Care and Maintenance of Your Nerd from Rands in Repose - shockingly accurate and very useful.

Hey Paula! Recaps of Episode 101 and 102: CRACK! IT'S CRACK! Or... cocaine, perhaps.

2007-07-04T21:51:00.000-06:00

I’m not proud to say that I just spent a full hour of Dr. Phil in procrastination of writing this. When you’re using Dr. Phil to pad the crazy, you know you have a lot of crazy on your hands. Let me also say that I have been looking forward to Hey Paula since before Bravo even thought of it. I’m not an American Idol watcher (didn’t think there were people like that, did you?) but I have seen an odd episode of AI, and the most entertaining part is Ms. Paula Abdul. I was definitely a fan of Being Bobby Brown while it was on Bravo, even going so far as to listen to an interview of Bobby Brown on Loveline, speaking at length about dislodging excrement from his wife’s ass with his bare hands. That is a whole ‘nother level of TMI that I had not yet experienced, and haven’t much experienced since (Britney Spears had to pull out the trump card). Without further ado or distraction: bring on the kee-razy!

We get to meet Daniel (Paula’s Stylist/Ugly Gay Best Friend), Jeff (her Publicist), Kiley (her Wardrobe Stylist), and her Furry Family (several small, yapper-type dogs). When we start up with Hey Paula, she’s headed to the Grammy Awards. After that, she’s headed to LAX to catch a red eye to Philly, then straight to QVC for a 1am show. That sounds like my former boss’s schedule, except he’s a psychologist with a non-profit and Paula is a demi-celebrity. Paula correctly identifies, “most peoples’ days are 24 hours,” and without skipping a beat or acknowledging the whole rotation-of-the-Earth thing, “mine are 48 [hours]. Welcome to Paula Time!” She says it in that “naughty,” straight-from-the-teleprompter voice that made Anna Nicole Smith unnecessarily famous. Some people think Paula is on drugs. I’m one of them. For this interview round, I’m voting Percocet.

Flash past the Hollywood sign and palm trees. So, we’re in L.A.? I’m not clear. “Day One: The Grammy Awards.” Welcome to the Land of Crazy. Paula’s wardrobe assistant, Kiley, caterwaiters that she has a small tray of diamonds that Paula’s gonna wear to the Grammys. The bracelet alone is a 1940s antique, wide platinum diamond bracelet. It’s beautiful (Kiley says that too) and is worth a million dollars. If I were her, I’d keep that away from Paula. She doesn’t, of course - silly stylists - and Paula drunkenly tries it on, telling one of her “furry kids” (god) in that squeaky voice that you can only get away with when talking to pets or babies, “it’s only worth a hundred million dollars!” I know we have some editing action, so Kiley’s poor soul rotting from the outside inward may have told her the value of the earrings and rings, but seeing as Paula is already trying on JUST the bracelet, some editor probably just took out footage of her talking to her yappy dogs. Several other boxes of jewelery are strewn out on Paula’s bed, as are all of her mangy mini-dogs. Two of them start crawling over the jewels, and Everyone On Earth sees where this is going, including Kiley who whispers under Paula’s laughing/snorting, “hopefully they won’t eat anything.” Bravo’s captioning the scared assistants, people. “We’ll have to pay a lot of money,” Kiley babysits. Something tells me Kiley has this humiliating experience most everyday. Paula takes a look at a long necklace of black diamonds, promptly laughing and putting it around a mutt, who runs away trying to not catch The Stupid. Shortly thereafter, another pup tries to swallow a ring. Paula is oddly the first to realize this and gets a fighting hold on the ring, demanding that someone “get it out.” Kiley comes to her aid by petting the dog while Paula pries the ring out. This is most definitely not Kiley’s first encounter with this level of crazy. Paula laughs all Whitney-style (this is beginning of the mounting evidence that it’s crack), takes the pooch-slobbered ring out of the dog, and puts it in an assistant’s palm. The assistant (unnamed, unfaced, shamed), doesn’t skip a beat and says, “thank you,” in a way that you praise a toddler for bringing you an earthworm. Fashion Flurry! Ugly orange hat, tacky gold star necklaces that read “I’m a...” Ugly skirts and shirts, and very ugly watches. She goes on in her overarching “on Percocet” interview that she is producing a live-action film based on the Bratz Dolls and hand-designed the wardrobe and jewelery for the film. Well, that explains a lot of ugly and tacky right there. Before she heads for the Grammys, she wants to show fugly gay Daniel her designs. He has a smile plastered on his face. I think Daniel uses meth and mild sedatives to get him through the day, my main arguments being the permaface and the fact that he has enough poundage to not be solely on meth. Paula informs us and Daniel that a lot of thought was put into all that tackiness. Well, it had to be! Percocet Paula scriptreads that she put all her own money into all that tacky crap ($10.75? Max?) months ago, and suddenly the people at the live-action Bratz movie aren’t returning her calls. I can feel that this was written with a little gay sneer, but she reads it flat and slightly confused, as if she were actually reading, “today, I went to the grocery store.”

It’s 1:30pm, and Kiley corrals Paula to the area of the house containing the much more expensive, less-tacky clothes. Choice one is a black gown with a plunging neckline from La Perla at $4000. Not that she’s going to pay for it. That would be funny if there was a huge conspiracy that no one told her that famous people don’t pay for dresses that go down the red carpet and she had to pay the price anyway. She jokes that this is the dress she wanted to wear, “but [she] think[s] Simon is going to wear something very similar.” Then there’s a great shot of Daniel nodding solemnly/drunkly, his face all gin blossomed out, but with too much makeup on to show the redness. Over a $3500 Kari design, she explains that, “tonight is crucial,” because she always ends up on Worst Dressed lists “all the time - it doesn’t make sense!” The end of her Percocet Paula voiceover is coupled with her pulling a hideous black-and-pink dress (whose designer name and price we aren’t allowed, it’s so ugly) off of the rack. Well, there ya go, honey - makes perfect sense. She apparently “enlisted Kiley” to help her with this (poor Kiley), but we only see glimpses of Kiley while Paula harasses Doped-Up Daniel for advice. Perhaps Kiley harassed La Perla, Kari, et. al. for this little pre-Grammys costuming session. And, frankly, besides the unnamed designer, they all look pretty great. She also looks at a not-quite-maroon sparkly number from Temperly London (at $5k) that both her and Daniel think is beautiful, and which I think looks nice, but would look horrific with her skin tone (and could easily delve into matronly if you tip the age scale a little bit). Paula druggedly informs the camera that Daniel is highly making her go finish her hair and makeup. In an obviously way-after-the-fact complainterview - I mean, Christ, dude’s HAIRSTYLE is even way different (in every other scene, he has these flowy, curly dirty blond locks, then in this interview he has lighter, shorter hair), Daniel says that he started her makeup three hours ago and it takes four hours to complete, and she won’t sit still. That’s the crack, Daniel. Then they show Daniel looking bemused at Paula while she pets some of her “furry children” and talks on the phone. Oh, just drug her, it’s not like a new thing. This scene is apparently at 1:45, so I’m totally not sympathizing with Daniel. You know they were like, “happy hour? it’s past noon!” THEN looked at all them dresses, and he complained after the fact because he wants to be able to work for people other than Paula Abdul. Wouldn’t you? Then they show Daniel trying to put makeup on Paula while she’s completely reclined in a stylists chair and playing with her dogs. She then notices her housekeeper Marina cleaning up dog shit, and declares (we know, because Bravo captioned it), “Poor Marina, she’s cleaning up the dog poop.” Then she screams, “I’m sorry” out to Marina, several times, blames it on Daniel (...?), to which Marina accentedly replies that she can’t hear Paula. I think she learned to say that to everything years ago. We get an up-close-and-personal shot of some dog turds that look pretty big, but so much for perspective when we’re RIGHT THERE. Paula continues to scatologically (is that a word?) blame Daniel because the dog shit is too big for her dogs. I didn’t know Paula was so amused by crap. I don’t join her. BTW, don’t patronize the cleaning lady. She gets paid, probably very well, to clean ANY dog’s shit off of Paula’s hyper-green AstroTurf lawn. She could be working on the kill floor at a slaughter house, but she decided to pick up dog shit. Sorry, I just watched Fast Food Nation and I’m a little bitter.

Fame Flurry! Various magazine covers (well, it’s only seven, but if I were on the cover of a magazine, I’d probably plaster it to my wall too), a framed picture of the Opposites Attract video (oh, Paula - aren’t some things best left not remembered?), some sort of World Tour plaque from 1992, random Paula-centric art (I wonder if she had that commissioned, like, went to an artist and was all “I want it to be, like... pictures of me, with me in it, and it’ll be art”), her Hollywood Walk of Fame star, album covers, albums... it’s like a Montage of When People Cared. Now we meet Jeff, Paula’s long-suffering publicist, who is talking to Paula’s attorney about her calling him to okay wardrobe designs. Do you need lawyers for that? Oh! Got it: they’re getting back in contact with the Bratz movie bullshit. After two months of not calling, all of a sudden the Bratz movie people want to see all of the designs, STAT. Jeff is understandably like, “uh, we can’t really do that” because they’re already trying to get Paula to the Grammys without her breaking anything, humping anyone, or taking a dump on the red carpet. He doesn’t particularly say that it can’t be done in his complainterview, though: he actually says that he doesn’t want to tell Paula. Within a few sentences, sir, you have informed us that you have chopped off your genitalia and placed it in a small jar labelled “Paula: Forever Your Girl.” It’s 2:00pm Real Time, and Paula is eating a salad that’s about as green as her lawn from a huge bowl while Daniel attempts to style her hair. Everyone is gathered around a portable vanity (presumably Daniel’s) and Paula, while Jeff basically breaks the news to Kiley, who is staring at Paula, and they’re all approximately 6 inches away from each other. Kiley “uh-huh”s Jeff, and Paula slurs, “you’re not understanding, Kiley” Which is the conversation that everyone has had with that person in their life who gets drunk way too early in the evening. Or, in this case, way too early in the afternoon. Kiley’s had this conversation too, so her response is, “this is ridiculous.” She then makes sure to play both hands by saying that it’s “exciting” because it’s an awesome project to work on (or... whatever), but it’s “ridiculous” because they’ve been tacky about it. This is most drunken pre-breakup conversations I’ve had with my friends. “Well, it’s ridiculous that they’re treating you that way... but they’re really great... but it’s ridiculous, and look at what they’re putting you through. No, I don’t think you could use another Long Island Iced Tea.” Jeff meekly asks how to handle this, and more slurring from Paula: “Well, Jeff, you need to go tell them I worked my ass off on doing that - my ass off, Jeff. Okay? And, I put way more thought and care into it than anyone else ever possibly could.” Reminder: we’re referring to the Bratz dolls live-action movies. And on: “That’s because I know this movie, i know these girls, and i know this project. and to be screwed over... i’ve already had it. This is not okay, and I’ve already been hurt by this, and I don’t want to be the bad one right now.” Daniel’s all, “uh, QVC?” According to Paula - not sure if this is speculation or not - they just fired their wardrobe person so they want her back. Burn. Then Paula and Daniel go through the “Poor Me”/”Poor You”-a-thon that ladies go through. Courtney, Paula’s Evil Assistant, says that they’re not even packed for Philadelphia to Kiley and Jeff, who are now both chilling/doing damage control in the office. Jeff mutedly gays out at them, all, “this isn’t about YOU.” Well, der, it’s about Paula, who will be royally pissed if two assistants in their early-20s don’t get her some sweatpants packed for the flight to Philly pronto. Just sayin’. Jeff doesn’t think they’ll be able to make it. Paula is hunkering down with her dogs, evading her stylist/gay boyfriend, and crazying at everyone, and it’s Kiley and Evil Courtney who won’t have time? Methinks not! They’re not running on Paula Time! I think Jeff is running on Paula Time! because he’s wearing a Late Show with David Letterman shirt and dragging him lumbering ass through the compound.

Exterior Porn, and now it’s 2:17 Real Time. I’m not yet sure of the conversion rate from Real Time to Paula Time! but for now we’ll stick with the Bravo clock. Daniel continues his less-than-thrilling up ‘do. She interviews while Daniel tweaks that it was much more stressful when she was nominated at the Grammys because she had to perform as well, and she wore a leotard that made her look chunky, and IT ALMOST ENDED HER CAREER. A chunky Bedazzled leotard does not a career ruin, Paula. Gwyneth Paltrow wore all-black and pushed her boobs down to her stomach on a red carpet and is still famous. She snarks that the last time she had a hit record, Bill and Hillary were having sex. Not from what I hear, but hey, who knows. It’s finally 2:30pm and “Time to leave for the Grammy’s.” Thanks, Bravo, I couldn’t have possibly figured that out by myself. Kiley peels from behind a door, informing us that we’re going with the Valentino, and places a different, unnamed designer back on the rack. Ooo. Oh, I’d love to be going with the Valentino. It doesn’t exactly seem like Paula would enjoy the Valentino, but who knows, maybe she has a little taste in her. Paula then returns from the same door IN the Valentino and questions, “What do you think: worst dressed?” Paula! Do not talk that way in front of the Valentino! For those uninitiated, Bravo has conveniently written “Valentino, $12,500.” Really, now. $12,500 is the layperson’s price - Paula has her own Time. Kiley checks her out in a not totally hetero way, and Daniel checks her out in a fully not-hetero way. It looks nice. It’s Valentino; I’d look nice in it, my dog would look nice in it. She’s wearing the dog-eaten jewels, and asks if she should pose “like this,” which involves a huge open-mouthed smile with a thumbs up that pulses every vein in her arm. Really, Paula - I know you were a dancer, but keep your veins to yourself. Percocet Paula whines, “they have to love it! They have to! Joan Rivers, you’d better be nice to me.” Like she cares about your drunk ass. She plays with the dogs at a slight distance, asking them what they think, and those dogs are way too close to the Valentino. Then she asks Marina, who is wearing green trousers and white tennis shoes. She loves it, of course.

Red carpet flurry! We only get to see Paula with Joan and Melissa Rivers. Melissa asks who she’s wearing - why, Valentino - and says that, indeed, it looks Valentino, “which is a good thing.” Uh? Melissa? Don’t mock the Valentino. Joan quietly tries to keep her face from imploding. END SCENE! Jeff’s on the phone with Evil Courtney, because it is apparent that Evil Courtney, Kiley, Paula, and the limo have not all met at the rendezvous point, and if they’re late for the red eye, all hell will break loose and Paula will cry. We begin the ticking timer of “Time until Paula’s flight” at 1 hour, 45 minutes. Evil Courtney is now in the limo with Kiley, and they both look really comfy chillin’ in that limo. The limo driver seems unresponsive, and Paula isn’t answering her cellphone. Shocking, that. At 1 hour, 15 minutes, Evil Courtney and Kiley are still chillin’ in the limo. Uh? Your boss is MIA in Valentino and platinum diamonds, and she’s high and crazy, AND she had to look Joan Rivers in the FACE. You might want to track her down yourselves. Kiley panics in a future interview that they didn’t have time to pack (oh, I’m so sure) and that there will be hell to pay if they miss QVC.

Commercials. I might need alcohol. Fortunately, I have taped Hey Paula, and am spending a little time watching the end of the Project Runway: Season 3 marathon right before Bryant Park where Jeffrey is confronted by Laura. Oh, the drama. I wonder what kind of work Jeff has gotten since then. Hmm. Alright. Back to Paula.

Percocet Paula informs us that it’s 9:30, she’s just out of the Grammys, she has a plane at 11 and can’t find her limo. She feels stupid, and now she’s walking the streets in Valentino. Some guys ina car scream, “Hey Paula! You know you’re a legend! Yeah! I’m forever your girl - remember that?!” She slurs, “a legend”- Oops, she’s now tripping in Valentino. She finally reaches the limo with an hour to flight and is helped in by some Paula Wranglers. Apparently she had a decent time with everyone on the red carpet not looking at her like she was wearing linen with dog shit accents, and then she goes into Joan and Melissa Rivers non-reacting to her dress. Paula then scripts, “I wanted to say to Joan, what doctor’s your face wearing?” She proceeds to laugh at this hysterically while everyone in the car wants to kill themselves. They re-ID Kiley, and it makes me hope she gets a better job out of this show. Paula cackles. My soul dies a little inside. Paula semi-non-sequiteurs if they have her sweats, since they’re close to the airport. Evil Courtney says that they packed a jean outfit, and that they [certainly] packed sweats. Kiley blames herself. No, blame Evil Courtney. She packed hella tight jeans because they know she looks good on Paula. Oh, Evil Courtney - if something looks good on Paula, it feels like shit. So Paula will be unable to sleep during this flight. All Paula wants now is her white tennis shoes. Evil Courtney blanks, “we have your black ones.” Ooo. You are so fired, missy. Paula is looking for ANYTHING comfortable to fly in, but nothing will be had, so she boards.

Now it’s Day Two: QVC at 9:00am. Percocet Paula reiterates that she was wearing tight jeans with high-heeled boots on the plane. “I couldn’t sleep on the plane; could you?” No, but then again, half of my shoes are Vans and I don’t own jeans that I cannot sleep in. We see Paula at baggage claim, amongst the teeming masses, with some Nicole Ritchie (a.k.a., “hungover”) sunglasses on. They make her wait for her own bags? Her own bags that she didn’t even pack? This seems odd, but okay, whatever. She gives an autograph to a fan who tells her, “no matter what they say in the news, don’t let ‘em beat you down.” Wise words. She hugs him. She leaves the airport, attacking herself with her supersized, circa 1982 sweatshirt, and the whole crew gets packed into an SUV to get over to QVC, PDQ. Actually, they’re checking in at the Desmond Great Valley Hotel and Conference Center first, then - or so Percocet Paula dramatizes - she has a MERE 2 hours to wash her face, change her clothes, leave the hotel, and get to QVC. Boy, Jeff really does work Paula out like a DOG. Kiley, Paula, and Jeff spill out of her hotel room as if it’s a clown car, and we get to see exactly how severe the Desmond Great Valley Hotel and Conference Center can make the color turquoise. Really, did we need to paint the wall turquoise? Aren’t the accents and carpetting enough? I’ve been in some pretty intense hotel color schemes in my day, but this is ugly. There’s a little physical drama with the bags, and apparently Jeff had anticipated that Paula would have packed light seeing as she’s getting styled at the damned place. Jeff would be wrong. Percocet Paula says that she sold damned near everything, including the fake mannequins and plants, the last time she was selling at QVC, but then she had the media powerhouse megamachine that is American Idol. It’s the off-season of American Idol, so no publicity. Because no one relates American Idol to anyone who has been on even one episode. Oh, except they do. Shut up, Paula. It feels SO good to type that.

QVC has a big WELCOME TO QVC sign on the awning to its HQ like it’s a village that lives in 1872 and churns their own butter from scratch or something. Except with really tacky backgrounds. Jeff is REALLY struggling to keep hold of Paula’s bag. Paula tells a QVC “security guard” that if they see someone who looks like Simon, don’t let ‘em in. He smiles nicely, like you do around drunk people from American Idol. Oh, wait, why would he know she’s on American Idol, the show isn’t even on right now?! Christ on a cracker. A gaggle of QVC staff meet her, hug her, worship her, sacrifice a lamb in her honor, and similar. Percocet Paula slurs that they all wanted to greet her, but she was “ready to get down to business.” And we all know what kind of a disaster that looks like. We meet the boardroom and she wants to know where to sit. Sit on the fucking ceiling fan, Paula, you’re famous. She looks over the crappy QVC jewelery and disapproves. Jeff sighs silently but noticably. 4 QVCers listen to her bitch and moan about her cheap, crappy jewelery. Percocet Paula tells us that this was “not [her] vision.” Not blurry enough? We could do blurry. Commercials, mercifully.

It’s now 1am, Kiley is all caffeined up, and Paula is explaining that she’s not in the press with AI. We get it. It’s 15 minutes to air time, Jeff looks haggard, Paula looks crackheaded - I mean, “awake” - and we’re on the air! “Martha” calls in and Paula crackheads back at her. Martha’s entire family died, and Paula gives her hope. Paula crackheadedly tears up. Jeff sleeps around the set, next to the screens, and it’s 2am. By the end, everything sold out - I’m curious as to why, she’s just little Paula Abdul who used to be on some show that has some pretty high ratings in America that I don’t recall the title of. Paula needles Jeff about his nodding off on the set while she was high - er, awake. Then we get a preview of the new season. Lots of mouth opening, lots of yelling, “who’s gonna do my hair if Daniel’s gone?!” her dating is a horror movie, falling over everyone, Tim Gunn - it’s too much for previews, I can tell you that much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Previouslys: Paula goes to the Grammys and walks the streets in Valentino, has a dramatic red eye to Philadelphia, then sells a shitload of crappy jewelery on QVC while her manager Jeff drifts off. Cue Straight Up!

We’re at “Paula’s Hotel,” no real indication of where that is, but we soon find out that she’s actually in New York in a single-sleeved black dress in which she is receiving the Fashion Icon Award from the YMA Scholarship Fund. She’s also going to be working on her fragrance line (why do you need that? My mom has a fragrance line, and they all smell nasty as hell) and “a ton” of American Idol press. We get a multi-screen of bottles of fragrance, a limo, TV coverage, people trickling into the YMA Scholarship Fund Dinner Dance (and, presumably, Awards Ceremony), and Paula’s already exhausted! I wonder why! Because it’s Crack Time! Bravo lets us know that it’s Day One in New York City. We see garbage and people and bright things and taxis to help acclimate us to New York. We get in the limo and you thought I was joking about the Crack Time, but you’ll soon find out that, no, I wasn’t exaggerating in the slightest. Paula wink-wink-nudge-nudges Jeff about “eating your Wheaties” and how she has to eat three bowls full, and I don’t... understand. Maybe I’m not supposed to. She pleasantly dooms to Jeff, “I feel like it’s the beginning of my career all over again.” Jeff looks all, “is this good? Are you having a meltdown?” The Countdown Clock for Paula’s award is set at 15 minutes. Jeff figures we should get hopping and asks Paula if she knows what she’s gonna say, or if she’s just going to calmly quote the lyrics to Straight Up before tripping on her heels and giggling uncontrollably. She turns into a toddler - a very high toddler - by informing him that she has a fashion for passion. Jeff asks if she wants her speech, and she looks at it casually, crackheadedly. It’s not a bad speech. There are fashion jokes within it, including, “I don’t think I have ever seen a more beautifully dressed group - and the woman [sic] look good too.” She doesn’t understand it, it’s not a very good joke... moving on. YMA Fashion Scholarship Dinner Dance and Award Program - whew! That’s a mouthful. Paula missed the dinner, and she can’t concentrate when she’s hungry and high, so this might be bad. Introducing Tim Gunn! Paula is photographed randomly, she walks arm-in-arm with someone, she’s followed by a pack, she shakes random peoples’ hands (who don’t seem extremely excited to be shaking her hand) while Tim Gunn tries to stall by listing her achievements. Yeah, you try it. Jeff anxieties that she hasn’t had rest, food, or looked at her script, so this might be a disaster. Paula is given the written speech upside down and out of order. Good job, lackeys. She pulls out the crappy joke correctly, accepts the award graciously if concisely, and is happy that it’s yet another award that Simon will never have. Well, yeah, that’s one thing. Paula and Tim Gunn fabulous at each other - well, actually, Tim Gunn emits fabulousness and Paula receives some. Paula dances a little with the YMA scholars before grabbing her award and entering the Flash Photography Flurry. She’s probably exhausted - or she would be without the drugs! - and then eventually exits the place, is freezing, and suggests they stop at Starbucks. A piece of Jeff soul chips off, and he fathers, “it’s the middle of the night, Paula, how are you going to sleep?” So, we’re at Starbucks at 2:30am, as a person with sleep problems usually does, and she wants someone to split something with her because she wants to feel less guilty. She tells the staff to “just come up with somethin’” like, uh, fucking WHAT? She also doesn’t have money, so she “charms” the suits behind her for $5. She non-invites herself to a probably non-party with average people. She leaves Starbucks and some squirrels scream their heads off. Paula informs us that, “there’s an art form to this” as she falls into the limo. Yes, being not sober is the trick to everything. In the limo, she demands to know the schedule for tomorrow, then informs us that she doesn’t know what time it is (it’s 4am) and she hasn’t been able to eat what she wants to eat. Percocet Paula tells us that she has a big problem with sleeping. “I have insomnia. I started getting insomnia a few years ago. You know, it gets a little crazy after a while. Before you know it, it’s 5am.” She basically tells us in the limo that she doesn’t really sleep more than an hour a day, and it scares her. This is when I realized that she was on crack, upon first view. Something is keeping her up, and it ain’t coffee. Merciful commercials before we’re plunged into the horror that is The Interview.

Day Two - New York City. It’s 8:00am. We get shots of Times Square because Midwesterners think that’s all New York City is. Moving on. Jeff helps Paula out of the limo, she makes him spin her. Sigh. He doesn’t think she slept. Well, shit, Jeff, who’da thunk? Paula’s doing several live satelitte interviews after she checks out perfume swatches at Firmenich, Inc. From the mouth of Stanley Tucci, gird your loins.

We’re at Firmenich with Theo and Honorine, Jorgelina (do you have to have a bizarre name to work here?) and Paula dressed as Sgt Pepper. Kiley and Evil Courtney also get to meet the perfume peoples, but only as an afterthought. The people at Firmenich get to meet Bob (who could never work there, obviously) who is Paula’s Licensing Agent. Whew - lots of cheap QVC jewelery is underwritten by you, Bob. Theo says that they’ve been working their asses off trying to make her vision come to fruition. They have four samples on what they call “blotter paper” - basically, the perfume version of swatches. The first is called “Sexy Thoughts.” Paula wafts the blotter drunkenly while Bob looks like he’s smelling a Pinot. Don’t get Paula started. Next is “Spellbound.” Paula looks like she’s grooving to some smooth jazz or, more precisely, falling asleep. Bob seems to care less. The People With Bizarre Names From Firmenich cautiously sniff the blotter paper, but are mainly looking up for Paula’s reaction, which is a huge red herring, because Paula’s reaction to everything is either uncontrollable excitement, cracked out, drunk, or generally disorderly. She also appears to be sipping wine. It could be water, I’m not totally knocking her, but if it is wine, that’s curious to me, because I would think Firmenich would want to keep her able to smell, not interfere with it. One of the Long-Named People blots two different fragrances on her arm, which Paula smells and then pretends to bite. Ew. They ask her if she wants a lab coat, which she accepts. They walk her down the stairs in the lab coat, as Percocet Paula interviews that she felt like a mad scientist. This can only be bad. It’s 1:00pm and she has a million blotter papers in her hand. We now go into a room full of tiny bottles o’ fragrance. Paula smells some Natural Bulgarian Rose scent, which Theo informs us costs about $35k-$36k per kilo. Fuck me. Paula searches for violet, then drops the blotter. On the floor with several blotters, Theo merely informs her that she’s mixing violet and rose on her skin. Paula toddlers, “uh-oh! uh-oh! ah-HAHAHAHA!” Whoa. She has people smelling her violet-rose flesh, and talks about wanting people to feel like a sexpot. Ew, Paula. Paula falls onto a lab-coated guy named J.R., who obviously doesn’t actually work for Firmenich, then is all “who the hell?” Then he tells her that he might be working on her perfume and she hugs him, then falls into him again. Theo tells her that she can keep the blotters (uh, because they’re just fucking paper), and Paula says she’d meet any guy and say, “hey, wanna smell my blotters?” Ew. Paula. You’re embarassing me!

It’s now 9:00pm, and it took her 8 hours to get that much meeting together? She says she’s been “going non-stop” and hasn’t gotten any sleep, but had some great meetings. “I’m so overstimulated and exhausted and yet giddy, and hyper, and then exhausted, and I think the best thing to do is to get a massage and a facial and call it a night,” Paula drunkens. She yawns, then falls into Evil Courtney before declaring that she likes Dunkin Donuts - their coffee, in particular. And she’s tired. Really? Her driver extends a hand to help her out of the car, but she ain’t havin’ it and instead wants to bump her head on the limo. Whatever you want, Paula. Evil Courtney doesn’t blink an eye.

Day Three is the most important day of this New York trip, and Paula must sleep, for tomorrow is VERY IMPORTANT. American Idol press interviews! All of the FOX affiliates are getting this interview. We wake up, Day Three, with a sleepless Paula getting made up (in yesterday’s clothes), and she apparently “has the flu.” Her Bravo pre-interview interview reveals that she’s getting the insta-botox that comes with hard drugs. May the disaster begin! The insta-botox of hard drugs comes and goes with the interviews. Suddenly, they lose audio. Paula doesn’t stress, because she’s a consumate professional, she is resourceful, she knows the audio staff will not let her down, and - most importantly - she is blazed out of her skull. After commercials, Jeff interviews that “you worry about technical things” like losing audio, “not her.” You say that now, Jeff. At an L.A. affiliate, the reporters ask where she is. The correct answer is: “New York City.” Paula’s answer is: “I don’t know.” The reporters laugh, Jeff looks through the want ads. According to Jeff, she’s doing about 40 interviews, and things just go wildly downhill from interview one to interview forty. She’s slurring, she’s erratic, she’s cracked out, and she’s happy about it. Jeff thinks that this breakdown will “cause us a lot of bad press” because Paula acted batshit crazy. Montage of reporters questioning Paula Abdul’s sobriety and sanity. Next week, Jeff lets Paula know that he has her back, in the more monetary sense. Paula says she doesn’t do recreational drugs, phone interviews that she has never been drunk and has never done illegal drugs. She’s getting some kind of awesome award, and she also has some nice highlights going on, but she can’t enjoy any of it - the award, the highlights - because she’s “right in the middle of a big ole crap sandwich.” Well, I’d say that’s an understatement of the highest order, but then again, for me, the appeal of Paula Abdul is the crazy, the cracked out, the unexplainable. It’s like a UFO landing in my backyard, only I know what’s going on, and I cannot look away.

You give me miles and miles of mountains and I ask for the sea.

2007-06-29T21:42:00.000-06:00

Subject line care of Damien Rice.

I have a little housekeeping to do with this blog, so I submit to you the following:

Anyone who knows me even vaguely knows that my randomness quotient is significantly higher than the average person. So, I will certainly be posting some random things, to be sure.

I also enjoy television and movies. And thanks to the overwhelming power of Hey Paula (and the, quite frankly, poor job of the two recaplets currently sitting out at Television Without Pity), I think that it might be time for me to step up as a recapper. This is not the only show that I feel is inadequately recapped: The L Word on AfterEllen.com is overall very meh towards the character of Max and, IMO, far too forgiving of the character of Jenny's... existence. Don't get me wrong - TWoP has been a fabulous home for recaps, but the number of recaps I can stand to read is reducing in number. Sure, Top Chef, Top Design, and Project Runway will always be fond reads, but I feel that I could do some excellent recapping. Also, I think TWoP limits itself a little to what looks promising. In fact, dare I say, I've wanted to recap The Riches from FX.

So I am extending an open invitation to my readers - presently, mostly readers of my friends-only blog - to give me feedback on what you would want recapped. Here's the short list of shows whose recent seasons I have lying around the house:
- The Riches (FX)
- The L Word (Showtime)
- Dexter (Showtime)
I'm also open to recapping films, and I have quite the collection. Joe shares my supreme love of the ostensibly bad The Long Kiss Goodnight. I also have to confess my shock and dismay at the Brokeback Mountain vs. Crash battle for the Oscar. I think that neither film deserved the Oscar, and I'd be more than willing to snark them apart to prove it. Do I think they're both culturally significant movies? Yes! Do I own them both? Yes! Have I masturbated to the blink-and-you'll-miss-it length sex scene in Brokeback Mountain? Yes! Are these Oscar-worthy films? No!

So, if you're seeking a recap, please leave a comment. Otherwise I will be forced to build my recapping arsenal on Red Bull and Bravo alone.

Make me confused, mock me with praise, let me be used, vary my days.

2007-06-28T21:46:00.000-06:00

Subject line care of Company.

Oh my god, Hey Paula on Bravo delivered like freaking DOMINOS - holy FUCKSHIT!

I know for a long while everyone watched American Idol because zOMGZ Simon is so SCANDALOUS! But seriously, here are the two reasons to ever have watched American Idol: Kelly Clarkson and Paula Abdul.

For a minute, I thought it might be some sort of affectation - just, like, she's become a spoiled brat or something, and was an airhead in the first place, and maybe that's why she's kinda slurry and whatever... but some days she is totally articulate and makes complete sense, and then other days she's slurring and crazy and all over the place, and HIGH. It is the best train wreck to watch, ever. It's like watching Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown kiss AT each others' faces, except it's all day long and they have needles stuck in their arms.

Here's my favorite moment in watching Hey Paula:
Paula: I'm not tired. I have insomnia. I haven't slept more than, 45 minutes to an hour and 15 minutes in the past 6 days. It's kinda scary.
Me: CRACK! IT'S CRACK! I KNEW IT! Wait... maybe cocaine.

Also one of the most awesome things about it? Nearly half of the episode is closed captioned, and it's actually twofold: first, as you would imagine, Paula is extremely difficult to understand at times (and, in fact, that poor stenographer who had to decypher her). Second, especially when she's high, lots of people around her start talking really quiet, as if she's their alcoholic father who just might bring a belt buckle down on them if they tell her that, no, they don't have a little extra cash on them to buy her a vanilla Chai latte at Starbucks. When they have some technical difficulties during a recorded interview, her manager is all, "she's always so calm!" And it's like, dude - you KNOW she is RIPPED out of her HEAD. Watching her chortle, literally ON THE FLOOR, at a fragrance development place, with two handfuls of test strips in her hands smelling them? It's a mix of hilarity and tragedy that made me actually think to myself, "oh my god, Paula Abdul is a human... and I am a human... and that makes me feel deep shame, that we are of the same species."

Finally, for the win? Tim Gunn. Not only Tim Gunn - not that the fabulousness of Tim Gunn isn't the best thing on Earth in and of itself - but Tim Gunn STALLING for Paula Abdul.

Sorry not all my love letters did rhyme, and I'm sorry that Jesus died for my sins and I swear to God, it won't be happening again.

2007-06-02T04:48:00.000-06:00

Subject line care of Jewel.

When I was on my way out to the Fruit Loop today, it took me just a few blocks into Downtown Milwaukee to realize that I just entered one of those levels of Hell that is distinctly my own: Riversplash. Puh. According to propaganda, it's a three-day Summer "party celebration" that kicks off the Milwaukee festival season. Here are my problems with Riversplash:
1. Pridefest kicks off the Milwaukee festival season. Sorry; it just does. Besides, no one wants the sometimes-first/sometimes-second weekend in June, because half of the time it is absolutely PERFECT out... and the other half of the time we have tornado warnings and torrential downpours. So, really, the city needs to deal with the fact that homos introduce the festival season.
2. July will bring a certain amount of uncomfy whining from me because Summerfest makes the Lakefront inconvenient and the traffic is annoying and eh... but really, it's contained. It's the Lakefront - I can just take side streets to the East Side or take 794 to the South Side. But Riversplash? Takes over the random middle section of Downtown in the vague vicinity of Grand Avenue Mall. WTF? To get to the South Side from the East Side, you have to... just kill yourself, basically. I practically had to go all the way to Brewer's Hill to get to the South Side, and when you're coming from the instant death zone where Riverwest meets Brady Street, that's just way too far to be on a detour.
3. Drunken stupidness. I realize it's Wisconsin and, more to the point, Milwaukee, and that we DRINK. We might as well put beer in the bubblers, because people just drink that much. So, it's not that I'm not used to drunken stupidness, but drunken stupidness is reserved for certain areas so that you can conveniently avoid them - and so that, if you happen to be eating out late, you can get a good view of the Bar Close Zombie Walk if that's your cup of tea. Like, the Lakefront end of North Avenue, Brady Street (as a whole), Water Street (ever square inch), and National are drunken territory - don't expect to be able to make a left turn without your life flashing before your eyes, don't expect any sort of traffic laws to necessarily apply to anyone, and don't expect to actually get anywhere within a reasonable amount of time. Riversplash is crammed into Downtown, forcing its occupants to park in various parts of Downtown as far out as Water and Brewer's Hill, and since it's so close to Water, many make a pub crawlin' night of it, and so there's just way too many pedestrians out for Milwaukee to handle. Water Street pedestrians are already asking to be run over - Riversplash invites pedestrians who should be sniped before they get to the end of the curb.
4. It's boring. Sorry, it is. The only thing there is alcohol and hot dog carts. And alcohol ain't that special in Milwaukee.
5. Three DAYS?
6. It really begs the question: why don't we have more people Downtown who aren't drunken 'tards at Riversplash? More pointedly, it begs the question: why aren't we encouraging more cultural outlets than the joke of a "theatre district" instead of building more crappy, overpriced condo projects? Hmm, Scott Walker?
7. This is somewhat cumulative: I'm already pissed at drunken asshats in the Downtown area, especially when it's a totally acceptable hour for sensible, non-drunken non-asshats to be going out. Add heat, and you're already testing my patience, even when I have the AC on because the air in the car is so dry and the air outside is so humid that I'm creating a small high-pressure system just above my windshield. Add either a ridiculous amount of rent-a-cops or a ridiculously small amount of teenie-tiny 1"x2" "this street closed" signs and I'm just ready to hurt someone, and I'm behind the wheel of a motor vehicle.

I am not going Downtown this weekend if someone pays me. Maybe to the North Side if the necessity presents itself, but no Downtown, no Walker's Point, no East Side. Period.

Zoot suit riot, throw back a bottle of beer. Zoot suit riot, pull a comb through your coal black hair.

2007-05-23T04:16:00.000-06:00

Subject line care of Cherry Poppin' Daddies. Speaking of which, I have a serious need to pop my public blogging cherry, so here I am!

I'm still dealing with the "joys" of formatting, so I'm just going to give the most important announcement of the moment:

June 8, 9, and 10 - Milwaukee's Pridefest at the Summerfest Grounds!

Friday: Headline Show at the Miller Lite Main Stage (7:30pm-Midnight): Hedda Lettuce, Cascada, and Kathy Griffin!
Saturday: Rainbow Stage (8:30pm) is the 7th Annual Leather Show; Headline Show at the Miller Lite Main Stage (9pm-Midnight): Peppermint, Benassi Bros. featuring Dhany, and Chaka Khan!
Sunday: Headline Show at the Miller Lite Main Stage (6pm-10pm, preceded by the Pride Idol finals): Vickie Shaw, Boi Toiz and Gurl Toiz on Broadway, and Joan Jett and the Blackhearts!
For more information, additional entertainment, ticket information (including how to get free tickets), and directions, please refer to Pridefest's website.

That is my singular focus of the moment. After that, I have a month of more-or-less downtime until the HIV Prevention Institute, both of which pretty much round out my gay year.