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Friday, July 29, 2005
Friday: culture and a hot guy [+/-] Get cultured... Gustav Mahler is sometimes called the last of the Romantic composers. One of Mahler's most loved works is his first symphony. The BBC offers Mahler's first for free download on the website, and they do a fantastic job of giving program notes as well. I'm not going to try and do better than the BBC. If you would like to learn more about and hear, go here. (I would recommend the second and third movements, if you don't want to hear the whole thing. The second has a very cool dance rhythm, and the third is based the folk song "Frere Jacques.") Today's hottie is Marlon Brando. Enough said.   
Thursday, July 28, 2005
I just don't understand...
WHAT THE HELL is this obsession with David Beckham? You can't swing your arms without hitting an advertisement with his face on it. In my opinion, this is a cultural tragedy.
Let me go on record right now: David Beckham is probably the ugliest famous person there is. Yes, there are uglier people in the world. But if you narrow the field to those who have inexplicable modeling contracts, Beckham (or "Herpes," as he is affectionately known) would occupy the number one ugly spot. Let's play a little game, shall we? See if you can identify which ones are David Beckham, and which ones are not. Mouse-over to see if you are right.    
Just thought I'd point it out...
The NY Times has an article today about Cage Fighting in the MidWest. The NY Times, which have often been criticized for looking down on the rest of the country, doesn't miss an opportunity to describe the backwards customs of the fly-over states.
 They don't have this in New York City.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
The man I love
I mentioned the other day that Jay and I went to a Christening for our friends' baby. Here is a picture of Jay holding little Ruby Rose.
 Picture taken by Naarah.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Coming soon!
Other people they should name candy bars after, besides Babe Ruth (and possible flavors for those candy bars):
Sartre Snacks (Like Starburst; flavors include "black coffee", "stinky French cigarette," and "Simon de Beauvoir's naughty bits.") Caligula's Crazy Chocolate Chews (Made of chocolate and LSD) John the Baptist Bar (A delectable combination of locusts and wild honey.) Ghandi Gum (The wrapper is empty; the consumer is encouraged to send all letters of complaint to the Brittish Empire.)
Monday, July 25, 2005
Two weekend activities of note
Activity the first: Jay and I saw Mysterious Skin. It's the story of two young men, one who believes that he was abducted by aliens as a child, and the other who remembers that he was sexually abused as a child. It is a powerful, remarkable, beautiful, disturbing film. It's probably the best movie I've seen in years. I don't want to say too much about it--go see it for yourself!
(And seeing the movie makes me want to read the book.) Activity the second: Jay and I went to a Christening for our friends' baby. It was a lovely party. The highlight was when Carrie laughed so hard she shot Shiraz out her nose. This post was pretty lame, wasn't it? Did you know that if you do a Google Image search for Hot Man, this site comes up on the second page? This is the reason why: 
Thursday, July 21, 2005
T-ball
Rotten Ryan's tale of woe got me thinking about my own experiences with T-ball as a child.
I played T-ball for one year. I think it was the summer that I was 8. I remember going to sign up for the season--I was so excited that I was going to play! The coach seemed so cool, and his son even played for our team! Our team was the Blue Jays, which meant that my uniform would be blue and white. I remember that uniform--I thought it was the coolest thing I ever owned. I actually wanted to wear it out before the season even started, because I was so proud of it. I even remember that I was number 2. I loved T-Ball. That is, until the season actually started, and I found out that I have the COORDINATION OF A BULLFROG. Whatever the Fuck that means--all I know is that's what the coach screamed at me the first day of practice: "Sweet! How could you drop that blooper! You have the coordination of a bullfrog!" To be fair, the coach did this to everyone. I'm sure he thought he was motivating us with his "gentle ribbing." But when all the other kids started to laugh, I decided that I was not going to let a grown man with a buzz cut make fun of me. "Jesus Coach," I responded, "Frogs catch flies. Read a book sometime, why don't you?" And that was the EXACT MOMENT that my career in athletics came to an end. Because the only thing worse than being an inept fag in sports is being an inept fag that the coach doesn't like. And also, it turned out that having the coach's son on the team meant that he was an overly-involved asshole with a competitive streak that would make Karl Rove cry. I played (and God help me but I am not making this up) a position called "Deep Right Field." I think they invented it just for me. I stood about 10 yards behind the right fielder. As you can guess by this placement, I wasn't playing T-ball; I was just watching the game from a distance. Do you know how boring T-ball is? Let me tell you: it's damn boring. So, I had to find other things to do while I was standing in Deep Right Field. To that end, I used to sit in the grass pick dandelions. Or sometimes I would braid strands of grass together, or examine bugs I found. Obviously, I had to take my mitt off to do any of this effectively, since it all required two hands. And of course the coach would yell at me if I put my mitt on the ground. ("How can you catch a ball like that, Sweet! Put your gosh-darn mitt on!") So, to spite that son of a bitch, I put the mitt ON MY HEAD. That'll show him, I thought. So picture it: There I am, sitting on the grass about 100 yards away from the actual action of the game, with my glove on my head, picking dandelions. That's a sight that must have made my parents proud. I only ever touched the ball twice during the entire season. Once, I ran after it, retrieved it, and then threw it underhand. I don't know what inspired me to throw it underhand, but I did. The ball traveled about 10 feet. The other right fielder had to come out, get the ball, and then run and throw it into the infield. The second time, the ball drifted by me I had given up completely. I didn't even get up off the ground or take my mitt off my head. I just watched as the other right fielder ran for it. Later, I offered him the flowers I had picked. I'm sure everyone thought I was retarded. Batting was another adventure. Let's just say that I am probably the only person in history to STRIKE OUT playing T-ball. In fact, that was feat I accomplished more than once. And what's worse--my teammates actually wanted me to strike out (they thought it was funny) and they would yell "Swing-and-a-miss" from the dugout every time I went to bat. Here's a little-known fact about T-ball: If one team is more than 10 points ahead by the 7th inning, they can "Mercy" the other team. This means that the game is ended, and the team that is leading is declared the victor. Not a single one of our games went beyond the 7th inning. The next year my parents didn't even ask if I wanted to play T-ball again. Instead, I was signed up for tap-dance lessons. And now if you'll excuse me, I have to flowers to pick.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Almond Joy "Key Lime"  Peter Paul is once again exploring the possibilities of confections. This time they have taken the Almond Joy bar--a favorite of this author--and remade it in a "Key Lime" style. Note: This is a limited edition candy bar. That means that you must run down to the nearest Squat'n'Stuff and commence cramming these bars into your cheeks, like a squirrel hoarding nuts for the winter, because THEY WON'T BE AROUND FOR MUCH LONGER. Or, at least, that's what you would do, except that the Almond Joy Key Lime tastes like a margarita that's been left in the sun for a week. It's strangely sweeter than all of the previous Almond Joy offerings, and the lime taste does not give the impression not of the Florida Keys; instead, the candy is redolent of Pine-Sol. And candy makers everywhere: Listen up, because I'm only going to say this once.
In short, it's a good thing the Almond Joy Key Lime is a limited edition. Soon the people at Peter Paul will be able to go back to making other, more palatable confections, such as chips of glass suspended in taffy, or tomato-flavored chocolate. That is all.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Monday, July 18, 2005
Busy weekend
It was just like the title says, folks.
On Saturday, Jason and I went to Manton, MI for my cousin's wedding. I'm torn between a desire to snark and the knowledge that some of my father's family actually reads my blog. So I will reduce my snark to a brief list (trust me: this is the best I can do):
Friday, July 15, 2005
Friday: culture and a hot guy [+/-] Culture is under the cut...I've had the first few lines of Allen Ginsberg's Howl in my head for a couple of days now. Allen Ginsberg life was never boring. Howl, his most famous work, was banned shortly after its publication for being too explicit. Howl was defended by First amendment activists, and eventually the ban was lifted. For years the FBI considered Ginsberg a threat and monitored him. Later in his life, Ginsberg championed NAMBLA (the North American Man-Boy Love Association). Read more about Ginsberg here. from Howl (read the full thing here.) Today's hottie is Sean O'Haire. Sean was a professional wrestler, but now he fights for real on the K-1 and NHB circuit. Enjoy.  From his WCW days.  After winning a K-1 fight.  Promotional Shot from the WWE.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
To everything there is a season...
Last Friday a long-time friend of my family died. Her name was Mary Anna Wolf and I had known her since I was very young. Jay and I are going to the funeral home tonight and to the service tomorrow. Mary Anna hadn't been sick; her death was a complete shock to everyone. Sudden and unexpected death certainly has a way of making you think, doesn't it?
She was a wonderful, kind person. She will be missed. 53, was born on April 17, 1952, in Cincinnati, Ohio, to Raymond and Carmen Leisner. She died unexpectedly at her home in Allen Park on Friday, July 8, 2005. The second of seven children, Ms. Wolf excelled at school and obtained a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of Detroit, summa cum laude. Ms. Wolf was married to Terrill Wolf of Allen Park, from 1974 to 2004. Her sons, Karl and Matthew Wolf, will mourn the loss of a loving and devoted mother. Ms. Wolf's family also includes her mother, four brothers and a sister and their spouses, in addition to seven nieces and nephews who will miss her generous heart. She is preceded in death by her infant son, James Kyle Wolf, her father, her sister Emily Leisner and her mother-in-law Sallie Wolf. Her family will remember her love of literature and music, her co-workers at Ford Motor Company will miss her technical skills and gifts as as a writer. She was active in several divorce recovery groups, offering her love and support to friends in need. She has left behind countless friends who will remember her loyalty and strength of character. Visitation 5-8 p.m. Tuesday and 12-8 p.m. Wednesday (Rosary 7:15 p.m. ) at the Weise Funeral Home, 7210 Park Avenue, Allen Park (313-382-1150). Funeral Service 10 a.m. Thursday at St. Frances Cabrini Church (In state at church from 9:30 a.m. ) 9000 Laurence, Allen Park.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Avert your eyes!
I haven't done a links post in a long time.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Weekend...
Not much happened this weekend, really. Jay and I saw Fantastic Four on Saturday. It wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible. Truthfully, there is only one reason to see the movie.
Jay and I had dinner with Josh on Sunday. The conversation turned, as it so often does, to internet dating services.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Friday culture and a hot guy [+/-] See the culture...You all know Jackson Pollock, right? This NPR story details the recent discovery of 32 paintings by Jackson Pollock. However, there is some controversy about the authenticity of these works, as some artist experts think the 32 new works just don't look like the rest of Pollock's oeuvre. Take a look for yourself. The first two are verified Pollocks; the second two are part of the 32 "new" works. What do you think?     Today's hottie is Landon Lueck.   
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Let me tell you what I think...
OK, I am going to dignify this article with a response.
All over the blogosphere (or at least the my blogosphere) people are writing about the news that bisexuality doesn't exist, according to a new study. In a nutshell, some researchers decided to measure genital arousal when men were shown pictures of men and women. They found that the men who claimed to be bisexual tended to become aroused by pictures of only one gender, usually other men. Sounds like a pretty good case for the non-existence of bisexuality, right? Wrong. And to explain why, I'm going to take you back 20 years and introduce you to Fritz Klein. Klein is a sex researcher who studies bisexuality. When Klein began his research, the definitive work on sexual orientation had been done by Kinsey, whose famous "Heterosexual-Homosexual Scale" measured an individual's bisexuality on a continuum of 0 to 6, where "0" represents completely heterosexual, and "6" represents completely homosexual. People answered questions about past sexual experiences, and were placed on the scale. Most people score somewhere in the middle, and therefore, according to Kinsey, have at least some bisexual inclination. Klein changed the scale, first by changing the numbers from 1 to 7--he found that people are unlikely to identify as "0," even in regards to sexual orientation. Klein also made the scale much larger, so that it would measure more than just past sexual experiences. Klein's scale measures the past, present, and future of all of the following areas: sexual attraction, sexual behavior, sexual fantasies, emotional preference, social preference, lifestyle preference, sexual identity, and political identity. (For more information on the Klein scale, click here.) In other words, Klein realized that sexual orientation--and more importantly, sexual identity--are multi-faceted sociological contstructs. Michael Bailey, a psychologist and one of the authors of the study has this to say: "I'm not denying that bisexual behavior exists,but I am saying that in men there's no hint that true bisexual arousal exists, and that for men arousal is orientation." And I offer this response to Dr. Bailey: Bullshit. Sexuality is a complicated thing--it's never as simple as mere genital arousal, even in men. The idea that adult men run around like dogs humping whatever provokes genital arousal is reductionist and absurd. Sexuality is heavily influenced by attraction, undoubtedly, but sexuality does not occur without a sociological context. For example, there are familial and societal pressures, cultural norms, and peer groups to consider when examining sexuality. That's just scratching the surface of the construction of sexuality. And when Dr. Bailey fails to consider the other factors that can influence sexual orientation, it is obvious that Dr. Bailey has not done his research. The concept that what-makes-you-hard-is-who-you-are has not been accepted by any serious sex researchers or sexologists for at least 20 years. I encourage anyone out there interested in sexuality to put the good doctor's article to its most appropriate use: Line a bird cage with it. Oh, and one more thing: Look what came up as the sponsor of the printer-friendly version of this story when I clicked on it. Oh, the irony. 
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Meme
step 1: open itunes.
step 2: set your library to random. step 3: list the first 25 songs it plays, no matter how incriminating. 1) 'Round Midnight, sung by Ella Fitzgerald 2) Cum Mortuis in Lingua Mortua (From Pictures at an Exhibition, Modest Mussorgsky) 3) To Have And Not To Hold, by Madonna (From Ray of Light) 4) I Just Wanna Be Your Everything, by Andy Gibb 5) World Without Churches, by Suzanne Sterling 6) Since I Fell For You, by Nina Simone 7) Love Song For No One, John Mayer (from Room for Squares) 8) No Urgency, by Eric Himan 9) America, Simon & Garfunkel 10) 1st Movement, Concerto for Flute and Harp in G Major, by Mozart 11) Past the Mission, Tori Amos (from Under the Pink) 12) One by One, Cher 13) Razzle Dazzle, from Chicago 14) Seven Years, Natalie Merchant (from Tigerlilly) 15) Mahler, Symphony 1, third movement 16) Prashanti, Ravi Shankar and Philip Glass 17) Madam, by Astralasia 18) A Girl Like You, Edwyn Collins 19) Rhapsodie #7, Fanz Liszt 20) Sunglasses at Night, Corey Hart 21) Starting Here, Starting Now, sung by Barbra Streisand 22) The Long and Winding Road, The Beatles 23) What's My Age Again?, Blink 182 24) A Fine Romance, Lena Horne 25) Baby Got Back, Sir Mix-A-Lot That wasn't too bad--only one Cher song and only one Streisand song. However, I hoped I would escape without anyone knowing that I have Corey Hart and Sir Mix-A-Lot on my iPod. I guess not. Excuse my while I shake my healthy butt.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Venusian Food Hound
Over the past weekend Jay and I were dogsitting for my parents. (Isn't it interesting how the suffix "sitting" can be appended to almost any word to denote that someone is watching something else of value? Dogsitting, housesitting, catsitting... and on goes the list. Would it be inappropriate, I wonder, to refer to my dry cleaner as my "suitsitter" and my financial advisor as my "moneysitter?")
My parents have a pug--a very, very large pug. The size of an average pug is between 18-25 pounds. My parents' dog weighs in at 45 pounds. It's not so much that he's fat--although he is--he is just extraordinarily large for a pug. His large size, coupled with his buggy eyes and spastic behavior give him the appearance of some kind of alien creature masquerading as a suburban pet. Often, people will approach us when we are out walking and ask what kind of breed he is. I tell them he is a Venusian Food Hound. Some people get the joke and smile knowingly; other people scratch their heads and say, "I've never heard of that breed." "Oh," I respond, "You see them around sometimes. You remember the dog from Facts of Life? That was a Venusian Food Hound." Of course, there is no such thing as a Venusian Food Hound, and there was no dog on The Facts of Life, but people will often say, "Oh yeah. I remember that." My parents have always had strange dogs. My parents had a black pekineese during my childhood. My mother, who has always named our pets, called him Qing-Qing (pronounced "Ching-Ching"), which supposedly is Chinese for "Thank you." Personally, I never trusted foreign-language names because you can never really be sure they mean what you think they mean. For example, some friends of the family once named their boat "Sans Souris," explaining: "It's French for 'without worries'." I informed them one day that "Sans Soucis" means without worries; "Sans Souris," as they had named their boat, means "without mice." To soften the blow, I suggested that "without mice" is probably a more apt description for a boat than "without worries." For all I know we could have named our dog "Cookpot" or "Sweatshop." (Incidentally, my mother named the enormous, alien-looking pug "Roswell." There never was a more appropriate name.) Qing-Quing was a good dog for the most part. He was quite the watchdog, barking at anyone with the gall to walk down the street in front of the house. My parents usually yelled for Qing-Qing to "shut up." As a 10-year-old, I thought that sounded a little harsh, and a tad crass. I, instead, would rap my knuckles on the nearest piece of hardwood and shout: "Order! Come to order!" I found that this was most effective when delivered in a British accent. That habit has followed me into adulthood, and this weekend I found myself instructing my parents' pug to "Come to order." During one particularly loud and long period of barking, I shouted in my best imitation of Margaret Thatcher: "I will have order!" Jason mocks me mercilessly for this. I offered him the same explanation that I offered my parents: "It works on Masterpiece Theatre." That always caused my father to leave the room shaking his head and muttering under his breath. It caused my partner to double over with spasms of laughter. Sadly, I have found, throughout the course of my life, that what works on Masterpiece Theatre seldom works in the rest of the world.
Friday, July 01, 2005
Friday: Culture and a hot guy [+/-] See it...Today you get Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 8 in C minor, Op. 13, which is usually called the "Pathetique." (That's pathetic in terms of "suffering," not in terms of "pitiful.") Beethoven wrote this sonata in 1798, when he was first beginning to become aware that he was going deaf. The piece is amazing in its drama. Best of all, it's not terribly difficult to perform. I'm learning the piece now, in fact. I believe that Beethoven was the greatest composer for the piano who ever lived. (In fact, I believe that Beethoven was the greatest composer who ever lived, but let's leave that for another day.) His music can have frightening power, tender beauty, and relentless passion. He can lull you to blissful peace or make the hair on your neck stand on end. What's so amazing about his piano sonatas are their economy: There isn't a single note that's unnecessary or out of place. The whole thing fits together flawlessly. I've probably said too much already. Let's let Beethoven speak for himself. Listen to Artur Pizarro play Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata. Today's hottie is Rob Thomas. I don't care if he is a Scientologist.   
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