Help! I’ve Been Memed!

This has never happened to me before. I feel kind of dirty, but I like it…

Per Hanuman’s request, here are my answers to the Book Meme:

1. One book you have read more than once:

Only one? The Lord of The Rings trilogy. Yes, I am just that geeky. And damn, that’s actually three books. But there are lots more books I’ve read more than once, and I have graphic novels I’ve read umpteen times.

I do, of course, have to give mention to Awakening to Animal Voices by Dawn Baumann Brunke, because not only have I read it several times, but I contributed to it!

2. One book you would want on a desert island:

I have to concur with the popular, if imaginary, "Surviving on an Island for Dummies” or “The Complete Idiot’s Guide To Building A Radio Contact System From Coconuts”.

3. One book that made you laugh:

Hmm… I’m not an easy laugh, but David Sedaris gets me, sometimes. The Santaland Diaries, which are in both Barrel Fever and Holidays on Ice are a classic.

4. One book that made you cry:

On the other end of the spectrum, I am a very easy cry. If I am in an off mood or it’s a particular time of month, just looking at an envelope from an animal support organization can send me into a protracted weeping spell. Life of Pi, by Yann Martel, definitely made me cry - especially the ending, which really upset me. But seriously, there are some books, like When Elephants Weep: The Emotional Lives of Animals, that I read maybe one chapter of and put down, never to pick up again, because it made me bawl hysterically.

So, basically any book where an animal or someone’s mother dies, or there is a deep but difficult love, or passages inspiring one to re-evaluate one’s life and become one with the natural universe. Or in which people are mean. Or… well, you get the picture…

5. One book you wish you had written:

For back royalties, the Bible. Heh. But seriously, The Passion, by Jeanette Winterson. One of my all time favourite books, plus, it would get me in good with all the lovely lesbian ladies, if you know what I’m saying, and I think you do.

6. One book you wish had never been written:

Hard to top “anything written by Ann Coulter,” except by maybe “the Bible”, because it has been so misunderstood, misused and improperly contextualized over the millennia, and caused so much mishegoss. Yeah, I said it. So, there.

7. One book you are currently reading:

To The Ends of The Earth: The Selected Travels of Paul Theroux. I enjoy good travel writing, and I’d been told this is a good sampler to get acquainted with Theroux’s travel book style. So far, I am very much enjoying it.

8. One book you have been meaning to read:

Oh, jeez, my Amazon wish list is something like 12 pages long, so how am I supposed to decide? I probably should start reading biology, psychology and zoology texts to prepare for going back to school and deciding what program interests me most. Along those lines, I’ve been meaning to read Kicked, Bitten, and Scratched: Life and Lessons at the World's Premier School for Exotic Animal Trainers by Amy Sutherland and The Moral Animal: Why We Are, the Way We Are: The New Science of Evolutionary Psychology by Robert Wright.

9. One Book That Changed Your Life:

Dummies 101: HTML, circa 1995 or 96. Geeky? Yes. But it’s not what you think. You see, if I’d never learned HTML, I wouldn’t have my job, and if I didn’t have my job, I never would have met Mrs. Nator, who worked in a different department at the same organization. Meeting Mrs. Nator changed my life in more wonderful ways than just about anything else that ever happened to me, to say the least. (I know – AWWW!)

10. Now Tag 5 bloggers:

Helen at The Ninth Circle of Helen

Qenny at Qenny's Virtual Gob

Palochi at... Palochi

Lynette at Notes on My Life

First Nations at Paul. Because 'Paul' is a nice name.

Have at it, Meme-ettes!

The Horror

Not a lot of time to post today, kiddies. I am a victim of:

1. A very crazy day at work.

2. Recovering from some friends' birthday party for their one-year old... and said party was FULL OF BABIES!!!

3. Recovering from shock after I realized this morning that Mrs. Nator & I had completely forgotten that the So You Think You Can Dance tour went on sale this past Saturday, and is now SOLD OUT.

Fortunately,

1. The work day is over.

2. I am presently baby-free.

3. There is eBay.

You all may now resume your normal activities.

I Don't Think You Can Dance (or, A Trip With Da Nator)

Listen, bitches. Whatever kind of lame-ass, half-hearted anti-rain dance y'all did for me yesterday - you got it backwards! Sheesh.

First, Mrs. Nator got a migrane. Fortunately, the lovely Liz Van Liz was able to join me for the Twilight Tour at the last moment. And I do mean last moment, 'cause she was late. So, I amused myself by taking lots of artsy-ass photographs, like this:

Then we had some wine and cheese, while the first boat ride went. Then we had some wine and cheese. Wiiiiine and cheeeese...

Then it did this:

So, no boat ride for us, and no bat hunting. We saw one brown bat shoot by just before the heavens burst, but that was it. While we waited out the storm, Liz Van Liz was kind enough to interpret for us what the bats might have looked like, had they not all drowned in the deluge.

Then, because I refused to meander through the entire park in the dark, we walked for approximately five hundred and twenty-six hours to get to the Slope.

Then we had ice cream.

The End!

Friday Cat Blog: Don't Drink & Groom Edition

Hey whatsha...? I feel a lil wooshy...

Mebbe I better lie.. ohhh...

...zzzZZZNORNK!

Update: This here post has been Carnivalized!

Rain, Rain, Go Away

Because I have our Twilight Tour of Prospect Park - the last of the summer - reserved for tonight, and I want to see me some bats and wood ducks without getting soaked.

So, if any of you have any kind of anti-rain dances or spells you can put into effect for the Brooklyn area, it would be most appreciated.

Also? No exploding planes, please. Thanks very much.

Bring Me My Lab Coat

You know you are a big geek when you find yourself awake just before sunrise, and can't go back to sleep because it's suddenly become a pressing question just which angles on the North/South East/West axes your windows face.

You know you are a giant goofball, as well, when, instead of, say, getting up and looking at a map, or even out the window, you instead become absorbed in the little animated cartoon map your mind is drawing of your house's location, the sun, and a compass, complete with ridiculous sound effects.

In all fairness, I blame Mr. Wizard, Bill Nye and Beakman. I bet if I go back to school I'll have to make sound effects while peering into the microscope or performing dissections.

My professors are going to love me!

Ol' Grey Lungs

Congratulate me, children. Today marks the fifth anniversary of my quitting smoking!

What I no longer look like. Well, at least I don't have the cigar.

Yes, five years ago today I kicked that devil tobacco - cold turkey, no less. I'd like to say it was because I finally realized that by then I'd been smoking on and off for over half of my life, or that I came to the conclusion that I loved myself just too damn much to pollute my body anymore. In fact, however, I would have to say that most of it had to do with Mrs. Nator ramping up the anti-smoker abuse on me. There's more than one reason that I love her.

Am I now eating and exercising like I really should? No. But at least I've notched five years sans death sticks in my extra-large belt.

Hey, aren't we all just works in progress?

Pointless Potpourri

You Learn Something New Every Day, Dept.

Former MTA information site mtainfo.com is no longer an MTA information site. In the words of clever Mrs. Nator:

So, “How are you going to get to heaven?” Certainly not on the B63, my friend.

It’s a Manhattanatee!

In case you haven't heard, a supersized manatee has recently been sighted in the Hudson River. According to the Internets, he or she has now been spotted as far north as Sleepy Hollow, just north of the Tappan Zee. Local naturalists are puzzled, as these gentle and endangered creatures are rarely seen this far north.

In an exclusive interview, said the manatee, “what’s the big deal? I was just going to visit my friend Rocky the Risso Dolphin. I hear he got sprung outta the hospital a little while ago…”

Meanwhile, off Perth, Australia, an extremely rare albino whale calf has been spotted. Are all these odd aquatic mammal sighting signs of the End Days? Representatives of Busch Entertainment Corporation deny rumours that SeaWorld star Shamu the orca was heard to have stated "albino whale calf - the other white meat!"

Man Wombmine Ray

Finally, if any of you are interested, having wandered around my neighbourhood this past Sunday, I just put a buttload of new photos up in the "Brooklyn Wanderings" section of my Flickr pages. Please, if you have the time and inclination, take a look at them. Some of them I've done more than one version, fiddling in-camera or Photoshop. Let me know what you like, what you don't, and what changes could make them better. (Psst! This especially means you, Dope.)

Ciao, bellas...

Sundry

You Learn Something New Every Day Dept.

If you happen to fall down the stairs when you are, say, running to catch a train while wearing flip-flops (just as the MTA safety posters warn you not to do), an effective method of slowing your fall is to grab a firm hold on a fat man’s ass.

In the future, you may want to consider actually knocking said rotund individual beneath you, to better cushion your fall.

Lezzies and Stingrays and Bats, Oh My!

I was already looking forward to our scheduled Twilight Tour of Prospect Park next week, wherein we might see fauna such as herons, wood ducks and bats. Then, Mrs. Nator decided to spring on me what we’ll be doing for my birthday this year.

Allegedly because she wanted to know how many people I thought she should invite, and whether I wanted to get a better underwater camera – but more likely because Mrs. Nator cannot stand keeping a secret when she’s excited – she informed me that we are going to be snorkeling with sand sharks, stingrays, and tropical fish from around the world! Yes, we are going to the Atlantis Marine World Aquarium between the forks of Long Island for the day, where we will check out the exhibits and explore the 80,000-gallon Shark Reef Lagoon. Sure, I have snorkeled with dolphins, green turtles and other tropical fish in Hawaii and Costa Rica, but I never got to do the night-time ray dive I wanted to do, and I’ve certainly never swum with sharks! This should be a lot of fun, in that we can get close contact with these fascinating animals, as well as touring the rest of the Aquarium.

But that’s not all! We’ll also be having a dinner with friends, and then, possibly in February, we will be getting a behind-the-scenes tour of the affiliated facility at The Riverhead Foundation for Marine Research and Preservation. This means we will get to meet some of the vets, scientists and other caregivers who rescue and rehabilitate animals who become sick, injured or stranded in the area, such as seals, turtles and dolphins. We will be going in February because that is high season for strandings, so we are most likely to be able to see animals and how they’re treated. This is a wonderful opportunity for me, not only because I find it fascinating, in general, but because I am strongly considering going back to school to study animal care and/or behaviour. So, not only will I be able to check out exactly what goes on at such a facility, but I may be able to ask related questions of the staff, and possibly discuss volunteer and intern possibilities. I am so totally stoked! (You can tell by the way I revert to my teenage slang.)

So, in summary: WOOOO! And also, do I not have the best girlfriend ever? She knows and loves me so well.

Now how in hell can I get her a meeting with Rufus Wainwright for her birthday?

Opa!

Alas, my alternate girlfriend Natalie was eliminated from So You Think You Can Dance last night. I was not really surprised, considering her pairing with Ivan (who deserved to have been eliminated earlier), her previous placements and the judges’ tongue-lashings. I’m not very disappointed, either, as it seems that, at this stage of the game, not only is pretty much everyone good enough to be the final winner, but some of them seem exhausted, injured and ready to be finished. In fact, Heidi, who seemed like something of a dark horse for a while, has looked to be the only one of the girls with any real energy left for the past couple weeks.

So, as the very classy Natalie said, “opa!” We look forward to seeing her on the tour. I’m sure she has a fine career ahead of her, both as a dancer and an actress.

As for the rest? I’m still convinced Benji is going to win, and I definitely think he should. His talent, attitude and star power are all outstanding, as much as I like all the others.

And Mia? No longer my alternate girlfriend number two. She may be dykey, cute and an amazing choreographer, but she is just too damn pretentious and mean. She can call me when she gets a little less full of herself. In the meantime, I’ll entertain myself by wondering what would happen were she and Jackie Warner of Work Out were to meet…

And finally,

It's Getting Cooler! Woo-Hoo!

Maybe I can actually get to the beach this weekend...

Cheers, yall.

Friday Cat Blog - Spooooky Edition!

Oh, no - it's the Phantom Pheline!

Since the ever-elusive Doodle is even more elusive when it comes to getting her in the sights of my new camera (she's positively frightened by it), this is the best I can do for now. It does, however, acurately portray the way she unpredictably appears out of nowhere, and disappears just as quickly.

Hot In Herrre

Or, What My Weather Pixie Should Truly Look Like

Search Of The Day Award

Goes to the lucky person who got to this blog by searching for "horse dick". Your prize is this photo of a horse with the biggest dick of them all, Dick Cheney!

Come to think of it, would photos of bestiality be any more disturbing?

Ciao, Wino

Ingredients of Ciao, Bella More in Vino sorbet:

• Blackberry puree
• Sugar
• Filtered water
• Corn syrup
• Cabernet Wine
• A touch of cognitive dissonance

Result = empty pint container + two dykes who smell like dipsos

Foto-Fu

This should cool you off.

Short Attention Span Theatre

or, "Bravely Blogging From My Sickbed With The Last Ounce Of My Strength"

OK, it's not that bad, but the doctor informed me yesterday that not only did the antibiotics not cure my ear infection, but it's spread to the other ear. (I was wondering why Mrs. Nator had learned American Sign Language for "please turn down the goddamn television!") So, I've been given some kind of Mega-Super-antibiotic, which is destroying my digestive tract as I type, and will commence resting comfortably in bed, naked, with the TiVo remote and a cat on my head.

Let's see what random stuff I can come up with, shall we?

Help, Help I'm Being Oppressed!

On the one hand, it's terrible that some straight people feel that they're being harassed by gay people in Provincetown. My dear homos, we should all know better.

On the other hand "O, poor me! Whiiiney-woo! Those mean gay people are calling me names. It's not fair, you big bullies!" Hee.

Holding Our Tongues

Alright, I know with a header like that you're expecting some blue jokes, but I'm going to be serious for a minute. There's an excellent column by Kurt Andersen in New York magazine this week, called Truly Inconvenient Truths. It well captures the conflicting feelings most liberals like me have about the situation in the middle east, particularly Israel and Lebanon.

Unlike those who think sending in the troops can fix everything, the left wing seems frozen in an overwhelmed state of not knowing which choices are the least of all evils. I know that I haven't blogged much about the horror, disgust, anger and sadness I've been feeling about the further escalation of violence there, in part because I don't feel I'm qualified to analyze the sociopolitics, another part because have no idea what can be done about it, and a third part because I don't want to get in an argument with friends who strong feelings about it and relatives in the area. The truth is, I am scared and heartbroken at the state of humanity as demonstrated in this ongoing conflict, but I don't say much about it because it's confusing and it hurts. And that's not even counting the mishegoss that's going on around World Pride.

Let's face it, mine is not a politcally-themed blog, but it's amazing that even established bloggers like Kos are so overwhelmed by the killing that they refuse to talk about it. Maybe we all need to talk about it more, so we can understand each other, but I also fear that many people's feelings about this are so strong and entrenched, that talking doesn't mean communicating, but turns to shouting or worse.

Coming Out Of The Dark

Now that I've thoroughly depressed myself, let's talk about something awesome. That I'm so gay I use a Gloria Estefan song as my header? No, silly, that Natalie did not get eliminated from So You Think You Can Dance last night! Wooo!

I swan, I was sure she was a goner. Ryan has been in the firing range for some time, so pulling him as her partner seemed to toll the first death knell, I thought. Getting disco and contemporary as her styles was the second, especially since Ivan and Allison got the tango (which they'd already done well) and hip hop, and Benji and Heidi pulled each other and Broadway and mambo (seriously, they were like a dream team on those dances, there was no way one of them would be going home). So, when she was in the bottom two I was resigned to her fate, and she seemed to be, too. I mean, I was surpised enough that Allison was in the bottom two; I couldn't believe America would vote her perky, pretty ass off.

Considering all this I was gobsmacked and thrilled when Natalie made it, and considering how thoroughly she lost her shit, she seemed to be shocked, too. Not that I feel great about Allison losing - she is an amazing and incredibly versatile dancer, and with most of the contestants at the end being so great, it's sad when they're voted off. (Actually, I wish they didn't insist on one guy and one woman being voted off each week, because I think Ivan deserved to be booted in her place.) But, oh, Natalie, my little Greek persimmon! How you danced your heart out, bum knee and all. Please pull yourself together and continue to bedazzle and beguile us next week. And if you're ever hankering for some girl-on-girl-on-girl action, Mrs. Nator and I are totally planning on seeing you and the others on the big tour. I'm just sayin'.

Friday Cat Blogging: Kitty (and Turtle) Porn Edition

Well, hello, Mr. Handsome.	Aww, yeah, baby, you know what I want.
Ooh, you dirty girl!	That's right, give it to the camera...
Now show us some plastron!

Update: Dear Penthouse, I never thought it could happen to me - the kitties have been carnivalized!

Critter Mania!

I just came across a truly awesome site: ARKive.org. ARKive is according to their FAQ,

"the Noah's Ark for the Internet era - a unique global initiative, gathering together into one centralised digital library, films, photographs and audio recordings of the world’s species."

What this boils down to is, lots of excellent photos and videos of endangered animals, like the one below!

Being an animal freak, I look forward to seeing lots more. Check it out.

Foto-Fu: Brooklyn Graffitti Edition

Since I got a new camera, I figured I'd start subjecting y'all to some pictures. These were taken in my neighbourhood, the South Slope.

I've got more photos up on my Flickr page, which I am still in the midst of organizing (i.e. re-ordering and adding goofy captions). Criticism is very much welcomed, but please be nice. I haven't been serious about photography for years, so I'm just re-learning. I'm hoping to take a class in digital photography soon.

I Wish My Brother George Was Here

Thanks to Joe.My.God, it has come to my attention that Nicholas Cage is trying to star in and direct a biopic of Liberace. Loathing of Nic Cage aside, I am indeed titillated. A movie about Liberace could be awesome in terms of sheer cheesiness, terrible, offensive, or so terrible and offensive that it crosses back into awesome gain, like Showgirls.

I hope they do a good job, because I have a soft spot in my heart for the Polish-American Wisconsonite showman. Not only was his whole aesthetic mid-blowing, but my mother confessed to me a few years ago that, as a young thing, she'd had a mad crush on him. I'm pretty sure that's what made me gay. Hooray!

Lee also clearly passed on to me his love of all things exotic animal.

It Runs In The Family, Y'all

The niece.

Further Notes On My "Personality"

Yet Another Reason I Am A Bad Person

So, I went to the orientation for a weight loss group at a major NY hospital yesterday, towing Mrs. Nator along for support. Although the folks running it seemed nice and knowledgable, I felt the program probably will not be a good fit for me. It requires a year-long commitment with group meetings every week, and doesn't involve the kind of medical monitoring I'm looking for, considering my history. Moreover, the meeting room was depressing (grubby old hospital conference room with fake wood panelling and folding chairs), as was the group assembled there. Seriously, I've rarely seen such a bunch of sad sacks in my life. I'm upset about being fat, but I'd rather not let it suck the oxygen out of my environment, if you catch my drift.

That said, and setting aside my general misanthropy, you want to know one of the things that bothered my most? Everyone was so old and fat. Seriously - I sat in a weight loss group and internally recoiled at all the fat people, even though I am fat, myself. The devil has a special place in his heart for me (and I him, but that's another matter).

Afterwards, I couldn't help confessing to the lovely wife, "I felt so awful, because I just kept thinking 'my God, I'm not like them, am I?'" Mrs. Nator assured me that I was the youngest and cutest specimen amongst the group by far, but then, she's biased. Long story short, I'm still in the market for the right weight loss program. I do think I'm going to follow up with the group's nutritionist to see if she can recommend a good doctor, though.

Yet Another Reason I Am A Big Geek

I've been having my chronic insomnia problems lately, due most likely to the weather, still getting over being sick and improper diet. I know that going to the gym in the morning would make me feel better and help me sleep, but how I am supposed to haul my voluptuous ass outta bed to work out in the morning when I've been up half the night with insomnia?

Aaaanyway, having exhausted my TiVo cache of I Love The 70s, Volume II, I started to watch a Science Channel show on, yes, tugboats. I guess being in Cape Cod had made me feel all nautical, and I'd seen some of the NY harbour tugs doing some interesting things of late, so in my usual frenzy of taping nature specials and science shows I slipped that one into the schedule. As of 4:00 a.m. I had learned all about the technical advances in tugboat engine technology and the number of anchors on an oil rig. This morning I have spent at least a half an hour gleefully surfing through sites dedicated to tugboats. Note, of course, that this is knowledge that I will never use and will never come up in discussion unless I choose to visit our local mariners' retirement home. BTW, isn't that on Fourth Avenue...?

I will notify you if I decide to be called "Cap'n" anything in the near future.

Yes, I'm One of Those

Crazy people obsessed with cats. What did you think I meant?

And since I just had another delightful half-hour explain-a-thon with my insurance company, who has refused to pay me hundreds of dollars owed to me going back to last year, I could use a little comedy.

Hence, the following montage. Yes, I am a dork. And cats were probably hurt in the making of this video. But so were babies, so that makes it okay.

Grab This

I am honoured to have been linked from noLandGrab, the awesome anti-Atlantic Yards site, even if it was just noting how Atlantic Yards has become nigh unto a curse word in the zeitgeist. Power to The People, y'all!

Alas, I'm pretty sure anyone who comes here thinking they might get a coherent analysis of real estate development in Brooklyn is going to be asking "WTF is all this crap?"

C'est la vie.

Subject Sampler

Breaking The Back of Love Dept.

Brotherly love, that is, as it turns out my bro has the same exact spinal problems I do (misalignment, protruding discs and arthritis), except worse, as he’s older and hasn’t done anything to treat them for a decade. It looks like talking to me about how much my surgery helped me – along with some new, excruciating symptoms - has helped him to decide to pursue treatment. He’s started getting steroid shots, and even asked me to re-send him my cartoon guide to spinal fusion, so he can show it to his friends at work when he explains his situation.

I’m really glad he is finally taking care of himself and seems to have good doctors, but of course I worry. I worry because his situation has progressed to be far worse than mine – he’s got advanced arthritis and severely protruding discs between every single vertebra in his neck, and they haven’t even done the lumbar MRI, yet. I also worry that, these things being genetic and he and I clearly having more in common than looking ridiculously alike, I, too, will be looking at possible multiple surgeries in the future. Crap!

This is really going to set back our plans of forming a family troupe of trapeze artists.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes Dept.

It looks like August is going to be a busy month. Besides the yearly celebration of the anniversary of the blessing that was my birth, Mrs. Nator has decided she’s had it with the shredding flooring in the hall, falling plaster all over the place, rusting refrigerator, and our continuing argument over what colour to paint the bedroom. Decisions have been reached, and she plans to take a week or two off that month and set to renovatin’ and paintin’. I will probably advise and watch. Okay, maybe I’ll help, but not on my birthday.

Meanwhile, I learned last week that a.) no administration workers are getting raises this year at my workplace, due to all the hub-bub and re-budgeting that have come with having a new GM and him bringing in new ideas and staff, and b.) in August I will be moving to a new office and working for a new person. I knew a move was imminent, but I didn’t know about the new boss. She’s someone who’s not come yet, so I know nothing about her or even what her title will be. I am told that my job will be pretty much the same, although it’s not certain whether I’ll also be doing some assistant work for the new honchess.

Overall, I am very slightly nervous, but pretty much fine to go with the flow of all this. After all, I’ve been fairly over this job for a while now, and after not being able to finagle getting laid off earlier this year, I’ve decided to refuse to worry about anything that goes on here as, hey, the worst they can do is lay me off. We got a little back-up money, so I’m surprisingly low-stress. Actual worst case scenario? I hate the new boss and have to find another job. I’m doing research on possibly going back to school, anyway (shhhh!), so, what? Me, worry?

The I-Am-Going-To-Hell Dept.

Bombing innocent citizens of Lebanon is bad enough, but this wanton destruction of kitty toys must stop!

The Second Deadly Sin Dept.

Once every year or two, my friend Cat Lady L and I go out to Blue Ribbon and gorge ourselves silly. Neither of us can afford (or stomach) this kind of meal often, but so few others we know truly enjoy raw oysters the way we do, and you’ve gotta live a little now and then. So, while carrying on a delightful conversation, she and I manages to polish off the following:

Spring water, bread & butter, 2 glasses wine (Savingnon Blanc for her, Reisling for me), one dozen raw oysters (Nova Scotia and New Brunswick varieties, one of which has a terrific,springy sweetness), sautéed calamari (in a garlic pesto sauce - fabulous, succulent and similar a dish I had in Ptown), whole roast garlic, string bean vinaigrette (too heavy on the vinaigrette, IMHO), beef marrow and oxtail marmalade on toast points (delicious, PETA-inflaming, heart-attack-on-a-plate), warm goat cheese salad and a root beer float.

Halfway through the meal I had a distinct vision of the peasants breaking down the door and hauling us off to the guillotine. Truly, I do not know how the upper class does it. I’d say I left the place ten pounds heavier (I could barely walk), except that’s probably the amount of weight that went missing from my wallet. All in all, however, the food was excellent and the service absolutely impeccable, as usual. If you haven’t been there, go thither, at least once.

Have I mentioned that this evening I’m attending an orientation for a weight-loss program? (Burp.)

We now return you to your regular attention span. Cheerio!

Superman Returns One Mo’ Time

OK, so I watched the 1978 movie Superman again the other night, and I just have a few more comments to add to my previous post about the new one.

1. Chris Reeve carried the 1978 movie. He was the perfect blend of strength and sensitivity, sexiness and respect, aw-shucks American Values and suavité. He really was Superman. Brandon Routh may have done a good job, but there was no way he was going to measure up, even if Reeve hadn’t died tragically.

2. Kate Bosworth as Lois Lane is ridiculous. She’s, what, 23 or 24 years old, and is supposed to have birthed Supe’s child and won a Pulitzer prize while he fucked off for 5 years? Give me a break. She doesn’t have the character or appearance for the role – she’s a blank slate. Her match as Supes would have been Keanu Reeves. Fortunately, they got Routh, who is better. Still, although he is about the same age Reeve was in 1978, he doesn’t have the grown-manliness Reeve did. Even if you imagine that Superman does not age like mere mortals do, he requires a certain power of face and carriage to carry sufficient gravitas. Making the movie “dark” in general doesn’t do it – Routh is too young for the part.

3. I still think a continuance of the Superman series is almost unworkable in 2006, unless you start completely over with a revised story. Let’s face it, if Superman were around today, half the United States would be demanding he go kick butt in the middle east, and the other half would be petitioning him to rid the Earth of all nuclear weapons. Lex Luthor may very well be a kind of terrorist, but it’s hard to sit through this fantasy without thinking about the real-world situation of war, politics, famine &c. Again, maybe the filmmakers thought that giving the movie a darker, more depressing “tone” overall would make it up-to-date. Unfortunately, it just works at odds with the goofball humour elements, and instead of hitting a balance it makes neither seem to fit. With the original, it was mostly goofball, but when you had those few really serious moments, like Reeve’s excellent and moving breakdown when he finds Lois dead, they really stand out and stick.

4. You’d think Kevin Spacey would be perfect for the role of Lex Luthor. Yet he still bugged the shit out of me.

That is all.

Just Because

The Building I Hate

Actually, there are a large number of new buildings and construction projects in my neighbourhood – Park Slope, Brooklyn – that I hate. You see, Park Slope is traditionally an area of turn-of-the-century brownstones and townhouses, and by turn-of-the-century, I mean the 18 and 1900s, not the millennium. Anyway, as prices have skyrocketed in Manhattan over the last couple decades, more and more people have discovered this area of Brooklyn, and it’s been flooded by the usual waves of first gays and students, then yuppies, and now just about any rich, white person who isn’t able to find a place in The City, or just wants more room and a more homey environment. Of course, you could say the same about Carroll Gardens, Cobble Hill, Willamsburg, DUMBO, Brooklyn and Prospect Heights, Windsor Terrace and, more recently, Red Hook and Fort Greene, but Park Slope was probably the nabe that really got the upscale gentrification/redevelopment ball rolling. Is it any wonder that nowadays real estate agents tend to classify anywhere down to the Gowanus or southwards through Greenwood Heights and halfway into Sunset Park as part of “The Slope”?

(Heck, since our apartment is just over the parkway, we may not even really count as the South Slope, but over the decade or so I’ve been here, I’ve seen Polish and Latino families edged out by Anglo hipsters, and 99-cent stores closed as restaurants and cafés move in. I definitely carry the liberal guilt of being on the gentrifying edge, but that’s another story.)

As this Manhattanite influx has been going on, naturally not only have rents skyrocketed, but a building boom has been born. At first it seemed like many developers would be satisfied with flipping pre-existing buildings, but now you can see huge, modern-style condos going up all over the place, each uglier (the prevailing design theme seems to be “1980s shopping mall”) and more shoddily constructed than the next. I don’t know the particulars of how and when the building-height regulations were relaxed, but I know I was certain where things were heading a couple years ago, when a condo several stories higher than the largest building on my block went up. Now you can see new construction projects opening almost daily, and many residents fear that the brownstone charm that attracted them in the first place is going to be overrun by high-rise monstrosities.

So, why do I hate this building in particular? Quite simply, it’s right behind my building, it’s huge, clearly made on the cheap, and changing the entire look and feel of the area, along with my view of the Manhattan skyline. I mean, look at how it dwarfs the surrounding townhouses.

Not only that, but construction has been haphazard, the carpenters’ unions have complained that unsafe and illegal work has been done there, and there have been at least 68 complaints lodged and 22 violations reported for this property. And guess what? The demolition contractor who worked on this site is the same one who was issued a stop work order after two workers were hospitalized due to wall collapse on another violation-heavy site on very same street!

All told, it’s no Atlantic Yards, but it’s still an oversized eyesore by neighbourhood scale, and a continually crooked project, to boot. I’m still lucky that I have a large, if careworn, apartment in the Slope at a good rate. But now, on top of wondering how long I’ll be able to afford living here, I find myself wondering how long I’ll want to.

America, Prepare To Feel My Wrath

For reals, if I see Natalie in the bottom two of So You Think You Can Dance again, I just don’t know what I might do. While my mini-crush on Mia Michaels involves a certain frisson of fear based on her crazy-choreographer bitchiness, Natalie manages to be naturally funny, a balls-out amazing dancer, scorchingly sexy and downright sweet as pie. In other words? She is my new alternate girlfriend, so don’t mess with Ms. N. You have been warned.

Also, if Natalie wasn’t on last night? I never would have imitated her and made the meaningful self-discovery that I, too, can make each booty cheek jump individually. (I can do it with my pecs, too. I may be fat, but underneath? Cynthia Rothrock, baby.)

Otherwise, great show last night. I’m glad to see everyone loves Benji as much as I do, and it was a satisfying surprise to see the show’s “hunk,” Dmitry, voted off over Ryan (who I’m sure is next to go down, but still). Annie Barrett has a review up at EW that spookily covers much of what I was thinking, minus the crushes, so I’ll not rehash further. My main question is, how am I supposed to wait another week?

Friday Cat Blog, High-Tech Edition

So, now that I’ve got a new camera I’ve gone a bit crazy. So far, Maurice and Quan Yin have been mostly uncooperative with my photographic endeavours (QY is actually terrified of the lens, for some reason) but I did get this shot of the MoMeister: And, since Maya is such a curious attention-hound, I actually got this riveting video footage of her:

I know, it’s like a gift from God. (Try freezing it in the middle of one of her meows – too cute!)

Please ignore the sty-like state of the bedroom, BTW.

Finally, I’ve got my Cape Cod photos up on my Flickr page, if anyone’s interested. I’m working on organizing some other shit and transferring my old stuff over from my Yahoo account. Most of it is your run-on-the-mill snapshots, but I’m trying to get more arty about it. I may even take a class, soon. In the meantime, feel free to critique.

Dear Margaret Cho’s Ex-Manager,

Thanks for your comment on my last blog entry. I was quite surprised that you found my brief review of Ms. Cho’s show in my tiny corner of the Internet, but I suppose that if one is in a lawsuit, it pays to keep track of everything, no matter how trivial.

In light of your comment, I’d like to make a few clarifications. First off, I’m sorry to tell you that I don’t remember much that would be useful for your case. I’m not even sure she really said you were suing her. All I recall is Ms. Cho stating that she was in a lawsuit with you and that you have a blog up about it, which you yourself directed me to in your comment (great site, by the way – kudos!). I may have forgotten to mention in my post that not only was I half-deaf and somewhat feverish with an ear infection that night, but I had a drink, so clearly my memories wouldn’t stand up to examination. In fact, I’m not really sure I was even there that night. Perhaps you could find some other audience members through Vixen?

Anyway, you seem like a nice person, and it is sad that Margaret Cho wasn’t funny. Clearly you are in the right, and I wish you well with your legal proceedings.

Regards,

- DN

Dear Margaret Cho,

On the off chance that you also saw my review of your show in Provincetown (because, apparently, you never know who might be reading), I’d like to make a few clarifications. First off, I was obviously quite sick that night, as well as three sheets to the wind, so my opinion probably counts for nothing. After all, I came to the show because I’d enjoyed your previous routines, and everybody but me in the audience seemed to have a great time, so obviously you were very funny and I just wasn’t getting it. I mean, why not repeat your classic jokes? They were funny the first… several times, right? So forget what I said. You were really, really funny. I am just retarded, or frigid or something.

Also, did I mention you looked great? You really, really did. Like I said, healthy and normal. I would even venture to say glowing. Seriously.

By the way, I also never mentioned that you said that you felt like your ex-manager was obsessed with you, and hunting down everything on the Web about you. I mean, I’m not even sure I heard that right, and who am I to spread rumours? I’m hardly a star witness; certainly not one whose feeble recollections would be worthy of presenting in a court of law, that’s for sure.

Anyway, you seem like a nice person, and have done so much for the queer community. Clearly you are in the right, and I wish you well with your legal proceedings.

Kiss Kiss,

- DN

Sundry

It’s weird being back. I’m still half-deaf, I miss the ocean, and the hairy gay men all over the place, and I saw a meeting on my boss’ schedule with the head of marketing and the topic of the meeting was… me. So… I don’t really know what that’s about. Having decided a while ago that I’m not really all that invested in this job, I’m not terribly worried, but it is a little… curious, to say the least.

Meanwhile, yet another section of the middle east is on fire. I’m so glad my friends are planning on going to World Pride in Jerusalem! Oy. Mrs. Nator & I actually discovered that we were having the same daydream the other day, of removing all the people from the entire “holy” region and making it somehow wholly uninhabitable, so no one could fight over it anymore. At first I thought of making the whole place radioactive, but I could just see the radical fundamentalists of all stripes donning holy hazmat suits, or claiming that God’s particular love for them would counter the radiation. It would have to be razed completely, or covered by a force-field of some kind. And everyone could move elsewhere. Canada has a lot of room – and Australia. Even Greenland. The thing is, I’m sure they’d find something to kill each other over, anyway, whether it be whose fault it was the holy land was taken away or... anything, really. Some strange amalgam of Shiite/Canadien-nationalists vs. the Zionist-Laplander Front, or some such. And even then? Everybody could still get together and hate the gays!

Also, while I was away, there were tornados in Westchester and now it’s so hot that the pavement and train rails are literally melting. Is it the End Days? No wonder Maya shrieked at me when I turned down the AC before leaving today. (In Catspeak, apparently, “MAAAOOOOW!” translates as “Bitch, I know you ain’t turnin’ that coolbox on “power saver” – less you want a whole buttload of new peircings in your sleep, that is.”)

Aaaanyway, here’s some random things that are flitting through my mind as I re-acclimate to life in the big city:

Superman Makes Me Sad

We finally saw the new Superman movie on vacation and… it was… meh. Part of the reason is that I just can’t stop thinking of poor Christopher Reeve becoming completely paralyzed and dying – I mean, how can you not, especially when the new guy is doing his best to play Christopher Reeve playing Superman?

I had more thoughts, but I’ll let you read Bunche’s review and my rejoinders in his comments, if you’re interested. I just can’t work up the energy to write a whole review… especially since I’m still working the sleep-tingles out of my limbs from sitting in the theatre for, like, 12 hours.

Margaret Cho Makes Me Sad

Because she’s just not funny anymore. I’ve thought this for awhile, while Mrs. Nator has hopefully speculated that the lack of funny was some temporary side-effect of the comedian suddenly becoming frighteningly skinny after years of making jokes and speeches about how being fat was OK. This analysis coming from a woman who lost about 100 pounds over the past year or two, so she may have a point, although Mrs. Nator is still occasionally funny, herself (but, come one, we all know I’m the funny one, right?).

Anyway, Mrs. N had not given up on La Cho, yet, so we ponied up for her show at The Vixen (shudder!) in Ptown, and the place was absolutely, let’s-hope-she-hasn’t-added-any-pyro-to-her-show packed. We were warmed up by a not-terribly-funny “gay, white rap” act (tired) from L.A (natch), and then Ms. Cho entered to great adulation. Alas, her show turned out to consist of long periods of preaching to the choir about how gays should have equal rights (I’m sure that’s going to be really controversial in Provincetown, darling), going on some depressing tangent about how she’s in a really bad place because her ex-agent is suing her, and really old routines from years ago that actually appeared on her television specials. The whole thing made me feel a little cheap, like since we’re gay we’re supposed to love everything she does and not expect our money’s worth, and a little sad for her, like – is she so depressed that she can’t be bothered, anymore? It was, in truth, a bit troubling.

However, she is not scary-scary skinny, anymore. She is normal and healthy looking. So, that’s good.

No New Episodes Of Janice Dickinson On My TiVo Makes Me Sad

Because: obviously.

The World Is A Crazy Place, Part I

And you don’t need this blarticle on Florrie Fisher (inspiration for Strangers With Candy’s Jerri Blank) to tell you so, but it doesn’t hurt.

The World Is A Crazy Place, Part II

When I was a wee lesbian, back in the early 90s, and living with my first lesbian girlfriend, we went to see a short animation festival. We, especially I, were completely taken with a cartoon called The Big Snit. In fact, it became one of those inside jokes, wherein we constantly compared our relationship to the couple in the short, and I started drawing Snit characters on post-it notes during my mind-numbing data-entry job and slapping them up all over the apartment, much to the confusion of our snotty roommate. Ah, youth! But anyway, I hadn’t been able to find the film anywhere for years, and thus pretty much forgot everything about it, until I learned today that it was on YouTube, and here it is.

…

Leading me to conclude:

1. That is some seriously weird shit.

2. Surely that says something about how fucked up our relationship was, long before our torrid break-up.
&
3. It’s still funny.

Cheerio, Kids.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

Mostly, I was sick. You'd think after braving the jungles of Costa Rica twice and the rugged terrain of Hawaii once (not to mention the sheer culture faux pas that is Wildwood Crest, NJ) the milder shores of Cape Cod would be no problem. However, I was too excited to sleep for days before our trip, and by the morning of I had started in on a honker of a sore throat and headache combo. By the time we were there a couple days, I could barely speak or hear, so I had to go to the local clinic. A hundred dollars later, the verdict was in: severe throat and ear infection, time to go on antibiotics. Feh! in the extreme.

Fortunately, Mrs. Nator was patient and I had my new camera to amuse me. So, as I fought off chills and squeaked around sounding like a combination of Marlee Matlin and Peter Brady in the voice-changing episode, we were still able to do a few activities, like take one squillion pictures of nature subjects and ogle the super hot bears all over the place.

Yes, as previously noted, it was Bear Week in Ptown, and those gentlemen were so sex-ay that even us hardcore lesbos nearly swooned. I was too shy to take their pictures (sorry, boys), but here is a substitute of our new Christmas ornament, Cosmo. And BTW, did you know that the instant the Bears clear out, the EuroFags are back in force?

Anyway, as I got better, so did the vacay, and we did take an extra day at the end off so we could get that whale watch in. There's no place like the Cape. So, to give you a taste, here are a few wobbly videos of some of the things we saw. I think YouTube screws with the resolution (not to mention I had no steadycam, alas), but hey, I like to share.

More photos when I get the time to edit them and upload them to Flickr. Anyone want to go in on a timeshare?

It's Hot, Yo.

For reals, son - I don't even want to think what our Con Ed bill is going to be. After the cool of Cape Cod, baby is not happy coming back to this.

My brother and sis-in-law called me from Texas, all "It's over 100 degrees!" To which I replied: "it's getting up there tomorrow here, and it will be humid, so suck it, bitches."

I mean, my outfit today? Was a pair of flip-flops and a straw hat. The flip flops were to keep the kitty litter off my feet while I was cleaning, and the hat was to amuse myself. Now that that's over they are both off.

In other words, I'm typing nude. Summer in the city, y'all. Deal with it.

Friday Cat Blog

Since I'm going to be away from the critters (and this blog) for my week-long vacation, and I have a new camera, I thought I'd pick up on this tradition.

I give you Maya, AKA The Shmoo, in her natural habitat - the laundry pile.

Mommy?

Maya is the Queen Bitch of the family. Completely deaf, she still knows when you're talking about her - she's that good. She is who she is and does what she wants when she wants to do it, and if you try to stop her, she'll knock over your fragile goods in the middle of the night. Fortunately, what she's wanted to do most for the past several months is snuggle with us in the bed, which we love. Usually she squeezes between Mrs. Nator & I or on the other side of me up by my head, resulting in everyone waking up with hairballs and me looking like I've gone prematurely grey. If we're very good, she will give us ear baths while purring.

Maya is generally somewhat aloof with strangers in person but had her own popular advice column when I was doing professional Animal Communication (she still gets emails and gifts from admirers). She loves to travel, so she tends to pull the "I've-gone-feral-thanks-to-your-abandoning-me" routine and hide under the bed when we're away, leading the petsitter to first feel rejected, then wonder how she's going to explain to us that our cat must have escaped. Of course, it may just be that Maya runs under there and rolls in the dust when she feels the vibrations of us coming up the stairs, then emerges, play-acting all dazed and traumatized for about a half an hour so we feel guilty. She is a strange and manipulative beast, and we'd put nothing past her.

All hail Queen Maya! I'm gonna miss the little fucker.

I [Heart] New York

July 6, 2006

Subway Rider Sliced in Power Saw Attack
By THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

Filed at 1:26 p.m. ET

NEW YORK (AP) -- A man grabbed two cordless power saws off a subway station workbench and went on a rampage Thursday, swinging the saws at riders and slicing open a man's chest before running away, police said.

The 64-year-old victim, whose name was not released, was hospitalized in critical but stable condition. Police were searching for the suspect, described by witnesses as a thin man in his 30s, who had earrings in both ears and was possibly carrying a teddy bear. The attack occurred before dawn at a subway station a few blocks south of Columbia University.

Wielding a saw in each hand, the man took a swipe at one rider on a platform and missed, police said. Moments later, he cut into the man's chest at a turnstile before bolting out of the station, still carrying the power tools, which were later found in a trash can.

Police were reviewing security camera videotape.

The attack came two weeks after a Boston man was charged with stabbing four people -- three of them tourists -- over a 13-hour period in the subway and the theater district in Manhattan.

I think the best part is that this nutjob "was possibly carrying a teddy bear." WTF?!

I still say that living in NYC is safer than living in the boonies, where there's nothing to do but get drunk, drive your truck around and shoot guns.

Nooooooo!

This is turning out to be a Very Bad Day, indeed.

N.Y. Court Says Lawmakers Should Consider Gay Marriage

I particularly love this line of reasoning:

"Intuition and experience suggest that a child benefits from having before his or her eyes, every day, living models of what both a man and a woman are like," the court said.

What do they think, that gay people keep their children sealed in their rooms with no access to outside people? The Boy In The Bubble meets Paradise Island?

Crap. The only good thing about this is that maybe by the time Albany makes gay marriage legal, Mrs. Nator and I will be able to afford a wedding...

Tree Hugger

Since I work in Lincoln Center, I knew for some time that some major construction was in store. When I exited the subway this morning, however, seeing the lovely Bradford Pears that had been in front of Alice Tully Hall chopped into pieces hit my like a punch in the gut. Not only am I one of those ridiculously sensitive souls who sees trees as living beings and their fresh carcasses as akin to roadkill, but these trees had been there for me for the last six or seven years. I marked the passing of seasons by them, thrilled when I saw new buds in early spring, enchanted when they flamed to deep red in autumn, tickled when they sported lighted "snowflakes" in winter, and cooled by them in summer. Office workers, local students and tourists alike rested in their shade on their marble planters, and birds enjoyed their tiny fruits. And there they were: stumps, in pieces, massacred.

Perhaps Lincoln Center will be better for all the renovations going on, and I doubt many will mourn their passing as I am. But this morning, it was a rude shock to see them forever removed from my life, and I will miss them.

I am very sad.

YouBoob

Well, I did it: joined the ranks of the YouTube nation today. Mrs. Nator gave in to my moaning (Whinging - Getting Me What I Want Since 1970!™) and let me get the fancy-dancy super-toy camera I've wanted, and I had to test it out. So, I give you our first little movie, a critique of the NY firworks as seen from the back window of our apartment.

Not bad for shooting with 40+X zoom at the lowest resolution, if I may say so, myself. You can even see the F train going by, despite the lack of a tripod, and hear the constant thrum of the Prospect Parkway, behind our inane commentary. And yes, we are usually that stupid. You've gotta find some way to pass the time.

Shalom

Yesterday I was listening as a good friend of mine described her plans to visit World Pride in Israel in a few weeks, but I didn’t know what to say. When she and her wife suggested to our circle of friends a month back that we all go, Mrs. Nator and I recoiled. To us, that region of the world is not only far too dangerous to “vacation” in, but an emblem of all that’s wrong with religious and ethnic extremism. For thousands of years, people have been suffering, screaming and killing each other over this tiny parcel of land each claims their God gave to them. If I am able to raise the money to get away from home for a week, the last thing I want to do is go somewhere I’m going to absorb that kind of energy, much less risk being stoned or blown up. I have enough to worry about with the security funding being taken away from New York, thank you very much; why go from the frying pan into the fire?

That said, I admire their optimism, conviction and courage. They’ve had a full wedding, despite gay marriage still being illegal here, and now they’re going to participate in a much larger action for gay rights. Granted, they’ve been to Israel a number of times before and even have family there, so it’s not such a big deal for them just to go there. They also seem to feel that the prospects of violence are being over-hyped, and that Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, especially, are cosmopolitan enough that there will be far less unrest than some are predicting.

But from the reports I’ve been hearing of the recent violence in Moscow and the threats and epithets religious leaders of various faiths have been throwing around, it still strikes me that even rather modern cities can harbour extreme prejudice, and even in a region where there is constant fighting between religious groups, they can all seem to agree on one thing: hating gay people. That seems pretty damn dangerous.

In fact, there is some speculation that the events will be cancelled by the authorities worried about potential violence and/or siding with the anti-gay forces. However, in that case, activists might still stage an unauthorized march, which would probably make the situation even more volatile. I’ve marched in several “illegal” marches in my time, and witnessed police violence in New York City, which is supposedly a relatively accepting metropolis. If my friends participate in such a protest there, I’d definitely fear for their safety.

So, the question remains, to attend such an event, is one ignorant, brave, foolish or perhaps some combination thereof? Maybe the optimists are right, and I’m uninformed and worrying too much. Maybe I should feel guilty for not jumping on a plane to get there, myself. Maybe they’re just a little bit crazy. In either case, I will be watching nervously. I hope my friends – and everyone else – will be alright. I also hope that World Pride 2006 will advance the rights and freedoms that queers all over the world deserve.

“Jerusalem WorldPride 2006 will gather people from all over the world to bring a message that is needed throughout the Middle East and beyond: that human rights transcend cultural and ethnic boundaries, that our differences can be respected peacefully, and that love knows no borders. There is no better place in the world than Jerusalem to make that statement, and perhaps no city that needs to hear it more.

The struggle for acceptance and pride is particularly pointed in Jerusalem, a city that is home to three of the world's great religions. The greatest traditions of Islam, Christianity and Judaism affirm the dignity of all human beings and our creation in the divine image. Yet these same faiths have often been sources of hostility and intolerance for LGBT people.

WorldPride 2006 will bring thousands of us to Jerusalem to confront preconception with reality, prejudice with an opportunity for understanding, in a way that will capture the attention of the world.

Together we will proclaim that in this ancient religious city - and in this region - we too belong."

- Jerusalem Open House, the organizers of WorldPride 2006

Update: Prominent conservative religious leaders are now promising bloodshed if World Pride goes through, according to this article. It is interesting, however, that the article also notes that the extreme vitriol directed at World Pride 2000 by Catholics galvanized the queer community, leading to record crowds at that event.

Geeky Revelations Of The Day

1. I have a recurring fantasy where I am singing onstage at a concert like Lilith Fair. Sarah McLachlan, Indigo Girls, and whatever other admired artists pop into my head at the time are happily singing back-up for me. They also all have crushes on me, because I am so very awesome. If I have the right album going on my iPod, I can visualize a whole documentary video about this imagined performance.

2. Yesterday morning on the subway I suddenly came up with a detailed pitch for a middlebrow comedic movie starring Adam Sandler and Will Ferrell. Oh, and The Darkness would be featured on the soundtrack. Have I mentioned that that is exactly the kind of movie I would never go to?

Can you feel me blushing?

Bitches!

How dare FOX run So You Think You Can Dance overtime! I missed seeing which guy got kicked off when my TiVo switched over to The (Crazy-Ass) Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency!

Yes, it’s come to that.

Incidentally, in case you were wondering, I, personally, do not think I can dance. I think I could dance, a good number of years and pounds ago (after all, I learned from some very fabulous club queens). Now, however? I think I can sit on the couch and critique.

Sorry, Mia.

Update: Newsflash! I just read that Janice Dickinson’s best friend is Jon Lovitz, whom she calls “shocking” and “sexy.” Wow. Well, I guess that fits... if you're on Planet Dickinson.

Take A Powder

It’s a hot day. Knowing the subway platforms will be like unto steam rooms, you decide to apply a little post-shower baby powder before your commute. However, when you get to work and go to the bathroom, you realize that you overdid it a little when you pull down your underpants and a small mountain of powder collapses and avalanches the fuck all over the back of your black pants.*

Think fast! Staying in the stall, calmly remove your trousers and use the powder-stained ass side to wipe the commuter sweat from your forehead, face and neck. This not only rubs off the glaring white mess, but refreshes you and leaves you smelling like a freshly cleaned baby’s bottom.

Now you can temper your embarrassment with a mild sense of cleverness and accomplishment. Go get ‘em tiger!

*Not that this happened to me, this very damn morning.

Blather Of The Day

Link Of The Day

I just had another review put up in six line reviews, this time of the Rufus concert. If my one here was too windy for you, check it out.

This also gave me the opportunity to post my new self-portrait in my review bio, like so:

@#$%! Of The Day

Since joining the gym several months ago, I have been both eating sensibly and doing more targeted heart-rate cardio per week than I have in years, and yet I am steadily gaining weight. In fact, this morning I officially weighed in at my heaviest ever. What gives?

Geeky Revelation Of The Day

I am totally addicted to So You Think You Can Dance, y’all. Like, I re-watched several of the routines last night more than once. Especially the tango.

It’s just so refreshing to see so many young contestants have such great attitudes and work ethics. They’re miles ahead of many of the American Idol contestants, probably because everybody wants to be a famous singer, but there is more serious hard work and less opportunities and rewards involved in becoming a dancer.

And also? I have a wee crush on Mia Michaels. I love the way she talks and she’s got a very dykey vibe, IMHO (not that I’m trying to spread any rumours, heavens forfend).

Finally, what could be gayer than a show in which the grand prize includes performing in Céline Dion’s Vegas show? And the answer is: none. None more gay.

Whaa…? Of The Day

According to this article, production is afoot for both a Fraggle Rock movie and – get this – a sequel to The Dark Crystal!

Now, if only they bring back a Mystic and cast Steve Perry in the role, my dreams will be fulfilled.

Separated at birth?

Please forgive me, Steve, I love you. Will you perform at my wedding?

Naughahead

I'm a little disturbed that it includes vinyl in the ingredients, but you've gotta try this new Spiking Glue from CVS. I know, CVS, but I have practically gone through a 12-step program to get over my ridiculously expensive hair product addiction, and at under $5.00 this stuff works like a charm. I dab a little on my dry hair and get the Big Queer Boy look or fauxhawk in no time flat - and it holds! Check it out, bitches.

Eight Ways to Delicious

I ate octopus last night, and it wasn’t the first time. Some people might grimace at the idea of eating a boneless creature sporting suckered tentacles (which are actually classified as arms), but I’ve generally been pretty gustatorially adventurous. Whereas I’ve drawn lines at brains and eyeballs, snacking on your generic pulpo-in-a-sardine-can or tapas didn’t much phase me. It didn’t much thrill me, either, but as I tucked into the savory grilled octopus appetizer at Greek Kitchen, my thoughts meandered from exquisite memory to lingering guilt.

Flashback to the rainforest of Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica. It was the last location of three in our first trip to that varied and gorgeous country, chosen for it’s national park, beaches and gay resorts (no kidding). The Mrs. and I had just spent most of the day trekking through the rainforest and dipping in the ocean. True to the rainy season, it had been hot and humid, and the spoiled whinging of two adolescents on our guided tour had temporarily irked us into a funk. Spirits lifted by witnessing some much-maligned white-faced monkeys freely urinating on the annoying children, and genuinely grateful towards our eagle-eyed expert guide, who could spot a bat, sloth or iguana perched in a tree at a football field’s distance, we broke off for a hike on our own, and ended up walking long enough to edge into low-blood-sugar exhaustion. Reaching the edge of the park, we were delighted to find 1.) a local man with a pile of green coconuts, who would chop one open with a machete and hand it to you with a staw for one dollar, and 2.) the official park entrance with a small restaurant and parking area. Here, after sucking down some refreshing coconut juice, we could sit, snack, shelter from the storm that was just blowing in and grab a bus or taxi to take us back to our homo hacienda.

We couldn’t find a phone, but we sat in the open-porch-style restaurant and perused the menu. My Spanish was rudimentary, and the waitstaff at this particular café didn’t seem to understand much English, which was unusual for the area. Still, I was able to get by, albeit with some questionable conjugation and friendly pantomime. It was here that, finding myself craving both barbecue and fish, I found grilled pulpo on the menu and, despite Mrs. Nator’s skepticism, decided to try it.

It was nothing short of ambrosial. Slightly sweet and tender, with a smoky char on the outside, it was imbued with the flavours of its lemon, garlic, oil and chili sauce. Accompanied by a cold refresco, salad and beans with rice, it both soothed my savage appetite and piqued my taste buds. As a terrific thunderstorm opened up the skies on the beach before us, we sat snugly under the awning, pleasantly tired from our trek, filled with scrumptious food and delighted by the entire adventure. Despite being accosted by a clueless, young American couple who couldn’t find the bus stop or induce anyone to help them call a taxi (note to travelers: it helps if you are polite and learn at least please and thank you in the native tongue; screaming at the locals in English as though they are your personal servants will not get you anywhere, especially when you have not even bought so much as a stick of gum), we finished our leisurely meal and were helped with kind solicitude by the hostess, who called a cab to our hotel herself (rather than directing us to a payphone, as she had done with the other tourists, despite them protesting that they had no Costa Rican change, another dumb move).

So, it was with this fond memory that I savoured the Greek version of this delicacy. Of course, it couldn’t quite match that particular dining experience, but it was more than adequate. More’s the pity that I found myself feeling twinges of remorse. I felt this, you see, because I am rather fond of the octopus, as a creature. Sure, I am an animal freak, in general, and there are some dishes, like veal, I just can't conscience, but I am generally able to get through a hamburger or chicken wing with little more than a brief genuflection.

The thing is, octopi are just so darned cool. They are mobile masses of muscles and neurons, with parrot beaks, who live at the bottom of the sea. They pine for mates, escape from tanks, squish into improbable crevices, find their way through mazes and are thought to be at least as intelligent and personable as the average housecat. What’s more they can change their colours, mimic other creatures, and shoot away on jets of water leaving only clouds of ink behind them. Heck, some of them even walk on two legs, while disguised as inanimate objects! I mean, take a look at this video from the PBS program Nova and tell me it isn’t amazing.

My point being, they are much maligned and misunderstood, fascinating creatures of the unknowable sea, and it seems a shame to eat them. Too bad they’re so darn yummy!

Chilli Lemon Octopus

2 kg baby octopus

1 tablespoon fresh lemon rind, grated

3/4 cup lemon juice

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 tablespoons hot chili sauce

4 cloves garlic, crushed

Remove and discard heads and beaks from octopus, cut octopus in half.

1. Combine octopus, rind, juice, oil, sauce and garlic in large bowl, cover, refrigerate 3 hours or overnight.

2. Drain octopus from marinade and discard marinade.

3. Add octopus to heated skillet or grill, cook over high heat until just tender.

4. Plate with salad and enjoy!

That's Just Not Natural

Except, of course, that it is. Homosexual sex is what I'm referring to, the subject of a new article in SEED Magazine. It turns out that Joan Roughgarden, a professor of biology at Stanford University, has published an article contending that Darwin was somewhat biased in formulating his theory of sexual selection.

Darwin hypothesized, you see, that normal sexual practice involves males competing for female partners in order to spread their genetics through breeding as much as possible. This theory would mean that all non-reproductive sex was aberrant and wasteful, much as the Bible would have it.

However, Roughgarden postulates that Darwin was incorrect in basing his theory on some very narrow observations and that, in truth, sexual behaviour among higher vertebrates is as much for social bonding - which leads to more successful survival rates of the species - as it is for straight-up fertilization (pun fully intended). Her evidence? Over 450 different vertebrate species engage in homosexual sex. That's right: 450+ species that we know of (so far) are actively homo or bisexual, sometimes on a regular basis. Kind of makes you think, huhn?

Hey, baby.

Some might dismiss Roughgarden's proposition merely because she, herself, is a transexual. But accusing her of bias begs the obvious question of just how biased Darwin, as a straight white male in the Victoria era, might be regarding sexual matters, himself. Either way, it's a fascinating article, and I suggest you go read it right now.

Alternately, you could read this article on the same topic, which is much funnier.

[Tip of the hat to Joe.My.God.]

Rufus, Rufus, Rufus

Before I give my thoughts on the concert, allow me to recommend Bombay Eats on W 52nd Street. I found it via Citysearch.com, and we tried it for our pre-show dinner. We were a little skeptical when it turned out we were the only in-house customers, but they seem to have a thriving delivery business, and once we got past the Bollywood-meets-Bayonne diner atmosphere and the mysterious way that everything cost a dollar more than listed on the menu, we were delighted to sample some of the best Indian food we’ve ever had. I generally have no cause to be in that neighbourhood, but I might make excuses sometimes to get back to their coconut naan and barbecued eggplant.

Now, on with the show…

First things first: Rufus Wainwright is no Judy Garland. We all know that. Even if you are a big fan of his, like Mrs. Nator is, you would have to agree that comparing his voice and performance style to hers is an apple-oranges exercise. He doesn’t have her power, precision or projection (acoustically or emotionally speaking), but neither is he as overwhelming as she could be. He does have a sweet tenor that evokes weary longing and, it must be said, big balls for taking on this project. Despite his frequent forays into egotistical hyperbole in interviews, however, he has the grace to know he’s stepping into some big shoes. He even acknowledged this at one point in performance, noting “I can’t believe this is happening… okay, get it together, own it,” to the laughter and applause of the audience.

The audience did a lot of laughing and applauding. In fact, it would be fair to say that the mostly gay crowd, with a fair number of older straight folks and younger women who seized the opportunity to dress up (including Mrs. Nator) were exceptionally giddy even before Wainwright took the stage. After all, just the chance to hear amazing standards performed by a 36-piece orchestra in Carnegie Hall is a recipe for fun, almost regardless of who the singer is. Add to that Wainwright’s worshipful following and the gay, camp, homage-to-Judy factor and, despite high expectations, it would be hard for him to go wrong. But Rufus went beyond that: he proved himself an excellent entertainer, sometimes powerful, sometimes funny, but able to pull off an old-school performance with impressive aplomb.

Mind you, there were some rough spots. Moments when he forgot the words were a bit unexpected, considering the preparation it was rumoured had gone into the show, but his amusing ad-libbed covers could be considered evocations of Judy, herself, provided you imagined him slopping a cocktail around in one hand as he delivered them. Not so forgivable were the bungled attempt to sing one song in the original key, as his overtaxed falsetto meandered off-tune, or his forgetting most of the names of the band mid-introduction, which came off as plain tacky, and made one wonder if he was having a Tina moment of memory loss. But, despite having a thinner voice than Garland’s, he clearly had been working on it, and was able to bring to many songs a sustained power and evocative delivery that made even the skeptics whoop.

In Judy’s tradition, Rufus included family in the program, welcoming his folk-star mother, Kate McGarrigle, to the stage to accompany him twice (leading to perhaps one of the best exchanges of the evening, when he, sitting coyly at the edge of the stage, asked his lamé-covered progenitor what she had to say for herself, and she replied “I feel line Céline Dion,” provoking him to moan “oh, mother”). He also brought on Judy’s daughter Lorna Luft for a duet (Liza was not in the building), which was great fun (although her voice made one muse on how Judy’s might have sounded had she lived longer, and showed how much hers, at twice his age, overpowered his), and his sister, Martha Wainwright, to do a solo rendition of Stormy Weather. Martha was an excellent surprise for me, as, although I’d not been impressed with clips I’d heard of her album and the sometimes too-histrionic poses she struck while singing, she growled out an affecting, woman-on-the-verge version of the song, pretty much blowing the roof off the joint. Mrs. Nator was not as beguiled as I, although upon further conversation it seemed that this was due to her belief that, as a woman, Martha couldn’t do camp so much as go through it to poor impression – not to mention Mrs. N really wanted to hear Rufus do the tune. I however, thought this argument specious, and, while acknowledging that the timbre of her voice was not prime jazz singer material, had to give kudos to Martha for knowing her instrument and controlling it superbly.

All this aside, most of Rufus’ renditions were well-done and well-received, with the excellent band whizzing through the knockout, original 1961 arrangements. Show-stopping numbers included the favourites most associated with Judy, such as The Trolley Song and the breast-beating The Man That Got Away. His quieter moments with mere piano accompaniment, however, were sometimes even more moving.

So, my final verdict? The show was definitely a success, although I think I might be happier to see a more traditional singer doing the standards with the band, and to go to a concert where Rufus sings his own songs. It was well worth the trip (especially to see the delight in Mrs. Nator’s eyes), and I had an excellent time, despite frequent mini-panic attacks inspired by the vertiginous rake of the stairs in Ye Gods section of the Hall (note to self: do not watch ladies in high heels tottering down those too-steep stairs again, unless you want a sudden white streak in your hair). Wainwright may not have been the best choice to commemorate Judy vocally, but he had the guts to do it, the talent to do it fairly well, and the gayitude to make it fun. You can’t go wrong with that.

P.S.: Norah Jones is so over that she was in Ye Gods, too, and Sarah Jessica Parker wears around 6 inches of pancake makeup. Pass it on! </bitter queen voice>

Atlanta Visit Breakdown

Dogs petted: 2
Cats petted: 2
Baby bird rescues conducted: 3
Duck attacks thwarted: 1
Herons harassed: 1
Dips in pool during excessive heat: 1
Extremely unhealthy meals eaten: I lost count.
Hair dye jobs observed and rated: 1
Teenagers induced into actually communicating: 2
Girlfriends comforted: 1
Smiles or giggles brought to the face of ailing 93-year-old grandmother-in-law: at least a dozen.

Hello, New York! Welcome me home. I am due for a rest.

Delayed Outrage

Alright, when the whole brou-ha-ha happened over Brokeback Mountain being "robbed" of an Oscar, I thought it was just the queer community getting all defensive and paranoid. I mean, I enjoyed the movie, I even thought it was a great film, in some ways, but it wasn't one of my favourites, ever. I just figured that the winner, Crash, which I hadn't seen, must have been an excellent film. Of course I heard it got mixed reviews, but what movie doesn't?

Well, I'm here now to say: the queers had it right. The Academy is full of self-congratulatory, homophobic idiots. In other words, I finally saw Crash last night.

Who on Earth would think this was a good movie? It had a some good cinematography, to be sure, and a lot of excellent actors showing flashes of brilliance, despite the horrible script, but what the hell? It was heavy-handed, clunky, derivative, deus-ex-machina, self-referential bullshit. And then it hit me: Hollywood would think it was a good movie. Because those in the movie industry would think that somehow they were looking at the world - which to them is wealthy Los Angeles, to be exact - and somehow confronting some harsh, hidden truths - which anyone who was not a rich, privileged resident of LA-LA-land would - hello? - already know.

I can't even begin to go into all the things about this movie that made me roll my eyes and/or get angry. I don't think I can even give a semi-coherent, detailed analysis because it makes me so incredulously apoplectic just thinking about it. Suffice it to say, two things: I actually reflexively smacked myself in the forehead several times while viewing the movie, and I still feel strangely dirty from watching it. Now that's some bad shit, right there.

So, once and for all: my homo brethren, you were right! Hollywood is homophobic. It may actually be that Hollywood is so engaged in masturbatory navel-gazing that it is not so much homophobic, per se, as... retarded, really, but yes, the common gay life experience is completely foreign to them as any common life experience is. And, for the record, I don't think Brokeback Mountain is the best movie ever, even if it has poignant, hot, same-sex cowboy love in it. But in this case? We was robbed. And I'm sorry for not believing, before. Je regrette! Please forgive.

Decisions, Decisions

Help. As those of you who read regularly may know, I have tickets to see Kathy Griffin on the 5th and Rufus Wainwright on the 14th. However, I have also recently learned that the ever-awesome Jollyship the Whizbang is putting on the latest installment of their puppet pirate rock opera on the 7th and 14th only, and none other than Joan Jett, lesbian rock goddess icon, is performing at Southpaw on the 6th.

I know, fabulous, right? Except, as those of you who read regularly may also know, I am too old and tired to pull off going out two, much less than three nights in a row. And no, I haven't done coke since the eighties.

Oh, and did I mention I'm-a want to go to WYSIWYG this time, travelling to the Dirty South next weekend, the midwest on the 23rd and to Ptown the second week of July?

This is one downside to summer in NYC. Too many awesome things to do to fit in (much less afford)! What's a wizened old sofa spud to do?

Whacky Hack

Pop Quiz:

Which is the most unnerving?

1. Your cabbie talks on his cell phone for the whole ride.

2. Your cabbie talks to himself for the whole ride.

3. Your cabbie whispers to himself for the whole ride.

Discuss.