Producers of Dan Brown's 'Angels & Demons' barred from shooting in Rome churches.
Brangelina Buy An Obnoxious House In France
No doubt this is where they'll raise their legions of adopted children used for various P.R. opportunities. Still, 34 bedrooms? How sickening.
Hulk Hogan's Son Gets 8 Mths. In Jail
Nick Hogan sentenced in felony reckless driving case...But WHY are we still talking about Hulk Hogan or his trashy spawn in the year 2008?
Maybe my childhood wasn't so traumatic after all. I mean, I'm still the only gay man I've ever known who can say I've helped slaughter and oil-boil hogs: the same hogs that ended up on our dinner table. But, after watching this, maybe little JD's upbringing was as bad as I remember it.
I called her Seabiscuit long before the trend caught on, and if she had a crumb of humility I'd almost feel sorry for her. He's some shots of my pretty pony courtesy of my new favorite website, SarahJessicaParkerLooksLikeAHorse.com. No seriously, I'm not making this up. Nay, Nay.
I don't know where my good mood is coming from, it used to be a permanent fixture with me; but in recent years it's apparently faded, so say friends, family and former boyfriends who still owe me money, (you know who you are). For slightly over 24 hours now I've been full of piss and vinegar and even tried to lasso a friend I don't know so well into Memorial Day hyjinx. He didn't bite and it's likely just as well, who knows what new odd situation I might have gotten myself into this time.
Tom's on an Alaskan cruise with another friend and his two lesbian friends who have no use for me. Okay, good for them. Yes, I got your pic of you at the Arctic circle and those shoes make your ass look fat, but have a good time anyway, I'm eating your protein cookies and there isn't anything you can do about it.
I'm feeling much better and but have a lingering tubercular-like cough, going on three weeks. I don't know if it's the effects of my visit to RJ's house or freak allergies; or maybe I have weeks to live and just don't know it yet. Manhattan is beautiful, sunny, 80 degrees and I plan on getting out in it all for some plant-shopping with a nice Croatian radiologist, but I'll be thinking of someone else: maybe, we'll see.
I called my dad today, it wasn't so bad. There's a constant feeling I need to lift him up when we speak, and I do, or I try to. He slept late today and whenever he does, I fear he's falling into a grieving abyss over mom. He says it's sleep apnea so we'll go with that. We talked about his plans for coffee with his coffee buddy and laughed about my little brother thinking pizza rolls are a vegetable. No really, he does. My 30 year old brother is convinced he's allergic to green beans and hates any other thing that once grew from the ground or on a tree. If it wasn't originated in a factory or lab, we won't eat it, too unnatural for him. I've given-up lecturing him and just shake it off with a laugh and wondering if he'll break 400lbs one day, I bet he will. Sad, really. A nicer, more humble young man you'll never meet.
Oatmeal time then plant shopping for me; and if you're reading this Darren, I happen to think you'd make quite a dashing 'soft drink refresher'. Chin-up!
Someone from Ontario, Canada, of all places wrote to me last night asking why I don't talk more about me; the more salacious personal details of my life. I don't know. My first "blog" contained all that stuff, but it was private and anonymous. Now, I'm out in the open with friends and family looking at this mess almost daily. Trust me, those aren't always the people you'd want knowing the most salacious details of your everyday life. There's a whole lot to be said for anonymity on the web. I fI began laying out details, it might turn your ears purple, but I'll try harder. Thanks for noticing Michael. And no, the shirt isn't necessary.
This has been a bad year for parents apparently. My own mother being lost suddenly and without warning, one good friend's mother having some very serious problems which seemed to come out of the vapor. My Boston neighbor's dad dieing suddenly, though he'd had health issues for a while and now my best friend's mother, diagnosed in the last two weeks with stage-4 cancer. Again, no warning there. I've learned more about life in the last four months than I have in all the rest of my years; mainly that we aren't always given amply warning. Loved ones don't fade away like we anticipate. Sometimes, many times in fact, they simply go. *poof*, no warning or reason. Life is cruel and God needs to work on that, it simply isn't very nice. My sweet friend is grieving quietly over the inevitable loss of his mother and it makes me realize while mine was taken in a way I would not have chosen, maybe there was grace and mercy in it after all. At least that's how I've been looking at it the last few days.
New York is beautiful today, that's where I am. I'm in the last stages of the horrible crud I've been suffering from going on two weeks now. Lots of respiratory issues and a constant hacking cough and fatigue and headaches, UGH! Won't somebody please come along and take care of me? Anyway, it's almost gone, thank Zod.
California's Supreme Court struck-down a ban on gay marriage today proclaiming "Accordingly, we conclude that to the extent the current California statutory provisions limit marriage to opposite-sex couples, these statutes are unconstitutional."
The ruling will mean gay people will now be able to marry in that state or, at the very least, have legally-recognized same-sex partnerships. Screw that, marriage is marriage and while my mom might be crying over it in heaven, and Jerry Falwell's crying over it in hell, it's about time states are finally beginning to live up to the U.S. Constitution which says we're all created equal.
Somewhere, in a 1970's decorated ranch house in Florida, Anita Bryant's head is exploding. 4 down, 46 more to go!
Anybody remember that little 7-year-old peach who took his memaw's car for a joyride last month? His name's Latarian Milton and he said he did it because "doing bad things is fun" and he wanted to do "hood rat stuff with friends." Well, little precious has struck again. Literally. Latarian was taken in for a mental health evaluation after he beat down memaw inside a Wal-Mart in South Florida over some chicken wings. Yes, chicken wings. This stuff writes itself.
The grandma, Vikkita Stratford, told WPBF-TV it all started when porkchop asked her to buy him some chicken wings at Wal-Mart. When she refused, Latarian demanded them anyway. Vikkita went to confront him and that's when the party started.
"He just started hitting me -- just started hitting me in front of the whole Wal-Mart. Every one in there was upset." Vikkita said. Latarian was taken to a local hospital by police for a 72-hour mental health evaluation. Vikkita blames his parents. She said all he's ever seen is his parents doing "physical and abusive and verbal things."
She also worried about what might happen once he gets released. She better be! Vikkita better lock all her doors, sleep with a bat by her bed and keep a necklace of garlic around her neck, although porkchop would likely eat it off before commencing with another beat-down.
It sounds harsh, but let's hope this fat waste of flesh doesn't live to see 18 lest the victims become higher in number and the crimes more horrid. At the very least, lets hope for a lobotomy that will keep this charmer incapacitated for the rest of his days because judging from the video above, shot last month during his first major infraction, there's no hope for this one.
I've been SO sick the last week so maybe that's why my first mother's day without my mom didn't seem all that more difficult or sad than the last four months since she went away. Still, I've been thinking of her a little extra today, it comes in waves that wash over me and I try my best not to think about her or her last words to me. My sister and brother no doubt have had their sad thoughts today as well, but they have spouses and families at their side, God bless 'em, so I think that helps numb it a little bit. I keep debating whether or not I should call my dad. I haven't talked to him since last Sunday and it isn't like I WANT to call him. It hurts too much, but maybe I will. When I think of my mom, I'll always think of lavender, but for no particular reason. It was my grandmother's favorite color and scent, my mom liked it too but she never made a big fuss over it. Still, anything somewhat purpley makes me think of her. Lavender and yellow roses, her favorite. I'll always think of her when I see Bells of Ireland, the green fluted flowers often used to accentuate flower arrangements. She'd grown fond of Hibiscus the last few years.
My mother was not supposed to die and we still have absolutely no idea how or why, really we don't. And we're all too battled weary to pick the fight up and begin badgering and threatening law suits against the coroner until we know for sure. Some days I'm more bitter and angry than others and if you tell me "knowing more won't bring her back or make you feel better", well, you can kiss my ass. I don't suggest you say that to my face either. Today's a bitter day, does it show? Happy Mother's Day.
Would it absolutely KILL you to say "thank you" when I hold a door open for your lazy, self-centered, self-entitled asses? When you're barreling down the center of a walkway or hallway and I plaster myself against the wall to get out of YOUR way, yet I say "excuse me", would it hurt you to return the pardon or ask for me to excuse YOU? I mean, if I'm going out of my way to be a gentleman, to be polite and act like a decent human being, is there any reason you can't?
I realize you (those of you I'm talking about, and you know who you are) were raised to act entitled and to believe men are supposed to treat you like superior creatures based solely on your sex, primarily those of you who are white and thin. But somewhere along life's road, have you missed every lesson of common courtesy? Is it intentional? Do you simply not care, or just not aware of it?
Please, at least ACT like you have some decency. At least give me a fucking SMILE when I stop what I'm doing to hold your door open because one day, you might be bitching about not having it done. A simple, periodic "THANK YOU" from time to time, or "EXCUSE ME" would go a long FUCKING WAY!
So this morning I keep hacking up pieces of my lung. Not really but it feels that way. I've had like three cups of herbal green tea because two weeks at my sister's house seems to have given me some sort of respiratory issue. Oh yeah, serious. God love RJ, she's our new matriarch now that mom's gone away, but she's grown into an official unapologetic chain smoker: and if you're gonna flip the middle finger in the face of fate and the Surgeon General's warning, well, unapologetic is what you might as well be. I think she's up to two and a half packs a day, but if you wanna know for sure, YOU ask her, I'm not. Even an honest hey-your-choking-me-to-death cough gets an eye roll from her, there's no way I'm asking how many packs per day old smokey's up to. I dared mentioned the patch to her one day and she was like "blah blah blah *puff* *puff* you &^%$%@$#!! *puff* *puff*".
Her smoking was another of the subtleties of a deep southern lifestyle I picked-up on during my visit; commonalities there which are now taboo or at least uncommon here. I began noticing things while at home for mom's funeral but even more came into play without the fog of grief or covered dishes coming through the door at all hours.
Like in south Mississippi, where mom and dad are, a quick trip to the nearest market for a gallon of my beloved skim milk turned into a two hour trek which bared no fruit. Seriously, skim milk is impossible to find in the deep, deep recesses of the south. At least two store clerks told me I could likely find some "to the Super Wal Marts".... some of them put an 'S' at the end of Wal Mart, don't ask me why. But is it REALLY necessary to find the Super Wal Mart just to satisfy my evening craving for skim milk? In Tylertown, Mississipi, you bet your sweet possum it is.
RJ's town is Lafayette, a mid-sized city in the heart of 'Acadiana', local term for Cajun country. It has two shopping malls, lots of crawfish and tons of shopping to pacify the SUV-cruising oil field housewives. As Louisiana goes, Lafayette is provincial; sprawling and clean, a nice enough place to raise a family, if that's your thing. The economy is still firing on all cylinders but I assume they'll catch up with the rest of the country on that soon enough. That being said, recycling seems to be a foreign concept to the masses there. Asking one of the kids where the recycle bin was one morning got me a confused look that turned into a stink-eye when I grumbled about wasting another can.
Maybe it's a new yankee trait I've picked up, and maybe it's just raw concern about growing landfills, but I've grown intolerable of ditching cans and plastics into trash cans. What a waste, right? Not down home, all's the same as it ever was and why not? Land comes cheap. RJ assures me I can have a room when global warming hits the Northeast.
I saw this big ass Captain America on the side of a comic book store down in Lafayette, Louisiana last week. Do you love it? I do. So much in fact, I kept pointing it out to people who live there each time we passed it, sometimes on the way to the Drive-Thru Daiquiri Shop. Yeah, they really have those down there. Anyway, I love Captain America. This store made me love him even more. Whoever had the idea to put it there, I love you too.
Mildred Loving passed away this weekend, she was 68 years old. Know who she is? I didn't either until I saw her name, but I know all about her marriage. See, 40 years ago Mildred married Richard, but the Commonwealth of Virginia arrested them both for the effort. That's because Rich was white and Mildred was black. But the Lovings fought back against a state and nation who said they had no right to live as husband and wife because of their difference in race. Their fight lead to a landmark U.S. Supreme Court ruling striking down all laws barring people from interracial marriage.
And now, for the irony.
41 years later one man sits on that same Supreme Court, himself a black man who lives a life made possible by the Lovings. Justice Clarence Thomas you see is black, if you didn't know that already; and his wife, she's white. But see, what's good for Clarence isn't good for me. Clarence has been among the most aggressive members of the court voting against the rights of same sex couples to marry. For some reason, two guys being in love and deciding to share their lives as legally-recognized spouses is simply too much for Clarence to handle. Yeah, I know, I thought the same thing.
I've noticed the past two weeks while visiting family that when I mention the basic rights I live without, usually in the context of a half-witted statement, my nieces and nephew give me a careful laugh, not knowing if Uncle Jay is really serious about it. That's sort of like the rest of the country. While most might empathize with me, few take the issue seriously. But the truth is, a majority of states say I can be jailed just for sleeping with the wrong person; and only one says I'm free to marry who the hell I please. Two more say they'll let me but I have to call it something different.
Such things make flag waving a little hard to do these days, especially knowing some 10-15% of the people now fighting for "our freedom" in Iraq will come home with the same lack of civil rights. They serve their country by choice, but are forced to do so in the closet. Sad, don't you think?
That's a FLOWER pot, and from the looks of it my two nephews were having a good go of it in RJ's backyard this weekend while their Uncle Danny and Uncle Chip and Auntie Taunt helped dress-up RJ's new yard for a very important guest due this week. That's Jacob holding Keegan, I wrote about him a few times a while back. My preferred short name for him is "Keg" and he's adorable; The kind of baby you'd like to bite the ears off of but I wouldn't recommend it. His mom's got a temper. Ouch.
I run a little on the conservative side but this shit was over the top, even for me. Having coffee and watching local ABC News coverage of Pope Benedict's departure from Andrews Air Force Base in D.C. on his way to New York, I choked-up when seeing a member of the U.S. Military's departure party bend down and kiss his ring, and not in a good way. There's a Founding Father turning over in his vault somewhere.
It might be easy enough to pass it off as a simple mistake of military protocol if it hadn't been for the officer making worshipful prayer hands and bowing to "His Holiness" not once but twice. Perhaps more. At that point, I was dry heaving. Just where does this man's alligiance lie and why hasn't the military made him aware of this gaff and its insult to those of us who don't worship foreign leaders in white gowns and Prada slippers? Shame on you!
When I say I'm sick of the long-toothed, tired and over-played phenomenon that is American Idol, don't tell me to change the channel: It isn't that easy.
True, its novelty has been that it's a good old fashioned talent show, or at least it was. Now though it just seems like a tarnished jewel in a giant marketing crown complete with seasonal cliches. Oh look, there's the boyish teen phenom who's adored and cried-over by chubby girls. There's the goofy looking guy who also seems to be adored while suffering some major family drama back home. He sings not for himself, but for his lawyer brother suffering from cancer. *eye roll*. There's the over-singing black girl who hits all the high notes and quivers her way down to the low ones, the small gaggle of pretty blond girls who became convinced they could sing by all their cheerleader friends back home in Atlanta/Omaha/Chicago. There's the tattooed hippie chick, watch her go from belting-out hard rock tunes worthy of making Pat Benator hold a lighter over her head, to a soft torch song dedicated to all her pub friends back home. She's SOOO 'edgy'. And there's my anti-favorite, the Earthy cool white guy with the face of an Aryan poster boy and "dreamy" blue eyes but look, he plays the guitar, wears tattered jeans, flannel shirts and one bad ass set of dreadlocks. If he doesn't make it here, he'll be king of Seattle. *YACK*
When will the flyover love affair with this mess be over? It isn't escapable. Buy a Coke and there it is, something being shilled for or by the marketing geniuses behind American Idol or, as fans refer to it, "A.I.". And no matter it's a Fox Network program, we get morning updates on NBC's Early Show, CBS' Today Show, ABC's Good Morning America. The network anchors are not immune from it's grasp, it must be mentioned, it's what American viewers expect.
Less than 25% of registered American voters cast ballots in the last presidential election but bet your sweet latte most every American with a television or Internet access can tell you who the three judges are on American Idol, and a huge percentage of those can give you an accurate lineup of the final 7 contestants. I can't name all 7, but I can tell you who the favorites are and what songs they sang last night. Yeah I know but it isn't my fault, it's Tom's. How can you miss something playing on a 70" hi-def plasma? It isn't like I had plans last night. Still, there's got to be something else, something non political to capture our national obsession. This one program has become like a bad song, the kind you can't get out of your head, or off your television.
I was talking to a friend a few days back about the Statue of Liberty and how after visiting New York since I was 19, I've never visited Liberty Island nor trekked to the top of the statue. He said he'd taken his nieces a while back but that the option to go to the top no longer exists.
As a junior high school kid I remember Lee Iacocca leading the international effort to raise money to restore her. It was a phenomenal success because back in the 80s, patriotism came easy and hadn't yet been hijacked by the rabid right wing, though it was well on its way. They got patriotism and the rabid left got network news and NPR. I'm not sure who came out better but those of us in the middle came up short: but that's another story.
It's a sad state when you consider all the once popular tourist destinations now blocked-off due to the omnipresent "threat of terrorism", or so we're told. Spineless paranoia seems to have spread, from the view atop Lady Liberty to Pennsylvania Avenue, recently converted into a pedestrian-only walkway, once a busy, functioning street where busy functioning citizens could drive by the Presidential mansion with as much disregard as wide-eyed Young Republicans now meander on the sidewalk out front. It's all about security we're told. But when you stop and think about all the changes taken place since September 11, 2001, it's enough to break your red-white-and-blue heart. Does anyone actually care about the Patriot Act anymore and the fact that dozens of our civil liberties, many guaranteed by the Constitution have been put on ice, perhaps permanently? Government can look into our bank accounts now, storm into our homes without more of a cause than "suspected threat to the homeland", all without warrants. Same goes for email communications, phone conversations, our mail and sadly even our homes, all in the name of protecting us from the ever present terrorists. I'm not saying the government hasn't done a great job of holding off more terrorist attacks since that day, but at what point does the price become too high? About six years ago I'll say. We're being watched and monitored unlike at any other time if our oblivious history. It's an argument I know many make but that falls on so many deaf ears. Even friends of mine have used the old "if you have nothing to hide, what are you worried about?" come-back during my constant tangents and tirades against this new protectionism. The sad truth is that the argument seems to be working all too well. No one on the left, right or in the middle for that matter seems to be paying much attention and the result is less privacy, fewer liberties and a slowly rotting free and open society, all because a group of Arabs hijacked some planes and ran them into buildings. It's the high price we have to pay we're told to "win" the war on terror when in fact, we've won nothing and lost so much.
I've been in the Northeast five years now and I'm not even kidding, I don't know where the time has gone, why or how. While Connecticut was an easy do and Boston has become comfortable over time, despite it's miserable weather and frigid people, never do I feel more like the Pike County Southern Baptist hillbilly I still am than when I'm in New York; and trust me, I haven't even been out all that much since being here.
I'm transfixed on the architecture, it isn't hard from 40 stories up, or 38 or 39, I forget. I annoy my friend at least five times a day asking childish questions about this building or that one. This is not new to me but when I look out at all those buildings and all those windows, each of them with a person behind it with a story or job, some nude in their own homes, some working, some on their sofa reading quietly, my curiosity overcomes me. Who is that? What's he like? Are they arguing or simply talking? Does she even know how bad she looks in that ridiculous outfit?
News this morning says the dollars still down, oil now at a new, now-daily all-time high, jobs are down, prices are up and we're all going to explode and die! I could use some good news today, is there any out there?
It's luxuriously sobering to visit Tom's, but this is what New York living is supposed to be, if you're successful or in a movie anyway. Picture it, 40th floor penthouse in the FlatIron section of Chelsea, that's Midtown Manhattan for those who don't know. 270-degree views of midtown and Manhattan's north end. It's surreal and beautiful and I can't help but feel proud for him and of him. He's a quiet boy, not an ounce of pretense; But I make up for it. Carpe diem and all that. I've become a bit spoiled in merely a week of being here, quietly thinking of the Hermes bag-toting blond girls boarding the elevators on the 23rd floor as being low-rent types. Not me! I'm in the penthouse baby.....at least for now I am anyway. The fall will be hard and brutal but for now, it's special and beautiful and my friend deserves every bit of it.
April's color within reach
A path we'll not walk with you
Lost to the long cold winter
Spring is here but my heart still cold
Never will our sun be quite as warm,
Nor quite so bright
Spring is here but our hearts were lost in winter.
