On the flip side of...

as David puts it, my cultured taste in music, here's a little tidbit about today at work.

(As a preface, you should know that my job - which I almost never do on this blog for good reason - involves processing deceased notification files.) :

I was banished to a training room today because, in my manager's opinion, I haven't been processing my files fast enough. So, like a dunce-capped kid in the corner, I tuckered away into my own world, click-clacking away furiously. It soon became clear that this would drive me insance. I snuck out of my detention cell and tapped my co-worker on the shoulder:

"Psst. Do you have any CDs?"

She let me flip through the wallet and I chose Tom Petty's Greatest Hits. I listened through once and repeated several of my faves (I think I played "You Got Lucky" and "The Waiting" four times each). But I wasn't done with my sentence yet, so I snuck out again and checked in with my dealer...

"Do you have anything stronger? I need something upbeat - something appropriate for working with dead people."

A smile crossed her face as she pulled out a homemade-mix disc.

"My daughter made this for my ride to work. It's to keep me awake and upbeat."

Cautiously optimistic, I took the CD.

The mix started innocuously enough. "Day-O" by Harry Belafonte always brings up good memories of Beetlejuice. Cue Shakira and Madonna's "True Blue" and this queer was in heaven.

And then it happened.

"Ev-ree-bah-day. Rock your bah-day..."

That's right, the CD took a left turn into a Backstreet Boys/Britney Spears/*NSYNC free-for-all. I resisted as best I could (still stinging from the embarassment of when I broke down and bought the "Bye, Bye, Bye" single). And then I gave in. The repeat function went on full boar. "It's Gonna Be Me" seemed to be my favorite. Out of the corner of my eye, I kept making sure nobody could hear or see me bouncing along. When my sentence was up, I gratefully returned the CD to my co-worker. Smiling, she said, "Did it work?" Actually, it had. I got done way more than I expected. I owe Mr. Timberlake and Co. for my productivity today.

Plus, the irony of "Bye, Bye, Bye" playing as I processed deceased files wasn't lost on me. :)

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Did I Do Anything Today? Committe

Last night, I made this summer's first trip to the Hollywood Bowl. Every year I say, "This season, I'm going to see everything and anything I want," and then, for some reason or another (finances, laziness, recovery time from my latest plastic surgery, et al.) I only end up seeing a couple of shows. Last week I missed the Ravel Concerto. This week, with Etta James headlining Blues Night, I was not going to miss. I was prepared to go it alone, but found some interested parties. What could be better than a little wine, some brie, crackers, the L.A. sky (a few stars were even visible) and a music legend?

Etta James is a force to be reckoned with. Raunchy and uninhibited, she can growl and purr to make you scream or she can wail and coo until you cry. My company was pretty shocked at how aggresively sexual on stage she can be, but that was what I was there for. (Besides, spend 5 minutes with FB and Ms. James would seem like a choirgirl). I'd seen her before some years ago and she was good. But she's in better health now (free of her wheelchair and 160 lbs lighter from what I understand) and she blew that performance - and everything else - away. Approaching 70, she can still tilt her head back when she begins "At Last," and give you chills. She also did a really strange, but hilarious impression of Bela Lugosi during a literal vamp at the end of "You Can Leave Your Hat On." The highlight for me was one of the quietest, least sexual moments of the evening. Etta and two guitarist brought it down a notch for "A Lover Is Forever." The oversinging "divas" of today could learn a thing or five about restraint from that performance.

Now I'm off to empty my wallet in order to actually catch everything else this summer I want to see at the Bowl. Next week is Chaka Khan & Gladys Knight & A Roaring Twenties Revue. After that, Tony Bennett makes his almost yearly visit. A little further down the road, Brian Wilson brings a SMiLE to town, The Rocky Horror Picture Show visits, and then there's a night of Hawaiian music, complete with hula dancers!

So much for that brow lift...

-J.

This post was sponsored by the I'd Rather Go Blind Than Miss Summer At The Bowl Committee.

And we don't look a day over 4,999...

A big THANK YOU goes out to everyone who clicked in here for one of our 5000 visits. Apparently, we're enough of a train wreck to stop by and see more than once. See you all at the 10,000 party! Enjoy some Madge cake on us...

















Oh, and thanks to Matt at Chip-Chat, who referred that 5,000th click to us while giving us a little shout-out mad props in today's post.

I would have posted someting interesting today, but I got addicted to X-Men: Legends again this weekend. I've wasted so much time in the last two days playing through stuff I've done a billion times before. I am so easy to please sometimes it's brilliant. Take that any way you want.

In other news, I think I am officially breaking up with Netflix tomorrow. No, Netty, it's not you - it's me. I just don't have the time to watch five or six movies in a week, much less a month. I'm sure our paths will cross again and I promise never to sully our affair by signing up for Blockbuster online.

UPDATE (07/21 08:01am): Good news for me and Netty! Apparently, you can put your account on hold for up to three months! So we're on that Ross 'n' Rachel kind of a break. My wallet's happy, Netflix hasn't lost me yet, and now you're all bored with my mundane life and will probably stop reading this blog. I'll shut up now...

It's not aptitude, it's the way you're viewed...

I've had "Popular" from Wicked stuck in my head since about Thursday of last week. You know that trick where you play the song in your head over and over until it goes away? Not working.

However, as I watched briefly the announcement of the Supreme Court nominee and the torrent of coverage that followed, the song in my head suddenly seems as apropos as anything:

...Think of celebrated heads of state or
Specially great communicators
Did they have brains or knowledge?
Don't make me laugh!
They were popular! Please!

Just what's in my head right now. More later.

-J.

How about Bad Parent Camp?

On Wednesday night, the gym was nearly empty. The cute trainer who usually calls me "Sir" refrained from embarrassing me further and just offered a friendly, "How's it going?" The night was going to go well and I was prepared for the intense workout I'd been threatening for weeks. I had no idea I would need it to work out the aggression I was about to build up.

Before we get to it, I need to clarify a few things. Mercury, the ruler of my astrological house, is in retrograde. You may not (hell, I may not) believe in astrology most of the year. But when Mercury goes into retrograde? You will believe. The communication goes wonky and both halves of my split selves split into a million Gemini. Also, I am man-struating. I know this because of how agitated I've been at work lately. Also, I've need chocolate more desperately than Lindsey Lohan needs a protein and brain cell stuffed sandwich. And while trips to Disneyland are great, they very often make me crowd-sensitive (more on that later...).

So, what got my goat this night? ABC's latest "reality" TV masterpiece: Brat Camp*. A group of troubled teens get sent out into the wilderness by their parents for 60 days, over the holiday season. These kids get described as compulsive lying, hyperactive, drug addicted BRATS. What's the best way to turn a wayward kid around? Send them away from their family just before Thanksgiving for two months, have them carted around by other people and shove cameras in their faces. As opposed to just parenting your kids yourself. If your child reaches the point where threatening you not only becomes commonplace, it becomes effective, there's no easy way to say this: You did something everything wrong. Children don't get ideas out of thin air and if they got them from someone or something else, you didn't instill strong enough values in them.

I am not an expert on parenting. I have no children and no plans to have any. But I ain't a fry cook, either. And I know for damn sure when my fries are undercooked, overcooked, or just plain burrrrnt. So while I'm not judging people, I am pointing a finger here. I hate the idea that because you didn't discipline your child, your "last resort" is to hand them off to strangers. Teens with behavior issues have self esteem issues, make no doubt about it. What they will perceive here is rejection. And that does wonders for low self esteem.

Beyond the exploitive, cruel nature of such a program, there's the question of results. Beat me down for 60 days, walk the hell out of me, and attack my emotions at their most vulnerable, I'd crack. I'd have that "breakthrough" (although I'd see it as a breakdown). These kids will undoubtedly do the same. But they will go back home to the same family that was afraid to parent them (which to me is the same as being afraid of loving them). And if those habits don't creep up again, it will be a miracle.

Don't get me wrong - I know kids from "good" homes fall of the wagon plenty. I know most parents mean well. My parents meant well and screwed up plenty. But when it gets to extremes, I can't stand the mentality of people looking to avoid their own culpability. And it hurts me to see these kids - none of them "brats," none of them bad kids - cast off to be "shaped and molded" by a wilderness experiences spearheaded by people who go by "Earth Names" like Mountain Wind. Hey, hippies*: These kids are forced to lay bare their own emotions and experiences. The least you could do is go by your real name.

At Disneyland, as FB & I waited for the fireworks show, there was a family seated very close to us. As the four-year-old got restless, as four-year-olds tend to be, the mother snapped. "Look, I'm tired, hungry, and I have cramps. Could you just be quiet?!!?" All this poor little wanted was to have a good time at the Happiest Place on Earth. Too bad she had to bring her mom along.

I wish I could round up the parents and send them on a wilderness experience. Force them to forage for food and hike miles a day. Ask them why their children are in such trouble. Make them cry with manipulative letters and activities. Family therapy has to be about the same price as these trips. Heaven forbid we should all admit we have problems.

Parenting is hands down the most important and most difficult job in the world. You will inevitably make mistakes. The biggest one is to just give up. No child is hopeless unless their parents lack faith in them.

- J.

p.s. (Sorry, folks, I don't stand on the soapbox all that often. I'll let time pass before the next one.)

This post was sponsored by the No Brat Left Behind Committee.

*no disrepect is meant to actual hippies or any students of the Brat Boy School. (I had to lighten up the tone, folks...)

The Happiest Queers On Earth!

How OG Charlie's Angels are we?

Disneyland was a blast. Literally. This is the first of three trips we took on the new Buzz Lightyear ride. More to come...

Letter To A Friend

Dear Sleep -

Sorry we haven't been better friends. But when Jason asked if I wanted to go to that midnight screening of F4*, how could I say no? And I'll be at Disneyland tomorrow, so you won't see much of me tomorrow, either. I know I take you for granted a lot. You, in turn, take it out on me by leaving those lines under my eyes that I'm forced to battle with RevitaLift moistuerizer. But I know we can work it out. Remember how bad our relationship was during my youth - like that time I stayed up for two days straight when I was 7? If we survived that, we can get through this rough patch. Besides, I'm not very good company in the night anyway. I kick and steal the covers and have the occasional nightmare.

Still, I'll see you Sunday, OK?

- J.

*Hi readers! I just want to say I completely agree with Jason's take on Fantastic Four. It was good, family fun and although Doom could have been more fleshed out, I enjoyed myself. And for you homos and women who like men, Chris Evans was shirtless plenty and it was, well, fantastic.

P.S. - OK, MTV & Vh1. I take back what I said about your Live8 coverage. This makes up for it. Unless you aren't including the Madonna performance. Then we're broken up again. Except for Real World/Road Rules Challenges. We'll call those "break-up sex."

Our thoughts and prayers go out to all across the pond.

At Long Last...

Another tag-team post. In his weakened state, Jason may be reduced to a puddle. (He did once decree the double-team posting better than Bel-Ami action!) As always, J. is in blue. BF, er FB is in red. So without further delay...

Wonder Twin Powers....ACTIVATE!

Form of: an Elvis ice sculpture!!!! Shape of: Magilla Gorilla!!!!

So the long weekend was nice. With all of the vacationing I've done recently, I didn't think I needed time off, but a weekend of doing nothing but watching TV with my best friend was just what the doctor ordered. It seems that when I need to decompress a Twilight Zone marathon(I got to see the one with a young Dean Stockwell in it, YUM!!!) and smart-ass commentary do just the trick. This weekend was no exception. And there were fireworks - from my balcony and the roof of my building you could see for miles the legal and illegal varieties.

It was really cool when Burbank's Starlight Bowl (Burbank's answer to The Hollywood Bowl) lit the hillside on fire with their display. It was a real fire in the works show. It spread nicely over the hills like coco butter on a well tanned Greek sailors...........drifting, sorry. But it was a nice moment we shared with J's landlord who was also up there. When we got back inside J played the overture of 1812 on his lil' record player for me. The 4th isn't complete for me without hearing that at least once.

I went for my old 4th of July standby - Aimee Mann's appropriately titled "4th Of July." (Today's the fourth of July/Another June has gone by/And when they light up our town I just think/What a waste of gunpowder and sky...) It's tradition, but it isn't necessarily what I feel about the day. Still, I listen to the Mann any chance I get.

J and I watched LOGO this weekend. It was our way of lazily celebrating our own homo independence. I wish this was around when I was a kid. I got stuck watching PBS. Which was way gay positive in the early 90's. They did so much and got so much flack for it. It's weird to think they were able to get away with crazy stuff like Tales of the City. I love them. I need to donate next pledge drive. I hate those things...oops. Me too. It's like watching PBS with commercials. But they run some of the best stuff during those drives, like old Sinatra specials. I feel bad for not doanting, but the local NPR station gets my money every year and I can't even get decent reception at work!!!

We shopped at Amoeba and dove into their discount junk bins for reduced opera. Yeah, opera. I love the shit!!! Pardon my French (or Italian). But I do. Even though I do have a long standing feud with Kathleen Battle because that bitch stole the lead in La Traviata away from me. But she is a diva, as in greatly talented yet extremely bitchy diva. Her reputation is poor but her pipes are amazing. In this one song, in the last ten seconds she hit's a note that reduces me to teary eyes. Not tears but close. I lost the ability to cry years ago when I worked at The Bunny Ranch. I had to keep my mind on the money and my money on my mind. But anyhoo, the song is great. She has (had? I haven't heard her lately and wonder if she's pciked up those affected diva mannerisms so many divas develop...) an amazing gift. You could honestly pick up any of her CD's and be pleased. I don't know what the sudden interest in opera is but I'm glad I'm getting back into it. I know this makes us sound cultured but we still watch trashy movies and pick our teeth with match book covers. (Personally, I prefer to pick with TVGuide. Or my keys.) We're still down to earth kinda guys. Yeah, normal, average joes with perfect teeth, flawless skin, six-pack abs and demands for Voss water, fresh cut long-stem roses, and bowls of M&Ms with the green ones removed(they make you horny). Maybe that's why we weren't invited to perform at Live 8...

Speaking of Live 8, did anyone else watch what passed for coverage this weekend? Pathetic. The VJs talked over almost every single performance! Obviously, they're looking to sell the forthcoming DVDs so why let people see whole performances. Except of course for Linkin Park(boo), who got run live and almost uncut. Who are they f*cking at MTV? And I'm pissed because if they ran any of that Madonna performance, I missed it. Anyhow, I will be renting the London show if/when it hits the states. Otherwise, I will simply wait until the next Live Aid event when I'm in my forties(there's going to be another Live Aid next year???) - I'm sure Lourdes will be doing a number or two with Mama and her walker...(haha)

Well, folks, I hope it lived up to your expectations. If not, come back again another time. We'll do this again soon and it's only going to get crazier... Damn right!!!!

Wednesday

Nothing here to fear
I'm just sitting around
Being foolish
When there is work to be done

And with that, I begin Wednesday's random thoughts...

I was SO lazy today. I'm well rested from the long weekend. My workload was reasonably light. I had a great chat with an old friend last night. In short, life is not stressful. And yet, I can't muster the will to do anything but daydream of laying out on the beach. (Train of thought detour: which reminds me...Psycho Beach Party was playing on LOGO - just added to my lineup this weekend. Why is that channel - full of commericals, not to mention endless loops of that Glenn Close TV movie where she's a lesbian in the military - stuck in the middle of my pay channels like HBO? I think we all know why.)

Today I am wearing a red polo shirt and tan slacks. I look like I work at Target. Now, I don't want to give the impression that I wear this outfit often, but there have been a few occasions where I've wandered into my local Target, not realizing my outfit's implications. I have been asked to determine where the blenders/the new Celine Dion/the price of photo processing/where the dressing rooms are and I have to stop myself from being rude each time. I don't want the Target team to suffer because of my poor wardrobe planning. Still, I think it'd be really funny if they reported me to the manager. Who might I get in trouble that way?

I used to love the smell of cigarette smoke. I smoked for longer than I care to admit. Second hand used to give me such a rush. I don't know what it is, but in the last few months I finally have a non-smoker's reaction whenever I pass it by. Maybe it's because smoking is practically a crime in California these days. Lord knows what I'll go through when I visit Las Vegas next. That used to be heaven. Ah well, maybe when I'm 80 I'll pick up the habit again. It can't be worse than L.A.'s smog situation.

Tag-team blogging resumes tomorrow. We're gonna jointly tell you about the lackadaisical weekend we had. Enjoy what's left of your Wednesday!

July already...?

So June (aka as my birthday month) is over. It feels like I have nothing to show for the past six months. My room is still a mess, I'm not any richer, and I feel like I haven't written nearly enough on this damn blog. On the other hand, I've rehshaped my body siginifcantly since hitting the gym became part of my weekly routine. My room's been way messier before, I'm not any poorer (Ha! like that's possible...), and I have only been back at this blog since April. I'd say I haven't done bad, even if BF (or whatever he's gonna end up going by these days) is still kicking my ass the blog thing.

This little corner of the online world that I type out has been so many things - all of them amazing. Therapy. Bloodletting. Mirror. Meeting place. Things that I've put out there have come back to me in so many unexpected ways. I've made friends and gained so many new perspectives to see this world from. Friends who knew me before this blog now read it somewhat regularly. Some even blog themselves now. In some strange way, it's made me more social out in the "real" world, too. So much for the dorkus malorkus stereotype, huh?

My Best Friend (let's just call him The Artist, since that name's free again. Thanks, Prince!) and I have grown so much closer by sharing this experience. He has always wanted me to write more and especially with him. I never managed to. A writer's muse is finicky, and mine was no exception. But when I thought about it, I started this blog at his suggestion. I restarted this blog at his insistence. And he was my only reader for at least six months. So I could I not share this with him. I think you'll agree, the blogosphere is better for it.

So what's on the agenda for the next six months? Bigger, better blogging. More solid workouts. And love, love, love. My room can stay messy (or not - I'll clean up eventually). My wallet can stay skinny - for now. So long as I have the Snarkhives to go back into and prove to myself I did something, I'll be happy. And so, I hope, will you.

-J.

This post was sponsored by the Six Months Under Committee.