George Clooney

Add this to the myriad reasons why I love George Clooney:

I do have regrets in my life. I regret that Michelle Pfeiffer was married when we did ‘One Fine Day.’ And that Julia [Roberts] and Catherine Zeta-Jones were married, too. Also Matt Damon, but that’s a different story. I’d like a crack at him.
<br/> —Actor George Clooney speaking at an American Cinematheque tribute to him, as quoted by New York’s Daily News, Oct. 17.

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Enemies of the Third Dimension

Bless me, Blog Fathers, for I have shunned [this blog]. It has been a week since my last entry. These are my sins (I was raised Catholic, can you tell?)

To be direct, I don’t need a confessor. But then, that seems to be the only thing I am not in need of. My spirit suffers from too much not-enough, as the world outside seeks to turn their own abundances into caricatures.

As luck (luck?) would have it, my thoughts and feelings are corralled into a space of my own choosing, but not of my own will—no, I’m not sure what I mean, either.

Life cannot find reasons to sustain it, cannot be a source of decent natural regard, unless each of us resolves to breathe such qualities into it. — Frank Herbert

I’m running out of breath.

It’s not just the new calisthenics of going back to work, nor of over-obligations with other business. Breathing is just respiration, but respiration is so much more. It’s the exchange of affluent and effluent. One expels carbon dioxide because one accumulates it. One inhales oxygen because one consumes it. Same with food. Same with gratification. Same with sex. Same with job.

It’s good to recognize what you take, and what you excrete: armed with that knowledge and a sense of decent natural regard one can take only what is needed, return what one can, and have no other faith than that others will have the same regard, the same decency.

Of course not everyone does that. And when you look around you, when you’re surrounded—by fiat or by choice—by those who are not of decent natural regard, and when you see them moving forward faster or living easier or choosing less or bogarting the simplicity you wish you had, it’s that much easier to disregard regard and to find decency unnatural.

Nature, if nothing else, moderates. With give there’s take, and take there’s give—that’s how cycles happen. And cycles lead to rhythms, rhythm to pattern, pattern to nuance.

Words fail, never better than a bludgeon when what you need is a jeweler’s loupe and tweezers.

Well, there’s always song..and I have several playing in my head, all from different angles:

Only in Your Heart by America<br/> <br/> Mary, have you seen better days? <br/> And will you find different ways? <br/> And does he really mean that much to your heart? <br/> Carry, all of the weight you can, find another man <br/> And lead him directly there to the source <br/> You’ve got to chart his course <br/> <br/> ‘Cause it is only in your heart <br/> This thing that makes you want to <br/> Start it all again…<br/> <br/> Wake up from an elusive dream <br/> You’ve got to change the scene <br/> It’s getting so hard to see to the end <br/> Break down, all of the walls you can <br/> You need a helping hand <br/> I’m sure there’s someone there just for you <br/> He’s trying to make it, too…<br/> <br/> […]<br/> <br/> You can’t disregard your friends <br/> But life gets so hard when you reach the end

All This Useless Beauty by Elvis Costello<br/> <br/> […]<br/> <br/> Nonsense prevails, modesty fails<br/> Grace and virtue turn into stupidity<br/> While the calendar fades almost all barricades to a pale compromise<br/> And our leaders have feasts on the backsides of beasts<br/> They still think they’re the gods of antiquity<br/> If something you missed didn’t even exist<br/> It was just an ideal — is it such a surprise?

Both Sides Now by Joni Mitchell<br/> <br/> […]<br/> <br/> Tears and fears and feeling proud<br/> To say “I love you” right out loud<br/> Dreams and schemes and circus crowds<br/> I’ve looked at life that way<br/> <br/> Oh but now old friends are acting strange<br/> They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed<br/> Well something’s lost but something’s gained<br/> In living every day<br/> <br/> I’ve looked at life from both sides now<br/> From up and down and still somehow<br/> It’s life’s illusions I recall<br/> I really don’t know life at all

I’ve Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song) by Fall Out Boy

Joke me something awful just like kisses on the necks of “just friends”
We are the kids who feel like dead ends
And I want to be known for my hits, not just my misses
I took a shot and didn’t even come close
At trust and love and hope
And the poets are just kids who didn’t make it
Who never had it at all

And the record won’t stop skipping
And the lies just won’t stop slipping
And besides my reputation’s on the line
We can fake it for the airwaves
Force our smiles, baby, half dead
From comparing myself to everyone else around me

Please put the doctor on the phone because I’m not making any sense
Blame everyone else but me for this mess
And my back has been breaking from this heavy heart
We never seemed so far
I’m hopelessly hopeful, you’re just hopeless enough

But we never had it at all

I’ve decided to be less opaque and more literal by bold-facing the particular lyrics from each song. No, not a single one is directed at any person but myself. It’s about fucking time it’s about myself.

Anyhoo.

Those who step away from the natural are easy to spot: they’re the ones who mistake simplistic for simple, who cling to the desperate convenience of a label. They are those who mordantly stab at their own pasts in hopes of the absolution of circumstance.

They flatten their lives into a cartoon and call it an imprimatur. They label the dangerous, the stupid, the deadly, the acts of arrogance into toothless candy-colored lozenges. “Tina”, “barebacking”, “serosorting”, “bear”, “twink”, “otter”, “bug hunting”, “gift giving”, “god”, “daddy”, “boy”, “slave”, “pup”, “pro-life”, “sanctity”.

The soft pink bunny is unassailable.

But I guess that’s the point, isn’t it?

So as I said, I’m nearly out of breath. Out of breath from trying to inflate my surroundings back into three dimensions. Out of breath not for them but for myself. What will happen to my decent natural regard if I’m plunged into Flatland? Maybe I’m not strong enough to be resist what’s easier.

Then again, when you burst into tears because you’ve lost so much, recent and distant, maybe it’s not a good time to write in your blog.

Rush Limbaugh’s Erection

The media is utterly letting him off the hook. The Today show led the story with “a dream come true for late-night comedians”, thus relegating the story to nothing but a simple embarrassment for Limbaugh.

The man violated the terms of his already wrist-slappy deal, and now he’s carrying around a prescription that isn’t his. Oh, they’ll argue that the script was written for him by his doctor, and that all that’s really required is a) the doctor’s intent to give a prescription medication to a patient and b) the doctor’s ability (read: license) to write scripts, but honestly, under the law—the laws that Rush Limbaugh has used in quite literal interpretations to inveigh against others to great effect—the only person who is permitted to take the medication in a bottle is the name of the person on the bottle.

Oh, I know there are good will arguments for bending the rules for this and that, thus and such (e.g., hey, I ran out of ibuprofen, can I take one of those 800mg tablets your doc prescribed for you?), but Rush Limbaugh burned through any good will that anyone might have made available to him, hasn’t he? In fact, the Republicans have subsisted on nothing but siphoning off the good will and have used it to power the machinery of their current ascendancy. And Rush Limbaugh has been nothing but a perfectly good assmonkey for them all along.

The doctor who wrote the script should be censured or otherwise punished in some way, even if only symbolic. Should he be barred from practicing medicine or writing scripts? No, of course not. But something must be done.

And Viagra? What particular brand of self-loathing must it take for a woman to actually let Rush Limbaugh put his dick in her? It’s upsetting to even consider that there are women like that around.

I know that that Catholics don’t go in for any kinds of artificial birth control. But so far, the word “control” has been synonymous with prevention. IVT is also not considered natural and that’s all about procreation. Has the Catholic Church weighed in on Viagra and Cialis?

Have all those other anti-abortion folks ever expanded their ROI to include all of natural procreation?

Rush Limbaugh deserves more punishment than whatever idiocy Jay Leno can poorly deliver. Imagine that Rush Limbaugh were not famous, not white. What would happen to him now? (that’s a trick question, chil’ren, because that Rush Limbaugh would never have gotten such a sweet deal on doctor-shopping in the first place).

UPDATE: Hottie Homer just pointed out to me that Rush was on his way to the Dominican Republic when they nabbed him, where flourishes a vibrant sex industry. Not only that, Rush isn’t married. So by the arguments of the anti-gay Right, he shouldn’t be having sex at all. With anyone. And if he was going to prostitutes, I take it back about the women being self-loathing: they’re being compensated for their difficult labors.

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The Gays #002

Old school TheGays go for the Judy Garland. More recent TheGays go for Babs or Bette. Current TheGays go for Madonna and Britney and Christina.

I’m more on the actor side of the diva equation than the songstress side. I prefer male voices and male songwriters in general.

But on the actor side of things, I go gay gangbusters. Put Sandra Bullock in a movie, or Catherine Zeta Jones in one, and I’m all hers. Good Lord! To say nothing of Julia Roberts, the Diva-inest Actress of ‘em all.

Have you ever seen America’s Sweethearts or My Best Friend’s Wedding? I think I’ve gotten around to seeing all but one or two of Julia Roberts’ movies, and today Netflix delivered The Mexican, a one-two-THREE punch of a movie with Julia and gay themes and Brad Pitt.

Favorite action: death from a bullet that falls from the sky from others firing off guns into the air.

Favorite line [about relationship issues]: Are you blameshifting???

Right now, though, I’m tearing through Footballers’ Wives. Hottie men showing full frontal nudity, and bitches bitchier than almost any bitches on American telly.

I’m in a Mood.

Also sprach der Gott der Plätzchen.

<br/><br/><br/>Previous lesson: The Gays #001

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Gilbert O’Sullivan & Terry Jacks

I’m absolutely not being glib, it’s just my defense mechanism. Sam and I have broken up and I’m just so sad. Disappointed. Scared. My identity is significantly borked.

I love him so very much. And that love is returned. That won’t go away, but our relationship has.

No more details are forthcoming, I’m just so very sad about it all. I know I’ve said it before; I say it often, presently.

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I’m a Big Gay Homosexual

Through the continuing novelty of HDTV—and no thanks to the crappy HD DVR software on the Comcast box—I discovered a digital broadcast of something whose on-screen guide name was “Channing and Pearl Bailey”. Being the good little gay boy I have always been, I instantly made the connection: Channing was Carol Channing, she of Hello, Dolly! fame. My favorite musical, my favorite Dolly Levi. My favorite favorite favorite of all the Original Cast Recordings my own Auntie Mame owned. Others included Cabaret, Fiddler on the Roof, Mame, Camelot and Man of La Mancha.

So I hit the Record button on the remote to capture “Carol Channing and Pearl Bailey on Broadway”, something the info section of the guide told me was actually a special that aired on ABC-TV in 1969. Specifically in January of 1969. I was 4 then, and by then could already—at least phonetically—sing all three languages of Wilkommen! from Cabaret and could mimic Dolly Levi’s Yonkahz aaaccent with a preciseness that seems to come naturally to our people. I would stand on tip-toes at my Aunt’s console stereo, fingers gripping the edge as I peeked over to watch the vinyl disc spin, watch the needle arm sway and rise and fall with the warps on the record, watch the lint accumulate on the soft triangular brush on the tip of the needle arm (which trailed the needle itself—bad design!).

When I watched the show, there were moments when I got the chills—not because of the astoundingly resilient performance of Bailey or the electrifying antics of Carol Channing, but because the melody lines filling the room had filled my heart—and, dare I say, filled my soul—so early on.

Very possibly this is where I learned that music isn’t a thing to enjoy so much as an integral, organic part of Being. It picks up where ordinary words fail and certain note intervals are spaces through which the Face of Eternity may be seen.

It was interesting, also, from an historical and even short-throw anthropological (hi, Ted!) sense: the outfits the audience wore. The hairstyles. What could be gotten away with on television in 1969. What can no longer be gotten away with in 2006! That Carol Channing was only 48 years old and Pearl Bailey only 51. That they were 48 and 51 and could dance and sing and glide and glissando so gracefully and forcefully and without a net. The genius of Broadway of that era.

But mainly, the magic was all in them singing popular showtunes of the time; the show finished off with both in red sequined gowns, both as their own respective Dolly’s.

Nothing props up the notion of a continuous-me throughout my own history than the music that I’ve known and felt as long as I’ve known or felt just about anything.

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Department of Heteroland Security

From the Associated Press, via Salon:

The White House said Wednesday a revised policy on granting security clearances to gays and lesbians does not reflect a change in how the government will treat sexual orientation.

The big—perhaps the only!—question is: then why fucking change it?

Children and the “War” on “Terror” are the two reasons that Republicans use like a body shield. In other words, they peddle fear.

The original language of the executive order originally stated that sexual orientation “may not be used as a basis” for denying clearances or determining whether individuals should be eligible to access to classified information unless, of course, it could make them vulnerable to coercion or exploitation. Ironically, that means that gay people who are already out of the closet have eliminated the largest vulnerability to such coercion or exploitation.

The new language reads that gays and lesbians may not be denied clearance or access “solely on the basis of the sexual orientation of the individual.”

The “conservatives” are doing the same thing here that they put in place with all of the “sex offender” machinery: they legislate specific and far-flung punishments based on abstract and overbroad conditions. Look to Iowa, where people are forced to move from their own homes because they’d bought places or rented places that have suddenly become “sex-offender-free” zones. Never mind that a “sex offense” might be solicitation or consensual adult sex in places deemed inappropriate, such an “offender” could still not be able to live within a certain radius of a school, for example.

And so it is with the new language in the security laws. They broadened and abstracted something that was succinct and absolute. They’ve created a situation where they can discriminate against gays by being cowards and pawning it off on some other “reason”. You’ll see the Christians jumping all over this one, just like “hoody” did with the revisiting of the killing of Matthew Shepard. They’ll do anything to prevent the engendering of sympathy or empathy towards homosexuals.

Watch the rhetoric and see.

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