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Sunday, July 31, 2005
Astronomers have found a new world orbiting the Sun. The giant lump of rock and ice is larger than the planet Pluto and is now the farthest known object in the solar system.
The discovery was announced by US scientists yesterday and the object has unofficially been named Xena, after the TV series starring Lucy Lawless. "We have always wanted to name something Xena," said Michael Brown, a member of the team that made the discovery using telescopes at the Palomar Observatory, outside San Diego, California.
-- The Observer
For shame, Mr. Brown. Perpetuating the stereotype of the geeked-out, fantasy-loving astronomer is bad enough, but appropriating lesbian icons for cheap scientific thrills is quite another.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
The Iranian government may be hunting more gay teens after publicly executing two boys for having sex with each other last week.
According to human rights activists, police officials are searching for three boys connected with the "crimes" of Mahmoud Asgari, 16, and Ayaz Marhoni, 18, who were hanged last week.
-- PlanetOut.com
That's not exactly news to wake up to.
It's shocking, isn't it? I mean, really, truly shocking. Teens jailed, beaten, tortured, executed? For fooling around? And there's likely more to come? I don't even know where to begin. For something to knock the words out of me these days--well, that's pretty rare.
Of course, if I were a better informed fag, I'd have heard about this last week when the story first broke. As it is, I'm sitting here before 7:00am, before my second cup of coffee, trying to make sense of it alongside a dozen other week-old headlines. And all I keep coming up with are questions:
- In Death of a Princess, it's said that to carry out a conviction of adultery under Islamic law, a defendant has to admit his/her crime three times in court. Apparently, a conviction for sodomy is just as difficult to obtain, since the defendant must confess his crime to authorities four times, or it must be documented by four righteous men. So were these boys coerced into confessions? Or did they blithely admit their acts, unaware of the consequences? Or were their admissions an act of defiance? Or were they blindsided by four former friends?
- If the boys were convicted on the word of others, what could they have done to merit such retribution? Did they piss off the wrong person by doing something kinda cruel, as teenagers are often wont to do?
- Could the execution have been simply a way of saving face? The boys were initially charged with raping a 13-year-old boy, but all sources seem to agree that those were false accusations intended to make the conviction more palatable to the public. What if the rape conviction came first, and then, when proven baseless, the authorities found themselves needing a way out?
- The relatively small chorus of protests--which has included the European Union and Iran's own Nobel laureate Shirin Ebadi but not the US or, as far as I can tell, even Amnesty International --has relied almost exclusively on the argument that children under 18 shouldn't be executed. Apart from gay rights groups, no one has mentioned the issue of homosexuality and human rights. That's probably a tactical thing, done with the understanding that people are more likely to feel sympathy for innocent children than innocent sodomites. But still, you'd think someone might mention it.
- What's the rationale behind making Iran's age of "criminal responsibility" (i.e. the age at which individuals can be tried and sentenced as adults) 15 for boys but only 9 for girls?
- How many right wingers are going to take the opportunity to say, "See what you'd be facing over there, you dirty fag? Shut up and be happy with what you've got."
- Given my childhood (and adult) penchant for precocity, how long would I have lasted in Iran (or Saudi Arabia or Sudan or Jordan)?
Anyone?
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
So I'm humming along this morning, doing my thing, when I stumble across this petit morceau, dating from way back in January:
The U.S. army considered building a “gay bomb”, which could make enemy troops “sexually irresistible” to each other, government papers say.
-- Al Jazeera.com
And I think, "How the hell did I miss that, Mabel?" (I sometimes refer to myself as Mabel in the course of internal dialogues.)
Then I pause to consider the source of the story. I mean, yes, to many folks, Al Jazeera is a respected news outlet, but its website also features a section devoted entirely to conspiracy theories--most of which would be hilarious, if they were intended as fake news gags. (They're not.) So I assume this "gay bomb" stuff is another bunch of hooey designed to entertain a readership with a cultural affinity for stories of subterfuge.
Wrong.
A quick check of the source materials, reveals that, lo-and-behold, Al Jazeera isn't kidding. A declassified document from 1994 details the project, as well as many others, including chemical weapons that would make enemy combatants attractive to rodents, give them chronic bad breath, and cause hypersensitivity to sunlight.
All of which makes me wonder:
(A) Which of Al Jazeera's other conspiracy theories are grounded in truth?
(B) Did Wright Labs build a prototype of the "love bomb"?
(C) If so, how can I get it to Edirne for the 2006 Kirkpinar?
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Queer illustrators, rejoice:
- G-Project has finally seen fit to post new wallpaper!
- Prism has set up a grant fund to encourage new work among queer comic strip artistes!
- Inside sources tell me that Mary Worth and Margo from across the hall are having a hot summer fling!
Monday, July 25, 2005
Five Reasons I Died a Little Inside
While Stuck in Traffic on I-10 Inbound This Afternoon
Sunday, July 24, 2005
All I'm sayin' is, mushrooms are some weird shit, yo.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Hey, Democrats:
Forget about it.
Please, please, please, just forget about it. Knock it off. Throw in the towel.
Yes, I know he isn't quite what you were hoping for. And I agree, she's kinda creepy. But let it go. It's a lost cause.
Americans have already fallen for his boyish charm, his cherubic smile, and his ADD-addled son. Pundits across the political spectrum have noted his remarkably uncontroversial record, his fair-mindedness, his demonstrated willingness to respect the law above ideology. I mean, hell, given the extremist tendencies of this particular administration, Roberts is about as middle-of-the-road as you could've hoped for. He's the political equivalent of Midwestern gumbo: probably substantial, but very, very bland.
So cut it out already. Sure, you can ask a couple of good questions during the confirmation hearings. And by all means, look into his tax records. See if he's hired an illegal immigrant as a maid or a gardener or something--that's brought down more than a few otherwise respectable folks in the past. Just don't drag it out. Don't look like obstructionist sticks in the mud. And above all, don't put his wife on trial.
Move through this as quickly as possible, and you'll come out smelling like roses. Then you can get back to persecuting that obese, blondined, vaguely pedophilic youth minister otherwise known as Karl Rove. When it comes to placing eggs, ladies and gentlemen, that's the basket in which to put them.
Capisce?
Sincerely,
Sturtle for the Democratic Way
Friday, July 22, 2005
Remember New Orleans in the early 1990s?
Remember the filming of JFK? The erstwhile glory of Trent Reznor? The Utne Reader's declaration that the Lower Garden District was the coolest place to live in the USofA?
Well, in case you missed it, it was...interesting. I'm still not sure what started the boom, but suddenly, celebs were flocking to the city--some, like the ill-omened Kevin Costner, even bought homes here. Spokespeople for the tourism industry were calling New Orleans the "Third Coast," despite the fact that we're at least an hour's drive from the Gulf of Mexico. Locals, in their predictably provincial, genteel way, were terrified that New Orleans would become a playground for the nouveau riche--conveniently forgetting, of course, that their own "old money" had disappeared before World War II.
In the end, it was kind of a non-event. The glitz and glamour levels ticked steadily upward, and then just as we achieved superstar supersaturation, it was all over. One day, I glimpsed Courtney Love's pasty ass entering the tanning salon, and the next, nothing but Duck Girls and Bead Ladies for as far as the eye could see.
Now I'm wondering if we're on the upswing again. Spokespeople for the tourism industry are calling New Orleans "Hollywood South" (and I thought "Third Coast" was as bad as it could get). TV dweebs like Frankie Muniz are sinking their claws into beloved local hipsters. And of course, Lenny's making noise again. Can velveteen ropes at Acme Oyster House be far behind?
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Somewhere in this house, beneath layers of dust and dog hair, is a photo of me dressed as Aeon Flux.
Well, kinda.
If you're old enough to remember the animated series on MTV, you know how insane her costumes were. To call them "extreme" would be an understatement: they were little more than cleverly positioned webs of leatherette. Of course, she was able to wear such things because she was a cartoon and not bound to the conventions of three-dimensional human physique.
When I decided to recreate that look for Carnival in 1995, I was faced with two serious problems. First, I had to find the costume--I mean, you don't find that kind of stuff lying around Banana Republic (or Frederick's of Hollywood, for that matter). And second, I had to tailor the costume to my own body: whereas Aeon was tall and sinewy, with broad shoulders, zero body fat, and crazy, crazy hair, I'm of average height, average build, and prone to chunkiness. And I think I had a crew cut at the time. Clearly, I had to adapt. Either that, or I'd come off looking like Comic Book Guy dressed for a Star Trek convention.
By the time I was done, I looked nothing like the bitch. I'd gone for a black meshy top that clung to my body but still managed to hide a lot. On the bottom, I had some good over-the-knee tights, but I didn't have the cash to spend on a pair of thigh-high boots, so I went with my usual Doc Martens--practical, but so clearly not the look. The hair proved hardest: in the end, I was stuck with a very thick, very hot wig that reminded me of Jackie O in the 1970s. And for reasons I can't recall, I topped the whole thing off with a Hello Kitty umbrella.
Ah, to be young, dumb, and full of drugs.
I mention all this because I recently stumbled across the site for the impending Aeon Flux big-screen blockbuster, which will be released in conjunction with a videogame for Xbox and a new comic book. Both the video game and the comic book feature a revamped, younger, more pop star-esque heroine--presumably to reinforce the image of Charlize Theron in the title role of the film. But most important is Aeon's revised wardrobe: that strappy stuff is gone, and Charlize-cum-Aeon is wearing nothing but sheaths. So apparently, I'm not the only person who's been forced to adpat the Aeon look to fit my needs. And hey, if Hollywood can't pull it off, I don't feel so bad.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
The boyfriend and I took a ride on behalf of the dogs last night. To suburbia.
Of the many things I noticed during our voyage to this strange land, three stand out:
- I understand that we Americans have too much money and too few children, but I still feel guilty spending half my disposable income on pet products. I haven't yet started with the puppy pinafores and the doggie do-rags, but I'm afraid it's only a matter of time.
- The store formerly known as "The Bombay Company" has implemented a strategy of simplicity, shortening its name to "Bombay." Perhaps the CEOs will consider a parallel strategy of accuracy and change the store's name once more to "Mumbai."
- As a general rule, I should know by now that when I ask a waitress at a Vietnamese restaurant to suggest "a little something sweet," the glass of cracked ice, stringy gelatin, and candied plums she brings to the table will in no way resemble the dessert I'd envisioned.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
So, the big Exodus International conference starts today. I was thinking about shirking my thespian responsibilities and sneaking up for it. I mean, call me a dacryphiliac, but I don't think there's anything more arousing than a tearful, late-night coming-out, followed by hours of tearful, we-shouldn't-be-doing-this, shockingly hot monkey love with someone who thinks he's confused about his sexuality.
Then I read the conference's Code of Conduct policy--specifically the part that prohibits attendees from "seeking sexual contacts." So, I guess that's out. I mean, why waste $300 when I could just as easily live out my Lothario fantasy with a self-hating closet-case by moseying up to the Louisiana Republican Party Headquarters?
Monday, July 18, 2005
For months, Arabic-language channels have been broadcasting confessions of terrorist suspects that have at once increased ratings and raised suspicions that the statements may have been coerced or staged.
But Sheik Zana's confessions, delivered in Kurdish, stand out because he and his followers had a habit of videotaping not only what appear to be horrific murders and rapes, but also sex among themselves and with the young men whom they were trying to recruit for their cause....
Among the elements of the Arabic-language confessions that some viewers regard as suspicious are stock admissions by the supposed terrorists that they are gay. Because gay sex is haram, or forbidden, in the Koran, some critics have suggested that the speakers have been induced to make those statements to embarrass themselves.
-- New York Times
So on the surface, it seems that one of two things is going on: either (a) a group of gay extremists has been carrying out terrorist activities in the name of Iraqi Kurdistan and/or Islam, or (b) a group of non-gay extremists, which has been carrying out terrorist activities in the name of Iraqi Kurdistan and/or Islam, has finally been caught and forced to confess that they're homos, just to drive the proverbial nail a little deeper into their collective coffin during their prosecution.
From the story in the NYT (one of only three English-language articles I can find on this particular topic), it seems that a considerable segment of Iraq's population is going with Option B, despite the fact that there's apparently all this video footage of Kurdish Guys Gone Wild. In an act of willful blindness eerily reminiscent of the nutty refutations surrounding Gameel el-Batouty and the crash of EgyptAir 990 nearly six years ago, devout Muslims are happy to fall back on one of their favorite syllogisms:
Muslims are forbidden from X.
Y is a good Muslim.
Therefore, Y cannot be guilty of X.
And although no one's made the logistical jump just yet, it's only a matter of time until someone blurts out the traditional fourth line:
Therefore, the recent incidents of X are part of a plot by Israel and Mossad.
But for me, what's really troubling is not the ludicrousness of the denials, nor the lack of discussion in these articles about the complex issues surrounding homosexuality in Islam, including the lingering distinctions between homosexuality and sodomy. No, the problem is that it calls to mind similarly freakish leaps of faith I witnessed growing up as a Southern Baptist, and I realize that I may have been guilty of some blind-eyed assessments of my own. For example:
Southern Baptists are forbidden to drink alcohol.
My mother is a good Southern Baptist.
Therefore, my mother can't be an alcoholic.
You know, that "opiate of the people" guy may have been onto something....
Friday, July 15, 2005
Perhaps I was too coy in my last post. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. Let me rephrase it for you:
Come see our freaking show this weekend, girlyman.
Sheesh. Always have to be so direct with you people....
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Got some time on your hands now that summer's here? Wondering what to do with yourself in the coming days? Might I suggest a trip to the theatre? I hear there are some terrif shows opening this weekend.
But perhaps that's not your thing. Perhaps you'd rather hustle down to the Bywater this Saturday night and shake a tailfeather with Voodou priestess Sallie Ann Glassman. She'll be working the gris-gris hard, hard, hard to make sure New Orleans stays high and dry this season.
And yes, ladies and gentlemen, despite her name, Sallie Ann is most definitely the real deal...
HURRICANE CEREMONY VIII
WHAT: Public prayer ceremony dedicated to Our Lady of Prompt Succor (who has intervened historically on New Orleans’ behalf when a hurricane has threatened) and Ezili Dantò (also associated with Mater Salvatoris and Mt Carmel) to ask for protection from hurricanes
WHEN: Saturday, July 16th, at 7:00pm
WHERE: Achade Meadows peristyle, 3319 Rosalie Alley, off of Rampart, between Piety and Desire. (It's a dirt alley to the left. Check my magnificent photo collage above for distinguishing topographical characteristics.)
WHAT TO BRING IN OFFERING:
For Our Lady: flowers, statues, candles, religious pictures, jewelry
For Dantò: Barbancourt rum, florida water, candles, daggers, dolls dressed in red and blue or calico prints, spicy black beans, peasant cakes, unfiltered cigarettes, fried pork
WHAT TO WEAR: It's suggested that attendees dress in white (the color of purity) with red head scarves, or in all red (the color of Petwo rites).
MORE INFO: Call Sallie Ann at The Island of Salvation Botanica, 504 948 9961
Monday, July 11, 2005
The last bit of an apparently vehement, lengthy conversation between two schizophrenic homeless people, which I overheard Sunday morning as I biked through Jackson Square:
"Bitch, you got to get yourself a mirror and talk that shit out."
Which proves that (a) we've got some clever nutcases in the Quarter, and (b) sometimes just hearing the punch line is better than sitting through the whole joke.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
An Open Letter to the Citizens of New Orleans
My Fellow New Orleanians:
You are all a bunch of pussies.
Actually, let me rephrase that: you are all a bunch of water-hoarding, Margaret Orr-loving, I-10-clogging evacuation monkeys.
For days, every meteorological model has shown Dennis hitting the Floribama coast, but still, you're closing up shop. You're cancelling events. You're running for the hills (literally, since Monkey Hill doesn't count).
You're on the streets at 7:00am, eyes wide with hysteria as you make one last run to Home Depot for plywood. Your minivans teeter from side to side, piled high with children and pets and shabbat candles (the only ones you could still find at Robert's). At the Shell station, you pump gallon after gallon of gas, remembering your evacuation in the face of Ivan and hoping that it doesn't take you another eight hours just to reach Aunt Judy's house in Baton Rouge.
And so I ask, could you pantywaists stop with the kvetching and the tsoris and the powerdrills before dawn and please listen to Bob freaking Breck? Yes, I know: with that shrill little voice and those unfortunate hair plugs, he's sometimes tough to stomach, but underneath all those Cassandra-Complex trappings, he's a rational guy, and he's saying "Sit your ass back down." (I paraphrase.)
Seriously, if you're gonna fly into a tizzy every time a low pressure system creeps toward the Gulf Coast, maybe y'all ought to move someplace else. There's Minneapolis, for example. Or St. Louis. Or Hershey, Pennsylvania--you like chocolate, don't you? Fact is, there's a zillion places unlike New Orleans where you could live, so do us all a favor and hit the road. We have enough to worry about with crime and public schools and those goddamn new parking thingamajigs without you screaming gloom and doom in our ears every other week.
Good riddance. Don't forget to drop us a line now and then from whatever godforsaken Midwestern hellhole you land in.
Sincerely,
Your neighbor, who is trying to get some sleep
Friday, July 08, 2005
Despite the manner of the London bombings--spread out as they were, geographically and chronologically--I was never really worried about my sister. Some people just aren't the rush-hour type.
In fact, from the email I received yesterday, it sounds like Tiff was at home when everything went down, still celebrating the release of her first single, "Miss USA," now available at HMV (well, at lease HMV/UK). Sometimes I guess it pays to be an ex-pat, alt-lifestyle, electroclash queen....
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Wow. Cindy.
You think Cindy, you think of Cindy Brady, Cindy Crawford, Cindy Lou Who, who was no more than two. Who knew Cindy could be such a bitch? Seriously, I don't think I've seen/heard/felt (it's a drafty, old house remember) wind like that in a very long time.
Odd thing is, last night's weather was actually pleasant. The temperature, I mean. Usually when hurricanes come through, it's muggy and hot, and when the power goes out, it's unbearable--so uncomfortable, you have to down a fistful of sleeping pills just to get some shut-eye. But last night, even without a/c and ceiling fans, it was fine. I moved my pillow to the wood floor, which was considerably cooler than the bed, but apart from that, no big whoop. And the juice came back on after just four hours--way sooner than expected. Not too shabby for such a mean-spirited low-pressure system.
In other news, Pensacola just can't get a freaking break.
Monday, July 04, 2005
An Independence Day List of 13 People, Places, and Things
From Which I Have Declared My Own Independence
1. Mom (just the adoptive one), apple pie, and baseball
Too many issues, too many carbs, and too hard to find 17 other faggots to play a decent game.
2. The Velvet Mafia
Although the bloody gerbil head I found on my pillow may mean I've already been booted out.
3. The Lindsay Lohan Fan Club
My time, energy, and disposable income have been re-allocated to Mr. Jesse Bradford.
4. Tom Robbins
After years of valiant attempts, I've made absolutely no headway on his oeuvre. And yes, ladies, I've tried Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. It's a lost cause.
5. Alternative faggotry
Speaking of lost causes... I mean, seriously: I can't be the only one who wants to beat Rufus Wainwright to a pulp.
6. Antiques Roadshow
It was cute at first, but one more $20,000 toothpick, and I think I'll scream.
7. Ming Tsai
His hotfuckability has been outweighed by his chronic case of assholism.
8. Takeout from China Wall
In light of #7 above, this does not constitute a revolt against the whole of Chinese cuisine--just against its fat calories. Besides, I'm keeping the option to receive deliveries at home.
9. Sanity
The addition of a fourth dog to our household was the stray that broke the camel's back.
10. The American Songbook
A result of that cinematic train wreck otherwise known as Delovely.
11. Dilbert
We get it: you're a nerd.
12. Party Politics
<facetiousness>Unless it's an Oscar party, Mary!</facetiousness>
13. The Amish
Admittedly, not a difficult one since I've never even met an Amish person, but I needed something to round out the list...
Friday, July 01, 2005
Minnesota Marys Face Holiday Hook-up Horror
ST. PAUL, Minn. (AP) -- Some state offices closed and about 9,000 state employees were jobless Friday after parts of Minnesota's government shut down for the first time in state history, leaving most rest stops closed for the Independence Day weekend.
-- The Daily Journal
It may not be the funniest lede/lead paragraph ever written, but it's certainly one of the oddest. Clearly, some trucker-chaser at the Associated Press is very concerned about his Fourth of July frolics. (Insert Roman candle joke here.)
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