Don't Feed the Plants!

For my little sister's birthday/graduation present, I let her come visit me in the city, play Atari (because she always let me play Vice City on her PS2) and see Little Shop of Horrors. I knew that the cast was being overhauled but I didn't know what a surprise I was in for. Hunter Foster left to go to The Producers (I wish I'd known *that* before I saw it last month) and as Melissa and I were walking down the street with both caught a glimpse of the marquee.

"Little Shop of Horrors!" it said in large lettering. And, much to my pleasure (chagrin?) a sign almost as large underneath. I was flabbergasted. Flabbergasted. "Now Starring.... Joey Fatone!" Yup, kiddies, Seymour Krelborn was being played by none other than the fat one from *NSYNC. Needless to say, it made our night. Also needless to say, he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.

The Sky Is Falling... Again...

First it was my fault that the state of marriage in this country is crumbling, even though I'm not even allowed to get marriage. Then I was responsible for the Abu Gharib prison scandal (cuz ya know, all those soldiers got their ideas from looking at gay porn on the internet).

But this is the last straw! Now I'm being blamed for obesity. That's right, obesity. Lord Tebbit, former Conservative cabinet minister, had this to say:

"The root cause of this problem, like a number of others, is the break down in family life," he said, arguing that families "don't so often eat together" and that "wives are virtually pressurised into feeling they ought to go to work instead of looking after their children".

He said this decline in family life was due to the current government, which he accused of doing "everything it can to promote buggery"...

"We don’t only have an epidemic of obesity, we have a huge problem with AIDS. And the government's attitude is to do everything it can to promote buggery - knowing that those two are intimately connected."

At this point, Conservative MP Boris Johnson was keen to point out that "I don't think you can say gay marriage is the root cause of obesity".

So I'm now the reason that kids in England eat too much McDonald's.

But not only that, Florida state legislative candidate Ed Heeney told a Palm Beach County political meeting May that homosexuality has made it difficult for him to enjoy his pastime of billiards. His explanation: "(Y)ou have a situation where the lesbian community is buying restaurants and bars (and, presumably, removing the pool tables)."

Of course, I wonder when the last time that Ed was in a lesbian bar. Those dykes sure love their pool...

So now I'm going to keep a running total. We're responsible for the destruction of the family, the downfall of marriage, the abuse of children by Catholic priests, military torture scandals, RuPaul, obesity and the dirth of billiard tables in Florida. I will declare victory when I get publicly blamed for September 11th.

The Law of Snoozing

Riddle me this: Since I moved my apartment around, my alarm clock is on the opposite side of the room, far away from my bed. How then did I manage to snooze three times this morning? Somehow I had enough energy to get out of bed, trip over two pairs of shoes and my coffee table a full three times, but was unable to get into the shower. I continue to amaze even myself.

I'm Proud To Be Out...

... of town when the Gay Pride Parade is going on. I've never actually been, considering I find it garish, offensive and, oh, I hate parades (although the Mermaid Parade in Coney Island this weekend was, um, enjoyable). But the Pride Parade is my favorite parade for one reason and one reason only: It's the only major parade that doesn't run through my neighborhood, thereby fucking up traffic, public transportation and even walking for hours. I'm so happy that the Stonewall is in the Village and not under the Queensboro Bridge.

My Not-So-Terribly-Revealing Revelations On Advertising

Through a series of unrelated events, I ended up watching "Celebrity Poker Showdown" on Bravo last night for much longer than anyone should. Now I realize that Bravo is the gay-friendly network, but they somehow managed to turn poker (poker!) into the gayest subject ever. I won't get into it.

However, recently I've become acutely aware of television advertising. I suppose it started when I was watching a lot of wrestling and realized that I had no interest in Stacker II, Motorola motor oil, Lugz street shoes or video games that I probably wasn't the average WWE fan (who is, apparently, overweight, likes cars, is poorly dressed and has no social life). Likewise, during a commercial for a prodcut promising to lower my cholesterol and being hawked by George Hamilton, I wasn't the target audience of "Celebrity Poker" either. What struck me as interesting last night, however, was the fact that by the time I'd stopped watching wrestling on a regular basis, I was saving up money to by a Playstation. Which led me to ponder, do I want all the products advertised during the Daily Show because I'm the Daily Show's target demographic (which I am) or because these are the products I keep seeing because I watch the Daily Show? Like in this paper I read today, is membrane thickness modified by the lipids or by the embedded proteins? Or is it symbionic? Or synergistic? Or axiomatic?

I think I'm rambling. Anyway, as you can see, my revelation was, well, obvious and not very illuminating. Kind of like the advice of "The Gambler".

It's Not Against Any Religion...

It's been a couple months, but I finally have another pigeon on my balcony. This time, she didn't bother to take the time to build an elaborate nest underneath my air conditioner. No, this time the wily bitch nested in one of my planters. Oh yes. Now granted, I have a lot of plants on my balcony, azaleas, pansies, basil, mint, parsley, sage and rosemary (no thyme). And granted, I did leave this particular box empty, save soil, so it did make for a nice nest. Needless to say, I didn't call an exterminator this time; instead I took care of her myself. I drove her off with a broom, dumped the dirt and fried the egg of up for breakfast. (Ok, not that last part, but I thought about it.) Then I emptied my bladder all over the balcony because apparently they hate the smell of humans. Ok, I didn't do that either, but it would've served the bitch right.

Sigh, all this tough talk. Really, I felt bad for her. She looked so peaceful and mother-like. It was hard to kick her out and kill her baby. I might loose two or three whole winks of sleep over this. Ah, the curse of a conscience.


This post is in loving memory of the Contessa (2002-2002). Forgive me, Ramon.

Pop Culture Immersion

So last night I decided to immerse myself fully into middlebrow American pop culture by indulging in both a #1 pop-schlock bestseller and a made-for-TV movie based on a #1 pop-schlock bestseller, The Da Vinci Code and TNT's 'Salem's Lot.

Woo-wee! What a ride that one was. First, I finished The Da Vinci Code and I have to say that Dan Brown is no Umberto Eco, try as he might. A lot of the book was just flaunting random knowledge and useless linguistic observations which served the author's ego more than his unindoctrinated readers. Second, he lied. Well, he didn't really lie, as some people might have you think. But he definitely bent the truth to serve his story. The problem that I had was that he painted some of the historical origins of the Catholic Church as if it had been covering up some vast conspiracy. Unfortunately I knew most of everything he was saying because I, um, went to Catholic school and they told us how the early Church leaders got together and decided what should stay in the Bible and what shouldn't. For example. Of course, if I give him more credit than I ought to, I would say that all his manipulations and machinations were calculated and intentional and the reader was supposed to see through them as exactly that simply because "everyone loves a conspiracy." That would be, like, meta or something. Deep, man, deep.

My second foray into pop culture land was a TV mini-series starring Rob Lowe and about vampires. Ironically, it co-starred both Donald Sutherland and Rutger Hauer who also co-starred in another pop-culture vampire movie that spawned a legacy. Now, I could critique this till the cows come home because 'Salem's Lot is my favorite Stephen King novel and they just plain ruined the ending. Up until that it was very, very good. But why mess with greatness? And they were just plain inconsistent with the vampires. I did, however, realize that Stephen King has a message buried in his story: support of the FMA. Think about it: two fussy, foppish antique dealers, "partners" if you will, move into a small town. The town suspects something is funny about their relationship. Soon, small boys go missing. In no time they've converted the entire town to their evil ways. See, not only are gays responsible for the torture in Iraq, but for vampires too.

Desperation

Desperation is a sad thing. So last night, the boy and I joined Christy and Tim for a pleasant evening of Opera in the Park. They were performing Madama Butterfly, which was, at least according to the synopsis since I don't speak Italian, surprising similiar to Miss Saigon. Puccini is a hack. Anyway, between the four of us we split four bottles of wine (a pleasant pinot grigio, two Sicilian reds which could have been aged more and a nice South African pinotage, which at that point in the evening went down like water). We also had some lovely cured meat sandwiches and tasty goat milk brie on wee toasts. Needless to say by the end of the evening I was pleasantly toasted as well, and I found myself home early, buzzed and not ready to go to bed.

Here is where desperation comes in. Since I quit smoking in April, I'd had a couple of packs of cigarettes left over in a drawer in my closet. Whenever I was feeling stressed or buzzed or the boy wanted one, I sneak one out. Needless to say, I was jonesin'. Well, kiddies, much to my chagrin I discovered that I'd successfully sneaked every single cigarette, including my cloves, out of my apartment. Three empty packs of fags, and not a single smoke. So I started digging. Almost immediately I found a three year old pack of unfiltered Camels with about six cigarettes left. I'm not that desperate, I told myself, and I kept digging. It's amazing what you find at the bottom of forgotten drawers. I found a faded admission ticket to the Aquarium of the Americas in New Orleans, dated March 1999. While I do remember being in New Orleans for spring break my senior year of college, I have absolutely no recollection of going to an aquarium. I also found $5.50 in penny rolls, which I put with the rest of my change. I actually have enough change to pay off all of our war debt, but I have yet to do anything with it. I've been planning on taking it to Commerce Bank which has free change machines, but you really have to make a planned trip. I can't just put it all in my bag and pop round after work because I'd probably give myself another hernia. I guess I could take it in shifts but that requires much more forethought and energy expenditure than I'm willing to invest. I figure, I'll do something with it when it's finally time to move. Or, I guess I could have taken some of it and walked the block and half to a bodega to buy a pack of smokes.

But since this post is about desperation, I of course ended up smoking a three year old unfiltered Camel and being none too happy about it, especially since you really can't tell how far you're supposed to smoke since there's no handy filter to help you gauge in the dark.

Back In Business!

Finally. Took us frickin' long enough...

It's The Third Of The Month...

Do you know where your next paycheck is coming from? Fortunately I do and unfortunately that's the only thing going well this week. Currently I'm typing this on the ground, which is ergonomically evil; I hope I don't damage my wrists to much today since it's quite possible the worst day to do so. The reason I'm lying on the ground is because, while we are in our new lab space, there are only two network connections and the Unix box that is running one of them is acting wack-ass. The other one is in a room that does not yet have what one might call a table. And I'm starving because I've had nothing but fruit to eat all day since the boy somehow convinced me to go on some cracked crash-diet with him and his sister.

This sitch has hugs and puppies at the end of the tunnel, though. I have window now. And a new computer for analysis. And I got to label shit today. And what, if anything, is this day about but than to look on the bright side of things?

So, while I'm looking out my window with no shades as the sun strikes me blind, I will only thing of how good I am, how smart I am, and how wonderful my cabbage soup is going to be tonight.

It's a shame I forgot to wear plaid today.