Tag Archives: Entertainment

Lamb on a cracker


I just took another round of NyQuil and have located a flotation device so I am no longer at risk of drowning in my deepening sea of facial tissues. It’s like I need my own personal Moses to part this sea of tissues just so I can walk from my bed to the computer. Seriously.

Speaking of religion, you know I am not big on religion. The idea of going to church each Sunday to symbolically eat the flesh and drink the blood of a deity seriously creeps me out. And, given that most Christian churches are not gay friendly, I’ve never understood why it’s ok (and not at all homo-erotic) for a man at church to stick a hard cracker in his mouth and…well…let’s just say I’ve censored what I had originally written here. You get my point. Hopefully.

Anyway, that brings me to the point of this post, Mr. Deity. Mr. Deity is a web series I’ve been following. Today a new episode of the series, titled ‘Mr. Deity on the Lamb’ was released. The series is so good it has me wanting a taste of Jesse’s bread of life. Tiffany, if he adds just the right amount of spice to his cooking, then all I have to say is look out boys! You just might see me in line at church next Sunday eager to eat my cracker!


ps – Mr. Deity is funded through donations. If you like the series, you can donate here.



What Naomi Wolf can Teach Lumberjack Lesbians

Dear Tad,

I’ve noticed since tuning into Naomi Wolf’s arguments about the end of America and the very real possibility of fascism creeping in, that there’s been quite a bit written of her views on feminism. To tell the truth, I’ve not read all of the exchanges between Naomi and Camille Paglia during those tumultuous years, when Naomi found herself backed against the fence. Knowing Camille though, and her bitingly brilliant, but savage wit, I’m probably missing scores of entertaining stuff. Nonetheless, I’m here to defend Naomi. And I, for one, a lesbian woman-of-color, can appreciate Naomi’s brand of feminism.

Some people think Naomi has no right to speak about a possible beauty myth when she herself is perfectly quaffed and quite statuesque – you know, she’s hot. Truly, truly hot if I may say so myself (I got your back, girl, don’t worry—my ex went to Harvard and I have a thing for short, smart Jewish girls). But what’s wrong with a feminist being attractive? It’s like saying lesbians can’t be attractive, because they aren’t dolling themselves up for men. BS! I can really appreciate a beautiful woman.

There’s nothing wrong with being beautiful. Tad, we all know that some lesbians are not well-known for their forays into high fashion. I mean, come on, there’s got to be an answer to flannel and Doc Martins, and you lesbians in the audience know what I’m talking about! I lived and loved in Paris for nearly two years and I can tell you that physical beauty is OK, and that Naomi need not feel at all bad for being gorgeous; so everyone should just give her a break. Further, the myriad problems with women on this planet have not vanished with modernism and women’s lib. Very serious issues remain and I appreciate a woman who is willing to still talk about the need for women’s issues to be put on the table and look smokin’ hot while doing it, too.

Thank you, Naomi. In your case, beauty is definitely not a myth. If you had been dressed in flannel with a mullet, I’m ashamed to say that I probably would not have looked so intensely into your work this time around. Thank the goddess Aphrodite, I did.




Bea Arthur, Shoulder Pads and Duran Duran


I’ve been thinking a lot about our recent conversation regarding identity and want to share another trip down memory lane with you. When I was a child, I fell in love with the music of Duran Duran. They have been part of my life for a number of years and at many points along my journey I have found comfort and solace in their music. True, I have no idea what the hell ‘The Reflex’ is about, but it makes me feel good so I don’t really care. All I know is that the Duran Duran mullet defined an era and Nick Rhodes proved that Bea Arthur wasn’t the only one who could rock the shoulder pad.

Tiffany, do you remember those buy 12 records for a penny offers that Columbia House used to have back in the ’80s? I remember my sister and I used to sign up for those offers all the time. True, we would often get in trouble by our parents for doing such things, but that didn’t stop us. Besides, all my dad ever listened to was the Beach Boys, so my sister and I were forced to take drastic measures into our own hands (Pet Sounds really isn’t all that amazing after hearing it 500 times).

Anyway, I remember one time my sister and I sat poised at our dining room table pondering our 12 choices and trying to be very diplomatic in our process. My sister, with pen in hand, would fill in the album code on the Columbia House form while we both scanned our choices, rating each record based on how much we wanted it. This must have been circa 1986 because Duran Duran’s Notorious album had just come out. I wanted it. Badly. I remember pleading with my sister to let me have it. I even let her pick more albums than me in order to get my hands on it.

In the end, my sister conceded defeat and filled in the album code for Notorious on the order form. Let’s just say I’ve never been the same person for it. Although my love affair with Duran Duran had started before Notorious, there was something about that particular album that spoke to me. Songs like American Science and Matter of Feeling touched me quite deeply. I remember listening to them in the dark in my bedroom over and over again, completely enthralled with their beauty.

Then, there were the Duran boys themselves. Now, shockingly, despite how attractive they are, I never had a ‘thing’ for any of them. However, I was always oddly attracted to Nick Rhodes’ gender-bending style. He looked fabulous in pink lip-gloss and black eyeliner. I even seem to remember him rocking tri-colored hair once (black, white and red) and being totally amazed by it. Gender-bending was a big part of the New Romantic movement in which Duran Duran pioneered. I loved many of the New Romantics because of their stunning combination of glamorous music and striking visual imagery. Duran Duran just happened to be my favorite.

At this point, you might be thinking that I am writing this post whilst donning my fake eyelashes and ruby-red lipstick. Truth is, I never raided my mother’s makeup when I was a child, that’s not the point I am trying to make (but if that’s you, go for it!). The point I am trying to make is that the New Romantics represented a stance against traditional cultural norms of what it means to be masculine. They threw ‘manliness’ out the window and created something entirely new. It was a bold statement that spoke to me. It said that it was okay to be me, whatever I decided that should be. In other words, it meant freedom of expression without fear of oppression.

So to loop this piece back to present day, earlier this week Duran Duran released their fabulous cover version of David Bowie’s Boys Keep Swinging – a song that pokes fun at machismo and the idea of the privileged white male. It has been on constant repeat on my iPod for days now. In my opinion, this is the first time Duran Duran have embraced their classic sound and New Romantic sensibilities in over 25 years. I will even go so far as to say that this song represents the very core of what Duran Duran are all about, at least to me. It’s also a representation of what I would like to think I am about.

In other words, nothing real or meaningful can be gained by conforming to society’s idea of the privileged white male. You don’t get to be ‘first on the line’ just for being a boy, you get there by being yourself.


101 Uses for a Dead Cat


I totally understand what you are saying about how relationships change when you become a parent. That’s like when I decided to adopt cats, all of the dog people in my life had no idea what I was doing. They were all like ‘cat’s suck!’. What a bunch of ignorant people some of those dog folks are. The entire experience was really quite traumatic for me and my cats.

Did I ever mention that I grew up in a household where my father loathed cats? I mean he seriously, seriously loathed them. One of his prized possessions was a book called 101 Uses for a Dead Cat. It was book full of illustrations depicting people using dead cats in completely inappropriate ways. I remember my favorite picture being of a man sitting at his desk using a cat’s asshole as pencil sharpener. Another favorite was a picture showing a man using a cat as a blow-up doll.

Anyway, a year or two after 101 Uses for a Dead Cat came out, the sequel, 101 More Uses for a Dead Cat was released. It sat proudly on our bookshelf next to its predecessor. In most homes, children are surrounded by the classics; I was not. My literary experience was dumbed-down to cat assholes being used in a variety of horrifying ways. Is it any wonder that one of the first books I proudly purchased was called The Dictionary of Farts? Ahh, Tiffany, how I cherished that book!

As it was in my household, so to is it today with my extended family. In my extended family cats are generally despised. Only a couple of us dare to make company with cats, and even fewer are willing to admit that they actually like them. I kid you not, these people take the cat vs. dog debate to epic new proportions. Which, in reality is quite hilarious considering that in my family Boston Terriers and Dachshunds wearing Juicy Couture are considered to be ‘real’ dogs. Seriously.

Tiffany, in all earnestness, I know your experience as a parent is in no way the same as taking care of a couple cute cats. But, I also think that cats are widely misunderstood in our culture. In fact, I used to teach people about dog and cat anatomy, physiology and adaptations. And, I figure if I can just get a few people to understand that a cat’s butt is more than just a potential pencil sharpener, then I’ve done the species justice!



Kylie’s Latest Adventures into the Land of Hotpants and Lycra


Very cogent remarks earlier on race relations in America. We must discuss this further.

That said, it was not my intention to write a blog post today, and it most certainly was not my intention to write anything else relating to Australia for quite a long time. But, as it turns out, doing so is unavoidable. When I logged into my Youtube account this morning, the new Kylie Minogue video had been freshly uploaded and was ready for my viewing pleasure. For those who are not aware, Kylie is from Australia.

Don’t get me wrong, even though I have already referred to Ms. Minogue as ‘sloppy seconds’ in the diva department, I still enjoy spinning a Kylie track now and then. And, all told, her new single ‘Get Outta My Way’ isn’t all that bad. Sure, there is nothing particularly groundbreaking about the track, but it’s got a lot of pew! pew! noises and a pulsing beat. It amuses me. But, I must confess that after watching the video, I decided that it was so mind-numbingly terrible that I had to add my commentary complete with visual aides. In fact, let’s let the visuals do most of the talking, shall we?

The video opens to the following visual: it reminds me of disturbing combination of Tron and Cocoon . I am not impressed.

A few seconds into the video, we are treated to hint of male dancers in the background as Kyle dramatically remains in the fetal position . For a brief moment, tension amongst the viewer rises. This seems like a promising turn for the better.

Sadly, the video quickly transitions back to Kylie wriggling and writhing on the floor with bad hair and a tacky outfit. Consider the next visual to encompass approximately 75% of the video.

After the viewer is treated to a few more seconds of Kylie playing on the floor, we then transition to a second shot of the male dancers. Tiffany, it’s not a pretty one. What is sexy about this? What the hell are they even wearing?

If that were not bad enough, here is the final confirmation that the male component of this video is completely impotence-inducing. Enough said.

Now that all sexual energy has been sucked out of this video, enter Kylie’s first outfit change. It’s a tragic number that looks like someone took the fabric off a Victorian four-poster bed and turned it into a dress. It’s simply hideous. And, can someone please tell me what is going on with that Wolverine-esque piece of flare she is wearing on her right-hand? Who is responsible for thinking that giving Kylie a dewclaw would be sexy? It’s nasty. I would rather she be wearing Aretha Franklin’s inauguration hat. Seriously.

Next, we chair dance!

A better shot of her nasty gold dress and her beer-bellied dancers.

Another outfit change. I actually like this one. Those boots are pretty amazing, and the camera makes sure to capitalize on the gratuitous crotch shot potential this outfit offers.

The obligatory ‘diva in high heals’ shot.

I’m not sure who is responsible for choreographing the following shot, but there is so much wrong with it that I don’t know where to begin. You would think a bunch of men in skimpy outfits would have the potential to be sexy, but this is repulsive on a number of levels. The problem with being a gay icon is that sometimes you run the risk of becoming a parody of yourself. I think this image is an example of what not to do if you don’t want to fall into the parody trap. Kylie, you should know better.


And we end where we began: more floor-play.

Just in case you missed my earlier link, click here for another link to the new Kylie video.