SoCo and WaMu? WhaTheHe!

Giving yourself a hip nickname and hoping it catches on strikes me as a desperate act. What would you think if I went around calling myself Flash or El Guapo? When people started calling Ben Affleck BenLo and Bennifer, it was cute. If he had started calling himself BenLo, that would have been sort of sad.

These things are supposed happen organically. Only after "FedEx" had become a common verb did Federal Express change its name. Sure, KFC was eager to drop "fried" from its name, but everyone called it that by the time they changed their logo. Target has enough dignity not to play along with the French pronunciation (Tar-zhay) despite its popular usage.

So I reject Southern Comfort's attempt to re-brand itself as SoCo. I suppose they think drunks are struggling with the two extra syllables and they are losing market share to Jim Beam. Or maybe they're trying to make inroads in Yankee states. Did they even stop to check what soco means in Portuguese? (I did. It means punch as in blow, jab).

Their new ad must have aired six times during last week's SNL re-run. Ah, there's another one. We all call it SNL, but NBC generally uses the full name. Can you imagine? "L, from New York, it's SN!"

Even more hokey, Washington Mutual Bank now wants us to call it WaMu. Its new headquarters in Seattle is called the WaMu Center. As hip and now as WaMu might sound (see San Francisco's SoMa and New York City's SoHo), I'm not moving my accounts there.
I'll stick with BofA. And that's not "Bee of Aye" like most people call Bank of America. I pronounce it "BOE-FA." And if that catches on, I won't even mind if the bank starts using it too.

Newsflash: Live-in Nanny Was a Man

The Today Show covered a story yesterday about a kidnapping in Tennessee. Erika Sadowski was arrested on Saturday after she was found with the two children, 15 hours after they were reported missing. Sadowski has lived with the family for the last five years, caring for the children.

About 800,000 children are reported missing in the United States every year. So why would The Today Show find this so newsworthy? The story is not newsworthy, but it is sensational. Ms. Sadowski, it turns out, is biologically male, but has lived as a woman for the past 20 years, which was news to the children's mother.

Like their staple scare stories about the next epidemic or unsafe cars, NBC seemed to be sending out a public service warning that she-males may be walking among us where we least suspect it. Watch out!

Unfortunately, making fun of transgender people is still fair game on network news, Felicity Huffman's Transamerica notwithstanding. The report likened Sadowski to Mrs. Doubtfire, showing clips from the 1993 comedy which has Robin Williams dressing in drag to land a nanny job caring for his own children. The local sheriff quipped, "Let's just say Robin Williams had a much better makeup artist."

The look on Katie Couric's face after the story finished seemed to say, "Screw this garbage. CBS Evening News, here I come." I may be giving her too much credit, but I just want to believe that she was disgusted at the insensitivity of the story.

The Knoxville NBC station seems to have zero understanding of transgender issues. "Edward Sadowski was arrested in Dyersburg over the weekend and was listed as Erika Sadowski at the time," the station reports, even though Sadowski legally changed her name to Erika 20 years ago. There's no evidence that Sadowski was out to deceive anyone or that she lived as a woman just to get a babysitting job. She's a transsexual, not a transvestite.

The Associated Press apparently has yet to distribute its new edition of the AP Stylebook to its own journalists. The 2006 edition has this new entry:

transgender Use the pronoun preferred by the individuals who have acquired the physical characteristics of the opposite sex or present themselves in a way that does not correspond with their sex at birth. If there preference is not expressed, use the pronoun consistent with the way the individuals live publicly.

Yet the AP story published in the Knoxville News Sentinel included this: "Sadowski apparently changed his name sometime around 1986 after being discharged from the U.S. Air Force after a 20-year career, according to a background check."

When someone is arrested for a heinous crime or discovered doing something stupid, few people rush to defend them against ridicule. There are a lot of idiots who are playing for my team that I would just as soon trade to other side. I could do without any association with conservative White House "reporter" and gay prostitute Jeff Gannon. Matt Lauer would have had to call him a limp-wristed sissy to get a rise from the gay community. Serial killers like Andrew Cunanan and "Monster" Aileen Wuornos did nothing to advance gay and lesbian acceptance. Maybe this is why I have yet to find any response to the Sadowski story from the transgender community.

Without defending the alleged crime, why is it so scandalous that Sadowski was not born a woman? The implication seems to be twofold: that transsexuals are unfit to care for children and that transsexuals are obligated to disclose their gender history lest they be deemed deceitful.

It's too bad so few people will ever see Transamerica. In it, Felicity Huffman's character, Bree, makes the point that, "Just because a person doesn't go around blabbing her entire biological history doesn't make her a liar." Throughout the film, we understand that Bree is just trying to live her life with dignity and authenticity.

Though it's none of anyone's business, Sadowski apparently has not undergone sexual reassignment surgery, though through hormone therapy, she has some feminine characteristics. Prison guards discovered this during a strip search. Given that she's been working as a nanny, I would conclude that she has never had the money to complete a gender reassignment surgery.

Nevertheless, she clearly identifies as a woman. The media should respect how she identifies her gender and leave the sensationalism to Jerry Springer. NBC owes the transgender community an apology.

Denial denied

It's over. I can't fake it any longer. I'm amazed that I've been able to keep myself in the dark as long as I have. My ability to deny the obvious was stunning. The facts were right there blaring their ugly truth right at me.

Here's the ugly truth: my favorite burrito at ¡Una Más!, the Gallito, is killing me softly. Focusing on the tasty grilled chicken breast and the fresh tomato salsa, I had convinced myself that this little piece of heaven was an acceptable part of a healthy diet. Never mind the huge flour tortilla, the handful of jack cheese and the half-cup of guacamole.

Hey, it's not McDonalds or Taco Bell. Now that's junk food, I reasoned. There's no drive thru at ¡Una Más! No plastic toys to lure children. No meal deals or super-sizes. I perceive ¡Una Más! as wholesome, fresh, quasi-Mexican food.

The thing is I've been going down to my local ¡Una Más! Mexican Grill about once a week before heading to the gym where, as it turns out, I'm only burning enough calories to cover the first three bites of my precious Gallito.

After looking at the nutritional information, I found out that all this time I'd have been better off skipping the gym entirely and grabbing an 8-piece Chicken Tender from the BK.

As it turns out, if I'd chosen TWO cheeseburgers from In-N-Out Burgers, I'd still consume fewer calories. I could have the six-piece boneless spicy chicken wings from KFC and have fewer grams of fat.

990 calories.

Just under 1000, as if the restaurant cut ten calories in an attempt to enable my denial even further. No, the party is over. My Gallito is packing 60 grams of fat! More than the huge Costco muffins I've been avoiding for years. More than three slices of the Pizza Hut Meat Lovers pizza.

I know--everthing in moderation. But, the only way my Gallito can fit into a balance diet is if I take up marathon running or bulimia. That ain't going to happen.

Adios, dear, dear Gallito. I'll miss you.

More Abu Ghraib Atrocities Revealed

Yesterday, Salon.com posted the most complete yet of photos and videos documenting abuses at the Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq. Along with the now-familiar images are dozens of newly released ones taken over just a few weeks in 2003, illustrating just how sadistic conditions were. Salon.com concludes that the only thing unique about this collection may be that a trail of photographic evidence exists.

After they followed the trail of an odd liquid seeping under the locked door of a shower room, Corporal Charles Graner and Spc. Sabrina Harman found recently deceased Iraqi detainee, Manadel al-Jamadi, who died during a CIA interrogation hours before. Forget claims that these photos were used to intimidate other prisoners--these sick puppies snapped 30 photos of the dead guy on ice.

Their weirdness tends to obscure the disturbing questions about the prisoner's death. In the morning, the CIA stuck an IV in the corpse and wheeled him out to avoid calling the attention of Iraqi detainees and guards. As Salon.com reports, no one at the CIA has been prosecuted, even though al-Jamadi's death was ruled a homicide. Furthermore, to date no high-level U.S. officials have been brought to justice in a court of law for what went on at Abu Ghraib.

Just three days after her necrophilial photo session, Spc. Harman was forcing naked prisoners to form human pyramids. She only got a six month prison sentence while the infamous Pfc. Lynndie England got three years for her thumbs-up antics.

Meanwhile, Condoleezza Rice praised the budding democracy of Indonesia on Tuesday for its new commitment to human rights and stated, "Great democracies, like Indonesia and like the United States, cannot turn a blind eye to those who still live under oppression." I wonder how that talking point plays in Darfur and Chad these days given our country's tepid response to the genocide there.

The U.S. has a long way to go before regaining the moral authority to point out the human rights abuses of others. With an administration that refuses to rule out torture, that long journey isn't likely to begin any time soon.

Da Vinci Code: Truth or Fiction?

If you're confused, just ask the Catholic League.

On Monday, the arch-conservative Catholic League, placed an ad in the New York Times, urging Ron Howard to put a disclaimer at the beginning of The Da Vinci Code noting that the movie is a fictional account. As a reward, the organization's far-right president, William A. Donohue got to appear on the Today Show on Wednesday.

After Donohue appeared on the Today Show last November and claimed that the Catholic Church's pedophilia problem could be resolved by routing out all the gay priests, I was surprised he'd get another invitation. I would have thought Mr. Donohue would be relegated to Fox News and The 700 Club where inflammatory, malicious rhetoric has found a cozy home.

For the movie's producers, the Times ad is nothing less than great publicity. Hell, Sony Pictures might just slap a "Coming This May" banner on top and run the ad a few more times themselves. Keep talking, Mr. Donohue, and we might be looking at a record opening weekend.

I read The Da Vinci Code just recently. I found it fascinating that there were many more than four gospels, more than four accounts of the life of Jesus. Mortal human beings ultimately decided which ones would make it into the New Testament. The novel says that some of those gospels portrayed Jesus as a wise, noble, but mortal man.

I don't know how much of Dan Brown's story is true--the fictional narrative is interspersed with some measure of historic truth--but it did inspire me to learn more about the historical Jesus and the early Church, beyond what has ended up in the Bible. Alas, the juicy proposition that Jesus and Mary Magdalene had a thing going on doesn't seem to hold water.

Donohue's gripe is that fable is mixed in with story lines that could be confused as fact. I understand his concern. Donohue is correct that "the consequences are real" when people are led to believe that a fable is incontrovertible fact. Indeed, graveyards around the world are filled with the fallen victims of zealotry rooted in fable. It follows that Donohue would agree that the Book of Genesis warrants a similar disclaimer, knowing all we know now.

The missing disclaimer may be why a majority of Americans believe that "God created man exactly how the Bible describes it" according to a Gallup report released Wednesday. How this majority explains away dinosaurs, carbon dating and fossil records is beyond me. Evolution needs its own set of evangelists. But those of us in the minority have better things to do with our time than to argue with people who start and end every philosophical argument with "I believe it because the Bible says it's so."

The pollster concludes that "several characteristics correlate with belief in the biblical explanation for the origin of humans. Those with lower levels of education, those who attend church regularly, those who are 65 and older, and those who identify with the Republican Party are more likely to believe that God created humans 'as is,' than are those who do not share these characteristics."

I have no doubt that humans have evolved, but it looks like the process has come to an abrupt halt.

New poll: Bush's Job Approval at All-Time Low

Cheney only slightly more popular than bird flu

We thought it couldn't happen. We thought Bush could count on 37 percent of Americans supporting him no matter how miserably he performed. But with the UAE port deal and more bad news coming out of Iraq, even conservatives are turning on the president. This week, his approval rating slipped to 34 percent.

The CBS headline writers' biggest challenge is finding a new way to announce that Bush's ratings are continuing to sink.

Today: "Bush Ratings At All-Time Low"
Jan 26, 2006: "Poll: Bush's Approval Remains Low"
Nov. 3, 2005: "Bush's Job Approval Hits New Low"
Oct. 6, 2005: "Poll: Bush Ratings Hit New Low
June 16, 2005: "Bush's Approval Ratings Stay Low"
April 18, 2005: "Poor Marks For Bush, Congress"
May 24, 2004: "Worst Poll Numbers Ever For Bush"
May 12, 2004: "Bush Ratings Fall Amid Iraq Woes"
Jan, 17, 2004: "Poll: Bush's Approval Sinking"
Oct. 2, 2003: "Poll: Bush Ratings Fall Further"
Sept. 17, 2003: "Poll: Bush Iraq Rating At New Low"

Bush's only consolation is that only 18 percent of Americans have a favorable opinion of his sidekick, Dick Cheney. I figured the vice president would enjoy 20 percent support no matter what he did, short of getting drunk and shooting Republican septuagenarian lawyers.

For some perspective on how miserable those ratings are, consider that 17 percent of blacks had a favorable opinion of Michael "heckuva job" Brown a week after Katrina hit. And when President Richard Nixon resigned, his approval rating stood at 24 percent.

Let me repeat that: Nixon was more popular when he resigned than Dick Cheney is today.

It's raining cats and blogs

Trevor Butterworth in the Financial Times:

The vast wasteland of verbiage produced by the relentless nature of blogging is the single greatest impediment to its seriousness as a medium. . . It renders the word even more evanescent than journalism; yoked, as bloggers are, to the unending cycle of news and the need to post four or five times a day, five days a week, 50 weeks of the year, blogging is the closest literary culture has come to instant obsolescence. . . a virtual tomb for a billion posts.

Ouch. That dude is NOT going on my blogroll.

A happy birthday greeting from eHarmony

Date:	Sun, 26 Feb 2006 09:08:30 -0800 (PST)
From:	"marty grimes"
Subject:	Re: Birthday Greeting from eHarmony.com
To:	usersupport@eHarmony.com

Dear Dr. Warren,

Thank you for the birthday greeting. However, I
question the sincerity of your sentiment given that
you do not offer your matching services to gay and
lesbian people.

But that's OK. You have every right to exclude people
seeking a same sex relationship. After I read that you
have had strong ties to James Dobson and Focus on the
Family, I shudder to think how you would mangle the
lives of any gay or lesbian single that did sign up
for your service.

Though I doubt that you care, I do have love and
companionship to celebrate, no thanks to you.

Truly,

Marty

--- userservices@eharmony.com wrote:

> Dear Marty,
>
> All of us at eHarmony want to wish you a HAPPY
> BIRTHDAY!  We think it is important, on your special
> day, to reach out and tell you how proud we are to
> be involved with you.  It's exciting to contemplate
> the strong likelihood that in the coming months
> you'll have even more love and companionship to
> celebrate.
>
> Thanks for being a part of eHarmony and for taking
> so many positive steps toward finding your soul
> mate.  If you have any questions or comments, please
> contact us at usersupport@eHarmony.com.
>
> In the meantime, I hope this birthday is your best
> one yet.
>
> Neil Clark Warren
> eHarmony Founder

In Search for an Analogy for Iraq's Pending Civil War

When I try to make sense of the world I often turn to analogies. Law, psychology, science and the blogosphere all rely heavily on the use of analogy. I'm constantly grasping for an good visual analogy to illustrate a point. For example, to help illustrate his character, I liken Karl Rove to the nearly indestructible, evil Agent Smith in the Matrix films.

So, I naturally look for an analogy to grasp the continuing debacle in Iraq. Now that Sunnis are blowing up sacred Shi'ite shrines and Shi'ites are responding by blowing up Sunni shrines, I think this might just be a really good time to call it a day and go home. The country is on the brink of civil war, and it's rarely a good move to get caught in the middle of somebody else's civil war. The analogy is this: It's like when you go to a couple's house for dinner, and before you can even hand over your bottle of merlot, you sense that they were fighting before you got there.

At first you notice the somber moods and then some icy stares between the two. They start saying snide things to each other over dinner. You compliment the new leather sofa and one of them says, "Thank you. I'm glad somebody likes it." And the other one says, "Well, somebody forgot that we have a cat so enjoy the couch now because within the week, it'll look like it'd been on a quail hunting trip with Dick Cheney." (Note the bonus analogy within an analogy.)

Then after awhile, things go from bad to worse. "Fred" explodes and screams that "Alice" can go to Hell. Alice responds by throwing her wine glass across the table, pegging Fred in the cheekbone and splattering your shirt with merlot.

What do you do? You stand up, stretch your arms, look at your watch and exclaim, "Gee, it's getting awfully late. We better get going. Thanks so much for having us." And you're out the door.

Iraq is just like that. OK, maybe not exactly like that.

We weren't exactly invited guests to Iraq. Despite continuing violence and unrest, most Iraqis are eager for the U.S. military to go away: Almost a quarter of Shi'ites want the U.S. military out in six months, another half want a gradual withdrawal over the next two years. A whopping 83% of Sunnis favor withdrawal within six months. Adjusting my analogy, Shi'ite Fred protests little when you announce it's time to go. Sunni Alice has been standing by the door holding up your coats for you since before the bruschetta was served.

To further alter my analogy, Fred and Alice might be arguing, but they are united in their disdain for you. Among Shi'ites, 41% approve of attacks on U.S.-led forces on Iraq. Almost nine of every 10 Sunnis support such attacks. Alice may chuck a wine glass at Fred, but she's got a hefty bucket full of wine glass shards by her side with your name on them.

But, who are we kidding? Fred and Alice aren't married. They despise each other and always have. They are like Richard Dreyfuss and Marsha Mason in The Goodbye Girl. (I know it's an obscure old movie, but my TiVo just recorded it for me over the weekend, so work with me.) Elliot and Paula are forced to live together in New York City after Paula's boyfriend dumps her and sublets the apartment to Elliot without her knowledge.

So the Sunnis and Shi'ites are like Elliot and Paula. If you found yourself in their midst during one of their shouting matches, and if Paula were to stomp a hole into Elliot's guitar, your instinct would be to leave post haste, but you might also try to help restore peace by offering to pay for Elliot to get a new guitar, especially if you were responsible for much of their woes. In all-too-rare positive gesture, this is, in effect, what the U.S. has done in offering to help restore the holy sites.

But unlike the predictable ending to The Goodbye Girl, these two will never break down and fall in love. Ultimately, that analogy blows.

OK, I've got it. The Shi'ites and the Sunnis are like bitter prison cell mates, forced to live within inches of one another in squalid quarters. Their tempers are short and if the other so much as sneezes the wrong way, fists will fly. And this is no Kiss of the Spider Woman prison story where the two end up falling in love.

When the inevitable battle ensues, the last place you want to be is in the cell with them. You might stand outside the cell and intervene if things get really ugly, provided you can do so without getting yourself maimed in the process. That's the Congressman John Murtha strategy--get out of Iraq now and stage a small force in Kuwait.

Alas, my analogy is still far-fetched, disregarding the fact that the ill-conceived U.S. invasion is responsible for most of the chaos. Instead, I think I'll go with Murtha's, as he laid it out on 60 Minutes in January:

"That election of course is being trumpeted as being so important to democracy. When I came back from Vietnam in 1967, they had an election. It was supposed to set the stage. It was supposed to legitimize the government, if you remember. And we lost 38,000 people after that. Now, I don't say that this has the same intensity and that we'’re gonna lose 38,000 people. But I'm just saying there'’s a lot more things have to be done if you'’re going to have a democratic government," says Murtha.

Vietnam is not a perfect analogy, but as we find ourselves in the middle of a potential civil war, it seems more relevant, and cautionary, than ever.

Sarah Vowell's pessimism deficit

Now, I've got to figure the New York Times is serious about getting people to pay to read the excellent writing of Sarah Vowell, since it's locked up in a section of their website dubbed TimesSelect. I'm not one to scoff at copyright laws, so I couldn't bring myself to reprint it here without permission.

Fortunately, fbihop op-eds holds no such scruples. Enjoy.

Let's Make a Deal or No Deal!

NBC has a new hit with the game show "Deal or No Deal" with host Howie Mandel. When it returns on Feb. 27, the show will air five days a week.

Modeled after "Let's Make a Deal" without any goofy costumes and purse scavenger hunts, "Deal or No Deal" distills the game show format to the core attraction, pure chance.

Contestants choose one of 26 briefcases. As each round progresses, the contestants choose whether to stick with their suitcase, which contains a hidden amount of money, or a cash prize offered by the "bank."

"There's no skill," Mandel said. "You can be a rock and move into another cash bracket."

Contestants are encouraged to ask friends or family in the audience for advice as they play. I suppose the dialogue goes like this:

Contestant: Howie, I'd like to consult my Aunt Ramona.

Howie (in a little kid's voice): OK, Aunt Ramona, what say you?

Aunt Ramona: Billy, I think you should choose briefcase number 12. I feel really strongly that that's the one with the million dollars.

Contestant: How sure are you, Aunt Ramona?

Aunt Ramona: I'm 85 percent sure that it's briefcase number 12.

No more tedious trivia questions, pricing games or word puzzles. Finally, a game show that gives prizes as randomly as a slot machine. Add in a comic who used to be funny and 26 female models holding briefcases and America is sold! Honey, pop us some corn, cancel the gym membership--we've got us some Must See TV.

Emboldened by the show's success, NBC has cleared away queued up mid-season replacement shows for a new slate of intriguing game shows.

On Tuesdays, watch for the debut of "Flip A Coin" with host Joe Piscopo.

Wednesdays at 9, don't miss Suzanne Somers hosting "Eenie Meanie Miney Moe."

On Thursdays, ER has been abruptly cancelled to make room for an exciting new show with Daisy Fuentes called "Pick a hand."

Finally, your Friday nights won't be complete without an hour of "Win, Lose, or Draw a Straw" with your host, Nick Lachey.

John Kerry's Greatest Asset: Millions of E-mail Addresses

Every few weeks, an e-mail from John Kerry pops up in my inbox. They're always the same. He rants about the Bush Administration and touts his own initiatives in the Senate. Every letter ends with a handy "Make a Contribution" button. I haven't hit that button since the 2004 election.

Sure, I donated to the Kerry campaign in 2004 and spent the last four days of the campaign in Vegas helping to get out the vote. But that was then. Kerry does a lot of things I like, but he wasn't my first choice. He was what we were stuck with, and I would have campaigned for a lawn chair, if that was the only chance we had to beat Bush/Cheney.

After the 2000 election, Al Gore wisely took a long vacation, grew a scraggly beard, gorged on Haagen Dazs, and sank into relative oblivion for a few years. As he emerged from whatever banyan tree he'd been sitting under, Gore found his voice, ripping into the Bush Administration on MLK Day, to broad acclaim.

Kerry hardly took a nap before he started campaigning for 2008. He's now far from my first choice, and I don't want to do anything to encourage the guy. The sad thing is he still thinks we're buddies.

So this morning, he IM'd me, and I finally laid it all out for him.

kerry2008: you there?
etnaboy: Yeah, what's up?
kerry2008: have you been getting my e-mails?
etnaboy: Sure have.
kerry2008: you've never responded.
etnaboy: Well, it's not like they're just to me.
kerry2008: i know! i've got 3 million email addresses. isn't that great?
etnaboy: Yes, John, that's super.
kerry2008: how come you never donate? we used to be so close.
etnaboy: Yeah, about that.
kerry2008: whatever happened to us?
etnaboy: Remember Million Dollar Baby?
kerry2008: yeah.
etnaboy: Remember how Clint Eastwood was all excited about training a promising boxer until the boxer dumped him? And Clint was left with no one to train? And then Hilary Swank came along, and begrudgingly, Clint eventually agrees to train her and gives her his all?
kerry2008: yeah?
etnaboy: Well, you and I are like that. Except that Hilary Swank actually won some fights.
kerry2008: and that promising boxer, was that Howard Dean?
etnaboy: Bingo.
kerry2008: but then she got smacked up and Clint had to help her end her life.
etnaboy: You've got it.
kerry2008: so you're saying i should just pull the plug on this campaign?
etnaboy: I do support euthanasia.
kerry2008: oh, ic.
kerry2008: can't you just give me one more chance.
etnaboy: Dude, I've gotta go.
kerry2008: Pleeeeeze???
etnaboy: John, don't beg. It's pathetic.

-kerry2008 has logged off.-


Tags: John Kerry, Democrats, 2008 election.

Welcome "Best Gay Blogs" readers

Best Gay Blogs linked to here today, so while you're here, let me point you to some older posts you might like better than some of the drivel I've written lately.

I'm a bit obsessed with Brokeback Mountain, but I'm not alone in this:

A Brokeback moment at 35,000 feet

Y'all might appreciate how I would have changed Ennis and Jack's awkward sex scene (my one and only attempt at erotica):

"Jesus Christ, quit hammerin and get over here. Bedroll's big enough," said Jack in an irritable sleep-clogged voice. It was big enough, warm enough, and in a little while they deepened their intimacy considerably. Ennis lumbered into the tent and plopped on the bedroll and finally dozed off, grateful for the warmth emanating from Jack's body. Unable to find a fitful sleep with Ennis lying so close to him, Jack was groggily aware that Ennis's leg had entwined between his own. With sleepiness and the haze of whiskey still clouding his judgment, Jack seized Ennis's hand and brought it to his erect cock. Ennis jerked his hand away as though he'd touched fire and pulled his leg out from between Jack's calves. Jack, fully awake now, fretted silently that he'd committed an unforgivable trespass that would ruin everything. But the fire in Ennis's own loin had been ignited. Moments passed, and Ennis, shaking with nerves, took Jack's hand to the bulge in his jeans. Jack held his hand still there, astonished to sense Ennis fumbling with his own belt buckle and pulling his pants down. Freed from the terror that his earlier overture had been unwelcome, Jack worked Ennis like he'd done to himself many a night up on the mountainside alone, peering down at Ennis's campfire below. Ennis reciprocated, albeit in a frantic manner, as if in a rush to finish the deed before he could come to his senses. They went at it in silence except for a few sharp gasps, then out, asleep.

You should know, I'm not a size queen, but small things bug me.

And finally, something about my insecurities:

Weight just a second!

Trigger Happy Cheney's Friendly Fire Incident

Vice President Dick Cheney accidently shot and wounded a companion, Harry Wittington, during a quail hunting trip in Texas Saturday. The owner of the ranch hosting the quail shoot reported that Cheney was not aware his companion was approaching when he swung around to take a shot at a quail.

"The vice president didn't see him," said Katherine Armstrong, an owner of the property, in an interview. "The covey flushed and the vice president picked out a bird and was following it and shot. And by god, Harry was in the line of fire and got peppered pretty good."

The White House said nothing about the incident until Sunday, after it was reported by the local newspaper, leaving the spin duties to an appropriately distanced, but clearly prepped, Katherine Armstrong (interview video) whose talking points included the following (counter points in parentheses):

1. It's not Cheney's fault. Mr. Whittington approached Cheney from behind without announcing himself. (Anyone who has been through a hunter safety course knows that the guy shooting is responsible for making sure there's nothing in the way--I don't recall hearing that it's OK to swing around to shoot something that has flown behind you.)
   
2. Mr. Whittington is doing fine. 'Tis but a scratch. Just a flesh wound. (Then why was he in intensive care and is still in the hospital?)
   
3. This kind of thing happens all the time. Armstrong herself says she's been "pretty well peppered" herself. (The Houston Chronicle reports that there were only 24 hunting related accidents in Texas in 2004. "Peppering" sounds so innocuous and innocent. Peppering is what you do to a mound of potatoes. You won't hear anyone under the White House's spell refer to this as a "shotgun blast into the chest and face.")
   
4. The vice president is a safe, conscientious hunter. (Apparently, not so much.)
5. Turn on the folksy. Preferred interjections: Gee Willikers. Gosh Whiz. Oopsy daisy. By God.
   

Since I have a totally inexplicable bonus holiday today and you are at work, I thought the least I could do was compile the funniest observations so far:

From Almost Infamous: "“It broke the skin," she said of the shotgun pellets. "“It knocked him silly. But he was fine. He was talking. His eyes were open. It didn'’t get in his eyes or anything like that." WTF, lady??? it'’s a shotgun blast, not a medicated shampoo.

From Gislebertus: You know, Dick Cheney is the first sitting Vice President to shoot another person since Aaron Burr shot Alexander Hamilton. Harry Whittington is in pretty good company, but I doubt he's going to make the ten dollar bill.

The Apiary came to Cheney's defense: Pump one elderly man with a chestful of lead and suddenly everyone's on your case. Lay off, America!

Dania Audix has a top ten excuse list for why Cheney shot that guy. I like number 9: Warrantless domestic spying revealed he was getting phone calls from al Qaeda.

MovieDan82 says: Vice President Dick Cheney almost killed a man on Saturday when he sprayed an elderly hunting partner in the face with birdshot. I'’m telling you, Cheney is a loped out gangsta set trippin'’ banger, and his homies is down so don'’t arouse his anger...fool.

Another top ten list includes: 4. Was trying to impress Jodie Foster.

No More Mr. Nice Blog managed five additional reasons including: 2. Documents published in an Italian newspaper claimed that Whittington had once attempted to obtain edible seeds from Niger.

Tags: Dick Cheney, shotgun, Armstrong, quail

Prospects for the next gay blockbuster movie

Now that mainstream movie audiences have finally begun to acquire a taste for intriguing gay love stories, what will be the next film to ride the coattails of Brokeback Mountain? We can look forward to a future of decent gay themed films--not like some of those crappy low-budget art house films that I used to feel obligated to see just because they were gay themed.

Unfortunately, it's going to take awhile before any make it to the local megaplex. Few, if any, gay-themed movies are currently in the pipeline.

As Brokeback Mountain approaches the $100 million mark in worldwide box office returns, screenplays long sitting on the shelf now have a chance of getting produced.

The best prospect seems to be Peter Lefcourt's The Dreyfus Affair, a story of two major league baseball players who fall in love and the scandal that ensues when their affair is discovered. The Advocate optimistically reported--way back in 1998--that the popular novel was bound to become a feature film. Now the project may actually get the long-awaited green light.

Thanks to the fact that attitudes in pro sports have hardly progressed, the story is just as plausible today as it was more than a decade ago when the novel was written. Lefcourt's website offers the following synopsis:

Very loosely based on "The Dreyfus Affair" in France, this is the story of the love affair between the star shortstop and second baseman of a major league baseball team and how organized baseball deals with this public relations Chernobyl.

Randy Dreyfus is a blond, blue eyed, six-foot-four-inch future Hall of Famer with The Los Angeles Valley Vikings, an expansion team in, at the time the book was written, the near future. He is married to a former Miss California, Susie Dreyfus, has two twin-eight-year old daughters, a hyperactive Dalmatian named Calvin, whom he puts a contract out on in a fit of madness, and a 5600 square foot house in the San Fernando Valley.

Everything is wonderful in Randy's life until he falls in love with his second baseman, D.J. Pickett, an African American gay man, who has spent his life in the closet. Randy does his best to deny his feelings, secretly consulting an Egyptian psychiatrist, who counsels him to just go with the pitch. Eventually he does, and manages to live a dangerous life trying to hide his affair with D.J. while staying married to Susie and hit over 300.

Randy and D.J. eventually get caught by a hidden surveillance camera kissing in a Neiman-Marcus changing booth in Dallas. When this picture is made public, America is shaken with a scandal that rivals the real Dreyfus Affair a hundred years ago in France.

The affair is the biggest story in America -- cluttering the tabloids and the talk shows. Its worst nightmare come true, Organized Baseball goes into extreme damage control mode by trying to explain Randy and D.J.'s love affair as a substance abuse problem. The media circus continues, reaching its climax when a hard-boiled reporter named Milt Zola, smelling a hoax, exposes baseball by writing the present day version of Emile Zola's J'Accuse!.

While this sounds like a great story, the close parallels to Brokeback Mountain might brand the project as simply a copycat. But rather than a heartbreaking story, this would be a romantic comedy. I'll pick up the book soon and promise to post a review.

My early casting choices are Brad Pitt (since he's suddenly apparently itching to play gay, though he'll need to wear elevator cleats) opposite Taye Diggs. You heard it here first.

Don't look at this filthy smut! Right here. Don't look!

Donald Wildmon and his American Family Association are so disgusted at a stripper scene on NBC's show, Las Vegas, that they urge followers to file complaints with the FCC.

And then they helpfully offer a direct link to see the highly offensive smut. I wonder how many times Wildmon had to watch the loop to become sufficiently offended.

NBC Does It Again! Vulgar, Tasteless, Indecent Scene Part Of Network Program

We Urge You To File A Formal Complaint With The FCC

The February 6 episode of NBC's Las Vegas contained a scene inside a strip club. The content of that scene was extremely graphic. We have provided a video of the scene below.

NBC aired this scene during prime-time hours when they knew millions of children would likely be watching. But NBC didn't care if they exposed children to this kind of material. Please take action below and help us help our children.

The FCC has several new commissioners who have spoken out about the content of some television programs. They have invited the public to send them their complaints.

Rather than trying to describe it to you, I would rather you watch it yourself. After watching the video, please follow the instructions to file your official complaint with the FCC. It will only take a couple of minutes to file the complaint. Do it for your children and grandchildren. After you file your complaint, please forward this to friends and family.

WARNING: This scene taken from the NBC program Las Vegas is highly offensive.

Click here to watch the scene.

Click Here To File Your Complaint Now!

If you think our efforts are worthy of support, would you make a small contribution to AFA by clicking here .

Thanks for caring enough to get involved.

Sincerely,
Don

Donald E. Wildmon, Founder and Chairman
American Family Association

More good times in Kauai

This is the view of Waimea Canyon, the "Grand Canyon of the Pacific." Can you tell we were regretting that we forgot our windbreakers? It's 3,500 feet above sea level here.











If you've seen a Kauai wall calendar, you've seen this view of the Na Pali coast from the Kalalau Lookout.













We saw no one else along the poorly maintained Honopu Trail, but saw and heard helicopters all day. We almost got lost for a bit there. We could have used some additional clothing too.











The view of the Na Pali Coast from the end of the Honopu Trail, a 3,000 foot drop to the Honopu Beach below:














Yesterday, we took a boating trip that was supposed to go around the Na Pali Coast. Unfortuantely, the ocean was too rough, but the captain had a great time putting the sails up in the catamaran and sailing us almost to Ni'ihau, the forbidden island. We saw plenty of humpback whales, bottlenosed dolphins, spinner dolphins, sea turtles and seasick passengers (Thankfully, I took Dramamine).














Today we went Kayaking on the Wailua River:














And hiked about a mile up (those leaves are really almost as big as Robert)...














...to the Secret Falls.

Aloha from Kauai

Here we are at the bottom of Opeaka'a Falls. We'd never have tried it without the guidance of the Ultimate Kauai Guidebook. We were alone there the whole time.

Today we snorkeled at Po'ipu Beach and we're off to the Beach House Restaurant for dinner.

It's Robert's birthday.



On our first full day, we hiked the Na Pali Coast from Ke'e Beach four miles up and down to Hanakapi'ai Falls. Though it was a great hike, I think Robert may have already had his fill of long hikes.












We saw many of these wild orchids along the way.

A Brokeback moment at 35,000 feet

I am writing this 35,000 feet above the Pacific, listening to my new Brokeback Mountain soundtrack with my POG (Passionfruit-Orange-Guava juice). Those striking guitar chords slay me, but I'm disappointed they left out "Quizás," the song playing when Jack goes to Juárez for a quickie.

Two rows ahead of us is a gay couple, one black, one white. I pegged them as gay when they stuffed their matching blue backpacks in the overhead compartment. Both are pushing 275 pounds. I see that the black guy has flung his meaty arm around his partner's shoulder, a somewhat startling public display of affection in such a mixed crowd. But no one is going to mess with these two guys. Besides, it's unlikely that anyone has smuggled a tire iron on board.

I don't know where I've been, but since when is same-sex affection so acceptable in public? It's the third time in a week I've seen it in the most mainstream of places. On Saturday, as I was entering Oakridge Mall on my way to see Brokeback Mountain with two straight women who hadn't seen it yet (my third time), I saw two young women confidently holding hands. And last week, I saw two guys at Santana Row, one with his hand in the back pocket of the other. That's something I often see in the gay ghetto, but not in San Jose.

I wonder if Brokeback Mountain is behind all of this or have I just been oblivious. Feeling the lifelong anguish of Ennis Del Mar, one leaves the theater determined to never let societal bigotries strip one of the ability to love and be loved. Tracy and Shirley were both sniffing throughout the movie, regretting that they only had the with harsh napkins from the concession stand to dab their tears with. Both came out of the theater saying they were choking back the urge to bawl out loud. Tracy said she hadn't cried like that since Beaches. She couldn't imagine what life would be like if she couldn't be with her husband, Rock.

Looking back at my first review of BBM, I have half a mind to delete it. I missed so much. Now I get it. For someone who was bored with The English Patient and thought the best thing about Titanic was the digital graphics, not the love story, it takes me awhile. Ennis's love for Jack seems more tender now. The wrenching pain Jack feels when he can't be with Ennis now hits home. It's gone from a one- to a four-tissue movie.

As Ang Lee collected another big trophy from the directors guild (and again, neglected to thank his long-time fishing buddy), and newspapers report that the big story about the SAG awards is that BBM didn't win it all, I am feeling we're in the vortex of a significant, beautiful, revolutionary cultural shift. "I wish I knew how to quit you" it's been said, is the "You had me at hello" phrase of the decade.

Straight women, as I admonished them, are struggling to drag their boyfriends and husbands to see the movie. Small town newspaper critics are reviewing the movie, and from what I can tell, most of them like it, even in the red states. Are we, as a culture, beginning to grow up? Before the movie came out, I lowered my expectations that a movie could change the world. Over the last few weeks, my optimism has crept up again. With so many interesting stories to tell, many more good movies are bound to be made after this.

Each time I've seen the movie, I've been encouraged by audience reactions. During the intimate moments with Ennis and Jack, the theater has been silent, not a groan--not like the squirming I remember when Tom Hanks danced with Antonio Banderas in Philadelphia, and none of the fidgeting and guffawing when Tom Selleck kissed Kevin Kline in In and Out.

I can't count how many times I've held back, even subconsciously, in expressing affection for Robert. It's programmed into my psyche. I've been coming out for 14 years now, but I still act as though my love still needs to be hidden, even in the progressive San Francisco Bay Area. From a colleague's wedding where we danced together, but were quick to wander off for a drink during any slow songs, afraid we'd make a scene, to the uneasiness I still feel when going to the chekcout counter with a "To the Man I Love" Valentine's Day card, I realize there's still a little Ennis left in me.

Well, this trip is Robert's first in Hawaii. He's been waiting for the right person to go with. Finally, it is the right time, and damn, if were not going to walk hand-in-hand along the beach and watch some sunsets together.

I swear.

Ancient Chinese Secret

My mom is here tonight with some of her nursing colleagues. They're going to a training tomorrow here in town. Right now they're talking about some patient's anus and something about a colostomy. I'm trying desperately to tune it out.

We went out to PF Chang's for dinner. When the group said they wanted Chinese food, I figured they would all prefer one that serves Chinese food intended for the non-Chinese gourmand. We've got plenty of authentic Chinese restaurants around here. Although the Americanized version really does appeal to my non-Chinese palate, I tend to choose restaurants that have specials scrawled in Chinese on pink paper taped to the walls and actual Chinese diners.

Last night, Robert and I went to another "Chinese" restaurant, the Mandarin Gourmet. We craved Chinese food and weren't in a part of town where we could actually get some of the real stuff. I've eaten there before with work colleagues, and warned Robert, who is Filipino, that patrons might mistake him for a waiter since I rarely see any Asians eating there. I doubt you could find a chicken claw or a baby bok choi anywhere in that building outside of some waiter's own lunch bag.

But the non-Asian folks eat it up. The lobby has several awards from mainstream newspapers hanging from the wall in the foyer. Readers of the San Jose Mercury News voted it the best Chinese Restaurant in Silicon Valley in 2002.

This kind of award usually scares me off. That people voted for this restaurant more than any other only means that a majority of Merc readers like Americanized, sugary, deep-fried quasi-Chinese food. I'm sure this readers' poll also chose the Olive Garden for best Italian food and Chevy's for the best Mexican food.

It's the same kind of mass appeal that gave us the likes of John Kerry: safe, but as bland as plain yogurt. I look out for more of a "Dennis Kucinich" type of restaurant, a joint that appeals only to a select, discerning few.

I wonder how many Mandarin Gourmet patrons think they're oh-so-cosmopolitan and hip to enjoy this authentic Chinese experience and can even pick up a honey walnut prawn with chopsticks, not realizing that it's all a toned-down show, like an Epcot Center re-creation, designed for people who probably would turn their nose at what Chinese folks actually eat.

Mandarin Gourmet carries the charade so far as to include the Chinese characters next to each menu item. Or at least, that's what they'd like us to think. I have a feeling these characters are actually secret messages for the few Chinese folks who wander in unaware. The characters next to "Sweet and Sour Pork" probably mean "Avoid this Sticky, Gooey Mess" and the translation for "Cashew Chicken" is "If your non-Chinese friends brought you here to show how eclectic they are, just try to choke this dish down smile. It'll be over soon." I hear they can get a lot into those little characters.

Mom brought birthday gifts for Robert and me. Robert got his very own Westinghouse SweepEze Vacuuming Dustpan. I'm thrilled.

Note: I probably won't be updating the blog this week. Robert and I are heading for Kauai on Monday. And then later in February, there's a good chance I'll be spending three weeks in New Orleans to provide communications assistance for a coalition of several California water agencies that will help the local water agency restore service.