This is my third attempt at this book, and for some reason, maybe the warm weather, I feel it may click.
Everyone have a good night. And I will see you tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Currently Reading
This is my third attempt at this book, and for some reason, maybe the warm weather, I feel it may click.
Everyone have a good night. And I will see you tomorrow.
Beau: Grizzly Bear's Chistopher Bear
Have you listened to anything by Grizzly Bear?
I think I've heard one song. And, no, I don't know if that last picture of the entire band is trying to tell us something.
Wednesday Books
Meaning: for those of us who don't want their children to go to Michigan and joined a violent, religion-based militia.
Songs that Walked me to Work this Morning
Not the actual video, but the actual vid annoyed me and the sound quality wasn't as good.
Enjoy!
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday and Tuesday Books
May have a gay character in it: the blurb claims that one of a couple of brothers has a secret that he has revealed to know one. Cue dramatic music!
George W. Bush's only nod that gay people are somewhat valuable came in the appointing of Ryan as Poet Laureate.
Be CentsAble: I'm broke. Yikes!
I'd love to do this. My apartment is next to a small strip of land that is unused. I've planted flowers there, but now what to plant an actual vegetable garden.
Cheese: my favorite food in the world.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Blogger Problems
Just wanted to let all of you know that it looks like Blogger is having issues today. Pictures aren't appearing as they should: they are sometimes there and sometimes not. I know I've seen one comment from Robert about not being able to see a particular picture. Also I'm not able to upload pictures. (For instance I wanted to add a large frowny-face to this post, but it couldn't.)
This problem has been reported and is affecting a lot of blogs, not simply Salmagundi. I hope they'll get this issue fixed as soon as possible, until then please bear with us. There is really nothing we can do. I will probably not post for the rest of the day. :(
Thank you to sozo's blog for posting about this.
This problem has been reported and is affecting a lot of blogs, not simply Salmagundi. I hope they'll get this issue fixed as soon as possible, until then please bear with us. There is really nothing we can do. I will probably not post for the rest of the day. :(
Thank you to sozo's blog for posting about this.
On the death of Chad Noel
Chad Noel, Porn Co-Star of an Underage Brent Corrigan, Dies at 25
It is sad that he's died so young and of HIV (don't let the flippant sound of the Blondie song fool you), but I've always admired people who let their flame burn brightly, maybe too brightly, and let it burn them up. Maybe most people wouldn't think of pornstars in this way: maybe most people would think of them as trash or victims, but I don't. And maybe he won't be remembered the way many of the artists and literary giants who died young of HIV/AIDS are remembered, but he is now among them. RIP
Good Morning Beau: Jon Saunders
I spent Sunday evening after work having my dick worked over by a friend. He sucked me and rode me while I watched porn. Hot times! I can still smell the lube on my hands.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Not to Sound Like a Lush
Last night, unexpectedly, and in front of a friend, I was denied entry to one of the local gay bars: The Bar Complex. The doorman said that the owner thought I needed to take a break and gave me the cryptic reasoning that it'd been two weeks - whatever that means. Yes, I do like to go out quite a bit, and yes, I do like to drink. But I also know a handful of men who are there every night, sometimes with their pets.
What I think this is really about is that the night before I came into The Bar and was met by the bouncer who said they were "closing." I said yes, sir, and continued up to the bar under the expectation, given how early it was, of getting a drink. I was met with a rather nasty, "I'm already closed" from the bartender David. So I got up and said, a little annoyed, that fine, I'd go to a straight bar because at least they stay open.
And ultimately I think this has to do with the fact that I've fucked David and been fucked by him at a local bookstore. He's always been somewhat of a jerk to me - I guess because I know his business, but up until today, I didn't really want to spread it around. I don't care if people know my business. So to be clear, yes, I use to go to a local adult bookstore and fuck around. Boo fucking hoo.
So now I've been exiled from The Bar, and I don't really wanna go back. The owner is a conservative gay, and has gone so far as to say that a friend can't exhibit his artwork at The Bar because it is too gay! Fucker!
So, I will henceforth be going to Tin-Roof with my straight friends: the owners are nicer and hotter, and the place isn't full of a bunch of Kentucky fags.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Beau: The New Doctor Who
Matt Smith is the first Doctor Who to appear on the cover of a gay magazine.
I have to admit I've never watched a single episode - I saw part of one with David Tennant in it, but that was it, and honestly I know I'm failing a large group of my friends (both blogger and realtime). But I've always been behind the curve: for example, I never read the Lord of the Rings trilogy until I was almost 25! Believe me: that is strange!
Quote: The Time Traveler's Wife
Sunday, December 10, 1978 (Henry is 15, and 15)
Henry: I'm in my bedroom with my self. He's here from next March. We are doing what we often do when we have a little privacy, when it's cold out, when both of us are past puberty and haven't quite gotten around to actual girls yet. I think most people would do this, if they had the sort of opportunities I have. I mean, I'm not gay or anything.
It's late Sunday morning. I can hear the bells ringing at St. Joe's. Dad came home late last night; I think he must have stopped at the Exchequer after the concert; he was so drunk he fell down on the stairs and I had to haul him into the apartment and put him to bed. He coughs and I hear him messing around in the kitchen.
My other self seems distracted; he keeps looking at the door. "What?" I ask him. "Nothing," he says. I get up and check the lock. "No," he says. He seems to be making a huge effort to speak. "Come on," I say.
I hear Dad's heavy step right outside my door. "Henry?" he says, and the knob of the door slowly turns and I abruptly realize that I have inadvertently unlocked the door and Henry leaps for it but it's too late: Dad sticks his head in and there we are, in flagrante delicto. "Oh," he says. His eyes are wide and he looks completely disgusted. "Jesus, Henry." He shuts the door and I hear him walking back to his room. I throw my self a reproachful glare as I pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I walk down the hall to Dad's bedroom. His door is shut. I knock. No answer. I wait. "Dad?" Silence. I open the door, stand in the doorway. "Dad?" He's sitting with his back to me, on his bed. He continues to sit, and I stand there for a while, but I can't bring myself to walk into the room. Finally I shut the door, walk back to my own room.
...
"So what happens next?"
"Dad ignores you for three weeks. And this" - he waves his hand at the bed - "we've got to stop meeting like this." (55-6,57)
While watching the movie version of Audrey Niffenegger's The Time Traveler's Wife (which I also like to call How Often Can You See Eric Bana's Ass in One Film That Isn't Pornographic), my roommate pointed out this passage to me (It does not occur in the movie.), and I was intrigued. But I cooled after reading it. What's with that petulant "I'm not gay" that occurs in the first paragraph? For starters, why say Oh, everyone would do this and then follow it with But I'm not gay. It IS homoerotic, but I don't think it necessarily counts as "gay" per se: it's much more masturbation, don't you think?
Also it doesn't ring true to the time period: Would a 15-year-old in 1978 be aware of that delineation? Maybe. But not in such a nonchalant sort of way. I was 15 in 1990, and my prayers not to be gay (thankfully NOT answered) were feverish at the least, filled with fears of eternal damnation (shitty Baptist upbringing) at worst.
It also doesn't ring true because in 3 months, Henry is going to go back and do it all over again. It's a perpetual loop. Meh.
Also, I think we should start a new drinking game: you have to do a shot for everytime Eric Bana is naked in this movie. I'm up for it. :)
1906 San Francisco
Set to Air's La Femme D'Argent. Now someone needs to Photoshop the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence skating through. LOL
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Epigraph: Hard, a novel
Why don't we try not to break our hearts
and make it so hard for ourselves?
~Pet Shop Boys
Opening:
Moe Pearlman was the greatest cocksucker in New York City.
He knew this was true. Hundreds of men had told him so. They had also told their friends, boyfriends, and lovers. Some went further and said he was the best in the whole world; Moe paid little heed to the world outside New York - an extremely competitive cocksuckiing market, it should be noted - and was thus content to hold the undisputed city title. He had a "reputation." And he was proud of it.
His skill wasn't something that could be taught: It wasn't any trick of the tongue or a double-jointed jaw that made him the champion. He was the greatest because he was devoted, passionate about his vocation with the precision of a scientist and the creativity of an artist.
He was also an expert because he practiced regularly. More often than most people brush their teeth.
But not tonight, Moe thought as he walked out of his apartment on Cornelia Street and turned north, knapsack over his shoulder. Tonight Moe was going to try and keep his mouth shut, at least for a few hours. It wouldn't be easy, but it was for a good cause.
Epigraphs: Small Is Beautiful
Few can contemplate without a sense of exhilaration the splendid achievements of practical energy and technical skill, which, from the latter part of the seventeenth century, were transforming the face of material civilization, and of which England was the daring, if not too scrupulous, pioneer. If, however, economic ambitions are good servants, they are bad masters.
The most obvious facts are the most easily forgotten. Both the existing economic order and too many of the projects advanced for reconstructing it break down through their neglect of the truism that, since even quite common men have souls, no increase in material wealth will compensate them for arrangements which insult their self-respect and impair their freedom. A reasonable estimate of economic organisation must allow for the fact that, unless industry is to be paralysed by recurrent revolts on the part of outraged human nature, it must satisfy criteria which are not purely economic.
~R.H. Tawney, Religion and the Rise of Capitalism
By and large, our present problem is one of attitudes and implements. We are remodeling the Alhambra with a steam-shovel, and are proud of our yardage. We shall hardly relinquish the shovel, which after all has many good points, but we are in need of gentler and more objective criteria for its successful use.
~Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Empty Streets
Part I: Inferno
Per me si va nella città dolente
(Through me the way to the woeful city)
~Dante Alighieri (Sign on the gate of Hell)
Fever Ray's Keep The Streets Empty For Me
Must Read Monday
(Yes, I know it's Tuesday. I'm a little behind.)
Welcome to Zamonia, land where reading isn't simply an adventure of the mind and senses but an actual adventure, one that can end with you dead, dismembered, or at least drowned in books. Walter Moers' The City of Dreaming Books is the memoir of one Optimus Yarnspinner of Lindwood Castle who leaves his home for the great city of Bookholm to carry out his uncle Dancelot's dying wish: find the author of a manuscript, a manuscript written by a genius, a manuscript that upon first reading, will make its reader laugh, cry, and eventually lie on the ground, in the middle of the street staring at the sky.
However, the book isn't just about that. For everything that happens to Yarnspinner gives rise to (sometimes pages-long) tangents involving all things Zamonian: reading, writing, music, nightlife, history, assassinations, books, vegetables, adventures, biology. This is a thick, thick book - reminiscent of the layering of a Queen song at their most operatic. So if you are looking for a quick read, avoid Walter Moers - we have three of his books here at the LPL and they are each at least 400+ pages long.
But if you are looking for a satisfying read that feels more like pealing back the layers of an artichoke (or a chocolate croissant) or the cleaning of grime off a great painting, then come to Bookholm and the Catacombs that lie beneath it. Like the manuscript that leads Yarnspinner to Bookholm, The City of Dreaming Books will make you laugh, cry, gasp, and just possibly have you lying in the middle of the street staring at the skies.
All my memories of him are pleasant, discounting the three months that followed one of Lindworm Castle's numerous sieges, during which a stone launched by a trebuchet struck him on the head and left him convinced that he was a cupboard full of dirty spectacles. (15)
The next page resembled a string of pearls, a series of associations so fresh, so relentlessly original and profound that I felt ashamed of the banality of every sentence I myself had written until then. They transfixed and illumined my brain like shafts of sunlight...I still remember kissing every word of every sentence that particularly pleased me. (28)
At last I paused at an intersection. Turning on the spot, I counted the bookshops in the streest running off it: there were no less than sixty-one of them. My heart beat wildly. Here, life and literature seemed to be identical: everything centred on the printed word. This was my city, my new home. (41)
Many shadows exist in the gloom of the catacombs. Shadows of living creatures, of dead things, of vermin that creep, crawl, and fly, of Bookhunters, of stalagmites and stalactites. A multifarious race of silhouettes dancing restlessly over the tunnel roofs and book-lined walls, they strike terror into many intruders or drive them insane. One day in the not too distant past, so legend had it, these incorporeal beings grew tired of their anarchic living conditions and elected a leader. They superimposed one shadow, one silhouette, one shade of darkness on another until all these became amalgamated into a demicreature. Half alive and half dead, half solid and half insubstantial, half visible and half invisible, he became their ruler and spiritural executor. In other words, the Shadow King. (66-7)
"In my profession it isn't a question of telling good literature from bad. Really good literature is seldom appreciated in its own day. The best authors die poor, the bad ones make money - it's always been like that. What do I, an agent, get out of a literary genious who won't be discovered for another hundred years? I'll be dead myself by then. Successful incompetents are what I need." (75)
I felt I was sailing across a dark sea in which countless lighthouses stood on little islands. The lighthouses were writers beaming their lonely messages across the centuries - I was sailing from island to island, guided by those literary beacons. They were the thread that would lead me out of the labyrinth. (171)
In the end, because you become inured to anything you meet in vast numbers, I grew accustomed to the sight of these innumerable skeletons. I ceased to flinch whenever I rounded a bend in a tunnel and was confronted by a skeletal figure with its arm raised in salutation. There was even something comforting about this world of the dead, because the absence of life betokened the absence of danger. All that is evil stems from the living; the dead are a peaceable bunch. (185)
"There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written, that's all." (237)
I was hoping that some of Moer's drawings would be online, and that I could illustrate this entry with them; however, I've found only images of his books and one image scanned from a book. His books are full of his drawings though very few of them are online.
I Can't Help But Feel This Is Kinda Cool
I guess this definitely means DLB will NOT be accepting my Friend Request via Facebook.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Hero: Robin McGehee
Queerty: Are you disappointed in HRC, or Kathy Griffin?
McGehee: ABSOLUTELY – HRC needs to know – they have a HUGE problem. They are completely disconnected from their community and their base and there is a way to reconnect, but I think they are so consumed with fundraiser events and t-shirt sells to really engage in a conversation about why the organization that is NATIONALLY branded to represent us is NOT connected to those who feel disenfranchised. I know that I, and many others, would love to have an open and honest conversation about how to build a better army, but I don't believe there are ready or willing to have that conversation.
Read the entire interview over at Queerty
Hero: James Randi
"Well, here goes. I really resent the term, but I use it because it’s recognized and accepted. I’m gay. From some seventy years of personal experience, I can tell you that there’s not much 'gay' about being homosexual. For the first twenty years of my life, I had to live in the shadows, in a culture that was — at least outwardly — totally hostile to any hint of that variation of life-style. At no time did I choose to adopt any protective coloration, though; my cultivation of an abundant beard was not at all a deception, but part of my costume as a conjuror. … Before publishing this statement, I chose to privately notify a number of my closest friends and colleagues — none of whom, I’m sure, have been at all surprised at this 'coming out.' … This declaration of mine was prompted just last week by seeing an excellent film — starring Sean Penn — that told the story of politician Harvey Milk, the first openly gay man to be elected to public office in California. I’m in excellent company: Barney Frank, Oscar Wilde, Stephen Fry, Ellen DeGeneris, Rachel Maddow, are just a few of those who were in my thoughts as I pressed the key that placed this on Swift and before the whole world. I should apologize for having used Swift [his blog] as the venue to publish this note, an item that is hardly the focus of what we promote and publish here, but I chose the single most public asset I have to make this statement. It’s from here that I have attacked irrationality, stupidity, and irresponsibility, and it is my broadest platform. Here is where I have chosen to stand and fight. And I think that I have already won this battle by simply publishing this statement."
Thanks, Queerty!
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