Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Via Slate Magazine: Glenn Beck's rally was large, vague, moist, and undirected—the Waterworld of white self-pity.
Thus, it is really quite rare to hear slurs against President Barack Obama that are based purely on the color of his skin. Even Beck himself has tried to back away from the smears of that kind that he has spread in the past. But it is increasingly common to hear allegations that Obama is either foreign-born or a Muslim. And these insinuations are perfectly emblematic of the two main fears of the old majority: that it will be submerged by an influx from beyond the borders and that it will be challenged in its traditional ways and faiths by an alien and largely Third World religion.
Born in 1909 in Ohio to a Methodist family (his mother died young, his father fell into opium addiction), Steward realized early on that he liked books and boys and was determined to act on both passions. By his mid-20s he had sexually serviced Rudolph Valentino and become an intimate of Gertrude Stein. Visiting Europe and hoping to feel one step closer (figuratively) to Oscar Wilde, he seduces 67-year-old Lord Alfred Douglas. From London, he hops a boat train over to Paris to meet André Gide, then moves on to Zurich, where he falls under the sway and, at least once, into the bed of Thornton Wilder. Shortly after that, when he strikes up a friendship with Thomas Mann, I found myself fleeing to the Internet, wondering if perhaps this was all an elaborate literary hoax with Steward a kind of priapic Zelig as reimagined by Jean Genet.
Via NYT: I Get Around
However, I am very happy to part of the Modern Day Steward's Stud File!
We were watching Bellator Fighting this weekend at my night job and I saw this hottie. Granted I saw this hottie get beat down but still...
I was kind of worried because for a while he couldn't get up, and his face was this weird shade of blue.
But I totally get why gay guys like this stuff: if it weren't for the skimpy shorts, it wouldn't be fighting and wouldn't be allowed on public TV. LOL
Friday, August 27, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Towleroad has a really good article on HIV as Aggravated Assault.
My two cents? If an HIV+ person is knowingly trying to spread his or her disease, then he should be prosecuted under the law. But if someone is having unprotected sex and not aware of the risks inherent in unprotected sex - risk of disease, risk that one or the other partner may not know or may be lying about his status - then I honestly believe that that someone is probably too naïve to be having sex at all.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Do you imagine you’ll ever perform again?
If the offer’s there. I know there are other porn models who are HIV-positive. The difference with me is I feel I’ve become kind of the face of HIV in the porn world for this moment in time. Now I feel like my name, my face, and my body will be associated with that, but I don’t know how it would affect sales. It’s all up to the studios and what they think and, I mean, as long as my scene partners know my status and hopefully are positive themselves. Condom porn, I would go for it.
More via Advocate.com
I definitely am going to by his movies. Good luck, Mason.
I find describing The Lambs of London rather difficult. After the HUGE AND GINORMOUS happenings in The Passage - really how can you describe the rather small world and rather small happenings of The Lambs of London. Charles and Mary Lamb, siblings, live at home with their aged parents. Charles dreams of being a published author while Mary doesn't seem to dream of anything: she takes care of their father; she discusses Greek, Latin, novels, Shakespeare with her brother; and does her best to tolerate their overly-pious, strict mother.
That changes when Charles and Mary purchase a copy of Pandosto, a copy said to have once belonged to their much-beloved bard Shakespeare himself! This introduces into their lives one William Henry Ireland, son of the bookshop keeper Samuel Ireland. William also dreams of bigger things, of being immortalized for his writing, of pleasing his father. In the effort of the latter, Ireland begins finding and giving to his father pieces of Shakespeare: a signed deed, a lock of hair, a poem, and lastly a previously undiscovered play. However, Samuel Ireland also dreams - of no longer being a simple merchant but rising into the world, and, so, he gives these gifts over for public scrutiny and are judged (by some) as the real mccoy. The play is produced and performed by the greatest actors and actresses of the day.
However, at the same time, William has been interacting with the Lambs. Charles helps William to get published, and Mary begins to fall in love with him. And though it is definitely a matter of "he's just not that into you," through Shakespeare and William's discoveries, Mary and William form a bond that seems to awaken in her dreams of a life outside her home and away from her parents.
Based on several true stories, Ackroyd has taken the true lives of Charles and Mary Lamb and William Henry Ireland and mixed them together in the very real London of the 1790s and 1800s. Charles Lamb, in real life, became a great writer and he with his sister wrote Tales From Shakespeare - a book for children. Mary Lamb possibly suffered from bipolar disorder and eventually killed their mother and spent much of her later life in and out of an asylum. William Henry Ireland did indeed find many things Shakespearean including an undiscovered play that for a brief time WAS thought legit, but later it was discovered that he forged them all. Three very real people; however, Charles and Mary Lamb never (or at least most likely never) met William Henry Ireland.
Ultimately this was a very good book to read after The Passage. Like I said previously the scope is smaller, and the story much more simple. Most of the action takes place within a several block radius of the Lambs' home except for a couple of passages in which Ireland and his father travel to Shakespeare's home - which at the time is lived in by a descendent. Ackroyd gives us London as it was in great, yet simple, detail, and the characters are lovingly realized - Ackroyd makes them actual flesh and blood rather than shadows from history. There were a few issues: for example, I don't think there was a single interaction between Charles and Mary in which it isn't said that Charles "feared" for his sister, but overall I recommend the book and look to reading other pieces of his fiction. Mary, by far, was my favorite character - I loved watching her become almost startled into life.
Also Ackroyd opened my mind to other parts of the web that connect in this story. After reading The Lambs, I read Pandosto, a prose poem by Robert Greene, which is the basis for Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale. I also checked out books on Charles and Mary Lamb, including one specifically on Mary Lamb and their book Tales From Shakespeare, which was published in 1807 and is one of two books from that era still being published today (the other is Swiss Family Robinson). I also plan to finally make a go of reading all of Shakespeare at some point in the near future.
The two quotes I give you are brief of sketches of both Charles and Mary Lamb (and Ackroyd's description of Charles getting drunk fits me to a T):
He considered it foolish to suppose that alcohol was a source of inspiration. He knew that it constrained his imagination, confining it to the layers of drunken perception. When he was drunk, he was oblivious to detail or perspective. Yet he welcomed, and actively sought, this state. It relieved him from fear and responsibility. But what did he fear? He feared his own failure. He feared his future. One of his school companions, Tobias Smith, had left Christ's Hospital without a post or vocation. He had lived with his mother for a while in Smithfield and, in the tavern or playhouse, seemed to be as gay and vivacious as ever. Yet he had declined. His clothes had become threadbare. When his mother died, he was thrown out of the shared lodgings. He seemed to disappear. But then, three weeks ago, Charles had seen him begging on the corner of Coleman Street. He passed him without showing any sign of recognition. He had been afraid. So now he drank the curaçao.
He savoured the sensations of slipping into drunkenness. He could not recall his state of infancy, but he guessed that it must have been something like this - this blissful reception of circumstance, this happy acceptance of everything in the world. He went up to the counter and ordered another glass. He sensed his need to talk even as he asked the landlord a question about that evening's customers. He wanted to divulge news about himself; he wanted to laugh out loud at someone else's wit.
"This one will be the last, Mr. Lamb."
"Of course. Yes."
And then he found himself sprawled upon his bed, fully dressed. He could recall nothing from the night before. He had images of giant shadows in turmoil. of an outstretched arm, of a whispered word...." (23-4)
In fact Mary had helped her brother to mount the stairs, and had guided him towards his bedroom. She held his arm gently, and savoured the vinous scent of his breath mixed with the faintest odor of sweat on his neck and forehead. She enjoyed the sensation of his physical closeness, which in the past she had lost. He had been a boarder at Christ's Hospital, and his departure at the beginning of each term provoked in her the strangest mixture of anger and loneliness. He was going to a world of companionship and learning, while she was left in the company of her mother and of Tizzy. this was the period when, her household tasks complete, she began to study. Her bedroom had been set up in a little back room on the attic floor. Here she kept the school-books which Charles had lent her - among them a Latin grammer, a Greek lexicon, Voltaire's Philosophical Dictionary and a copy of Don Quixote. She tried to keep pace with her brother but often found, on his return, that she had over-reached him. She had begun to read and to translate the fourth book of the Aeneid, concerning the love between Dido and Aeneas, before he had even mastered the speeches of Cicero. She had said to him, "At regina gravi iamdudum saucia cura"; but he had burst out laughing. "Whatever do you mean, dear?"
"It is Virgil, Charles. Dido is sorrowful." (11)
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Anyone who gets to know me knows that I am kerazy about Moomintrolls and their creator Tove Jansson! And now a video has been released (actual video or fan made video) for Björk's new song "The Comet Chase Song" starring the Moomins. The images I believe come from the TV series and this particular episode is based on the second Moomintroll book, Comet in Moominland, in which a comet is headed for Moomin Valley.
The song was released today on iTunes, and all proceeds go to Pakistan.
More on the song at omgblog!
This past weekend was the Woodland Art Fair just up the street from where I live. I haven't been able to go for work or other reasons in about ten years, and now armed with a digital camera, I decided to play tourist and go. I walked up to Woodland Triangle and first had brunch at Ramseys. I had fried chicken with white gravy, mashed potatoes with brown gravy and fried okra. I then walked across the street to the newly re-opened Miller Fine Art and got to look at some real-live Henry Faulkners - not only one of my favorite Kentucky (and gay) painters but one of my favorite painters of all.
I then walked down the block to the Art Fair proper. There were tents everywhere. The entire field next to Woodland Christian Church was packed, but I immediately crossed the street for the park. Which I've never seen so full of people, food and things.
Granted, I was stuffed so I did not partake of the gelato or the baklava or the Greek spinach pie or the funnel cakes, but everything smelled so good.
I walk past this park sometimes daily, but I've never noticed how big it was until it was stuffed with people and tents. This German poem is part of the bench shaped liked a leaf seen below.
Woodland Park also has its own community garden and a swimming pool complete with pirate ship. I haven't been swimming in forever. And since I couldn't afford to buy anything at the art fair, I took pictures of the pretty.
The top two pictures are of the same tree - Woodland is full of huge, old growth trees, and we're very protective of them. You do not mess with the trees!
The bottom two pictures are of two friends I ran into who were kind enough to let me take their pictures: Crystal and Cabana.
The skate park followed by more pretty (if Bela Lugosi can be considered pretty) followed by the playground.
Woodworking tools, some very simply designed paintings, a strange sculptur/playground plaything - I see children try to play on this thing, but not for long. And one of the best things about the park - the swings!
If I could've bought anything at the fair it would have been this little wooden clock with the owl. Love owls! The area covered by the red, yellow and blue tarps was another beer garden.
A lot of the vendors were parked in the Woodland Park baseball field which in times past was actually a lake. And I don't know what kind of tree this is on the left but its downward shade creates a hollow closer to the trunk in which sometimes you can find bums drinking or kids smoking.
The top two pics are of another tree. This one looks as though there is a different kind of tree growing in it, and a detail of the tree (on right) shoes yet another something growing as well. And though a field of parked cars may seem boring, I wanted you to see all the trees, trees, trees.
The marching band is Lexington's March Madness Marching Band ...
...of which, the above hottie trombonist in a yellow skirt is a member...I'm sorry the picture is so blurry - he was really cute, but my digital camera is not conducive to taking pics of hot guys on the sly.
But there was plenty of stuff and a few people (like the above belly dancers) who were willing to stand still long enough for me to snap a shot.
I and this very nice banjo player talked some about the prices of used banjos ($600 for a nice, used one) and I tried to introduce him to the joys of Sufjan Stevens.
The bottom two shots were from yard sales across the street from the actual fair. All up and down and around Woodland Park there were all kinds of yard sales and not just students selling their cassettes and videos and posters they didn't want anymore.
Which is how I got this two little prints, well matted and well framed and waiting for me to hang up somewhere in my apartment. I wish I could have spent more money (the two prints were $16 all together) and bought myself nice things, or at least have had the time to stay and watch the marching band or the belly dancers, but, alas, I had to go home and get ready for work, but it was still a wonderful time, and I look forward to next year for the next fair.