Dancing with Myself

Politics versus popular culture

I watched American Idol last night rather than listen to the blather of idiots talking about the Democratic Primary Election in Pennsylvania.  It was a lot more fun.  Go David Cook!

This is the first season of American Idol that I have ever watched.  I just never got around to it before.  Before this past year, I didn't watch television more than a couple of hours a week.  Then my roommate had my television connected to his Dish-thingey.  Now I get three or four hundred channels in high definition.  Lucky me.  Whereas I used to read about a dozen books a month, now I struggle to read two or three.  I don't just casually watch AI, I watch it with half a dozen dedicated Idol enthusists.  We have a pool of sorts with a nice chuck of change to the person who successfully predicts the season's winner.  The rules of the pool requried our picks be made when the the top dozen contestants were chosen.  There are six contestants left on American Idol:  Syesha Mercado, Carly Smithson, Brooke White, Jason Castro, David Archuletta, and David Cook.  My money is on David Cook.  I've also made money on side bets over who gets eliminated each week. 

Bye bye, Brooke.  She stumbled over the lyrics, and if my memory serves me correctly, this is the second time she's done that.  The first time it was less obvious, but the one last night was bad.  I'm not a fan of hers.  She's pretty and has loads of talent, but is totally lacking in charisma.  She has appeared to be on the edge of tears since her opening audition.  Tonight when she's sent home, I expect gushers.  Somebody wake me up when she's left the stage.

I'm also ready for Jason Castro to go away.  He annoys me much the same way Tiny Tim annoyed me back in the 70s.  Anybody remember him?  Think tip toe through the tulips.  Maybe it was his rendition of Somewhere Over the Rainbow while accompanying himself on the ukele.  To be fair, Jason can sing better than that, but he is about as vapid as I've ever seen on national television.  His is so vapid that he gives stoner's everywhere a bad image.  He had never heard of Andrew Lloyd Webber before American Idol.  By his own admission, he has never seen a staged musical.  I'm willing to go out on a limb here and say he's probably never seen nor heard an opera.  Mitigating in his favor have been his incredible blue eyes.  They're startling.  Simon (yes, that one) said a few weeks ago that if AI were on radio rather than television, Castro would never have made it as far.  I think he's going to be around for a few more weeks because he has connected to a fan base.  I have no idea who those people are, and I wish they'd stop it so we can be rid of this annoying creature.

In my cynicism, I suspect the producers of American Idol of manipulating the results somehow in order to achieve a pre-ordained outcome.  Was it coincidental that half a dozen of the final contestants are rock singers?  Right now I suspect them of working overtime to keep one or two of the women around to the final showdown between Archuletta and Cook. 

David Archuletta is a very sweet and tender White, Mormon Michael Jackson.  He's been trained and groomed by his stage father since he was in diapers.  He comes across as an innocent.  Maybe he is.  He has a promising voice, but I don't feel any emotional connection to his singing.  All of his songs have sort of a sameness to them.  He is, however, technically proficient and incredibly cute.  I suspect he's a ringer, though.  He won Star Search a few years ago, so he didn't exactly wake up one day and say, maybe I'll do American Idol.  He's got a huge following among pubescent girls.  They recognize one of their own.

My favorite is David Cook.  He has an interesting voice, and most importantly, he sells his song.  I actually went on iTunes and bought his recording of Billie Jean, a song made famous by Michael Jackson back in the 80s.  David did a version of the song arranged by Chris Connell.  He got a bit of bad buzz on the Internet because credit was not given to Connell for the arrangement and it appeared that the judges thought is was David's own.  David also has a charismatic stage presence.  Whether he wins American Idol or not, we're going to have plenty of opportunities to enjoy his music.  He's here to stay.

So there's my take on American Idol.  On the other side of the television dial we had the same inane crap being spewed by the many commentators of news as entertainment.  Last night's buzz word was "close the sale."  Obama just can't "close the sale."  That phrase was used on all networks about once every two or three minutes, all night long.  They were still braying it this morning as well.

These commentators are more like town gossips than anything else.  That they influence the outcome in any way whatsoever speaks to the tragedy of our system of politics.  Gossips have the ability to influence people's perceptions.  The pundit-gossips have determined for us that Hillary's a bitch, Obama's an unpatriotic, secret Muslim who can't "close the sale," and that John McCain is an "independent maverick" that relates to Joe Six-Pack because despite the fact that he's married into incredible wealth and has never had a job off the public payroll, he is not "elitist" like the Democrats.  This same group of gossips determined that Dubya was a regular guy, unlike that blowhard Gore and that Frenchified Kerry.  And people keep eating it up, election cycle after election cycle. 

Fuck this shit.  I'm going back to American Idol. 

Shag Semeach Pesach!

I haven't had much to say lately, blogging wise.  Oh, I'm just opinionated as I ever was, maybe more so in some areas, less so in others.

There are greater currents flowing through our lives other than my simple drama.  First, peace be unto you, all of you.  Shag semeach pesach.  Happy Passover.  Even to the ones I don't like a lot.  Passover begins Saturday night.  As a Christian, a Jewish Christian, a Protestant Jewish Christian, an Episcopal Protestant Jewish Christian, as a Pentecostal Protestant Episcopal Jewish Christian, as a Buddhist Pentecostal Protestant Episcopal Jewish Christian, as  ZEN Buddhist, Pentecostal Protestant Episcopal Jewish Christian -- (by now I think I've covered my paths to enlightenment) -- I wish each of you Pesach shalom!  Jewish or not, we have all been slaves in Egypt.

May there be peace in Israel.  May there be peace in Iraq.  May there be peace in this country, our home.  May there be peace between thee and me.  May we all celebrate peace Next Year in Jerusalem! as well.  Amen.

Laissez les bontemps roulez!

Dear lord Jesus, it's Mardi Gras already!?

This has to be the earliest it's been in a hundred years.  A week earlier and it would have been in January, for chrissake!  That would be too rude.  I'm sure there's a Catholic rule somewheres that says No to Madi Gras in January.  If there's not there should be.

OH-MY-GOD!  Super Bowl, Super Tuesday, Mardi Gras --  all that energy focused at the same time on the same week-end!  I may short circuit.  Except.  Except I don't give a fuck about the Super Bowl. 

Nor do I care that much about Super Tuesday.  I've already voted.  Voted for John Edwards, yes I did, but then, the s.o.b. dropped out.  That leaves me Mardi Gras.

For the fun of it, here's a collection of my Mardi Gras personnas over the years.

This was 1977.  What you can't see in this picture is my broken heart.  I had just been dumped by a lover, and dumped for the most shallow of reasons.  Sugahs, I hurted something fierce.  [Note from editor:  The subject of this photograph would like it known that this was not an "outfit."  This is what he wore when he worked on the Trans-Alaska Pipeline Project in 1976.  Obviously jr didn't think 29 was too old to be cute.]

This is obviously better times.  I've always had a thing for Hawaiian shirts, purple, beads and cowboy hats.

This is Mardi Gras 1991. 

Oh, I've got  lots more.  This is just where we start.

Wild Women Don't Get the Blues

Sally Jo Bridge died today.  She was one of the most interesting and dynamic women I have ever known.  She was funny, and she could sing the blues.  She also lived the blues. 

I'm not sure what happened, or when, but Sally Jo crashed much too early in life, and alcohol robbed her of happiness and health until she died today from lung cancer most likely brought on by smoking cigarettes for forty or more years. 

I may come back and add to this, but for right now, I'm going to have a drink, listen to some Bonnie Raitt, and remember me and Sally Jo going crazy in Colorado in the late 70s.

Left to right, Georgia Berry, Jim Kaiser and Sally Jo at the hospice in Anchorage last month. I was able to visit with Sally Jo a couple of times when I was there at Christmas.  Georgia, Sally Jo and I went to Boulder, Colorado in late 1976 and met Jim, but that's another story left for another time.

Sally Jo was born and raised in rural Alaska.  Her father was a state trooper back in the days when they were a lot more like our popular idea of Canadian Mounties.  Kids growing up in rural Alaska are tough and know how to take care of themselves.

After listening to a few songs, I knew the song that brought it all home.  Guilty by Randy Newman.

Yes, baby, I been drinkin'
And I shouldn't come by I know
But I found myself in trouble, darlin'
And I had nowhere else to go

Got some whisky from the barman
Got some cocaine from a friend
I just had to keep on movin'
Til I was back in your arms again

I'm guilty, baby I'm guilty
And I'll be guilty all the rest of my life
How come I never do what I'm supposed to do
How come nothin' that I try to do ever turns out right?

You know, you know how it is with me baby
You know, you know I just can't stand myself
And it takes a whole lot of medicine
For me to pretend that I'm somebody else

Sally Jo always said "Wild women don't get the blues, they sing just sing 'em." 

A Zen Koan

For my friend, Jerry.

A blond was walking through the woods and came upon a river.  She looked up and she looked down but saw no bridge or boat to help her get across.  On the other side of the river she sees another blond.  She yells out to her, "How do you get to the other side?"  The blond on the other side of the river looks at her with a puzzled expression and replies, "You're already on the other side."

So there it is.  No matter where you want to go, you're already there.

Celebrating the Winter's Solstice

Let the holidays begin!

As trees go, this one isn't bad.  I have 11 spinning motors on it, so there's a lot of movement. 

It's full tilt boogey from now on.  Fragile Industries is coming in tonight for several days.  I'm giving a dinner party for her Saturday night.  My big holiday celebration is the 16th.  My mother and I will celebrate Christmas on the 21st, and I'm off to Girdwood, Alaska on the 22d for a week.  New Year's Eve will be quiet with friends here in the East Bay.  I'll probably start rehab the following week. 

This is the third night of Channuka, so I made curried sweet-potato latkes for supper.  Talk about good!  I'll make some regular ones later in the week, but tonight I felt exotic.

Chappy Channuka, y'all.

I am Who I am

By the grace of God, and God's grace is not wasted on me.

That's one of my favorite verses from the Bible. 

I'm engaged in a bit of Internet warfare with several despicable assholes who thought they would use my sexuality against me.  They took a picture of me from this blog of me in a dress.  Actually, it's one of my favorite pictures.  I'm not wearing a wig, just a dress, and I look like Tony Curtis in Some Like it Hot.  The post reads, "I Yam Not a Drag Queen!  I just look good in a dress."  And I do.  So, these low-life cretins, obviously without a sense of humor, thought they could show that picture of me and embarrass my cousins into not supporting me.  Sad thing is, it worked a little.  Some of the cousins whom I thought would have had my back immediately, didn't.  Others from whom I expected nothing, totally had me covered. 

I'm not just rambling; I'm focused on making a point.  Here it is:  I think my being Gay is a blessing.  I think my life has been blessed a million times over because of it.  I am blessed by friends, by family, by colleagues, by strangers passing me on the street.  When I walk, I bounce.  I bounce because I am happy with my life.  I am at peace with me.  These creeps thought they could use Me against Me.  Wrong, assholes.  My being Gay is my greatest strength.  It is the source of my humor, my intellect, my point of view.  When I buried several dozen really good friends back in the 80s and early 90s, it toughened me.  I can eat most fuckers alive for breakfast and spit out their bones.  I have no fear.  Not of bigotry, not of stupidity, not of religion, not of anything.  Like Popeye says, "I yam whats I yam, and that's what I yam!"

If you're interested in the side-bar drama to this post, it can be found here, here and also here.

My Shock and Outrage Just Blew a Fuse

I'm numb.  I have to wait for the circuit-breaker to re-set.  Maybe an episode of the Daly Show will give my perspective back.

New Friends

One of the ways I measure whether or not my life is on track, generally speaking, is by the quality of people I encounter on a day-to-day basis.  This past week-end, I spent in the country with new friends.  I was invited up to spend the week-end only after I refused to let my close friend, Mauricio, out of  his accepted invitation to dinner.  Maricio is Lucy to my Ethel.  I think we compliment each other well.  He drives me more crazy than I drive him, but I'm working on it.  Mauricio is newly in-love.  Well, newly meaning less than a year.  The object of his affection is Gary, a charmer from Australia.  Here's a shot of the two of them beside the pool on Sunday.

That's Mauricio on the right.  Our hosts for the week-end were Charles and Jeff.  This is Charles.

And this is Jeff.

They have four Chihuahuas.  Mauricio has 3 dogs, and yes, they were all with us.  I am NOT enamoured of dogs, especially in multiple numbers.  Neither is the Chihuahua my favorite breed, but dogs are like people in the sense that they are all individuals.  Once you get to know them, some you'll like, some you won't, and some you won't care one way or another. 

Also along for the week-end was Greg.  He and I were the odd men out, so to speak.  Neither of us were part of a couple.  He is a very kind and generous person.  I was pleased to meet him.

The final couple on the retreat were two delightful young men by the names of Jerry and Rich.  I have a huge crush on both.  They were as smart and interesting as they were charming.  This is Rich,

And this is Jerry.

I must be doing something right if this is the quality of the folks I'm encountering in the universe.

Oh, and boys, it was the Perseid Meteor Shower which entertained you so long after I went to bed and slept.

Damn that new alarm clock!

At 4:42 a.m. this morning, I was shaken out of bed (literally) by a 4.2 earthquake on the fault that runs under my home.  Ah, the pleasures of living in California.