February 28, 2006


"For any time of the month."



"Mardi Gras starts tomorrow in New Orleans. Talk about perfect timing. Those truckloads of ice from FEMA just showed up." --Bill Maher

"This Mardi Gras will be a little different. This year when drunks yell up at the balcony, 'Show us your boobs!' Michael Brown and Michael Chertoff walk out." --Bill Maher

"Mardi Gras is going on in New Orleans. Actually it's scaled down quite a bit. Now when you throw a bead, women only flash one boob." --Jay Leno

"In his speech President Bush said we need to rebuild Iraq, provide the people with jobs, and give them hope. If it works there maybe we'll try it in New Orleans." --Jay Leno

"Pakistan had one of the worst natural disasters ever, up to 50,000 people dead after an earthquake this week. But of course it's not a resort, no supermodels like the tsunami, so it doesn't really get covered. But other nations are trying to help. They've offered food, medicine, corpse-sniffing dogs. New Orleans sent a volunteer team of cops to beat the crap out of survivors." --Bill Maher

"You know I love New Orleans, they're vowing to hold Mardi Gras this year come hell or -- no pun -- high water. This is interesting, they've always had a Mardi Gras drink called the Hurricane. They're not going to serve that this year, but they've got a new one called the FEMA. It's strong, it hits you about a week later." --Bill Maher

"They say the toxic water and sludge smells so bad in New Orleans that they're thinking of renaming the city Newark." --Jay Leno

"The president said much of the aid is going towards job training. And when they heard that, the people of New Orleans rose as one and said, 'Can we start with you?'" --Bill Maher

"Bush called the rebuilding of New Orleans one of the largest reconstruction efforts the world has ever seen, second only to Cher." --Jay Leno

"The rebuilding of New Orleans is already underway. The relief and reconstruction contracts for rebuilding the city have already been awarded, many of them no bid. Among the recipients, major Republican contributors Bechtel and Fluor, the Shaw Group, client of Joe Allbaugh, ex-FEMA head, and, of course, come on, don't be shy, say it with me -- Halliburton." --Jon Stewart

"President Bush toured New Orleans. He saw something that was below sea level: his approval ratings." --Jay Leno

"Taking a page from their tsunami playbook, the White House announced today that former presidents Bush and Bill Clinton will head up the fundraising efforts for the hurricane relief. And you know, Bill Clinton is no stranger to this kind of thing. He was once visiting the French Quarter during a hurricane and got blown behind a dumpster." --Bill Maher

"But hey, it is New Orleans. Watching today, I could tell that this city has not lost its hope. It has not lost its distinctive pluck, because every time rescue teams would toss supplies to people, women flashed their tits." --Bill Maher


And for a real hoot, go to New Orleans' most famous entertainer's site to check out her Cajun-style spelling. Yeah, Chris Owens has plenty of rhythm, but she just cain't spell it! I guess with a figure like that, she don't have to! I



An excerpt from Democracynow.org's lead story yesterday:

In 2003, lawmakers voted to shut down Total Information Awareness - a program that developed technologies to predict terrorist attacks by mining government databases and the personal records of people in the United States.
Months earlier New York Times columnist William Safire had warned about the dangers of the program. In a column headlined "You Are A Suspect" Safire wrote:

"If the Homeland Security Act is not amended before passage, here is what will happen to you:
"Every purchase you make with a credit card, every magazine subscription you buy and medical prescription you fill, every Web site you visit and e-mail you send or receive, every academic grade you receive, every bank deposit you make, every trip you book and every event you attend -- all these transactions and communications will go into what the Defense Department describes as 'a virtual, centralized grand database.'

"To this computerized dossier on your private life from commercial sources, add every piece of information that government has about you -- passport application, driver's license and bridge toll records, judicial and divorce records, complaints from nosy neighbors to the F.B.I., your lifetime paper trail plus the latest hidden camera surveillance -- and you have the supersnoop's dream: a "Total Information Awareness" about every U.S. citizen.

"This is not some far-out Orwellian scenario. It is what will happen to your personal freedom in the next few weeks if John Poindexter gets the unprecedented power he seeks."

Following public outcry, the program was halted primarily because of privacy concerns, but also because its main advocate was John Poindexter, known for his involvement with the Iran-Contra scandal of the 1980s.

It now appears that the project "was stopped in name only" and that TIA is in fact continuing.



An excerpt from his latest SFGATE.COM article:

As it goes with America, so it goes with the world. You want to know why
there's vicious rioting and people dying across the world right now, from
Iran to Pakistan, Libya to Nigeria, all in the name of a mediocre cartoon
featuring Allah and a cute turban bomb? Why otherwise rational Muslims are
protesting by the thousands from London to Cairo? Here's a hint: It has
nothing to do with the cartoon. It has nothing to do with Muslims loathing
Christianity, or even with the Islamic fundamentalists who teach their
children to hate pretty much everyone (but especially America) from birth.

But it has a great deal to do with the world's foremost peace-keeping
superpower becoming the world's foremost thug, turning into a
self-righteous torture-happy God-monger and a grand perpetuator of war. It
has much to do with the U.S.-led stoking of an already white-hot Middle
East tinderbox via launching two brutal, unwinnable wars and fueling the
fires of division and separation and rage. Once we were the great beacon
of peace and diplomacy. But now the beacon has become bloody and malicious
and hollow. It has become a brutal joke.

Are we to blame for all the eternal tension and raging religious hatreds
in the Middle East? Of course not. Are we largely responsible for making
them far, far worse than they were just five years ago by deciding, under
Bush's pampered thumb, to become the planet's sanctimonious hell-bent
Jesus-crazed bitch-slapper? Hell yes.


February 27, 2006



I can't believe I actually received this. The site seems to be a legitimate bird flu info site. Are people really looking for bird flu t-shirts? I didn't know it was THAT popular, but it is catching.

Hello Bunny,

Do you have any Bird Flu t-shirts for sale? I was looking at your site, but didn't see any.

I am with Avian Flu Talk, the most active Bird Flu discussion forum in the world.
As of two days ago, we began accepting advertisers and so we would like to notify you.

We have a spot available on the top and on the bottom of the main page.
The advertisements on the main page will also propagate on all pages of the forum.

Our banner link ad spot size is 200 x 125 (approx 2 ½ by 1 ¾ inches).
When someone clicks on the banner ad itself - they are forwarded to your site.
The ad acts as a "link". You simply need to design a banner ad, or we can have it designed for you at a cost of $100.00.

We charge a flat rate of $499.00 per month for a top page spot.
We charge a flat rate of $399.00 per month for a bottom page spot.
Must pay 3 months in advance.

Please see the attached file which shows the web statistics for the traffic to our site over the last two weeks. Unfortunately, we do not have the stats that go beyond the last two weeks as we did not start tracking the activity until that time.

Seriously, please contact me as soon as possible if you are interested in advertising on our forum. We would love to have you. I know that Bird Flu t-shirts would sell very well on our forum. We get thousands of visitors a day... many looking for Bird Flu T-shirts for sale.

Thank you,


Jane Madison
Avian Flu Talk


Rumors are flying about Star Jones' cute husband's homosexuality. But her new book doesn't address them--or how Star lost 150 pounds. What if poor ol' Star lost that weight because her fag husband gave her--no, I won't go there. But the below article, by my friend Daniel Kusner at the DALLAS VOICE, stirs up some rumors just as juicy. Well, almost... If you love to hate Star like I do, you'll thoroughly enjoy this well-written piece.

TV host-turned-relationship-advisor blows a fuse when questions arise regarding the ‘down low’ phenomenon and her husband’s sexual past

DON’T GO THERE: In Star Jones Reynolds’ new book, “Shine,” you won’t get any solid answers about how she lost all the weight. And there’s almost nothing about the intense speculation regarding her husband’s sexuality.
Star Jones writing a book about finding the ideal husband is like Anderson Cooper listing the best ways to score with hot chicks. Something just doesn’t sound right.

Star Jones added the last name Reynolds in 2004, exactly a year after she met Al Reynolds, a handsome Wall Street banker, eight years her junior. After a brief romance, Reynolds proposed to “The View” co-hostess during halftime at a Lakers game in February 2004. And that’s when the publicity machine kicked into gear.

Star and Al posed for countless couples portraits. They even launched a website that’s still up and running, StarandAl.com. But as the couple prepared for a lavish Manhattan wedding that rivaled the David Gest-Liza Minnelli nuptials, items about Al’s sexuality began appearing in gossip columns — all because Al once shared a house on Fire Island.

Then something weird happened.





heep abuser has to register as sex offender
Associated Press
Feb. 14, 2006 06:11 PM
BATTLE CREEK, Mich. - A man who pleaded no contest to a sodomy charge involving a sheep says he should not have to register as a sex offender.

Jeffrey S. Haynes said the state registry is intended to keep track of people who have committed crimes against humans.

But Calhoun County Circuit Court Judge Conrad Sindt told Haynes at his sentencing hearing that once he is released from prison, he must register with the Michigan State Police Public Sex Offender Registry.

Haynes, 42, of Battle Creek, was sentenced Monday to 2 1/2 years to 20 years in prison. He entered the plea in January. A no contest plea is not an admission of guilt but is treated as such for sentencing purposes.

Tamara Towns, an assistant prosecutor for the county, argued that Haynes should be ordered to register as a sex offender because once out of prison, he could prey on children or vulnerable adults.

Haynes said he is not a violent person and would not assault children.

"The prosecutor is being real hard on me for what I did," he said. "But I should not be treated as a child molester."

A telephone call seeking comment was left Tuesday at the Marshall office of defense attorney John B. Sullivan.

Police said Haynes had sex with a sheep at a Bedford Township farm on Jan. 26, 2005. The animal's owner caught him on the property and the sheep was found injured.

Haynes was arrested in June after a DNA sample taken from the animal matched Haynes' genetic material.

Haynes has prior convictions for burglary, home invasion and uttering and publishing, and was on parole for burglary at the time of the sex crime.


Dementia forwarded from Kansas's freak of the week, Jan.

I watched an ant climb a blade of grass this morning. When he reached the
top, his weight bent the blade down to the ground.
Then, twisting his thorax with insectile precision, he grabbed hold of the
next blade.

In this manner, he traveled across the lawn, covering as much distance
vertically as he did horizontally, which amused and
delighted me.

And then, all at once, I had what is sometimes called an
"epiphany," a moment of heightened awareness in which
everything becomes clear.

Yes, hunched over that ant on my hands and knees, I suddenly
knew what I had to do.......

Quit drinking before noon.


And you thought I had too much time on MY hands. This kook has a whole BROKEBACK Lego series which can be viewed here:


February 25, 2006


NBC Puts On 2-Week Commercial for US Power

by Pierre Tristam

About half the readers of this site are from outside the United States, which means that among those of you who chose to watch the Olympics’ opening ceremonies from Turin Friday, about half of you were lucky enough not to be subjected to NBC’s nauseating production. But I’m not so sure you should count your blessings. Watching an American production of a world sporting event these days may be embarrassing. It is simplistic. It is supremacist. It is promotional to the core. But it is also instructive. NBC covers the Olympics the way American neocons do foreign policy: The world is 95 percent America, 3 percent water, and 2 percent everything else. America’s projection onto the world is mostly as an emblem of force, preferably unrivaled. What world does exist outside its borders is reduced to elementary-school simplicities (“1.3 billion Chinese!” and how to say Turin in Italian). Above all, it’s reduced to the presumption that the rest of the world is either a by-stander, an enabler or a threat to American hegemony—what America’s Republicans, who have more in common with Charles DeGaulle than with Abraham Lincoln, would call American greatness (even as that greatness is right now pulling an Algerian rug from under its booted feet, with Iraqi weaving). That’s how NBC projects its Olympic coverage. All the world’s a spectator to American prowess and dominance. You get the sense that none but American athletes are in these competitions, just as the Bush White House gives the sense that all the world is collateral for American foreign policy. NBC has been trained for the task. The same people who brought us the Iraq war as show business and “The Rescue of Jessica Lynch” as truth, and who keep bringing us coverage of the White House as public relations, now bring us the Olympics as a two-week commercial for American power.

The introduction set the tone. The announcer, speaking in the cadences of a Vietnam War documentary, gave a Travel Channel-synopsis of Turin’s Alpine character, with cinematography spectacular enough to make you wonder why it was so maliciously abbreviated. He swept over Turin’s architecture and summed up its two thousand year history in twelve seconds or so (about the length of any world history lesson in White House briefings). He intoned about this or that athlete from another country, the one whose body was “stitched together after twelve surgeries” or the one who single-handedly convinced his no-snow African nation to endorse a winter Olympic federation so he could compete. He made you feel that, well, maybe there is a world out there after all. But then the music changed — from conventionally upbeat to Rambo-martial. Instinctively you knew what was up, for having been on the receiving end of similarly ominous soundtracks for the last four years every time a news show substituted nationalistic bombast for reporting: The subject switched exclusively to American athletes. It was no longer sport, but war. It was no longer competition, but defiance, whether it was about the athlete who “has converted his body into a bullet” or the one from New Hampshire who has taken his state motto and, somewhat inexplicably, turned it into his Olympic promise: “Live free or die.” If this weren’t enough, the announcer trumped up a little bit of divine right when he claimed that “the royalty of American figure skating” was making its return, lord knows from what genesis — Tonya Harding? Nancy Kerrigan? The eternally unfulfilled promise of Michelle Kwan? Naturally, Kwan was NBC’s very first Olympic interview, though not word one about the four Olympians who’d already been booted out for doping up, among them Zach Lund, the American sledder who made a gold medal seem like his entitlement.

What’s imperial gold to America sounds tinny to much of the world, and of course even to much of America, judging by the other inescapable parallel in this story: Bush’s anemic approval ratings—and NBC’s: “Friday’s Olympic opening ceremony was the worst-watched in at least a decade,” went one report. There’s a lesson there, but America’s powers that beam, from the presidency down to its media farmhands, aren’t learning it for being too self-absorbed. To the self-deluded, approval doesn’t matter anymore.

In 2001, the whole world called itself American in solidarity with the attacks the country sustained. It didn’t last, because President Bush couldn’t pass up the opportunity to answer fanaticism with fanaticism, alienating the world along the way. That the world’s pronounced tendency to hate America almost as much as it hates Iran seems only to reinforce his conviction that the only country that matters is America. He said as much in an interview with Bob Woodward in early 2002: “At some point,” Bush said of the war on terror, “we may be the only ones left. That’s okay with me. We are America.” NBC’s Olympic coverage revels in that unilateral view. It should be alienating to anyone but the most hardened, modern version of America-Firsters. But we keep watching because we don’t have a choice, or because the instructive element is worth the attention, or because there are always a few surprises, like NBC’s uncharacteristic decision to show the entire parade of nations, cutting not a single one of the eighty participating countries even when it went to commercial. Not bad. But that was the sort of exception that proved the rule, a bone thrown to Bob Costas, the eminently qualified (and worldly) Olympic anchor since the late 1980s. His talent was ruinously snubbed Friday by NBC’s decision to stick him with a an escort for the evening, the way the Pentagon sticks reporters with escorts in war zones: Costas’ shadow was none other than Brian Williams, the NBC News anchor and recent replacement for Tom Brokaw. It was half publicity stunt half conceit. NBC wants to give Williams exposure in his new role. Williams wants to give himself gravitas. And NBC’s Olympic coverage wants to seem au courant, hip to the sporty and the newsy. Instead, Williams’ comments — about Italy providing the third-biggest contingent in Iraq (he did not mention that Italy was withdrawing its troops over the next several months), about China having an iffy environmental record, about Iran threatening Israel, about Danish athletes potentially triggering demonstrations over the Muhammad cartoons — had the feel of a mortician distributing his calling card at a wedding. It wasn’t just intrusive. It was obscene for its self-promotion and redundancy, and for what it took away from the athletes while inferring that they somehow reflected their nations’ policies. The Olympics may be all about promotion, politics, profiteering, marketing, drugs and corruption outside the playing fields. But within them, for those brief moments that athletes hold the stage, they remain about sport for sport’s sake. With obvious exceptions — the U.S.-U.S.S.R. hockey match at the 1980 Lake Placid Olympics come to mind — they remain exclusively about the athletes and their individual frailties and triumphs. Not their nations’. Leave it to NBC to demolish that one last redeeming illusion. It was bound to, having demolished all others.

For here’s another one of those ironies of American technological supremacy and “freedom”: We were not allowed to watch the opening ceremonies live, the way most of the rest of the world did. We won’t be allowed to watch most of the fortnight’s marquee events live, either. NBC packages them for prime-time viewing, between 8 and 11 p.m., to suit advertisers and best reap its $613 million investment in broadcasting rights to these games alone. So it goes with freedom’s might. When dividends are at stake, freedom is reduced to a pretty slogan (which NBC made much use of in its descriptions of “ Torino” as the birth-place of Italy). We are now treated to news anchors who, like one local specimen for NBC’s WESH-2 in Orlando, said he “can’t wait to see what happens tonight” — a newsman saying this — even though the opening ceremony was several hours old and its glittery pictures and accounts were all over the Internet. If the Pentagon is always fighting the last war, the television networks are always broadcasting the previous decade’s Olympics. The distortions are nevertheless in perfect alignment with the American presumption that time zones don’t exist outside the United States, that time itself is an exclusively American luxury others abide by. To watch the Olympics on NBC, like watching the news on any American network, is like shopping in a mall or gambling in a casino: It’s a world onto its own where clocks don’t intrude and windows on the world are non-existent, for fear of distracting the consumer from his primordial duty: to buy what’s being dished out efficiently and uncomplainingly. And then to celebrate his luxurious imprisonment with canned patriotism, for let’s not forget the flag-raising ceremonies disproportionately detained by the Star Spangled Banner.

To reword Tacitus’ famous phrase about Roman armies, they created a monopoly and called it free enterprise. And it is this sort of mentality that pretends to be bringing freedom (and free enterprise!) to the world


Lypsinka sent me this web page for THE LAWRENCE WELK SHOW's JO ANN CASTLE, the show's perky pianist.


Jo An has her own site, too, where you can hear audio clips like her spirited version of FLIGHT OF THE BUMBLEBEE entitled BUMBLE BOOGIE. She also does all of those hateful but ridiculously catchy PIANO 101 songs like CHOP STICKS and ALLEY CAT.






A couple of upcoming event New Yorkers may wanna check out:

WITCH HUNT: FROM SALEM TO GUANTANAMO and TRIBUTE TO TITUBA (a personal childhood hero of mine--didn't know there were others!)

Kicking off the festivities will be the art exhibit that will open at BAAD!( Bronx Academy of Arts and Dance) on Saturday, March 4 at 6pm. The exhibit, curated by Cassandra, is titled WITCH HUNT: FROM SALEM TO GUANTANAMO. The show takes on past and present inquisitions, visually protests the persecution of difference and dissent, and feeds the spirit of resistance. Featured artists include damali abrams, Sassy Arce, Emily Caruso, Alejandra Delfin, Melanie Dunston, Maggie Ens, Stephanie Foxx, Yasmin Hernandez, Shizu Homma, Yuliya Lanina, Barbara Ann Levy, Sonia Melara, Mimi Perez, Ellen Pollan, Leah Tinari and Reyez .

There will also be a community altar where attendees are encouraged to bring an item to honor the BAAD! ASS WOMEN/WITCH in their lives (living or dead).
The exhibit will be up throughout the festival and until May 20.

Following the artists reception, at 8pm, BAAD! presents a Tribute to Tituba, a multi-disciplinary salute to the only woman of color persecuted by the Salem Witch Trails. The Tribute features the following High Priestesses of Fierceness: dancer extraordinaire Malinda Allen, Native American Singer and heroic defender of sacred sites Barbara James Snyder, work by Bronx-based choreographer Christal Brown of INSPIRIT DANCE, award winning Tituba-inspired author and aritist Debbie Officer, as well as a shout out from the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union) for good measure.


From BBC News:

Sudan man forced to 'marry' goat

A Sudanese man has been forced to take a goat as his "wife", after he was caught having sex with the animal.
The goat's owner, Mr Alifi, said he surprised the man with his goat and took him to a council of elders.

They ordered the man, Mr Tombe, to pay a dowry of 15,000 Sudanese dinars ($50) to Mr Alifi.

"We have given him the goat, and as far as we know they are still together," Mr Alifi said.

Mr Alifi, Hai Malakal in Upper Nile State, told the Juba Post newspaper that he heard a loud noise around midnight on 13 February and immediately rushed outside to find Mr Tombe with his goat.

"When I asked him: 'What are you doing there?', he fell off the back of the goat, so I captured and tied him up".

Mr Alifi then called elders to decide how to deal with the case.

"They said I should not take him to the police, but rather let him pay a dowry for my goat because he used it as his wife," Mr Alifi told the newspaper.

February 23, 2006



Crazy shit from POPBITCH.COM:

A group of nine Clay Aiken fans are considering
a class action suit against him. So why are
the Claymates narked? "As consumers, we feel
ripped off. It is obvious now that the private
Clay is very different from the manufactured
packaged public Clay that was marketed to us."


February 21, 2006


A few weeks ago, I posted a BROKEBACK GROCERY LIST which Elvira forwarded to me. One reader took offense, and sent in his snitty, detailed response. Here's his and then mine. OK, so I have a lot of time on my hands!


If you will allow a few corrections to the Grocery List:
> Brokeback Mountain Weekly Grocery Lists
> Beans
> Bacon
> Coffee
> Whiskey
> Beans
> Ham
> Coffee
> Whiskey
> Beans al fresca - the correct Italian is al fresco
> Thin-sliced Bacon - the correct English is thinly sliced
> Hazelnut Coffee
> Sky vodka & Tanqueray gin
> Beans en salade - in French "salade" means only lettuce
> Pancetta
> Coffee (espresso grind) Espresso is not a grind it is a roast
> 5-6 bottles best Chardonnay
> Fresh Fava beans - fava are beans so this is a bi-lingual redundancy
> Jasmine rice
> Prosciutto, approx. 8 ounces
> Thinly sliced medallions of veal Porcini mushrooms - what are veal Porcini mushrooms?
> 1/2 pint of heavy whipping cream
> 1 Cub Scout uniform, size 42 long
> 5-6 bottles French Bordeaux (Estate Reserve) - What other kind of Bordeaux is there if it isn't French? Another bi-lingual geographic redundancy.
> Yukon Gold potatoes
> Heavy whipping cream
> Asparagus (very thin)
> Organic Eggs
> Spanish Lemons
> Gruyere cheese (well aged)
> Crushed Walnuts
> Arugula
> Clarified Butter
> Extra Virgin Olive oil - what, not cold pressed?
> Pure Balsamic vinegar - vinegar by nature cannot be pure since it is a fermented food
> 6 yards white silk organdy - do they mean "organza" ?
> 6 yards pale ivory taffeta
> 3 Cases of Dom Perignon Masters Reserve - this doesn't exist


Well, it takes a sense of humor to have "fun" made of oneself, it takes a level head, a steady heart, and enough self knowledge not to be bothered, but frankly it also takes honesty to be a man, to be a woman, to be a human, and to be a friend. So here is what I feel about all the so-called humor going around about Brokeback Mountain. I think it stinks. I think it is rotten to the fucking core. I think it is a cheap shot, a stupidity, a joke in itself. I do not find it funny any more than I feel blond jokes are funny, any more than I feel jokes denigrating women, lesbians, blacks, or any particular group.

In this particular phase of our human de-evolution I find jokes about Brokeback Mountain completely and totally miss the point of the film. Either that or the "clever" people who make them up are simply using the film to show their ignorance thinking they are somehow witty and clever. ”Au contraire", as we cowboys say. The film is a love story, had it been about two heterosexuals, i.e. most of western literature dealing with thwarted love, what jokes might we have heard or read? Nothing.
It would have become a tragedy, a Shakespeare play, a ballet, poetry about human cruelty. But because it is about love between creatures of the same gender then "we" take out after it, and any opposition to this "humorous" stance is met with, "oh c'mon, lighten up, give it a rest, don't take all this so seriously." Well, frankly I do not choose to do that this time around. No, all these references are only perpetrating the myth that gay people, including gay cowboys, have refined taste, which I assure you is not the case. It also suggests that we are "artsy" and "French" in our tastes. Well, I have news for my fellow Americans. The French are, by and large, not sexually repressed. They have no understanding of the current round of Brokeback Mountain jokes. If you run one by them they just stare at you with wider and wider eyes and say, "what does that supposed to mean?" They just don't get it. They don’t have the same stereotypic image; in fact macho American men often make the comment that all Frenchmen are gay simply because they are more refined than their American counterparts. The French have been attending the film in droves. We saw it weeks and weeks ago on opening night in Bordeaux and many of the people sat in their seats drying their eyes even after the credits ended. The film has also won three awards from the French film industry. So say what one will about my lack of sense of humor, but in all honesty and from deep inside my heart, I cringe at these jokes. As far as I am concerned not only are they personally offensive, but they also underscore the smallness of the human spirit. The intent of these jokes might not be to make light of or poke fun at gay people, but they still serve to keep the myth alive that gays are "effete." Have they never heard of gay rugby men? And look at the number of people we know personally, just in tiny Corvallis alone, who have lived the Brokeback Mountain lie for years and years and in so doing have caused enormous pain to many family members and loved ones. I can name five right off the bat. No, self denial is neither pretty nor funny, and murder isn't either.

Good wine, good cheese, okay, but organdy and taffeta? And what is the Boy Scout uniform about? Those things border on the sick.

I hope you won't take offense at what I've said here. They are my problem not yours. I am glad you sent the "joke" because it helps keep me in touch with my homeland and its pop culture. Perhaps these five years that I've been gone have removed me too far from the mainstream. In fact, the other night someone from the USA in a phone conversation asked me, "You probably don't really feel American any more, do you?" Well, I feel I am the American I was all my life; I feel I am the American I was when I left America. What I don't feel is that America is neither now the place where I grew up nor the place I left. It is, in short, a real Broke Back Mountain.


I certainly don't take offense that you find the ficticious Brokeback grocery list offensive.I'm actually impressed that you took the time to express your thoughts in such detail, though we disagree. And though you wind up by saying that you're glad I sent the joke (which I just posted and did not write, by the way) because it helps to keep you in touch, you may not be in touch with what type of website mine is. I love crude and sick humor, and I'm a blonde who makes blonde jokes. I particularly like the grocery list because it takes the piss out of the gays. It's the type of joke that a macho straight guy might tell, if they were clever enough to write it. Even though Elvira sent it to me, it takes on a new ridiculous dimension when a gayer than gay transvestite posts a macho-man type of joke about her own kind. It IS a cheap shot, which is the name of the game around here. Though if I'd had the wit to write it, I might have gone even cheaper with gerbil feed, "tina", and poppers references. I wouldn't call it stupid, however, and it isn't trying to get the point of the the film. That's the joke's twist! It's imaginatively fucking with the point of the film and focusing on one minor thread--their provisions, and fagging it up.

I certainly think one may enjoy this joke without considering "artsy", "french", or "sophisticated" to be liabilities, as I don't. And I'm glad that the film's a hit in France. I sat and cried in it, too. But "a smallness of the human spirit"? Wow. You SHOULD lighten up.This joke doesn't make light of the self-denial or murder in Brokeback. It's a silly "what if" scenario. Part of the joke's appeal lies in the fact that though the grocery list does perpetuate stereotypes that gays are effete and ignores the existence of truly masculine gay men, a lot of gays spend their lives trying to be more masculine than they actually are. When you're trying to be something that you're not, you're an easy target, like an old or fat woman trying to be sexy. (Insert applicable joke about my age and weight here.) Like the leather mary who sings along to Judy Garland while fastidiously grooming his died black handlebar moustache and puts on chaps in preparation for a night of fisting in a backroom. In a similar vein, I recently got a kick out waiting in line at a grocery store behind a 45-ish pinched leather gay shrugging exasperately as the straight latino homeboy cashier was forced to ask the female cashier next to him to help identify every gourmet produce item from fennel to arugula in the gay's shopping basket. Stereotypes are a common source of humor and a lot of the political incorrectness is removed when blacks, jews, gays, lesbians, handicapped or any other group direct the barbs to their own communities.

But what really gets my goat is your smart-ass fact-checking of the list itself. I'm no chef, but several of your corrections need correcting. Google "Al fresca" and several recipes come up. And they don't refer to dishes the diet soft drink poured in them. Unless they're all mispelled, "al fresca" is a bonafide coooking term. "Al fresco" also can also refer to dining outtdoors, or to my office "al fresco", which is the term I used to use when my phone would get turned off and I'd hang on the payphone outside my apartment making my business calls. And jeez, does that "Please deposit an additional 25 cents for the next five minutes" recording from the operator really add a dash of panache to one's work calls! Also, California Bordeaux does exist and I've often heard the term "en salade". The use of "fava beans" is no more redundant than string beans, grean beans or pinto beans. No one in this country has ever ordered a "side of favas". But you are probably right on "organdy" and this one: if you google "Dom Perignon Masters Reserve", no wine sites come up. Only pages and pages of sites which have posted the same joke list that Elvira forwarded to me. I think that attests to the effectiveness of the joke.

So, with all due respect, I highly recommend that you lighten and loosen up. But noting your masculine yet effete tendencies, perhaps I may offer these tools as loosening aid? I trust that the workmanship of the finely crafted products below will surpass even your high standards. I recommend alternately inserting each for several days, after which your nit-picky, anal self is likely to feel markedly more relaxed and less prissy. Who knows, if there is a mirror on hand, the sight of your fairy butt wiggling with a fanciful horsehair tail in it may even restore your sense of humor. Please send us some pix!



from the rarified drag deity Alexandra Von Raisin:

Hi Sweets.
You attract some oddballs. If that guy criticising your entry doesn't have a sense of humor, what is he doing perusing your witty, bawdy, world?
Here's more to prove him silly:
-"Prenzel vinegar tastes as it did to the medieval palate, with a wide range of layered flavours and subtleties. No attempt is made to sugar or otherwise soften the product - it is just PURE vinegar with no chemical additives of any kind."

-Silk organdy is a fabric, though probably more popular as cotton organdy. It's a sheer fabric often used in bridal gowns. Leads one to think that paired with the taffeta and champagne, there may be a wedding that weekend.

-Veal Medallions
-Porcini Mushrooms It's just a typo. Should be two separate lines.

-Exta Virgin Olive Oil is the purest available. "Cold pressed" is an anachronistic and largely unregulated label description for olive oil.

-Espresso Grind- "Another important factor that affects a cup of espresso is the grind. "An incorrect grind will result in a poor quality and inconsistent cup," says espresso machine expert, Christopher Cara of Thomas Cara, Ltd. in San Francisco.
If your beans are too oily and your grind is too fine, your espresso maker can't produce an even flow of liquid -- it will trickle out with no crema. [Crema is the beautiful, brown cream found on the top of a perfect espresso.] If your grind is too coarse, the espresso pours out of your machine like Niagara Falls...too fast for good flavor and definitely no crema."

Bi-lingual. To my knowledge, bilingual is spelled without a hyphen.

And from Paper's fashion maven Mickey Boardwoman:


organdy and organza are basically the same except organdy is made
from cotton and organza from silk.



OUCH! My friend Zhana sent me this, the author is unknown.

Thank you Ms. Coretta for the grace, strength, and dignity that you displayed. Since your wonderful husband was assassinated by the bullets of fear and hate. You know they killed him because of their ignorance. Thank you for not allowing bitterness and anger to engulf your very existence.

Now that you are reunited with Martin tell him that they are stripping our rights away, day by day, but his fight was not in vain.

Tell him that although my generation glorifies drugs, debases black women in song, and calls us vulgar names - that his dream still remains.

Our men no longer celebrate our natural black beauty - we have to have long weaves, small waists, and big ole booties.

The videos are so degrading, they mirror soft porn. Us Blacks own television stations now, but that's all that's shown.

Tell Martin that my generation apologizes for its lack of respect for his legacy and the dormancy of our elders, we might as well call this the Civil Rights of Unmovement Era.

Tell him that although we as black people make more than we've ever seen, that we squander it on diamond clad teeth, 24 inch rims, and designer clothes due to our sagging self-esteem.

Tell Martin that our babies are growing up without fathers, while the mothers are catching buses just like he remembers. Our children take to the streets in droves, not to march or proclaim the injustice of this nation, but to pledge their gang affiliation. I can't rhyme to this next line. On any night thugs hang out while bullets ring out - not freedom. And yes we continue to be judged by the color of our skin by America but I wonder most about the lack of the content of our character.

Advise him that the grand-daughters of the Civil Rights era are making their money as strippers. The Grand-sons of the marchers are ignoring their sons and daughters and hanging and slangin' on corners. They're going to jail in mass numbers, not for protesting, marching, or defying racism, but because they commit illegal acts to gain materialism. Our children are making babies, ignoring education, committing felonious capers, I'd wish they'd read his Birmingham Jail Papers.

Tell Martin that those in the ghetto are not the only ones forgetting his dream. There are those who've forgotten where they came from because of a little cream. Who refuse to give back to the community, because their motto is 'More for me'. They've forgotten how to lend a helping hand, to help their fellow man - all the while thinking, 'If I can make it, they can'. Looking down without offering a leg up, getting on elevators with their noses up. Some of us are even republicans now, but that's a very exclusive black crowd. Striving to get to the top of the ladder, to make their pockets fatter - instead of doing something that truly matters. Leaving the 'hood' in droves and only moving back when Whites buy up all of the homes.

Tell Martin that we still like to dance and sing, but not Negro spirituals cuz we've got Beyonce grinding and shaking her thing. Ms. Coretta, this may hurt poor Martin the most - it just may seal the deal, we as a people don't attend church anymore. Cuz we've gotten a little education and found out that God wasn't real. For those of us who still believe, it makes us want to holla, we've got a pimp named Bishop and a Bishop named Dollar.

I don't know Ms. Coretta, maybe you'd better not tell Martin that for all that he's done to make us free, equal, and just - that we still migrate to the back of the bus. I'll bet looking down - he doesn't recognize us. We've forgotten how to march, protest, and vote - but be at the club, standing in line for hours - in the freezing cold. Sporting the latest gear; stilettos, hoochie clothes, teeth that's froze, and Tims - driving cars with less tire more rim. Dying to get in so that we can 'shake it fast', drop it like it's hot' - forgetting the respect and dignity that we were taught.

I neva' thought I'd think this thought, but please don't eva' give Martin your report. Ms. Coretta, maybe you should just avoid mentioning my generation all togetha'.


OK, so I lied about going to Tokyo.

from Ananova.com

Police hunt cross-dressing bank robber

Police in Australia are hunting a cross-dressing bank robber who they have dubbed the Mrs Doubtfire Bandit.

The man robbed a bank in Bayswater, Victoria, wearing a floral dress, roller blades and brandishing a gun, reports the Melbourne Herald Sun.

He demanded cash and, after it was handed over, rolled out of the National Australia Bank branch and into the street at high speed.

Witnesses said he was wearing a striking white dress with a floral pattern, a pair of leggings and a black wig with a blue stripe.

But they told police his voice and facial features were clearly those of a man.

Sen-Det Robert Dabb appealed for witnesses: "Someone out there will most likely have seen this person roller-blading around," he said.

February 18, 2006



My trip was a bit of a disappointment. Not because of Japan itself, but rather my own flu-ish condition and the rheumy eyes through which I viewed my exotic, new surroundings. I'd had a rotten cold for a week before leaving on Valentine's Day. I missed my therapy session so now I'll save some $ by whining to you! By the time I got off the 12 hour flight, sucking in the same air as the other international bird flu, turd flu and SARS-infected passengers I was riddled with a cold so debilitating that they would want to put those fucking surgical masks on when I trolled by slinging my deadly snot.

As if those masks work. Are they worn by the sick to prevent others' contamination or as protection from getting sick? Or to filter out pollution? This guy who lowered his mask to have a ciggy certainly seems to defeat whatever the purpose was. Maybe they should design a smoker's version of the mask with a hole at the mouth.

Anyhoo, I came over to dj at a Visionaire launch/exhibition/party, but I thought why come all this way without hanging out for a few extra days? It's a long flight and I'd only been here once, with Willie Ninja, Sister DImension, Madamae Ekaterina Sobechanskaya, club-kid legend Olympia and a few others to work a Suzanne Bartsch party. Since we never made it out of Tokyo, I'd wanted to return and use a spare day to take the bullet train to Kyoto and have a gander at the temples, geishas and what not. WRONG!

I will never again underestimate the crippling force of jet-lag, which has never hit me like it did this time. (Old?) I was hag-xhausted, but unable to sleep because my rhythms were fucked-up. I guess what I'd recommend to a visitor to any land that far away are bringing plenty of melatonin, Ambien or other sleeping aids, and DEFINITELY figuring in at least a day of leisurely recovery time before you have to "do" anything, much less hop a train to another city to explore. I was also poorly prepared for my trip. I'd had only jumped out of my 4-day sickbed to rush around the day before my departure trying to accessorize the borrowed kimono which I imagined I'd wear while go-go dancing to TURNING JAPANESE on a street corner behind a tip cup, with dumbfounded japanese looking on in shock, disgust, dismay--whatever. I thought it might be cute to cut graphics into the footage which indicated that I was an "international sensation", along with other segments in which I asked perplexed japanese for directions to the Great Wall, or perhaps brandished a piece of dental floss offering to blindfold strangers on the street. I had visions of prissing through the shopping areas and showing the Harajuku girls of HOLLA BACK fame a thing or two as their eyes narrowed at my "wicked style", and dreamt of later photo-shopping a Hacidic male's hat and spit-curls onto my head as a Hara-JEW-ku girl. All for you, my dear readers!

I would also recommend bringing fiber supplements. I know that whole continents subsist on white rice, but like our white bread and the food in Torino which the Winter Olympics athletes just complained about yesterday, there is very little fiber in it. Together with the few vegetables served (to me) in Japan besides seaweed, you're likely to be literally "full of shit" throughout your stay. And another thing--only take nutrition tips from fat people.

I also hadn't done my research, since I was busy wiping away my bountiful snot while shopping for the "perfect jewelry" for the borrowed psychedelic TURNING JAPANESE kimono which I wouldn't even wear once. I didn't go online and google any gay highlights (like the popular gay bar Mr. Strawberry--how fruity!) or tourist attactions or find out info on that bullet train to Kyoto. And Tokyo, much larger than NYC, is a bit daunting. A few warnings. Outside of your hotel, english is not widely spoken. Your ATM cards and cellphones are unlikely to work everywhere. Tokyo is huge and the subway was confusing--though I'm admittedly not a map person. Taxis are abundant, but japanese have their own unique way of giving directions and unless your destination is a well-known landmark, rotsa ruck with the non-english speaking cabdrivers. Oh, and the taxi doors, like the escalators which are triggered to start right before you step on them, are automated. Don't touch them! The driver won't like it. He wants to be in control of opening and closing them. And their spotless white gloves are so cute!

Not so cute? Trying to get my big bubble-headed moose-ass into the diminuative japanes taxis!

The japanese are a fascinating and often startlingly gorgeous people. As soon as the male flight attendant made his announcements in a whispery, polite, barely audible manner which was so different from our loud and gregarious "Welcome aboard and how 'bout that Super Bowl?" stewardesses, I began to realize how different our people are. Personally, I am probably the direct opposite of these reserved, polite, efficient and cheery clean freaks. Well, except for the freak part. I was shocked to see construction workers painstakingly putting out their cigarette butts on the bottom of their shoes and then into the trash can. Can you imagine a gruff American workman doing anything other than flinging his cigarette butt on the ground? There are hardly any homeless people here, and apparently a .5% unemployment rate, although my keen eye clocked one, who gave me a cheery if toothless grin from his makeshift hut.

And he singlehandedly disproved the myth about miniature asian dicks.He had 10 inches! Well, 7 after I removed the dirt and scabs. I had brought along a magnifying glass to aid in my quest for cock--but next time I'll come better prepared with a microscope. No, I'm kidding! Japanese dicks are the perfect size....for flossing with! Oink!

But unlike the above gentleman, most of these folks are super-industrious! How else could they afford to be the world's largest consumers of luxury items? Japan keeps those high-end labels in business. And japanese taste is definitely quirky, with a penchant for bright colors and a martian (as my Wigstock partner/fine artist Scott Lifshutz called it) sensibility everywhere.




Maybe it's my pre-conceived notion of the "ancient mysteries and treasures of the Orient", but you do get a delicious feeling that they're keyed in to some "mystery of the Orient" which westerners aren't, and that they're somehow at peace with themselves. Until you see something like this:

Well I certainly didn't see anything like that at the glittering Visionaire soiree, held atop the famous Mori Tower, and presented by Van Cleef and Arpels and Moet Chandon. I met the creative director of Van Cleef and I'm not sure he understood my humor as I enthused, "I've always been such a fan of your exquisite jewelry", and holding up a VIP access dog-tag on a disposable chain, "but NONE of your designs could ever compare to THIS." He laughed nervously, no doubt noticing the mismatched jewelry that I was forced to wear as my jeweler is busy gearing up for that blasted Night of 1000 Goons.

I arrived and the photgraphers went wild. Both of them! They were screaming for me in their native tongue. I was later informed that translated, their words meant "Get out of the way, scag!", "What is the fuck is it?", "Quick! Get my surgical mask!" and "Where's Cecelia?".

Cecilia Dean, the Visionaire-y who you may recognize from her stunning Harry Winston ad, obliged the shutterbugs by arriving just moments later with her handsome escort David.

Since the radiant Cecilia brought nothing to wear (!), Balenciaga fedexed her a gown from Paris, which deserves it's own full-length shot. (Guys, for the record, I don't consider myself a photo-journalist, but I'm trying!)

Her bag is haute, and I think her dress would look great on me--as a scarf! Cecilia and David are joined here by the suave Greg Foley, another Visionaire staffer. Now Visionaire and I have a longstanding and somewhat peculiar realtionship. I never really intended to become a dj, and still can't mix worth a damn, but as music in the clubs got harder and more techno-y in the 90's, a lot of clubs would stick me in the lounge because I provided a relief from the usual main floor fare by spinning a variety of tempo, styles, and eras. No one really took me seriously as a dj until this deluxe, glossy art and fashion quarterly started hiring me to play their parties in New York, Paris, Milan, London, and Miami. And as high end as their publication may be, the Visionaire crew has a delightful sense of humor and appreciates my sense of trash. Like the time they arrived at the hotel in Paris to have the handicapped toilet door swing open to reveal me bombed and blowing the vietnamese janitor. At 5:00 am on that night, I dialed up Cecilia's room to inform her that I'd spoken with Stephen Gan, the head honcho pictured below,

and that her services would no longer be needed at Visionaire, effective immediately. Stephen reminded me that I'd also tried to blow Greg at each of their first 10 parties. Hey! A girl can't help it if she's got good taste, can she? Look how suave Greg still looks sampling figs and candied ginger dipped in chocolate. Luckily for Greg, I have finally given up after 10 years.




Now this drag had a novel idea. Take a cab and arrive with one wig on head and one in hand.

Then for added height, plop the second wig on top and secure it with some sort of stick lodged in the base wig prior to arrival, et voila!



AT THE INVITATION OF THIS LOVELY LADY, WHO WAS INTRODUCED AS THE QUEEN OF THE HARAJUKU GIRLS. (I guess the hot new look over there is nightshades with long reddish hair under the arms! I wonder if Lypsinka knows how in she is...)




border="0" alt="" />


I wouldn't exactly call his gold-sequinned cowboy hat to be as cutting edge as Visionaire's latest issue, but then neither was the moment when I incorrectly cued up a compilation cd which I'd made, and instead of the Basement Jaxx's DO YOUR THING I'd intended to play, out came the horrifyingly gauche opening strains of LA VIDA LOCA. (At least I didn't fuck up and play Wanda Jackson's FUJIYAMA MAMA, a rockabilly song in which Wanda threatens "I can cause distruction, just like the atom bomb". The only thing sadder were the remaining 4 minutes of the song that I was forced to grin and bear all and bounce around in mock delight as the dancefloor cleared. Troll in the hizouse! This admiring dancer didn't seem to mind. I have two captions for this shot:




Socialites mingled in designer duds as expensive champagne flowed freely--was I the TOAST OF TOKYO?


I was plain BUSTED by the time I crawled back to the Ana Hotel. It was there I'd stay for the next few days, clutching a snot-rag and the remote. I had hoped to catch some traditional kabuki drag in a theater, but there was plenty of gender-bending on the telly. I marvelled at the site of these geisha drags in a musical, but was not prepared for the drag kings which followed. At least I think they were drag kings. (That rheumy eye again.) And then there were some really nutty club kid/musical looks that would have done Sister Dimension proud. Forgive the red eye function on my camera--I just got it and couldn't figure out how to turn it off as I (literally) feverishly snapped away at the TV screen.

If you ever visit this site again with those red-eye "art pix" photo essay, soon I'll post pix from my trip to shopping havens Harajuku Street and Shibuya. Yeah, soon. It took me a month to post these!